Chapter Thirty-one

 

 

Zuwarah, Libya

 

As fate would have it, the team encountered no trouble as they traveled through southeastern Tunisia. They skirted the major cities, to avoid police, military, or other kinds of shady checkpoints, and drove mostly on the C104 highway, avoiding the P1 motorway, the main artery connecting north and south. Justin ignored the landscape, which was mostly stony desert and rugged mountains, focusing on the operation. Although he felt good about the new plan, he was still apprehensive. It would be only Patton and him facing a large number of sworn enemy fighters. Yes, the odds are bad, but we can beat them, he kept reminding himself.

When they came to the town of Ben Gardane, a small smuggling hub about twenty miles west of the border, Tariq made a few phone calls to gather accurate and timely intelligence about the best way to slip through the border. Ben Gardane had been the target of Islamic State attacks as late as mid-2016. A group of Tunisian extremists trained with jihadists in Libya had attempted to take over the town. They had first seized the mosque and then called for attacks against the police station. In the fierce clashes with Tunisian security and army forces, dozens of militants, officers, and civilians were killed. The Tunisian government had tried to plug the porous borders, but with mixed results. Smugglers had found new routes, and crossing the border had become more expensive, but not impossible.

Tariq’s contacts—two middle-aged men wearing brown thobes and black-and-white headdresses—met them about thirty miles south of Ben Gardane and a short distance from the border. The men hugged Tariq and talked to him for about five minutes, but they threw only a cursory glance at the Mercedes. They climbed back into their Land Rover and led the way over semi-desert scrubland. By now, darkness had swallowed up the land. The bright stars hung low over the horizon, as if they were touching the ground. Both vehicles were traveling slowly and without any headlights. Tariq had assured Justin that the border guards were well-paid to turn a blind eye, but the agent could hardly sit still. His hands slid over the AR-105 rifle, which had become a crucial part of his gear. It was easy to find ammunition for the trusted Russian-made rifle that never jammed and could shoot straight even when covered in mud, dirt, or sand. His fingers played with the trigger guard as his ears perked up like those of a Doberman. He had rolled down the window a couple of inches, inhaling the cool fresh night air of the desert. He waited for the unlucky sound of an engine, the lights of a patrol vehicle, or the thump of a bullet against the Mercedes.

None of that came.

The Land Rover and the Mercedes made their way down a slope, then climbed around a series of small hills. Then the Land Rover began to slow down. Justin peered and noticed a series of flickering lights in the distance. Before he could speak, Tariq gestured with his hand. “The village of Nessatia. The closest to the border.”

“That’s where we’re stopping, right?” Justin asked.

Tariq shook his head. “No, they said there’s a new colonel inspecting the area. All forces are on high alert.”

Justin frowned. “When were you going to tell us?”

“It’s not important. We’ll just go around and—”

“Let me decide what’s important and what’s not, would you?”

“Sure, sure, whatever you want.”

Justin sighed. He had already told Tariq to keep him in the loop on all communications, everything that he said or heard from the guides. That was what Justin wanted, but surely it was not what he was getting. “What else should I know?”

Tariq returned a look of surprise. Even in the dark cabin, Justin noticed the frown creasing Tariq’s broad brow. The ambient light was sufficient for Justin’s eye not to miss such details.

Tariq seemed to be thinking about his answer. A moment later, he said, “They want more money, but that’s none of your concern, since the prince is paying for that.”

“The prince? What prince?” Justin and Carrie asked at the same moment.

Tariq bit his lip, realizing his mistake. “I ... I think you should discuss that with Abdul—”

“No, you tell me right now what you know,” Justin said, feeling as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

Tariq’s eyes flitted back and forth, reminding Justin of a trapped animal. “It’s ... it’s clear that Prince Al-Hussein finances many operations of the Emirati mukhabarat. So...”

Justin nodded and felt foolish. I should have known why this was so easy. Sheikh Ibrahim bin Mohammed Al-Hussein was one of the most powerful princes of Abu Dhabi, the UAE’s second largest emirate. He had been vying for power for a long time, and recently had begun to spread his money throughout the Middle East and North Africa, gaining support and influence. Some of the people and the causes Prince Al-Hussein had financed had either proven to be hardcore extremists from the start or had thrown off their thinly veneered “moderate” and “tolerant” façades. The prince, however, did not seem to notice or care. As long as his reputation as a major player grew, he kept overlooking any and all intended or unintended consequences caused by his never-ending petrol-dollars. He’s the last person I want to be indebted to.

Justin cursed through his teeth. It was too late to turn back or proceed on their own. The team needed Tariq, at least until they reached Zuwarah. I’ve got to call AK. He owes me some answers. But that will have to wait until we’re done at the warehouse.

“How certain are you that Prince Al-Hussein is paying you?” Patton asked.

Tariq shrugged. “I ... It was just an assumption. Maybe he has nothing to do with this. Maybe I’m just wrong.”

It was not the most sophisticated way of backtracking from his previous cocky assertion, and Tariq seemed to be fully aware of the situation. He gestured with his hand somewhere to the left and said, “We’ll follow in that direction, and we’ll soon be in Zuwarah. I will get you there safely, just as I’ve brought you so far.” He spoke hastily, his voice conveying a sense of urgency mixed with pride.

Justin nodded. He decided not to probe any longer about the prince. After all, Tariq was just a simple cog in the complicated machine running this operation. Justin decided to put the matter to the back of his mind. He peered in the direction Tariq had pointed to, but noticed nothing but blinding darkness. “Is there a trail?”

“No, just desert. We’ll follow the Rover. They know where we’re going.”

“Do you know?” Carrie asked.

“Yes.”

“Would you have taken this way?”

“Maybe; it has been safe so far, hasn’t it?”

Justin said nothing. The situation could change at any moment. The knowledge that the prince was involved in this infiltration should have given him some assurance. The fighters, whoever they were, would think twice about double-crossing the powerful sheikh. Unless their orders are to do exactly that, betray us. The thought added to his already overwhelmed soul. But AK seemed sincere. And I found out about the meeting place in Zuwarah on my own, without AK’s assistance...

He sighed and glanced at Carrie. She gave him a reassuring, much-needed smile. Justin leaned closer to Tariq and said, “Put more distance between us and the Rover.”

“We might lose them.”

“No, there’s lots of light.” He cocked his head toward the half-moon casting a faint, silvery glow over the landscape. “If they are the only ones out here, we’ll have no trouble following them.” He waved his hand at the Land Rover’s shadowy silhouette leading about thirty yards in front of the Mercedes.

Tariq exhaled and stepped on the brakes.

Justin looked at Patton. The CIA agent had placed his rifle across his chest. He too was ready for battle. Patton’s tense face and his tightened muscles sent Justin the clear message he was expecting: Whether it’s in a matter of minutes or hours, I’m ready for the fight.