Ops Files II--Terror Alert (7 page)

“What is it?”

“Our watcher says Kahn is on the move earlier than usual today. He’s still at the mosque closest to his home, but it will take a long time to get across town.”

“But you have someone in place.”

“A local asset, but frankly I distrust anyone who isn’t from home.”

“Which is why you wanted more resources.”

“Of course. If I just wanted to throw bodies at the problem, I could hire truckloads of them here. I need skilled agents I can depend on.” Uri eyed her. “You did well this morning with the bug.”

“It was an easy assignment.”

“Not for everyone.”

“I’m not everyone.”

Uri nodded. “I’m beginning to appreciate that.”

When they arrived at the mosque, Uri had a brief conversation on his cell phone, alerting the watcher that they were in position. Uri was in the process of telling the man that he could stand down when Kahn emerged from the building with his two bodyguards and another man they’d never seen before. Kahn embraced the man, who then hurried off toward a bank of motorcycles as Kahn made his way to the usual VW van.

Uri hesitated and caught Maya’s eye. “New player?” she asked, and he scowled as he told the watcher to stay with Kahn.

He hung up and started the engine as the motorcycle rider pulled away. “Looks like we’re going for a drive. We know Kahn’s routine – mosque for prayer, then back to his house, where he’ll stay until his Zuhr salat around noon, when he usually goes back to the mosque. He performs the Asr and Maghrib at home, and then finishes the day with the Isha at the mosque at night.”

“And he never varies?”

“Rarely. Sometimes he’ll go to the mosque for all five salats, because prayer in congregation is thought to have more spiritual benefit than alone. But we’re convinced that’s more to prove his standing as a pious man than anything.” Uri gunned the gas and took off after the motorcycle, nearly toppling a passing rickshaw and drawing a curse from the driver.

After fifteen minutes, it became obvious that the motorcycle was leaving the city, headed northeast on the Dhaka-Sylhet highway toward Bhairab Bazar. They followed at a prudent distance, but the rider didn’t seem to be looking for a tail, and they had no problem keeping him in sight.

The urban skyline transitioned to countryside dotted with industrial buildings and ever-present smokestacks belching clouds of toxins into the air. A train rattled along parallel to the highway for a stretch, and Maya could see the bright colors of festive clothes worn by those hitching a ride on the roof – a common means of travel for the impoverished, although deadly when the surface was slippery in the rain. Young men in red tunics ran on a soccer field near the tracks, impervious to the oppressive heat as they chased a ball like maniacs.

They passed over the Meghna River, its water so murky and greenish with sludge it looked like pea soup, and Uri muttered a curse. “Where the hell is this guy going?”

“What’s down the road?”

“Not much. Small towns. Next big city’s hours away.”

“Only one way to find out, then.” She shot a quick look at the older man, who had a cigarette clenched between chapped lips. “You sure this is worth it?”

“They’re up to something. I feel it in my bones.” He took a deep drag on his smoke and spat a piece of tobacco out the window. “We’ve been watching him for some time, and I’ve never seen him hug anyone. You saw him. He was excited. It showed in his every movement.”

Maya didn’t say anything. She’d just seen an old man shuffle out of a mosque, give a younger one a quick hug, and then make for his vehicle. If that was excitement, watching paint dry would qualify as a celebratory event.

Uri looked down at his gas gauge. “I’m glad I filled it.”

She smiled and took a small sip of water from her plastic bottle. “It would definitely put a damper in things if we had to stop for gas while in hot pursuit of a Suzuki.”

Rice paddies stretched along the road, local men and women bent over in the hot sun, tending to their precious harvest, and Maya silently thanked Providence for the slim relief provided by the air-conditioning. It might not have been much, but compared to the heat outside, the interior of the sedan was an icebox.

Sixty kilometers further down the degrading road, the motorcycle slowed at a colorfully tiled mosque and pulled into the dirt parking lot, which was half full of vehicles for the noon salat. The rider swung off the bike, stretched, and then mounted the stairs to the entry. Uri parked in the shade of a tree and raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes.

“We need to get closer,” he said after a few beats.

“You’re driving.”

“But we can’t attract attention.”

“Right. So what’s the plan?”

Uri swept the area with the spyglasses and then set them down. “Time for a snack.”

He pulled toward a roadside shack with a half-dozen plastic tables scattered in front of it, vats of mystery stew simmering over a wood-burning stove. Maya took in the swarms of black flies buzzing around every surface and her eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding.”

“All in the line of duty.”

“I’m pretty sure tapeworms don’t care what your affiliation is.”

Uri handed her the glasses. “We’re a lot closer here. Keep watch. When our man shows, we’ll resume surveillance.”

They didn’t have long to wait. Uri was trying to choose between three of the offerings when their quarry reappeared, a CD case in his hand. After glancing around, he made his way to the food shack along with a half-dozen other worshippers. Nobody paid any attention to Uri, and Maya had covered her face in the car, so she drew no stares. When Uri had selected his preferred gruel, he returned to the car with a paper bowl and sat behind the wheel.

“You see that? He’s got a CD. He didn’t before.”

“Yes. But it looks like music, doesn’t it?”

Uri nodded. “That’s a popular Bangladeshi singer – you see his stuff everywhere. But why would this guy ride into the middle of nowhere to get one of his disks?”

“Obviously, because whatever’s on the CD isn’t music.”

Uri’s mouth twitched into what might have been the start of a smile. “Very good. Which tells me we really need to know what’s on it. If it was important enough to do a hand delivery all the way out here, it’s probably something that will prove Kahn is up to his ears in ugly. Maybe then I can get headquarters to believe me.”

“How do we get our hands on it without tipping our hands? It’s not like we can hit him over the head. They’d tend to notice that sort of thing, I’d think.”

“Fair enough. Well, you’re the fast new blood. What do you suggest?”

She watched the man order a bowl of food and grabbed her water bottle. “I’m going for a walk. Hopefully he won’t notice me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“A little water in the gas tank should have him stalled on that deserted stretch of road we were just on. We can stop to help, maybe offer a ride.” She looked down at the car stereo. “Do you have any disks in here?”

He punched the eject button. “Duke Ellington. Jazz.”

“If we can get at the disk, I can swap them. He’ll arrive with the wrong one, and by the time they realize all they’ve got is music, we’ll know what’s on it.”

Uri shook his head. “They’ll know we intercepted it.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Go do your thing. I’ll think about it,” Uri grumbled.

Maya got out of the car and walked slowly to the mosque, invisible in her burka. The courier was engrossed in his meal, spooning the concoction into his mouth as he chatted with his fellow faithful. Maya was back in the car three minutes later, her emerald eyes flashing. “Done.”

“Now we wait.”

“That bowl looks and smells like…never mind.”

“So you don’t want any?” Uri asked, his nose wrinkling as he contemplated the steaming muck.

She tilted her head at the curry stand. “Looks like he’s finishing up.”

“Then it’s showtime.”

“Give him plenty of head start. We want to be out of sight when the bike dies.”

Uri gave her a dark look. “You know I’ve done this before, right?”

“What do we do once he’s stopped?”

“Look in the backseat.”

Maya did. A laptop computer sat on the vinyl. “It has a CD drive?”

“Yes. So we figure out how to get the CD from him; we copy it; we replace it. And hopefully he’s none the wiser.”

“And how do we do all that without him noticing?”

“I was thinking I spill something on him during a bathroom break. Like this goop. He cleans up, you do the download, and presto, we’re in business.”

“And if he doesn’t react as planned? Or takes the CD with him when he cleans up?”

“We move to plan B.”

“Which is?”

“I’ll let you know.”

The rider tore off back down the road toward Dhaka, and Uri let him get five minutes of lead before easing onto the highway. “How long do you figure it will take for him to crap out?” he asked.

“Couple minutes? Maybe less.”

“I see no reason to hurry, do you?”

Maya smiled. “None at all.”

They almost missed the rider, who was pulled over in deep grass, kneeling by the motorcycle. He looked up as Uri slowed and coasted to a stop a dozen meters past him and eyed them suspiciously, Maya could see as they got out of the car. She was going to whisper something to Uri, but he was already in motion, walking toward him.

“Problem?” Uri asked in accented Bengali.

The man nodded. “I think I’ve got it, thanks.”

Uri smiled. “Just died, or are you out of petrol?”

“I’ve still got gas.”

“Oh, bad luck, then. In this heat. And there’s nothing nearby.”

“Like I said, I’ve got it. It does this occasionally.”

“Why don’t you try to start it?”

The rider stood, and Maya hoped Uri wasn’t oblivious to his body language, which was signaling fight or flight to her. The squared shoulders, the sidelong glances, the shallow breathing…he looked like he was preparing to dash away.

The man considered Uri’s suggestion and then gave it a try, but the bike just sputtered. Uri took another step toward him. “Why don’t we give you a ride? We can put your motorcycle in the trunk.” He paused and wiped perspiration from his face. “Get you somewhere you can work on it.”

The rider didn’t turn back toward Uri, and Maya was already reaching into her robe for the SIG Sauer when he bolted for the tree line. Uri tried calling to him, but the man was in full sprint, and Maya’s heart sank when she saw him pull a revolver from beneath his loose shirt as he ran.

Somehow he’d tripped to them. “He’s got a gun,” she cried out to Uri as she moved toward him, her burka flapping around her.

The man turned at the sound of her voice and fired off a couple of shots, but they went badly wide. A flock of birds soared into the sky from the nearby trees, their wings frantically beating the air. Maya’s eyes met Uri’s as she drew even with him. “Want me to take him down?”

Uri had his gun drawn too, and he nodded. “Guess that’s plan B.”

Maya squeezed off three shots, but the man was already entering the tree line. At a good fifty meters, it would have been difficult if he was stationary; but given he was running, she knew the odds of hitting him weren’t good. The only consolation was that his odds of winging one of them while running were worse.

They moved together to the trees, slowly, and Maya held up a hand. She knelt by a red spot on the grass and touched it, and then raised a crimson finger and pointed into the brush. “He’s hit. No telling how badly. But we’re walking into an ambush if we follow him into the underbrush. The advantage is all his now.”

Uri swore and peered into the brush. “You’re right. We should just wait for him to come out.”

“How long do you think it will take for the police to get here from the shots?”

Uri scowled. “We should get going.”

“You want to leave me here to wait?”

Uri appeared to consider it and then shook his head. “No, this is blown. Best case, they think someone tried to rob him and he dies in a rice paddy from blood loss. Worst case, he makes it back to Kahn and they’re tipped. Nothing we can really do about it either way at this point.” He spit to the side. “I knew they were up to something. You don’t carry a gun and start shooting unless the stakes are high.”

“Agreed.”

As they drove away, Uri fumbled with his cell. After eyeing the screen for a few moments, he tossed it aside in disgust. “No service till we get closer to town.”

“Well, that’s a lucky break. Means he can’t call for help.”

“Right.”

Maya picked up the phone and kept hitting redial until, on the outskirts of Bhairab Bazar, the line started ringing. She passed it to Uri, who warned his watcher that their quarry would likely bolt, and then dialed Gil’s number. It went to voice mail after five rings. He tried it again. Same result.

“Damn,” Uri growled. “He had his meeting an hour ago. He always picks up. Always.”

“You think something went wrong?”

Uri didn’t reply, preferring to keep to his own counsel as the tires rumbled over the bridge that spanned the Meghna River’s seep.

He slipped Maya the phone a few minutes later, his tone softer. “Keep trying him.”

They made it all the way back into Dhaka without Gil picking up, and by the time they approached Uri’s building, they were staring glumly at a sea of brake lights before them, the heat rising off the vehicles in shimmering waves.

“We need to do something. He’s in trouble,” Maya said when he shut off the engine.

Uri lit a cigarette and brushed thick fingers across his face. He stepped from the car heavily and gave Maya a hunted stare, the one look saying everything on both their minds.

“I know.”

Geneva, Switzerland

The conference hall lights beamed brightly down on the unlikely congregation of physicists, bureaucrats, salesmen, and technicians gathered for the twenty-third annual convention of nuclear power plant operators and builders. A buzz of conversation hummed over the hiss of climate control, an occasional musical melody cutting through as a canned presentation began yet another endless loop.