A few minutes past midnight, Bob Gorski stood in the parking lot of the Movenpick Ambassador Hotel with a backpack on his shoulder and a hard-shell suitcase next to him, and he listened to the sounds of fresh fighting, wondering what the fuck was going on.
Five minutes earlier he’d heard a massive barrage of what he took to be either mortars or missiles hitting over at Burma Camp, a kilometer to the east, but now the shooting was coming from the north. It was small-arms fire exclusively, but there were a lot of guns in the mix, and Gorski took this to be one of the two rebel columns the station chief had warned him about.
Soon the headlights of a vehicle approached the front gate, fifty yards away from where he stood at the entrance to the hotel, and a twelve-passenger van pulled into the drive. The vehicle stopped at the security booth and was checked over by the hotel’s understandably jumpy security team.
After looking under the hood and under the chassis, and after having the four passengers step out and produce their identification, the van was allowed to proceed up to the hotel itself.
The van pulled to a stop in front of the CIA officer, and the sliding side door opened. Gorski climbed in and found a seat in the dark. All four of the other occupants were Black, and they wore local clothing: colorful dashiki shirts on the men, a bright purple and teal headwrap on the woman.
The van stayed where it was idling near the front of the hotel.
A man in his thirties in the front passenger seat spoke first, extending a hand. When he spoke, Gorski was surprised to hear that his accent was not Ghana, it was Georgia. “Travis Young, S&T.”
Science and Technology was the CIA directorate responsible for developing and employing technical systems, and while Gorski had asked for locals to help him with this electronic surveillance, it was nice to see a CIA officer along with them.
He looked to the other three. “Are you all from around here?”
One of the men spoke up in a Ghanaian accent. “We’ve all lived here our entire lives.”
These three Ghanaians worked for the U.S. embassy as surveillance detection assets, locals who lived and worked in the neighborhood of the embassy who were strictly vetted and tasked with keeping an eye out for anything in the area that might threaten U.S. interests.
“Good.” He turned his attention back to Travis. “It sounds pretty hairy out there.”
“It was only a seven-minute drive from the embassy; we didn’t run into any problems. There’s some burned-out police cars and an army jeep, all from the fighting earlier. But the attacks happening right now are at the Central Command HQ and in the northern half of the city.”
“You feel okay about driving around at night?”
“The government hasn’t posted a curfew because the power’s down and there’s no way to announce it. My diplomatic credos should get me through any government roadblocks. If we run into rebels, then we’ll just turn around and try to go the other way.”
Gorski had never thought of S&T employees as particularly brave, but this man seemed to have balls of steel.
He looked around inside the van; several electronic gadgets sat in cases on the empty seats. “You have everything you need?”
Young said, “I think so. We’ll use radio frequency scanners, thermal cameras, and old-fashioned pavement canvassing. If we’re within a couple city blocks of the target location, then we should be able to pick up electronic signals that can take us right there, but if the power should come back on, we’ll lose our advantage.”
“Where do you want us to go first?” the lone woman asked.
Gorski had been thinking about this. He didn’t know Accra well and was counting on the locals to help him pinpoint his target’s location. “The man I’m looking for is Asian, from China. He will have a piece of property in or near the city, somewhere he can oversee those working for him. It will be a location where he feels safe, controlled access, a walled compound of some kind, and there will be a lot of electricity flowing there, even with the power outage.”
“A generator, you mean?” one of the Ghanaian men asked.
“Exactly. He would have prepped for the blackout. And he won’t be alone. I expect he’ll have a security and a technical team on site with him, so we are looking for a place where a dozen or more people can live and work. Maybe two dozen.”
Travis Young looked to the Ghanaians. “Any ideas on where to start?”
All four nodded, and the woman said, “There’s only one neighborhood that matches that description. You’re talking about Aburi Hills. Big walled mansions, a perfect view over the city. Lots of places up there will be on generator power, though.”
To this, Travis said, “I’ll be able to monitor the types of electronic emissions out of the various locations with power. I’ll be able to rule out anyone using their satellite TV.”
The van took off, heading towards the embassy to drop Gorski off before these four spent the nighttime hours hunting the mastermind of the chaos that was happening in the country.
The sounds of fighting in the north continued, and the veteran CIA officer said, “Travis…you guys, please be careful. Kang Shikun isn’t stupid. He could have his own surveillance detection assets working his neighborhood. You’ll really have to fit in to make this work.”
Travis said, “I’ll call you every hour with updates.”
They drove on; part of Bob Gorski wished he were going with the four on this mission, but the other part of him was glad he’d be at the embassy, behind gates and guns and behind the Marines.
Though the home on Ankama Close in the Aburi Hills ran under robust generator power, the exterior was kept completely dark and the interior dimly lit at one fifteen a.m. Kang had ordered the lights dimmed or extinguished throughout the night so that the neighbors wouldn’t see the activity of two dozen people inside the fence and walls. Security patrolling, technicians at their desks, Kang Shikun himself standing in his office and looking out at the city.
A group of Russian Sentinel men had just arrived at the property. They’d operated mortars in the city, and now they were tasked with keeping the location secure.
Kang hadn’t spoken to the men—he didn’t even know if they spoke English—and they remained out front, behind the guard shack in their trucks.
Kang leaned back against his desk and took in the impeccable view of his coup d’état in progress through the open balcony door. And Kang’s view of his manufactured uprising was outstanding. He left his binoculars on his desk behind him while he watched fires burn over Burma Camp and the airport, and then he looked on as furious small-arms fire sparkled to the northeast, where two companies of Dragons—over two hundred troops—were just now entering the city.
Another column of similar size was also engaging forces to Kang’s east, leaving the N2 and taking the N1 along the coast. He couldn’t see the flashes from where his home sat on the hill, but he’d heard from his agents that all was proceeding to plan.
He was satisfied with where he found himself at one fifteen a.m. The rebels were a touch behind schedule, but not far out of range from where Kang had estimated. And though some portion of Southern Command was definitely in the street and battling the Dragons, the chaos of the mortar attacks at the base had certainly slowed the army’s response.
Even before the newest attacks, Southern Command had already suffered through a long evening. Twenty-two groups of extremist terrorists all over the city had been taxing for both the police and the military to deal with, and even though there were now only a couple of cells left alive in the capital, the police were all but ineffective and the military had been fully engaged in combating them, and they’d not been ready for this next wave of Kang’s plan.
Hajj Zahedi’s men had not been as numerous or as successful as Kang would have liked, but the Iranian commander had done his part to sow chaos in the city, an act necessary to ensure that the Dragons of Western Togoland were not all cut down before they could reach the center of the capital.
Professor Addo was in the rear of the second column, still on the N2, an hour behind the main thrust. He’d contacted Kang a half hour earlier asking for an update about the force in front of his troops, and as before, Kang had promised him they’d experience combat, but they would meet only a token resistance from Southern Command. Kang was certain the professor was still under the impression that all was proceeding according to the plan Kang had laid out for him more than half a year earlier, and he assumed the rebel leader expected to spend Friday night in Jubilee House.
Kang didn’t think the fool would live till noon.
He’d spoken by satellite phone to Boatang just as he and his force left Kumasi, and the general told the Chinese intelligence officer that he expected to arrive on the outskirts of Accra by seven a.m.
Kang knew what was happening, thought he knew exactly what would happen over the next several hours, but still…he could not stop watching the fighting in the city.
His phone rang; he forced himself to turn away to go back to his desk to scoop it up. “Yes?”
Tremaine’s voice came over the line. “I’m on the N2, heading to the capital. I should arrive around three a.m.”
“Then you, Mr. Tremaine, are out of the fight. The rebels are already at the outskirts of the city. Once they enter, you and your men will stand down and get out of the way.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not finished yet.”
“Ah, yes. The compromise you mentioned earlier. Well, whatever you’re planning on doing to remove it, you had better hurry. Boatang is on his way down the N6 with twenty-five hundred troops; he is due to arrive not long after dawn.”
“I’ll stay away from the N6 highway. I’m going to Cantonments.”
Kang cocked his head a little. “Cantonments? That’s next to Burma Camp.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll steer well clear of whatever’s left of Southern Command.”
Kang thought a moment. “Wait…Cantonments. You’re going to the U.S. embassy?”
“Near there, yes.”
“For what reason?”
“To kidnap a couple of kids.”
Kang slowly sat down. “The American bodyguard’s children.”
“That’s right. Duff is a smart man. He can be the hero, or he can get his kids back. He can’t do both. I know what choice he’ll make.”
Kang thought this over for several seconds. Finally, he said, “This computer that Sentinel somehow let fall into the American’s hands…the material on there is a compromise for Sentinel, but not for me. Not for my nation.”
“Yeah, well, if you don’t help me get it back, I will be your compromise.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“How’s this for a threat? If you try to sell me out, I’ll go on Sky News, my face blacked out, my voice altered, and I’ll tell the world that the People’s Republic of China staged a coup in West Africa. Wonder what the politicians in Beijing will think about that news spreading around the continent.”
Kang took a few measured breaths now. As calmly as possible, he said, “That won’t be necessary. I have no plans to sell you out. I will assist you with your objective.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have assets inside the American embassy. Foreign employees who work for us. I will talk to some people and see if I can arrange something.”
Tremaine seemed pleasantly surprised. “Good. You have to come through on this, you understand?”
“I am not going to let the incompetence of one of your Russian contractors threaten my entire operation. I will call you back when I know more.”
Kang disconnected the call, then picked a sheet of paper off his desk and strolled into the main part of the house. His technicians and intelligence personnel were hard at work at their stations, talking on phones or radios, tapping on laptops, monitoring the various systems they’d shut down in the country the afternoon before to make certain nothing came back online before the right time.
Chen Jia, the female senior technical contractor, faced away from him as she sat at the kitchen island, apparently looking at her computer screen.
He stepped up to her, and when he got close enough, he realized she was asleep at her workstation.
He cleared his throat, and the woman opened her eyes and then lurched back in surprise. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Kang let it go. “I need information about our assets in the United States embassy.”
Her hands shot to her laptop keyboard. “Of course, sir. What do you need to know?”
Kang looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand. “I need to know if we have someone who has access to…the Iris Gardens. It’s an apartment complex that the Americans use.”
She nodded as she typed, then scrolled through page after page of information.
Finally, she said, “We run a police officer who serves part time as a guard for the Americans. He works at several of the housing compounds, including Iris Gardens.” She looked at the man’s file a moment, then said, “He’s just an informant, he doesn’t have any real operational training.”
“I assume he doesn’t have a satellite phone, either.”
“No mention of one in his dossier. I do have his home address.”
“What about his work schedule?”
“No, sir, I do not have that.”
Kang thought a moment, then called out to a man on the other side of the room.
Seconds later he was back in his office with the door closed. With him was a thirty-year-old operative from the Ministry of State Security who had formerly worked here in Ghana and knew the city. Kang told him what he needed, and a few minutes later the man went outside, climbed into a beat-up Ford Escort, and left the front gates of the mansion.
Kang watched the taillights of the Ford as they wound down the hill in front of him, in the direction of the city. His operative was out to find an asset and to give the asset a job.
He knew he’d have to call Tremaine back. Kang’s people weren’t going to do the kidnapping themselves; they’d need Sentinel to pull it off. But before he picked up the phone again he looked to the west and saw the fighting dying down. Looking as far as he could to the east now, he saw flashes in the distance, announcing the arrival of the second column of rebels, this one traveling down the N2 highway from the direction of the Volta River.
It was a beautiful sight, and exactly the reason he’d chosen this home as his safe house and base of operations.