Terror Bounty (15 page)

A few minutes later, Greenwood walked out
of the classroom and headed straight for the two Westerners. This was awkward.
What did you say to an international terrorist anyway?

So Rick tried, “Hi.”

“Mr. Travis! What a pleasure to make your
acquaintance.” Greenwood heartily shook his hand, an ear-to-ear smile plastered
across his face. He then turned to Olivia. “I’m equally enthralled to meet you,
Ms. Cooper.”

“The pleasure is all ours, sir,” she
replied with her unctuous British accent.

“Are you two married?”

As he said that, Greenwood cocked his
head to the side as if he wanted to be let in on an important secret.

“In every aspect but the legal way.”

“Ha! A taste of the new generation, I
love it. Begun by the great ones back in ‘68.”

Rick was becoming nervous. This man was
nothing like what he’d expected.

“The reason we came here is…”

Greenwood shook his head and waved his
hands to cut him off. “Are you talking business?”

“Uh yeah, that’s why we traveled
thousands of miles to meet you.”

“You should never talk business on an
empty stomach.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Never, my young friend. There’s a time
for introductions, there’s a time for business, and there’s a time for
celebrating.”

“So what stage are we at right now?

Greenwood leaned forward and whispered. “Celebration.
It’s time to party!”

And with that, he sauntered away, dancing
to music he was the only one to hear.

~  ~  ~  ~

Rick and Olivia were shown to a guesthouse.
It looked like any other hut from the outside but it was surprisingly pleasant.
There was a queen-size bed and what seemed to be Tommy Bahama furniture. It
might as well have been a hotel room in Bora Bora.

“Looks like we’re sharing the bed,” Rick
said as he put their bags on the mattress.

“I sure hope so, luv.”

“What?”

He frowned at her and she put her lips
against his ear.

“There might be bugs planted in here, be
careful what you say.”

That made sense, Rick agreed, feeling
stupid for not thinking of this sooner. He sat on the bed and she took place
next to him.

“You think he’ll go along?” he inquired,
not bothering whispering because this wasn’t out of character for who they were
pretending to be.

“If we present ourselves as professionals,
we’ll get his confidence. That’s the only way to go.”

“It’s weird meeting him, uh? Like meeting
a rock star.”

Olivia snorted. “I don’t think he does
autographs.”

She left the bed and put away her
clothes.

~  ~  ~  ~

Greenwood hadn’t been kidding about
celebrating. Just after nightfall, the entire village gathered to party. There
was a huge bonfire in the center of town, almost everyone sat around it, and
others were performing traditional dances to the sounds of drums, hand pianos,
and silimbas.

Rick and Olivia sat on the ground next to
Greenwood. They each had plates of local delicacies which looked appetizing but
Rick soon learned that it was nothing compared to the sandwiches from Cairo.

Both guests winced as they swallowed a
bite. It tasted sour and spicy at the same time. Greenwood burst into laughter
at their reaction.

“It does take a little getting used to.”
He turned to Sagan who was sitting a few yards away. “Say, could you get them a
couple of tourist specials, please?”

“Oh God, not another surprise,” Rick
complained, making Greenwood laugh again.

As Sagan left the party, Greenwood
explained. His house was nearby and he had his own power generator running off
solar panels. The biggest energy hog were the kitchen appliances. In the
freezer, he kept KFC chicken with all the trimmings for visitors who weren’t
used to the local flavors.

Rick was certain he was being teased but
a few minutes later Sagan returned with a tray containing french fries, cans of
sodas, and fried chicken. He set the food down in front of the guests.

“I always keep a couple of servings for
emergencies,” Greenwood said. “Dig in.”

Starving and strangely relaxing a little,
Rick attacked the Colonel’s original recipe and it was scrumptious. They
continued watching the show as they ate.

“So, what brings you two to my modest
African home?”

“Is that where we are?” Olivia asked.

Greenwood grinned but wasn’t about to
give more details. “In my line of work you have to take precautions. I’m sure
you can relate.”

Finally, Rick decided to jump to the
heart of the matter.

“I’m a fan of the environment.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“No, that’s the problem. There’s an
entire civilization out there that gets rich killing our planet, destroying our
home. Pisses me off something awful.”

“Ever heard of Greenpeace? They do
outstanding work to promote environmental causes.”

Rick drained his drink while shaking his
head. “I used to be a member of Greenpeace. A bunch of pussies, if you ask me.
Most of them join up because it’s fashionable. They contribute a few bucks a
year to ease their conscience while they continue to drive their immoral gas
guzzlers, makes them look like they care. They make me sick.”

Greenwood considered this. “I see your
point, there are a whole lot of people who don’t seem to understand that human
existence is fragile.”

“Exactly!”

“Look at this tribe, they’re aware of how
the world turned out. They know about iPads and Netflix and Disneyland. They’re
not ignorant. They just chose to ignore it, to follow their own rules. I have
faith in mankind, they just don’t have the right leadership.”

“I agree,” Olivia offered. “The world is
going to hell and there’s no one smart enough to tell them to get out of the
handbasket.”

Rick leaned closer to Greenwood. “What we
wanna do is re-educate the masses.”

“You’re speaking boldly.”

“It’s time for a bold move,” Rick said,
remembering his script.

“All right, what do you say we stop
beating around the bush and get right down to it? What can I do for you?”

“I wanna put together a retaliation force
to strike against every company, organization, or government that harms the
environment. For this I need your help.”

“We do live in a world that praises
freedom of speech, only no one ever listens. I admire your ambitions.”

Olivia placed her hands on her knees,
anything to appear serene. “It’s mostly your contacts we’re interested in. And
any advice you can offer, of course.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Greenwood began. “Give
me the night to think about it. We’ll talk more about it in the morning if I’m
on board. What do you say?”

“Thank you,” Rick said. “That’s all we
can ask for.”

“Wonderful. Good night, enjoy the
festivities. Stick around until Kabwe performs his solo. He brings
fire-breathing to extraordinary new heights. “

Greenwood stood up and walked away while
Sagan picked up the tray which contained the remnants of the KFC meal. Rick
watched them go and waited until they were out of sight to speak.

“You think he bought it?”

Olivia nodded. “I believe he did.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your bosses obviously paid your
fare for a reason. What tells me you won’t blow his head off during his sleep
and leave me hanging?”

She smirked. “You seem to be doing okay
on your own. If you can achieve your goal then that makes two of us who have
accomplished their missions.”

“Okay. So does that mean I get to keep a
hundred percent of the money?”

They shared a chuckle at that.

“What side of the bed do you sleep on?”
she asked. “We can’t pretend to be in love anymore. We have to be.”

That was the scariest thing Rick had
heard all night.

~  ~  ~  ~

Greenwood’s house was more modest than
the guest hut but it had electricity and Internet access. As soon as he went
in, he headed to his workstation. Sagan was there, having just put down the
tray on the desk.

Greenwood slipped on a pair of latex
gloves and extracted the two empty cans of Coca-Cola. Next he reached for
fingerprint powder and dusted each with a soft brush. He lifted the best, cleanest
prints and mounted them on white cardboard.

“Scan these, Bob. Get in touch with
everyone we know. I want a positive ID on these prints. I want a full
background check.”

Sagan nodded, proud to be entrusted with
this important assignment.

Jason Vanstedum had been to the White
House before but he’d never been requested for a meeting with the President. He
was working on controlling his breathing as he was led to the Oval Office by an
assistant to an assistant to some executive intern – the White House staff
hierarchy still baffled him.

Next to him was Director of the FBI Carol
Brill. She was walking faster than he was, like she had something to prove. The
most disturbing thing about this was that logically Vanstedum shouldn’t be
here.

Sure, he was in charge of
counterterrorism at the Bureau but if anyone was to brief the President aside
from the Director it should have been his immediate superior, Paul Tuccillo,
the Executive Assistant Director of the FBI National Security Branch.

There would probably be hell to pay back
at the Hoover building. Tuccillo wasn’t the forgiving kind, especially when it
came to office politics. He wouldn’t appreciate being bypassed.
Great
,
another reason for Vanstedum to feel nervous today.

“The President will be with you shortly,”
the assistant to the assistant to the assistant said once they were shown into
the Oval Office.

The place looked smaller than it did in
the movies. It was older too, less luxurious than he would’ve thought.

Already present, seated on the two facing
couches, were the National Security Advisor – officially called the Assistant
to the President for National Security Affairs – and Vanstedum’s counterpart at
the CIA, Sarah Utley.

Introductions were made for those who
didn’t know each other. Then another intern appeared to offer coffee, which
everyone declined.

“Hello, Jason,” Utley said, remaining
seated while he shook her hand.

“Sarah.”

As always, he had no reason to trust her.
Her chosen profession had trained her to utter a lie every two sentences. Before
he could grill her about what he didn’t know but should, the door to the
President’s private office opened and he walked in.

“Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. President,” everyone
replied at once as they stood.

He gestured for everyone to sit and he
took his place on the straight-backed chair at the head of the two couches.

Hector Dantley was 63 years old and it
was said that he had held every political office in the country at one point,
from county commissioner to member of Congress, from state governor to US
senator. He was a savvy politician and a lucky one as well. He had been Vice
President when Christopher Rudd had been removed from the presidency.

He wasn’t wearing a blazer and his tie
was pulled loose. He stared at his guests while he rolled up his sleeves.

“So where are we on this situation? As
far as I know these terrorists haven’t acted on their threats yet.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Director Brill
began.

The commander-in-chief cut her off. “Excuse
me, Carol. I understand you brought along the agent leading the investigation?”

“Yes, Jason Vanstedum. He’s the Assistant
Director for Counterterrorism.”

“Go on, Assistant Director.”

“Yes, sir,” Vanstedum said before
clearing his throat. “The OWL made demands from financial institutions. The deadline
has come and gone. Greenwood hasn’t retaliated yet.”

“Thank God,” the National Security
Advisor said.

“We of course consulted with these banks
and other institutions. We advised them not to give in to the threats and they
didn’t. It would have been a financial disaster if they had anyway. Security
has been beefed up everywhere, local and state police have increased patrols.
We’re getting full cooperation from Homeland and foreign agencies.”

Sarah Utley added, “Our sources are also
working overtime to try smoking them out. We’re working along with the NSA on
this.”

“Good,” the President said. “I’ve chatted
with state governors. They have the National Guard on high alert. How close are
you to getting a location on this Greenwood character?”

Vanstedum winced. He hated having
incomplete information, especially in front of the most powerful man in the
world.

“Sir, our technicians have managed to
trace the origin of the video to China, some place outside Shenzhen. The
Chinese are refusing to cooperate.”

“We could use help from the State
Department on this,” Director Brill said.

“You’ll get it.”

“It won’t do much good,” Vanstedum
pitched in. “The trail has gone cold and even if we could pinpoint the exact
computer from which the video was uploaded, we’d probably find some empty
apartment that’s been scrubbed clean. Same goes for the forensics evidence from
the video. The images, the music, it’s a dead end. We haven’t got anything from
cleaning up the silhouette at the end.”

President Dantley groaned. “Jesus Christ.
So what are you telling me?”

“We… we have nothing, sir.”

At that, the CIA woman looked down, like
she was avoiding Vanstedum’s eyes. She knew something, but what?

“Listen to me, all of you,” the President
said, his voice booming. “This country has been through too much lately, this
country is currently too fragile to suffer another terrorist attack. I’ll be
goddamned if I have to address the nation again to announce that a hundred more
Americans have died. Do you hear me? I want these sons of bitches taken care
of!”

There was a smattering of “Yes, sir” and “Yes,
Mr. President” but everyone was deflated. Their jobs were at stake because they
had no leads.

Except Sarah Utley
, Vanstedum thought. What the hell did she know that he didn’t?

~  ~  ~  ~

Almost 8,000 miles away, a half-hour
drive south of Kasama, Zambia, Willis Greenwood was sleeping like a baby. His
bed would have been uncomfortable for just about anyone but he had never
complained about his straw mattress and threadbare sheets.

He woke up with a start when he heard a
creaking noise. He instinctively reached for the makeshift nightstand, which
consisted of an upended milk crate, and he grabbed an old Colt pistol.

“Willis…”

Greenwood stirred and rotated onto his
back as he recognized the voice. He let go of the gun.

“Are we being attacked or something?
Whatever happened to waking up people with harp music and rose petals?”

Sagan walked further into the room. “I
got the results on our guests.”

“Good or bad?” Greenwood asked as he sat up,
rubbing the cobwebs away from his face, sunshine seeping into the room.

“Rick Travis is his real name. He was in
fact a member of Greenpeace for a year, it will take a few days to get a
confirmation of his activities with the organization though, if we can get any.
Also, he applied three times to join the FBI. He never got in.”

This gave the OWL leader pause.
Greenpeace was one thing but Travis had applied to work in law enforcement?

“You think he’s legit?”

“I don’t know,” Sagan said with a shrug. “Could
be. Maybe he tried to join the feds as a way to infiltrate the system. It’s
gonna have to be your call.”

“Of course. What about the girl? What
have you found?”