“
“Did you get all that, Control?” Tailor asked.
“
“What kind of proposal?” Tailor asked.
“
“Roger that, Control,” I said. “Out.”
Tailor looked over at me, then back through his binoculars. “I’m hungry.”
“So, what do you think?” I asked. “How you wanna do this?”
“I say we get a scoped rifle and just pop him from here.”
“Sounds easy enough. Do we have a scoped rifle?”
“There’s an SR-25 in the safe house we can use. It’s got a suppressor, too. From right here, we can lay down some fire, drop a bunch of these guys, and then bug out through the back.”
“Did you get a good look at the bodyguards?” I asked. “I think they’ve got sub-guns.”
“Probably little MP5s or something under their suit coats,” Tailor agreed. “Probably can’t shoot for shit. We should be okay.” It was about sixty yards from our position to the front door of the club.
“Cripes, we should’ve brought the rifle with us. We could’ve popped him just now and had it over with,” I said. We’d been ordered to observe the club and try to get a feel for Al Falah’s routine. We knew where Al Falah lived, of course, but it had been deemed too risky to attempt to hit him there.
“Yeah,” Tailor said, not really listening to me. “Can’t see much in the windows. They’re tinted. Al Falah won’t sit by the windows out front anyway. He’s a big shot, right? He’ll have a private room in the back or something.”
“Worse comes to worst we could enter the club,” I suggested, even though I knew that wasn’t a good idea.
“Hell, no. Not with just the two of us. No, we’ll have to hit him here. We’ll only get one shot. If we fuck this up he’ll go underground and we might lose him.”
“You’re right.” I set my binoculars down. “You wanna take the shot, or you want me to?”
“You take the SR-25,” Tailor said. “I’ll grab a carbine and provide cover fire.” Tailor wouldn’t come out and admit it, but I was a more accurate shooter than he was. He was correct in his assertion that we’d only have one shot, too. There wouldn’t be much room for error.
“I don’t like it,” I said. “Just the two of us versus five bodyguards—”
“That we
“Right. Next time he could have more. One shot, maybe two, since the rifle’s an autoloader, before his bodyguards can get him behind cover. A rifle I’ve never shot before, and who the hell knows who zeroed the scope or when.” We didn’t have access to any kind of a shooting range, and I doubted they’d let us risk taking the rifle out into the desert someplace to test-fire it.
“You’re right,” Tailor agreed, setting down his binoculars as well. “If they get Al Falah into that club, we’ll have to go in after him. So you better drop him on the first shot. That’s the best chance we got.”
“Why are there only two of us? We could really use Hudson and Wheeler for this.”
“I don’t know,” Tailor said. “I don’t like it, either.” I could only wonder what kind of operations the others were involved in if they could only spare two of us for a job they insisted was so important. As I continued to watch the social club, I couldn’t help but worry that things were going to get ugly, fast.
LORENZO
March 26
The disassembled pieces of my pistol were strewn on the kitchen table of our rented apartment. I wiped the slide down with a rag while my crew slept. I found that I always woke up early on game day. Nervous excitement, I suppose.
It never hurts to recheck your equipment. I put a few drops of Slipstream lube on the frame rails of my STI 4.15 Tactical 9mm before fitting everything back together. The gun was a stubby work of lethal art. Phenomenally accurate and reliable, it was the pistol I used when performance was more important than deniability. I had a few Bulgarian Makarovs and old Browning P35s for that. I worked the slide back and forth quickly, feeling the familiar slickness of oiled metal on metal. I checked the chamber before aiming at Al Falah’s picture that had been taped to the wall. The tritium sights lined up perfectly on the bridge of his nose as I pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with a snap.
The old terrorist bastard had dropped by the club yesterday. He was still distraught, but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of business. Our meeting was on.
An eighteen-round, flush-fit magazine went into the STI. I pulled back the slide and let it fly, feeding a Hornady hollow point into the chamber. If everything went according to plan, that same bullet would end up in one of Al Falah’s bodyguards by the end of the night. He’d beefed up the number on his security detail since his nephew’s murder. Sure, Al Falah was still calling it a kidnapping, but at this point I knew that was wishful thinking.
The call for prayer could be heard coming from the corner mosque as the sun rose. It was a mournful sound but I had spent so many years in places like this that I found it kind of comforting.
I showered, put on the obnoxious perfume that all of the men in this region wore, and dressed in my Zubaran thobe, vest, and head scarf. I’d tailored this one a bit with a few extra pockets, and I could hike up the idiotic skirt and run if I needed to. The reflection in the bathroom mirror was that of an Arab landlord who had become friends with a terrorist. Today would be the last day that this identity would ever exist.
If I were just here to assassinate this man, life would be simple. Murder is easy, no matter who the target. I needed him for so much more, hence the effort of fabricating Khalid. Al Falah needed to quietly disappear. A business meeting meant that he would probably have greater than normal security, but he would also need his computer to arrange the transfer of funds. I needed that computer for Phase Two and I needed Al Falah himself for Phase Three.
I splashed some water on my face and stared into the mirror. This was too damn complicated. If anything went wrong, there was going to be hell to pay. Shutting the faucet off, I dried my hands and prepared myself for what I had to do. My crew had woken up by the time I came out. The three of us ate breakfast in silence. There was a lot riding on today, and we all knew our jobs.
I holstered the pistol under my thobe, along with two more magazines and the Silencerco suppressor that would be attached to the end of the STI’s threaded barrel. My radio went into another pocket.
“You ready?” Carl asked rhetorically, still chewing his Captain Crunch.
“I’m going down to the club,” I answered in Arabic. “I’m expecting a busy day today.”
VALENTINE
Al Khor District, Safe House 4
March 26
1955
I had the jitters. I always did before an operation. My nerves would smooth out as I got into the swing of things. Tailor and I were in the basement of the safe house, preparing our gear, getting ready for what was coming.
