North Side of the Blue Nile, Khartoum
Several recent high-rise construction projects were interspersed among Khartoum’s largely poverty-stricken, mostly flat neighborhoods. The buildings had the added benefit of providing security personnel for their residents’ protection. The occupants consisted mainly of wealthy foreign nationals in Khartoum on business or local politicians who desired an additional layer of separation from the citizens they halfheartedly served.
Their target was a ten-story building, the middle of three planned luxury towers. The adjacent two were still under construction.
Langley had come through in a big way, providing the location of a cell phone that had been in contact with the one Amira had obtained from the dead operative on the bridge. The activity was significant enough for the CIA analysts to determine with a “high probability” that it had to be either a member of the Chinese clandestine team or someone closely connected to it. Logan disagreed with their “high probability” assessment—his gut told him it had to be the young leader he’d seen in the cemetery.
After their escape from the prison and the raid on Tuti Island, Logan guessed the Chinese bastard had sought refuge at his Sudanese collaborator’s residence. The only real question remaining was how high the conspiracy ascended in the Sudanese and Chinese governments.
The analysts at Langley had obtained the list of residents and cross-referenced it with known Sudanese government officials. Once they’d confirmed one name on the list in particular, it’d made perfect sense.
Namir Badawi, the head of the Al Amn al-Dakhili, owned a secure penthouse suite overlooking the Blue Nile and the Republican Palace—which housed his office—beyond. The man’s involvement explained the coordination and support the Chinese had received from the government of Sudan, at least in capturing Logan and Cole and using the remote prison to hide them. They needed to discover what exactly the chief of Sudan’s internal security knew. Just as important was who was with him in his apartment. In fact, that was critical.
But to answer that question, they had to capture Namir Badawi and his guest, a tactical challenge made more difficult by the security of the building. With more time to plan and conduct reconnaissance, they might have found a way to infiltrate the building through the roof, kidnapping him from the suite. But time was not a luxury they had, and since Langley had provided a dossier on Badawi—complete with recent pictures—the plan was simple: they’d take him on the street outside his residence.
Based on the proximity of Badawi’s home to his workplace, they’d surmised that he walked to work, had a driver, or took a cab. Driving himself in Khartoum’s bedlam of traffic didn’t befit a man in his position.
In addition to Logan, John, Amira, and Cole, they’d recruited the assistance of Chief Sorenson and Lieutenant Reed, both of whom had experience in urban environments and could adequately blend in with the local population, thanks to their deep tans and full beards. The fact that the rest of the group hadn’t shaved in days made disguising themselves a little easier.
Before leaving the embassy, the men had changed into khakis and long, white button-down shirts. Long, flowing white robes they could easily discard completed the outfits and concealed their weapons. As non-Muslim foreigners, they weren’t expected to dress in the conservative, traditional attire of Sudanese men; however, doing so in this case would minimize unwanted attention.
Because of the constant layer of trash on the streets and the abundance of white cars parked around the block in which to blend, setting up surveillance had been easy, especially in the middle of the night. Logan and John had driven a white sedan into the block and found a spot along the road fifty yards up the street on the opposite side of the building. Cole, Chief Sorenson, and Lieutenant Reed occupied a white van on the same side of the street as the apartment complex. Amira had established herself as a homeless woman and created a nest of cardboard and paper at the opening of an alley in between two worn-down buildings directly across from the front entrance to Badawi’s building.
The time approached seven o’clock. The first daily call to prayer, the fajr, had been a little more than an hour ago, and the sun would soon be rising. As Logan watched the front of the building, his thoughts drifted to Mike and the various operations they’d shared, including the showdown in Iraq two years ago. The memories fueled his desire for justice, although he was also aware that part of his motivation was the predatory bloodlust the loss of his friend had triggered.
“Do you really plan to take them alive?” John asked, his own memories of an insurgent compound in Iraq evoking the question. “You’re not exactly keen on taking prisoners.”
Logan had considered it, and as much as he needed his thirst for vengeance to be quenched, it was more important that they take Badawi and his friend alive and then bleed them—for every ounce of information they had.
“It all depends on how they react. But yes, I do want to capture them. We’ve got a global conspiracy seemingly led by the Chinese and involving the Russians, North Koreans, and Sudanese, not to mention the four dead assholes in Vegas. We still don’t know who those fuckers really were. While I don’t want to go X-Files crazy, this sure feels like some kind of global conspiracy, one targeted directly at our country,” Logan said, his voice strengthening with each word. “So as much as I want to wipe these bastards from the face of the earth, I’m going to have to keep my emotions in check.” He turned and looked his friend squarely in the eyes and said, “And that goes for you as well.”
“Understood, brother,” John said. “Only kill ’em if we have no choice. Whether or not they give us one? Well, that waits to be seen.”
“The doors are opening,” Amira suddenly said quietly across the encrypted channel on their tactical radios. An enemy utilizing SIGINT for force protection purposes might pick up the signal, but they’d never be able to understand what was being said.
Logan and John watched two figures appear under the awning, but at fifty yards, they couldn’t be sure they were their targets.
“Can you confirm it’s Badawi?” Logan asked.
“Wait one,” Amira responded as the two men reached the end of the awning and stepped into the fading illumination of a streetlamp that would soon shut off with the rising sun. “Jackpot. Badawi confirmed. Second male is Chinese, young, short black hair. Looks like the guy we saw on the helo leaving the cemetery.”
“Bingo,” Logan responded. “Game time. Here we go.”
The two men stepped through the black security gate and into pedestrian traffic, which was light at this hour of the morning. People moved back and forth across the sidewalks, oblivious of the cat-and-mouse game unfolding in their midst.
Badawi and his co-conspirator turned right and proceeded up the sidewalk, walking toward Logan and John’s position.
“On my mark,” Logan said, waiting for the right moment. The timing had to be precise.
A few more seconds . . .
The two men strode casually down the sidewalk, engaged in an animated conversation, their features becoming more defined in the dusky predawn light. Logan had studied the face of Namir Badawi from the photographs Langley had provided, but it was the second man who interested him more.
The short black hair, muscular physique concealed by well-fitting khakis and a white shirt—it seemed like everyone in Sudan wore the same acceptable version of Western clothing—and a youthful face that belied the experience and professional maturity he possessed: it was the man from the cemetery.
Fifteen yards . . .
“Go,” was all Logan said, and the two vehicles slowly pulled out of their spaces on the opposite sides of the street.
Had he waited five seconds longer, the operation would have been carried out flawlessly. Unfortunately, luck and circumstance were always the variables that couldn’t be accounted for.
Logan and his team never saw the old man until it was too late. On his way to the local mosque in time for the sunrise prayer, he was oblivious of the traffic on the street and stepped out between two parked cars directly in front of the white minivan driven by Lieutenant Reed.
Screeeeeech!
The tires skidded across the asphalt as the man looked up in surprise at the oncoming van. Every member of the team, including Logan, suddenly turned in the direction of the unexpected sound. It was human nature, but it also cost them the element of surprise.
The vehicle stopped less than two feet from the old man, and he continued to stare into the windshield. A moment later, he calmly raised his hand absentmindedly and kept crossing the street, apparently unconcerned that he’d been moments away from a one-way trip to Paradise.
“Oh no,” Amira said across the radios, and Logan redirected his gaze at the targets, whose eyes flashed back and forth from the white car moving toward them to the minivan behind them.
Namir Badawi locked eyes with Logan, who was now less than ten yards away, and in that moment that stretched between them, Logan watched recognition transform the intelligence chief’s face from a look of casual awareness to urgent action. We’re made, Logan thought.
“Move now!” Logan screamed as he accelerated the car toward the two men, but it was too late. Namir Badawi spoke hurriedly to his younger companion, and the two men abruptly split apart, sprinting in different directions.
Namir scrambled over the iron gate as his companion dashed across the street in the opposite direction toward the next alley past Amira’s position.
“I’ve got China,” Amira said, sprinting down the sidewalk after the target.
“We’ve got Badawi,” Logan said, and slammed the white sedan onto the sidewalk, leaping out of the car and dashing toward the black fence.
“We’ll back Amira,” Cole said, and the minivan turned across the middle of the street to pursue the Chinese operative.
“Why are we always running after these motherfuckers?” John said as he followed Logan over the fence, memories of the foot chase in Haditha fresh in his mind.
“We’re just lucky, I guess,” Logan said as he landed on his feet and watched Badawi disappear around the corner of the building. Where the hell is he going? The Nile is the only thing back there.