Rogue Commander, page 7
part #3 of Titus Black Series
An hour later, Black and Shields stood outside the U.S. Consulate, pleading to be let in. They wanted to be on American soil before they planned out their next move. One of the guards outside the gate studied their passports before calling for an escort to take the pair of operatives inside the building.
Black glanced at his watch. Just after 10:30 p.m. He and Shields followed the guard inside the building where he instructed them to sit in a small waiting area until he could get someone down there to help them.
“We just need a place to make a few phone calls to connect with people back home,” Black said. “I’m sure the CIA would appreciate knowing about Abu Talib’s death long before they hear about it on the news.”
“It’s Saturday, but you should be able to catch someone in the office,” the guard said. “That phone there has a direct line.”
Black thanked the man before he left the room.
“How did that just happen?” Black asked as he slumped into a chair. “We were right there.”
Shields shook her head. “The only explanation that makes any sense to me is that the king did it.”
“That makes sense? The Saudi king is also an assassin known as The Ghost? You know that’s impossible.”
“Well, we have to start thinking outside the box. I mean, you were there. Nobody went in or out of that bathroom other than the king. Nobody was in the bathroom before or after, and there was no other exit. Who else could’ve done it?”
“You want to accuse the king of being an assassin? That’ll go over like a lead balloon in the international community. We’d be maligned and quickly dismissed, if not shamed. There has to be another explanation.”
“You’re probably right, but I can’t see it at the moment.”
“I’m calling Blunt first,” Black announced. “We’ll see if he has any other theories.”
Black dialed Blunt’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail.
“No answer?” Shields asked as Black hung up.
Black shook his head. “Must be in a meeting or something.”
“Then let’s call Besserman.”
“I’ll let you do the honors,” Black said, handing the phone to Shields so she could dial the freshly minted CIA deputy director.
She put the call on speaker, his booming voice answering moments later.
“Mr. Besserman, this is Christina Shields from Firestorm. Congratulations on your new post. I haven’t spoken to you since you left the NSA.”
"Thank you, Agent Shields. I needed a change of pace, something other than sifting through the transcripts of intercepted phone calls. This position suits me better.”
"Even though you’re not the head honcho?”
“Being the boss isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be, though I’ll get my shot soon enough. Now, what can I help you with?”
“We wanted to gives you a heads up about a developing problem here in Saudi Arabia. Abu Talib, the CEO of Talib International, was just assassinated at a party on the king’s yacht.”
“Were you there?” Besserman asked.
“Agent Black was on board, and I was on shore, assisting with the mission from there. We were supposed to keep an eye on Talib.”
“What happened?”
Shields recounted the events for him, stopping short of sharing her theory.
“Are you sure this is the handiwork of The Ghost?” Besserman asked.
“We didn’t get to look at the body long before security rushed in and cordoned off the area, but we saw enough to recognize The Ghost’s MO—two shots: one to the back, the other to the back of the head.”
“What did Blunt say about this?”
“We haven’t been able to reach him yet.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Besserman said. “I’ll pass the news along to the State Department. I’m sure someone there will reach out to interview you about this soon.”
“Agent Black and I will be happy to comply with any requests.”
“Of course. Be careful over there.”
Shields hung up and looked at her partner. “Proud of me that I didn’t accuse the king?”
“Restraint is the better part of valor,” Black said with a wry smile.
“Don’t mock me. It’s all you can do right now because you haven’t thought of a better theory.”
“Actually, I have,” Black said. “Maybe The Ghost was disguised as the king.”
She cocked her head to one side and stared at him. “On his own boat? And you think I’m one peddling crazy theories.”
Blunt shrugged. “I’m trying to think outside the box.”
“Let’s try Blunt again.”
Shields turned on the speaker function again as she dialed the Firestorm director’s number. This time, he answered, his voice barely audible over the wind whipping around his cell’s microphone.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“In the boondocks of Colorado,” he said.
“Roll your window up,” she said. “I can barely hear you.”
The background sound quickly subsided. “How do I sound now?”
“Much better. Now, what are you doing out there?”
“Visiting a friend,” Blunt said. “How did the mission go?”
“Utter failure,” Black said before he and Shields recounted the events aboard the king’s yacht.
When they were finished, Black expected to get direction from Blunt. Instead, all they got was a string of expletives.
“We feel the same way,” Black said.
“That’s not what I’m cussing about,” Blunt said. “There’s some maniac driver that just pulled up behind me. He looks like he’s trying to run me off the road. I waved him around, but he just keeps tailgating me.”
“Did you flip him off?” Shields asked with a smirk.
“I’m about to shoot him if he doesn’t calm down,” Blunt said, ignoring her joke.
“You might want to rethink escalating that,” she said.
“Forget that,” Blunt said. “Something is going on over there in the Middle East, and it’s only getting worse.”
“Did something else happen?” Black asked.
“The Qatari emir’s son was murdered in Doha.”
“Murdered or assassinated?” Shields asked.
“The official report being disseminated by the media right now is that he was executed, so I think it’s safe to assume he was assassinated.”
“Well, that’s odd because the only entry we have in Lebedev’s book is listed for two days from now in Salmiya, Kuwait.”
“That is strange, but it’s likely that they aren’t connected, at least not connected to The Ghost,” Blunt said.
“Perhaps, but this has to be sounding some alarm bells in Washington,” Shields said.
“I wouldn’t know since I’ve been away from the rat race, but I’m sure it is,” Blunt said. “So, who’s the target in Kuwait?”
“We haven’t deciphered that yet,” Shields said, “but there are a handful of potential targets from the emir’s family there. Along with the emir, there are nineteen people matching the initials listed who could wind up in The Ghost’s crosshairs.”
Blunt grunted. “Good luck sorting through all that.”
“Making the situation even more challenging is the fact that everyone on that list is going to be at a gala at the Salmiya Cultural Center just outside Kuwait City with more than two thousand other people,” Shields said. “It’s going to be a nightmare.”
“Well, do your best to—” Blunt paused for a moment. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
“Problems still?” Black asked.
“Yeah, this idiot is honking at me and now just inches from my bumper,” Blunt said. “If I tapped my brakes, he’d wreck us both.”
“I hear those Colorado drivers are worse than the ones in Washington,” Shields said.
“That’s fake news if I’ve ever heard it,” Blunt said.
“At least you’re well-equipped to deal with that nut,” Black said.
Blunt sighed. “Look, I’m gonna need to get off this call and deal with him, but you two get to Kuwait and let the emir know about the threat. Use connections through the embassy there, but make sure you capture The Ghost this time no matter what. We can’t have him killing any more people like this. He needs to be brought to justice before he starts operating stateside.”
“Roger that,” Black said. “We’re on it.”
“And, Black?” Blunt said.
“Yes, sir?”
“There’s something else I need to talk to you about. It’s regarding your—sonofabitch.”
“What’s wrong now?” Shields asked.
Blunt didn’t answer. Instead, he yelled, cursing the driver before the speaker went quiet. A long moment of silence passed.
“Blunt, are you there?” Shields asked. “Say something.”
Nothing.
“We got disconnected,” Black said.
Shields snatched the phone and dialed again. The call went straight to voicemail. She cursed before slamming her fists on the table.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“The only thing Blunt wants us to do,” Black said with a subtle nod. “We go to Salmiya and catch The Ghost.”
CHAPTER 12
Along State Highway 4
Colorado
BLUNT FLUNG his phone down and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. After another glance in his rearview mirror, he stomped on the accelerator in an attempt to outrun the large truck that had just tapped the bumper of his SUV. Blunt created some separation, but it didn’t last long.
The truck roared up behind him, this time slamming hard into Blunt’s vehicle and making him lose control. As he rounded the corner, he was weaving back and forth across the yellow line and hoping no other vehicles were in the other lane. After he slowed down, he was able to regain command just in time to absorb another hit from the truck.
Blunt lurched forward, his neck in pain from the sudden movement. He jammed his foot on the gas before quickly darting into a turnout lane used for slow vehicles. The truck roared past him then hit the brakes. The driver spun around to face Blunt as he put his SUV in reverse only to realize another truck had roared up behind him, hemming him in.
He reached into his glove box for his weapon but froze when he noticed a masked man standing by the passenger side window with a gun. Blunt placed his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender then glared at the man.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Get out of the vehicle,” another man said.
Blunt looked in the direction of the voice and realized another masked gunman was on the driver’s side as well.
“Slowly, slowly,” the man said as Blunt opened the door.
Blunt followed the instructions, easing outside. Before he could size up his attackers, a sharp pinch stung the back of his neck. Then everything went dark.
* * *
BLUNT WOKE UP on the floor in a dilapidated cabin in the woods, his head still aching from the blow. He also felt groggy and disoriented, struggling to recall what had just happened. Then everything came back to him: the truck, the men, the injection.
Blunt staggered to his feet and then scanned the room. Almost every window pane was broken. The scant furniture appeared rotten. Overhead, sunlight streamed through a large hole in the roof.
Blunt jumped when a dove swooped down from its perch on one of the exposed rafter beams. As he watched the bird fly through the wide open front door, Blunt’s eyes fell on a symbol emblazoned on the far wall: the same image from the tattoo on all the dead Army Rangers.
What the hell is this?
Blunt strode over to the image that looked as if it had been branded across several wooden planks. He ran his hand across it and then removed a knife used to pin a piece of paper to the wall.
“Senator Blunt, stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. This is your final warning or you will be dealt with like the men you found in those pictures.”
Blunt folded up the note and put it in his pocket. He wanted to see if he could gather any DNA from it, though he doubted the professionals who took him out would be sloppy enough to leave behind any evidence. Whoever was running these operations to eliminate the Rangers knew all about Blunt’s pursuit. Underhill and Walker had both warned him that he was dealing with some dangerous people, as if that wasn’t already evident. But Blunt realized that whoever was doing this was also well informed, someone with deep connections inside one or more of the country’s intelligence agencies.
Blunt lumbered across the room and then descended the porch stairs. He turned around to take one final look at the cabin before pondering his route out of the forest. After studying the area, he noticed a worn path off the left side and decided to take it. He walked about fifty meters before he found his SUV with the keys in the ignition, his cell phone on the front seat.
Blunt started to wonder if he knew the perpetrator. They could’ve killed him if they wanted to, easily staging an accident or causing one by nudging him off a mountain road and into a ravine. But he was still alive.
As the mystery deepened, Blunt’s resolved did too. He wasn’t going to stop until he learned who was behind this and why.
CHAPTER 13
Kuwait City, Kuwait
BLACK AND SHIELDS LANDED at the Kuwait International Airport and wasted no time in heading to the U.S. embassy in Bayan, a diplomatic and high-end enclave just east of the airport. They had enlisted Besserman’s help after losing their connection with Blunt, requesting a meeting with someone from Emir Abdul Al-Sabah’s security detail to discuss the threat. Zed Ajab, who headed the emir’s bodyguards, agreed to a short meeting.
Ajab was waiting in a conference room when Black and Shields walked in, ushered inside by a senior official. After making introductions, he ducked into the hallway.
“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us,” Black said.
“If you have some kind of proof that there will be an attempt on the emir’s life, I will not ignore it,” Ajab said. “This is what I do. Our security team prides itself on being one of the greatest in the world, a group of men so committed to their job that not even the late Saddam Hussein could penetrate our ranks. And he attempted to do so multiple times.”
“We wouldn’t waste your time unless we felt like this was a serious issue,” Black said.
“I see,” Ajab said, clasping his hands in front of him and resting them on the table. “So, where is this proof?”
Shields opened a folder, revealing copies from Lebedev’s black book.
“What am I looking at?” Ajab asked.
“We recently obtained a journal from one of The Ghost’s handlers,” Black said.
Ajab’s eyebrows shot upward. “The Ghost?”
Black nodded. “Yes, the man responsible for the recent assassination of Abu Talib.”
“I heard that he died, but I was not aware he was murdered.”
“I saw his body moments afterward,” Black said. “He was definitely killed by someone else, execution style.”
Ajab furrowed his brow. “You were there, and you weren’t able to stop him?”
“His escape methods are legendary, hence the nickname,” Black said. “He’s been hunted by elite units before but never captured. We don’t even have a good image of his face, if that gives you any idea how dangerous this man is.”
“Man?” Ajab asked. “Sounds like you can’t be positive if The Ghost is a man or a woman.”
“That’s a fair point,” Black said, “though we do have him on tape, and he appears to be a man from his build and strength.”
“So, other than being a man, what else do you know about him?” Ajab asked.
Shields leaned forward in her chair. “He’s resourceful when it comes to gaining access to high security places. For instance, how he got on the king’s boat just outside Jeddah is still a mystery to investigators.”
“What makes you so sure that the emir’s life is in danger?”
“Just look at those journal entries again,” Shields said. “The dates and deciphered initials match up with the list of murders on the following page. There are at least a half dozen we’ve been able to corroborate since we gained possession of this journal.”
Ajab put on his glasses and peered at the documents a little more closely. When he was finished, he pulled the spectacles off his face and tucked them into his coat pocket.
“I suppose this looks legitimate,” Ajab said. “However, I’m puzzled as to why you believe the emir or someone in his family would be targeted by The Ghost. Compared to the other rulers in the region, he might as well be a pacifist.”
“That might be true,” Black said. “But The Ghost carries out assignments for someone who has agenda, perhaps irritated or terrified by Talib International’s foray into weapons manufacturing in the Middle East. From our analysis, The Ghost appears to be targeting people affiliated with this deal, everyone from the financiers to the brokers to the CEOs.”
“But the emir spoke against this at a summit recently, stating how more weapons in the region isn’t good for stability,” Ajab said. “This makes me question your theory that he is under the threat of an imminent attack.”
Black nodded. “Perhaps we’re privy to some things that you aren’t, like the side deal the emir’s wife, Alana, brokered with Talib International.”
Ajab scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“Alana has controlling interest in the Tayr Alrakh Corporation, which manages more than half of your country’s imports and exports,” Shields said.
“Perhaps the emir would want to hear this for himself,” Ajab said.
Black shrugged. “We’d be happy to share this information with him. Is there any reason why you can’t tell him yourself?”
“It’s a cultural situation,” Ajab said. “To point out that he is acting like a—how do you say it in the west—hypocrite?”
Shields nodded.
“Yes, a hypocrite. He would take such a suggestion as if I was challenging his authority or decision-making ability. And I’m not keen on losing my job here. You have to understand that it’s not like getting fired from one of your country’s presidential administration jobs. Here, I would be shamed forever.”
