Target three, p.8
Target Three, page 8
“Ouch yourself,” Jana said. “Pick this glass out of my hair.”
Jacob holstered his pistol, took a final look in the rearview mirror to make sure no one else was following them, and did as he was asked.
“You’re cut a bit,” Jacob said, finding little drops of blood on the back of her neck.
“You think I don’t know that?” Jana snapped.
“What are you angry at me for?”
“What do you think?”
Jacob stared at her. Jana glanced at him, did a double take, and her frown deepened.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Um, no. We got the map. You’re not badly hurt. Hell, I’m way more hurt than you are and I’m not complaining.”
“Jesus! We committed breaking and entering, stole private property, destroyed someone’s car, and wrecked a rental car.”
“Oh, we don’t have to pay for that. I used fake ID. We’ll ditch it in Madrid and take a taxi to the airport.”
“What!?”
“If this pirate plot turns out to be part of a bigger conspiracy, we have to cover our tracks.”
“And so, the rental agency loses a bunch of money?”
“Nah, they’re insured. Some big national insurance company loses a bit, and they’ll write it off their taxes.”
“What about those people in the Mercedes? You almost killed them!”
“You mean those people shooting at us? I aimed for the engine block, and I only put one bullet in it to reduce the chance of it exploding.”
“How charitable,” Jana grumbled. “We should put you up for the Nobel Peace Prize.”
“It was that or continue to be target practice.”
“We wouldn’t have been target practice if we hadn’t stolen their map!”
“And who did that, you or me?”
Jana flushed, gripping the wheel tight. “You got an answer for everything, don’t you? You’re just like …” Her words trailed off into an indistinct mumble.
“Just like who?”
“Nothing.”
They drove in silence for a time. The sign for the highway came up. They never had managed to take a turnoff. That Mercedes had caught up with them too quickly.
“Don’t get on it,” Jacob warned. “They might search for us there, and if we come across a cop, they’ll stop us for having no sideview mirrors. Take the access road instead.”
Jana didn’t reply but did as he suggested.
Jacob reached into the back seat, wiped a bunch of glass off the framed map, and picked it up. Sitting back down, he angled it so she could see.
“This looks pretty precise considering the time period. It shouldn’t be too hard for a diver to find the wreck.”
Silence.
“Might take a little time, of course, the spot won’t be right on. No X marks the spot like in the old movies, eh?”
Silence. Jacob put on a grin. “Hey, aren’t you excited about going after pirate treasure?”
“It’s not treasure, you idiot, it’s some live virus culture a group of thugs want to use as a bioweapon.”
Jacob’s grin didn’t falter. “Even better. We’ll be saving the world. Third time in as many months. Life sure got interesting lately, didn’t it?”
“Oh yeah, real interesting! I get torn away from my excavation, get torn away from a guy I like, to commit felonies and get shot at. Yeah, Jacob, you’re a thrill a minute!”
A guy she likes? Jacob felt a spike of jealousy. Trying to ignore that revelation, he said, “Sorry about your dig, but this is more important. I bet it feels more rewarding too.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be caught up in all this? That maybe I’d rather have a normal, sane life? No, it didn’t even cross your mind because you’re an addict, Jacob. A damn adrenaline junkie just like Dad.”
And so are you, Jacob thought. Just like Dad.
He didn’t dare say that, though.
She’s got the spark, Aaron Peters always used to say. She’s got the drive and the cool head. But she doesn’t want this kind of life. She went for her own career, and I respect her for it.
Did she know that? Did she know that Dad always spoke of her with a mixture of admiration and longing?
Yeah, Dad. He’d become like a dad to him. Jacob’s real father had been a good man, a high school football coach who had inspired a whole generation of kids to excel and had brought home the state trophy several years running. Dad had been proud of his son when he went into the Rangers but had sadly died of cancer a year later. The whole town attended his funeral. Former students had flown in from half a dozen different states to attend.
Jacob hadn’t. He’d been on a mission hunting Taliban.
And after his breakdown, after that dark period of insanity, Aaron Peters had plucked him out of Afghanistan and brought his soul back to life. He had become his second father.
One day, three years after that and after Jacob had been inducted into the CIA, he had asked Aaron if he could call him Dad.
Aaron had said yes with the formality of sealing a bond.
It was the only time he had seen Aaron Peters cry.
But Jacob could tell Jana none of these things. He had no idea how she would react, but he knew damn well it wouldn’t be in a positive way.
Besides, he needed her help in catching these pirates.
And what would she say to that sort of thinking? More of the old “ends justify the means” crap she always hated from Dad. Just like the stunt we just pulled.
But what choice did he have? At the very least, they had a chance to intercept and neutralize a modern crew of pirates, no doubt saving lives in the future. At the very worst, they were stopping a bioweapon plot, in which case they were saving a whole lot more lives.
Either way, he needed to go to Venezuela, and he needed her help.
Yes, that kind of thinking was mercenary. It used other people to get the desired result. But it was necessary. Jana should understand that, did understand that at some level, but her resentment of her father—his second father—got in the way.
So, he stayed silent, getting on his phone, and finding a flight to Venezuela for the two of them. He’d pay for it out of one of his false identities, using the CIA slush fund. He’d get in trouble with Wallace for that, but if this turned out to be as big as Jacob suspected, the old warrior would forgive him.
The more important question was—would Jana Peters ever forgive him?
CHAPTER TEN
Fez, Morocco
That same day
Alpha One was seriously pissed, and that made Delta Two seriously nervous. As he tailed the American tourist through the labyrinthine alleyways of the old medina, Delta Two thought over all the things that had gone wrong.
The operation in the Khyber Pass had failed miserably. Delta Four, one of the best fighters The Order had available for field operations, had gone after Aaron Peters and had been taken out.
While fourth in ranking in The Order’s hierarchy of combat operatives, Delta Four had been the most qualified for that particular operation. As a Kashmiri, Delta Four had far more experience than his superiors in mountain survival and combat. As a Muslim, he could blend into the towns and villages of that region.
After a year of painstaking recon ops, The Order had finally tracked Aaron Peters down and had sent the best man they had for the job.
That best man was now dead.
Even worse, Delta Two’s own operation in Greece had failed.
They had narrowed down the location of Jacob Snow’s residence to somewhere not far east of Athens, not that he ever spent much time there. The big break came when they had learned about his girlfriend Gabriella Cremonesi, a civilian who proved easy enough to manipulate. All they had to do was use one of The Order’s shell companies to create an independent film company and then hire Cremonesi to make a film near Jacob Snow’s house. Then Delta Two made a show of stalking her, knowing she’d call him for help.
After that, springing the trap was easy.
At least theoretically.
He had been ordered not to engage Jacob Snow directly.
“Too dangerous,” Alpha One had said, “Even with a full team.”
Delta Two and several of his team had disagreed but had been overruled. While Alpha One listened to the men and women under his command and considered their points of view, The Order was not a democracy.
So, Delta Two had set off a bomb. Once Jacob lay unconscious and helpless, he had come out of the bathroom where he had been hiding in order to finish him off.
And then the worst possible thing had happened—a police car had shown up.
Impossibly bad luck. The patrol car, rarely seen on that rural stretch of road, had just happened to be driving by when the bomb detonated. The police had immediately pulled into the taverna, and the two cops had jumped out, guns drawn, to investigate.
It was all Delta Two could do to get away without being seen.
Of course, he could have gunned down the cops easily enough, but that would have meant killing everyone else in the taverna as well. That would have been sloppy, very sloppy, and The Order did not like sloppy.
So, Delta Two had fled the scene, hoping Jacob Snow was already dead.
Now the intel said he wasn’t dead. Unfortunately, none of the operatives in that sector had any idea where he was.
The best guess was the U.S. military hospital in Crete, but there was no way they were getting in there. Or he might have been released already. If that was the case, then there was no telling where he might have gone.
The only way to find out was to track down one of his weak points—the civilians he had befriended.
Using Gabriella Cremonesi had almost worked. Maybe a second try with Jana Peters would work better.
Except she had vanished too.
So here he was, following Brian Tanner while a local guide showed Brian the medieval medina of Fez, one of Morocco’s historic cities.
Luckily, Fez was popular with tourists, and the guide, an old man in a brown djellaba and white turban, was showing Brian all the main sights. That made it easy enough for Delta Two to walk at a discrete distance, taking all the usual photos people took. He had followed Brian and the guide down the main street of the souk lined with shops and stalls, the crowd thick and the air heavy with the smells of cooking and incense. They stopped to admire the outsides of a couple of old mosques and madrasas. Brian, not being Muslim, was not allowed in and contented himself with taking pictures of the ornate gates and minarets. Delta Two took some pictures, too, and got close enough to overhear the archaeology graduate student mention he was staying in an Airbnb. Good. The privacy would make it easier to grab him.
Then the guide led him down a narrower but still busy street, through shaded courtyards to admire splashing fountains decorated in blue and green tile, before taking him on a tour of the tannery.
Delta Two stayed outside for that one. The tannery of Fez was a huge place that stank so badly that visitors were given a sprig of mint to hold under their nose, so they didn’t faint. Delta Two had been in there before and didn’t want to repeat the experience. Besides, there was only one way in and out.
Brain came out half an hour later, looking a bit green around the gills, and the guide took him back to the market for some tea and Moroccan sweets. Delta Two positioned himself in a different café across the street and watched him until the guide took him uphill toward the upper medina. Delta Two followed.
As the crowd grew thicker, Delta Two got closer to his quarry, and overheard snippets of conversation.
“… a great tour … wish I had more mint ha ha … think I’ll take a nap before exploring more of the town … great view from the roof …”
“Here you go, sir,” the old guide said, stopping at a door.
“Thanks. I’ve been in Morocco a few months now, and it’s still hard getting around your old cities.”
“You are welcome anytime, my friend.”
Delta Two passed by, not looking at them. He rounded a corner, stepped into a doorway, and got on his phone.
He texted “about to pick up some groceries” to his backup team, who had been trailing him while keeping out of sight of the target as much as possible. Delta Two would go in alone to subdue and question Brian while his backup team would keep watch. It shouldn’t take long. The guy was a civvie. He’d break easily enough.
The old guide passed by, not even sparing him a glance. Delta Two waited until he disappeared beyond another corner and went back to Brain’s place.
It was a simple, wooden door among many along this alley. Each would lead to a house or a series of private levels with a common stairway.
Delta Two gave a quick glance in either direction to make sure no one was watching, then scanned the rooftops. You don’t get much privacy in a Moroccan medina. Women and girls often peeked from windows and rooftops. He didn’t see any at the moment, and they were unlikely to interfere in a foreigner’s business anyway.
He slipped a set of lockpicks out of his pocket and got the lock open in less than five seconds. Just then, a pair of Moroccan men came around the corner, speaking in low tones to one another, their faces half hidden by the hoods of their heavy cloaks of brown wool. Delta Two shifted his body to shield his hands from view, so the pair would assume he was simply using a key.
He palmed his lockpick into his sleeve, passed through the door, and closed it quietly behind him.
A staircase, dimly lit by a single screened window at the next landing, ran up. A door stood to his left, as did another on the landing above and a third at the top landing.
Delta Two headed for the top floor, remembering Brain’s remark about a rooftop view.
As he passed the middle landing, he heard the sounds of Arabic conversation within. He’d have to be extra careful. Alpha One had picked him not only for his deadliness but also for his stealth. He could handle someone like Brian Tanner with no problems.
He got to the top landing and could see bright daylight filtering in from beneath the wooden door. That meant a split-level roof, common enough in this country. Brian’s place was an addition onto a previously existing roof, probably taking up one half of the area with an airshaft at the center of the roof providing light to the lower stories.
Damn. That meant the neighbors would hear everything. He had to take care.
Delta Two opened the lock in a few seconds and walked in casually. As he expected, he saw a large, square rooftop space, an airshaft in the middle surrounded by a railing, and to one side, an addition that had been converted into an Airbnb. A flight of steps went up the side to a higher rooftop, shaded by a tarpaulin. In the other three directions, the square rooftops of Fez spread out before him like a checkerboard.
Just as Delta Two closed the door behind him, Brian walked out of the addition. He stopped and blinked.
“Um, hello,” he said uncertainly.
Delta Two feigned surprise. “Oh, are you the guy who rented this before me?”
“What? No, I’m renting it right now. I have it for three more days.”
Delta Two rolled his eyes and groaned. “Ugh, not again! Airbnbs in Morocco always mess up the dates.”
He closed the distance between them. Brian’s face registered the first hint of suspicion.
“All that’s done via the website. And how did you get in here?”
Delta Two glanced down the airshaft. No sign of the downstairs neighbors, although he could hear them talking down there.
“I came in with my key, the one they gave me. What’s the Wi-Fi code? I’ll send an email to the host.”
Brian hesitated a moment then said, “Hold on, it’s on the bottom of the router.”
The archaeologist turned to walk back into the addition. Delta Two gave him a quick karate chop to the neck, and Brian fell hard to the floor without so much as a cry. Delta Two dragged him inside, closed the door behind him, and took a quick look around. It was a bedroom area opening into a kitchenette and a tiny bathroom.
“Went for the cheap option, I see,” Delta Two muttered, pulling out a zip tie and securing Brian’s hands behind his back. “But hey, after living in a tent for the past three months, this must seem luxurious.”
Brian groaned and shifted. Delta Two hauled him onto the bed and pulled out a broad, razor-sharp knife. He clamped a hand over Brian’s mouth. The archaeologist’s eyes went wide.
“I can kill you silently,” Delta Two said, “and I can torture you just as silently. I can make you suffer. I can take body parts. I can leave you a hideous mess, or I can take your life. Or, and this is something you should consider, I can let you go unharmed. Now, I’m going to take my hand away, and if you scream or talk above a whisper, I’ll kill you instantly. Understand?”
Brian nodded, eyes bugged with terror. Delta Two let his hand go, keeping the point of his knife hovering over his prisoner’s left eye.
“I … I don’t have much money on me,” he whispered.
Delta Two snorted. “Don’t be stupid. You think that’s what I’m here for?”
Brian paled. “Oh, wait. It’s got something to do with Jana, doesn’t it?”
Delta Two nodded. “Where is she?”
“I … I don’t understand. You tried killing her, didn’t you? The cops fobbed that off as a random terrorist attack, but that’s not true, is it? And those trips she took away, she said it was a sick relative, but I always suspected she was lying. She’s involved in something, isn’t she? What is it? You’re a criminal gang? You making her smuggle drugs or something?”
Delta Two stopped his babbling with a quick slap.
“Who I am and what I represent is no concern of yours. You should be thinking about your own safety. Tell me where she is.”
Brian blinked. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“She said she was flying back to the States, to her university, but she left two days early, so I think she’s made another one of her random disappearances.”
“And where does she disappear to?”
