The Forgotten Soldier: A Pike Logan Thriller (23 page)

45

S
harif al-Attiya held a finger up to the Skype call and said, “Don’t say another word. Shut up.” He turned away from the screen, feeling the beginnings of a throbbing headache. “Tarek, get in here!”

He waited for his assistant to arrive, giving his son nothing to indicate how incredibly angry he was. Out of habit, he awoke early every morning, but the time was usually his own, before he began his day with the investment authority. This morning had been different, with him waking up to three missed calls and an urgent text message for him to Skype his son. He had, and heard nothing but disaster.

Tarek entered the room, taking one look at Sharif’s visage and becoming subdued. He’d seen the volcano Sharif could become, and knew whatever was happening, it was not good news.

Sharif turned back to the screen and said, “Okay, idiot. Continue.”

Haider stumbled for words, then said, “Do you want me to repeat what I told you?”

“No, you donkey. Just keep going.”

“Yes, sir. . . . Nassir is missing, and we’re sure he’s dead. We missed capturing the American, but we’re searching Crete. Nikos has men at the airport and is combing the hotels. He has a lot of penetration. A lot of help. We’ll find him soon.”

Tarek’s face showed confusion, and Sharif said, “My idiot son found out that he was being tracked for his actions in Afghanistan. Instead of calling me, or leveraging whatever help we could provide, he decided to use our
shahid
as bait. The mission failed, and now our Syrian is compromised.”

His face slack, Tarek said, “What?”

Spittle flying from his lips, Sharif barked, “He put our mission in jeopardy! He tried to capture the American, and all he did was expose the Syrian. Now the American is running loose.”

Trying to catch up without asking any more questions, Tarek said, “Is the Syrian on the ferry?”

From the computer, Haider said, “Yes, yes. He wasn’t harmed. Father, it was the US secretary of state who told me about the plot. I decided to intervene. It should have been easy, but he had help. Someone helped him escape.”

“So it’s a team? An American team hunting the Syrian?”

“No, no. Father, he—they—are hunting me. Me and my friends. And they’ve killed two.”

Sharif waved that away with a hand, saying, “What does the Greek, Nikos, know?”

“Nothing. He only knows the documents we paid for. He’s used to working outside the law. He tried to capture the American in Athens, when he spotted the man conducting surveillance on our meeting.”

Sharif exploded again. “The American was there two days ago? And I’m just now finding out?”

Haider ducked his head on the screen, saying nothing. Tarek said, “Sir, let’s focus on the problem. What’s done is done.”

Sharif said, “How do you know the man is still on Crete?”

“He was drugged. He wouldn’t have had the capacity to purchase a plane ticket. We believe he’s either in a hotel or passed out in an alley. We’re looking.”

“What about a ferry?”

“It left too soon. Nikos says he wouldn’t be coherent enough to buy a ticket that quickly.”

“What if he already had one?”

“He was following our man because we sent a message to trap him. He didn’t know where the man was staying. He captured Nassir, but Nassir knew nothing of the plan. The only lead he had was the meeting we set up. There’s no way he knew the Syrian was leaving. He was following the man for a reason, and the
shahid
could have stayed for days.”

“What was that reason? Because he wants to prevent a plot, or because he wants to kill you?”

Haider glanced back into the room and Sharif snapped at him, “Who’s there with you?”

“Khalid.”

“Bring him forward. I don’t like talking to people I can’t see.”

Khalid sat next to Haider, looking nowhere near as timid. He said, “Sir, it was my idea to capture the American. And it was a good idea. You would have done the same.”

“Shut up. I’m not addressing you. Sit still.”

Khalid showed no indication the words had any effect, but he remained silent.

Sharif said, “Son, answer the question. Is the man hunting you, or is he trying penetrate our plans?”

Truculent, Haider said, “Which one is worse to you?”

“Don’t trifle with me.”

“He’s after me. Khalid and me. Secretary Billings said it was because of Afghanistan. A vendetta.”

Sharif nodded and said, “Okay. So we just have to keep you alive a little longer. Make sure he’s chasing you and not the Syrian. Maybe I should serve you up like you did our
shahid
.”

“Father . . .”

Khalid said, “You won’t be serving me up.” He paused a beat before adding, “Sir.”

Sharif waved his hand at the screen and said, “Don’t tell me what I will or will not do. You sons of dogs have no business here anyway. Haider, what did you learn of the peace deal? Do you have a location in Afghanistan?”

“It’s not in Afghanistan. It’s in Oslo, Norway, but I don’t know when. I have a meeting with Secretary Billings in two days. I should learn the timeline then.”

“Oslo? Did you send the Syrian to Afghanistan as I ordered?”

“No. He’s coming here. I thought it prudent.”

Sharif nodded. “Good. Good. At least you did one thing right.”

Haider let slip a tiny smile and Sharif said, “Can you continue? With this man on the loose?”

“Yes, of course. He’s on Crete and I’m in Athens.”

“Okay. Do so. Get control of the Syrian, meet the secretary of state, then
report back
. Is that understood?”

Haider said, “Yes, sir.” Sharif ended the call with Khalid looking on in disdain.

Tarek said, “That man Khalid has no respect. Especially given his station.”

Sharif said, “Yes, but he has more courage than my own son. I almost wish he were the one in charge.” He tapped a finger to his lip for a moment, then said, “Do you think we should continue? Do you think our Syrian remains viable?”

Tarek thought for a moment, then said, “Yes. We can continue. If the American is chasing our man, the plan might fail, but so what? All they have is a refugee who fled Libya and ended up in Crete. There is no connection between us. Let the Syrian move forward. Let the meeting go as Haider plans. There is no downside.”

“There is one, and we need to deal with it.”

“What do you mean?”

Sharif looked at his trusted confidant and said, “Start scrubbing my association. Start building everything on the back of my son.”

The implications sank in, and Tarek said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t look at me that way. At one time, I was willing to give my life for the cause. Why would I not be willing to give my son’s?”

46

I
heard the phone buzz through a half-conscious mind, my brain making it part of the weird dream I was having involving weapons, Knuckles, and a sociopath on the loose. Knuckles slapped me and said, “We’re on.”

We’d boarded the ferry right before it left, buying two three-man rooms, earning me a little jab from Knuckles about how Jennifer and I always managed to get the leftovers, allowing us to sleep in the same space.

He made fun of our relationship just because he could, but he was coming to grips with the new normal, meaning I was capable of making decisions despite my feelings for Jennifer. Or more precisely, because of my connection to her.

Anyway, it wasn’t like we’d had the chance to use the damn room. The team had staked out the two food vendors soon after boarding, and nothing had happened for the duration of the trip. I had become convinced we left Guy on Crete.

I came fully awake and said, “Who’s texting? Veep or Koko?”

“Koko. Runaway is in the room.”

We’d been on the damn boat for close to twelve hours, with Veep outside freezing his ass off, and Jennifer and Brett acting like the other folks who were too cheap to buy a room, hanging out in the cafeteria instead of the cattle call of the seats crammed together in the coach section.

We’d relied on text messages because we knew that Runaway would recognize the Taskforce Bluetooth earpieces we all used. It made the contact slow, but it was better than the guy seeing the clues and fleeing.

I picked up my phone. The text read,
Runaway here. Buying coffee
.

I texted back.
Atmospherics?

Good. Not a lot of people around. Let him take a seat.

I looked at Knuckles, feeling the adrenaline. Knowing that the next few steps would be crucial. I texted back.
Give me a lock-on when he sits down.

Roger.

We waited, staring at the phone. Wanting a good end. Wanting this decision to be one of the good ones. Like every mission, I was thrown a curveball. The phone vibrated with:
He’s walking to us. Straight at us.

I waited a moment, then, when nothing else came in, I texted,
What the hell does that mean?

My phone rang with a verbal call.

I looked at Knuckles and he shrugged. I answered, and heard “Pike, I’m here with Guy. He’d like to talk.”

I took that in, and like a high school cheerleader whispering about a date, I said, “Can he hear me?”

“No.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Get up here. I’m with him now.”

We moved out, Knuckles in the lead. Going up the gangway, he said, “What’s the call with this? What do you want to do?”

“Same as before. We wanted to isolate him and talk. He beat us to the punch, but it’s still the same game.”

We entered the deck and I found Jennifer at a table toward the rear, looking concerned. Brett was next to her, a little smile on his face
and his hand at the small of his back, telling me he was ready to draw, if necessary. I’m not sure anything would cause his blood pressure to rise.

I saw the back of Guy’s head. When Jennifer focused on us, he turned around, and I was shocked at his appearance. He looked like a cancer patient, drawn and papery. Like something was eating him from the inside out.

I walked up with a confident swagger and said, “Hey, Guy, guess you found us out.”

He stood, and I saw a dislocation. A feral projection that told me he wasn’t whole. A projection I’d seen before. Looking in the mirror during the bad days.

He was being torn apart.

He said, “Hey, Pike. I’m glad it was you. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to talk to anyone in the Taskforce, but you’re the best choice. You know what I’m doing. You understand.”

Not a good way to start.

He continued, “I have information on a potential attack. I’m following a lead. I’m doing what’s right.”

He was staring at me with a weird glow, and I knew he was sliding over the edge. I had no idea what he’d done, but I knew it wasn’t good. All that remained was pulling him back up.

I shook his hand and said, “Guy, good to see you. Kurt asked me to find you.”

I saw his eyes narrow, reevaluating. We sat down.

He said, “Yeah, yeah. I knew you’d be coming, but, fuck, I never thought you’d get to me this fast.”

I gave him an easy smile, trying to reconcile in my mind what I was seeing in the flesh. Nobody around us could recognize it, but I was looking at disaster. The man was a caricature of his former self.

I saw Knuckles’s face, and realized I was wrong. Some others could recognize it as well.