“Out, out, out, quick, quick,” Justin shouted, as soon as the airplane stopped sliding.
He checked on Carrie and Sameer and collected his gun and his laptop. He cast a glance toward the burning cockpit, realizing it was already too late for the pilots. Abdul got to his feet and began wrestling with the mangled exit door.
“It’s jammed,” he said after a few failed attempts.
“Move back.” Justin raised his mini Uzi.
He fired an entire magazine at the door, stitching up a circle around the handle. Then, he kicked open the door.
“Let’s go, before the fuel catches fire.” He jumped to the ground, eight feet below.
Carrie lowered Sameer into Justin’s arms. Then, she gave him the laptop. Abdul looked at the flames leaping at the entrance door of the first lounge. A wind gust blew the smell of burning plastic into his face. He began to cough.
“It’s time to go,” Carrie said to Abdul.
Thirty seconds later, while they were still running away from the crash site, a fierce explosion threw them to the ground. Scorched debris and metal shreds rained all around them, as the airplane wreckage turned into a burning hulk.
“Everyone’s OK?” Justin asked when the fiery hail stopped.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Carrie replied.
She had shielded Sameer underneath her body.
“Abdul?” Justin asked.
“Welcome back to Tripoli,” Abdul replied. He lay on his back, cleaning dirt and ashes off his face.
Justin was the first one to get to his feet. He looked around to gather his bearings, and noticed an air traffic control tower to the south.
“The airport’s that way. We have to get to the Prime Minister’s motorcade before they reach the airport.” Justin stared to his right, toward the Airport Highway connecting Tripoli International Airport to the Libyan capital.
“Let’s hope we’re not too late.” Carrie caressed Sameer’s wavy hair.
He looked up at her and gave her a shy smile. Streaks of tears were still visible on his face.
“The Prime Minister is supposed to meet the American President at the airport,” Justin said. “She was landing at 5:30.”
“What time is it now?” Abdul asked.
“No idea,” Justin replied. He glanced at his wrist. “Somebody stole my Rolex.”
“Yeah. They cleaned me out of my jewelry too,” Carrie said.
Justin looked toward the highway about a mile away and squinted. He raised his hand to deflect the bright sunrays hitting his eyes, and noticed a military jeep, then a police car, followed by another military jeep. “It’s the motorcade.”
“Let’s hurry,” Carrie said.
She began to walk, but Sameer locked his arms around her waist.
“Don’t leave me,” he mumbled with a quiet sob.
Carrie crouched down so she could be at Sameer’s eye level. “I will not leave you. Uncle Abdul will find you a safe place, a home, where you can stay until I come back. I will come back to get you. OK?”
Sameer nodded.
“Those houses,” Justin said, looking at a few men running toward them from that direction. The airplane crash and the explosion had aroused their curiosity. “Let’s take Sameer there and borrow a car, so we can get to the motorcade.”
Abdul nodded.
“Still wanna do this?” Carrie touched Justin’s arm.
He held her eyes for a second, before answering, “Of course, I want too. We’ve come so far; we can’t stop now. The Prime Minister is not perfect, but the devil we know is better than the devils we don’t.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Tripoli, Libya
May 17, 5:10 p.m. local time
Justin drove over the rough ground and cut through a patch of scraggly shrubs. The borrowed BMW, a model of the 90s, bounced over a shallow irrigation ditch and landed with a loud bang on the Airport Highway. It fishtailed as Justin jacked the steering wheel.
“We need to get their attention,” Abdul shouted from the back seat. “Before the Prime Minister arrives at the airport and before you kill us all.”
“I’m sure they’ve seen the plane crash,” Justin replied, “or the smoke from the explosion. If not, they’ll see us coming.”
Abdul said, “I know they’ll see us. I just hope they don’t shoot on sight.”
“Well, here’s where we need our man in the mukhabarat.” Justin stepped on the accelerator.
“Wow.” Carrie’s hands gripped Zakir’s laptop. She was in the passenger’s seat, going through his files, looking for any specifics about the assassination. “Almost flew out of my hands.”
“Sorry. Anything useful yet?”
“No. Lots of names and faces but no details. Not yet.”
Justin swerved around a couple of cars and stared in the distance. The last police truck of the Prime Minister’s convoy came into view, about five hundred yards away. Earlier, he had counted about thirty vehicles, including the Prime Minister’s white stretch Mercedes limousine.
“All right, Abdul,” Justin said, “we need the chief of security. Get someone to radio him.”
“I know, I know,” Abdul replied, his voice shaky and tense.
He wiped large drops of sweat from his brows and his eyes. Then, he ran his hands through his hair.
At least my face will not scare them into shooting me.
He pulled out a white handkerchief from one of his shirt pockets. The flag of surrender.
Justin kept getting closer to the last vehicle in the convoy, as they were going through a straight section of the Airport Highway. Large arable fields stretched on both sides. Occasional one-story houses dotted the landscape.
“Now! Go, go, go,” Justin said, when they were about fifty yards away.
Abdul sighed and stuck his head and his upper body through BMW’s sunroof.
“Hey, guards, guards, hey, hey, guards,” he shouted at the two guards in the back seats of the Toyota truck. He waved his hands, the right one holding the white handkerchief. “Guards, guards. Listen up.”
The noise of the truck’s engine drowned out his shouts.
Justin waited until Abdul paused to catch his breath and punched the car’s horn. Three quick, short honks, followed by a long blare.
His alarm drew the guards’ attention. The one on the right stuck his head out of the back window. The second guard pointed his AK-47 rifle at the BMW.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot,” Abdul shouted, “I got to tell you something. Something important. I got a message.”
The second guard fired off a warning shot. Abdul flinched and ducked, even though the shot rang out high above his head.
“Don’t shoot, we’re not a threat,” Abdul continued his plea even louder, “I got a message. Listen to me. I need the chief of security.”
The second guard lowered his rifle, leveling it to Abdul’s head.
“No, no, no,” Abdul shouted, closing his eyes, waving his arms even faster. “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.”
Justin readied for a sharp turn, but noticed the first guard elbowing the second. He was saying something to him, which made the second guard lower his weapon.
“I think we got through to them,” Justin said. The first guard was shouting at them and gesturing for the BMW to drive to the left of the Toyota.
“I would still be careful.” Carrie set aside the laptop and reached for the mini-Uzi by her feet.
“Abdul, you’ve got to convince them,” Justin said. “We’ve got only one chance.”
Abdul replied with a cold sigh. Justin drove parallel to the police truck. Carrie hid her gun under the laptop and looked at the Toyota.
“I know you,” the first guard said, “you’re with the Counter Terrorism Branch. What do you want?”
“The Prime Minister’s in danger. His life is in great danger,” Abdul spat out his words as fast as he could, before the AK-47 was pointed at him again. “Someone’s trying to kill him. Take me to the chief of security.”
“Who’s trying to kill the Prime Minister?”
“A Saudi prince.”
“What? Who?” the guard asked over the loud noise of the truck’s engine.
“A Saudi prince seeking revenge. The convoy will fall into an ambush.”
“No, I can’t believe this.”
“Trust me, neither could I, at first. But we’ve got proof. Let me talk to—”
“When is this ambush happening?” the guard interrupted Abdul.
“Hmm… I’m not quite sure,” Abdul said, “we… eh… we don’t know that.”
The guard groaned. “So, what am I to say to the chief?”
This is not good, this is not good.
Justin shook his head, glancing ahead at the motorcade making a wide turn, as it reached the entrance to the airport complex. He had a clear view of the Prime Minister’s stretch limousine.
“Shit, shit, shit, it’s a landmine, it’s a fucking landmine,” Carrie shouted. She tapped the laptop screen, staring at the assassination plan she had just found. “Abdul there’s a landmine right by the—”
Her words were interrupted by a loud explosion. The ground shook as if an earthquake ripped through its surface. The top layer of the highway was peeled back, throwing large chunks of concrete against the convoy’s vehicles. Thick palm trees along the side of the road were blown away like matchsticks. Two trucks burst into huge fireballs. The Prime Minister’s limousine flipped over to its passenger’s side. The shockwave rippled through the convoy, smashing windows of other vehicles. A second later, the front of the convoy was swallowed up in dark gray smoke.
“Go, go, go, quick, quick,” Abdul shouted at the guards. “We’ve got to help the Prime Minister.”
The guards talked to the driver and the Toyota swerved hard to the right. It drove into the highway shoulder, the driver and the guards shouting at the people in the other cars. Justin followed right behind. Other vehicles rushed toward the Prime Minister’s limousine. Many guards, men and women, in police and military uniforms, poured out of the cars. Justin had to slam on his brakes more than once, to avoid crushing into people scurrying in front of his car.
Just as they were entering the smoke cloud, Justin saw one of the police officers collapse to the ground. At first, Justin thought it was from smoke inhalation. Then, he saw the arm of a man in a military uniform explode with a blood gush.
“Someone’s shooting,” Justin said, slamming again on the brakes and putting the BMW on reverse.
“Stay back, stay back,” Abdul shouted at a group of female bodyguards running next to their car, “there’s a shooter.”
More chaotic gunfire followed, this time from the police officers and the Prime Minister’s bodyguards.
“Actually, there are four shooters.” Carrie tapped the laptop screen. “The ambush is in two stages. Snipers are positioned on the second story of the airport’s towers and the terminal rooftop.”
“The general’s men.” Justin frowned.
“Yes. According to Zakir’s notes, their plan is to kill the Prime Minister if he’s pulled out of the car alive.”
“In case the landmine didn’t kill him,” Abdul said. “It’s so clever.”
A few high caliber rounds scrapped the asphalt in front of the BMW and Justin began to back up slowly.
“We’ve got to tell them,” Justin said, “otherwise the Prime Minister will die, if he’s not dead already.”
He opened the driver’s door.
“I’m coming with you,” Carrie said, before Justin could step outside.
Justin shook his head. “No. Talk to Johnson. She can call in help.”
“What help? We don’t even have a station in Tripoli.”
“The Americans do. They have clout in this place. This plan may have other stages, assassinations of other government officials.”
“I’ve got his back,” Abdul said.
Carrie nodded. “If the two of you get shot, I’m gonna kill you.” She handed the mini-Uzi to Justin.
Justin and Abdul doubled over as they snuck out of the car. The guard who recognized Abdul joined their group. He brought an extra AK-47 for Abdul.
“Let’s get these people,” he shouted, as they huddled behind an armored truck. Sporadic gunshots and gasps of pain pierced the thick cloud of smoke and dirt hanging just above the convoy.
“First, we need to eliminate the snipers,” Justin said.
“You know where the snipers are?” asked the guard.
“Yes, second story of the control tower and the terminal rooftop,” Justin said. “We need to tell the security chief, so that all firepower is hitting those targets.”
“The Prime Minister’s limo is bulletproof, but the landmine has damaged it,” Abdul said. “I wonder if the Prime Minister is still alive.”
“We can’t extract him until all snipers are gone,” Justin said.
“I agree,” the guard said.
They ran along the stopped cars, the guard leading the way. Occasionally, he gestured at police and military officers, all of them positioned around their vehicles, to explain that the two civilians with him were on their side. The smoke thickened as they came near the middle of the convoy. Justin coughed and squinted, in order to see his footsteps.
Gunfire erupted to his left. He hit the ground. A heavy machine gun drummed from atop one of the military trucks. A handful of spent cartridges bounced around his feet. Justin, Abdul and the guard pressed forward and stopped when they were three cars away from the limousine. Bodyguards and police officers had formed a barricade, using two of their trucks. A few men were lying in the ditch along the road. A large man in a gray suit was shouting orders at everyone.
“That’s the chief,” the guard said timidly.
The chief noticed them out of the corner of his eyes. “Who are you? What do you want?” he shouted at them.
The guard relayed the information to the chief, who listened for a few seconds.
He doesn’t believe us,
Justin thought, as the chief turned his back to them.
The chief took a pair of binoculars from one of the jeeps and walked to the edge of the road. He took a few steps in the open field, away from the curtain of smoke. Then, he scouted the areas pointed out as the snipers’ positions. Once he made out the two silhouettes shooting from the control tower, he yelled at two of the bodyguards carrying light machine guns to raze down the entire tower. Moments later, more PKM machine gun fire began hammering the control tower and the terminal rooftop. After a couple of minutes, the chief ordered everyone to cease fire.