The Recruit: A Taskforce Story (9 page)

I knocked on the door of our makeshift tactical operations center, a suite at the InterContinental Hotel in Nairobi, feeling foolish that Knuckles had waltzed right into my room while I had forgotten to get a key to my own TOC.

I waited for the door to open, knowing someone was eyeing me through the peephole. It took forever, making me wonder if they were screwing with us. Brett finally turned the knob, saying, “Retro’s in back, working the computer. Someone’s on it right now, but it ain’t Panda.”

A short African American built like a fireplug of solid muscle, he moved aside and I said, “Did you need to get a box to see out the door?”

I walked in and waited on a reaction to Jennifer. All he said was, “Hey, Jenn. Good work last night.”

That was it.

Whew
.

She gave off her brilliant megawatt smile and said, “Thanks.”

I started back to the bedroom and heard Brett say, “Yeah, it was a long night, huh?”

Good work? Long night?
I slid my eyes his way, but he was innocently standing by the door. No grin or anything else to indicate a double entendre.

I went to the back bedroom, where Retro had set up all of our computer network stuff, and saw him staring at a screen, Knuckles standing over his shoulder.

I said, “What’s up?”

“Retro’s accessed Panda’s computer through the hotel Wi-Fi. He’s covertly turned on the laptop camera and we can see who’s typing, and it’s not him. It’s the security chief.”

“And? Why do we care?”

“He’s setting up a visit from an escort. You know, because Panda’s forty-two wives aren’t enough. Real pious.”

A thought hit me. I said, “Hey Retro, if you can see what he’s typing, can’t you just rip through the computer? Image the hard drive and end this mission right now?”

“Already did. This laptop isn’t the one we want. I’m willing to bet that one is air-gapped from the Internet. We still need to locate it and physically access it.”

Ali Salim al-Naggar—aka Panda—was a wealthy Saudi businessman with strong indicators he was providing money to Salafist jihadist groups. One of many around the world defying their governments—or, in some instances, operating with its tacit approval—to fund extremists. In this case, we believed he was using his business connections as a clearinghouse to funnel money to the Islamic State—otherwise known as ISIS, ISIL, or Da’esh in the shifting sands of Arabic naming conventions—the rampaging lunatics running amok and beheading everything in their path in Syria and Iraq.

This mission was strictly intelligence collection. Ordinarily, we would physically remove the terrorist from the playing field, but in this case, Panda was a well-known businessman with ties to the royal family. There was no way to remove him covertly. Unlike the usual assholes we usually chased, his disappearance would cause an unacceptable investigative effort, so we decided to simply gather irrefutable evidence of his wrongdoing, then feed it into the system.

Our relationship with the kingdom went from hot to cold, depending on the political vagaries of the day, but the Saudis were scared spitless about the Islamic State, and worried about the growth of jihadist insurgents in its own country. There wouldn’t be a lot of tolerance and love once we boxed up Panda’s transgressions. Which is where the laptop came in.

So far, we’d been stymied because his penthouse was always manned, and nobody had been allowed past the door, including the daily maid service.

I said, “Why do we care about his sex habits? It’s not going to help us. Going in when he’s with her is the worst time because his security force will be on edge for the duration she’s there.”

Brett said, “That’s true. We can’t get in
behind
the escort, but if we can control the escort herself, maybe she could do it.”

They were all looking at me and I could tell they’d already come up with some half-baked plan. Had already talked it out. I said, “Okay, spill it. You want to pay off an escort to attack his computer? No way. I’m not trusting some prostitute to do it.”

Retro said, “He’s not requesting some skinny local. He wants a white girl. A very expensive white girl. Over a thousand dollars for the night.”

“What difference does that make?”

They all looked at each other, gathering their courage, then Knuckles threw it out. “We have a white girl.”

It took a moment for his words to register.
Jennife
r
?
I said, “No fucking way. You have lost your mind.”

Brett saw me winding up and said, “Wait, Pike, wait. Just listen. This’ll work. She goes in as the escort; we go in as security. We’ll be there the entire time.”

Retro kicked in, “Yeah, come on. You’ve been saying all along that Jennifer offers the team something because she’s a female, and this is it.”

I said, “Acting like a whore? Really? That’s what you thought I meant?”

Jennifer interrupted, “Hey, you’ve got a short memory. You threw me out on the streets in Prague as a streetwalker. Remember?”

Everyone quit talking and looked at her. I said, “That was just an act to get a reaction from organized crime. I wasn’t sending you in with a man. No way.”

Retro said, “She won’t be with him. . . .” He started to continue, but dribbled off at my glare.

She said, “I’m willing to listen. What’s the plan?”

I said, “Jennifer, no way. If you think I’m—”

She cut me off with a raised hand, something I would never have tolerated from the men. She said, “What’s the plan, Knuckles? I’m sure you’ve thought this through.”

He looked at her, then at me. He waited a beat then said, “Well, first we interdict the real escort. Then, Brett, Pike, and I go with you as security. You get in the bedroom with the guy and swipe him with ABS. When he’s in the bathroom shitting his guts out, you clone the computer.”

She nodded, thinking, then said, “How quickly does ABS work? I don’t want to fend him off while I’m waiting.”

Knuckles grimaced and said, “Trust me, it works within seconds.”

I heard the discussion and realized the plan might actually succeed. In fact, it most likely
would
succeed. ABS was a chemical compound applied to the skin in the form of ChapStick, lipstick, or other ingenious methods. It was absorbed into the bloodstream and caused massive, explosive gastric distress. Being knuckle-draggers, we couldn’t pronounce its complicated chemical formula and called it ABS—for Atomic Blow-Shits. We’d used it on a past operation, and Knuckles had accidentally gotten it on himself as well as the target, and had suffered the consequences.

He said, “It’s fast, but if you get it on yourself the mission’s over. Then you’ll both be fighting for the toilet.”

I said, “But we don’t even know where the computer’s located. What if it’s not in the bedroom?”

“Then we call it a wash and she leaves. Panda will be in no condition to do anything either way. The only risk is that Jennifer’s potentially out of play for future operations.”

I said, “You’re good with this?”

“Well, yeah. It’s just a mission, and Retro’s right. Unless that guy’s asking for a male, I’m the only one who can do it. You’d do the same if he was gay, right?”

Not on your life.

“Uhh . . .”

Brett cut in, saying, “She’s already proven she can sneak in and out of hotel rooms at night. She’s a natural.”

I whipped my head to him, catching a smirk, which wound me up. He said, “Whoa, why are you getting pissed? She’s climbed walls as slick as marble to access rooms all over the globe. That’s all I meant.”

I glared, seeing all of them trying mightily to stop from grinning. Even Knuckles. Jennifer said, “Yeah, Pike.
You’re
the one that’s always making me climb and break in somewhere. Let’s do it.”

She started walking to the door and I felt the shame of her being the butt of a joke she wasn’t even getting. I was disappointed in the team’s lack of respect.

I gave them a death stare, then caught up to her with the team trailing behind. I stopped her, wanting them to admit they were secretly giving her a slight. “That’s
not
what Brett meant.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Pike, I know exactly what he was saying. I just didn’t think it required a response. They’re juvenile boys playing juvenile games. Just like you do. But it’s the first time they’ve ever made fun of me to my face. Progress.”

And it dawned on me she was right. It wasn’t a lack of respect. It was the opposite. They felt comfortable enough with her on the team to actually start ribbing her. Just like the guys on the team did with one another. As I had done when I’d entered the room with Brett.

She continued, glancing from man to man. “But they’ll be a Taskforce team tonight. Wired for the mission. Right?”

Knuckles smiled. “You better believe it.”

Under his breath, I heard Knuckles say, “Holy shit.” I turned and saw Jennifer coming out of the bathroom of the cheap hotel room we’d rented to prepare for the mission. She looked stunning. I mean, I might be biased, but she was breathtaking. I wondered if it was just me, but I saw that Brett was slack-jawed. Mesmerized.

She caught the looks and said, “What? Is this not what a high-end escort would wear? Should I look sluttier or something?”

Nobody said anything, and she said, “Hey, what’s the problem?”

Knuckles finally managed to find his mouth. “Man alive, Jennifer, you clean up nice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing . . . It’s just that you’re always wearing jeans or something. Hair in a ponytail. No makeup. I’ve never seen . . . I mean, you never . . .”

“So my natural state is ugly?”

He started stumbling over his words, and I saw her smile.

She’s going to have no trouble with Panda.

We’d spent the better part of the day getting ready for our little adventure, going to the Westgate mall in Nairobi, the same one those assholes from al-Shabaab had assaulted in 2013, slaughtering over seventy people. The men had spent all of thirty minutes buying cheap suits. Jennifer, on the other hand, went hog wild. She was allowed to shop on the Taskforce dime, and she’d spared no expense, buying a black cocktail dress with a modest décolletage, jewelry, makeup, a mani-pedi, a high-end wig, and some sort of ridiculously expensive high heels called Jimmy Choos. I had no idea how she knew what to purchase, because she routinely wore nothing but work clothes for the business, but apparently, it was in the female DNA.

Now that she was wearing the outfit, complete with elbow-length black gloves to protect her hands from the ABS, it made our suits look like sweatpants.

She said to me, “You sure Retro’s stopped the real escort? It’s going to be embarrassing if we both show up.”

Knuckles said, “Yeah, he confirmed while you were in the bathroom. He spoofed Panda’s IP and canceled the appointment. Taskforce had to pay the cancellation fee, which I’m sure will cause some issues after we get back when the bean counters see what it’s for. I told him he was the one claiming the receipt on his travel voucher.”

She smiled and said, “Okay, then. Let’s get it done.”

I said, “Final backbrief. We get to the door and do what?”

Brett said, “I knock and talk to the head of security, telling him we have to be in the suite while she’s there.”

“And when he says no?”

“I insist.”

“But not too hard. Act like you’re doing your job, but don’t turn it off. Jennifer?”

“When it gets heated, I say I’m good going in alone.”

“Knuckles?”

“I interject that we’re staying right outside. Then hand her a phone, telling her to call if there’s trouble.”

Before I could ask, Jennifer said, “I go in and place the phone on the nearest available desk or table.”

I wanted the phone in her hand when she entered, so she could set it down with the small clutch she held, without having to pull it out, which would look awkward. The “phone” itself was a digital camera with multiple fish-eye lenses that would give us a view of what was going on inside.

I said, “Then, you do your siren dance and go into the bedroom. Wait until he closes the door, which he will, then wipe him with the ABS. When it takes effect, slave the computer. I promise it’ll be sitting somewhere close to where he sleeps.”

She nodded and said, “If there’s trouble?”

I held up a keycard. “We’re coming in, courtesy of Retro. Keep on comms with your earpiece. You call, and we’re in. Backup, just start shouting. Retro’s got the security laptop slaved, so he’ll hear it even if we don’t.”

She held up the thumb drive with the software Retro had built. “How long will this thing take?”

“Retro says five minutes. It’s got a search algorithm imbedded in it, so it won’t be imaging a bunch of porn, but depending on how much data he has, it might be longer. It’ll flash green when it’s done.”

“What if it takes a lot longer?”

“He’ll be shitting for hours. You’ll be fine.”

She squinted at me and I smiled. “Hey, we don’t pay you just to be eye candy.”

She said nothing, but I was sure I’d hear about that comment later. I went around the team and said, “Any more questions? We good?”

Nobody said anything, and I looked at Jennifer. “On your command.”

A devious little grin slipped out, and she said, “Showtime.”

Brad Taylor, Lieutenant Colonel (ret.),
is a twenty-one-year veteran of the U.S. Army Infantry and Special Forces, including eight years with the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment–Delta, popularly known as Delta Force. Taylor retired in 2010 after serving more than two decades and participating in Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom, as well as classified operations around the globe. His final military post was as Assistant Professor of Military Science at the Citadel. His first five Pike Logan thrillers were
New York Times
bestsellers. He lives in Charleston, South Carolina.

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