She relaxed, her eyes on the ceiling of the van. “Looks like you got us both, you son of a bitch.”
“I had nothing to do with that bomb. I still don’t know what happened. Where’s Pike?”
She looked at him, trying to sense deception. “The computer you gave Pike didn’t only have a camera. It had a bomb.”
He said nothing, his mouth dropping open.
“I get that you have a vendetta. I heard you talk in your house, but why use us? Use Pike? He said you were his friend, and that means a lot to him. He doesn’t have many, and you used that against him.”
“I did no such thing. I would never do that. I’m not a terrorist. You are wrong about the computer.”
“Then let me go. Right now. I need to use my phone. Pike’s in real trouble.”
He turned to the men and said a sentence or two in Arabic. They released her. She pulled out her phone and called the Taskforce, knowing she was breaking every rule there was by using an open line.
A receptionist answered. “Blaisdell Consulting, how may I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to Kurt Hale, please.”
“I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.”
She mentally crossed her fingers and said, “Prairie Fire. I say again, Prairie Fire.”
The receptionist hesitated, then said, “Please hold.”
After a wait, a voice she recognized came on. “Whom am I speaking with?”
“Kurt, it’s Jennifer. I don’t have time to explain, but I need a lock on Pike’s phone. Right now.”
There was a pause, then, “Who is this? I’m not sure you have the right number. We’re a consulting firm.”
“Kurt! Listen to me! Pike’s in serious trouble. Send me the grid. Please!”
“Good-bye. Please don’t call back.”
The line went dead. She was stunned. She couldn’t believe they would sacrifice one of their own to protect themselves. She noticed the men staring at her, waiting for her to talk. She said nothing, sagging against the metal of the van, her mind trying to find a solution that didn’t exist.
Her phone vibrated with a text message. When she looked at it, she saw a latitude and longitude displayed, along with the note “call secure immediately.”
Back in business, she barked, “Take me to the U.S. Embassy. Drop me off as fast as you can.”
“Why? The Embassy can’t help. We can. Tell me what you know.”
“Like I would trust you as far as I can throw you. Take me to the damn Embassy. Where’s my bag?”
One of the men tossed her knapsack to her. She pulled out a tablet PC and began working it.
Samir said, “I had nothing to do with that bomb. Maybe someone else sent it. This is Lebanon, you know.”
She didn’t look up, still working the tablet, saying, “And that’s why the security detail we saw before the explosion immediately singled out Pike, huh? They knew it was his computer because they saw him inside with it.
“Even if that’s true, it wasn’t me. I was used just like you were. Let me help. Where is Pike?”
She turned the tablet to him. “Here. Take me to the consulate right now. We’re running out of time.”
He looked at the map and said, “That’s the Palestinian refugee camp. Your consulate will be no help there. It’ll take forty-eight hours to even get permission to enter, and that permission will reach the men holding Pike long before you do. Let us help. The gates of the camp are guarded by Lebanese Armed Forces. I can get you in.”
“For what? So you can kill both Pike and me and prevent embarrassment to Hezbollah with our story? We wouldn’t want it to get out that they were behind the killing, would we?”
He said nothing for a moment, then turned and spoke in Arabic to the men in the van. The conversation lasted a couple of minutes.
In English, he said, “If you are correct, they used me just as they used you. I’m not convinced they did, but I know that Pike has been captured, and I will give my life to free him. My men as well. Is that enough?”
She knew what he said about the consulate was correct. The damn State Department weenies would pee their pants when she came running in with her story. Pike’s location was growing colder by the second, and it would take forever to get them to react. By then, his cell phone could be in the hands of a fourteen-year-old who’d purchased it on the black market.
“How good are you and your men?”
“Very, very good. Pike trained me, and I trained them. We don’t look like much, but we can get the job done.”
“Weapons?”
Samir turned to a man in the back. He unzipped a duffel, showing the worn bluing of a beat-up folding stock AK-47.
“They aren’t fancy, but they’ll shoot.”
“We do this, and I’m in charge, understand? You follow my orders. You don’t, and I’m going to start shooting in both directions assuming you’re a threat.”
He looked like he’d swallowed curdled milk. “You? You think you’re going on the assault? Have you lost your mind? You’re an anthropologist. Leave this to us. We know how to fight. I understand your lack of trust, but this is something for professionals. You need certain skills to win.”
She pulled out the AK and began a functions check. Satisfied it would work as advertised, she seated a magazine and racked a round.
Seeing the surprise on Samir’s pummeled face, she bared her teeth in a predator’s smile.
“You looked in a mirror lately? I’ve got the skills, and I’m in charge.”
17
Kurt Hale slammed his handset into the cradle. “Mike! Get your ass in here.”
The duty officer, hearing the tone, stuck his head in the door in seconds.
“Yes, sir?”
“Geolocate Pike’s cell phone ASAP. Text the grid to this number.” He looked at the last-called display on his desk phone and scribbled the number on a sticky note.
“Got it. Commo section has Pike’s handset selectors already?”
“Yeah. They’ve got something. IMEI, IMSI, or some other tech shit. I don’t care what they’re executing right now, they drop it. This is a Prairie Fire. Send the grid as soon as you get it, and include in the text for them to call secure immediately.”
George Wolffe, the Taskforce deputy commander, was entering the office just as Mike raced away.
“Whoa, must be free beer somewhere.”
Mike said nothing, disappearing down the hall with a purpose.
George said, “What’s that all about? What’s up?”
“I don’t know. Pike’s in trouble. Jennifer called on an open line asking for the location of Pike’s cell phone. She triggered a Prairie Fire.”
George said, “You’re shitting me.”
Prairie Fire was the code word for a catastrophic event. It meant the overt compromise of a Taskforce team or the impending death of a Taskforce operator. When used, everything in the Taskforce came to a stop, with all assets that could react dedicated to that team. In all the years of Taskforce existence, the words had never been uttered.
“Not shitting at all. I don’t know what it’s about, but it looks like you finally get to see your plan in motion.”
Before accepting the position of DCO of the Taskforce, George had spent decades inside the CIA’s National Clandestine Services, most of that time in the Special Activities Division conducting covert operations on every
