The Aden Effect (33 page)

“Anything?”

“Small currency. The one who drove away? It looked like Asha.”

“Asha seems pretty central to all this.”

“It was just an accident that I was able to tie him into it.” Golzari was looking over the truck one more time.

“What do you mean?”

Golzari decided it was time to confide in Stark and told him the whole story of his investigation.

Stark was an interested audience. “How many kids go to that college?” he asked.

“About two thousand.”

“Is it just a coincidence that Asha became involved with the deputy secretary of state's son?”

“Not likely.” Golzari rechecked the currency the Somalis had been carrying and this time noticed foreign currency mixed in. “Russian rubles, Chinese yuan, Indian rupees, Philippine pesos. Want to guess why they're together?”

“Easy. Those are the most common nationalities at sea—and the ones most commonly taken by pirates.”

Golzari pulled a gold watch from his pocket. “This is the piece that sent us down this path. This is what Johnny Dunner found in the container of khat he picked up in Boston: a watch belonging to a merchant captain whose ship was taken by pirates. It was in an envelope addressed to Asha.”

“This attack certainly fits the pirates' MO,” Stark noted. “An ambush using a couple of vehicles. A couple of RPGs, some AK-47s, but not the smarts to finish when someone actually fights back.”

“I don't like the way this is shaping up, old man. Asha and al-Ghaydah, a guy who works—worked—for your friend, Mutahar.”

“Correction. He used family influence to worm his way in. Mutahar never wanted him.”

“Any chance Mutahar is al-Yemeni?”

“None. He could have had me killed anytime and anywhere. Even on the estate.”

“But in the Arab culture you don't mistreat a guest.”

“Let's assume that. Why would he have invested in the meetings with the other officials?”

“To find out what you know?” Golzari probed.

“I don't know anything.”

“Hmm, I'll leave that one alone for now. Maybe it's someone else, someone using the biggest shipping company in Yemen to secure knowledge of port activity. Here's a copy of the list of ships that had checkmarks next to it that I took from al-Ghaydah's office. You'll note that they're all ships that were attacked by pirates.”

“Including the
Kirkwall,
” Stark commented as he scanned the list.

“The
Kirkwall
and the two ships it escorted,” Golzari corrected. “Al-Ghaydah was tipping off the pirates. He knew the cargo, time of departure, and next port of call for each.”

“The only time they ever attacked a security ship, though, was when I was aboard.”

“That's the only variable that I can think of, too.”

“Scotland, the
Kirkwall
, and now here. I've been the target all along.”

“Defense attachés have always been targets, Commander. The terrorist group November 17 in Greece killed a couple of DATTs awhile back.”

“They didn't attack my predecessor. And in Scotland I wasn't the DATT yet . . . actually, that's not entirely right. I had just gotten my orders to return to duty.”

“Do the other factions in Yemen know about your close relationship with the ruling family?”

“Probably. It's no secret.”

“Maybe they just wanted to make a point to the U.S. government and take out someone in the military.”

That's when it struck Connor. “No, not just military. The military adviser.”

“You have something?”

“Mutahar's firstborn, Faisal. He showed up at the estate before you, so he didn't know you would be there, and he left after getting the call about Ahmed's death. Before you arrived, while we were watching Ali swim, he called me a military adviser.”

“He could be al-Yemeni,” Golzari said. “He has ties to the shipping company. You said he used to run drugs on his own boat.”

“But he was attacked by pirates,” said Stark.

“Was he attacked, or was it a drug deal gone wrong?”

“If he is al-Yemeni, why would he do it? He's a member of the ruling family. His father is one of the richest men in the country and he's the oldest son, meaning that he will inherit it all someday. He certainly doesn't need the money. Unless he has some other motivation . . .” Stark stopped for a moment's reflection. Then he continued slowly. “I'm remembering another Yemeni son. His father was a rich man who built things for the Saudi royal family. He took a different path and decided to destroy rather than build. He became a terrorist and started his very own worldwide network.”

“Bin Laden?”

“Bin Laden.”

“All right, then, Commander. We have work to do. We need to get back to the embassy. We can take this truck.”

“We have help arriving soon, and it'll be a lot safer and quicker in the air.”

“Who did you call?”

“Mercs. You know, people like me.”

They limped back up the hill together as the familiar
thump-thump-thump
of a helicopter's rotors sounded in the distance.

“You did well, Commander,” Golzari said as he picked up his bag.

Stark extended his hand, “Connor.”

Golzari returned the gesture with his good arm. “Damien.”

Their clasp grew firmer in a final competition of wills.

As Ali entered the stable, one of the estate's workers emerged from a stall and walked directly toward him. In his hand was a piece of cloth. Ali sensed something wrong and took a step backward against his bodyguard. The bodyguard grabbed Ali's arms and held him. Before the boy could scream, the other man was upon him, pressing the chloroform-soaked cloth against his face. Ali struggled for a few moments, trying not to inhale, but inevitably he did.

“Quickly,” the worker said to the bodyguard, “put him in the trunk when I back up to the stable. If anyone sees us, we will lose our heads.”

S
ighing in disgust, C.J. shook her head at the two dirty, dusty, bloody men who stood in front of her desk. “It certainly hasn't been boring since you two arrived. Think either of you can make it a couple of days before getting attacked again?” She pointed at Golzari's bandaged arm. “Are you responsible for this, Commander Stark?”

“No, ma'am. Not this time. Special Agent Golzari was wounded in the course of a firefight outside Mar'ib as we were returning to Sana'a.”

“Commander Stark is correct, Madam Ambassador. Eight men, probably Somalis, ambushed us. We killed seven of them. The eighth got away. Commander Stark is largely responsible for stopping them because I was wounded almost immediately.”

“Special Agent Golzari doesn't do himself justice,” Stark interjected. “Had he not found high ground and cover and taken out two of the attackers immediately, we would have been vastly outnumbered and in a poor tactical position. It was due to his quick thinking and professionalism that we were able to defeat them.”

C. J. leaned back in her chair and marveled at the change in their behavior. It was the first time she heard them use official titles. They were treating one another with respect. And they were fighting other people now rather than each other. She could work with this. “Sit down, please, gentlemen, and tell me exactly what happened. No, wait.” She held up her hand and spoke into her intercom. “Mindy, please bring a first aid kit and some water.” She looked from one man to the other. “Special Agent Golzari, why don't you tell me about the ambush.”

After Golzari had described the ambush and Stark had added further details of his meetings with the Yemenis, she gave them her own news. “We're a go for Socotra from the White House,” she began, “so we can get this operation under way.” She turned to Stark. “Commander, I'd like you to take the lead on organizing the mission.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I saw Bill Maddox on Socotra—” she added.

“You went to Socotra without me, ma'am?” Golzari interjected.

“Don't worry,” she said, raising her hands in mock self-defense. “Gunnery Sergeant Willis and his Marines provided excellent protection throughout. Agent Golzari, I'd like you to work with Commander Stark on the mission's security,” she continued, then stopped and thought for a moment. “Wait a minute. Let's go back to the ambush. Did you say Asha was among the Somali attackers?”

“I believe so,” the agent said.

“Why would a Somali drug-runner ambush U.S. embassy personnel? Do you have any ideas?”

“Just a tie to a shipping firm, and possibly to the ruling family, Madam Ambassador.”

She inhaled. “How much of a tie, Agent Golzari?”

“Perhaps the good commander should answer that one.”

“We're not sure,” Stark said. “We think my friend's son may be involved, but we haven't had time to confirm that yet.”

“What if he is, Connor? What then? I can't negotiate with the Yemenis if one of them is involved. We have to know. Can you talk to your friend?” she asked.

“Okay. I'll see what I can find out. But I'll have to do this very carefully.”

Bobby Fisk stood on the quarterdeck wiping sweat and sand from his face as he tried to breathe without singeing his lungs. The humid, oven-hot air of the port off the Bab el Mandeb at the juncture of the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden felt like heated sandpaper as it scraped against his throat. He watched as crewmen escorted the last of the
Kirkwall
survivors off the ship and into the van that would take them to Camp Lemonier for a final checkup before they were flown back to the States.

The
Bennington
was scheduled to be in port only half a day for refueling, but at least Bobby was looking at dry land. The high-speed dash across the Gulf of Aden to rescue the
Kirkwall
's survivors had depleted too much fuel to let the ship continue on patrol. Maybe the captain would enjoy himself so much that he'd let the ship make more port calls in the future. Bobby smiled at the thought.

OPS rounded the corner. “Bobby, have you seen the skipper or SUPPO?”

“He and the XO left here about five minutes ago.”

“Well, I have good news for you. It looks like we'll be here overnight after all.”

“Problems?”

“Nope. We just got orders from Fifth Fleet to load up on medical supplies, food, and extra water.”

“For what?”

“We're directed to support humanitarian operations on an island a few days from here. We'll deliver the supplies and then be on our way. Nothing exciting.”

Faisal lit another cigarette as the ship's twin diesel engines drove it through the waters off Mukalla toward the island of Socotra. His crew of ten worked swiftly to secure loose objects on the deck and below in case they ran into inclement weather on the way. “Be sure to secure those skiffs,” he commanded from his spot three decks above. The crew hurried to obey. A mother ship without its skiffs was no mother ship.

Another sixty Somali pirates and Yemeni soldiers augmented the ship's regular company for this voyage. When the battle came, some would crew the skiffs while the others would defend the ship. All who survived would be well paid for their service.

Faisal paced back and forth, ignoring the man climbing the starboard ladder to meet him.

“My people are ready, Faisal, and look forward to this mission.”

Faisal was silent.

“What troubles you, my friend?” Asha asked, tapping out a cigarette from his own pack.

“The military adviser.”

“Don't worry, we will kill him.”