Ops Files II--Terror Alert (6 page)

Once seated, he gave the driver instructions, and the man began pedaling. Maya appraised Gil in silence. He leaned back, met her stare, and then grinned.

“So what’s your name?”

“Maya.”

“Awfully young, aren’t you?”

“They let me out of high school special to do this.”

“Nice to see we have the resources of a superpower at our disposal.”

“I’m a killer at spelling bees.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “I’ll bet you are. But seriously, tell me this isn’t your first time.”

“Usually they want me to tell them it is.”

He reappraised her. “You
have
been in the field before, right?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

The restaurant was marginally clean but smelled heavenly, and Maya let Gil order for them. When their dishes came, he doused his with an unmarked bottle of sauce the color of mud and then offered it to her. “Careful. It’s spicy.”

She splashed a helping into her curry and stirred it before trying a spoonful. “God, this is terrible. What is it?”

“Wait until you try to digest it. That’s when the real fireworks start.” He paused. “You know that part of the horse where, when you lift the tail, it–”

“Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

They kept their conversation light. The restaurant was half empty, and the two of them drew only a few disinterested stares from locals who seemed more intent on text messaging than eating. The food was actually very good, and by the end of dinner she found she liked Gil – although he was already world-weary in the way her instructors all were, he’d preserved his sense of humor and had a quiet intensity she found appealing.

“So are you ready to meet the great man?” he asked, tossing money onto the table and rising.

“What I’m here for, isn’t it?”

They made their way to a residential area, the foot traffic still heavy even off the main drag, and Gil opened a service door at the side of a small apartment building. The area was dark; the only dim lighting came from a low-wattage bulb at the end of the narrow walkway, and Maya had no choice but to follow Gil by taking his hand.

Uri sat behind a cheap metal desk in the bowels of the building. The air was thick with smoke, and when they entered, he eyed Maya without comment and designated two folding chairs. Gil and Maya sat, and Uri leaned forward.

“I got your information. Very impressive. But I’m not sure it will help with our work here. We’re doing surveillance, not blowing up an island. More precision-oriented than blunt force trauma,” he said.

“I did what was necessary. I can be discreet,” Maya said, trying not to sound defensive.

Uri blew smoke at the door and sat back. “First thing, then, is to insert a listening device in the apartment of the imam’s second-in-command.”

“Why not the imam himself?”

“We’ve had one in his place for three weeks. He doesn’t discuss anything there, but we’ve noticed a pattern, and we believe he routes his communications through subordinates,” Uri explained. “But we’ve been short on manpower, and I didn’t want to overexpose Gil here.”

Maya shrugged. “Sounds straightforward.”

“It should be. All you’ll need to do is break into an apartment in a security building, plant the listening device, and escape undetected. Oh, and we’re not sure whether the interior of the building’s guarded,” Gil said.

“That’s all?” Maya asked. “When do you want to do it?”

“Tomorrow before dawn. The second-in-command is an early riser, and he leaves the building every morning at five thirty. Probably best to get in and out before everyone else is up and around. It’s a big complex,” Uri explained.

They discussed the logistics for twenty minutes and agreed that Gil would run exterior surveillance while Maya penetrated the apartment and bugged the phone. When they were finished, Maya and Gil drove back to her hotel, and he dropped her off a half block away. “We’ll pick you up tomorrow at five,” he said. “I’ll bring a burka and hijab for you.”

“Perfect. Don’t forget a weapon, too.”

“Suppressed SIG Sauer P226 9mm work for you?”

“Yes.”

“But the whole idea is that you won’t have to use it.”

“That’s always the idea, isn’t it?”

Gil scrutinized her for a moment and then turned to leave. “Sleep well, Maya. Big day tomorrow.”

She eyed her watch. “See you in seven hours.”

The following morning, the street in front of the hotel had a skin of condensation gelling on it, stinking of human waste and stewing garbage, when Maya made her way to the waiting car. Gil and Uri nodded to her as she climbed into the backseat and began donning her camouflage outfit before the car pulled away from what passed as a curb. Gil handed her a pistol in a belt holster, a sound suppressor, and a spare magazine. She inspected it quickly, chambered a round, checked the safety, and strapped it on beneath the black robe.

“Could you turn the air-conditioning up? It’s roasting back here with this burka,” she asked.

Uri coughed. “It is up. This is as cool as the damned thing gets.”

“You’re joking.”

“Welcome to Bangladesh,” Gil said.

The apartment complex was in a working-class neighborhood. Half the windows lacked glass, grime and graffiti covered every surface, and stray dogs competed with beggars and the homeless for scraps of nourishment from overflowing piles of refuse. Maya, who was accustomed to poverty and despair from her time in the West Bank, was still shocked by the sheer ugliness of the surroundings. Gil and Uri seemed inured to the squalor and didn’t comment.

“There he goes,” Gil said, ten minutes after they arrived and parked a half block away. A slight man in white pedaled off on a bicycle, one of several already on the road in the predawn gloom.

“We’ll wait for a little bit to ensure he doesn’t return, and then it’s showtime,” Uri said, lighting a cigarette, his window half down.

More figures streamed from the doorways as time went by, and after an agonizing wait in the stifling interior, Gil and Maya got out and walked separately toward the building. Gil leaned against a wall, phone in hand, as Maya, now covered head to toe in black, shouldered through the front gates of the complex and made her way to the main entrance.

The sleepy-looking security guard looked up from the portable black-and-white television on his desk but went back to the program after seeing the new arrival was a woman. As they’d hoped, the culture’s marginalization of females worked to her advantage – she was almost invisible,
just a woman
, nothing to pay attention to.

They knew their target was on the third floor, and Maya climbed the stairs holding her breath, the stench of stale urine overpowering in the enclosed space. When she exited into the corridor there was nobody else in the space, which was lit by a single fluorescent lamp, the other sockets lining the ceiling empty, the bulbs stolen or broken.

The lock proved to be childishly simple to jimmy, and twenty seconds after massaging the tumblers with the picks Gil had provided, she twisted the flat tool and the door opened. She listened for several seconds and, hearing nothing, pushed into the small apartment and softly closed the metal door behind her.

The telephone was a primitive pushbutton handset from the seventies. She unscrewed the base and eyed the wiring, and then attached the bug as she’d been taught before closing it back up and setting the phone in the exact spot she’d found it. After a short inspection of the two-room abode, during which she took care not to disturb anything, she moved to the door and was about to open it when she heard voices outside and the scrape of feet on concrete. She glanced at the cell Gil was to call if their target returned, but it was dark.

Which did nothing to reassure her when a key rattled in the lock.

Two men entered the apartment. One flipped on the lights while the other approached a small desk and rooted around in one of the drawers. He straightened with a manila folder in his hand and spoke to his companion, who was looking in the refrigerator. The second man walked to where the first stood and took the file from him, and then waited by the front door as the first used the tiny bathroom.

After a few minutes the pair left, and Maya began breathing again, pressed into a corner of the small terrace, her heart racing, SIG Sauer clutched in her hand. She waited until she was sure that the visitors were gone and returned to the entryway, ears straining for any hint of movement in the corridor.

Satisfied she was alone, she slipped the pistol back under her robe and cracked the door. The hall was empty. Maya slipped out quietly and hurried down the steps, wary of the footsteps sounding from two floors above – perhaps innocuous, but possibly a threat.

In the shabby lobby, the guard didn’t even look up at her as she moved past him. On the street the sky was glowing with the first salmon streaks of dawn, and she made her way unhurriedly back to the car as Gil trailed her at a distance.

“How did it go?” Uri asked when she was in the vehicle.

“Good. Except for the two men who interrupted me.”

Gil craned his neck to stare at her. “Is that a joke?”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?”

“What did you do?” Uri asked.

She told them about her brush with the intruders, and the older man relaxed back into the seat. “Well, that was lucky. But the bug’s in place and you weren’t spotted?”

“Correct.”

“Then all’s well,” Gil said.

“Right. Except that you didn’t phone me, and the whole operation could have been blown.”

“They must live in the complex. Nobody went in while you were there. Only people coming out.”

“Well, there’s a data point to remember if you ever go back in. Seems like your man’s place is used for more than nap time.”

“Which makes the wiretap even more critical,” Uri said. “Let’s get back to your hotel. I’ll drop you off, and then we can rendezvous later and trade off shifts watching the mullah.”

“What about the tap?”

“It’ll activate automatically and transmit any calls to a hard disk at my office. Latest thing.”

The ride back took three times longer, the roads now jammed with rickshaws, motorcycles, tuk-tuks, and cars swarming without rhyme or reason or any obvious rules of the road. When they arrived at the hotel, Uri turned and nodded to her. “We can pair up later today. Gil here has a meeting – someone we believe is on the inside and can give us information on what the imam is up to.”

“An informant?” Maya asked.

“I hope,” Gil confirmed.

“Does he know who you’re with?”

“Of course not. He probably suspects CIA, but I’ll let him think whatever he wants. It’s the money that’s got him interested. Funny how all the religious fervor fades once you wave cash in front of these guys,” Gil said.

“Well, good luck,” Maya said, and then addressed Uri. “What time do you want to pick me up?”

“Give me a couple of hours to get the day in order. Say…eight thirty?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

~ ~ ~

The cell phone on Ajmal Kahn’s nightstand trilled, filling the bedroom with its strident blare. Kahn rolled over on the bed and reached for the lamp, switched it on, and then raised the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

“I have good news,” Abreeq’s distinctive voice said.

Kahn was instantly wide awake. “Yes?”

“We should have the package wrapped within a week.”

“Ready for delivery?”

“Of course. As agreed.”

“That is good. I will get you the material you requested. Where are you?”

“In England.”

“I will have a courier meet you wherever you like.” The information was far too important to entrust to the Internet or a shipping company, and Kahn was taking no chances with it.

“Excellent. There is a place that is perfect for a meeting. Crowded. A tourist spot.” Abreeq told him where he had in mind, and they agreed on a day and time. “You have the final payment ready to send?”

“Yes. As soon as you give me the word.”

“Very well. I hope to have confirmation that the final steps have been taken and all is in order within…three days, no more.”

“You are a miracle worker, surely.”

“Or the bringer of nightmares.”

“May Allah be with you, my friend. It is a marvelous thing you do.”

“I shall call after I have met your man. Have him wear a green shirt and a white cap, so I can easily recognize him.”

“Green and white. It shall be so.”

“As always, have him come alone. That way if I spot any surveillance, I’ll know it’s not your people.”

“Of course. He shall be there at the agreed upon time.”

The phone went dead and Kahn lay back, his mind a blur of thoughts. Finally, the cause he had set in motion months ago would come to fruition, and all the planning, the fundraising, the risks would converge in a plot so audacious, so damaging to the Western fools who meddled in his people’s affairs that they would have no choice but to take notice.

Kahn knew that foreigners paid little attention to anything that happened outside of their own countries. Their media distorted the news to fit government agendas, relegating the regular atrocities that were an everyday part of his people’s lives to the back page, or failing to mention them at all.

But all that would soon change.

They would have no choice but to notice. And the message would be unmistakable: we will bring the war to you, just as you have to us. Countless children with their legs blown off, maimed by the West’s war machine, slaughtered like so many ants by conquering armies of imperialists bent on a new colonialism, would no longer be sound bites on the network news, positioned between the misbehavior of the latest celebrities and the sports scores. No, Kahn would bring his enemies a reality they couldn’t ignore – and with it, a new future for his cause.

He would give the legions of the oppressed a powerful voice.

The voice of death.

When Uri arrived at the hotel he looked harried. The frown lines were carved into his face deeper than they’d been earlier and his manner was agitated.