Justin tuned Adams out. He lay back on his chair and folded his arms across the chest. The punch line was coming soon.
Adams talked about US government programs and projects in general, then moved on to specific actions taken by NCS. When he began to talk about sharing intelligence obtained by CIA to help in the fight against illegal gun trade, a slide appeared in the screens. The slide was not in the original materials provided by Adams’s office to the conference organizers, but it was inserted in the presentation by Justin and Ellis.
It showed a picture of Adams and Yusuf, the one Romanov had given to Justin. The caption below the picture said “CIA is selling guns to al-Shabaab terrorists.”
The crowd exploded in a loud gasp. Adams had yet to turn his head and notice the picture, so he did not understand the reaction of the crowd. He continued to talk, but his voice did not come through the microphone. The screens moved to another picture of Yusuf’s CIA badge, followed by a small photo of Yusuf and his CIA file. A loud voiceover said, “Deputy Director Adams has been selling M16s, sniper rifles, and machine guns to rogue CIA agent Hassan Khalif Yusuf, helping al-Shabaab and other terrorist networks across the globe.” One of the screens showed a series of rifles, machine guns, and ammunition still in their boxes. The voiceover continued, “Adams is selling guns to terrorists, and they are using them to kill our sons and daughters who are fighting our war on terror.”
Adam’s face turned pale. His lips were moving furiously along with his arms. His eyes were bouncing through the tables in the audience.
Justin moved his chair further back, hiding behind a big man to his left. He could still see Adams standing on the podium, behind the lectern. The man could not understand what was going on and how it was even possible.
A few of the cameramen placed at the sides moved forward. Clicks of cameras snapping pictures filled the tense air. Two security guards entered the multimedia station, shouting and gesturing at Ellis to turn off the screens. Justin and Ellis had anticipated that move. They had arranged for an alternative source of backup power for the projectors and the screens, in case the guards unplugged the power cords. Ellis shrugged and began to tap buttons and switch keys, moving furiously inside the station.
The screens were now showing Adam’s sweating face and pictures of the eight Navy SEALs killed in Somalia. The voiceover continued, “Where do al-Shabaab terrorists get their American-made weapons? Why did Yusuf, a wanted terrorist, enter America freely a few weeks ago? Ask Adams about his connections to al-Shabaab, to Yusuf, about his plans to bury the truth and cover his lies.”
The first few hands shot up from the crowd. One or two people started talking. Justin looked at Ellis who had managed to turn off the voiceover, at the right time for reporters to take a stab at Adams.
“Do you deny these allegations?” came the first question from the closest table to the podium.
Adams had regained his composure. He mustered a smile, which ended up being just a grin, then shrugged and tried his mike. It was on, but microphones on the journalists’ tables were also on. Their questions were coming non-stop, and they were louder than Adams.
“Are these photos real?”
“Who is Mr. Yusuf?”
“Is it true CIA is selling weapons to al-Shabaab?”
The screens changed to other photos of Adams with Yusuf, of al-Shabaab fighters carrying M16s and sniper rifles, followed by a series of pictures of Yusuf’s American passport.
Adams had had enough. He threw up his arms, loosened his tie, and stormed down from the podium. A group of reporters swarmed him. Two security guards stepped up next to him to keep the reporters away.
The voiceover returned. “What are Adams’s connections to a well-known Qatari arms dealer by the name of Rashed bin Hussein Hamidi? Who are these people who are killing Americans?”
Adams was being whisked away, while reporters were still darting questions at him. Three guards were inside the multimedia station, pulling cords and removing gadgets, in a vain attempt to shut down the system. Ellis was standing a few feet away behind them.
Justin nodded at Ellis and gestured toward the door. It was time for their exit.
The screens changed to the name of a website. The voiceover said, “By now you will have received an e-mail containing all these files and much more, sufficient to prove these claims and to show that Adams is in bed with terrorists and rogue agents. All documents are also available on the website shown on the screens. Ask questions. Find the truth.”
Justin waited until Adams and his guards pushed their way through the small door. He met up with Ellis, and they both began to walk outside in the hall in the opposite direction.
“Good job, Ellis.”
“Thanks. Anytime you need something like that, let me know.”
Justin smiled at the pumped up young man. Technicians like Ellis rarely left their office stations for fieldwork. Not too many opportunities for multimedia ambushes in conference rooms in their line of work.
Justin reached for his cellphone inside his suit pocket and dialed a number from memory. The man at the other end picked up after the first ring.
“Hall, you prick. You think a stunt like that will hurt me? I’ve seen better men than you. Chewed their bones and spat them out.”
Justin grinned. “Adams, you’ve lost your cool. And what are you talking about?”
“Cut the crap, Hall. I know you’re behind this. But it’s not going to work.”
“Mr. Adams, things are only going to get worse for you. Those reporters are like piranhas. They’re not going to stop until you’re gone. And the information they got is only the tip of the iceberg. This will be greater than Wikileaks. You’ll see.”
A couple of curses, then Adams said, “No, you’ll see how I’ll turn this around. These are all lies, fabrications by Canadians and others trying to distract the public from their own traitors. You and others who want to undermine our war on terror.”
Justin laughed. “Adams, do yourself and everyone else a favor. Retire. Get out. Disappear. Save the CIA and the American people a lot of embarrassment, waste of energies and ti—”
“I will not go away. Not without a fight. Ever.”
Justin shook his head. He slowed his pace as they came to an exit. “The fight is over. You lost. It happened when you decided to cover your mistakes by betraying your country and your allies. When you lured Yusuf out and deceived us into planning a hit.”
“You think you know everything, huh?” Adams began his rant. “You think you know it all?”
“No, I don’t, but I know enough to realize when a man is drowning. You’re done for, Adams.”
Justin moved his cellphone away from his ear, ignoring Adams’s curses and shouts.
Chapter Twenty-three
Costa del Sol or Sunny Coast in southern Spain was still quite pleasant, even in the fall, true to its name. The temperature was sixty-nine degrees, and a soft breeze came from the Mediterranean Sea. The warm waters had plenty of swimmers, the gentle waves splashing against the golden sandy beaches.
The area of Puerto Banus attracted mostly the rich and the famous, local and international celebrities. It was a place of money, power, and prestige. The place Claire Johnson had chosen to spend her holidays.