A Murder of Crows (33 page)

Hicks pulled up the tactical map for Rahul’s handheld on OMNI and saw he was heading east. “Any idea where he’s going?”

“Heading for the Marble Arch tube station,” Rahul said, using the British term for their subway. “If he does, I’ll let my cover team ride the train with him. He’ll be less suspicious of a man and woman following him.”

Hicks couldn’t argue with Rahul’s logic, but it was time to change tactics a bit. “Switch to visual surveillance. I want everyone on the ground to activate their glasses now.”

A few seconds later, Hicks received an alert on his screen telling him Rahul had activated the video feed from the camera mounted on his glasses. He was watching Rahul’s visuals of Shaban on one screen while the other showed the view from Rahul’s B Team at the
Regent Star
in Harwich.

“What about the other agents?” Hicks asked. “You told me you had ten in the field.”

“I do, but you only provided me with two sets of glasses, old boy,” Rahul said. “But don’t worry. I’ll be receiving reports from my people in the field. I’ll pass them on to you as I get them.”

Hicks knew a lack of glasses was the result of a hastily planned op. Normally, he would’ve provided Rahul with enough glasses to outfit his entire team. But Scott could only spare two sets of glasses from the Varsity team, so Rahul only had two pairs to work with. At least Rahul’s people could communicate with Rahul via phone. It wasn’t as seamless as Hicks would’ve liked, but it was better than nothing.

The feed from Rahul’s glasses showed Shaban walking down the street. He looked similar to the photos OMNI had found of him in various British Intelligence databases. He was a light-skinned Iranian who looked like he was in his early twenties, though Hicks knew he was thirty. He didn’t dress like a
jihadi
. He wore a denim jacket and designer jeans the manufacturer had torn to make them look distressed.

OMNI’s searches into Shaban’s background showed his family had money and gave their boy a monthly stipend. His father was an exiled general of the Iranian Army who had fled the country with plenty of cash. Hicks supposed it was easier to be a radical when Mom and Dad help pay the bills. He bet they had no idea what their son was up to. Radicals had forced his father to leave Iran in the first place, so he doubted the father would approve of his son’s extremism. Shaban’s hatred of the west might have even been some kind of way of rebuking his father. The University’s profilers would eventually enjoy delving into Shaban’s psychiatric background if they took him alive.

As Hicks watched the walk along the street, he saw Shaban looked like any other kid on his way to work or college. He wore a black ski cap and had a beat up black backpack slung over his right shoulder.

Rahul began providing a running commentary through a microphone in one of the earpieces of his glasses. “You’ll notice the backpack on Shaban’s right shoulder. He brings the damned thing with him wherever he goes. Our observations show it contains a laptop, his cell phone, and little else. We didn’t see him put anything else in the bag before he left his flat, and it doesn’t look any heavier than normal. Searches of his apartment prove he doesn’t have any weapons, but we’re still proceeding with caution.”

Hicks saw Shaban turn a corner and disappear from view. Rahul gave him the play-by-play as it happened. “The cover team confirms the suspect is heading down into Marble Arch tube station. Our signal is spotty underground, so we won’t be able to reliably track them once they’re underway. But there’s enough of cell signal bleed-through on the platform at the Marble Arch station where they should be able to tell us what train they board.”

Hicks felt himself balling his fists on his armrests and made himself stop. He was used to being the man in the car or on foot tailing the suspect. Quarterbacking an op from thousands of miles away would take some getting used to. He wanted to be doing more than simply listening, but knew he could only do more harm than good by interfering in Rahul’s operation. He’d chosen Rahul for his expertise. Sometimes, the best way to help was by staying out of the way.

But there was plenty he could do behind the scenes. He had OMNI access the closed security camera feed of the London Underground and opened the feed from the Marble Arch station. He spotted Shaban standing in the middle of dozens of other commuters waiting on the eastbound platform. He knew the eastbound platform was serviced by the train to Harwich.

The same place where the
Regent Star
had docked.

“I’ve got visual confirmation on the suspect heading east,” Hicks reported as he checked the Underground’s service map. “He’s waiting for the train to Stratford where he’ll switch to the train to Harwich. Looks like you were right, Rahul. He’s going to meet Arap.”

“Of course I was right,” Rahul said. “When have you ever known me to be wrong? I’m back in the van and we’re making our way to Harwich. We should arrive in about two hours or so, depending on traffic. We should be there before the suspect arrives, but not by much.”

Hicks saw Rahul’s male-female cover team appear in frame behind Shaban. They were close, but not close enough to alert Shaban. They were fumbling with a map of the Underground, like any other tourists trying to navigate the British train system. Shaban had his ear buds in, but OMNI’s surveillance of his phone showed he wasn’t using cellular data. He seemed to be listening to music.

Whatever Shaban must be planning with Arap, he seemed awfully cool about it.
What are you up to, you son of a bitch?

Hicks knew there was no point in continuing the dialogue with Rahul. “Get back in touch with me when you arrive in Harwich. And have your B-Team at Harwich locate Arap. I want eyes on him as soon as possible. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“Yes, I know.”

H
ICKS KNEW
the next ninety minutes would be hell because there was nothing to do but wait. Waiting was the Job and it was the one part that Hicks had always hated. Waiting was nothing but time and time often led to doubt and second-guessing.

Should he have left Shaban on the street this long? Should he have had Rahul grab him and try to turn him? Should he have had Shaban interrogated so they could find out what he was up to? Rahul could’ve broken him easily. Had he left Shaban in the wind too long?

Hicks shut down all of his doubts as soon as they stirred. He had already decided on the best course of action. Rahul had concurred. Even if this whole thing ended up going sideways, he had played the cards he’d been dealt the best way he could. But doubt never stopped being part of the Job, even for a Dean.

Hicks checked the clock time on his monitor. It was almost one-thirty in the morning here in New York. Time to check in with Roger.

Back when he’d run the New York office, he usually liked to schedule his major operations so he could follow one at a time. Developments with Shaban and Arap hadn’t given him such a luxury. He knew Roger’s operation with Cindy should be in full swing by now, so he should have some kind of an update.

He was glad Roger answered his phone on the second ring. Murmured bar sounds and the rattle cocktail shakers were in the background. “Hello, mother. How are you?” It was his code phrase he was safe and able to talk. “I suppose I should switch to ‘Dad’ now, given your ascendancy to the throne.”

“Knock it off and tell me how it’s going.”

“Our girl is giving an Oscar-worthy performance. She looks especially radiant this evening. Simple black dress and diamond studded earrings. Alluring and accessible, but not in an obvious, cheap sort of way. She’s all dressed up with someone to blow.”

“Good. What’s the mark doing?”

“Awash in boozy glory. He and his buddies have been drinking martinis since they got here around eight this evening. Vodka martinis, of course, the bourgeois little fucks. They didn’t even have the decency to drink gin.”

“Focus, Roger.”

“I am focusing. The Mark and his friends have been talking shop all night and appeared to be pleased with themselves. Real suave, Mad Men stuff. But once Cindy walked in, the Mark has had eyes for no other. His friends stumbled out of here about thirty minutes ago to allow love to take its course. Cindy and the Mark have been chatting for an hour now, getting closer and closer as time goes by and the drinks keep flowing. They’ve already kissed once and our friend seems none the wiser. I told you she’s good.”

At least one operation appeared to be going according to plan. “Keep an eye on them…”

“Gotta run, ma. Love is in the air and it looks like our boy is ready to close the deal on fetching young Cindy. He’s got his arm around her waist and he has asked for the bill. I should have a complete package for you within the hour, if not sooner. Let’s hope our young man is ready for his close up.”

“Make sure he doesn’t get so fucked up he misses his train tomorrow morning. None of this works unless he’s at his desk tomorrow afternoon.”

“He’ll be there, don’t worry. I’ll pour him into his desk chair myself if need be.” Roger paused. “What’s the matter? You never mother-hen like this.”

There was no point in telling him about the London operation. Best to keep separate operations separate. “Don’t worry about it. Just take care of things on your end.”

Roger laughed. “Of course, darling. It’s my best feature. I’ll be in touch.”

Hicks killed the connection.
Fucking Roger.

H
ICKS SPENT
the next hour watching OMNI’s tactical map tracking Rahul’s progress on the road. Shaban’s train was still underground, so he was in and out of OMNI’s scanning range. At least he could track Rahul’s progress toward Harwich via satellite. He didn’t bother trying to contact him. Rahul would not be able to tell him anything he couldn’t already see from above.

He killed time by checking the daily activity summary Jason had prepared for him. Results on searches Faculty Members had run and operations they were looking to plan. Progress reports on ongoing operations and requests for funding increase on half a dozen more schemes and plans. There were plenty of requests for his approval, but he shelved them all. There would be time in the coming days to look at them closer.

He stopped reading when the words in the reports began to blur. He wasn’t in any state of mind to approve or disapprove anything.

Because Shaban was going to meet Arap and Arap was their best link to Jabbar.

Their only link.

An hour and a half after dropping out of contact, Rahul pinged Hicks. A visual of the port’s parking lot came into view on the feed from B Team. “My people have canvassed the town and there’s no sign of anyone matching Arap’s description anywhere.”

“So Arap may still be on the ship?”

“If he left the ship, he’s done a damned fine job of hiding himself. They’re unloading the cargo now, so there’s a good chance he’s working on the docks as we speak. My cover team on the train is still tracking Shaban. They switched trains at Stratford as scheduled. Shaban has shown no sign he’s aware he’s being tailed. My team is in the next car over from him, so it’s not obvious he’s being followed. They’re due to arrive in Harwich in about ten minutes.”

Hicks felt his blood pressure begin to rise as things came together. Arap’s location was still an unknown, but the clock was ticking. He knew there were still a dozen ways the entire operation could turn to shit the closer the train got to the station. “If the B-Team spots Arap, I want them to observe him, but they are not to interfere unless they’re in direct danger. Let whatever plays out between him and Shaban play out. But they are under no circumstances to allow Arap to leave their sight. He is our main target now.”