The Forgotten Soldier: A Pike Logan Thriller (14 page)

26

B
illings traveled through the suite to the large bedroom, seeing Haider on the balcony outside, drinking tea. He stood, a large smile on his face, and embraced Billings with a traditional touching of cheeks. After greetings, Billings glanced at Khalid, and Haider said, “Khalid, could you check my computer for emails, please?”

Khalid nodded and left them alone. Haider poured Billings tea, and they made small talk for a few minutes. Eventually, they transitioned to Greece, discussing Qatari investment in a natural gas–fired power plant and other infusions of much-needed capital. Billings searched for an entrance, and finally received it when Haider said, “With the turmoil in the world, Qatar feels it irresponsible to not invest in Greece. It’s sound policy.” He smiled and said, “We don’t need one more state falling into chaos.”

Billings nodded. “That’s wise. And another reason I believe Qatar can help with other conflicts. Remember the peace initiative I spoke of? Between the Taliban and the Afghanistan government?”

Acting disinterested, Haider said, “Yes, I do. I must say that it is out of my portfolio, but when I brought it up—” He raised a hand and said, “Discreetly, I assure you; my government was astounded that such a thing could be happening behind its back.”

Billings said, “There is no great mystery. It’s just the way of
diplomacy. You remember the talks held in Norway between the High Peace Council and several Taliban officials from the office in Doha?”

“Yes, of course. They kept us informed of all of that, but it was unofficial. Just some women from Afghanistan demanding rights. Nothing came of it.”

“Well, partially correct. What came of it was an overture from the HPC. They want to conduct serious talks, using the ‘nothing’ meetings as cover for the real ones. Too much pressure is put on the talks when they are officially announced. Too much is expected, forcing both sides to utter stupid things, preventing the very talks they want. This way, both can come secretly. Nobody is even looking at Norway.”

Haider nodded, thinking. He said, “So a talk within a talk, without any official announcement. That might actually do some good.”

Billings smiled and said, “I’m glad you feel that way, because the United States recognizes the power Qatar holds, and we’d like you to be the emissary. Unofficially. We can’t have anyone known in the Qatari government show up in Oslo. It would defeat the entire purpose. Do you think you could do such a thing? Act as the go-between?”

Haider said, “I would be honored, and I thank you for the trust. When will this occur, so I may ensure my availability?”

“I don’t know yet. The details are still being worked out, but the initial meeting will be soon. Days, not weeks. Understand, the Taliban office in Doha knows nothing, and it must remain that way. For security purposes.”

Haider said, “Don’t worry. If anyone understands security and secrecy, it’s the Qatar Investment Authority. Whenever we try to invest overseas, if it becomes public knowledge, you Westerners—how do you say—‘come out of the woods’ to stop it.”

Billings laughed and said, “I think you mean ‘come out of the woodwork,’ but I believe you.”

He paused, on the threshold. The moment of truth.

Haider said, “What is it?”

“Speaking of security, there is something else I must tell you. I’ve learned through our intelligence agencies that there may be a threat against you.”

His cup halfway to his lips, Haider paused, then said, “A threat? From your intelligence agency?”

Billings had decided that conveying the danger was good enough. In no way did he want to implicate himself or cause damage to all that he was doing by exposing the reality. He said, “No, no. Not from us. We just heard about it. We don’t know who it is, but it came out of Afghanistan, and your name was mentioned. Something ridiculous about an operation you supposedly conducted. It could be nothing but coincidence. A mistaken name or something else, but you should take precautions. Please, I am breaking protocol for even telling you, but I felt it was necessary.”

Haider said, “I appreciate the trust.”

—

Haider watched the door close, Billings heading back to his room. Khalid said, “Well?”

“We’re in, but there is a significant issue.”

“What?”

Haider paused, not wanting another experience like he’d had last night. He’d finally gathered the courage to tell Khalid about the death of Ahmed, and as expected, Khalid was distraught, wanting to fly to the United States and kill someone just to relieve the pain. He’d eventually calmed down but now walked about with a permanent scowl, looking for a slight in anything the hotel staff did.

Haider made his decision. “Billings says there is a threat against me. He stated he didn’t know from where, but it had to do with Afghanistan.”

Khalid said, “The man last night.”

“Yes. Secretary Billings is lying. He knows exactly who it is but is playing like a spy. He’s too worried about our partnership to let it go but too stupid to realize I can see through him. It was the American from the restaurant, and apparently, he’s hunting me.”

Khalid said, “Does this have anything to do with Ahmed?”

Haider hadn’t considered that. He thought about it, then said, “I don’t see how. That was in Key West, Florida. The American is here, in Greece.”

“Maybe it’s not just a single American. How well do you trust Secretary Billings?”

“Enough. The logic makes no sense. If Billings had anything to do with it, why on earth tell me? No. He knows what it is, and he’s afraid of anything happening to me because it will hurt him. It’s no different than the tribal politics in Qatar.”

Khalid nodded and said, “What do you want to do? You want me to interdict him?”

“Secretary Billings? No, no. That is the last thing I want. Call Nikos. He found the man once. He can do so again. We will fight fire with fire.”

27

I
sat back in disgust. “Are you telling me the greatest hackers in the United States inventory can’t get me a lead on Guy George? That he’s dropped off the face of the earth without a trace?”

My favorite computer geek, Bartholomew Creedwater—Creed, in Taskforce parlance—said, “Pike, I can’t see into the guy’s head. As much as you think I’m God, I can’t penetrate the time-space continuum. I need a handle.”

He glanced at Jennifer, making sure she knew that he was on his game and it wasn’t his fault.

Creed was currently detailed to some computer operation involving North Korea, but when I’d been given this mission, I’d demanded his release, and Kurt had agreed. Creed was the best we had, and not averse to bending the rules, something I was sure I’d need on this shitty assignment. But he also had an unremitting crush on Jennifer, which annoyed the hell out of me.

She treated him like a little brother, and he responded to the attention. A couple of years ago, he’d seen her do some pretty incredible commando stuff on a mission in Colorado, and he’d fallen head over heels for her, thinking he was looking at the incarnation of the Black Widow from an
Avengers
movie. It was a little pathetic, but when I’d made a joke about it to Jennifer, she’d taken offense, calling me a
bully. So now I had to endure his clumsy attempts at getting into her pants if I wanted his help.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I was willing to dangle Jennifer to get what I wanted. It’s called leadership.

I said, “Come on, we own every bit of data on the guy. Surely you can find something. He’s had to use a credit card, cell phone, bank account, or something.”

“Pike, he’s not using anything associated with his identity. Outside of that cash withdrawal over a week ago, he’s done nothing. He’s a ghost.”

“How in the hell do you guys manage to find terrorists with nothing but a name but can’t find this guy when we have his biometric data and every detail of his life?”

Creed looked at me and said, “He’s well trained. He knows exactly what we’re looking for.”

Which scared the hell out of me, because it told me he wasn’t just on a bender somewhere. If he had gone this far to hide his tracks, he was doing something bad. Stepping into the abyss. Once that path was crossed, it was very, very hard to come back. I knew, because I’d been there. And now I was supposed to put him down.

I kept thinking of that Clint Eastwood movie from the ’90s.
In the Line of Fire.
Where the ex-CIA man and would-be assassin of the president says,
“What you didn’t see, Frank, what you couldn’t possibly know is, they sent my best friend—my comrade-in-arms—to my home to kill me
.
”

I’d always wondered who the real bad guy was in that movie. If maybe the assassin hadn’t been justified. Now I was going to find out. The hard way.

I said, “Okay, okay, then we go to square one. Guy’s smart, I get that. Let’s use it against him. He’s got to operate, and we know he’s not using Taskforce kit, so what
is
he using? He’s going to have a drop phone, but it’ll be a smartphone. He’s going to use apps. He’s going to leverage COTS stuff—and we can track that.”

Creed sank back, not wanting to give his answer, but he did. “Pike, you’re right. With the spyware embedded in most apps sending data to the host, we could find his location, but even with commercial stuff off the shelf, we have to know the name he’s using to sign in. We can’t hack an account without it. I can’t just dig into Apple and find a ghost. I have to know what I’m looking for. Or, in reverse, we have to know his phone IMEI so we can crack the app, but if we had that, we wouldn’t need the app.”

I bunched my fists, and Jennifer stepped in, saying, “What about Taskforce apps? Has anyone downloaded those in the last few days?”

The Taskforce had its own cloud, with a bunch of apps that could be downloaded in a pinch if an Operator had lost some Taskforce kit and was forced to use an in extremis capability. They were definitely more robust than anything on the civilian market, but Guy hadn’t used any of them. It was just one more backup to the backup in the Taskforce arsenal, and I’d already checked on their use.

“No. Nothing downloaded in the last few days, but he knows we can track that stuff. All of them have malware embedded, waiting to be initiated in case of loss on an operation. He wouldn’t want the tether.”

Jennifer nodded and kept at it. “Travel history? If he goes overseas, he’s got to use a passport, and that will be tied biometrically.”

Glad for the break away from tech stuff, Creed said, “He hasn’t left the United States. At least not with
his
passport. And we know he hasn’t used any aliases from the Taskforce. They’re all accounted for.”

Jennifer looked at me and said, “That’s something. At least we know he’s in the United States.”

Creed beamed at the supposed compliment from his statement. I glared at him and said, “Bullshit. We know nothing. I’m telling you, this target is the worst we’ve ever seen. He’s smart, and he’s skilled. An absence of data is proof of nothing. Creed, build me a list of off-the-shelf spy apps for both Android and Apple. Not the stupid baby-cam crap. The good stuff. That’s what he’s going to use.”

Jennifer said, “Pike, let’s not make this into something it’s not. He’s just an Operator. He’s not Creed.”

Creed looked at her like a high schooler gazing at a woman in a cosplay outfit who’d deigned to say hello, completely undone by the compliment.

I straightened up from staring at the computer and said, “Both of you listen to me, because it needs to be said. Guy George is every bit as good as me, and if he’s truly on the hunt, he’s going to figure out how to do it. Just like I would. Don’t underestimate him. Especially his capacity for violence.”

Jennifer looked unconvinced.

I said, “What did you think when we first met?”

Trying to deflate the atmosphere, she said, “I thought you were a drunk.”

I locked eyes with her and said, “What did you think in Guatemala? When the blood began to flow?”

She got the point. I’d slaughtered many men to keep her alive, and I was sliding into the abyss even as I did it. Jennifer was the one who’d saved me from falling in completely. She kept her eyes on mine, then slowly said, “I thought you were death. But you were killing for a reason.”

I nodded and said, “Yes, but
he
thinks he’s killing for a reason. That’s what we’re stopping, and I want to do it before Guy crosses a line he can’t come back from.”

Guy had come in brash and strong to my old Special Mission Unit, with a background from both the Ranger Battalions and Special Forces, walking up the military ladder of every unit worth a damn. He was one of those guys who just knew he was right, and was always fighting decisions because he had a better idea. You said left, he said right. If you had said right, he’d have said left. But he backed up the bravado with brains, strength, and skill. Not unlike me, before I knew better.

After that, I’d recruited him to the Taskforce, knowing Kurt would never put him on my team because we were too much alike. I knew he’d feel that that much unbridled arrogance on a team could cause a catastrophic event, so my team got Decoy, and Guy had gone to Johnny’s team. In the end, it had been the right choice, as both teams flourished.

To me, the obvious decision was to have Johnny tracking down his own man, but Kurt hadn’t seen it that way. The excuse was that Johnny’s team was already deployed, and pulling them back would endanger ongoing operations, but I knew better. Johnny was too close to Guy, and Kurt feared his emotions would prevent him from doing what was necessary. Left unsaid was just what that might be. Kurt could give excuses, but I understood I was chosen because I had served with the target as well, yet I wasn’t close enough to be clouded.

I told myself that, though I wondered if Kurt, having seen me at my worst, believed I was the only person capable of solving the problem because of my past. Like I had crossed a line once before and because of it, I was capable of returning there if he asked for it.

It was a thing I didn’t want to even think about, but it hovered in the room like the stench of a dead animal. I wondered if Kurt thought I’d execute because I was the best at this and he trusted me, or because I had no soul.

It hurt.

Yes, I knew the target, but that only increased my fear. Guy George had been born fighting. A towheaded, rangy guy from a broken home in a small town in Montana, he was raised on bull riding and beer drinking. Not exactly what the Taskforce was searching for when they wanted someone to blend in in Amman, Jordan, but then again, neither was I. We recruited for diversity, trying to find men who could swim among various populations without leaving a ripple, but skill outweighed any other consideration. I had seen him operate in hostile
lands all over the globe, finding ways to get the mission done regardless of his pure American looks. He had proven to be a cunning predator. Just like me.

And now I was hunting him. Possibly the only one in the room who knew the danger he truly represented.