Raven Strike (15 page)

Chapter 33

Parsons, Maryland

W
ell before she became the country’s first female president, Christine Mary Todd had carefully studied the power of the presidency. Among the many conclusions she had reached was that much of this power consisted of imagery. The pomp and circumstance of the office were not just props, but weapons that could be yielded by a prudent President.

So was the President’s motorcade, especially when it pulled across a suburban lawn at five o’clock in the morning.

President Todd picked up the phone from the console as the limo came to a stop amid a swarm of black SUVs.

“Mr. Edmund, I hope you’re up,” she said when the head of the CIA answered his phone. “We’re going to meet this morning.”

“Uh—”

“Right now would be fine . . . Yes, thank you. Don’t worry about the coffee; I’ve brought my own.”

Todd put the phone down.

“David, are you ready?” she asked her chief of staff, David Greenwich, who was sitting in the front seat of the limo. Though generally an early riser, Greenwich gave a barely conscious “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Let’s go make Mr. Edmund’s day.”

Ms. Todd strode up the walk, heels clicking on the concrete. She wore pumps and a presidential skirt—knee length, a careful and distinguished drape. Her Secret Service detail buzzed around her; one or two of the agents may have had trouble keeping up.

Edmund’s wife opened the door. She was in her bathrobe.

“Nancy, good morning,” said the President.

“Herm is, uh—upstairs.”

“Very good. I noticed a new bed of daffodils outside,” added Ms. Todd as she walked into the hallway. “They’re really lovely. Don’t bother with me—I know the way.”

It had been some time since Todd had been in the house, but it was easy to find the way to the master bedroom—up the steps in the main hall, a slight turn to get to the front of the house, then a short walk across a very plush red carpet.

Red is such an ugly color for a carpet, the President thought as she walked to the bedroom door.

“Mr. Edmund—are you decent?”

“Uh—uh, Madam President,” stuttered Edmund from behind the door.

The President pointed to the door and nodded at one of her Secret Service escorts. He reached out and opened the door, filling the frame and entering quickly. Todd waited for a second agent to enter—out of discretion rather than fear that Edmund was waiting inside with a bomb.

Though he would surely wish he had been when she was through with him.

“I was just getting dressed,” said Edmund, who had pulled on a pair of trousers but was still wearing his pajama top. “What’s going on?”

“I want to know about the Raven project,” she told him. She went to the upholstered chair at the side of the room, pushed it around so it angled toward him, and sat. “Everything. Assassination, drone, and most of all, software.”

“I—”

“And when you are done, we’ll discuss your letter of resignation,” she added. “Coffee?”

Chapter 34

Duka

T
he aide offered to take Melissa to the house near the railroad tracks where she’d seen the armed strangers. Melissa glanced at Bloom. Bloom nodded.

“Let’s go,” said Melissa.

The aide’s name was Glat. She spoke only a little English, but they didn’t need many words to communicate. She led Melissa down the hill toward the main part of the town, then veered to the left, across the main road. They passed a small collection of cone-topped huts built so close to each other they looked like mushrooms, then hiked up a road lined by more prosperous houses, cement structures all recently built.

Yesterday, there had been a variety of sounds in the city, everything from the high-pitched whine of
boda-boda
motorcycle taxis to the shouts of children playing. Now it was dead silent.

Her guide slowed abruptly. Melissa put her arm on the woman’s shoulder.

“It’s all right,” she said. “If you’re scared, we can go back.”

The woman kept going, though her pace was barely faster than a small child’s. The road turned to the right and left the buildings behind. The railroad tracks were about fifty yards ahead.

Melissa had a pistol under her shirt, but she had no illusions of taking on more than one or two gunmen. Still, she kept walking, determined to at least figure out where the house was—to redeem herself, and her mission.

To impress Colonel Freah, too, though she didn’t dwell on that as they neared the house.

I
ntending to keep his appointment with the Russian despite the fighting, Li Han hid the computer and the UAV’s brain in the tunnel.

Upstairs, his young escorts seemed even edgier than normal. Shooting the tall one—whose body was buried somewhere outside—had made them fear him, but not to the degree that Li Han couldn’t worry about getting shot in the back himself. He watched them warily, even as he stepped outside.

He spotted the insect then, a large mosquito perched in the crevice of the rocks just in front of the door. His instinct was to swat at it with his hand, but as he pulled back to swing, he realized there was something odd about it. Not only did it seem slightly too big, but it was abnormally placid.

Was it a listening device?

Li Han walked past it. He’d scanned the building for bugs when he arrived, but not since then.

He turned and walked back into the building as if he’d forgotten something. He went downstairs to his tools, got out the detection device, then held his breath as he turned it on, preparing himself for the worst.

Nothing.

But of course there was nothing here. He swept it around slowly, like a priest offering a blessing.

Still nothing.

He walked through the house slowly, moving around the walls. He paused at the front door, reaching up and down the frame, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary to be that physically close. Still not getting anything, he moved outside and went to the mosquito.

Nothing.
Nothing.

But it was clear to him now that the bug wasn’t a real insect. Maybe it only turned on when it heard human voices.

Li Han knelt behind it. He held the detector next to it, then spoke softly in Chinese. There was no indication that the bug was transmitting. He spoke louder; still nothing.

It must be dead. Perhaps it would be worth something to the Russian. Li Han stuffed it into his pocket.

M
elissa grabbed Glat’s arm as she saw the shadow near the house thirty yards away.

It was a gun, swinging against the arm of the man as he walked toward a car.

Quickly, she pulled her guide to the side of the nearby building. The woman started to say something; paranoid, Melissa threw her hand over Glat’s mouth and hushed her.

“Ssssh,”
she said, pointed to the ground, then nudged the young woman into a crouch. “Stay. Stay,” she repeated. “Do you understand? Stay?”

Glat nodded that she understood.

Easing to the side of the building, Melissa dropped to her knees, then spread out along the ground, peering out around the bottom of the building. A truck had pulled to the front of a building. Two men were in the front seat. She couldn’t see anything else. It was too dark to make out their faces.

The truck started and began moving in their direction. Melissa rose to get a better view. As the vehicle passed, she caught a glimpse of the man on the passenger side in the front.

Asian.

Mao Man.

Li Han.

Chapter 35

Western Ethiopia

F
resh from his nap, Turk went down to check on the Tigershark.

“Pimped it out for you, Captain,” said Flash, who was pulling guard duty. “We were going to paint it pink, but we ran out of primer.”

“Pity.”

Turk reached up and put his palm on a panel just below the opening to the cockpit. The aircraft buzzed, then the forward area began to separate like a clamshell. The Tigershark did not have a canopy per se—all visuals were provided by a matrix of sensors embedded in the skin. This allowed for a much sleeker—and lower—cockpit area that was tucked into the body just in front of the wings.

“Looks a little like a sardine can,” said Flash.

“An aerodynamic sardine can,” said Turk, reaching into the cockpit and taking out the smart helmet. He put it on, made a link with the aircraft’s flight systems, then had the computer begin a preflight instrument check.

Someone knocked on the back of his helmet. Turk pulled it off. It was Boston.

“Sorry to knock on your hat, Captain.” Boston grinned. “Colonel Freah was wondering if you could talk to him for a minute.”

“Sure. Where is he?”

“Back in the Sudan. Use this.” Boston held up a sat phone. “I’ll get him for you.”

Turk put the helmet back on the seat of the Tigershark. The aircraft would perform its own self-check. Boston, meanwhile, made the connection.

“Colonel, you’re looking for me?” asked Turk, taking the phone.

“Satellite is still a few hours away,” said Danny. “We’re wondering if you can get back on station. You can leave as soon as it’s here.”

“Yeah, roger that,” said Turk. “Beats the hell out of hanging around here.”

Chapter 36

Duka

M
ilos Kimko eyed the driver nervously as they headed into the town. Two of Girma’s men were sitting behind him, guns ready; another pair were in the back. Traveling with them was only a hair less dangerous than traveling without them, Kimko thought. Girma was clearly becoming crazed, and his band would surely follow his lead.

The driver stopped the truck abruptly. They had reached the gas station where Li Han suggested they meet. Fortunately, it was at the southeastern end of the city, a good distance from the areas favored by both sides.

The street was empty, the station closed. Kimko debated whether to get out. The vehicle offered a modicum of protection, but it was easier to see in the dusk, making it a logical target.

Nervous energy got the better of him. He opened the door. The others hopped out with him. Instead of fanning out like proper soldiers or trained bodyguards, they clustered together, clumped near the car as he prowled near the gas pumps, looking around the shadows of the building for ambushers or lookouts.

A flask would be welcome now. A drink.

No. He would play this through, get what Li Han had to offer, and turn it into a ticket out of here.

D
anny drove the Mercedes up the road leading out of town and glanced at his watch. The Tigershark wouldn’t be in range for another five minutes. At that point they could activate the bugs they had planted, and use the Whiplash system to communicate.

“Where the hell is Melissa?” grumbled Nuri. “She was supposed to meet us.”

“We’re a little early.”

“I don’t even trust that she saw Li Han.”

“Where’s the truck?”

“Still at the north end of the city.”

Danny pulled the car off the road. They expected Li Han to get on the highway at some point, then try and go south in the direction of the Brotherhood’s strongholds. The Whiplash team had loaded up in their Osprey and was en route. Once they were sure it was Li Han, Danny would order the team to prepare an ambush. They’d catch him on the road south.

If it was a false alarm, they’d go back to square one.

“Someone’s walking up the road,” said Nuri. “In our direction.”

“Melissa?”

“Can’t tell. Not enough resolution. They’re holding something—could be a gun. Pistol.”

“All right. Wait here,” said Danny, opening the car door.

“Where you going?”

“I’m going to make sure it’s not an ambush.”

Danny slipped the door closed, then trotted down the road to a small cluster of bushes. He turned around, looking at the car, then took a few steps past the brush. Whoever was coming would see the bushes and expect someone to be waiting there.

He trotted another twenty yards down the road, then went off it into the open field and lay flat. The person would be focused on the brush if not the car, and miss him completely.

His right knee complained as he folded himself onto the ground. Middle age was creeping up on him; the sins and strains of his youth were coming back to haunt him.

“Nuri?” he asked over the team radio.

“A hundred yards,” said Nuri. “I can’t tell if it’s her.”

“Call her phone,” said Danny.

L
i Han stood at the edge of the roof fingering his binoculars, watching the Russian at the gas station about a half mile away. Kimko had four bodyguards with him, but they were back by his truck, useless if he was attacked from anywhere but the road. From what Li Han had seen, he’d made only the most precursory check of the area before stopping.

He was disappointed. He’d always heard that Russian intelligence agents were the best in the world. But obviously they didn’t send the best into Africa.

A vehicle drove past the gas station. Li Han watched as the bodyguards took cover behind their truck. They’d be dead meat if someone in the car fired a grenade.

No one did. The car sped past, continuing around to the eastern side of the city.

The Russian had stepped into the shadows as it approached. He moved out of them now, going toward the northern edge of the small property.

Li Han decided he would come from the south on foot.

“Go,” he told Amara. “Drive as I told you. I will meet you there.”

The Brother nodded.

M
elissa nearly jumped when her phone rang. She took it from her pocket, telling herself to relax and move slowly. She crouched at the side of the road as she answered.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“Where are you?” asked Nuri.

“On the road where we were going to meet.”

“Wait.”

She could see shadows up the road ahead. She’d assumed it was Danny and Nuri’s car, but now she wasn’t sure.

“Danny is about ten yards on your left, on the east side of the road,” Nuri told her. “Put one hand up. When you do, he’s going to get up.”

This is a bit much, she thought, but she did it anyway, turning in Danny’s direction. A shadow emerged from the field.

“Hey,” yelled Danny.

“Hey.”

“The truck you spotted is parked near a building at the southern edge of town,” said Danny, running to her. “Come on. We should have a pretty good view of the proceedings in a few minutes.”

K
imko saw the pickup approaching and hissed at the gunmen back by the car to get ready. Just as he ducked down, he realized someone was walking up from behind the service building. He turned around and saw the outline of a man with a pistol pointing at him.

His heart fell toward the ground; his lungs clutched.

“It’s me,” barked Li Han.

It took several seconds before Kimko could breathe again. Those seconds were filled with an incredible thirst.

God, for some vodka.

“Why are you playing games?” asked Kimko in English.

“Why did you bring so many people with you?”

“Bodyguards. There’s fighting in the city. Two factions. Did you bring the photos?”

“I brought some things.”

“Show me.”

Kimko led him over to his truck. Meanwhile, the vehicle that had been approaching pulled into the gas station, stopping a few yards from the truck.

The guards are useless, thought Kimko. They were too used to intimidating people simply by flashing their weapons around. In a real fight, they’d be so much chum in the water.

Kimko got into the truck. Li Han got in on the other side, then took a cell phone from his pocket and turned it on.

“It has no SIM chip,” said the Asian. “It can’t be tracked. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” said Kimko.

“Here,” said Li Han, handing over the phone.

There was a small mélange of colors on the tiny screen. At first glance the image seemed to be nothing—indiscriminate shapes. Slowly, Kimko recognized a black triangle and a round sphere—the blurry outline of an aircraft.

He paged to the next image, and then the next. These were sharper. The object was definitely an aircraft, but it looked like no UAV he’d ever seen. Assuming it was a UAV, it would certainly be of interest back home.

Assuming.

“This looks like a model,” said Kimko harshly. “A prop for a movie.”

“It’s not.”

“How do I know?” Kimko started to hand the phone back.

“You can keep that,” said Li Han. “Show it to your experts. Here. This is from the aircraft, the interior of the wing. Notice that it has writing.”

He took a thin, long piece of metal from his pocket. Only a little larger than a fountain pen, it looked like a miniature shock absorber. It had a series of tiny numbers and letters stenciled on the bottom.

“It is an actuator,” said Li Han. “It moved a piece of the wing that acted as a flap. The material is still attached. You can see it’s a metallized glass. Very rare.”

Kimko turned it over in his hand.

“How do I know this came from the aircraft?”

Li Han reached for the phone. He paged back through the images, stopping on a dark rectangular blur.

“It is the item on the right,” said Li Han, handing the cell phone back. “Do you see?”

Kimko really didn’t see, but others would. Even if the Chinaman was a fraud, this whole enterprise was certainly worth talking to Moscow about. It was definitely a ticket out of Africa.

But if he was a fraud, it could backfire.

“One million euros,” said Li Han.

Kimko chuckled. “A million euros? For a broken piece of metal?”

Li Han didn’t respond.

“I don’t think this is worth a million euros,” said Kimko. “A million euros would not be appropriate.”

Kimko started to hand the phone back. Li Han wouldn’t take it.

If it were a UAV, and if Moscow didn’t know anything about it, then certainly it would be worth a million euros.

Maybe, maybe not. The best thing to do would be to let someone else make the call. In that case, if it were a fraud, then there would be no blame on him.

“I think one million euros is too much,” said Kimko. He sighed, as if making a deep concession. “But if perhaps I could have one of my people inspect it, then we could negotiate seriously. People who know about these things,” added Kimko. “I don’t. I’m not an expert.”

“No one sees it until I’m paid.”

“Well that’s impossible, then. This could all be a fraud.” Kimko started to reach for the door handle, then remembered this was his truck—he shouldn’t be the one to leave. They sat for a few moments in silence.

“Maybe an inspection could be arranged,” said Li Han finally. “If you made a down payment.”

Kimko snorted. “Impossible.”

“I will give you something else. You’ll pay for that.”

Kimko made a face. Now he knew the man was a con artist. Whether it was his truck or not, he was getting out. He reached for the door.

“Here is a CIA bug,” said Li Han, reaching into his pocket.

Once more Kimko’s lungs seized. Li Han was worse than a con man—he was a plant, an agent.

“It’s inactive,” said Li Han, opening his palm. A small insect was inside. “Take it and I’ll show you.”

Unsure what else to do, Kimko reached for the insect. He picked it up gingerly. It felt real.

Men would be shooting at them any moment, he was sure. This was all a setup.

Li Han reached into his pocket again. He took out a small radiolike device and flipped it on.

“See?” said Li Han. “No radio signal. You see my needle. The bug doesn’t work, but you can examine it and see how they do it.”

“I’m sure we have millions of these,” said Kimko.

“One thousand euros. Now.”

“We have many of these,” said Kimko. He didn’t trust Li Han’s detector, and in fact wasn’t even sure the bug was a listening device. It looked more like a plastic model, a gag toy. He started to give it back.

“A thousand euros as a down payment.” Li Han pushed his hand away gently. “The device as a token of my sincerity.”

“I will give you five hundred euros right now,” said Kimko, deciding now it was the only way to get rid of him.

Li Han folded his arms and looked down at the floor of the truck. Kimko wondered if he should go higher. No, he decided—he shouldn’t have made an offer at all.

“Five hundred will do for now,” said Li Han. “There is a three-story building near the railroad tracks that once belonged to the stationmaster. You will meet me there at dusk tomorrow if you intend to purchase the aircraft. It won’t be there,” added Li Han, “so you needn’t try any tricks. Come alone. I will take you to it, and you will transfer the money to an account. Once the transaction is complete, we can all be on our way. Come alone. Alone.”

“Understood,” said Kimko.

“T
hey’re leaving,” said Nuri, watching the video feed on the MY-PID slate. It was coming directly from the Global Hawk; the Tigershark was still a few minutes away, and MY-PID itself still wasn’t online. “The car with Li Han seems to be going back to the house,” said Nuri. “If it does, then we should follow the second truck, see where it goes.”

“I want Mao Man,” said Melissa, leaning forward in the backseat.

“We’ll get him,” said Nuri. “Relax.”

Nuri zoomed the screen out as the vehicles continued to drive. He couldn’t watch both for very much longer.

“Li Han has to take priority,” insisted Melissa.

“He’s your problem,” said Nuri. “We’re here for the UAV. Danny, we have to choose. I say we go with the truck. We can relocate Li Han easily.”

“You could say the same about the truck,” answered Melissa.

“Nuri’s calling the shots on the surveillance,” said Danny. He put the Mercedes into gear. “Which way am I heading?”

A
s soon as Li Han was out of sight, Kimko told the driver to get on the road and go south. He pulled his ruck from the floor of the truck and reached inside, taking out a small fabric pencil case. He unfolded a metallic instrument from inside a small cocoon of bubble wrap, pushed its two halves together and turned. An LED at the end blinked red twice, then turned green. This was a bug detector, simpler in operation than Li Han’s, though more sophisticated, or so Kimko thought. It detected all manner of radiation; if the mosquito was a listening device, it would find out.

The light stayed green, even when he put the other end of the stick against it. He began to speak.

“I wonder if this is really a listening device,” he said in Russian. “I doubt it. He has taken my euros and I will never see him again.”

The light remained green.

Probably it was phony. But then, so was the money he had handed over.

Kimko replaced the detector carefully back in its little nest. He took his satellite phone from the ruck and tapped the numbers; it was time to talk to Moscow.

T
urk eased off the throttle as the Tigershark reached the ellipse marked out on his helmet display’s sitrep map. The map gave the pilot a God’s eye view of the world, with his target area in the center screen; he switched to the more traditional American view, showing the plane in the center, then keyed his mike to talk to Danny.

“Tigershark to Whiplash Ground—Colonel, I’m on station. You should have an affirmative hookup.”

“Roger that, Tigershark. Ground acknowledges. Starting the handshake.”