Sutsoff had started down the corridor but was halted by the sound of footfalls of several people approaching. It appeared to be an entourage. Jehaimi was among them, walking beside a large man in a white suit. “Doctor,” Jehaimi said, “allow me to introduce Shokri Kusa, senior science advisor to the colonel, he flew up from Tripoli.”
“I was in Surt, actually.” Kusa’s bored eyes fell on her. “Jehaimi speaks highly of you.” Sutsoff had been promised privacy. She shot Jehaimi a look of betrayal as Kusa continued. “I’ve been on the phone to the colonel telling him about your research. He’d like to meet you and invites you to be his dinner guest in Surt tomorrow.”
Sutsoff stretched her neck to see something behind Kusa, beyond his entourage. Her attention was drawn to a man in his late twenties wearing a wrinkled navy suit. He had his eyes fixed on them from far across the hall, watching as Stinson and the others exited the meeting room to join them. The man in the suit aimed something at them, then hurried off.
“Sorry, that man there-” Sutsoff said “-he took our picture!” Kusa, Jehaimi and Stinson looked to where she was pointing. “The young man in the blue suit heading down the hall! Ibrahim, do you see him?”
Jehaimi shouted something to two university security guards among the entourage who spoke into their walkie-talkies.
“Drake,” Sutsoff said into his ear, “do something!”
“I’m on it. We’ve got our people here.” Stinson fished into his pocket for his cell phone. “Clay? Yes, did you see that? White male, late twenties, dark blue suit. He was headed to the west doors.”
“Excuse me, everyone, but I must leave,” Sutsoff said. “I have an early flight in the morning. Ibrahim, thank you. Mr. Kusa, please pass my regrets to the colonel. I have to decline the honor. I have pressing matters I must take care of. Ibrahim, can you show me another exit and have my driver meet me there now?”
“By all means. I don’t know how this happened.”
Sutsoff leaned to Stinson’s ear.
“Find that fucker and deal with him, Drake.”
35
Benghazi, Libya
Adam Corley knew he was being followed.
Voices echoed behind him as he headed down an empty hall and into an elevator, relieved he was alone.
Six floors to the lobby and the exit-he had to work fast.
He turned on his camera to check the images he’d captured of Drake Stinson, ex-CIA, and Dr. Auden, the scientist, along with other players.
Jesus, it was true. This was huge.
The information Corley’s group had received from their friends in Rio de Janeiro and the Bahamas was dead on. It was another critical piece that brought them closer to putting this file together.
He had to alert headquarters.
He stopped the elevator on the third floor, stepped into an empty classroom and pressed his director’s cell phone number, praying that the call would work. After several moments of static, the line crackled and his call was answered in London.
“Pritchett.”
“Oliver, it’s Corley in Benghazi.”
“How did it go?”
“Fantastic.” Corley heard the distant slam of doors, voices. “I don’t have much time. I’ll back things up the usual way.”
“Can you give me a quick summary?”
“Our Brazilian links are definitely tied to other tentacles of the trafficking ring. Our university source here passed me tons of new data out of Tanzania, the U.S., everywhere. It’s incredible. I’ve got too much to send you now. I’ll go through it and send you my report when I get to Rabat.”
Corley heard voices getting nearer and hurried his call.
“Oliver, children are being stolen around the world, but there’s a rumor that it’s all linked to-”
Corley stopped.
“I have to go. I’ll start writing my report on the plane. I’ll probably need a new cell phone and camera after this.”
“Good work, Adam, be careful.”
Corley dropped the phone, ground it to pieces, scooped them up and returned to the hall and elevator.
Voices called to him but he got back on the elevator, quickly dropping the fragments of his cell phone down the shaft through the small gap in the floor. As the car descended to the main lobby he double-checked his digital camera then adjusted his tie.
The doors opened to several grim-faced men in suits. One of the men had a small scar on his cheek and confronted Corley in Arabic.
“Excuse me, sir, did you just come from upstairs?”
“Yes,” Corley said.
“Your identification, please?”
Corley handed him his cards and passport.
The men passed them to each other. Some of them took notes, while others spoke quietly into cell phones and radios.
“You were born in Dublin, Ireland, and reside in Morocco. What is your business there and here in Benghazi, sir?”
“I’m an international student at Mohammed V University in Rabat. I’m a doctoral candidate, completing my PhD. I was invited by professors here at the university to attend the Clean Water Symposium.”
Corley tapped a folded letter of invitation tucked in his passport. The other men who were still scrutinizing his identification and talking into their cell phones eyed Corley coldly.
“We have reports that a man matching your description took unauthorized photographs,” said the man with the scarred cheek.
“Yes. It was me. I was unaware of any restrictions.”
“It is a serious matter.”
“Look, what I did is harmless. I have a small internal newsletter for international students studying global warming. I was taking photos for it.”
“Whose photo?”
“I saw an entourage and thought that it was the colonel.”
“May we see your camera?”
Corley passed it to the man, who asked him to display the pictures. Corley clicked through them.
“We’ll have to confiscate your camera.”
“Confiscate it? Are you joking? That camera was a gift.”
“We are keeping it, sir. Do you have a cell or mobile phone?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t mind if we search you?”
“Search me?” Corley hoped he conveyed the right amount of indignation. “This is outrageous.”
“Sir, may we have your jacket?”
Corley scowled and slid it off.
He watched them place his personal items on a desk-keys, hotel key card, cash, air ticket back to Morocco. They looked through his wallet at everything, checking and double-checking, as others patted him down.
“This is insulting. I’m going to write to the secretary, the ministry of education and call my embassy.”
When the security men were satisfied, they allowed Corley to collect his items and leave, but without his camera. He inhaled deeply as he stepped into the clear evening air, catching breezes rolling in from the
