“It’s Pusher 79810.”
Mason wasn’t listening. He didn’t care what Nantz had on the drive. Right now all he cared about was killing him. Placing his hand on the general’s shoulder, he waited for the signal from Zeus. The Libyan looked up from the computer and nodded. Mason bent down and grabbed the zip tie.
“I want you to know that if I ever get back to the States, I’m going to kill everyone you care about.” Nantz tried to say something, but Mason was already pulling the zip tie as tight as he could.
The general’s legs shot out as his brain told him that there was a big problem. He tried to get his hands to his throat, but they were tied down, and the only thing he could do was twist and turn in his chair as the oxygen was slowly cut off.
Mason turned the chair so he could look into the man’s eyes as the light faded from them and Nantz fell still.
“Do you have everything you need?” Mason asked.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Okay, help me cut him loose.” The two men cut the tie from the dead man’s legs before cutting his arms free. Dragging the man to the wall locker, Mason grabbed a pair of medical shears from Zeus’s back pocket and cut the zip tie from his neck.
“What are we going to do about this shit?” Zeus asked as they folded the general’s body into the locker and forced it shut.
“I’m going to call Mr. David, and let him handle it,” the American replied.
Zeus began wiping down the room. Mason pulled out the phone and held down the speed-dial key. Moving to the bed, he closed the laptop and put the thumb drive in his pocket.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you this soon, Mason. Is there a problem?”
“More of a situation. I need a cleaning crew sent to building D 2280, room number three. Tell them to check the wall locker. And someone needs to start checking manifests on anything that carries passengers out of Pakistan. Barnes has to get to Syria with all his gear, and it’s not like he can buy a ticket and check his weapons with the baggage guy.”
“Got it, get back here now.”
“Roger.” Mason hung up the phone and pointed to the flight line. Barnes already had a jump on them, and he wasn’t sure if he could catch up in time.
Hope they have an exit plan, Mason thought to himself on the way back to their vehicle. It was going to be a shit show for whoever won the lottery of finding the dead general shoved into a wall locker.
Zeus started the truck and pulled away from the modular housing, both men scanning for any obvious witnesses. They were just two contractors going about their day; he was sure no one was paying attention.
“What about Renee?” Zeus asked as he tried to keep under the posted speed limit. Their adrenaline was still pumping and he fought the urge to speed.
“Shit. We can’t worry about that right now. Call Tarek and tell him to meet us in Syria,” he said, handing the phone to Zeus.
Mason could hear Tarek jabbering in Arabic but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He just heard the conversation from Zeus’s side: “Tarek, Tarek, shut your mouth and listen. I don’t care how much sleep you’ve gotten, I need you to go to Damascus. Mason said he’d give you ten thousand dollars if you meet us there… Yes, that is what I thought. We will see you soon.”
“Why do I have to give him ten thousand bucks? Why can’t you pay him?” Mason asked when Zeus handed him back the phone.
“If we were looking for a terrorist for my country, I would pay him, but we are not. Besides, you have plenty of money left.”
“That’s bullshit, Zeus. You don’t even have a country.”
“Well, if we are being honest, then neither do you. Unless you believe the fairy tale your latest CIA boyfriend told you.”
“Wow, thanks,” Mason said.
Mason knew he was never going home; he’d come to grips with that fact a long time ago. But he knew he needed to call Renee; after all, it was her men who had gotten slaughtered.
“What?” she asked after a few rings. Her voice was clouded in sleep.
“Renee, I…” Mason didn’t know what to say now that he had her on the phone.
“You tell me where you are, or I’m going to kill you. Do you understand?” Renee didn’t sound tired anymore, she sounded pissed, and Mason wondered if Zeus could hear what she was saying.
“Uh, we’re going to Damascus and—”
“I’ll see you there,” she said before hanging up.
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” Mason said to the empty line. He nodded his head like he was listening and then said, “Yeah, okay, I’ll see you there.”
“She hung up, didn’t she?”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“Because the green light means it’s connected, and the red light means there isn’t an active call.”
“Just shut up and drive.”
CHAPTER 32
The fact that the clock was ticking down didn’t seem to bother Zeus, who was snoring peacefully on the couch. Mason, on the other hand, was worried, and while the Libyan slept, and Renee and Tarek combed through Nantz’s computer, Mason knew they were running out of time.
Renee had actually been waiting on them when they landed, and it was a good thing because she brought a bag full of cash with her, compliments of Mr. David. Mason thought she looked great, waiting at the hangar, and wondered about giving her a hug. Renee had answered the question for him by tossing him the sack of cash and telling him to get in the car.
By the time they got out of the airport and to the apartment, Mason had doled out ten thousand dollars in bribes. The CIA had no assets in Syria, and they were forced to rely on Ahmed’s network of agents and fixers. His men covered North Africa and the Mideast and could get Mason anything he might need, for a price.
Tarek arrived before the sun came up, and as soon as he saw Renee, he forgot about everything. Luckily, she knew a thing or two about computers, and she and Tarek began working on Nantz’s and Decklin’s laptops. He was explaining the program he had written to search both drives when Mason decided to head down to the souk for supplies.
The city appeared calm, but Mason knew that in a war zone things could go to shit at a moment’s notice. He began looking for any signs that the government was in control of the area, and when he didn’t see any soldiers, he began checking for escape routes.
The market was already bustling with locals buying the groceries they would need for the day. Mason loved the early mornings and the feeling of promise that came with them. Everything was fresh and possible, and he felt renewed as he bought a carton of cigarettes. As he was slipping one into his mouth, the smell of fresh coffee drifted like an unspoken promise across the market and grabbed his attention.
Living in North Africa for as long as he had, Mason understood that making good coffee took time, and you were rewarded if you waited. He followed the rich, earthy smell until he came to a merchant who was roasting his beans over an open fire. The American told the man what he wanted, then waited patiently while the coffee merchant used a mortar and pestle to grind the beans into a fine powder.
Mason had done some investigating into the subject. Coffee had come from Syria to Constantinople in 962 AD, and legend had it that one of the first coffeehouses had been opened by a man from Damascus. While every Middle Eastern country had its own style of coffee, the Turkish style was likely the best.
As the American watched the man grind the beans, he realized that he was looking forward to sharing this with Renee. His wife had loved coffee, and every morning after his run, he would grab her a cappuccino and a bagel before heading in to work. The simple gesture never failed to make her day — that is, until the trouble started. Then he would find the coffee and the untouched bagel in the trash when he got home. He watched the merchant pour the powdered grounds into a plastic bag, surprised at the unwelcome memory, and then paid the man before grabbing a few more things for breakfast. Ahmed had taught him how to properly make the region’s coffee, often saying, “Good coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love.”