“Two assassins who were shooting at us,” Justin clarified.
“Still, this order ties my hands.” Matthew sat in a chair and gave his temples a deep rub. “Oh, why did I believe your involvement would make things easier for me?”
“Because it did,” Justin replied. “Look, we understand Farid is pissed off and he wants us out of here. But we’re not finished. We still have to interrogate witnesses and check the crime scene.”
“Uh-uh.” Matthew shook his head. “I can’t have you out there. All I can do is delay your deportation until tomorrow morning, at the most. I’ll make up some excuse that you need to brief me and then process some paperwork.”
“That means our conclusions are incomplete,” Justin objected.
“As far as I’m concerned, they’ll do. We’ve changed the times and the routes of the President’s convoy during her visit, reviewed our emergency options, redoubled our manpower, and requested extra support from the local police and the Internal Security.”
“You’re making a grave mistake,” Carrie said, “our findings at the lab, along with this attack may point at something else.”
“What else?”
“We’re not sure, but we’ve reason to believe there’s more to this plot than what we’ve discovered so far.”
“Yes, yes, you explained it to me once, half an hour ago, when you talked about another target. The suicide bomber’s confession on the platter, the Sheikh’s strange request, and inconsistencies with the unexploded bomb. But these are all circumstantial evidence. Inconclusive at best.”
“True enough,” Justin said, “and this is exactly why we can’t abort our mission now. Not before we have all pieces of the puzzle.”
Matthew shook his head. “You really believe this is all smoke and mirrors?”
Carrie and Justin exchanged a thoughtful glance.
“Give me everything you’ve got if you want another stab at this,” Matthew demanded. “After all, it’s my ass on the line, since I’m lying about you being American diplomats.”
“All right.” Justin showed Matthew his BlackBerry phone. “Our post in Dubai has intercepted a wire transfer from Saudi Prince Husayn bin Al-Farhan to Sheikh Yusuf Ayman, the Islamic Fighting—”
“Yes, I know who he is, and we know of Prince Al-Farhan alleged financing of terrorism. However, there has never been any hard evidence of his—”
“Hold on a second, Matthew.” Justin raised his left hand. “No one is accusing the US of having a cozy relationship with the Saudis. I’m just stating the fact that Prince Al-Farhan transferred twenty million dollars from one of his offshore holdings to the main terrorist group active in Libya.”
“OK, let’s assume this intel is true. Maybe this money was transferred to finance the attack against my President. There’s no reason to believe in the existence of another target.”
“Still, no reason to exclude other possibilities,” Justin insisted. “That’s why it’s crucial we continue our investigation.”
“By all means.” Matthew pointed at Justin’s BlackBerry and at the phone set on the desk. “Work at your heart’s content. But neither of you is leaving this building. Don’t even go out for a cigarette break.”
“You’re crippling us,” Carrie protested.
“Just making sure you stay alive, at least until you board a plane, first thing tomorrow morning. Anything else?”
Before Justin or Carrie could answer, there was a quick knock on the door. Nour barged in without waiting for anyone to call him.
“Sir, you should have a look at this.” He handed his boss a single sheet of folded paper. “A communication we just received from our source in the Alliance.”
Nour glanced at the two Canadian agents, their faces pale with surprise. “Yes, we’ve covered all angles,” he said.
Matthew read the short printout. He blinked and glanced at Justin and Carrie. He looked again at the sheet of paper in his hand and shook his head.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re right.” Matthew stared at Justin. “This intel confirms that the US President
is not
the target of this plot.”
Chapter Nineteen
United States Embassy, Tripoli, Libya
May 15, 12:15 p.m. local time
“So, who is the target?” Justin pointed at the document. “May I see that?”
“We still don’t know.” Matthew gestured for Justin to pick up the folded sheet lying on the desk.
Justin scanned the half page transcript of a phone call. Two short paragraphs from someone identified as “Seif” indicated the US President was not the intended target of the assassination attempt. Furthermore, the transcript noted that Sheikh Issa Mahub Al-Arhabi, the head of the Islamic Fighting Alliance, was planning to travel to Yemen the next day.
“Who’s Seif?” Justin handed the transcript to Carrie.
“Our man within Sheikh’s intimate circle,” Matthew replied.
“Can you trust him?”
“So far his intel has never failed.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about this Seif?” Carrie handed the document back to Justin, who gave it a second look.
Matthew shrugged. “Homeland Security protocol. Plus, I wasn’t sure what Seif was going to find out.”
Justin finished reading the transcript a third time and placed it back on the desk. He rubbed his palms together and took a step forward, getting closer to Matthew. “What’s next?” he asked.
Matthew spread his arms. “Business as usual,” he said with a chuckle, “as long as my President is not the target, I don’t really care. Terrorists can blow up whoever they want.”
“You can’t be serious,” Carrie said. “We have solid evidence that something big is under way, and you’re simply going to stand and watch from the sidelines?”
A stern gaze froze Matthew’s face. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m going to be right in the middle of the shitstorm, right in front of the presidential limo, on the lookout for any son of a bitch who dares to smile funny at the convoy. So, don’t you dare tell me how to do my job!”
Carrie raised a protective hand. “Hey, no need to be pissed off at me. We both want the same thing.”
Matthew’s left side of the face twitched as he produced a fake grin. “We do, but the two of you have a reckless way of getting results. I want my President’s visit to go as smooth as possible: in and out the country without firing a shot. The two of you, you want to get to the bottom of this story, which is beyond my interests.”
The phone on the desk rang.
“What is it?” Matthew barked at the caller. He listened for a minute then shook his head. “Ehe, ehe,” he said. Then he hung up.
“Guess who that was?” Matthew pointed at Justin. “Your minder from Internal Security, Abdul. One of the extremists they’ve been torturing since last night finally spilled his guts. And you’ve got your answer. The target of the Alliance is the Prime Minister of Libya.”
“What?” Justin shouted. “You must be joking.”
“What? The islamists want to kill the Prime Minister?” Carrie asked.
Matthew nodded. “If you believe this poor man’s confession.”
Justin’s lips pursed. “A man under torture would admit to anything.”
“Well, your initial suspicions came because of information obtained through torture. Whether you like it or not, this is how things are done in Libya,” Matthew said.
Justin decided it was not worth correcting him. The agents had received the details of the assassination plot from Sheikh Ayman, in exchange for Canada’s mediation between the Islamic Fighting Alliance and the Libyan authorities. The confession of the wannabe suicide bomber had served as collaborating evidence to support their theory. However, this latest piece of information came as a fierce blow, knocking down the idea about a conspiracy to assassinate the American President. Justin realized Sheikh Ayman had lied to them about the true target of the plot.
“Well, I’m out of here,” Matthew said. “If you’d like to tell the Libyans more about the extremists’ plot, be my guests. But since this intel came from them in the first place, I’m sure they have a handle on things. This isn’t the first time an attempt has been made on their Prime Minister’s life.”
“But—” Carrie began, as Matthew walked to the door, but Nour interrupted her with a promising wink and a flick of his wrist.
“As I said earlier, this is no longer my business.” Matthew turned around and raised his left hand to his eyes, making a quick I am keeping an eye on you gesture. “And it’s none of your business either. Nour will arrange for your transportation tomorrow at zero six hundred. Is everything clear?”
“Yes, sir, it is clear,” Justin replied.
Carrie just nodded.
“And no tricks, Justin. There will be no other shoot ‘em up under my watch.” Matthew raised a finger in the air and waived it in front of their faces.
“We get it. We’ll do our job from inside this trap hole,” Carrie said.
Matthew forced out a snort. “You’ll thank me later.”
Then, he walked out the room.
“What a jerk,” Carrie mumbled. She walked over to Nour, who had a slight grin on his face. “So, you’re going to help us escape?”
“No freaking way. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No? So, what’s with the wink?” Justin asked.
“This.” Nour produced a satellite phone from his pants pocket. “It’s my personal phone, untapped by the embassy. All phones here are monitored, and all calls are recorded. If you use my phone to call Johnson, maybe she’ll twist Matthew’s balls until he agrees to let you go.”
Justin eyes shone.
“Thanks, we appreciate this.” He glanced at the satellite phone. “But, what’s in it for you?”
“For starters, the pleasure of seeing Matthew squirm,” Nour replied with a quiet chuckle. “He can be a real jerk at times, although I understand his hands-off approach. In a few days, he’ll be out of this place, and I’ll still be in charge of the security for American diplomats. I don’t want this place to become more hostile than it already is.”
“Do you really think the Alliance has a chance?” Carrie asked.
“In Libya, everything’s possible,” Nour replied. “The Prime Minister came to power after a civil war that toppled a forty-one-year rule of a strongman, and he may go out in a car bomb.”
Justin weighted the satellite phone in his hand. “You call Johnson.” He handed the phone over to Carrie. “I’m gonna talk to Abdul.”
“I’m starving.” Nour followed Justin to the door. “There’s this place around the corner that makes the best falafels in Tripoli. I can bring you some lunch, since you shouldn’t leave the building.”
“No, but thanks,” Carrie said, “I can’t stomach anything until after I’ve finished reporting to my boss.”
“Is she giving you guys a hard time?”
“Not more than usually,” Justin replied. “After you.” He waited for the American to go through the door. Then, he said to Carrie, “I’ll be back in fifteen or so.”
“I’ll be here, on the phone,” she dragged her words.
“You’re welcome any time,” Justin said. Then, he dropped his voice to a low whisper, “at least she’s not dropping
you
somewhere you can get killed.”
“Oh, no, not yet,” Carrie replied with a sigh, “but ask me again when you come back. She may have something else in mind.”
Chapter Twenty
United States Embassy, Tripoli, Liby
a
May 15, 12:30 p.m. local time
“Tell me this once again. The Americans have a spy in the Alliance?” asked Abdul.
“Keep your voice down.” Justin gestured toward a couple of women walking through the embassy halls. He nodded at them as they turned the corner by two L-shaped leather couches, where Justin and Abdul were sipping bitter coffee from small paper cups. The young redhead returned a pretty smile; the older woman whipped them with a stern frown.
“I still can’t believe it,” Abdul dropped his voice to a silent hush, “that is so bold.”
“Yeah, that’s true, but I’m not supposed to share this intel with you.” Justin took a sip of his drink.
He reached back, pushed the window curtains aside, and glanced outside. From the second floor of the embassy he could see the whitewashed walls and a small stretch of the street leading to a row of coffee shops and falafel restaurants across the intersection. Nour had yet to return from picking up his lunch. It had already been fifteen minutes.
Did he find a long line or he is eating there? He said he was going for takeout.
“Oh, so we’re expected to bend over backwards, but Americans aren’t giving away a thing?” Abdul asked.
“You’ll go a long way, Abdul, because
now
you’re getting it.”
“Thanks?”
“You’re welcome. Now, can we believe this guy you’re torturing?”
“My agency does not torture and personally, I haven’t beaten anyone.” Abdul went on the defensive. “Well, not in the last two years, at least.”
“So, yes or no?”
“Well, that’s tricky to say. Torture confessions are useful only if we find other evidence or at least have these claims confirmed by other sources.”
“Well, the US source knows only that the US President is not the target, but he can’t confirm the identity of the new one.”
“And our raids haven’t produced any evidence. We’re back to square one.”
“Has your agency infiltrated the Alliance?”
“If it has, I’m not aware of it.”
“Would the colonel know?”
Abdul shrugged and leaned back on the couch. Its springs squealed under his weight.
“Maybe, but don’t count on him telling you.”
Justin sighed. He conceded, “So, really, we don’t have much.”
“No, we don’t. And if you’re locked within these walls for the rest of the day, and then get on the first plane tomorrow morning, we’ll find nothing else.”
“Unless the colonel scraps his deportation order.”
“He might, if the Americans ask for a favor. But you told me Matthew doesn’t want to do that.”
“Yeah. Apparently he’s washed his hands of this case.”
“And your boss?” Abdul asked.
A dark shadow fell on Justin’s face. He delayed his reply, allowing for the spark of anger to die down, to avoid mouthing off any swear words about Johnson.