The Phoenix Affair - Dave Moyer (smart ebook reader TXT) 📗

then back to Fahd.

“All right, abu Mohammed, time for us to get moving. First, we find an internet café. By the way, what was the name of your contact?”

“Smith,” Fahd said matter-of-factly.

“Mine, too,” They both chuckled at that. “We need to email Smith. It’s occurred to me that he may have the means to either detain or to follow our little menace back there, and either way that will buy us some time. It may even lead to his chief, which would be still better. While we’re on the internet we find you a new hotel, and I pay, not you. Actually, you’ll be the guest of the US government for now, not to worry. Now, we need to talk about picking up Fadia and the kids. Do you think she’d remember me, and would you feel comfortable if I went to get them? The thing is, I think it’d be better if you did not go back there, just to be on the safe side.”

“What do you mean by safe, Paul. Are they in immediate danger, God help me!”

“No, absolutely not. But, think of it Fahd. Someone knows what you look like well enough to follow you. We have one of them out of action for the moment, but there are almost certainly others. Who knows how long it’s been since the short guy checked in with his boss, or when he’s supposed to? What if he’s late already? What if the boss is suspicious and sends someone else to watch the hotel while he tries to find out what happened to the little guy? No, I don’t think there’s an immediate danger to the family, but you can’t go back there. On the other hand, nobody’s seen me.”

“I see, of course, you are right my friend. What else, then?”

“Let’s go to an internet café, you ask this guy (he pointed at the waiter at the back) where there’s one nearby, I have no French, you know. We find a hotel and I book it with one of Uncle Sam’s credit cards. Then, we call your hotel. You talk to Fadia, tell her I’m coming to collect her and ask her to pack everything up. Tell her nobody is to use the phone and they’re all to stay together, in the room, until I come. I’ll take a taxi, maybe two, and bring her and the kids. You go in advance to the new hotel and make sure everything’s ready. Do you want one room, or two, or a suite, my friend?

“A suite if we can get it, with two bedrooms and a pullout in the living room for Mohammed, that’s what we have now. How long will we stay there, Paul?”

“One step at a time, Fahd, I’m new at this little game, and I’m not that good at it yet.” The check came and Cameron counted out enough Euros to cover it. “What do you think, will she be OK with me picking her up?” He thought for a moment, decided. “One other thing, Fahd. Can the women come out to the taxi without abaya on? It would be easier to disguise them if they didn’t look like, well, themselves. Together, without the abaya, we might look like an American family at this hour going out to dinner together.” Cameron had never seen the face of either Fadia or the daughter Miriam. It was a tough question to ask.

Fahd considered. “Abu Sean,” he said finally, “If I ask her, Fadia will consent to letting you collect her and the children, for the safety of the children, probably only because Mohammed will be there as well. But, my friend, I’m afraid not even the Prophet himself, Peace be upon Him, could convince her to show her face to anyone but her husband and close relatives. Do you know she wears abaya to greet my own brothers? And Mohammed would go crazy anyway. No, that won’t work, but not because I don’t wish it could, my friend. It will have to be with abaya, there is no other way.”

“Well, then, that will be good enough, abu Mohammed” Cameron shrugged, and he had the beginnings of a plan in mind for the hotel. “Let’s go find this internet café, we need to get to work.” It was nearing seven-thirty in Paris. The two men rose and left the restaurant much refreshed, and heading East they set off for the internet café.

*****
 
In the alley it was very dark. Ahmed al-Kisani stirred, rolled to his right a little to ease the pain on his left side, and tried to swim up from the abyss of unconsciousness. The cat that’d been sniffing at his swollen face darted away and back into the shadows. Ahmed could not quite get his brain working, but somewhere some part of it decided that it was still dark, his cat had woken him as it often did, and there was plenty of time before morning, he should sleep. Another piece of his brain agreed, and he smiled a little and lapsed back into oblivion. “This is better anyway, it doesn’t hurt as much” was the last flash of intelligence before everything went black again.

In the distant northern suburbs of Paris Ibrahim bin Sultan al-Otaibi was getting a little worried. He had just finished Isha prayers in the mosque two blocks from his shabby apartment, and his main concern was finding some dinner, perhaps a lamb kebab and some shwarma, a kind of Middle-Eastern burrito. But he was also concerned about his man Ahmed, from whom he had not heard since about noon today. They did not have a set schedule for contacts when Ahmed was working on a tail job, “Perhaps,” he thought, “that would be a good policy for next time?” He made a mental note to add this as standard procedure, and to forward the idea to his control officer. “One of our biggest problems is we have to invent everything as we go along” he thought, referring to al-Qaeda, which indeed was his primary employer. “Until we know all the tradecraft, and have the resources to use it, the infidels will have the advantage.” Still, he knew that their anonymity was a nearly unbreakable code in itself, the bottomless pool of anonymous recruits from a hundred nations who could be called upon to serve the glorious cause. It was this that gave him comfort and the confidence that he could win.

“But,” he thought as he walked, “back to Ahmed. What is the problem there, or is there one? This Saudi General should be easy to follow, and Ahmed is one of my most skilled operatives, so I doubt he has lost him. Perhaps this General is just very active today? It is early after all, and Saudis dine late. If the man has met friends he will not dine until ten or so, leaving his family at the hotel. Might Ahmed have had some trouble? Unlikely. The General would feel secure here, think he was safe, and he had no help anyway. No, Ahmed must be working very hard tonight,” and at this he smiled. “Good, I think it will be a long day for him with this active General, but Ahmed should have much to report to me tomorrow, or even later tonight, God willing.” And for a moment he felt at peace, thinking of the lamb. But something did not seem quite right, and he came back to it. “No, something might not be right, and I cannot afford to let this one go. I will ask Salah to come in tonight, and tomorrow I will send him to the General’s hotel to watch. Ahmed will have a rest, and I will have his report, and just in case Ahmed has been spotted we will change up, and the General will go back to feeling comfortable.” These arrangements complete in his mind, he felt he had things in hand. There was nothing for it but to let his pieces play on the board, no use ruining this excellent lamb kebab, and he stepped into his restaurant, finding a table near the back.

*****

During the ten minute walk to the internet café Cameron remembered the ID and the credit card he’d taken from the short man. It was too dark to read them on the street, but now he urged Fahd to hurry. They had more than he’d thought to report to Smith, and he wanted to give the Agency guys as much time as he could to digest this, hopefully before the little man got moving again.

Now they were seated together around a machine in the small café. It was smoky and a little loud, hard Euro-pop music blaring to cater to the young crowd. Cameron opened the Yahoo mail window.

I have met Falcon, but there is opposition in play here in Paris. Falcon was followed by a small man, probably North African, named Ahmed al-Kisani, age twenty nine. I have his drivers’ license and a credit card.

Do you have assets immediately available? If so, you may still find Kisani in the third alley north of the Tower, on the right hand side of the Ave Gustave Eiffel. He has been there for about an hour already, so he may be gone by now. If you can get there, you may find something that we need. Follow him at least, perhaps pick him up if you think that wise, in either case find out what he’s up to and advise me how to proceed. Get moving if you can.

He did not expect an immediate reply, and none came. It would be just one-thirty in the afternoon at Langley, but then it occurred to him he had no idea whether Smith was there, or in Paris. He hoped Paris so someone could get something moving to pick up Kisani.

They had other things to do, though, and they opened a travel website to find a hotel for Fahd and his family. They worked through several, all of which had rooms that they thought would be too small, and between them they decided they needed something out of the way, not a big chain hotel like the Ritz. In the end they chose a four-star hotel in the Marais, a different district over a mile from the family’s current hotel.

“I’ve had the evil thought that we should make Mr. Kisani pay for your hotel Fahd, to compensate us for our inconvenience,” Cameron flashed the credit card to his friend.

“You are not serious, Paul? Could we do that?”

“Maybe, but no, I am not serious. I don’t know how quickly the owners would notice, but it’s no good telling them we’re spending their money at your new place of residence. Still, I may use it somewhere else if I get the chance, just to see if I can get away with it, and to drive them nuts with the expenses. It would be even better if I had his PIN for a cash machine, that would be perfect.” He regretted leaving the wallet with Miguel, perhaps Kisani had carried a slip of paper with the PIN written on it.

Cameron now had to make a decision about his own two government-issued credit cards. One was for his hotel, the other for cash. He could use either, actually, but he was trying to sort out all the consequences, if any, of using them. For one thing, he assumed the Agency could track his use of these cards in near-real time, and he wasn’t sure he wanted them to know where Fahd was, but he was not sure why. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he wanted the Agency to know where his hotel was, either. He put that aside for the moment. “Use one of my personal cards, maybe?” He thought about this. “No, I think not. Harder for them to trace, because they would not expect it, but if the bad guys figure it out, they can probably track