The Insider Threat (27 page)

O
mar fled the park like a demon was after him, running like a child afraid of the night. He avoided the main entrance and went deeper into the woods, thrashing through creeks and stands of brush until his hands were cut and his clothes torn. He slowed up after twenty minutes, listening. He could hear police sirens in the distance, and assumed they were in reaction to what had happened, but he couldn’t be sure.

He continued on, the dropping sun making it hard to see his footing. He bumped into the back fence of the Sheraton Hotel and searched for a way out. He thrashed through the brush and heard someone shout on the other side, then ask another if he’d heard the noise. Omar moved higher, back into the woods, continuing east.

Eventually, he hit a makeshift game trail, one of the many in the park. He followed it and saw that it spilled out east of the soccer field.

He wedged open the small gap in the fence and dropped from the four-foot concrete wall, now on the street. Now safe.

He began walking north, uncertain of where he was but sure he could find his way once he hit the city square. He reflected on what he knew. What had happened.

There were many, many people with guns in that amphitheater. Some were from his contact, of that he was sure. What he was less sure about was whether he’d been wrong in killing them. Not in a moralistic way, but simply in a business way. He’d made the decision, then executed. It wasn’t until he’d left the stairs and seen the myriad of men shooting that he’d had doubts. They weren’t all shooting at him. In fact, they were shooting at one another. He’d seen a black man with a silenced rifle kill at least one, and two others shooting against themselves. Why? What the hell had happened up there?

He remembered Hussein. The Lost Boy. He wondered if it had something to do with him. Omar had the luggage ticket for the explosives, but even that was in danger. Should he use it, or would he be walking into a trap?

Omar had spent the better part of his life paranoid, first in Chechnya, then in Georgia, always looking for the traitor, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He wondered if he was being played. Was there a reason for the Islamic State to fight him? Were they the ones doing this? But Adnan had been killed. There was no way they’d kill the emir of Syria for a play. Adnan could have slit his throat on any number of occasions, just by giving the order.

He thought about that strike, and another chill went down his spine. Had the Lost Boys killed Adnan? Was it really the satellite phone, or had they told the crusaders where to launch the Hellfire?

But then, why continue on? If they had that capability, why had he lived to cross the border? Maybe it was simply because they were with him. He remembered the other strike against the convoy from the camp. The one where no Lost Boys were riding.

But that made no sense, in the end. The attack today was pathetic. A bunch of confused gunfire. If the Lost Boys had anything to do with it, why didn’t they just assault the building? Why the strange confusion? It was like nobody on the ground understood what was going on, and all were just shooting because that’s what they knew.

He quit speculating. The answer would be held with the woman his men had caught. She would tell them. And she would provide the distance he needed, if they brought her home.

He crossed the fetid canal that split the city, the concrete littered with cans and plastic bags, and checked a street sign for his bearings. He saw Rruga George W. Bush, and shook his head. He hoped that wasn’t a sign of things to come.

He pulled out his worn tourist map given to him by Anzor, reading the Cyrillic Anzor had written on the edge detailing directions. He continued on, searching for a street called Toptani. Two blocks later, he found it, and took a left, walking down a pleasant pedestrian thoroughfare with various stops extolling Tirana history. He reached a wall of ancient stone, now grafted onto new edifices, and saw what he was looking for. A cheap hotel called Kalaja, built right into the old walls of a defunct castle. He passed through the archway and warily walked up the steps, avoiding the front desk.

He saw nothing to alarm him.

He went down a short, worn hallway and found the door he’d been given. He put his ear to it, hearing nothing beyond.

He pulled his pistol, keeping it low, and knocked. He heard movement, then the door opened. He recognized Anzor and broke into a smile. “I thought you had been killed.”

Anzor scowled and said, “No, no. We weren’t killed, but we do want to know what shit you’ve brought us.”

Omar pushed the door open, saying, “Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

He walked forward, seeing a cheap room not unlike a hostel. Chipped tile and a seedy shared bathroom connected to the adjacent room, the lights illuminating someone digging through a bag next door. There were two twin beds perpendicular to each other, and a small desk with a computer, but none of those details captured his attention. In the center, tied to a chair, was a woman with a gag in her mouth, one eye black and swollen, the other wide and fearful.

Anzor said, “We want no part of this. We will not get into an Islamic war. Whatever you’re doing, you do. But we’re done.”

Omar tossed his backpack on the bed and said, “Then why did you bring her here?”

Levan, the one who’d spoken out earlier at their first meeting, came from the adjacent room and said, “We did what you asked, but that was before the damn killing at the amphitheater. Two children are dead. Two more wounded. The police will be ripping apart anyone with ties to crime. We are going to get raked because of it.”

Omar said, “You did right. You have helped the caliphate.”

Levan said, “Fuck the damn caliphate. I want no part of it. I
told
you that.”

The third man, Davit, said, “I got the weapons because you said it was a business transaction. You said it was simple. This wasn’t simple. It was a bloodbath.”

He stood, facing Omar. “I appreciate our time in combat, and support your cause, but this is too much. While I support you, you do nothing but destroy me.”

Omar held up his hands and said, “Okay, hear me out. I speak the truth. I had no idea that was going to happen. I thought it would be a simple exchange, but I feared it was something else. That’s why I called you. I truly do not know what happened.”

Anzor said, “You’re fucking lying. You knew she was hunting you, and she probably has a team with her.”

“Are you sure she was?”

“She had a gun. A silenced Glock. She almost killed me with it. If Levan hadn’t been behind her, I’d be dead. She’s quick as a snake, and she’s killed before. I can tell.”

Omar heard that and paused. This wasn’t the Islamic State. One thing eliminated. He said, “What do you know of her?”

“She’s Israeli. As if that is a surprise to you.”

Israeli?
That placed a whole different spin on things. No Lost Boys. No Islamic State. His paranoia kicked in full force, confirming his worst fears.
Of course.

He said, “How do you know? She has an Israeli passport?”

“No. Her passport is Australian, but she sure as hell isn’t. I spent some time in Gaza. She can deny it, but she reeks of Mossad. We had a checklist we followed whenever we suspected someone, and she’s matching up. Australian passport, silenced pistol with the serial number acid-etched, European labels in her clothes, trained in martial arts. She’s a Jew.”

“Give me her phone. I want to call her contact. Give him a message. Let them know what will happen if they continue the hunt.”

Anzor said, “She smashed it in the fight. She got off one round, and I knocked her down. She fought like a demon. She didn’t stop until I got a gun in her face, and even then, she almost caused me to shoot Levan. She knocked it out of the way, and it went off. When it did, she pretended to submit, then smashed her phone.”

Omar took that in, thinking. He looked at her and said, “Protecting your team. I appreciate that.”

He walked to her and withdrew the gag. He said, “I want to know what your team knows. I want to know how you found me.”

She said nothing, lowering her eyes.

He raised her chin and said, “You have heard of the Islamic State, yes?”

She simply glared. He said, “Do you know what we did with the Yazidi women? Sold them. Married them off. Raped them. And all they did was make the mistake of living. Do you know what I will do with you? A Jew?”

She spoke for the first time, and Omar saw the steel. “I have been fucked by better terrorists than you. And I killed them after.”

In that instant, he knew that fear would never work with her, and he didn’t have the time for pain. He needed relief from the hunt. Soon. He said, “You have a team here. I want them to stop. I have something special planned, and I can’t have them searching for me. Give me the number of your team leader. I wish to talk to him. Man-to-man. You do it, and I’ll make an accommodation that will be favorable to you.”

She said, “No.”

He said, “Your team leader is going to get the message. I can either do it on the phone, and you die with a bullet, or I can do it my way.”

Her expression as flat as a stone in a river, she said, “It looks like it’s your way.”

He nodded, actually feeling a kinship with her courage. Keeping his eyes on her he said, “Anzor, in the rucksack on the bed is a GoPro video camera. Would you mind getting it?”

Anzor rummaged around in the bag and Omar said, “I need a knife. Preferably a large one.”

I
said, “What do you mean, you only found her cell phone?”

Knuckles said, “Just that. It’s smashed like someone stomped on it.”

“But that makes no sense. If someone were interested in what she was doing, smashing her cell phone would be the last thing they’d do. Are you sure it’s hers?”

Aaron said, “Yes. That’s exactly why it’s smashed. Shoshana did it. To protect me. To protect us.”

He tried to hide it, but the pain leaked out nonetheless. I could see his mantra of
the mission comes first
at the root of the ache. Shoshana had destroyed the only way we could find her in order to protect us. And now I was asking him to continue without knowing what had happened to his teammate.

I said, “Aaron, I’ve got authority to take down Rashid.” He nodded, and I felt like an enormous hypocrite after my speech on the aircraft. I hated the words coming out of my mouth. I
hated
the mission. I did some math in my head, running the numbers I needed. I said, “You want to abort?”

His expression said,
Yes, of course I do.
His mouth said, “No. I won’t sacrifice her actions. She did it to protect this mission.”

I said, “I can spare Jennifer and Retro. Jennifer’s good at finding solutions in the puzzle, and Retro’s a computer geek. They might be able to figure something out from the phone. I need everyone else for this.”

He thought about it, then said, “Thank you. I appreciate it, but no. This man may be the quickest link to her.”

I was a little disappointed in his answer, thinking back on what Shoshana had told me in the café earlier, but maybe he was right. I said, “Okay, okay. You lock down the stairwell, we tuck this guy in, and in thirty minutes you get my whole team. We’ll find her. I promise.”

He nodded, the fear still on his face, but the professionalism of his chosen path dictating his actions. He said, “Yes. Mission first. Then Shoshana.”

I despised the words. In my mind, it wasn’t an order of priority. It was what I could do
right now
. At least that’s what I told myself. I couldn’t quell the feeling that my doing the one was causing the death of the other.

I shook it off, looking around the small circle of Operators in the alley. They were all reflecting on Shoshana, believing she was a teammate. Jennifer said, “Pike, she’s our responsibility on this thing. Maybe we should . . .”

Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. I shut that down, saying, “Listen up. Forget about Shoshana for now. We’ve got about a thirty-minute window here. I need everyone’s head in the game.” I went eye to eye, stopping with Jennifer.
“Everyone.”

She squinted, telling me the call was bad. Telling me I wouldn’t be doing this if it were her missing. I ignored the glare, projecting the calm leader, but truthfully, continuing with the mission made my stomach sour, because I wasn’t sure she was wrong.

I reiterated the lineup for entry then said, “Get on him quick. Lock him down. Brett, Retro, you got SSE. Once he’s down, search for media, computers, and documents. You’ve got three minutes. Knuckles, you and I will get him out. I want to walk him, but if he shows any signs that he’s going to be trouble, hit him with the drugs. Aaron, all you need to do is provide early warning if something’s going bad from the street. Jennifer, I call, you pull straight out, park right in front. Aaron gets the door, and he’s in like a bag of dog food. Jennifer and I take him to the transfer site, everyone else disappears.”

I got a nod from the team and said, “No mistakes on this. Are we good? I need to abort if we’re not.”

I focused my attention on Aaron, knowing that distractions in combat could end up exponentially bad. I needed to ensure he was focused.

Aaron said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, probably because I’d been in his shoes before. He wasn’t “good,” but I was comfortable he could fight. I went eye to eye with everyone else, seeing we were ready. I said, “Okay, time to test out these new black rifles. Retro, you got knock-knock. I’m not fucking around. You make breach, and we’re doing some damage.”

Knock-knock
referred to a small, very heavy battering ram. Retro nodded, reaching back into the van and flipping up the backseat. Underneath was what looked like a sixteen-inch chopped-off telephone pole, two folding handles on top. Made of steel.

Ordinarily, we’d surreptitiously pick the lock, then slink in, working in the shadows, the whole point being the man would disappear without our ever exposing we’d been there.

Here, the target was on edge and hyperalert. We could try to pick the door and potentially get gunfire through it if he heard. With Jennifer’s report of the atmospherics, I was fairly sure that nobody would come to interfere, no matter what we did. I’d worked in some postdictator countries, and it was amazing how the old instincts came to the fore.
Someone breaking in a door? Pretend you’re cooking. Not your problem.
I was also positive—if we got out in time—that the police would find nothing. He wasn’t an Albanian citizen, and I was sure he’d checked in under a false name. It would be a mystery.

I glanced up and down the street, seeing people walking, but nobody close.
No time like the present.
I said, “Ready?”

Knuckles pulled his charging handle back a smidge, checking for the glint of a round. He let it forward and said, “Let’s get some.”

We walked past the pharmacy, just a group of guys headed to a bar in the Block, weapons held low in the gloom. Aaron opened the door, letting us flow in. I passed him and said, “Thirty minutes. That’s all you’ve lost.”

He said, “Just get the target.”

We entered, Brett in the lead, rifle held at the low ready. I pulled out my phone and initiated the Dragontooth app. It showed a circle, with one sector pulsing. We entered the stairwell, and it jumped to two. By the time we reached the top, it was at four. Brett held up at the entrance to the hallway, looking back at me. I nodded. He moved forward, passing the door and pulling security down the hallway. Retro followed, holding the battering ram. Knuckles brought up the rear, locking down the stairwell.

I moved the phone toward the door and the sectors locked, all glowing green.
Jackpot
.