The African Contract (27 page)

Stone debated placing a grenade in the control panel, but wanted to leave the option of a sailable ship. “Let's get back to our companions. They may need us.” As Stone reached for the handrail on the ladder, he winced in pain. He'd bother with the arm later.

Back on the bridge, they found Jacob and Sandra under fire from a terrorist sniper who had climbed one of the forward masts. The windows of the bridge were shattered. The two speedboats were moving up to the accommodation ladder that still hung down the side of the ship.

Sandra rolled up Stone's left sleeve and examined his wound. She opened the medical kit on her belt and wrapped the gash, stemming the flow of blood. “Now what?” she asked when finished.

“Get that sniper. When the team is aboard, we find the bomb. And Asuty.”

Stone met Colonel Frederick standing at the head of the accommodation ladder ordering half his team aft to clear the jihadists who had positioned themselves on the fantail. Sunset had long passed, and from the bridge Jacob had turned on the ship's deck lighting.

Frederick wanted to know how many terrorists they had taken out, and Stone told him nine.

“Leaves about eight or nine. Shouldn't take long to complete the mission.” Frederick stared hard. “Find the bomb?”

Stone shook his head. “Not enough time to look for it, but the Cameroon intelligence chief had told me he saw it being loaded in the forward cargo hold.”

“Let's search that area. We'll probably find Asuty there.”

Sandra partnered with Stone as Frederick led the second half of his team down numerous passageways until they all reached the three-story-high cargo hold. Stone and Sandra inched past and crawled over stacked machinery and crates. They came to an open area where, under an overhead spotlight, they saw the bronze-colored casing of the atomic bomb secured to a wooden pallet.

Nabeel Asuty and two men with AK-47s watched a man with a long scraggly beard standing by the nuclear weapon. A section of the casing had been removed, and the man's hands were inside using a tool on a mechanism.

“He's planning to set that thing off,” Stone whispered and looked around for Frederick and his team.

At that, Sandra shouldered her MP7, set it to single-shot, and fired once, then again. Two bloody holes appeared on the back of the engineer's shirt. He fell to the side.

“Good shooting,” Stone said.

Asuty was the first to return fire. He didn't retreat, instead advancing along with the other two men. Stone fired bursts from his Glock, and Sandra had gone to full automatic with her submachine gun. One of the men went down. Asuty turned left and ran behind a tall crate.

Stone chased him while Sandra continued to trade fire with the remaining terrorist, using stacked containers as cover.

Asuty scrambled across the cargo hold, packed goods acting as a shield, but Stone saw he was heading into a blind corner. Finally he reached the bulkhead with nowhere to go. Stone heard him reloading and did likewise, putting a fresh magazine into his Glock.

“Remember me, Nabeel Asuty?” Stone yelled. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

The response came from Asuty firing a burst from his AK-47. Stone hit the deck and crouched as bullets buzzed around him.

Firing from the AK-47 stopped and Stone heard Asuty reloading. He leaped up and ran forward. From twenty feet away, Stone began shooting at Asuty's midsection and continued to fire until his gun clicked empty. Asuty hadn't had the opportunity to raise his gun.

Stone rested on a box, breathing hard. Without taking his eyes off Asuty's lifeless form, he inserted his last fresh magazine into his Glock.

“Thanks for nothing, Stone,” came Sandra's voice from behind. “I wanted the pleasure of killing that son-of-a-bitch.”

Stone and Sandra joined the assault team that had assembled on deck. Frederick seemed pleased with the results, saying they had only two casualties.

“Three,” Jacob said, holding up Stone's injured arm.

Frederick sniffed. “Only two. That's just a scratch.” He shouted to everyone, “We have seven minutes to get off this ship before it goes down.”

“What?” Stone asked. “When and who set the explosive charges?”

“No explosive charges, Stone,” Frederick growled. “Remember, I told you that I was running this show, not you. That is, most of the show.”

“What happens next?”

“Change of plans. I've arranged for that submarine lying off the beam to torpedo this tub. They've been told to aim for the stern to avoid the bomb. With the stern blown off, she'll sink, leaving the forward section intact.”

Stone took Frederick's arm and walked him over to the rail. “Gus,” he said. “The navy's surface ships are only a day away. Let's wait for them.”

“Meanwhile we just sit here with that bomb?”

“No. We can get this ship underway. I can handle her.”

“How long's it been since you've been in the navy? It's a very sound decision to torpedo this thing.” Frederick pointed downward. “The bomb could go off any time. We don't know what those bastards did to it. Maybe placed a timing device on it.”

“Hey, there's a nuclear sub out there with people who know all about nukes. Let's get them aboard to look at it.”

Frederick looked out to sea. “Makes sense.”

“We can also get someone who can navigate. If we steam toward those navy amphibious ships, we might meet in less than a day.”

Frederick turned and spoke into Stone's ear. “All right. You win this one, but it's the last one.”

Stone thought he detected a smile. “Don't worry, Gus. Once you send me that fat bonus check, I'll be out of your hair.”

Langley, Virginia— September 2002

Elizabeth Kerr sat behind her desk at the CIA's Task Force 21. Her boss, John Matterhorn, came in the office and took a seat. How funny life is, she thought. Only a month ago, she detested this motley collection of misfits, but now not only was she a member of the group, but also one of their bosses.

“So happy you decided to come over to the agency,” John said. “This task force has a bright future. The agency is gearing up for a major push against international terrorism, and because of you our group will be a major player. It may even become a CIA Center!”

Elizabeth played with some paper clips on her desk. They had been instrumental in thwarting that threat, but they hadn't been on the ground. In the thick of things.

“Any more news on the situation there?' she asked.

“We've recovered the bomb. The Republic of South Africa wanted it back, but realized how embarrassing it would be if it were known they lost track of a nuclear weapon they said had been destroyed. Worse, one of their own people sold it to jihadists.”

“What's become of Dawid van Wartt?”

“Charges were dropped for political or other reasons. He hasn't been seen lately.”

“What about Hayden Stone?”

“Came through like a trooper. Retired now. Living somewhere along the Riviera. Villefranche, I believe.”

“I'd like to meet him someday,” Kerr said.

Villefranche-sur-Mer

Hayden Stone sat on the open veranda enjoying a cold beer, watching sailboats on the Bay of Villefranche. He kicked off his boat shoes, lifted his feet onto the wood railing, and tried to relax. He had spent a whole morning sailing on the ketch,
La Claire,
and when he returned washed down the craft, stowed the sails, and tended to the rigging. Still, he felt restless. Perhaps it had to do with reading the articles on the one-year anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center.

“There you are.” Lucinda came up and stroked his hair. She eased into the chair next to him. “I've been over to Nice shopping.”

They had been living together for almost a month, and things were working fairly well. Weeks before, when he had suggested he sell his home in Virginia, she surprised him. “Don't you dare,” she protested. “I love to visit America.”

“Are you bored? What do you plan to do with your days here in the South of France?”

Stone thought a moment. “I might grow flowers like that retired jewel thief in the Alfred Hitchcock film.”

“What kind of flowers?”

“Pretty ones.”

“I'd rather you work on managing my investments. I need someone I can trust. Also, you might like to look over the repairs to the palace roof, and while you're up there on the mountain check on the landscaping along the patio.” She took a sip from his beer glass. “We might also go shopping for you. You need a new sweater for the winter.” She reached over and pulled up the pant leg of his jeans. “Where on earth did you get those socks?”

Stone found the contessa bossy. This came as a surprise. He took her hand and kissed it. They watched a motorboat pull up to the slip.

“Are we expecting guests?” she asked.

“No,” Stone said. Jacob waved from the boat, his white fisherman's sweater bright against the sky.

“Do I know that man?”

“He's a colleague. I mentioned him to you our last morning in Cape Town. We were together in Cameroon.”

“Oh.”

Stone went down to the boat. Two other men stood on the open deck. Stone didn't recognize their hard faces.

“Can we talk?” Jacob asked, stepping onto the pier.

Stone invited him up to the house to meet Lucinda, but he begged off. “Best we make this a chat between ourselves.”

“Let's take a stroll along the waterfront.”

He put his arm on Stone's shoulder. “Did anyone thank you for Africa?”

“A handsome bonus was sent to my bank in Switzerland.” Stone was touched by Jacob's unexpected visit. “What brings you here to the Riviera?”

“Passing through. Have some diamond business to conduct. Dirk Lange returned to Sierra Leone. He's still deciding whether he'll join the new South African anti-corruption organization. When I was there he told me your mutual friend Jonathan benefited from your generous donation to Doctors Without Borders.”

“Guess Jonathan will get his prosthetics after all.”

“Some more news. Your adversary, Abdul Wahab, has managed to make himself indispensable to the intelligence community. They've taken him to Yemen to help counter al Qaeda activities there.”

“Abdul Wahab lands on his feet like a cat.”

“You've landed well too, my friend.” Jacob directed his gaze at the seaside villa and the yacht, then pointed to the mountain. “Is that Lucinda's palace up there?”

“Yes.”

After what seemed like a long moment, Jacob said without looking at him, “Hayden, everyone we know is getting into the fight. Afghanistan is going to be a protracted campaign. There's talk about going into Iraq. The jihadists are spreading their influence throughout the Horn of Africa.” Jacob moved his face close to Stone's. “You've chosen the soft life.”

“I've put in my years of service. I've done my part.”

“I suppose there's no getting you back?” Jacob asked.

They didn't speak as they returned to the motorboat. Jacob said he'd stop by occasionally. The motorboat left as quickly as it came.

Lucinda insisted they drive into town and shop at a men's store. “Why did Jacob drop by?”

“He wanted closure on the African affair.”

She slowed the Maserati. “Isn't the matter closed? You were instrumental in preventing a catastrophe, and now you are retired here.” She took a deep breath. “With me.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. Was she hinting he'd miss the intrigue, the danger?

After a relaxing dinner in the village of Èze, Stone changed into his pajamas and then heard a buzzing sound. He thought it was a faulty electrical circuit, then guessed he'd left his electric razor on. On his way to check, he saw the secure cell phone he'd neglected to return to the CIA when he departed Cameroon. Colonel Frederick's name appeared on the caller ID.

“Hello, Gus.”

“Stone. What other CIA equipment haven't you handed back?”

“Pay me a visit and I'll personally turn the phone over to you.”

“Right now, Hayden, I'm on a plane above you, looking at the lights of Nice. We're headed for Yemen.” A pause. “You live well, my friend.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Have to sign off. Oh, Sandra Harrington is sitting next to me. She says, ‘Get off your ass, Stone.'” The line went dead.

Hayden Stone went out to the balcony and peered at the sky. Among the many stars he was certain he spotted the lights of the plane carrying his comrades southeast to the Arabian Peninsula, to Yemen, the land he knew so well.

Turning, he looked back into the bedroom, where Lucinda was slipping on her negligee. No other woman was like her. If he left and joined his colleagues, would she welcome him back?

He shook his head in disbelief at what he was about to do. He looked down at the cell phone and redialed the last number.

The End

AGENT/ASSET
Person obtaining intelligence for an intelligence agency, under control of a case officer

BLOWN/BURNT
Spy who has been exposed

BRUSH PASS
Momentary person-to-person contact to pass intelligence

BUG
Covert listening or recording device

CANADIAN SECURITY INTELLIGENCE SERVICE
Canada's foreign intel service

CASE OFFICER
Staff officer of an intelligence agency

COS
Chief of a CIA station posted to a US Embassy

COUNTERSPY
Intelligence officers charged with uncovering spies. FBI. MI5.

DOUBLE AGENT
An agent believed to be working against a target country but is actually loyal to that country

DRY CLEAN
To evade surveillance

EXTRAORDINARY RENDITION
Kidnapping of spies or terrorists for interrogation

LEGAT
Legal attaché, FBI agent attached to a US embassy

LEGEND
Life story created for a covert agent

MOSSAD
Israel's spy agency

MI6
British Secret Intelligence Service (external)

NOC
Non-official cover, CIA equivalent of Russian illegal agent

PAROLE
Password used to confirm identity between agents

RSO
A US Embassy's regional security officer

SAFE HOUSE
Place where spies can hide from hostile security services

SLEEPER
Deep cover agent

TARGET
Person, place of intelligence interest

TRADECRAFT
Mechanics of/proficiency in espionage