Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (17 page)

There was a loud crackling for a second, followed by dead silence. “Carrie, still there?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“No idea.”

“I was saying I don’t remember hearing or seeing the Yemeni’s name.”

Justin nodded, then realized Carrie could not see his gestures. “Yes, same here. But we’ll find out before we head out for Yemen.”

Another pause, but this time Justin could hear Carrie’s heavy breathing. He knew something was wrong. “What is it?”

“Birgit’s dead.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she didn’t make it.” Carrie’s voice was soft, wavering.

“You tried so hard to save her life.”

“I didn’t do enough.”

“No, you did everything you could under the circumstances.”

Carrie sniffled.

A tear shed for a battle lost.
He stared at the phone, wishing he could be next to her, comfort her with his presence and not just his words, which seemed empty and hollow at the moment. He said nothing and wrenched the steering wheel to the left, to avoid dropping into a deep rut.

“Birgit was a US citizen,” Carrie said.

“I thought she was Swedish.”

“Right. She was born Swedish, but became a naturalized citizen ten years ago. Her guards were US citizens as well, but born in Kenya.”

Justin swore.

“My thoughts exactly,” Carrie said. “The whole staff here—well, mainly the international part of it—is furious, blaming me, us, for their deaths. A journalist from T
he New York Times
had arrived here to run a story on the good work of the camps. Now she’s probing around this attack and their deaths.”

“Is our cover blown?”

“Yes. No one believes we’re journalists, not after surviving a shootout with al-Shabaab and stealing their ‘technical.’ The question is what intelligence agency we work for. It’s only a matter of time before the journalist digs it out.”

Justin bit his lip, then looked out the of window. A black bird, most likely a vulture, was flying low over the darkening horizon.

“Have you talked to McClain?”

“Yes. I updated him on our status shortly after arriving at the camp. He wants us back to Ottawa to sort things out and lie low until the media storm dies down.”

Justin snorted. “What? Halfway through our mission? We have a name; we have a location. We just need to plan our insertion into Yemen.”

“You really think we can pull it off?”

“Well, we did this part in Somalia.”

“Yeah, and see where it got us.”

“That’s because we had bad intel from our sources and NCS.”

“How is that?” Carrie sounded impatient.

“I found Yusuf’s passport in his car. Guess what? He’s a US citizen.” Justin looked at the envelope in the front passenger’s seat.

“What the hell? Everyone is an American around here.”

“Yes, it gives them a chance to leave behind this depressing world. But Adams failed to mention at our meeting that Yusuf and his son and his bodyguards were all US citizens. Born and raised in the States.”

“Well, I’m tempted to say maybe he didn’t know, but that does not sound true even as I say it.”

“Adams knew this militant cell had the stolen intel. I don’t buy it that he didn’t know their leader was an American citizen.”

“Why not give it to us straight?”

Justin snorted. “Has CIA ever been straightforward with us? My thoughts are he suspected we wouldn’t want to get involved if we knew our targets were Americans.”

“And that explains why he was reluctant to go after Yusuf and his men on his own. The US President doesn’t want the backlash from killing American citizens, even though they’re terrorists. It’s bad at any time, but even worse so close to the elections in November.”

“Yes, they’d rather we did their dirty jobs.”

Justin eased up on the gas pedal. He had come to a fork in the road. He glanced at his GPS receiver, made some quick calculations in his head, then turned left.

“What are you going to tell McClain?” Carrie asked.

“I’ll tell him we have accurate, actionable intel about the location of the leak source. I’ll ask for his authorization for an operation.”

“You’re convinced Yusuf’s intel is reliable?”

“Absolutely.” Justin nodded to emphasize his point. “The man was at death’s door. He wasn’t trying to save himself, but his son. He wouldn’t lie. Still, we need the Service to confirm Al-Khaiwani’s location and provide us with logistics.”

“McClain was dead serious to see us on a plane headed home, but maybe you can change his mind.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m not sure it’s the best idea to go to Yemen at this moment. We already have too much exposure. Al-Shabaab knows we’re here. Al-Khaiwani will hear about it and go underground. Or beef up his security. I believe we should bide our time, gather more intel, then strike back.”

Justin sighed. He knew his arguments would be more persuasive if delivered in person, with emotions, facial expressions, and the body language missing in a phone conversation. “I’ll be at the camp in about an hour or so. The dark will slow me down.” He could no longer see the holes in the road. A few stars had begun to flicker in the blackening sky. They looked brighter than he had ever seen them. “We’ll talk at length, make a decision, then call McClain.”

“One last thing. Romanov.”

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been asking myself the same question. How much is he involved? I won’t have a definite answer until I ask him.”

“All right. Just watch out. He’s a sneaky little bastard.”

Justin grinned. To Carrie, there was no good Russian. Not that Romanov was good by any stretch of the imagination.

“I’ll wait for you at the camp’s entrance. You don’t want to deal with
The Times
hyena,” Carrie said.

Justin laughed. “I know a couple of people at
The Times.
I’ll see if they can shut this down before it turns into a nightmare.”

“McClain said he’ll talk to the UN mission to keep things under wraps and out of the press.”

“That would help. See you in a while. TC, okay?”

“Yes, you take care too.”

Justin hung up and felt drained, as if suddenly all his energy had left his body. He pulled over at the side of the road and turned off the engine. He opened the door, stepped outside, and walked a few steps. His boots sank in the loose sand. The desert air was cool, refreshing, and he took a few deep breaths. He listened for a few minutes to the silence of the desert, broken by the distant high-pitched growls of hyenas. He could not see them, but he felt they were laughing at him.

He returned to the car and resumed driving. Even with the headlights on, the deep darkness was overwhelming. There were no lights in any direction. Justin drove in silence, thoughts zipping through his brain. He was torn between infiltrating Yemen and returning to Ottawa and waiting for a better chance.
Will there ever come a better chance? It will all depend on convincing McClain we’re on the right track and securing some decent help on the ground. Something that will not end up in death.

He thought of Birgit, then his mind went to Anna. He slowed down, and reached for his satellite phone. It was late morning in Ottawa. He hoped Anna would not be in a meeting. Her phone rang once, twice, then he heard Anna’s voice, “Hello.”

“Hi, sweetie, how are you?”

“Oh, OK. A slow morning so far. How are things with you?”

“Hmmm, can’t complain much. It could be better, but it could be worse.” He glanced at his forearm wound. The skin around it was developing an unbearable itch.

“Anything I can do?”

Justin smiled. Anna had learned not to ask where he was, what he was doing, or anything else that could put his life and his mission in danger, especially over an the open line. “No, but thanks for the thought. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. I love it when you call. And I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He took a deep breath, then peered to the left. He thought he saw movement behind a few shrubs, but it must have been the breeze. “I can see the stars. Shiny. Beautiful. Like you.”

“Cute. All I can see is the office tower across the street. And the reflection of two other towers on its mirrored windows.”

“I don’t know if I ever said ‘I’m sorry’ about what happened a few days ago,” Justin spoke slowly. He didn’t say “New York,” but he knew Anna would understand him.

“Not your fault. It happens.”

“I’m trying to make sure it doesn’t happen anymore. At least not there.”

“I know, honey, and I appreciate what you do. I don’t like it that you’re away, but it’s part of your job.”

“We’ll take a couple of days off when I get back. Go somewhere warm, safe, fun.”

“Sure, let’s do that.”

Justin heard a phone ring in the background. “I’ll let you take that.”

“Oh, the damn thing can wait.” Anna sounded really annoyed at the interruption.

“No, it’s OK. I have to go anyway.”

“Sure. Come home safe, OK?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Love you, hon.”

“Ditto.”

Justin held the phone in his left hand even though Anna had ended the call. He let it drop in the front passenger’s seat and stepped on the gas. He checked the fuel gauge. The tank was half-full. Justin did not remember seeing the needle move during this trip, but even if the gauge was broken, a jerry can was in the back. Glancing at his wristwatch, he decided there was sufficient time for his next call—even if things turned ugly—before arriving at Dagadera camp.

Justin dialed Romanov’s direct line to his office. The Russian oil baron picked up before the end of the first ring. “Mr. Hall,” he said in a strong, powerful voice. “Very kind of you to call.”

Justin wondered what kind of phone system Romanov had installed in his office. His voice was loud, but he did not sound like that in person. Over the phone, his voice was enhanced, amplified.

“You took my proposal to your boss?”

Romanov had no time for small talk this evening.

The Saudis are on his ass,
Justin thought.
I shall use that as my leverage.

“Regretfully, he declined it, at least for now. Perhaps at a later—”

“There may not be a later time, Mr. Hall. I don’t think your boss understands the urgency of this situation.” Romanov’s voice was cold, and it seemed to have lost some of its initial strength.

“That’s a fair assessment. But I believe I can change his mind.” Justin paused for a second, glanced at a huge bump in the middle of road and swerved around it. Tires ran over the shrubs on the side of the road. “With your help,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’m listening.”

“What new intel has come in?”

“Things have gotten worse. The shipment is still in the hands of those traitors, but now they’ve concluded a deal with an insurgent group to sell over half of the missiles. They insurgents are picking them up tomorrow afternoon.”

Justin sighed. “What’s the name of this group?”

“Houthis.”

“You don’t sound too worried.”

Romanov managed a strong chuckle. “I never get worried.”

“I assume the trackers are still with the shipment?”

“You assume correctly. All missiles are stored in a large warehouse, not far from their original location.”

“So there’s still time to retrieve them?”

Romanov snorted. “The time was the next day after our conversation, when it was eight shitheads looking for a buyer. Now it’s more complicated, but still doable, with the right people.”

Justin shook his head. Storming the warehouse would require a lot of time, logistics, and manpower. He had none. “Negative on a raid. The only way to do this is to lure them with a deal. A better one than what other groups in the area may offer them for the remaining portion.”

“So, you’re agreeing to do this?” Romanov’s voice climbed an octave.

“Right now, I’m exploring our options. This deal needs to be big, to trick them into accepting a meeting with the buyer.”

“I’ll offer them twice the market price. I’m sure none of those rugheads can afford half that amount.”

“Sounds good.”
Now that you’re hooked, let’s see what else I can get out of you.
“When we last talked, you said you were willing to sweeten the deal. That’s even more important now, since things have taken the wrong turn.”

Romanov went silent. Justin hoped he would put all cards on the table. “What do you want, Justin?”

“You tell me. You know what I want.”

Romanov sighed. “You want the name of the leak. The one who has rallied up all these scumbags to come after you. Well, I don’t have that name. But I have the name of the man who knows it.”

He paused.

Justin groaned. “I don’t want to play this game of suspense, Romanov.”

“The name is Hussein Ahmed Al-Khaiwani. He’s one of the leaders of Houthis insurgents. He’ll be at the warehouse tomorrow to pick up the missiles. How sweet is the deal now?”

“It will rot my teeth. Isn’t pointing the finger at this man very convenient at this moment? His men will soon have your missiles, and he’s suddenly the man who painted a bullseye on my back.”

“It’s not suddenly. He was always the man wanting to kill you. He relayed that information to his dogs in al-Shabaab, and they organized the car bombing in New York.”

“Why didn’t you give me that intel in our meeting?”

“I offered to give you more, if McClain accepted my proposal. He still hasn’t, so I’m giving you
something
in return for
nothing.
” His tone sounded like it was the greatest mistake in his life.

Justin had to agree Romanov was right. He had held back and for the right reason. Romanov was a businessman, and they were still negotiating a price for Justin’s services. Plus, Justin owed him a favor related to Justin’s operation in France earlier that year against a Saudi prince, which should have balanced the scale.

“OK, Romanov. I’ll go to McClain with his new intel. It will be very hard, almost impossible, but I’ll do my best to convince him.”

“I really hope so, more for your own sake than mine. Those missiles are replaceable.” Romanov let his words sink in for a moment. “Call me soon.”