The Maverick Experiment (16 page)

Carlisle walked into Jerry's office right on time. “Hey, friend.”

Jerry stood to shake Carlisle's hand. “Hey, Carlisle. Any word? Is everyone OK from the other night?”

“The team is still intact, but we lost a man. Grimes was killed by one of the explosions.”

Jerry sat back down and ran his hand through his hair. “Hell. Did they get him out of there?”

“Yes. Well, I assume so. The men understand what's at stake with all this, which brings up my conversation with Derek a few minutes ago.”

“And what was that?”

“Well, don't flip out on me here, Jerry, but the call was from Pakistan.”

Jerry quickly stood again, with a shocked look on his face. “Pakistan? Carlisle, tell me you are kidding.”

“I am not. Habib is still alive.”

“What do you mean? I thought he was dead. Wasn't that the purpose of the mission, Carlisle, to have your little hit squad take him out?”

“Hit squad? First of all, this is
our
squad, and what the hell happened to 'my friend,' Jerry? You're sounding more like a staffer by the second. These are
our
guys. They are there, and they are capable. Who else could have done any of the things they have so far?”

“That's not the point. Derek was right when he asked you a few days ago about their purpose, and now it sounds like he's confused on his mission. They are to be a tactical intel unit and—”

“And as a part of that mission, they are to eliminate targets of opportunity. Am I right?”

“Yes, you are, but Pakistan? Carlisle, my job as the staffer is to monitor you and the program and make sure we get things done, but also to protect the agency from embarrassment. This isn't the old days …”

Jerry stopped himself and took a couple of deep breaths. He sat in his chair once again. “Okay, well … What's the target?”

“Rafiq.”

“Malawi Rafiq? Shit, they'll never get him. He's a ghost.”

“Jerry, you aren't on the ground. They are. If they say they can get this done, they can. That's why we hired these guys. They have a probable location and a plan to hit the target.”

“I may not be on the ground, Carlisle, but my ass is still on the line, and so is yours. We'll bring the director and the president down if this goes poorly. We hired Stevens and his team to do what we tell them, not whatever the hell they want. We can't have contractors running amok, killing people in Pakistan.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Carlisle said, his face reddening. “If you and I had been in the same position years ago, we would have done the same fucking thing, and you know it. Now, it might not be the old days, but trust me. I trust them, you trust me.”

After a long pause, Jerry said, “OK. I trust you. I am going to have to inform the director about this, though. We can't leave him out on this one.”

“Absolutely.”

“What's their time frame?”

“Sometime in the next two days.”

“OK, I'll take care of it.”

Friday, January 29
Langley, Virginia
CIA Headquarters, Director's Office
1430 Hrs

The director chuckled and shook his head. “Wow. You guys are trying to give me a heart attack, aren't you?”

“That's certainly not our goal, sir. Carlisle and I both trust these men implicitly and think they can pull this off. If it works, we will have the satisfaction of knowing we took down our biggest problem in the region. Not to mention we will have proven, without a doubt, that the Maverick Program works.”

“And if it doesn't?” replied the director. “Listen, Jerry, I am behind you and Carlisle, and the team, for that matter. Just know that we are in a hell of a lot of trouble if this goes wrong. There are no doubts in my mind that the Maverick teams are the way to go. This is how we will fight and win the war as long as I am here. But the kicker is, as soon as a team is revealed, I'm no longer here.”

“I understand.”

“Any idea on how they plan to do this?”

“No, sir. I am assuming we will see some sort of major headline as we have thus far,” Jerry said with a chuckle.

“Alright. Get out of here and let me get back to work. Congress is still crawling up my ass about the Rendition program. This thing never goes away.”

“If only they knew they had bigger fish to fry, huh?”

The director peered over his glasses and laughed as Jerry stood and exited the room.

Sunday, January 31
Miram Shah, Pakistan
1819 Hrs

The Yahya Ali Wedding Hall was just like all the other wedding halls in the region: a large, gaudy structure with more flashing and colored lights than one building should have. Most carnivals and amusement parks would have been put to utter shame by the sheer volume of neon.

As night fell on cities in the region, wedding halls seemed sorely out of place as they lit up the night sky, but Afghans and Pakistanis loved them. Though both Afghanistan and Pakistan were in the bottom tier of countries in terms of gross domestic product, their citizens routinely spent as much money on their weddings as Westerners, if not more.

Shafi had been able to secure a hotel room directly across from the wedding hall, and Miller and Carson were stationed
there. As vehicles began to pull up to the hall, Miller stared through his rifle scope, watching the entrance. Carson stood next to him and helped monitor the area. Meanwhile, Derek and Randy, with Habib, were being driven around by Shafi, awaiting a call from the others.

Habib had been cleaned up and dressed in a new suit for the wedding. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it would have to do. After all, he wouldn't be wearing it long. Underneath his dress shirt and jacket, Habib was wearing a suicide vest, which Carson and Randy had rigged just for the event. Unlike many suicide bombers, however, Habib would not be in charge of the detonator; rather, Carson and Miller, in the hotel room across the street, would be.

Randy and Derek sat dressed in burkas in the backseat of the TownAce with their weapons trained on Habib in the front passenger seat. Shafi would drive Habib around until Miller had eyes on Rafiq, at which point they would deliver their wedding gift.

“Hurry up and wait,” muttered Miller from behind his scope.

“Yeah,” responded Carson, sounding rather bored. “This sucks. But the fireworks are supposed to be pretty good tonight.” The men had been pent up in the hotel room since the night before, when Shafi and Aziz had been able to sneak them in. Meanwhile, Derek and Randy had remained at the safe house with Aziz.

Derek leaned in and grabbed Habib's shoulder. “How does it feel, Habib? Kind of funny, I think. You send hundreds of kids to their deaths this way, and now you get to do the same
thing. Only I promise there will not be seventy-two virgins waiting for you.”

The Taliban and al-Qaeda were famous for their suicide bombers. Frequently, children who had been fed a heavy dose of Taliban propaganda or men who had some sort of financial trouble were selected for such missions. The families of suicide bombers were famously well cared for following their successful missions.

Habib turned his head back toward Derek and smiled. “All you will accomplish by this is to create more enemies. The explosion might kill me. It might even kill Rafiq, but our martyrdom and the deaths of others will create a new wave of unity. The people will look to a new leader in our fight against you, and there will be a renewed spirit.”

Derek again leaned in and stared at Habib. “You're probably right, Habib. I am sure this will create a whole bunch more little terrorists. But I have to put food on the table, and it's fuckers like you that keep me gainfully employed.”

Habib stared angrily at Derek for a moment before returning his attention to the street ahead.

Shafi chuckled under his breath and continued to drive. He had grown used to Mr. Derek's abrasive and arrogant form of sarcasm. It was how Mr. Derek responded in operational moments.

“Things are starting to pick up around here,” muttered Randy as he stared out the rear window.

“Yeah, we have to be getting close,” responded Derek. “Four, this is One. How are things going over there?”

Carson took one last look before responding, “Yeah, we got nothing. Plenty of folks showing up, but no indication of whether it's the right wedding or not. Will keep you posted.”

As Carson released his throat piece, Miller reached over and grabbed his arm. “Check that vehicle out over there, the red Corolla. Looks like Ikram.”

Derek wasn't the only one who had targeted Ikram in the past. Carson and Miller had seen plenty of photos of the man before. As government forces focused in on a target, they also broke down who the key players around that target were. With regards to Rafiq, Ikram had always been known as a major player, but he had been difficult to catch without entering Pakistan.

Carson peered through his binos and spotted the red Corolla approaching the Yahya Ali Wedding Hall. It was hard to tell who was in the backseat, but it only took a second for him to recognize Ikram behind the wheel. “Yeah, that's him.” He reached for his throat piece. “One, this is Four. Be advised, Ikram is arriving at the wedding hall in a red Corolla. No ID on the passenger yet.”

Derek quickly reached up and grabbed Shafi to get his attention and spun his finger around, indicating it was time to head back toward the wedding hall. “Roger, Four. We are headed into your view shortly. Keep us posted on the passenger.”

The wedding hall was on a busy street and had a long walkway to the entrance. Ikram would have to drop whoever he was driving rather quickly, but the passenger would have to make his way down the extended walkway into the entrance of the behemoth neon structure. The team hoped this would give Miller and Carson enough time to make the call to drop Habib or not and allow for Derek and Randy to catch up to Ikram's departing vehicle.

“Think it's him?” asked Miller.

“I hope so, man; I'm fucking starving. We gotta blow this shit and go get something to eat.”

Miller stared intently through his scope as Carson scanned the area and saw Derek and the TownAce approaching.

“Any word?” requested Derek.

“Hold, One,” replied Carson.

Miller spoke from behind his scope. “Get your appetite ready, big boy. We are about ready to move. Let's get the gear and prepare to egress; our boy is here.”

“Sweet! One, this is Four. Be advised, the target is in the red Corolla; we have eyes on. Repeat, we have eyes on the target.”

The butterflies built in Derek's stomach as he heard the transmission come over the radio. Such an operation was unheard of, and Derek was admittedly anxious. If they failed tonight, the fallout would be crippling. The United States had enough problems in the press; adding an American-ordered suicide bomber to the mix certainly would not help the cause. Still, he felt as though getting Rafiq would make it all worth it, and avenging Grimes would be the icing on the cake.

“Roger. Dropping the package now and will pursue the vehicle.” Derek tapped Shafi on the shoulder again. “OK, buddy, we are making the drop. Get ready to pull over. Habib, it's been good while it lasted. Remember, you keep walking up to the entrance, or my boy across the way will start putting holes in you. You can die fast or slow. Either way, you are going, though.”

In the red Corolla, Malawi Rafiq reached over the backseat to shake the hand of his longtime friend Ikram Hussein, thanking him for the ride. “Thank you, Ikram.”

“My pleasure, sir. Give my best to your family.”

“I will.”

Rafiq opened the door and stood to scan the area, coming into Miller's clear view for the first time.

“Why don't we just take him out now?” mumbled Miller.

“We will if he gets too close to the door. The bomb makes it harder to determine who did this, though,” replied Carson.

“I know. I've wanted this joker in my crosshairs for a long time, that's all.”

Rafiq slowly began to make his way up the walkway and toward the entrance as Shafi pulled up to the front of the wedding hall, reaching across Habib to open his door.

“Go time, Habib. I'll see you in hell,” muttered Derek.

Habib stared back one last time at Derek as he exited the vehicle, visibly nervous.

“Go, Shafi. We aren't going to want to be here. Follow Ikram. He just turned left at the next street.”

As Shafi sped away in pursuit of Ikram, Habib paused, looking around to see if he could spot Miller. Not only did Habib have a bomb strapped to his chest, but he had an American-trained sniper watching his every move. He couldn't win. The game was over. His search returned nothing. Traditionally bi-pods for long-range rifles left several inches of the barrel exposed, however Miller's new Higher Capacity bi-pod system concealed his position perfectly.