En route to El Wak
Near the Somalia-Kenya border
The four Land Rovers speeding in the direction of El Wak fit the intel description that Israeli intelligence had sent to the CIA. The Falcon and his entourage were returning to the mansion of billionaire businessman Umoja Owiti.
At 12:32 a.m., when the vehicles were within a mile of the border, a Hellfire missile streaked through the black sky. It smacked into the lead SUV with such force that the vehicle seemed to vaporize in a burst of flames. The Land Rover traveling directly behind flew from the road. It performed a backward flip that ended with it lying upside down and on fire. A second missile smacked into the third SUV in the caravan, destroying it and causing the fourth Land Rover to swerve out of control off the road before it came to an abrupt stop. Within seconds, two Apache attack helicopters swooped over the carnage, firing their 30-millimeter chain guns at the three men who’d survived the missile attack and were scrambling for cover. On the Apaches’ black-and-white night cameras the fleeing terrorists glowed white and shook uncontrollably when the burst of rounds ripped into them.
Next to appear was a Bell UH-1 helicopter, the military’s workhorse, which landed near the first destroyed vehicle while the two Apaches circled above with their guns ready, all under the watchful eye of a Predator drone flying high above them on alert for possible insurgents. A six-man SAD team disembarked and immediately confirmed that all occupants of the four Land Rovers had been killed. Because the Falcon had never appeared in public without covering his face, the CIA knew it would be difficult to positively identify him. The team photographed every corpse, including those in the burning wreckage, took body measurements from the victims not incinerated by the Hellfires, and retrieved DNA samples before returning to the Huey. CIA forensic specialists would compare that data to what was known about the Falcon based on digital imaging and computerized reconstruction techniques.
Miles had been told to position himself near Owiti’s estate. His assignment from Langley had been relayed to him through Hani during her brief telephone call to Washington. He was to monitor the billionaire’s compound to learn if any vehicles arrived in advance of the now destroyed Land Rovers. Although unlikely, it was possible the Falcon might have traveled in a separate convoy. He was also instructed to watch for Owiti on the chance the billionaire might leave the compound to meet the Falcon in some other location. He had been hiding on a slight bluff some two hundred yards outside the compound since daybreak with instructions not to leave for any reason.
Having destroyed the convoy, the three helicopters and Predator swung west across the Somali border into Kenya to collect Miles. He heard the sound of the aircrafts’ blades before he could see them. Thanks to night vision and thermal imaging equipment, the pilots had no trouble spotting him. While the two Apaches and the Predator drone kept watch on the compound for Owiti’s private guard force, the Huey swept down.
Miles removed the material covering his face and lifted both of his hands above his head to show that he was not carrying a weapon as he ran to the now hovering helicopter. He didn’t want to be mistaken for a terrorist. As soon as he boarded, the helicopter lifted upward.
Strapped into a seat and handed a headset, Miles found himself speaking to the commander of SAD operations as well as CIA Director Payton Grainger, who was monitoring the mission from Langley.
“Good to have you back with us, Miles,” Grainger said. “Or should I call you ‘Chief’?”
“Nice to be back, sir.” Having dispensed with that greeting, Miles said, “No vehicles have arrived at the Owiti estate since first light yesterday morning, sir. There’s no evidence that the Falcon is inside the compound.” His eyes-on-the-ground report confirmed what satellite images and drones had noted during the past thirty hours watching the estate.
“Sirs,” Miles said, “I did observe two Land Rovers carrying what appeared to be members of Owiti’s private security force exit the compound about an hour ago heading in the direction of El Wak. But that was the only movement.”
“If the Falcon was in that convoy as reported by the Israelis, then there’s no reason for us to engage Owiti’s private army or spark an international incident by attacking his residence,” Grainger replied. “You’re free to head to Nairobi.”
Miles was disappointed. If Owiti was bankrolling the Falcon, both men deserved the same Hellfire missile fate.
It was the SAD team leader aboard the Huey who spoke next. “Sir, there were only six insurgents in the four Land Rovers.”
“Are you certain of that count?” Grainger asked.
“Yes, sir, six tangos, and that includes the ones who were crispy.”
In the past, the Falcon had never traveled without at least twice that number in his entourage.
No one responded, but everyone participating in the call understood the implication. It was possible they had missed the Falcon.
“Sir,” Miles said, “the woman, Hani, and her father who have hidden me here in Kenya, I’d like permission to take them with us to Nairobi.”
“For what reason, soldier?” Grainger asked.
“El Wak is a tiny town, and it’s only a matter of time before someone realizes Hani made a telephone call to the United States—something she’d never done before. They could link her to tonight’s attack on the convoy.”
Grainger considered the request but only for a moment. “We can’t just swoop in and pick up two locals.”
“Couldn’t we arrange safe passage for them through the State Department as political refugees?”
“It could take months to get through all the necessary hoops. And we have rules about who this agency resettles. We can’t accept someone simply because they provided you with temporary shelter.”
“With all due respect, sir, I feel a moral obligation. I believe the woman already has been beaten by Al-Shabaab. It’s just a matter of time before she and her father are murdered.”
Grainger considered the urgency of Miles’s request. “The best we can offer is a lift to the American embassy in Nairobi. I’ll talk to the State Department, but no promises of resettlement. Is that clear?”
“Thank you, sir.”
It took less than ten minutes for the Huey to reach the hut that Hani and her father shared. As they circled it, the SAD team’s leader asked through his headphones: “Do goats sleep on their sides or are those goats down there dead?”
Miles felt a sense of alarm.
“Our heat sensors are not detecting anything from the goats,” one of the Apache pilots said. “They’re definitely dead.”
There was no sign of Hani or her father when the Huey landed. The SAD team moved methodically across the hard-packed earth toward the flap that served as the hut’s door. There was no outside morning fire, which Miles took as another worrisome signal. Hani usually kept the embers burning throughout the night.
“We got no thermals from inside that hut,” an Apache pilot said through his mouthpiece as the two attack helicopters circled above.
“Hani?” Miles called from the entrance. There was no answer. Two SAD squad members ducked under the flap. Miles followed them. The first body that Miles spotted was the goat herder sprawled on the floor surrounded by spent AK-47 cartridges. His rifle had been taken by the men who had killed him. Hani’s corpse was lying close by. She had been stripped naked and her breasts had been cut off, which was another trademark of terrorists in Africa who raped and mutilated women. Her face was frozen in a silent scream.
“Don’t touch anything,” the SAD leader warned. “Good chance they’re booby trapped.”
There was nothing any of them could do but to return to the Huey. As the aircraft rose, Miles tried to quiet the guilt rising within him. The fate of the old man and Hani had been set before he’d chanced upon them, he told himself. Jihadists had been harassing the goat herder before Miles first spotted him. He assumed that Hani had been assaulted by insurgents on the day when the old man had first taken him to see Owiti’s mansion. She’d had bruises on her face and puffy eyes. Their cruel deaths were not his fault. And then another thought came to him.
He had watched Owiti’s private security guards leaving the compound earlier that night. Was this their handiwork or Al-Shabaab’s?
And still another thought. Was the killing of Hani and her father coincidental or had Owiti’s goons been told that they were hiding Miles and come searching for him? Had they tortured Hani to learn where he was hiding?
He pictured Hani’s face. Imagined her torture.
The violence that he had watched against the old man, who simply wished to tend his goats, and Hani, who had suffered so much even before she’d died, made him furious and physically ill. He thought of Brooke Grant. He thought about Jennifer.
It was time for him to return to Washington.