Authors: Mark Young
“And this guy, Hassan, crossed your radar in France?”
She nodded. “As far as I knew, he’d never stepped foot outside of Iran for years. Then we spotted him in Paris with Martin. Things really got interesting. Roadblocks started shooting up the more I asked questions about Martin.”
“From your own agency?”
Two men walked passed them, talking about their weekend plans. No one in the immediate area seemed interested in Jack and Shakeela, but she let the two strangers walk out of earshot before continuing. “My team stayed with Hassan after that meeting, and I followed Martin back to his hotel. I got enough information from the hotel to finally get a name to go with the face I photographed. Then your request came through, and things started to get weird.”
“That’s when they pulled you back stateside?”
“You bet! Two years undercover, and they risk my exposure to call me back from the cold. It just doesn’t make sense. And that’s when Gerrit’s name popped up. Attmire called me into his office and asked about my relationship with Gerrit. I told him that was old history and asked why he was asking about Gerrit after all these years. Attmire tried to pass it off as a name that recently crossed his desk and that it was tied to an operation I ran a long time go.”
“The op in Afghanistan?”
She gave him a sheepish look. “Actually, we traveled into Iran from the Iraqi side, just before we took out Suddam Hussein. The CIA needed someone like Gerrit who understood the interworkings of labs and technology. At that time we were more interested in chemical and biological weapons systems, and we could not latch on to lab rats from the States and send them into Iran. Gerrit, with his military background and MIT training, was perfect for the job. He never told you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not a word.”
“That man can sure keep secrets.” Shakeela wondered if Gerrit ever told anyone about their nonoperational activity. Warmth rushed across her face. She hoped it did not show. “Anyway, it had nothing to do with what I’m working on now, and I thought it was odd that Jason brought it up. So when they recalled me from Europe, I ran Gerrit’s name and came across the incident in Seattle last week, as well as all the other trouble he’s gotten into.”
“The way the report read, Gerrit was a one-man terrorist organization, almost getting blown up a second time when his boss was killed. What is Gerrit caught up in, Jack?”
The colonel met her gaze and held it. “Will you trust me when I say you do not need to know right now? He is one of the good guys. It just may be hard to prove right now because of those who’d like nothing better than to put him down. Gerrit—and the group he works with—have been forced to live in the shadows because certain people with immense power want him dead.”
“Why? Who could he have ticked off so bad that they would do this?”
Jack looked at her intensely. “We’re trying to find that out, Shakeela. I believe Martin is connected to these people, individuals who are not tied to one country, one continent. People wielding a lot of influence to gain their objectives on an international level.”
“And what is their objective?”
“Before I try to answer that,” he said, “let me just add this. We don’t have a clue how big this organization might be. It might be a small fanatical contingent inside a larger, more reasonable organization. They might use this larger organization or movement to conceal their true agenda.”
“Which is what? Money? Power?”
“It is what money and power can get them—a new world order. A one-world collective to manage the entire globe.”
She started to laugh but caught herself. He seemed serious. “I’m sorry, Jack, but you’re asking me to buy into a worldwide conspiracy theory shared by a bunch of kooks who think the world is about to end. The coming apocalypse.”
Jack just smiled. “You and I know a lot about the world’s balance of power. Take Iran for example. What if that country had the capability to unleash a nuclear holocaust against Israel? What if Israel held off from surgically removing that threat because another country like the U.S. pressured them to wait?”
“That’s already happening,” she said.
“My point exactly. And say Iran’s fanatical leadership unleashes an attack on Israel. Can you imagine the consequences?”
Shakeela did not answer.
“We’ve known since the midsixties that Israeli leaders created the term
The Samson Option
to describe their strategy of massive nuclear retaliation against any nation that might threaten their existence. Among those include Russia, China, and any other country that has supplied weapons to Israel’s enemies. Can you imagine a more apocalyptic event than a nuclear holocaust that began in the Middle East and continued across the globe? Russia, U.S., China and other world powers drawn into a seismic event of cosmic proportions.”
“I’m not saying that such an event is not possible,” Shakeela said. “But a world conspiracy to create a superpower, a one-world government? Come on! They can’t even get members of the United Nations to work together. How are they going to get nations to submit to one government and give up their sovereign powers? It will never happen.”
Jack shrugged. “Maybe. Then again, there are many worldwide religions that believe in a coming world conflict that will put Israel and the Middle East center stage. It’s not for me to say, Shakeela. I only follow the evidence. I do believe that there are those—like Stuart Martin—who believe that the powers of this world can be somehow blended together, coerced, if you will, into one global effort.”
“If they do,” she said, “then it’s scary that they might be working with people like Atash Hassan. They’re stupid to believe they can control such a man.”
“My only job—working with Gerrit and others—is to make sure this doesn’t happen.”
She pulled out a pad of paper from her purse and scribbled down details. “Here’s my cell number and e-mail I use undercover. You can contact me at any time. I think we’d better stay in touch just in case our cases intersect.”
He took the note and shoved it into his pocket, then glanced around one more time. “They are tied together. I just don’t know how. Stay safe, Shakeela.”
She nodded. “You, too, Colonel. I’m catching a red-eye to Eastern Europe within the hour.”
“Have a safe trip.” He started to turn way, but she placed her hand on his arm.
“Tell Gerrit hello for me, would you? Tell him
Doset daram
!”
“What does that mean?”
She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “He’ll know.”
Jack got into the car and watched Shakeela until she disappeared inside. He wondered if their paths might ever meet again. And he wondered what had happened between Gerrit and Shakeela that made her blush. He was sure it had nothing to do with politics or war.
Jack smiled to himself. Just when he was sure Gerrit held no more surprises, another one always popped up. He wondered how many more secrets that man kept hidden away. Sooner or later, most secrets see the light of day. He would just have to wait and see.
February 23
Miami, Florida
T
ropical humidity kept Gerrit’s clothes from getting completely dry. It had been several hours since they took the plunge off the top of their hotel. He no longer felt like a sponge, but he still felt uncomfortable. Alena’s clothes seemed to have dried out just fine, and her hair regained some of its bounce. After fleeing the hotel, they had slipped into a bar about five blocks away to hide. So far, they’d steered clear of any cops or killers.
He imagined the hotel had been turned into some kind of law-enforcement circus by now. After all, he’d left two dead guys in his room, and the third man he must have nailed in the legs. The guy may have limped away, leaving a blood trail and more questions for the cops to figure out. Hotel guests would give investigators an earful, but eyewitnesses were notoriously inaccurate. That would only add to the confusion.
It was getting close to 2:00 a.m. and the bartender kept looking their way. He probably wanted to close up early, even though the sign indicated the bar didn’t close until 5:00. They’d better move on.
He leaned closer to Alena. “We can’t use any of our credit cards. I have just enough cash to get us a room at one of the nearby dives.”
She pulled out her wallet and thumbed through her bills. “I’ve got enough to get us out of here and into a nice hotel. Let’s grab a cab.”
“Good idea. Before the cops have time to start circulating a composite of our mugs.”
She glanced at her glass. “Mugs? Like what we get coffee in?”
He patted his face, then hers. “It’s slang for our faces.”
“Then why don’t they just say that?”
He just shook his head and left money on bar. “Let’s go.”
His shoes still sloshed and squeaked from the water as he left the lounge. Outside, they moved toward a cab parked a block away. They reached it just as a patrol car turned the corner. Sliding into the backseat and eyeing the approaching police unit, Gerrit tapped on the dividing glass and gave the driver the name of a hotel in Fort Lauderdale he once stayed at. “Me and my girl want to take the scenic route. Don’t mind paying extra.”
The cabbie tipped his head and started the engine, then rolled up his window and turned on the air-conditioner. As the car pulled away, Gerrit looked over his shoulder and saw the same patrol unit make a U-turn and begin following them. They went about a block and circled around until they were northbound along the water.
Gerrit put his arm around Alena and whispered, “The cop car is following us.”
She nodded. “I saw it. Not much we can do right now.”
They were about to pass right in front of the hotel where Devon had stayed. Emergency lights flashed, and he heard a short beep of the siren. The cabbie groaned and pulled over, stopping right across the street from where they’d met Gloria, the receptionist. Several police cars, and at least one unmarked, were parked in front of the hotel.
“What is this? A police convention?” he muttered under his breath. Alena took his hand and gently squeezed.
The cabbie rolled down the window. A floodlight illuminated the back of the car, blinding Gerrit from seeing which side the officer might approach.
He looked down to make sure his ankle holster could not be seen from outside the car and that his pants leg didn’t bulge out where the weapon was holstered. Alena snapped her purse closed.
Footsteps approached them. A moment later an officer appeared at the driver’s door. “Just wanted to let you know your right brake light is out. May wanna get that fixed.”
The cabbie relaxed. “Thank you, Officer. I’ll take care of that tonight.” He pointed across the street. “You have a lot of officers over at the hotel. Everything all right?”
The officer hitched his gun belt and turned to look across the street. “Some gal working the front counter got shot. Looks like a robbery, but the shooter didn’t take much.”
“Man oh man,” the driver said. “Maybe I oughta pack it up for the night. Heard a bunch of sirens coming from all directions a few hours ago. Because of this shooting?”
“Nah. A hotel a few blocks away. Looks like some gang members must have gotten into it. Bullets flew everywhere. Just a bunch of blood left behind when patrol rolled up. Whoever got shot cleared out before the police arrived.”
Gerrit looked at Alena and shook his head. The officer tapped on the roof of the cab. “You take care, now. Drive careful…and get that light fixed, ya hear?” The officer leaned down and peered into the backseat, closely studying them.
Gerrit could feel Alena tense up.
“Thanks again, Officer.” The cabbie sighed with relief as he started the engine, and then yelling erupted outside.
A police public-address speaker squawked. “Driver. Turn the engine off, and toss the key out the window with your left hand. Passengers. Raise your hands.” The cop must have had a change of heart.
Gerrit glanced at the rearview mirror and saw police flooding the car with lights.
“Sweet mother.” The cabby slowly pulled the keys out the window, dropped them to the pavement, and raised his hands. “What did you guys get me into?”
Alena looked at Gerrit. He just shrugged and slowly lifted his hands. She followed his actions, waiting to see what happened.
One by one, the officer ordered them out of the car. Once Gerrit was on the ground and proned out, another officer came out of the blinding light, cuffed them, and began to search. The moment the cop felt Gerrit’s weapon, he yelled out, “Gun.” He slipped the gun out, just as another officer yelled, “Gun.” They must have found Alena’s weapon, too.
Once they thoroughly searched them, officers helped Gerrit and Alena to their feet, walked them backward, separating them in the backseat of two patrol cars.
From this position, Gerrit could see additional officers searching the car and conferring with others. Without his weapon and confined to this car, Gerrit felt it was only a matter of time before Devon or one of his men took him out. He had to figure a way of getting free. Soon.
An unmarked vehicle arrived with emergency lights flashing and tires squealing. The driver jumped out and went over to speak with the arresting officer for a moment. They both looked in Gerrit’s direction. They had a heated discussion, arms waving, voices raised. Then the driver got back in the unmarked and sped away.
The primary officer swore under his breath as he approached. The officer yanked the rear door open and gestured toward Gerrit to get out. Once out of the car, he felt the cuffs unlock, his arms free.
“Sorry for the detention, sir,” the officer said through clenched teeth. “A case of mistaken identity. Dispatch advised we had the wrong people. I apologize.” Handing Gerrit’s weapon back, the officer’s red face told Gerrit the man was lying through his teeth. This was the last thing the officer wanted to do.
Slipping his weapon into his ankle holster, Gerrit watched other officers uncuff and release Alena and the cabbie. Something really weird was going on. After all this, the police were letting them go, returning their weapons, and not asking to see any identification or concealed-carry permits. Either they had just been visited by the Tooth Fairy, or he and Alena were about to be set up. Maybe ambushed as they left?