SEAL of Approval (15 page)

CHAPTER 2

An hour later, Vance was waiting in an emergency fire escape at the Al Wahda shopping mall. A symbol of the Gulf city’s progress, the mall was a sprawling complex of over 120 high-end retail outlets. Vance hated it, all sparkling marble and glass, built by unskilled immigrant labor with petrodollars. Like so many things in the Middle East, the glamour was a thin veil. In the staircase, behind the scenes, the flaking paint and exposed wiring told another story.

Vance checked his phone. His contact was late. A moment later it buzzed and a message displayed on the screen:

Contact is moving toward your loc

Ice was watching the approaches to the emergency exit. Despite his stature, the CIA operative had an uncanny knack for remaining out of sight. Vance felt comfortable knowing the big man had his back.

The door swung open and a man in a dark suit barged in. He gave Vance a cursory nod and scanned the stairwell. Vance lifted his arms, allowing himself to be patted down. Security procedures complete, the man exited through the same door. A few seconds later Vance’s contact entered.

“It is good to see you again, Vance.” Tariq Ahmed, the head of Abu Dhabi’s Police Special Tasks Branch, was every inch the charming gentleman, his slim frame clad in an immaculate tailored suit, dark hair slicked back, beard and moustache trimmed to perfection.

“You too, Tariq. Been a while.”

Prior to assuming his current mantle, Tariq had been an intelligence officer in the UAE Army. He had worked with Vance in Afghanistan.

Tariq’s face remained impassive as he spoke. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You should have listened to Mr. Beecroft.”

“What the hell, Tariq? Goddamn tangos want to take down my team and you’re going to let a pen pusher like Beecroft stop me from taking them out?”

“Mr. Beecroft is a powerful man. If you value your career, I would suggest you follow his direction.”

“My career? Tariq, I’ve been in this business for long enough and one thing I’ve learned is that Langley doesn’t give a shit about me. No, this is personal now. I want these jihadi fucks head’s on a slab!”

Tariq raised an eyebrow at the tirade. “As do I, Vance, and I assure you we have the situation well in hand.”

“Yeah, twelve dead in three months. Looks like you’ve got it well in hand.” Vance gave a hard stare. “Does it bother you that someone in your government is sponsoring the murder of innocent civilians?”

Tariq’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but I suspected as much. Now you’ve all but confirmed it.”

“There is more to this than you think, my friend.”

“Clearly. That’s why you’re meeting me in a goddamn stairwell.”

“Leave this to my people; the CIA has no role to play here. This is an Emirates problem and we will resolve it. You should focus on Iraq.”

It was Vance’s turn to fold his arms. “No role? You feed us some crap about a terrorist group targeting my team and then you tell me I don’t have a role to play in it. Screw you, Tariq, I thought we were friends.”

“We are, and that is why you were warned.”

“Don’t think I’m not appreciative, buddy, but you need to give me a whole lot more than that. Who’s your source?”

“I cannot reveal that.”

“Then give me some details. Who’s leading the attack? When’s it planned for? What type of attack? A suicide bomber? A car bomb?”

“The attack was to occur in the next twenty-four hours; a
VBIED
into the medical clinic. That is all I know.”

Vance didn’t believe for one second that the well-groomed Arab was sharing everything.

“Listen, trust me when I say this.” Tariq’s gaze softened slightly. “There is nothing more the CIA can do here. Your embassy has booked a flight for you tonight. You would be well advised to take it.”

There was silence as the two men stared at each other.

“Maybe you’re right,” Vance said.

Tariq smiled halfheartedly. “You’re making the right decision, my friend. Have a safe trip and perhaps we will meet again under better circumstances.” With that, the head of Special Tasks Branch disappeared through the door.

Vance waited a few seconds before moving down the stairs to the underground parking level. He exited the stairwell and walked across to where the Land Cruiser was parked.

A few minutes later Ice joined him. “Only the one guy with him, Vance. He’s trying to keep it discreet.”

“Yeah, could mean he’s being watched.”

“Do you trust him?”

Vance shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I’d wager he knows a shitload more than he’s telling.”

“Any more intel on the threat?”

“Yeah. Car bomb into the compound. Next twenty-four hours.”

“Think it’s reliable?”

“Tariq and I worked together in the 'Ghan. He pulled my nuts out of the fire a couple of times. If it wasn’t for him, I would’ve ended my run holding my own head on YouTube.” Vance opened his car door. “So yeah, I think it’s good. I’ve just got the feeling he’s still hiding something from us.”

They climbed into the Land Cruiser and Ice started the engine. “From what I’ve read in
Forbes
, his father’s a very powerful man.”

“Damn straight he is. The emir’s chief security advisor, and in his spare time he runs a multi-billion dollar logistics company.”

“So if Tariq’s hiding something, it’s gotta be big.” The tires of the four-wheel drive screeched on the polished concrete as Ice nosed it toward the exit.

“You’re right. If we uncover a terrorist cell operating inside the UAE government, it would be a major embarrassment. That’s why he wants the CIA out. Not that it would matter. That prick Beecroft would sacrifice his own mother to keep the oil flowing.”

“The terrorists could have a royal link,” added Ice.

“True. Some rich, bored asshole getting his kicks out of playing jihad. Whoever it is, he fucked up though.”

“How so?”

“By trying to kill us.”

“So what’s the plan from here?” Ice asked as he lowered the window and paid the foreign worker who manned the parking booth.

“We get our gear from the depot and stake out the clinic. Jihad jerk-off’s posse are bound to do one last recon. We’ll leave the lights on and maybe they’ll still be keen to join our little party.”

CHAPTER 3

Despite being the home of over five thousand immigrant workers, Abu Dhabi’s Musaffah industrial complex was deathly quiet under the dark shroud of a moonless night. Vance had parked the Land Cruiser in a side alley around the corner from the WHO clinic, hidden from view but still positioned to allow quick access to the street. On the seat next to him was a laptop, the screen displaying images beamed from two cameras hidden on the high walls of the WHO compound. One showed a view down the street to the front, the other covered the narrow alley that ran behind.

Vance panned a camera to the construction site opposite the clinic. The street lighting was dim and the green hue of the infrared camera made the half-built sheds look like the skeleton of a prehistoric beast. A cat, hunting rats in the rubble of the building site, leapt from a Dumpster, landing gracefully alongside a pile of builder’s waste.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Ice’s voice came through over the radio.

Vance watched the cat arch its back and streak away into the darkness. He panned the camera back over the area. “Damn, Ice, I can’t see you. I’m looking straight at that heap of crap you’re under.”

“I’m a trash ninja,” quipped Ice. His tone changed. “Vehicle approaching.”

A battered pickup approached down the street, its headlights off.

Ice gripped his silenced Beretta tightly and flicked the safety off. “This looks suspect.”

Vance panned the camera toward the threat.

The pickup coasted down the street, slowing in front of the clinic, and came to a halt directly opposite Ice. It paused, then veered toward him, bouncing over the low curb.

“Shit,” whispered Vance as it stopped mere feet from his hidden partner. The doors opened and two men wearing dark clothes jumped down from the cab.

Ice slid one hand under his body, ready to spring from his hiding spot.

“These guys look like some sort of amateur recon team,” whispered Vance as he watched them through the camera.

Ice clicked his transmit button once in response. One of the men was standing almost directly on top of him. The one closest to Ice moved around the vehicle into the shadows cast from the lights of the compound. The truck now separated them from Ice.

The two men just stood in the shadows watching the street. Minutes passed before Ice whispered, “What’s the plan? Take one down and get the other to talk?”

“Negative. Something’s not right, just sit tight.”

A moment later the two men began moving around the construction site. They talked in hushed voices and used a flashlight to probe the piles of building materials.

“I think we’ve got ourselves some lowbrow thieves,” whispered Ice.

“Roger.”

The scavengers attempted to load a heavy metal beam into the back of their pickup. A set of headlights flashed down the road and they dropped it with a crash. Vance smirked as the would-be thieves clambered to find a hiding spot behind their truck. He focused the camera on the approaching vehicle. It was a Mercedes, not unusual for Abu Dhabi.

“You got eyes on?” he asked over the radio.

“Yes,” Ice whispered.

The saloon slowed almost to a halt as it passed by. On his screen Vance could make out a faint glow on the passenger-side window. It took him a second to realize what it was; a video camera.

“These are our guys, Ice. Tag ‘em.”

As the Mercedes accelerated from the clinic, Ice broke cover. The pile of trash materialized into a man wielding a gun. The two would-be thieves, startled, ran yelling into the building site, tripping over the debris.

Ice aimed the Tippmann paintball marker at the Mercedes and squeezed the trigger. The ball left the barrel with a snort and slapped the rear right wheel. It burst, spraying a clear liquid across the side of the car.

“That’s a hit,” reported Ice.

“Nice shot. Now let’s find out where these clowns are hanging out.”

CHAPTER 4

Six hundred miles above Abu Dhabi, a satellite adjusted its sensor array on an isolated bandwidth of radiation. Within a few seconds it had located a target. A complex algorithm converted the information into a military grid reference and relayed it to the requesting entity.

Back on the ground, Ice had joined Vance in the Land Cruiser. He was still wearing his combat rig, a balaclava rolled up on top of his head.

“You smell like shit!” Vance said as he hunched over his laptop.

“Next time I’ll sit in the car while you crawl in the trash.”

“No thanks, bud. I'm getting too old for all that sneaky peaky crap.”

“Have we got a track?”

“I’ve got the grid. Plotting it now.” Vance opened the mapping program and entered the grid reference from the satellite. “Target’s about four miles away, still in the industrial sector. Looks like a medium-size warehouse with a high brick wall.” Vance handed the laptop to Ice and started the car. “You’re the shooter, Ice. How we gonna crack this one?”

Ice had planned hundreds of raids in Afghanistan and Iraq. “I think we’re going to have to get in close.”

It took a little over ten minutes to cover the distance to the warehouse. They parked a few hundred yards out and advanced on foot. Both men were equipped similarly: combat body armor worn over their shirts and Nomex balaclavas covering their faces. They carried suppressed weapons; the last thing they wanted was to alert the local authorities. Ice favored a
UMP45
submachine gun and Vance a
M4 CQBR
carbine.

They hugged the shadows as they moved stealthily to the twelve-foot brick wall surrounding the target warehouse. The only entry point was a well-lit steel sliding gate.

Crouched in a ditch beside the wall, Ice pulled a compact screen from his vest. He uncoiled a flexible camera and plugged it into the device. With Vance scanning for threats, he stood and held the setup at arm’s length, allowing the camera to see over the wall. He panned it back and forth, recording imagery.

Seconds later he was back in the ditch reviewing the footage with Vance. “There’s the Mercedes. No sign of anyone; they might be all in bed.”

“I doubt it. They’re probably going over their recon footage.”

“We should drop in for a critique.”

“Any wire on that wall?” Vance peered closer at the screen.

“Negative. Your balls are safe.”

Ice packed the camera away and followed Vance over the wall. He slid across the top of the brickwork and dropped onto the gravel parking lot in front of the warehouse. The Mercedes was parked in front of a roller door. A smaller entrance was off to the right and Ice guessed it led into the building’s office.

They followed the wall around, avoiding the light from above the front gate. As they neared the entrance, Ice signaled to halt. He left Vance in cover and crawled to the office door. The tiny camera snaked under the rubber seal at the bottom, giving an insect’s view inside.

It was unoccupied with a single light illuminating a desk and chairs. An AK assault rifle was on the desk; Ice could make out the distinctive stock, along with a pair of night-vision goggles and a laptop. He relayed his findings to Vance over the radio.

“It’s your call, big man.”

“Silent entry. I’ll lead.” Ice turned the door handle. It wasn’t locked. With a click, the door popped inward. He pushed it open and crept inside.

He froze. At the other side of the room, standing in the next doorway was a young man in white robes. They stared at each other for a moment, until the youth dove for the AK on the table. Ice’s UMP spat twice and the heavy slugs tore into the target’s torso. The body smashed into the table with a crash.

“Shit,” whispered Vance as he stepped into the office.

Ice was already moving. He stepped around the body and through the next door. Bright overhead lighting caused him to squint as he entered the open space of the warehouse. He sensed a tall figure lurch at him from the side. A blow knocked the UMP from his hands and it dropped onto its sling. He reacted by swinging his right arm in an arc, pushing his assailant's pistol up against the wall.

He turned his face away as a blow impacted on the side of his head. His vision flashed red and he staggered. With his right arm pinning the pistol to the wall, he spun his left elbow, driving it into the face of the attacker. There was a crunch and a crash as a man fell backward against the sheet-metal wall. Before the body hit the floor, Ice swung his UMP up, and fired a burst into its chest.

In the few seconds it had taken Ice to dispatch his assailant, Vance had calmly stepped past. Deeper into the warehouse another man in white raised a pistol. Vance shot him twice in the face, his suppressed carbine making a sharp, slapping noise. The 5.56mm bullets punched through soft bone and tissue. The man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

The warehouse was new, shelves on the walls still empty. A white minivan was parked facing him. Vance noted it was sitting low on its axles. The smell of fuel hung in the air.

Faintly, above the hum of the fluorescent lighting, Vance could hear chanting. It was coming from the van. He padded cautiously toward the vehicle, his weapon tight against his shoulder. As he approached the rear with a series of shuffling side steps, the red dot of his
Aimpoint sight
came to rest on the forehead of another young man. This one was sitting in the back of the van, eyes wide, chanting softly to himself.

“Ice, we’ve got a big fucking problem.”

“Moving.”

In the back of the van, the teenager was sitting on a layer of small bricks wrapped in wax paper. He was clutching what looked like a slot-car controller.

“Release-activated detonator,” Ice stated from behind Vance, “and probably at least half a ton of C4.”

“I've seen this before,” said Vance. “You see how he’s clean-shaven, head and all. I’ve seen this before in Yemen. He’s been purified for the big bang. Poor bastard’s well and truly been brainwashed.”

“None of them are Arabs, except maybe the big one by the door. At a guess I’d say this guy’s Pakistani.”

Vance lowered his carbine and pulled off his balaclava. “It’s OK, son. You don’t need to do this. Just hand me the clacker, alright?” He reached out with one hand.

The boy’s eyes grew even wider and his chanting more earnest. He threw his hands in the air with a scream, “
ALLAHU AKBA
—”

There was a thud as Ice shot him cleanly through the head. The body fell backward, blood splashing across the bricks of C4.

Both of them waited for the blast that would send them to the afterlife.

“How the fuck are we still alive?” Vance asked in a low voice.

Ice climbed into the van and picked up the remote from where it had fallen. He traced the cable, lifting blocks of explosives to reveal the detonation system. The wire ran into a simple circuit with a battery and a cell phone. Electric cables like the arms of an octopus snaked out to half a dozen detonators embedded in the C4. Ice cut the circuit board free and held it up to the light. “The remote’s a dummy. Whoever set this up didn’t trust his bomber. The phone’s the only way to activate it.”

Ice tore the phone from the circuit and passed it to Vance. It began vibrating and a buzzing filled the air. Vance spun around, eyes searching the room. He sprinted across to the man who had attacked Ice earlier.

Unlike the three youths, this guy was big, at least six feet, with a heavy build. His face was dark and angular with a hawk-like nose. Ice’s bullets had torn into his chest and he was lying in a growing pool of thick blood, a cell phone clutched in his hand. Vance crouched over him and held out the other buzzing phone.

“Looking for this, motherfucker?”

The man coughed. Blood ran out of his mouth and down his neck. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Who do you work for?” Vance growled as he grabbed the Arab by his shoulders and effortlessly propped him against the wall. If he could stop the lungs from filling, maybe he could keep him alive a little longer.

“You—you should have gone home, CIA pig,” coughed the man. “You're a dead man now.”

“You and your buddies had your chance, pal. Now how about you tell me who you're working for and maybe I won't go after your family.”

“Maybe... you should... ask your friend, Tariq.” With that, the man’s head slumped against his chest.

Vance checked for a pulse.

“Dead?” yelled Ice from the next room.

“Yep.” Vance scrolled through the man’s phone. It only had the one number saved in the contacts. He emptied the corpse’s pockets and pulled out a wallet. “You’re not gonna believe it, Ice. He’s Emirates Police. One Yussuf Bishara.”

“That makes sense. Check this out.”

Vance walked into the office where Ice was standing over the desk, scrolling through a presentation on the laptop.

“Pretty damn slick,” observed Vance. The slides showed a detailed plan for the attack on the WHO clinic, complete with surveillance photos.

“Whoever put this together was a pro: definitely military, cops, or intel,” agreed Ice.

Vance stared at the screen for a few seconds, then looked up. “Grab the laptop. I’ll take some photos and we’ll get the hell out of here. I want to have another chat with our man Tariq.”

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