“Damn it, Max, you should have told me about that when I told you Professor Bumford had been kidnapped.”
“No offense, Lang, but you hired us to find the Secretary of State. I consider everything else to be collateral.”
Max knew Overholt had to be calming himself, because he didn’t say anything for almost thirty seconds. Max wasn’t concerned. They hired the Corporation because they had no place else to turn. How missions were accomplished, the recent fiasco in Somalia notwithstanding, was up to his and Juan’s discretion.
“You’re right. Sorry. Sometimes I forget you guys get to operate with a level of autonomy I can only dream of.”
“Don’t worry about it. So what’s this about the chopper?”
“The Libyans claim they found a computer buried under the command tent, or what was left of it.”
Max opened his mouth to say that his people had gone over the site, but he knew their search was relatively cursory. Instead, he asked, “What was on the computer?”
“Links tying the chopper to Suleiman Al-Jama for one thing, and indications that they’ve opened a terrorist training camp right under the Libyans’ noses using a dummy company purportedly opening up an old coal mine.”
Max and Eric Stone shared a significant look. This was exactly as they had discussed the night before.
“How are we getting this information?” Hanley asked.
“Through a deliberate leak to the CIA station chief in Tripoli, a guy named Jim Kublicki. His contact is an opposite number in the JSO, the—”
“Jamahiriya Security Organization. We know who they are. How good is his source?”
“Given the level of cooperation we’ve gotten from the Libyans leading up to the summit and the help they provided trying to find Fiona Katamora’s plane, I’d say pretty good.”
“Or it could all be a trick. The damned Libyans could be into this up to their necks.”
“Not according to the rest of my news.”
“Max,” the duty communications officer interrupted, “there’s a call coming in from the Pig.”
Max glanced at the overhead screen. The dot representing the Pig and the one for Cabrillo’s last known location overlapped. “Wait one sec, Lang. Go ahead, patch through the new call. This is Hanley.”
“Good morning, Max.”
By the tone in Juan Cabrillo’s voice, Hanley knew the Chairman was okay. “Hold the line, Juan.” He flipped circuits back to Overholt. “Continue, Lang.”
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing. Just Juan checking in. He can hold. What’s the news that’ll convince me this isn’t the JSO or some other faction pulling a fast one?”
“Because the Libyans are going to hit the training camp in about two hours. Jim Kublicki is at one of their Air Force bases suiting up now to accompany them in a chopper for verification. If that’s not enough, there’s the possibility that Fiona Katamora is at the base as we speak. Also, the computer provided a clue to track down Al- Jama himself. The chopper and other equipment were funneled into the country with the help of a corrupt harbor pilot named Tariq Assad. They have a record that such a guy exists and has worked for the harbor authority for five years, but there’s nothing in their system before then. No school records. No employment records. Nothing. They believe this Assad is actually a cover name for Al-Jama himself, and are already on their way to grab him.”
The look Max and Eric exchanged this time was one of absolute horror.
Juan and the others were twenty-five miles from the terrorist training camp. They had more than enough time to find decent cover before the Libyan assault. The horror the two men shared stemmed from the fact that Eddie Seng and Hali Kasim had been shadowing Tariq Assad since the night the
Other than the fact that Assad spent money like water on a string of mistresses all over Tripoli, they hadn’t discovered anything suspicious. This was why the deadly shoot-out at the roadblock on the way out of the city that first night had been dismissed as a coincidence. Now Max realized Assad had set them up from the beginning.
Depending on how wide a net the JSO threw to capture him, Eddie and Hali were in real danger of being drawn into it.
Hanley finally found his voice. “Lang, what you’ve given me changes our tactical picture a hundred and eighty degrees. I need to coordinate with Juan or we’re going to be in a world of hurt.”
“Okay. Keep me pos—”
Max cut him off and switched phone lines. “Juan, you still there?”
“I don’t know if I want to talk to you anymore,” Cabrillo said, trying to sound sulky.
“We got trouble, my friend.”
The gravity in Max’s voice killed any of the playful relief Juan harbored from being rescued by Linc, Linda, and Mark. “What’s happened?”
“The Libyans are two hours away from attacking the training camp where you just were. They think the Secretary might be there, so this is both a search-and-destroy mission and a rescue attempt. On top of that, they are going to arrest Tariq Assad because he’s Suleiman Al-Jama.”
“What about the mine?” Juan snapped.
