Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (18 page)

“You’ll get an answer.”

Justin clicked the off button on his satellite phone and sped up.
I’ve got to run all this by Carrie and figure out our next moves. Then we’ll brief McClain.

Chapter Twelve

Ten miles east of the Kenyan-Somali border

September 26, 7:15 p.m. local time

The discussion with Carrie did not go as Justin had expected. While she saw the importance of acting right away on the new intelligence, she sided with McClain. Slipping into Yemen was not their best move at the moment. She proposed they track Al-Khaiwani’s location, follow his movements, and go after him in a few days or weeks. By then, al-Shabaab and Houthis militants would have let their guard down, and the media would have hopefully forgotten the Americans killed in Somalia. She was in favor of devising a cool-headed response and delivering it at the right time.

Justin underlined the fact that they knew with much certainty where Al-Khaiwani would be tomorrow afternoon. His name was confirmed by two different sources as the man organizing the hit against Justin in New York and probably the one in Iran as well. This was their chance to settle the score with Al-Khaiwani once for all and force him to reveal the name of his informant in the Service. Delaying their strike would give Al-Khaiwani enough time to go underground and result in a waste of precious intelligence.

Carrie was not convinced that a spur-of-the-moment strike would succeed against well-armed insurgents. She was also skeptical that Al-Khaiwani would give up his source, even under torture. “Our best option,” she said time after time, “is to lie in wait.”

Without Carrie’s support, Justin knew it would be impossible to convince McClain to authorize the operation and to provide support.

“What are you going to do?” Carrie asked.

They had been driving in silence for the last few minutes, heading south, toward the point where they had crossed into Somalia. Justin was behind the wheel.

“I haven’t decided yet. Romanov is expecting an answer from McClain, an answer I already have, without needing to ask the question.” Justin tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“You’re not thinking of going rogue, are you?”

“If you mean finding the traitor in our agency, yes, that thought has crossed my mind.”

Carrie shifted her body toward him. “Look, I understand you completely. I do. But this is suicide.”

Justin shrugged. “Most of our missions are.”

“True. But they’re authorized, planned, thought through. And they’re ours. We go together. With backup and exit plans.”

“I can arrange for those.” Justin dismissed her words with a headshake.

“How? McClain won’t give you his authorization.”

“I’m not talking about McClain.”

Carrie flinched. “Then, how . . . Oh, I see. Romanov. That Russian son of a bitch. He’ll give you his support.”

“I haven’t made any arrangements yet.”

“But you’re considering it, planning it. Justin, what can I say to make you change your mind?”

She was pleading with him, her voice and her face begging him to stop this craziness.

Justin shook his head and said nothing for a few moments. Then he spoke softly, “I’ll give you the photos of the dead al-Shabaab fighters, the American passports, and the papers in Yusuf’s briefcase. It’s mostly letters to other militants and some plans to attack foreign workers and government offices in Mog.” He referred to the capital of Somalia, Mogadishu. “McClain can share this intel with them, so they can take the necessary precautions. He can also sort things out with CIA about the passports and those weapons, the M16s.”

Carrie nodded, her face fixed in a hard frown. “Fine.”

“Maybe we should have brought those weapons with us.”

Carrie had left the boxes of M16s at Dagadera camp, along with al-Shabaab’s “technical.” But she had taken pictures of their serial numbers. Those were sufficient to make their case.

“With me,” Carrie said.

Justin did not want another argument. So he remained silent.

A few minutes later, they crossed into Kenya. Justin began to look for their rusty Nissan. He was surprised to find it untouched where they had left it. A part of him did not want it to be there, so he would have to drive Carrie further into Kenya, perhaps all the way to Wajir.

“Are you OK doing this on your own?” he asked.

“You’re giving me no other choice.”

He handed her the keys to the Nissan, then got out of the jeep. Carrie tossed her knapsack in the Nissan’s front passenger’s seat. She placed an AK on top of it, while Justin loaded the jerry can in the trunk. She waited until he came around, then looked at him. “I know I can’t change your mind, but please think about what you’re doing and the reason why you’re doing it.” She reached over and gave him a tight embrace.

Justin held her for a few long moments. Finally, as he released his grip, he heard Carrie say, “And if you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

He smiled. “Be safe.”

“You too,” she said and climbed in the Nissan. “You too.”

* * *

Justin listened to Carrie and gave some thought to what he was doing. A rough plan began to crystallize in his mind. Romanov would have to provide the transport—preferably a light airplane to take him to Sa’dah, northern Yemen—along with men and money for Justin to conclude the deal. Romanov’s contact on the ground would have to provide accurate intelligence.

He tried to push McClain out of his mind. At this point, he had more important things to worry about than his boss. If this operation ended in success and they discovered the traitor, Justin would allow McClain to take all its merits. If the operation failed, disobeying an indirect order was the last of his worries.

His stomach growled, and Justin remembered he had not eaten yet. He chewed through two granola bars and finished a bottle of warm water. He continued to replay the plan in his mind, adding and removing details and shifting things around. When he was satisfied, he called Romanov.

Wajir, Kenya

September 26, 9:25 p.m. local time

“What? What the hell did he decide to do?” McClain exploded.

Carrie moved her satellite phone away from her ear. She had already told her boss about Justin’s plan to go after Al-Khaiwani on his own, so his questions were purely rhetorical. But she had not mentioned Romanov’s involvement.

She tapped her fingers on the Nissan’s steering wheel, while McClain finished his string of curses. She looked at the bright lights of Wajir Airport control tower overlooking the runway about two miles away, itching for McClain to finish his rant and allow her to board the next flight to Nairobi.

“O’Connor?” McClain sounded more composed.

“Yes, sir, I’m still here.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Hall?” His words asked a question, but Carrie felt the clear accusation in his tone.

“Over an hour ago, when we split,” she said in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. Anticipating his next question, she added, “I didn’t call you earlier because I was hoping Justin would change his mind or call you with a briefing on our operation.”

“Well, that was a mistake, a big mistake. You should have called immediately.”

Carrie shook her head.
Yes, it’s all my fault.

McClain asked, “You know his whereabouts?”

“No sir, I don’t.”
But I’m not sure I would have told you even if I did.

She had started to have second thoughts as soon as she turned the Nissan around, seeing Justin’s jeep disappear in the dark night. She had been agonizing during the entire trip, torn between her sense of loyalty to her partner and to her agency.

“Well, we’ve got to find him and stop him.”

“Pardon?”

“I said we’ve got to stop him before he does something stupid.”

And how do we do that?
she wanted to ask, but she was sure McClain had a plan.

“I’ll check the tracker in his sat phone,” he said. “I’ll also flag his passports, credit cards, IDs.”

“With all due respect sir, those measures will prove to be useless. Justin will turn off his sat phone and disable the tracker. He will not use any paperwork issued by the Service.”

“So what are you saying? That we do nothing?”

Carrie hesitated for a split second. “We can help him. I’m sure he can use a few more—”

“No, absolutely not. I can’t authorize a reckless operation, with no preparation, no reconnaissance.”

“CIA has eyes in the sky, and they can give us accurate aerial shots of the area. I’m sure they have a man or two on the ground around Sa’dah. They may be willing to help. The Yemeni government can also play a limited role. We have the exact location and the time where Justin will be about sixteen, eighteen hours from now. It’s doable.”

An unsettling silence followed for a few seconds. Carrie muttered a silent prayer for McClain to change his mind.

“No, we’re not helping him. We’re not starting a private war in Yemen. We want Al-Khaiwani, and we want to find the traitor. But not in this way, not now. There are too many variables, too many unknowns, too many unnecessary risks for all agents.”

“Sir, I’m volunteering to go.” She could hardly believe she was saying the words. “If I can have a safe infiltration and some ground support, I can stop Justin.” She finished her sentence quickly before she changed her mind or McClain interrupted her.

“You’re so like him, O’Connor, you know that? You both think you can do this on your own?”

“With your support and authorization, sir, yes,
we
can stop him.”

McClain seemed to mull over her words. “I’ve got to think about this, talk it over with CIA. I’ll make a decision soon. By the time you land in Nairobi, I should have an answer.”

Carrie kicked the Nissan in gear and turned toward the airport. “Thank you for considering it, sir.”

“Eh, don’t thank me yet. I might just decide to fly you back home and let Hall dig himself out of his own mess. I’ll be in touch.”

“Good bye.”

I hope you decide otherwise,
she thought.

The Nissan’s tires raised a thick cloud of dust as she sped ahead.

Chapter Thirteen

Fifteen miles east of the Kenyan-Somali border

September 27, 3:00 a.m. local time

The state Justin’s body had experienced over the last two hours could not be called sleep or even dozing off. Crouched in the front seat of his jeep, he did not move, his eyes focused at the end of the narrow airstrip straight ahead. His body was resting, but his mind was awake, fully active, processing and analyzing any sounds and moves around him. He had parked the jeep at an angle, so he could cover both the road leading to and the dirt runway at the same time in the same glance.

He had called Romanov earlier and agreed to his proposal. They worked out some details of the operation, which began with extracting Justin out of these dusty plains. Romanov was a filthy rich man, but even a filthy rich man needed some time to arrange for a light airplane pilot crazy enough—or brave enough—to fly at night and land in eastern Somalia, close to the border with Kenya. The area was crawling with Islamic militants, Godless bandits, Somali and Kenyan government troops, and not-so-secret foreign intelligence service operatives. A single RPG round or a well-aimed volley of a heavy machine gun—both weapons as common as the red dust in this lawless land—could bring down the airplane.

So Justin waited by the exfiltration point, a remote airstrip absent from any decent map, but well-known to smugglers and local outlaws. The pilot was expected to arrive at 2:30 a.m. and fly Justin to Kismayo, a port city in southern Somalia. Romanov had given Justin the coordinates of the remote airport, and Justin made sure he arrived there in plenty of time. He checked the perimeter, then called Romanov to confirm he was in position.

He gave some thought to his next move before making his next call. It would serve to secure him his own exit plan out of Yemen after the operation,
if
the operation was successful. It was Plan B, if Romanov’s exfiltration failed. It would be like his insurance plan. He hoped he would never have to use it, but it offered peace of mind to know it was there in the worst-case scenario. Justin made all calls through his personal satellite phone he carried with him in case of such a turn of events, when he could not rely on his agency for any help. Even Carrie did not know that number.

Carrie.

Justin wondered about McClain’s reaction to his defiance and hoped he would not unleash his anger on her. She had done her best to change his mind. He wished Carrie would have been convinced by his words.
She would have really had my back, but hers was probably the right decision.
Justin knew the impossibility of his mission. He hoped the team Romanov was putting together was worth the millions he claimed was their payment.

A barrage of tracer bullets cut through the black night sky, off in the distance. Clouds had blanketed most of the stars, and Justin followed easily their glowing trajectory. Somebody was throwing a party, maybe celebrating a pillaging or a killing. Justin rolled down his window. No sounds of gunfire. Just bright yellow streaks, bursting in irregular intervals and unsteady patterns but coming from a single location.

As he scanned the horizon, this time through his night-vision goggles, he noticed a bright dot moving across the sky slower than the fluttering fireflies around it. Justin adjusted the front objective lens and the eyepiece oculars of the goggles and looked at the dot as it grew in size. He could now make out its shape. A small airplane was flying toward him.

Justin got out of his jeep. He advanced with a swift pace toward a hedge of thorn bushes near the edge of the runway. The flying target was increasing by the second. Justin put the airplane in the sight of his AK. He was expecting a Cessna 172 with a single man aboard. The pilot was a Somali called Ibrahim. That’s all Romanov had said, and that was enough for Justin.