Serve in the Shadows Recruitment, page 8
Placing both feet on the cloth of the belt, Derek reached down and slid the belt straps off his shoulders.
“Don’t move. Let me do all the work.”
Sliding his hands under Mustafa’s arms, Derek slowly lifted him up and inch by inch, sliding him out of the explosive belt with his feet standing on the cloth it held it in place nicely.
“Thank you, thank you!” Mustafa began to cry in relief.
Bending down, Derek rolled the belt and backpack up inside the denim jacket and picked it up.
“It isn’t over yet. Come with me.”
*****
Derek held Mustafa up with his arm around his shoulder and carried the pack and bomb in his other hand. Going down the steps, Derek looked around the empty plaza. Everyone had cleared out in seconds, although he could see a gathering of people looking around the corner of the church. The sound of sirens approaching grew louder, they would be here momentarily.
Moving to the center of the plaza, Derek looked down at the sewer grate beside the food carts. Gently placing the pack on the ground, Derek let go of Mustafa.
“Just stand there. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I don’t think I can. They messed me up pretty badly.”
Reaching down, Derek grabbed a hold of the sewer grate and tried to stand it up. The grease that had been poured down, made this almost impossible to get a firm grip on the narrow bars. Looking around, Derek saw that the nearest food cart had a metal bar stool for the cook to sit on. Grabbing it he kicked off the circular metal rung at the bottom and wedged one leg of the stool into the grate. Leaning back on the seat, he bent the metal leg ninety degrees at the end, forming a hook.
Within seconds, the improvised hook went through the grate, and with a little turn, Derek pulled upward opening the sewer entrance. Scooping up the pack and explosives, he threw them down the hole.
“Quickly, let’s go!” Derek grabbed Mustafa’s arm around his shoulders and while practically carrying him, ran from the plaza.
As they ran to the edge of the square, the explosives went off. The ground heaved in the center of the plaza, and a geyser of smoke and water and debris exploded from the sewer grating, shooting a hundred feet into the air. The muffled explosion echoed off the walls, and the heaving ground collapsed a few feet lower than it previously rested.
The crowd of people that actually stayed to watch, were amazed at the violence and how close they and the men came to death.
When they looked for the two men, they were nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 17
“The test device has worked properly. Pack them up for shipment.” The general glanced at his cell phone and read a text message. Around the room, several people began to gather up the components for the bombs and explosives, in small wooden crates and removing all the signs they were there.
The crates were brought downstairs and loaded into the back of the Land Rover under the guidance of its driver, Emmanuel. Still rather agitated that Mustafa got away from him by running like a jackrabbit, he paced back and forth. He should have expected that, and the fact that Mustafa had to be brought in by the American made him boil.
“Is everything ready?”
Turning around, Emmanuel saw the general approaching, and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good! I will meet you at the airport. Call ahead to have my jet ready.”
A smaller man in traditional Saudi robes held open a door to a waiting Mercedes S600, with one last look around the general got in the back, and they quickly drove away.
Emmanuel oversaw the final packing of the crates and stood by the Land Rover. Calling one of the men over, he said, “Do one final sweep of the place, and when done, burn it down. Make it look like an accident.”
*****
After they left the plaza, it took Derek and Mustafa only a few minutes to go around the block where a crowd of people stood watching the aftermath of the explosion. A few passers-by held cell phones up to capture the remaining smoke rising upward in the sky. While they were distracted, Derek found an old beat up four-door Toyota still running, as the absent driver had joined the crowd trying to see the spectacle.
Mustafa who was still wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, groaned and curled up into a ball in the back seat. After a few minutes of driving around randomly, Derek headed east out of the city on the main road. As far as he could tell by constantly looking in the rear mirror, they had not been followed.
Within a few minutes of driving east, Derek passed a large mosque on the north side of the road, and he began to slow down. At the first cluster of brush near some farmland, he pulled over.
“I will be right back. Stay here, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he stepping out on to the road and quickly walked down the ditch and into the scrub. Moments later, he threw his pack into the front seat and looked around. The two-hour hike into town early this morning, over six miles, only took a few minutes to traverse in the stolen car.
A quick look in the back seat showed Mustafa had not moved and appeared to be passed out.
“Derek, once Mustafa wakes up, he is going to crash big time off the drugs.” Grant showed up and leaned back against the fender. “He is going to need medical attention, and I don’t know anywhere safe that he would be able to go around here.”
“We need to know who he is working for,” Derek started. “He said he designed that bomb. I would imagine that wasn’t the only one he built.”
“They have targets in mind, and they are not lacking in “volunteers” to deliver their packages.”
Derek pointed to Mustafa, “I don’t think he was a volunteer. They are cleaning house.”
“We need to know what their main target is, and who is behind it.”
Grant stood up from the front of the car and walked around to the rear window, looking inside. “We only have one option I can think of. And I am fairly sure he can be trusted.”
Chapter 18
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Assistant Deputy John Hubble sat in his office looking over paperwork and reports. His briefing with the deputy had not gone as well as he would have like, and neither of them liked unanswered questions. His interview with Arnott had provided no further answers. Arnott believed the story that Derek wished to travel abroad, in memory of his brother and had seen no sign of deceit.
The report from the station chief in Cairo seemed hard to believe.
Derek Lawson arrived via taxi to an Egyptian air base near Cairo airport, and eventually boarded an Egyptian supply flight to Mumbai, India. Upon hearing that news, the station chief in Cairo made a few calls and had spotters on the ground in Mumbai watching for Derek Lawson for continued observation.
The planeload of supplies landed, and five crewmen registered on board, including pilots, were all accounted for. No sign of the Master Sergeant. He was not on the plane.
The last report from South Sudan disturbed John the most. A vehicle wreckage found outside of Juba contained the remains of Ymir’s daughter and grandchildren. The police report listed it as an accident, with no further investigation required.
Sitting back in his chair, John knew a professional hit when he saw one, even when covered up to make it look like an accident.
Mustafa was the last link they had to find out about a forthcoming attack.
A knock on the office door made him sit upright. His secretary Liana popped her head. “You have an incoming call,” she said. “Unknown caller, but he passed the clearance test.”
“Thank you.”
John looked down at the display, and it showed a German number. With contacts all around the world, the German area code didn’t surprise him. However, only a few had the necessary phone number to reach him at and codes to get through his secretary, and that did surprise him.
“Assistant Deputy Hubble,” he said, picking up the phone.
“I need help and you are on the short list of people to trust.” The voice most likely belonged to a middle-aged man, and with the wind noise over the phone, it appeared that he was outside.
“Who is this?” John asked.
“I have Mustafa Hatala, and he needs medical attention,” the caller replied after a slight pause.
At this point, John Hubble stood up leaning on his desk, and his gut instinct kicked in. “Derek Lawson?”
With a slight chuckle, the caller asked, “How did you know?”
“Your name has crossed my desk several times in the last few days.”
“I know you have a few questions you would like to ask, but first Mustafa is with me. I believe they have been keeping him severely drugged. Time is of the essence for him.”
“Your location?”
“A few miles east of Sana’a, in Yemen.”
“I do have a lot of questions.” John ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Hold on.”
“Roger that.”
John placed the call on hold. There was no way that Derek Lawson should know anything about Mustafa Hatala or even on how to get through his secretary to talk with him.
However, first things first. Opening his office door John called to Liana. “Call down to Ops. I need verification on that incoming number ASAP.”
“Yes, sir.” Turning back to her desk, she started making phone calls.
Sitting back down, he turned to the computer and called up a list of assets in Yemen. After a few minutes of cross-checking information, he picked up the phone again.
“Derek, still there?”
“Yes, sir,” he responded.
“How reliable is your mode of transportation?”
“So far so good.”
“How quickly can you get due south to Aden? There is a marina on Sira Island, where someone will meet you. It is approximately two hundred and forty miles.”
“If all goes well, probably within four hours.”
“Good. That should give you some time to have your answers ready for me.”
“Acknowledged. On route, thank you, sir.” With these words, Derek hung up.
One thing John knew, was that Derek Lawson seemed very capable, and polite. A few of his officers apparently should have spent some time in the army learning manners.
Liana opened the door. “Sir, the call was not long enough to pinpoint, but operations said it was a prepaid cell phone from a German exchange, calling from somewhere in Yemen. They are still working on it.”
Apparently, Derek was being straight up. “Tell them that isn’t necessary, thank you.”
While going through the list of questions in his head for the sergeant, the assistant deputy began to make arrangements.
Chapter 19
Ballet Nacional
Madrid, Spain
Georges finished tightening up and checked the cross beam by hanging on it for a brief moment. It felt very secure and it didn’t have any movement. Satisfied with the work, he climbed down the ladder and started putting the tools away.
He had moved to Madrid as a student several years ago from Greece, and after college, began working for the Ballet Nacional as a carpenter, putting up stage sets for performances. It didn’t take long for him to become the handyman to help out with all the different projects and upkeep of the building.
“Georges, when you are done go to the docks, the new sets are here and need unloading for tomorrow night’s show.”
Turning around, he saw Camila reaching out with a clipboard. “Can you check the incoming sets? I have an appointment and have to head out.”
“Sin problema,” he said with a smile.
“Keep practicing! You are doing much better. Gracias,” Camila said, smiling back.
Taking the clipboard, Georges watched her walk away. The pay here isn’t that great, but some of the perks make up for it, he thought.
Packing up his tools, Georges stored them away in his workspace backstage. Constantly working on his Spanish seemed to endear him to the others that worked here. With a primarily female staff and the ballet dancers, he had plenty of incentive.
Reaching for his phone, which was still charging, Georges noticed the blue LED light blinking. Swiping his thumb across the fingerprint sensor, he unlocked it.
Reading the text message, Georges turned pale and his hands began to tremble. With heart pounding, he typed in the reply and pressed “send.”
It is too soon, he thought with a quick look around, making sure he was alone.
Erasing the sent message, Georges locked up his small tool room and grabbed the clipboard. Taking a few deep breaths to calm down, he went back loading docks and began to bring in the stage sets.
Everything is normal, he said to himself.
Everything is normal …
*****
The sun was just starting to set as Derek pulled into the marina on Sira Island. Mustafa, who looked rather pale and kept mumbling to himself for most of the drive, stayed curled up in a fetal position. Derek checked him a few times along the drive, but Mustafa did not respond and had a very weak pulse. Hold on, Mustafa. We’re almost there.
With only one main entrance to the parking area, Derek pulled in slowly and looked around. Many families were walking about enjoying the sunset and various boats were pulling in to the docks after a day out on the water. Near the end of the parking lot by some picnic tables, stood a middle-aged man watching Derek pull in, and beside him rested an empty wheelchair. Making eye contact, the man raised his hand and beckoned Derek to come over.
Pulling alongside him, Derek turned the car off and left the keys in the ignition.
Opening the rear door, the man looked inside and said, “Get him into the wheelchair and follow me.”
Moving quickly, Derek picked up Mustafa and lowered him into the chair. He weighed almost one hundred and forty pounds, which Derek barely noticed. Grabbing his pack, he put one arm under the strap and followed.
They walked past the picnic tables, where the sidewalk turned into a ramp and led out to the first pier. The third slip down had old thirty-foot fishing boat tied up, rocked gently against the bumpers. Two planks lay down across the dock and into the boat ready for them.
Mustafa had to be held sitting upright in the wheelchair and appeared in a semi-comatose state, not moving or waking up once, even as the wheelchair bumped across the dock boards and up the planks.
“Get him inside and down below.”
The man was either a local or from a similar country, and Derek couldn’t place his accent. The jeans and white t-shirt he wore could have been bought at Walmart in the States. He seems to be very professional and a no-nonsense type of person.
Locking the wheels in place with the small levers, Derek picked up Mustafa and brought him down below. The interior looked like a miniature hospital, with two stretchers on either side with a surgical light on a swivel overhead between them. A quick look at back wall showed it to be full of equipment, from a portable ultrasound scanner to a defibrillator.
“Get him up on this bed,” he said pointing.
Dropping his pack on the stairs, Derek lifted Mustafa up and lay him out on the stretcher.
Turning on the overhead light, the man began a quick examination. Pulling out a small penlight, he lifted his eyelids and flicked the light on each one.
“Cyanosis of his lips and fingertips, needle track marks on his arms. Non-responsive to stimulus.”
Slipping on a blood pressure cuff over his upper arm, he then attached a grey clip over his index finger, to monitor his pulse and oxygen saturation. Reaching back, he turned the display monitor on and he slipped an oxygen mask over Mustafa’s face.
“Overdose, I am giving him Naloxone and setting up and IV,” he then paused and looked at Derek. “Beside you in the fridge, is a small white bag. Grab that and a beer.”
“A beer?”
“Yes, a beer. Go up top and hang out, drink a beer and have dinner. I have a lot to do.”
Knowing a hint when he heard one, Derek happily complied.
An hour later, the sun had just disappeared over the horizon, and Derek had his feet up on stern railing leaning back in a chair when the door opened and the man came up from below.
Standing up, Derek asked, “How is he doing?”
“He is stabilized, and he should be fine eventually.”
“Thanks, ummm…” Derek trailed off. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Just call me Michael,” he said.
“Thanks, Michael. When can he talk?”
“He is almost awake now. He should be able to answer some questions. He will be going through some severe withdrawal symptoms over the next week to ten days.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Go easy on him.”
Going below, Derek saw Mustafa on the stretcher, with the head elevated up. He was plugged into the machinery and had an intravenous drip inserted into the back of his hand. The lights were lowered inside so he could rest easier.
Looking at his eyes, Derek could see they were watching him.
“I hope you are doing better.” Derek came in and leaned against the second bed.
Mustafa’s eyes opened up a little more and he gave a barely perceptible nod.
“Do you remember most of what happened?”
Mustafa licked his lips and cleared his throat, “Yes, it is rather dream-like, but I remember.”
“Do you remember anything about the people that forced you to work for them? I need to find them as soon as possible.”
Mustafa closed his eyes, and for a few seconds, Derek thought he fell asleep.
“Everyone called him the general. And I know who he is…”
Chapter 20
Royal Palace
Madrid, Spain
The Spanish royal family resided not in the Palace of La Zarzuela, but a nearby mansion on the palace grounds. The round driveway out front circled a pond with fountains and beautiful flower beds. The mansion could as well be considered a palace with over 34,000 square feet. The first floor was mainly used for functions and entertaining, while the second floor contained the living quarters for the royal family.
