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.