Travis Starnes
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Extraction (John Taylor #8) - Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2021-11-05 19:05:07 +0000 UTCCamp Lemonnier, Djibouti
The flight took just over twelve uncomfortable hours. White Mountain had acquired a Beechcraft King Air that had clearly seen some miles as a cargo plane. Most of the seats had been pulled out of it to make room for cargo and replaced with jump seats mounted on the walls. The paint was faded and it was vibrating so hard for the whole trip, it was all but impossible to get any sleep.
It was just after two in the morning when they landed, although you couldn’t tell from the airstrip, which still had a lot of activity going on, with high-powered lights shining all over. Because Camp Lemonnier was the only permanent U.S. base in Africa, it saw a fair amount of traffic all day long.
The entire team was required to stay on the plane as it taxied to a small hanger on one far corner of the base, where it finally pulled to a stop and opened the doors to let everyone out. Taylor couldn’t help but notice the MPs stationed on either end of the hanger, looking in towards the offloading plane rather than out towards the rest of the airport. They were there to make sure none of the White Mountain team wandered from their assigned spot, which meant the short rest they were allowed would be on cots or on the floor inside of the hanger.
Taylor watched the team unload and carry their personal bags into the hanger, leaving Lopez to unload the rest by himself. Taylor felt for him and part of him wanted to help the kid, but he had something to take care of himself that wouldn’t wait. Climbing down the steps Taylor walked towards one of the MPs instead of into the hanger like the rest of the team.
“Hey,” the guy called Webb called after him. “We’re supposed to stay in the hanger.”
“Let him go,” Stone said as Taylor passed the team leader and O’Brien. “If he gets thrown in the brig, we don’t have to worry about hauling him with us the rest of the way.”
Taylor ignored them.
The MP held up a hand as he approached and said, “Sorry sir, you’re not allowed to leave this area.”
“Could you have someone call over to the Embassy and let the Station Chief Virgil Wheeler know that John Taylor’s here. He knew when we were landing.”
“One second,” the MP said, stepping away to a Humvee parked a few paces away, leaving his buddy to eyeball me.
Civilians always had this idea that MPs were hard asses, mostly because that’s how they were always portrayed on TV. In fact, the military went out of their way to train their cops to be polite and respectful as long as the person they were dealing with stayed inside the lines.
Taylor just stood by patiently while he waited, looking out across the base tarmac. Despite their non-confrontational attitude, these guys were professionals and they’d be looking for signs that Taylor was up to something, since he wasn’t doing what they’d been briefed on, so he didn’t pace or fidget while he waited.
The wait stretched into five and then ten minutes, which was probably the other MP calling his command to let them know what Taylor was asking and that sergeant or lieutenant on the other end kicking it upstairs to whoever was awake in operations, since they weren’t going to just call an embassy station chief on the word of some guy who just walked up.
Wheeler must have left word, because instead of handing him a phone, the MP came back and said, “Come with us, sir.”
Taylor could feel Stone’s eyes boring into the back of his head as he got into the Humvee with one of the MPs and drove away. He hadn’t told any of the rest about his meeting and he wasn’t planning on it, since if this whole operation was as shifty as it seemed, the last thing they’d want to do is let Taylor know. He knew Stone would grill him about the detour when he returned, but Taylor wasn’t particularly worried about that.
Wheeler must have been tracking their flight, because they drove Taylor to the small building at the end of the runways near the control tower that was helpfully labeled Air Operations. The MP handed Taylor off to another MP and drove away, probably back to the hanger while the new guide led Taylor into the rectangular building and down a hallway into a small, unfurnished room with a short conference table. This must have been meant for non-cleared personnel, since there weren’t the computers or displays or anything else he’d expect in an actual meeting room. There wasn’t even a phone.
Taylor sat quietly, hands folded on top of the table and waited. Eventually, a short red-haired man in a suit came strolling in, carrying a fairly thick folder under one arm.
“Wheeler?” Taylor asked, not standing up.
“Yep,” he said, pulling out the chair across from Taylor and sitting down. “I’m curious about something, Mr. Taylor. I’ve checked into you and you have some very powerful friends. Besides your friend the President, it seems like everyone from the Secretary of Defense to the Director of the FBI owes you some kind of favor. Why would someone with your connections need a guy like Dave Bryant to call me directly and ask me to brief you? Couldn’t you just pick up a phone and get this from a more direct source?”
“Maybe, but I’m not working for the federal government on this and Northbridge is doing something they want very much to keep off the books. They have pretty good connections in Washington too, and they could make it impossible to help my friend out. Northbridge didn’t have to cooperate or let me go on this and Bryant and I go way back, so I thought this might be a better way to find what I needed while not getting shut out by Northbridge.”
“Makes sense, and you’re right about their connections on the hill. I hear they’re already asking questions about you. I think some of the higher-ups are concerned the whole ‘helping a friend’ thing is a smokescreen and you’re really investigating the company. They let you in because they think that might be true and they didn’t want to force an investigation to become more public.”
“Well, at least the paranoia works in my favor this time. So … what do you have for me?”
“Several things. Dave said the thing you wanted to know about most was why they were in that area in the first place, and unfortunately, that’s the thing I have the least amount on.”
“Do you know anything? The official reason doesn’t make any sense. Even if they needed secrecy for whatever they were working on, there had to be better places to do it than Somalia. Maybe in the US was no good, although with their connections I can’t see how that’s possible, but they have better infrastructure in multiple middle-eastern countries, rather than on the African coast. And even if there was some reason to put it in Africa, why Somalia of all places. There are a dozen countries with a more controlled central government that could keep their people safe than where they put them. Hell, one of Somalia’s growth industries is extortion. It just doesn’t add up.”
“I did some checking, and this project is incredibly compartmentalized, whatever it is. That right there suggests why they needed somewhere like Somalia. The more organized the central government is, the more likely a country will start asking questions, wanting to know what Northbridge is up to. They’ve always kept their projects close to the vest, but this is the first time I’ve heard of the higher-ups not knowing what one of their groups is up to. From what I can find, your ex-fiancée’s pressure campaign was the first time most of the higher-ups have heard of this group. I think that’s why they chose to send in mercenaries rather than just pay them off. The company wants to know what’s going on just as bad as you do.”
“So not even the company knows what they’re doing? That’s a bad sign. Did Bryant mention a guy named Edward Packer?”
“Yes, I’ve done some checking, and man does this guy hate you.”
“I already knew that part,” Taylor said, deadpan.
“After he got blackballed out of politics he convinced Northbridge to bring him on, although it looks like they only half-heartedly hired him, since he’s being paid well under what they’d normally pay for someone with his contacts. From what I’ve been able to dig up, he was just kind of coasting along until about two months ago, when he vanished into a new project in their cryptography section. They normally keep that section of the company’s projects pretty tight as it is, but this group is a ghost. I have no idea what they’re working on.”
“Can you find out? I really don’t like how little this whole thing makes sense and it would explain what they’re doing out here.”
“Yeah, I’ll keep checking.”
“Good. What about this compound?”
“It’s an old British fort circa the nineteen-fifties that the Somali government happily sold to Northbridge for a song five months ago. The first group to come out modernized and fortified it to house staff and whatever they were working on. The closest village is several miles away, which was a selling point. Although, hardly any multinational companies operate in the country because of all the banditry. Those that have quickly ran into problems from having staff live inside of a city. They kept getting snatched and ransomed. The go-to thing is to keep everyone inside an enclosed compound, protected by company-paid security staff and hired portions of the Somali army, although that’s really only available near the capital. That’s what makes the placement out here so strange, since they basically opened themselves up to the militias, who don’t go that close to the capital, anymore.”
He pulled out a few pages with drawings and layouts of the fort with marks on the changes done to it, “I wasn’t able to get much beyond the old fort’s layout, but they did have a problem with some local hires in the construction that we managed to talk to. They didn’t know much, but I wrote up some of it for you, to see if it was helpful.”
“Do you know which group has control of the compound now?”
“Yeah, and that’s more bad news. They call themselves the Muharibi Allah, but that’s just marketing. They’re run by a guy named Samatar Barsane and the only thing he cares about is himself. He’s never worked with any other Islamic groups and he’s never shown any kind of interest in forwarding their cause. Barsane came into power about ten years ago when his brother-in-law died from a sudden case of car bombing. Most everyone assumes Barsane was behind it, but I’m not sure how much anyone cared, since his brother-in-law was apparently a massive asshole. Barsane changed the name of the militia the year after he took power and has been expanding his base of control ever since, although he’s started to bump into some rival militias in recent years.”
“There’s no government presence out here?”
“No. They have tried to man expeditions into this region a few times to trim back the power of the warlords, but it hasn’t gone well.”
“He supports himself and his militia through this kind of thing? Kidnapping and whatnot?”
“Partially, but he’s also clever. There are some decent-sized mines in the area that he shut down when he took over, which he now leases to major outside firms for a cut of the profit in exchange for his ‘protection.’ The workers for it are little more than slave labor, mostly prisoners taken in raids on villages where the locals are too poor to actually pay to get their relatives back. His people run everything and only let the foreign companies send in advisors. He handles everything else. They’re all still small scale, but word is he’s looking to expand.”
“It’s rare for these guys to be this entrepreneurial, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. This guy is a hell of a capitalist, although don’t get me wrong. He still fits in a good deal of smuggling and kidnapping.”
“So he controls this region?”
“No, and that’s the strange part. This area is loosely controlled by another militia, and while they’re too weak to push Barsane out, they’re strong enough that he hasn’t tried to push into their territory either. He’s based out of the Sanaag province but the compound is a good fifty miles outside his territory in the Woqooyi Galbeed province. He wouldn’t have just done any kind of raid that far into another warlord’s territory without a damn good reason.”
“Just taking hostages wouldn’t be worth it?”
“No. He can’t afford an all-out war right now since he’s busy pushing south, trying to secure a few more mineral deposits, which is where the real money is for him. I can’t imagine any ransom would have him change everything, especially for a compound that small. He couldn’t have gotten more than a dozen people, and that’s if everyone survived the attack.”
“Do you think there’s something else in that compound worth the risk?”
“That’s the real question. It would explain all these unanswered questions like why is Northbridge out here in the first place, why Barsane went that far out of his territory for what’s essentially a raid, and why the companies are doing this idiot assault instead of just paying a ransom.”
“What do you think they have there?”
“No clue, and that bothers me, because it has to be something they aren’t comfortable keeping on US soil or that of one of our allies, and that narrows the list down to something scary.”
“Nuclear? Biological?”
“Who knows, although both of those are on my nightmare list.”
“If you know this, why hasn’t anyone from the agency, the state department, or hell even justice, gone and asked them what they had down there?”
“Because we don’t have anything to go on? This isn’t a corner hoodlum that you can just hold upside down over a bridge and tell them to start talking. Northbridge has some serious friends up on the hill. Until someone gets hard intel, no one’s going to stick their neck out, since our intel isn’t as solid as anyone would like. It could just be a snatch and grab, which would put us in serious problems if we then went and started making noise about Northbridge.”
“So you really agreed to talk to me because you hope I’ll find out what it is, or at least stir the pot enough for you to find out?”
Wheeler gave Taylor an appraising look, clearly reevaluating his initial impression. He’d looked at Taylor’s jacket and had probably pegged Taylor as a grunt, which wasn’t uncommon, even for agency guys. Sometimes people looked at Army Special Forces and just saw infantry instead of men trained to integrate with local fighters, usually cut off from the chain of command. It required every bit as much diplomacy and deception as most spies.
“Sure, although clearing a favor I owe Dave Bryant is a nice bonus.”
“Well then, I guess this means you’re going to owe me one instead.”
Wheeler looked like he was going to argue for a second, since he was getting sensitive information for Taylor, but they both knew it wouldn’t stop at just getting intel. Besides, Taylor wanted Wheeler actively invested, since it made him more reliable if something went wrong in the field and Taylor needed more help.
“Sure. But I need you to contact me as soon as you know something. Don’t wait until you’re back here, in case we have to do something about it. Do you have a sat phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” he said, tearing off the corner of one of the documents in his folder and scribbling down some numbers. “Here’s my scramble code. Contact me when you know what they have in that compound.”
“Deal,” Taylor said, taking the code from him.
Washington D.C.
Kara climbed off the bus and looked up at the Hoover building. She’d been here a few times, but always with Loretta and they’d always come in around the back of the building, into the underground parking garage. She hadn’t noticed how large and imposing the building was, with its checkerboard window fronts and looming extension jutting over the edge, looking down on people walking by. It stood out as something serious and severe against the Greco-Roman architecture most of the capital was designed around.
There was the chance, Kara considered, that she was just nervous about what she was here to do, and she was reading more into the building than was actually there. She stopped gawking and walked purposefully into the building, figuring if she faked self-assurance she’d eventually get there on her own and stop feeling nervous.
“Can I help you,” the man at a small information desk across from the front doors asked when she walked up to it.
“I’m here to see Special Agent Trevor Robles. He’s in financial crimes,” she said, ignoring the tour group of kids roughly her age walk by.
“Do you have an appointment with him?”
“No, but he’s a family friend. If you call up to him, he’ll clear me.”
Kara knew she was young, and looked even younger. It’s why the people who owned her still considered her a top earner, even though she’d been old by their standards when Taylor found her and took her out of that hellhole. Sometimes it was an advantage for her that people thought she was a kid and dismissed her, but in situations like this, it was less than helpful.
“I’m sure he is, but our agents are very busy. Why don’t you have your parents call him and have him get you clearance?”
“Because my parents both work here and are currently on an assignment, which is why I’m here to see Agent Robles. Now please, call up to him and let him know I’m here and would like to see him.”
“Look, kid …”
Kara had been pushing herself to be nice and not make a scene, because she would prefer if this didn’t get back to Loretta, considering she wasn’t even supposed to be here.
“No, you look,” Kara said, her English starting to slip in spite of herself. She opened her billfold and slapped it down on the table and said, “Here’s my ID. See the last name? Taylor. Now, I’m betting you have heard of John Taylor. He’s been on the news many times with the President, yes? My next stop will be to call him and have him call to Agent Robles, but I’m certain he will being annoyed to be called in the middle of a case. So I ask one more time, will you please call up to Agent Robles and let him know Kara Taylor is here to see him.”
Guys like this, stuck on shit duty pointing tourists where to go and where the bathrooms were all day, nearly always had an insecurity complex. Had she just pulled out her ID and handed it to him, saying the same thing, he would have gotten more defensive, digging his heels in more. That is why she kept a picture of her and her best friend Mary Jane in the clear spot next to where she kept her ID. Maybe this guy didn’t know who Taylor was, despite the number of times he’d popped up on national news over the last few years, but he’d be hard-pressed to not recognize the first daughter, who was smiling and hugging the girl standing in front of him.
“Ohh,” he said, making enough connections to start getting nervous. “Sure, I can call up.”
He reached under the desk, punched in some numbers and pulled out a phone handset. Twisting away and talking in a low voice, he had a short conversation with someone before hanging up and pointing towards a bank of elevators.
“Use those elevators. He’s on the third floor,” he said.
Kara took her wallet, which she’d left sitting open on the counter to make a point, gave a nod of thanks, and went to the elevators he indicated. The third floor was a bustle of activity and unlike a business where there’d be a secretary manning the front, directing people where to go, it was just a sea of desks in the middle of a square flanked by offices. It was a stark contrast to the seventh floor where Taylor and Whitaker had their shared office, with its long hallways and well-furnished offices and meeting rooms. This was where the real work in the FBI was done.
“Excuse me,” she said, getting in the way of a woman walking past her. “I’m looking for Trevor Robles.”
The woman had just opened her mouth to reply when a voice called from her left, “Kara, over here.”
Robles was in one of the outlying offices, which must have meant he’d done well for himself at the FBI, since she assumed only supervisors or the like would get the offices and the grunts would all be stuck in the open floor area.
“When I heard there was a young red-headed girl downstairs terrorizing the desk agents, I should have realized it was you.”
Kara hadn’t met a lot of Taylor’s friends, mostly because they were all veterans scattered across the country and he hadn’t done a lot to make new friends since moving to Washington D.C., at least according to Loretta. One of the few exceptions had been Trevor Robles, who Taylor had met shortly after coming home from the Army on a trip down to Florida. Robles had been over to their apartment, before it’d been blown up, and to their house several times, and Kara had always found him warm and friendly. He was also one of the few people she knew that would take her seriously.
“I wasn’t terrorizing anyone. I simply asked to come see you and he didn’t want to call up and get approval.”
Robles directed her into his office while saying, “Normally, people make appointments. Why didn’t you have Whitaker call me so I could put you on the pass list?”
“She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Ohh? Is everything okay?” he said, pointing her at an open seat and sitting down in the chair opposite it.
“I don’t know. Do you know about what Taylor’s doing?”
“No, I haven’t spoken to him since before they left for their honeymoon.”
“Ohh. Well, right as they got back a woman who he used to date or whatever, I think she said she was his ex-fiancée, came and asked for his help. Her current husband was captured in Somalia and the company he worked for was doing some kind of rescue mission.”
“Claire? Claire showed up at your house? That must have thrown Taylor for a loop.”
“He was very surprised.”
“Okay, so he’s going off on some kind of rescue operation? I hadn’t heard about it. Was it attached to one of his old units or something?”
“No. I think she said it was being done by someone called White Mountain Security.”
“Really? He’s going with White Mountain, and they let him go? I can see why Claire might have been concerned, but White Mountain isn’t known for being cooperative with anyone.”
“She apparently made a lot of noise with Northbridge, the company her husband worked for, and these other men had no choice. I don’t really know the details.”
“Okay, so what did you need? Are you concerned about him going with them?”
“No, or at least, not directly. Taylor can handle himself. I saw him last night and he mentioned he ran into a man called Edward Packer, who was the President’s campaign manager during the election. He’s a horrible fat little man who hates Taylor very much, and he’s somehow involved with the situation. Taylor seemed worried about him, like he was a bad sign for the mission.”
“Have you spoken to Whitaker about him?”
“She was there when Taylor told us about seeing him.”
“What did she say?”
“She seems to think it’s no big deal and said there wasn’t much he could do about a mission halfway around the world, but you didn’t see Taylor. He looked very concerned.”
“Whitaker isn’t the type to just sit aside while someone she cares about is going into danger. I’m sure she’s looked into it and if she thinks it’s fine, then I’m sure it is.”
“I don’t know. Taylor thought it was suspicious and seemed very worried.”
“I have no doubt, but the thing is, John is suspicious of everything. He’s always questioning everything. It’s what makes him so good at finding people and digging things out, and why he has so much trouble fitting in around here. They’re two of the best I’ve ever seen though, and this kind of mission is what Taylor did for years before he left the service. He knows what he’s doing.”
“I know, but I’m still worried. You haven’t met Packer. He’s an evil man, and he hates Taylor. He’s the type that holds grudges. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and do something.”
“I honestly think that it’s probably fine, but I can see you’re very concerned. I’ll tell you what, I’ll look into it and see if anything pops. Would that make you feel any better?”
“Yes,” Kara said, flat-toned.
“Great,” Robles said, standing up. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
Kara let herself get ushered out. Robles was being nice to her, but he clearly wasn’t taking her seriously. She didn’t know if it was just because he couldn’t see why she was worried or if he was just writing her off as a kid, but whatever ‘looking into it’ he did, he was going in already assuming it was nothing. That meant he’d find nothing.
Kara was still convinced that Taylor was in trouble. She would just have to try someone else who would listen to her.
