Tripoli's Target (Justin Hall # 2) (22 page)

“Well, yes, that’s possible,” Ismail replied, but without much conviction. “The Semtex is intact and so are the blasting caps, the detonator, and the cellphone.”

A door cracking behind them brought the conversation to an abrupt pause.

“Sorry, so sorry,” a young woman said, as she hurried toward them, carrying a white evidence box on her hands. “This is the cellphone of the bomber, Ismail.”

“Thanks, Aisha,” Ismail said.

The woman left without saying another word.

“Let me see that,” Justin said. He dipped his hand into the box and pulled out a flip model LG cellphone. “This is it?” He waved the cellphone.

Ismail nodded. “The only fingerprints we recovered were those of the truck driver.”

Justin drew out a small evidence bag containing the cellphone’s lithium-ion battery. A small note was taped to the back.

“What does this say?” Justin pointed at the note.

“It says ‘drained,’ meaning the battery was drained when it reached our lab. That’s a technician’s handwriting.”

“When did the police bring the bomb here?”

“Around midnight.”

“Were you here when it happened?”

“Yes, it was my night shift.”

“So, how come the battery was dead within six hours from the time of the blasts? Did anyone use the cellphone?”

“Of course no one used the phone. It’s evidence. And I have no idea why the battery was dead.” Ismail shrugged.

“Where are you going with this?” Nour asked.

“If the bomber was expected to use the cellphone, this cellphone, to trigger the explosion, don’t you think the terrorists would have made sure they charged the battery, before giving the cellphone to the driver?”

“Yeah, I guess they should have.”

“The phone was new, right?” Justin asked Ismail.

“Yes, brand new. Never used. No numbers found in its directories.”

“So, three weird coincidences: A suicide bomber who’s practically an amateur, a bomb wire sabotaged, and dead batteries on the explosives’ remote control. Someone was trying really hard
not
to make this bomb go off.”

“What are you saying?” Abdul asked. “Are you saying the Alliance didn’t want this car bomb to explode?” Abdul asked.

“I’m not saying that, but everything seems to point towards that conclusion,” Justin replied. “I still don’t have an answer to their objective. However, the target of the Alliance has to be something bigger than a massacre in the Old Town market. Terrorists must have in mind a plan much greater than these explosions.”

Nour gave Justin a stern glance and bit his lip.
Shut up,
his glance said,
you’ve already said too much.

“We’re working to figure out what that may be,” Nour said, “but, at the moment, we have no clues and no ideas.”

No, Nour, I’m not talking about your President. I mean the purpose of this driver was more than to deliver the unexploded bomb.

“Thank you for your great help,” Justin said and shook Ismail’s hand.

“I think we’re done here,” Nour said. “We appreciate your valuable assistance.”

“Yes, no problem. It was my pleasure,” Ismail replied.

Abdul said. “I’ll take it from here.”

Ismail returned to his desk.

“You didn’t tell us what this target is, the one bigger than a car bombing in Tripoli’s busiest market?” Abdul whispered, as they walked through the narrow hall.

“I’m going to let my boss do that.” Justin glanced at Nour. “Carrie and I need to catch up on a few things.”

Nour rolled his eyes. “We have no time to waste,” he grumbled. “We still have to investigate the scene at the market and find witnesses.”

“Is it OK if we follow you in the Nissan?” Justin asked both Nour and Abdul.

Nour replied with a frown, while Abdul spread his palms.

“If you can stand the heat…” he replied and tossed his car keys to Justin, “the air conditioning is gone.”

“Nour?”

“Fine,” he replied in a flat tone, “but I need a complete briefing as soon as we return to the embassy.”

“Sure thing,” Justin replied.

“Ignore the radio,” Abdul said. “And follow us closely.”

Justin nodded. “I know where we’re going. We won’t get lost.”

Chapter Seventeen

Tripoli, Libya

May 15, 10:35 a.m. local time

Ismail reached for his phone, after glancing around and making sure he was alone in his office. “They just left,” he said quietly, after the colonel answered his call.

“And?” Colonel Haydar said.

“They figured out the sabotaged wire and the drained battery.”

“What? What? How could… Why did you let them?”

“I had no choice.” Ismail moved the phone away, to save his eardrums from bursting. The colonel’s was shouting at the top of his lungs. “They asked to see the evidence, and I showed it to them.”

“What do they think?” the colonel’s voice was a bit calmer, though still very loud.

“They think the Alliance is preparing another attack, more important than these car bombs.”

“Did they say what other attack?”

“No, I don’t think they know. I don’t even know what we’re doing.”

“You trust in me and you trust in Allah. That’s all you must know.”

“Yes, of course.”

Tripoli, Libya

May 15, 10:40 a.m. local time

“This wasn’t a very good idea,” Justin said, after they headed toward downtown Tripoli.

“Which one: me coming here or melting inside this rusty tin can?” Carrie replied, attempting to cool off by undoing the top button of her brown shirt. A pair of light blue jeans had replaced her usual khakis.

“Well, both, but I’m talking about the first. Did I forget to mention how crazy this place is?”

Carrie gave him a long measuring gaze. “You seem to be doing pretty well.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Where’s your vest?”

“Abdul forgot it.” He fumbled with the seatbelt, and the edge of his shirt rose up. Carrie caught a glimpse of his Glock.

“Hey, where is mine?” she asked with a pout.

“Abdul brought only one. At the time, we had no plans of you coming here.”

“Seems like your American partner has greater foresight.” She played with her Security Consultant badge.

“Yes, he thinks he knows everything.”

“I see the match of wits has started.”

“Oh, the match is over. He never stood a chance,” Justin said with a smile.

“I take it you’ve told him very little.”

“I’ve told him what he needs to know.”

“That’s why I said very little.”

“The Americans don’t need to know about the Prince. They’re in bed with the Saudis.”

“So are we.”

“Yes, but we haven’t been stabbed in the back. Not yet, anyway.”

“Lighten up, would you? The US is our ally and we’re to work together in this op.”

“We are working together.”

Carrie sighed, while Justin grinned. He honked at a taxi that cut in front of him, and switched to the other, faster lane. Cars slowed down as they came to an intersection, and the traffic light turned red. Justin pressed hard on the brake pedal. The Nissan took a while to respond and the car stopped inches away from a white van in front of them.

“Have you received any news from your sister about your mother?” Justin asked.

“Yes, I got a hold of her this morning, before flying out.” Carrie let out a deep sigh and stared out the window at a large mosque coming into view. They heard the prayer chant from the mosques’ minarets.

“And?” Justin pressed on.

“Oh, I’ve had better conversations with Susan.”

“How did your mom’s tests come out?”

“Inconclusive. Doctors are scheduling more liver and thyroid tests next week to determine her Alzheimer’s stage and the care she needs. They’ll do a head CT as well.”

“Sorry to hear there’s no good news.”

“It’s not bad news either.”

Justin stepped on the gas pedal as the traffic light changed. The car growled and jerked forward, the engine rattling.

“Before you ask, I did get in touch with Thomas too,” Carrie offered.

Justin smiled. “I wasn’t going to—” he began.

“Yeah, yeah,” Carrie interrupted him. “Thomas was worried about me, since I hadn’t called him.”

“Why didn’t you call him?”

“So he would worry about me.”

Justin blinked. “I don’t get it. You’re trying to be unpredictable?”

Carrie nodded.

“But, that’s a given, because of our profession.”

“Oh, but it doesn’t hurt to point out at times that I can be as detached as he is.”

“Beating him at his own game, aren’t we?”

“Not yet, but trying hard to.”

“If you keep this up, you may be overplaying your hand.”

He adjusted the rear-view mirror and checked a couple of cars tailgating them. His eyes searched the faces of the drivers, who were both old men.

“You think grandpas are mukhabarat?” Carrie noticed his actions.

“In this place, everyone’s mukhabarat. What do you think is Prince Al-Farhan’s game?”

“I’m not sure. According to the Mossad, he’s interested in burning up all of North Africa. That’s for short-term, clear objectives. In the long run, he may have many goals. Establish a Sharia law state in the region, without country borders. Create safe havens for terrorist training camps. Maybe he’s after safe routes for large-scale weapons contraband to the Middle East. He’s not doing that well financially and he’s not the favorite grandson of the Saudi King.”

“We need to find out what he wants.”

“I’ve already talked to Johnson, and she has the entire section digging up intel on the Prince. But, she warned me not much is known about him.”

“A man shrouded in mystery?”

“As much as his women are veiled in burqas.”

Justin grinned. “Anything from our post in Dubai?”

“They’re scrapping together what they can.”

Justin sped up, trying to keep up with Nour, whose GMC was already two cars ahead. “So, if the Prince had a feud with the Libyan Prime Minister, could that mean he’s striking back?”

“It could be. The bombs have definitely rocked the Prime Minister’s regime.”

“True. And the mukhabarat has begun its backlash against the Alliance. Jails will be overflowing any time now.”

“Then, what about this American President plot?” asked Carrie.

“I don’t know what to make of it. It serves the overall purpose of attacking the government, for sure. Any attempt at harming the American President, a guest of the Libyan leader, is a slap across his face. As long as she’s in the country, she’s under his protection, according to Arab customs of honor.”

“But the evidence we’re finding seems planted, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. I have the impression the Alliance is trying too hard to convince us they’re going after the US President. First, the suicide bomber botches up his operation, confesses without hesitation and winds up at the end of a noose. Then, Sheikh Ayman wants a ‘deal’ in exchange for ‘sensitive’ information. Now, we discover one of the bombs was sabotaged.”

“But?” Carrie noticed Justin’s hesitation at finishing his thoughts.

“But none of this evidence is conclusive. Like Nour said earlier, there are many ways to explain these events, these circumstances. I don’t want to rush into drawing wrong conclusions.”

“What are the Americans doing?”

“They’re tightening the security around their President and changing her schedule and her route. I haven’t heard anything about cancelling her visit.”

Carrie wiped sweat drops from her lips with a Kleenex and rolled down the window about an inch. Dusty air swept around the cabin, and she hurried to close the window before Justin could voice his objection.

“Sorry, I thought it would help with the heat.”

Justin shrugged and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Carrie leaned over and sponged off a sweat trickle drizzling along the edge of his cheekbone. “Speaking of cancellations, I have some bad news, but don’t get angry,” she whispered.

“I never shoot the messenger,” Justin said with a grin.

“Our Prime Minister will not be at the G-20 Summit.”

“Well, one less thing to worry about. Why is that bad news?”

“Because he never planned to come here.”

“What? Johnson said he was attending the meeting.”

“Possibly. I remember Johnson saying ‘schedule permitting.’ I made a few calls and I learned that he never made such plans. Instead, he’ll be in China, on a trip planned six months ago.”

Justin eyes turned dark, a glint of disappointment lurking underneath. “I want to believe Johnson didn’t know about it, and she truly believed the Prime Minister was coming to Tripoli.”

Carrie closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, she had full knowledge of his travel plans. And she’s not the kind of person who forgets crucial details like that.”

“So, you’re saying she tricked me, tricked us, into coming down to this snake pit?”

Carrie hesitated a second before replying, “I’m afraid so.”

Justin slammed his fist into the center of the steering wheel, the blaring horn covering the barrage of expletives pouring forth his mouth. “First she told the Mossad about our meeting with the Sheikh, but hid that from us, putting us into harm’s way. Or worse, she wanted to kill us. When that failed, she dispatches us into this hellhole for nothing, by selling us a straight face lie.”

“I don’t think she wants to kill us. There’s no bad blood running between us. She lied because she felt you would have not taken this assignment.”

Justin looked deeply into her eyes. “I might have, and rightfully so. This is a very low blow, even for Johnson. In-fucking-credible.”

“Have you talked to Anna?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She’s still upset about the cancelled trip. And now I find out it was all for nothing. This is making me livid. Johnson is not getting away with it.”

Carrie looked at the traffic ahead. Nour’s GMC was three vehicles ahead, in the other lane to their left. They were getting closer to an overpass.