Agent of Influence: A Thriller (16 page)

The driver suddenly pounded on the wheel in frustration, and Sean turned his attention back to the poor excuse for a road. There was another accident blocking the road in front of them. The vehicle in the lead turned left onto
Al-Muiz Lidin Allah Street, heading towards the castle-like structure at which Sean was just staring. The driver of the lead vehicle made a mistake, and Sean instantly recognized the error. The dusty road was used more as a thoroughfare for market goers than as a street for cars. A hodgepodge of handcarts and donkeys blocked their path. The lead driver laid on his horn to try to scatter the crowd. It only served to anger them and make them more obstinate. The narrow road ran right through the massive gate of the castle, opening up on the other side. The construction reminded Sean of a tunnel built into a mountain.

             
Sean’s driver braked to avoid getting too close to the lead security car as it did its best to part the sea of traffic.  Suddenly, from somewhere inside the massive stone structure, Sean thought he heard what sounded like a revving motorcycle engine
. 
The lead SUV finally scattered the crowd and entered the tunnel that ran through the middle of the medieval castle, heading in the direction of the revving noise. Dust flew up as tires from the three vehicles grinded into the dirt, obscuring the view. Sean thought the revving noise was growing louder. He peered into the darkness of the tunnel trying to locate the source of the noise.

Finally, he spotted it. A single light in the darkness bolted towards the lead car.
Before
he could finish his thought a massive explosion jolted his body. The Ford Explorer directly in front of him was a smoldering flame of twisted wreckage. The handlebars of a motorcycle were jammed into the shattered windshield. The limousine driver froze, staring at the entrance of the tunnel, unsure of his next step. Sean quickly turned around, and saw another motorcycle racing towards his vehicle. His driver hit the gas and roared into the tunnel in an attempt to escape. The hasty decision had them trapped inside with the wreckage of the lead vehicle partially blocking the exit. Sean thought there was just enough space between the wreckage and the wall of the tunnel to squeeze by.

“Floor it!” Sean yelled. They would need some momentum if they were going to blast past the flaming hulk. As the limousine shot forward it clipped the side of the burning wreckage, causing the smell of burning gas and charred flesh to engulf the interior of the vehicle. Sean gagged as he tried to yell at his driver. The limousine moved slightly, but not enough for them to fit through the narrow opening between the wreckage and the wall. The driver’s side of the vehicle scraped against the wreckage, while the passenger side screeched as it rubbed against the side of the castle, shearing off metal like it was the dead skin of a snake. The sound of metal on metal was like fingers down a chalkboard.

“That was a bad idea,” Sean said to himself. He knew they must free themselves quickly to avoid becoming an easy target.  Sean turned his head around in time to see the second motorcycle approaching dangerously close to the rear security vehicle.

The timing of the attacks was slightly off, and the driver of the rear vehicle was given a few precious seconds to prepare. He swung the SUV into reverse, causing the motorcycle to clip the corner of the rear bumper instead of ramming directly into him. The corner of the vehicle erupted in flames, but it was not as spectacular as the first attack thanks to the driver’s quick thinking. Sean watched as both the driver and passenger flung their doors open, rolling out in controlled spins before coming to a stop in an upright position. They were both on one knee and had their weapons drawn. There were four loud “pops” as one of the men fired into the burning figure that still clung to the motorcycle.

The suicide bomber’s hands had been tied to the handlebars to prevent him from falling off his guided missile. If the dead suicide bomber had anymore explosives strapped to his chest he would not be able to set them off without the assistance of a beating heart. The two guards immediately began circling the area with their weapons, searching for another target. They stealthily walked forward with their backs to the entrance of the tunnel, using it like a third defender.

             
The screeching of metal continued as Sean’s driver revved the engine, trying to escape the trap. Another motorcycle engine could be heard roaring from somewhere. “How many of these assholes are there?” Sean yelled as he popped the sunroof of the limousine open, and stood up so that his large torso was now outside of the vehicle. The motorcycle came into view amidst the wisps of the smoke from the wrecked vehicle. It was approximately fifty yards in front of him.

He steadied his Model 22 Gl
ock pistol and fired off a .40 caliber round at the oncoming figure. The figure was hidden by a hood and hunched over the handlebars, trying to minimize the target area at which Sean could shoot at. Just as Sean pulled the trigger the limo jerked forward, the driver still trying desperately to free the vehicle. The shot went wide and the empty shell from the fired round clattered across the roof of the vehicle before vanishing over the side.

Sean pounded on the roof of the car, “Take your foot off the fucking gas so I can shoot!” The driver eased up for a moment.  The motorcycle was now only yards away. He had time for one more shot. Sean squinted through the smoke, methodically lined up the sights on his pistol, and fired several rounds in succession at the front tire. The wheel exploded from the direct hit and the suicide bomber was thrown into the air from the force of the explosion. As soon as the assailant thudded to the dirty ground Sean unleashed five more rounds into the man’s chest, thumbed the release to empty the spent magazine, and slammed a new one into the butt of the pistol.

              “Sir, are you okay?” The agents from the rear security car were cautiously approaching the back of the limousine while continuing to scan the area for potential targets. Sean turned around and spotted another hooded terrorist lying face down just a few feet behind his vehicle, blood oozing from a massive head wound.             

“Yeah, I’m fine. Where did he come from?” Sean gestured to the dead body.

              “Other side of the wreckage.  He was the only one without a set of wheels.”

“Thanks, let’s get out of here. There could be more coming.” Sean crawled out of the sunroof, and jumped onto the ground. “Driver! Floor it now so we can get out of here.”

The limousine rocked back and forth, but was still unable to free itself.  After a quick examination they discovered the back of the limo was entangled with the burning vehicle beside it. The three men lifted the rear of the vehicle just enough to free it from the wreckage before jumping across the trunk, and crawling down the open hole of the sunroof. They fell into the backseat, crashing to the floor of the limousine in an awkward tangle of arms and legs. The vehicle roared forward once again, finally tearing itself free and racing off towards the safety of the embassy.

“So much for keeping a low profile,” Sean muttered in annoyance
from the bottom of the human pile.

***

The Deputy Chief of Cultural Affairs, otherwise known as the local CIA officer, had a tiny office unbecoming of his fake title. The office was in a private area in the back of the embassy, and it was protected by an extra set of Marine guards. The spit polished shoes of the guards could be heard clattering in unison on the tile floor outside the office Sean was sitting in. The guards were clearly on edge due to the attack on Sean’s convoy. He sipped a bottle of Evian water and fidgeted in his chair. He was anxious for the CIA officer sitting across from him to finish up his phone call. The TV perched high and behind the CIA man was tuned to CNN.

The officer finally put the phone back on its cradle and sighed deeply to express his frustration. Colin Archer had been a field agent in the
Middle East for twelve years, and the numerous contacts he nurtured in the area made him an invaluable asset to the Agency. Most of his contacts could only guess for whom he worked, and they were all kept off the agency’s payroll and placated through special accounts he kept. He provided the agency with valuable intelligence, and he kept his informants to himself. This allowed the information flow to continue as long as he was around to pass it along. It also kept the desk jockeys’ boxes full of useful intelligence. They knew however, that it would be cut off if something happened to him. Colin controlled his own destiny, and this system provided him with extra job security. In a wild city like Cairo, Sean thought, the man was probably right to hedge his bets. 

             
Sean Hill stared at the man across the desk. He could see why Colin was assigned to this region in the first place. His spectacles and goatee gave him the look of an aloof college professor, but he had a penetrating stare reminiscent of the imams who ran the mosques. A bad case of male pattern baldness had eradicated most of the black hair. His natural tan and underwhelming stature made it easy for Colin to blend in to the local population.

“You are certainly causing quite a ruckus already. Welcome to
Cairo.” Colin grabbed the remote control off his desk, put the television on mute, and propped his feet onto his desk in a casual manner.

             
“This is not what I needed,” Sean replied. “We were trying to keep this low key but someone knew I was coming.”

“Well, I can assure you there were no leaks on my end.”

              “We tried to keep knowledge of my trip on a need-to-know basis. Either we had some bad luck and just happened to run into the wrong people, or they were alerted to my arrival. It seemed like a coordinated attack, so I will assume the latter.” Sean continued to watch the muted television for anything of interest. “Any news from our local friends?”

“No, they’re still giving me the run around,” Colin responded. “They are going to twist some arms, and proba
bly get us what we need.  It’s going to cost me though. It will be a while before I can ask for any more favors.” Colin preferred being the person owed the favor, but he had been told to fully accommodate Sean. The days of bickering and hiding sources between the FBI and CIA were supposed to be over.

             
“Thanks. I’m assuming you have been briefed on what I’m here for?” Sean hesitated, even though he knew Colin assisted Marilyn just a few months before.

“Yeah, I’m sure it was a sanitized version, but the Director himself called me earlier, and gave me strict instructions to cooperate fully. I can und
erstand the concern, but you’re taking a huge risk. You do realize that, don’t you?” Colin did not like the odds of success of their investigation.

             
“Yes, we went over it several times. They still haven’t come up with anything concrete. My boss has expressed some misgivings about going any further. We’re playing a hunch. Let’s just leave it at that,” Sean said.

“Well, we only have a few days,” Colin said in a distressed tone. “I took the liberty of putting out some calls regarding Aman as well. I can tell you if Aman is mixed up with any unsavory characters, he has hidde
n it exceptionally well. I’ve been in this region for twelve years and have heard it all, but his name rarely comes up.  No one around here seemed to know who he was until his newfound fame as campaign manager, and foster dad of the President-Elect.  I can tell you this city is all abuzz that relations with the U.S. will improve. They think Aman’s Muslim heritage will have a lot of influence on the new President. Everyone around here thinks they have a fair arbiter for the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.”

“We searched Aman’s background long and hard, and he appears to be clean. He has been on the periphery of some players in the local terrorist trade around here, but you can say that of almost anyone who possesses money and influence in the
Middle East. Have you seen anything around here that could tie him to Al-Qaeda?” Sean asked. He knew all the major players of Al-Qaeda were in the Pakistan-Afghan areas, but anything was possible.

“No. He won’t have anything to do with them. Aman has visited this region a few times. He started coming to
Cairo during the 1980s. During the 1990s he actually made some speeches preaching against Al-Qaeda. He has sworn off that form of violence on several different occasions.”

             
“What about any other groups like the PLO, or the Al-Asqa Martyr Brigades? Does he have any friends there?” Sean continued to probe.

“Nothing, a
nd trust me, I’ve looked into all of them. He has donated money to some local charities that are known to funnel money to some of these groups, but that appears to be the extent of it. Those charities help bring orphaned kids over to the States to get a good education.  Besides, every company in this region has some indirect tie to what we would consider a terrorist group.  I do have one guy who provides me with useful intel sometimes. Older guy. He was once part of the Muslim Brotherhood when it first started. He disagreed with the militant approach they took during the 1950s, and broke with them. He was a big proponent of trying to bring the Muslim Caliphate back.  Anyway, I meet with him every few weeks. He had seen a picture of Aman with the President-Elect in the local newspapers. He claims he met him once years ago. He seemed quite proud of him, which is the reaction I have noticed in others around these parts. But he seemed almost impatient with Aman, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. Maybe I’m reading too much into his reaction, but I just got the impression he was not telling me the full story. I took Marilyn to meet with him, as well, but he wasn’t much help. He seemed to be stonewalling. I think he’s beginning to regret dealing with me. He has been keeping a low profile over the last few months.”