Lagos, Nigeria
March 20, 2:15 p.m.
Justin put his gun back into its holster and went to check on his driver. A crowd of curious onlookers had formed around the area and it was only a matter of time before local police showed up at the scene. It was Nigeria, but the police still worked, maybe not very fast, but they still got their job done. And at this point, Justin would rather have the police on his side, if he were to need their help in his attempt to find the kidnappers and rescue Duncan.
The driver had not been roughed up, but was held at gunpoint by a masked man, who had taken away his pistol. The driver had not seen or heard anything useful. He said he could probably identify the masked man’s voice if he heard it again.
“Just some Nigerian dude,” the driver said. “He sounded just like a normal guy, like me.”
Justin could not argue with that.
They raced to the farmers’ market to find Kayo. He was gagged and tied up with ropes to a rusty metal post behind a couple of stands, just a dozen or so steps from his initial position. Like the driver, he had not seen any identifying feature of the masked man who had put a gun to his back, disarmed him, and ordered him not to move. Considering the location, Justin knew there had to be witnesses among vendors or customers, who must have seen whoever attacked Kayo. But like in any other seedy neighborhood, it would be difficult to get someone to come forward and offer an accurate description of the attackers.
Justin left the driver and Kayo to comb the market for any witnesses, and hurried toward the sniper’s nest atop the apartment building. He found the sniper face down on the roof, knocked out cold next to his rifle. Someone must have hit him from behind, if the huge lump at the back of the sniper’s head was any indication.
Justin sighed. There was not much to work with, but this was only the beginning. He still had almost forty-eight hours.
It took the sniper a few minutes to regain complete control of his senses. Justin packed the rifle and helped the sniper down the three flights of stairs. They met up with Kayo and the driver, whose quick search had been a waste of time. No one had seen or heard anything, despite the attack taking place in the middle of the day, in the middle of a busy market.
Justin cursed the situation, but tried to keep his anger in check. He needed to stay focused and use his energy to remember the words the woman had said. Perhaps he could use some of what he had learned from her to track her down. Or perhaps that information might help him to better understand Duncan and to view the circumstances around his kidnapping under a different light.
They hailed a taxi, which took them to downtown Lagos. Justin and Kayo split up from the sniper and the driver and headed toward their safe house in Lagos Mainland. The two-bedroom apartment was on the second floor of a four-story building painted a bright orange on one side and a baby blue on the other, along Hughes Avenue. It was near a busy intersection, with lots of noise and foot traffic, but also next to three different escape routes if there was ever a need to make a quick exit. And the CIS had rented the other two apartments on both sides of the safe house for security reasons.
Justin brewed a fresh pot of strong coffee and sat with a large mug at the kitchen table next to his laptop. He began to write down crucial bits of intelligence from his conversation with the woman. Kayo was taking his time in the shower, so Justin used the silence to think and analyze the situation. He found it quite surprising and alarming than his team members were caught with their pants down. It meant one of two things: either his team members were very, very lousy and simple amateurs, or the rebels were really, really good and true professionals. He did not want to consider the possibility of a third option: one or more of his team members were actually working with the rebels, and the attack had been well planned and well executed.
Justin sighed and ran his hands through his black hair. He did not know his team very well. Kayo was a native of Nigeria and a naturalized Canadian, and he had been working with the CIS station in the country for over a year. He had been transferred from Johannesburg, South Africa, after completing a three-year stint in the country. There was nothing in his track record to indicate any negligence, incompetence, or insubordination.
Kayo had introduced the sniper and the driver to Justin. They were local contacts that the CIS used on special operations like this one. They were independent contractors, and as such, their loyalty came with a price. This was not their first engagement for the CIS, and all prior operations had ended up with a successful outcome. But it was the first time their mission had resulted in a failure.
And my mission as well, Justin thought, then quickly shook his head and dismissed that gloomy thought. This is not a failure, he told himself. It’s a step back, before we reassess the situation, regroup, and resume the rescue.
Who exactly are these rebels? And who is this woman?
He made a mental note to recheck the files. He had obviously missed or dismissed some important fact. He hoped a thorough review would bring it to light.
Justin reached for his mug and took a long swig. The coffee had gone cold, but it still held its strong taste. He finished the mug, then got up for a refill.
Kayo stepped in the kitchen. He still looked tired and worried.
“Coffee?” Justin asked.
“Sure,” Kayo said, and sat at the kitchen table, across from Justin’s laptop.
Justin poured two mugs and brought them to the table.
“How is the report going?” Kayo picked up the mug and took a sip.
“Okay. Still figuring out what exactly to tell my boss. I don’t have Duncan; I don’t have the money; and I need another four million in two days.”
Kayo shook his head. “I’m sorry about what happened at the market. I have no idea how it happened. One moment I was looking at your table and the next someone shoved a gun in my side.”
Justin shrugged. “It happens, Kayo. Let’s not think about it. How are we going to find this woman?”
“Will you be getting the money?” Kayo asked.
Justin frowned. He did not like that Kayo was shifting their course of action. He wanted to find the woman and go after her, not sit on his hands and wait for the money transfer. Then he realized Kayo did not know the details of Justin’s conversation, details which he had highlighted in his report, but had not yet shared with his partner. Justin was not sure he wanted to share them with Kayo. Not yet, not until he was completely certain Kayo was still the right man to assist him in this operation.
Justin studied Kayo’s eyes. He found some uneasiness mixed with a hint of distress. But no greed and no fear. “Yes, I’m sure the office will wire the money. But I have to convince them that this time the exchange will take place and we’ll get Duncan.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“I’m still working on it. I have to convince myself—the next time our op goes without a glitch.”
He wanted to say “guarantee” instead of “convince,” but thought it was better for the moment if Kayo was left in the dark about Justin’s next moves. The plan taking shape in his mind required Justin to take some steps to ensure the woman was going to play by the rules.
He took another sip while a tense silence hung in the room.
“When are you calling the office?” Kayo asked.
“As soon as I finalize the report. But I’d like to give McClain some good news, and we have none.”
Kayo shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”
“Meet with the commissioner of police. His name is Sunday Chindo. He’s a good friend of McClain and owes him a favor. Perhaps the police can track down the Land Rover and we can get some fingerprints.”
Kayo nodded, then frowned. “If we had planted a GPS tracker in the Rover, we would not have lost it.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t our vehicle, and the rebels most likely would ditch the car as soon as they could. I wouldn’t be surprised if the police find it a few blocks away from the square. They didn’t need the Rover. They just took it to show us they had complete control over us. But they don’t.”
“All right,” Kayo said, and took another sip from his mug. “I’ll head out right away.”
Justin was glad Kayo did not suggest talking to Chindo over the phone instead of actually going to the commissioner’s office. Justin wanted to talk to McClain alone, so he could feel free to disclose any and all intelligence. So he assigned Kayo this busywork, but he was not expecting any breakthrough. The rebels had proven to be quite skillful, and Justin would not be surprised if they found the Land Rover but no useful fingerprints, or if their vehicle was never found.
“Remind Mr. Chindo that we need his utmost discretion in this situation. They need to inform us as soon as they find the Rover.”
Kayo stood up. “I should be back in two hours or so, depending on traffic.”
“Great, thanks,” Justin said.
He walked Kayo to the door of the apartment and locked it behind him. Then he returned to his laptop and reread his report, double-checking the consistency and the rationale of his analysis and his plan. Then he swept the apartment for bugs and after he was convinced it was clean, he picked up his encrypted satellite phone and dialed McClain in the CIS headquarters in Ottawa.
“Hello, Justin,” McClain said after the first ring. “How did the exchange go?”
Justin told him.
McClain listened patiently without interrupting the flow of Justin’s account. McClain had worked as a field agent in East Germany during the Cold War and in northern Africa in the nineties. He knew any operation could go wrong despite careful planning and execution. One of the variables could change into something completely different and even spin out of control. It was always a possibility when dealing with the unpredictability of human nature.
After Justin was finished, McClain asked a series of questions to better understand a few aspects of the operation, especially the preparation phase. He worded the questions with tact, always asking about “how” and “what” took place, rather than “why” or “why not.” McClain did not point fingers, assign blame, or rush into any premature conclusions.
Then a tense pause followed, and Justin could hear the mental gears turning inside McClain’s head.
“What are you suggesting, Justin?” McClain asked in a hesitant voice.
Justin breathed a bit easier. He had thought his boss was going to order him to pack his bags, and assign another team of agents to take over the hostage rescue negotiations.
“Our best lead at this point is the woman,” Justin said in a firm, convincing voice. “We could try to identify the two men as well, but it could take some time.”
“We’re running short on time.”
“Yes. The woman seemed to have or have had a personal relationship with Mr. Duncan. She called him ‘Marty,’ and I suspect they know each other quite well. Perhaps they met at another conference somewhere in Nigeria or elsewhere.”
“Or perhaps someone told her Duncan’s nickname,” McClain said.
“It could be. But I need a record of Duncan’s travels, dates, places, people scheduled to meet with him, both his professional and personal contacts. Let’s go as far back as three months before his kidnapping.”
“All right, we’ll get those to you.”
The Royal Canadian Mounted Police had launched an investigation in Nigeria right after Duncan’s disappearance. They had worked together with the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, the Canadian Armed Forces, and diplomats from the DFAIT, Canada’s Department of Foreign Affairs, Trade and Development. McClain and the CIS had not been involved at that time, because of Duncan’s close relationship with the DFAIT’s minister. They had been best friends since high school. But the investigation had hit a dead end and after the ransom demand, the minister had reluctantly agreed to allow the Canadian Intelligence Service to handle the exchange.
“And let’s have someone do a wide search on women members of the Free Niger Delta, close associates, and supporters. Anyone fitting the profile I gave your earlier. Tall, slim, British accent. Very skilled with her tongue and her gun.”
“This will take a bit of time. I’ll talk to our friends at the CIA and MI6.”
“On the topic of background searches, I’d like to access Kayo’s service records.”
There was a brief pause, followed by McClain’s low sigh. “That’s an unusual request. Any particular reason for it? Do you suspect he’s a traitor?”
Justin shook his head, then said, “No, sir. I wouldn’t go so far. I’d . . . I just need to know whether Kayo is up to this task. Today’s course of events left me with some doubts.”
“Hmmm, I’ll see what I can do. Kayo worked in Joburg, and that’s out of my jurisdiction. I have to call in a favor so we can view his personal file. And you know we have to use local operatives because of their knowledge, and also because otherwise we’ll stick out a mile.”
Justin nodded. He had a Mediterranean complexion: dark olive skin and raven, wavy hair, big black eyes, and a large, thick nose, all inherited from his Italian mother, which made him noticeable in most African cities. But Justin spoke Arabic like a native Egyptian, and had a wide network of contacts in northern and central Africa, very handy when dealing with tricky situations.
“Thank you, sir.” I wouldn’t ask for it if I didn’t think it was necessary, Justin wanted to add, but he held his tongue. He said, “While waiting for the money transfer, I’ll probe into this piece of intel that someone in the Nigerian government is also trying to secure Duncan’s release. The woman mentioned Duncan has powerful friends who are throwing their weight around.”
McClain seemed to think about it for a few moments. Then he said, “If she’s telling the truth. And I wouldn’t be so sure. We’ve informed the Nigerian government about our efforts to negotiate with the rebels and pay the ransom, so Duncan could come home, and they agreed to allow us to take the lead. This competing offer, if it truly exists, may come from someone who is not interested in Duncan getting out of this mess alive.”
Justin had not thought about such a scenario. “Duncan must have made some great enemies if they’re being so resourceful,” he said slowly, wondering why someone would go to such an extent to release Duncan just so they could eliminate him. “And I don’t follow the logic: if no one pays the ransom, wouldn’t the rebels kill Duncan?”
“True, but perhaps Duncan knows something, a secret or some information that could be useful or damaging to someone in the Nigerian government. They would like to get to Duncan so they can obtain that information. Afterwards, he is of no more use to them, a liability, so they will have to get rid of him and cover their tracks.”
Justin sighed. There seemed to be much more to this story than just kidnapping a foreigner for a mound of cash. The complexities of this operation, which was expanding into different directions, warranted the help of another set of hands. Someone he could trust beyond any doubt. Someone like Carrie O’Connor, his partner in the CIS.
Carrie had been Justin’s right arm in almost all operations over the last five years. She had come to the CIS from Joint Task Force Two, the elite counter-terrorism unit of the Special Operation Forces, after two tours of duty in Afghanistan. She could pilot anything with wings or rotors and was an explosives expert. She had no patience for words, instead preferring action. The motto of her former unit was Facta non verba. Deeds, not words.
“Carrie would be a great help on the ground now that we’re following so many leads, sir.” Justin provided a reason along with his request for assistance. He could accomplish the mission entirely on his own, of course, but Carrie’s presence would allow for faster, better results. After all, Justin could not be in two places at the same time.
“Carrie’s deployed in the Central African Republic for an intel-gathering mission,” McClain said. “But I’ll have her fly out ASAP. She should be in Lagos around midnight or early tomorrow morning, depending on aircraft availability.”
“Thanks, sir. I truly appreciate it,” Justin said.
“No worries. Let’s just bring our man home alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else, Justin?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Keep a tight lid on this.” McClain’s voice took a firm tone, yet it kept its warm, caring ring. “Local authorities can be very uncooperative and may even feed us misinformation. Many police officers are in the pockets of senior officials who run this country.”
“Will do,” Justin replied. He had already experienced some of the police unwillingness to accommodate even his most basic requests. Nigeria was a rough place to run field operations, but then Justin was familiar with maneuvering in hostile terrain.