War Tides

“Members of our own team assisted the NSA with security and counterbreach implementations.”

“In fact, nearly line for line of the security programs was written by Akira himself,” Price added.

That spoke volumes. Aaron Kurtzman oversaw the team of cyber wizards that included Carmen Delahunt, Akira Tokaido and Huntington Wethers. Schwarz’s experience in electronic surveillance and counterintelligence paled in comparison to the combined efforts of that brilliant crew, and he said as much. “Well, Akira’s kung fu is strong. If our own people were working on it, it’s highly unlikely the IUA would have acquired the resources necessary to penetrate Stout’s systems.”

“Then that can only mean one of two things,” Lyons said. “Either someone on the inside knew more than they let on or the IUA’s managed to plant a mole real high up. I’m betting the latter.”

“Based on what?” Price asked.

“A few things are glaring. First, they had to have known the exact time and route the escort team planned to use when they transported Stout to the Pentagon. Second, they were ready and waiting for us at the factory, because the ambush they set up had been too elaborate for them to craft on the fly. And finally, Hal said that Phoenix has been ambushed twice since they got into Namibia and they’ve only been there what, three or four hours? The IUA seems to be one step ahead of us on every mark up until now. That’s more than coincidence or tactical foresight.”

“And while I hate to ever admit Ironman’s right, seems to me they could have just as easily split with the plans and not given us another thought,” Schwarz said. “Instead, they chose to stick it out and try to put us down for good, which means someone told them we were too great a threat to be ignored. Not likely they came to that conclusion all by their lonesome.”

Price looked sideways at Brognola. “Those are awfully good points, Hal.”

Brognola nodded. “As much as I wished otherwise, I think you’re right on the money with this. And since it’s your theory, I’m open to hearing suggested tactics.”

“I say we get to Charleston and find this base before the terrorists go live. If even one of those subs gets loose, we could have a disaster on our hands.”

“Agreed,” Brognola replied. “You have my authorization to proceed directly to South Carolina and learn whatever you can.”

“That’s almost five hundred miles, which means a driving time of at least seven hours.”

“Yeah,” Schwarz said, “but that’s only if we let Politician behind the wheel.”

As Price picked up another line she said, “We’ll arrange transport to Dulles. You can pick up one of the commercial flights that leave nearly every hour on the hour for South Carolina. Leave your weapons with whatever crew picks you up at the hotel. We’ll arrange for a fresh arsenal to be equipped in your vehicle when you arrive.”

“Understood,” Lyons replied.

“Take care,” Brognola said.

“We’ll take it any way we can, boss,” Lyons said.

And then he was gone.

Brognola looked at Price with a grave expression. “We’re running out of time.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Latif al-Din tried to hide his rising anger as he listened to the reports from his cell leaders.

The news could have been better, much better, but boiling himself into a fury wouldn’t change the situation. Somehow the Americans had figured out what they were up to and had managed to ruin his plans for the project they called FACOS. Now he would have to fall back to his secondary plan, and while that remained a viable option, it wasn’t his preferred course of action.

No good could ever come in letting the enemy dictate a response, no matter how foolproof the contingency plans. It gave them entirely too much power.

Al-Din now considered his options and after a time he ordered the chief project overseer to begin installing the diesel engines.

“And what of the men from whom we bought them?” al-Din’s second-in-command asked.

“I’m led to understand they live above their shop.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Send a small force late tonight to eliminate them and destroy their building. That should erase any evidence of their dealings with us.”

“Of course.”

After the aide bowed and left the room to relay al-Din’s orders, the chief tactician in charge of their Namib Desert operations signaled for permission to speak. Al-Din nodded.

“Sir, were it in my power I would wish to be the one to carry better tidings.”

“Your news isn’t good, either?”

“Unfortunately not. The team you ordered me to send to destroy the American strike force utterly failed. We believe it may have been caused by mechanical failure of the chopper we stole from their maintenance yard.”

“Sounds more like a failure in your training methods,” al-Din interjected. “But we shall deal with that later. What else have you to report?”

The tactician cleared his throat before saying, “As soon as I received word of what had transpired, I sent our two lookouts in Lüderitz to dispatch one of the Americans and a government representative working with this commando team.”

“This representative… Who is he? Some kind of intelligence operative?”

“No, sir, we do not believe so. We think he is a doctor.”

“A doctor? You mean to tell me that two of our trained assassins were overcome by one scum-sucking American agent and an unarmed physician?”

“The doctor is a man named Matombo. He is the chief medical adviser to the Namibian government and his circle of influence is large. And the American—”

“Enough!” Al-Din could feel his face flushing now. “I have had all I might stand of your insolence and ineptitude.”

The man fell silent and lowered his head in a demonstration of shame. Under the circumstances, al-Din considered it fitting the man acknowledge his shame. Such a gesture was humbling, putting inferiors in their proper place and making a public show of the fact they considered themselves beneath al-Din. Such things were more tradition among the former glory of the Algerian freedom fighters. Before the Americans invaded Iraq, and before the war killed every living member of al-Din’s family.

“I bow to your advice, sir.”

“And you do well in that,” al-Din told the tactician. “It is time we turn this over to our European associates.”

This announcement stunned the tactician so much he raised his head enough to glance into al-Din’s eyes.

“You look surprised, Hezrai, although I can’t imagine why such a move would shock you. After all, we built our alliance with that mercenary group for a very good reason. Our security and secrecy has been compromised.”

“But is it the right time?”

Al-Din produced a scoffing laugh. “It is the perfect time. In fact, I cannot think of a better time to exploit this opportunity. Certainly we have paid them enough money to do nothing up to this point. We must find a way to divert the Americans from our plans, to confuse their intelligence network. The Europeans would provide a perfect ruse.”

Al-Din paused to reflect on his own ingenuity, the chair beneath him creaking as he put his weight on the rear legs and stroked his beard.

He was glad to have it back. Upon first entering the United States he’d shaved it off, leaving only the wisp of a mustache. He’d then dyed his mustache and hair a striking blond, and with glasses and several months of proper training he managed to enter the country posing as a Dutch investment broker. They had stolen the identity from a real man, whose name al-Din no longer even recalled, after kidnapping him and killing his family. Once inside the country, they let it slip to Interpol and Dutch authorities that the man was responsible for killing his own family and then released him inside the United States.

It didn’t take American law enforcement long to find the man, but by then al-Din no longer even moderately resembled the man he’d managed to impersonate. Now almost a year had passed and their construction renovations beneath the American port city of Charleston were complete.