Going back tom novak boo.., p.21
Going Back: Tom Novak Book Three, page 21
Babić’s contact in Italy had assured them that they couldn’t fly until 9am the next morning. Apparently, they needed to arrive at the correct time to ensure that a friendly customs officer would be there to meet them. They could hardly allow the cargo to be searched, with six fully operational explosive devices all neatly packaged for onwards travel.
Babić looked at his watch: it was 8:30am. He was thoroughly sick of sitting in this wretched car, next to that flatulent fool Cerović. The idiot had initially talked endlessly about his plans for the money once they were finished with the operation, and it had taken all of Babić’s resolve not to snap his skinny fucking neck. A few choice words with an underlying threat had soon shut him up, however.
Babić’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking at the screen he recognised the number as being his American contact. He frowned, this was unexpected; the contact was normally so careful about calling and always used Wickr. It must be important, but it was unsafe.
He answered with a curt, ‘Why are you calling me? You know our arrangement: calls can be listened to. Hang up and send Wickr.’
‘This can’t wait, Babić. Brogan has escaped. He has just called in, what the fuck is happening? I thought you were sorting this?’
Babić was shocked; how the fuck had the American escaped? This meant only one thing: the twins were dead.
‘He was secure when we left.’ He covered the handset with his palm, ‘Call Milan. Brogan has escaped.’ Cerović pulled out his phone and began to dial.
‘Well he is fucking out now. He has just called it in. I have no other information, but he wants picking up now.’ The rich American accented voice sounded panicky.
‘Where is he?’
‘He wants collecting from the foyer of the Hotel Bistrik straight away. They are scrambling a team to collect him. You’re lucky that the team is not immediately ready and will take a little time to get there,’
‘How long do I have?’
‘Thirty minutes, at the very most.’
‘Leave it with me.’
‘You need to find out how this fucking happened. If Brogan is out, we are all at risk. When are you flying?’
‘You don’t need to know when we fly. Why would we tell you this? Don’t make the mistake of thinking we share information with you,’ barked Babić. He hated the American fool. He was useful, but he seemed to sometimes think they were partners.
‘You need to get to Brogan, fast, Babić, or we are all finished. You will never get out of Bosnia if Brogan is brought in. He will know far too much.’
‘I said I will take care of it. They can’t stop us now; we are ready to deploy and nobody knows anything of our plans.’ Babić could feel his hackles rising, he wasn’t used to being challenged like this.
‘Your processes are bullshit. Brogan has escaped. Why isn’t he fucking dead?’
‘I said I will deal. Delay the team, somehow.’
‘How the fuck am I meant to do that?’
‘Your problem. Make it happen or you are finished,’ he said.
‘Jesus, this could be bad,’ the American said.
‘Who else knows about this?’ Babić said, ominously.
‘Why?’
‘You know why? We have to close this down. Look, I need to go now, and too much has been said on the phone. Message me urgently with anyone else we should worry about,’ Babić hung up.
‘Nothing from either of the twins, phones both dead. What is happening?’ asked Cerović.
Ignoring Cerović, Babić glanced at his watch. They only had twenty minutes to go, but they needed to move now; everything hung on getting the weapons out of Bosnia. Once they were out of the country, none of it mattered. They couldn’t be stopped.
‘What’s going on?’ Cerović asked, nervously.
‘Nothing to concern you. We fly in a few minutes. Phones are now off; we are in mission mode.’
The Wickr app buzzed on his handset. He opened the message bubble and stared at the message from the American. Just a name and an address.
Without a word he got out of the car dialling as he did. He knew who to call; fortunately, a man with his contacts was always able to call on people ready to inflict violence for money. He smiled. This was soon going to all be in hand, once again.
35
‘Talk to me, Pet,’ said Mike, looking over Pet’s shoulder as she tapped at the keys of her laptop on the hotel room’s small desk. The half a conversation they had heard between Babić and the mole, picked up via the tap on Cerović’s phone, had been illuminating to say the least. It had only taken minutes from Mike’s call into Rudy for the news to hit Babić. That spoke volumes as to how well placed the mole was.
‘The GPS tag has just disappeared,’ said Pet. ‘Literally just now; last activation right on the airfield runway.’
‘That’s not ideal, but inevitable, I guess. Plane acting as a Faraday cage once the doors are all shut. It matters not, Pet. Keep monitoring and, once they land wherever they are going, I will be able to call whatever resources we need to support. We can do nothing until we flush our mole, or it will either blow up in our faces or they will go to ground only to spring back whenever and we have to face it all again. We close them down for good, all of them and now. How about their cell phones?’
‘Cerović’s phone is now off, so I am running all the phones that we know about for instant activations following your call to Rudy. Babić is making a cell call now. Hold up.’
‘He is calling another cell number. I’m running this one too. It’s a burner, hitting a cell tower in central Sarajevo.’
‘That will be the cavalry coming for me then,’ Mike smiled.
‘What numbers feature in Babić’s historic data?’ Tom asked,
‘Not many. Only Cerović, the two numbers for the twin guards and this one, which hasn’t featured anywhere else.’ She pointed at the screen.
‘Looks like they are using mission-specific burners that they can ditch quickly,’ said Tom.
‘Unsurprising. Check out that number, and the most recent phone number into it,’ said Mike.
Pet nodded, her fingers tapping the keys once more, ‘Burner. Very few calls in or out, just Babić. Which called into it just a few minutes ago.’
‘That’s your mole. Cell site for it, Pet?’ Tom said, already pretty confident of what the answer would be.
There was more tapping from Pet, then a slow smile crept across her face. Rather than answering she turned the screen to show Tom and Mike. A map of central Sarajevo filled the screen, a shaded blue wedge showing the direction and strength of the signal emanating out from the location of the cell site mast. The blue area covered the US Embassy, perfectly.
Mike Brogan smiled. ‘Hello, my corrupt little friend. I am coming to get you very soon.’ He had an expression on his face that neither Tom nor Pet had seen before. It was grim determination. ‘Pet, bring up the CCTV feed at the Bistrik, I suspect they are getting some visitors very soon.’
One reason that they had selected the Bistrik Hotel is that Mike had stayed there on a previous occasion and had noticed that they had an extensive CCTV system in place, with a bank of monitors behind the reception desk. It had only taken Pet a few minutes’ tapping away on her laptop before she had the live feed displayed, showing four camera views. One of the outside on the street, one of the rear entrance, one of the lift lobby, and one showing the foyer and bar area. The foyer was fairly busy with guests passing through towards the restaurant and others checking out ready for a day’s sightseeing or business meetings. The CCTV was of a high quality with pin-sharp images.
‘Watch out: here come your reception party, Mike,’ Pet said, pointing at the screen.
All three crowded around the screen, watching as a powerful-looking Honda motorcycle pulled up outside the hotel, with a dark-clad rider and pillion passenger. The passenger stepped off the bike and strode towards the hotel with purpose, his hand reaching to his waistband as he entered the foyer, clutching what they all assumed was a pistol. He paused, scanning all around at each of the occupants of the open-plan space. He checked the couples enjoying an early coffee, or reading newspapers, his tinted visor still obscuring his face.
Seeing no one, he exited the foyer and shrugged at his rider. Something then seemed to spook him and he cocked his head to one side and then made a hand gesture. Looking around urgently, he turned back and looked at the interior of the hotel, through the full-length glass. The rider pointed to his ear and then beckoned his passenger to re-join him. The man quickly jogged across, threw his leg onto the motorcycle behind the driver, and they sped off.
They all continued to watch the screen for a few moments more. ‘Did something spook them?’ asked Pet.
‘There,’ Tom pointed as a police car sped past, its warning lights strobing. ‘The local constabulary scared them off. Nice one.’
‘What now?’ asked Pet.
‘I need to speak to Rudy. Face to face.’ Mike said, a blank look on his face.
‘Are you sure that’s wise, Mike? There is a very good chance he is the mole. You have only spoken to him since we broke you out,’ said Tom gently.
‘I’m aware of that. I’ve known Rudy for many years, he is a good man, but I want to look him in the eyes and ask him myself. If he’s the mole, I’ll bring him in. Where is his phone, Pet?’
Pet busied herself at her keyboard for a few moments. ‘Hitting the same mast as the mole’s phone, but that would also cover the Embassy properties on Omera Stupca,’ she said.
‘Monitor the phone traffic. I imagine that Babić will be getting a call letting him know of your no-show, Mike.’
Mike shrugged, a half-smile on his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and he looked drained as he rubbed his ribs, a grimace on his face, ‘Let’s see what ripples start from this, then we need to go proactive and do a little hunting of our own.’
‘Boom!’ grinned Pet. ‘Someone is trying to contact Babić now, although the call is being diverted to a voicemail. It’s the same number that he called once they learned you weren’t dead, Mike.’
‘Check all the numbers, Pet. Let’s see what our friends are doing,’ Mike said, stifling a deep yawn, his eyes half closing. He looked absolutely shattered.
‘All switched off, as we suspected they would be. They must be airborne,’ she said.
‘How much battery life is there on your tag, Tom?’ Mike asked, forcing his eyes to open fully.
‘It was fully charged when I put it on. Hopefully another couple of days at least but, as I’ve not tested, I can’t be sure.’
‘Right. Pet, can you stay here? Stay tuned for any activations. Tom, you come with me. We’re going to see Rudy.’
36
Mike and Tom pulled fifty metres along the road from the Embassy on Omera Stupca, close to where Mike had been snatched. They were sat in front of a sizeable building, which was set back from the road behind wrought iron railings and a small parking area.
‘Is this Rudy’s place?’ asked Tom.
‘Yeah. I met him here just after I arrived in Sarajevo. He gets sole use of the place, as they don’t like the CIA men sharing with the oily rags. It’s designed to be occupied by a family, but Rudy’s wife and kids have stayed back in the US.’
‘How do you want to play this?’
‘You armed?’
‘Yep. Beretta in my waistband,’ Tom patted his belt line.
‘We go in soft. I want to ask him first; it may not be him, and I want to give him the chance to convince me.’
‘The phones don’t help us. Either one could be here, or at the Embassy, as the cell mast covers both these areas. It’s a shame we can’t access the GPS to tie it down further,’ said Tom.
‘Not without access to the handset first, well, not in the timescales we have. We are where we are. Let’s go.’
They walked casually along the road towards the property, even if Mike’s casual stroll was beset with the trace of a limp.
‘You okay, bud, you look sore?’ Tom asked.
‘Been better, been worse, man. Now’s not the time, game on,’ Mike tried to smile, but it came across as something more akin to a grimace.
An anonymous car sat on the driveway and the front room curtains were drawn. They crossed the drive and ascended the few steps to the heavy-looking door. Mike went to push the bell, but something made Tom gently grab his arm.
‘Is this Rudy’s car?’
‘It was here when I was last here.’
‘Something is wrong, Mike.’
‘What? I see nothing.’
‘The curtains: why are they shut? And look at the car window: it’s open. Something’s not right, Mike, I’m telling you.’ The lizard portion of Tom’s brain was itching in an almost primeval way with the arrival of these potential combat indicators.
Tom gently rested his elbow against the black painted door and eased his weight forward. It swung noiselessly open on well-oiled hinges. He moved to one side of the opening and indicated that Mike should do the same. He raised his finger to his lips and reached into his waistband, pulling out the Beretta that he held low, in two hands. Nodding, Tom peeped around the door jamb, seeing an empty expanse of tiled hallway leading to an impressive looking staircase.
‘What is in the front room?’ he mouthed at Mike, pointing at the window.
‘Office,’ came back the whispered response.
Tom eased into the hallway with soft footsteps, his trainers making no sounds on the shiny surface. The smell hit him straight away. The coppery tang of blood, metallic and cloying mixing with the smell of cordite from a recently fired gun.
Tom moved fast and, in a fluid motion, swept into the office with his pistol extended, ready to engage.
Rudy O’Shea was slumped at his desk, a smashed bottle of some kind of spirit on the floor. His head was bowed forward, touching the desk, a neat bloody hole in his temple. A small pistol was in his hand, extended on the tabletop. The wall beyond was spattered with blood and the thick, greyish brain matter where the exit wound had destroyed the side of his head.
Tom edged forward and put out a hand to feel the dead agent’s cheek.
‘Still warm. I need to clear the rest of the place,’ said Tom, his mind racing with the tactical options.
Mike just stood, a blank look on his face as he surveyed the scene before him. He remained like that for what seemed an age. ‘Ah, man,’ he finally said, sadly but with no shock. ‘Rudy, Rudy, Rudy. What have you done?’
‘It’s bullshit, Mike. Total bullshit. This is staged; no way did he kill himself. It’s a crude attempt to make it look like it, that’s all,’ said Tom in a low, even voice.
‘Tom, we have to move. Bad guys could still be here, and cops could be on the way. There’s nothing we can do for him now, but he is not the mole, I know it.’
Tom stopped and looked at Mike, ‘how do you know, Mike, honestly?’
‘I just know, Tom. I know and you’ll have to trust me. The mole is still out there; we need to go, and we need to go now.’ Mike spoke quietly but urgently, his handsome face lined, his blue eyes clouded with exhaustion.
Mike stared at the body slumped on the teak desk for a full thirty seconds. ‘Too many deaths, Tom. Too many. I’m tired of this, man.’ He lowered his head for a few moments, almost in a silent prayer, before straightening up, once more decisive. ‘Right, let’s go. I’ll call this in later. We may need to keep this away from the local police. There is a fucking mole out there and I am going to find them and, when I do, I’ve a hellhole of a black site with their fucking name on it. Let’s go.’
*
The short journey back to the hotel took place in total silence, Mike seemingly in another world, his eyes half-closed as he sat awkwardly, trying to take the pressure away from his sore ribs.
Tom had solemnly brought Pet up to speed on events, and what was most shocking was that she was not shocked. Tom realised that the consequences of their actions over the past few weeks had left their mark.
‘Thoughts?’ said Mike simply.
‘We have an advantage which we need to press home, quickly,’ said Tom.
‘I’m listening.’
‘We have the mole’s number. He doesn’t know we have it, and he also doesn’t know that we have the number for Babić and that they use Wickr to communicate. Also, I’m betting that the mole doesn’t know that Babić has just flown,’ said Tom.
‘How can we be sure of that?’ asked Mike.
‘One way to find out,’ Tom smiled.
‘So?’ said Pet.
‘We bring the mole into the open. Pet, can you make it look as though the message we send to the mole has come from the secure app on Babić’s phone?’
‘Sure, that’s a two-bit fraudsters trick. I can have it ready to go in minutes,’ Pet said, already typing.
‘Keep going,’ Mike said to Tom.
‘We need him to relax, so we tell him that you were intercepted outside the hotel and are no longer a problem.’
‘I can see the value in that,’ said Mike, his interest clearly rising.
‘Then we message him again and insist we need to meet. Once he is in the open, we have him.’
‘Will he buy it? He just used a voice call; will he respond to a message?’ said Mike.
‘He’ll buy it; you heard Babić bollock him for not using Wickr. He has no choice, does he? Babić talked to him like he was something he had stepped in. He is scared, Mike. He’ll meet him.’
Mike sat and stared at the wall, turning it all over in his mind. ‘Send the message.’
Tom picked up the phone. ‘Ready, Pet?’
‘Yep,’ she nodded.
Tom composed a message, ‘We have package. My men intercepted and it is secure. We need to meet, now.’’
The reply was almost instant, ‘That’s a relief. Why do we need to meet?’
Tom tapped out a follow-up message, ‘We need to talk. I have something you need to see, that package was carrying. You are at risk of exposure. Bibi Centar. One hour.’
