The Insider Threat (28 page)

I
nodded at Retro, and brought my weapon up, feeling the adrenaline spike. He positioned on the right side of the door, doing a left-handed slam to stay clear of the funnel of fire. He looked at me one more time, waiting. I whispered into my earpiece. “On my call . . . Five, four, three, two, one, execute, execute, execute.”

Retro’s arms went back at two, going forward at one. He split the doorjamb at the first
e
of
execute
, shattering the lock and flinging the door forward. Time slowed, like a
Matrix
movie, my brain cataloging every movement in hyperdetail. The door flying inward, the pieces of metal from the lock exploding all over like Christmas tinsel, Retro dropping the sledge, slamming backward into the wall, and raising his weapon, clearing the breach for the team.

I ran forward, seeing Brett rotating around, swinging his barrel up. I entered the doorway, weapon raised and ready, seeing nothing. The room empty.

I swung left, painting the sector with my rifle, but it was clear. I felt the rush of Brett closing right, locking down that section. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned, seeing Rashid exit the bathroom, a toilet satchel in his hands. He threw it at Brett’s head and dove to a table on the right, screaming. He closed his hands on the butt of a pistol, and Brett fired, the sound a muted spit.

Rashid hammered into the wall and wailed, grabbing his buttock. Brett took two steps and buttstroked him in the temple, knocking him out.

I cleared the rest of the small area, finding nothing in the bathroom. I came back out, seeing Knuckles in the doorway, weapon at the ready, and Retro searching the room. Brett was bandaging up our target. I walked over to him and said, “Ass shot? Really? Tell me that was intentional.”

He looked up at me and said, “I want Shoshana back. It took all I had not to raise my sights.”

I smiled. “I can’t say I’d have had the same control, but Aaron will appreciate it. Same as me.”

I turned into the room and said, “Retro, status?”

“Got a computer and phone. Some tickets and other shit. I say we’re done.”

I looked back at Brett. “He stable?” A nod. “Hit him with the dope and let’s get the fuck out of here.” I keyed my earpiece. “Koko, Koko, Jackpot. We’re exfilling now.”

We’d been inside the room a total of three minutes. We bundled Rashid up and Retro looked out the door like we were on a panty raid in college. He called all clear. We carried him down the stairs, reaching the front door. It was Aaron’s turn to make the call, with us kneeling inside until a group of drunks passed by. We hustled to the van like a group of Goodfellas in Brooklyn with a body in a carpet, which, I suppose, we were. We dumped Rashid in the back and I said, “Everyone starburst. Aaron, Knuckles, head back into the park. See if you can get a thread on Shoshana. Retro, get on the computer and check hospitals and police stations for an unknown. I’ll get the interrogation going on Rashid. Meet back at the Sheraton in an hour and we’ll assess where we are.”

They nodded, and I jumped into the mom van, Jennifer hitting the gas. We drove for about fifteen minutes, headed toward the airport and the warehouse the Taskforce had rented. I made sure Rashid wasn’t on the verge of cardiac arrest while Jennifer called Showboat.

We entered farmland, sporadic petrol stations and random blockhouses the only things around. Jennifer turned back to me and said, “Showboat’s ready to receive. He said he’s got some news.”

I looked up from the finger blood-pressure monitor I’d placed on Rashid and said, “News about what?”

“He didn’t say, but he didn’t sound happy.”

Two miles out from the airport, on a lonely stretch of asphalt, Jennifer turned right, pulling into a warehouse facility illuminated by vapor lights. She paused at the gate, flashed her headlights, and they opened, sliding left and right on metal rails.

We went forward, seeing a roll-up door slipping into the ceiling of the warehouse. It was going back down before we even shut the engine off. I saw Blaine coming down a set of metal stairs, a hard look on his face, and it made me sick to my stomach. I’d seen the same thing years ago. When he’d told me my family had been murdered.

I exited hesitantly, saying, “Good to go. There’s going to be a police response, but they’ll get nothing. Rashid’s true name is nowhere in the database. They’ll be searching for ghosts. We got out clean.”

He nodded, and I said, “What’s going on?”

He looked at Jennifer and said, “Her detective work paid off. The three boys from the school are real. They flew out from Miami to Istanbul four months ago. They disappeared—until a few days ago. They reappeared in Istanbul and flew to Venice, Italy. All three. Consensus is they’re working on an attack.”

Jennifer stepped down, her mouth open. She said, “Seriously?”

He said, “Yeah. Well, all except that consensus part. I think you’re on to something, but the Council is split. They think they’re bad, but aren’t sure they’re still working for the Islamic State. With the rash of guys fleeing the fighting and trying to get back home, some wonder if they’re just juvenile delinquents. Nobody thinks they’re saints helping with food relief, but not all are convinced it’s our business. Either way, we have the order to explore. Kurt wants you to head to Venice and scope them out. Their check-in involved running their passports into a database. We have their hotel. You guys get over there and see if there’s any smoke to the fire.”

I said, “Okay . . . I’m game, but I’ve got a little cleanup here first.” I jerked my finger to Rashid, his body being placed on a stretcher. “And it involves that asshole.”

Blaine was watching the support crew take Rashid out, checking vitals and making sure he wasn’t having a stroke. He wasn’t listening to me.

I pushed a little bit, saying, “Sir, I’m missing one of the team. I didn’t have time to tell you, but Shoshana never showed after the park. I’m not leaving until I find her. It may be nothing, but I’m staying until I prove it one way or the other. Get someone else into Venice.”

I glanced at Jennifer, and she nodded. I went back to him. He said, “Pike, you’ve got orders to get to Venice. Don’t push this.”

I couldn’t believe how nonchalantly he was taking what I’d just said. In fact, I
didn’t
believe it. He’d known what I was going to say. The same dread I’d felt when I’d first seen him on the stairs dripped through my body, like a clammy fog. I said, “Sir, look at me.”

He did.

“What’s going on?”

“Pike, I’ve got orders. I’ve got to get you moving. You and the team. Aaron is no longer relevant. He stays here.”

I saw Jennifer’s eyes slit, her arms across her chest. I said, “Sir, did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes. It’s an Israeli problem. Not ours. We have our mission.”

I slowly shook my head. “No, sir. It’s a team problem. And she’s on my team. What the fuck is going on?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. He looked at me, and I could see the pull between orders he was given and loyalty to the team. He said, “Okay, okay.”

Nothing else.

I said, “Talk to me.”

He turned a small circle, debating with himself. He hit the wall with his fist and said, “I’ll tell you, but you’re getting on that plane, right?”

I said, “Maybe.”

He shook his head and cursed. He said, “I’ve been ordered to keep this classified. To keep it from you. You, specifically. The Council wants the Lost Boys under surveillance. Right now.”

I leaned back against the van, feeling sick. I asked, “What is it?”

“Intel spiked on a jihadist website. We have a YouTube video. It’s not pretty.”

J
acob sat within seventy meters of the spot in the alley where he’d met the chaperone. While Chris had had the courage to walk to his death, boarding the boat of his own volition, Jacob had no illusions that his big-titted mistress would do the same. He’d decided to meet her in the wine bar up Assassini lane.

He looked at his watch. It was now past midnight, and he knew in his heart she wasn’t going to come. Whether it was a shot across the bow to Chris for the way he’d “treated” her, standing her up last night, or whether she was suspicious, he didn’t know.

What he did know was that if she didn’t show, he’d wasted this night. Because of it, he had only one more cycle of darkness to kill the three kids. She was going to get away. He’d planned tonight as a repeat of last night, convinced he could entrap her, but maybe that had been the lack of sleep talking.

After dumping Chris’s body in the bay, blood leaking out and bubbles forming around the cinder blocks, they’d returned the boat and walked back to the hotel. He’d really wanted to sleep, but had waited for Devon to show up. He had, drunk, but with a key.

They’d discussed the alternatives, and Devon had said he could keep the boys in play for another day, plying them with liquor. He’d put Devon to bed and asked Carlos what they should do. They now controlled two of the three legs for success: one, Chris, at the bottom of the ocean; two, the boys, under Devon’s sway; but the third—the woman—was outside of their control, and she was a wild card that could affect everything.

Jacob had planned on killing the boys tonight, then taking the train to Rome, a full two days in advance of when they were supposed to be there in their new personas. Enough time to survey the terrain before pretending to be something they weren’t.

But the woman beckoned. Chris’s dark secret was running loose, capable of forestalling all they hoped to accomplish. He’d discussed it with Carlos, Devon snoring five feet away, and they’d decided to attempt to kill her.

The next morning, they’d sent a bleary-eyed Devon back to the boys with a mission. He’d entered the room with the key he’d taken, and woken up the hungover teenager sleeping there. Devon had spent an interminable amount of time in the room, annoying the hell out of Jacob. Waiting in the lobby, his eyes gritty from the lack of sleep, watching people from all over the world eating the breakfast buffet, Jacob began thinking about just bashing the kid’s head in to get the information he needed.

Jacob wanted to hack the chaperone’s computer, using social engineering through Devon’s newfound friends. Devon had learned the night before that the boys hadn’t brought their own systems, and that they all got a minimum of five minutes every other day to send well-wishes to whomever they wanted, Chris leaning over their shoulders as they typed. All Jacob needed now was the password.

He’d started to ask for another glass of water, getting a stare from the waitress because of his lack of having ordered anything of monetary value, when he’d seen his partner come down the stairs. Devon smiled, looking like he was still a little drunk, and Jacob wondered if it was the liquor or the lifestyle. Devon sat down and handed him a slip of paper, saying, “I got it.”

Jacob unfolded the slip, seeing a barely legible scribble, and said, “No spike? He didn’t wonder why?”

“No. He’s out. Probably the first time he’s ever been drunk.”

“And the rest of them?”

“Same way.”

“You know you have to trap them all day. Keep them happy.”

Devon smiled and rubbed his eyes. “That’s not going to be an issue. I’ll get them drunk again. Last night they were talking about how today was their day. Time of their life and all that. I’ll take ’em out. Hell, they won’t get moving until at least one. Once I’m done with them, they’ll sleep for the rest of the night.”

Jacob had started to remind Devon of the stakes, of how Devon needed to keep his head about him, then remembered that Devon had been on cocaine benders that had lasted for days. Altar boys from an affluent high school stood no chance.

He’d said, “Get your passport picture before you become engaged again. It’ll be your only chance.”

Jacob had left him, going to the chaperone’s room, praying the key still worked from the soaking last night. It had. He’d entered, seeing the clothes splayed about, as if the owner were coming home. It had given him pause. He’d gone into the bathroom and seen the toothbrush. It was . . . almost melancholy. He’d caused the death of a man, and was seeing the vestiges for the first time. The artifacts left behind. He’d thought again of his worth, strangely proud and wondering if he was wasting his talents in the service of the Islamic State.

He’d opened the laptop on the desk, typing the password Devon had gleaned. It had worked. He’d scanned all the emails until he’d found one from someone named “Poster Girl.” He’d used a search function, then rummaged through past emails, finding photos she’d sent: her wearing a bikini, her holding a poster from Chris’s company, selfies with major cleavage, lingerie with a Staples “easy” button on her crotch. They went on and on.

He felt like a voyeur, but couldn’t quit clicking. He looked into her eyes, knowing he was going to kill her. He came to terms with the choice.

He created an email, asking her to meet “Chris” at the bistro on Assassini, and apologizing for missing their earlier date. Blaming business. Then he’d left and collected Carlos at their hotel, both getting their own passport pictures for the forging to come.

That had been twelve hours ago, and she still had not shown. Now he was contending with a waiter who’d run out of patience, just as he had in the hotel. The café was famous for wine, and he had done nothing but drink water. The man came out one more time and said, “Are you sure the lady is coming?”

Jacob said, “No. I’m not. I’m sorry.”

He threw some money on the table and stood up, the waiter growing indignant. Putting his notebook into his apron, he started to say something—maybe a curse, maybe a slur—and Jacob caught his eye. It was enough. The man took the money and retreated.

Jacob walked to the end of the alley, finding Carlos sagging in the seat of the johnboat. Jacob tapped the aluminum, waking him up.

“She’s not coming. Get the boat back. We’ll need it tomorrow.”

“What now?”

“We’re out of time. We keep the boys tomorrow, and kill them tomorrow night.”

“What about the girl?”

“Nothing I can do about that. For all I know, she’s flying back to America. I contacted Omar, but he didn’t reply. We don’t have a lot of choices. We kill the kids and get to Rome. Tomorrow night.”

“Maybe we should wait for guidance from Omar.”

Carlos saw Jacob’s aggravation and said, “You know, in case he has a change or something.”

Jacob looked away and said, “I don’t know why he didn’t answer, but I’m not waiting on him for a decision. For all I know, he’s dead.”