McNutt didn’t care about theories or assumptions. He wanted facts. ‘What happened to the team?’
Papineau grimaced. ‘That’s where things get interesting. A month after their arrival, two representatives from the Ministry of State for Antiquities were dispatched to check up on the endeavor. They were to verify the activities of Manjani’s team and to ensure that all the rules and regulations of the ministry were being followed. But when they arrived, they found little more than an abandoned site. Not ransacked or ravaged — abandoned. Their tents and other equipment were undisturbed. Their supply of fresh water was untouched. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen.’
‘That’s it? They just disappeared?’ McNutt demanded.
‘Officially, yes. The area had been hit by a series of sandstorms, and the authorities speculate that the group got confused and simply walked off into the desert. Apparently such things are fairly common in the Sahara. People get turned around, and they simply vanish. The windswept sands literally rip them to pieces or bury them alive. Either way, survivors are seldom found.’
Cobb was waiting for the other half of the explanation; the important half, as far as he was concerned. ‘What about unofficially?’
‘Six months ago, one of his friends swears that he received a phone call from a man that sounded a lot like Manjani. The connection was bad, and the caller was rambling, but he remembers the man saying something about demons that simply appeared in the night. Manjani — if it was Manjani — said that he watched his team get barbarically slaughtered. He said they were dragged from their tents and then cut to pieces. And when the bloodbath was over, the demons disappeared.’
Sarah looked at Cobb. ‘Who does that sound like?’
Cobb nodded in agreement. ‘Does your source believe Manjani is still alive?’
‘He does,’ Papineau replied. ‘But he has no idea where he’s hiding.’
Cobb looked at Garcia. ‘Hector, add that to your to-do list. I can’t imagine he’d be stupid enough to use his real identity if he’s trying to stay lost, but check it out anyway. Credit cards, cell phones — you know the drill.’
Garcia was already taking notes on his tablet. ‘Where should I start?’
‘When they’re in trouble, most people run to what they know best. Start with Greece, then work your way out from there.’
McNutt furrowed his brow. ‘Jack, I’m not following. Shouldn’t we be focusing our efforts on the Muharib? How does a missing professor help us find Jasmine?’
Papineau was confused as well. ‘I’m sorry. The Muharib?’
Cobb answered McNutt first. ‘Honestly, Josh, I’m not sure how he fits into this mess, but my gut tells me that he does.’
McNutt nodded. ‘That’s good enough for me.’
Papineau didn’t like being ignored. ‘Again, who are the Muharib?’
Cobb turned and faced him. ‘If my hunch is correct, they’re the demons that killed Manjani’s team and kidnapped Jasmine.’
52
There is a simple tenet that has been drilled into United States Marines for as long as anyone can remember.
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.
Cobb was Army, not USMC, but he believed in their mantra all the same.
In their struggle to recover Jasmine, it seemed that every hour brought new details needing to be factored into his plan. As the minutes ticked by, he knew the odds of finding her alive fell less and less in their favor, but he wouldn’t give up.
Cobb turned to Papineau for additional information about Manjani. ‘Can you show me where his team was last seen?’
‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure what good that will do. There’s nothing to see there and no one to talk to. All traces of their expedition have been taken down or swept away.’
‘And yet I’d still like to know where he disappeared.’
Papineau nodded. ‘Yes, of course, how silly of me. I have a map in my luggage. I’ll get it for you immediately.’
Sarah waited for Papineau to leave before she took a seat next to Cobb. ‘Jack, in regards to Manjani, I think I know someone who can help our cause.’
‘Oh?’
She nodded confidently. ‘If there are any stories floating around about him, this is the guy who would know. I’m telling you, he’ll be able to separate all the bullshit rumors from those worth pursuing. Not only that, he’s one of the best I’ve ever seen at tracking down digital information. If it’s out there, he can find it. I’m talking Garcia-level skills in his realm of expertise.’
Cobb smiled. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’ll pass. Given your track record with assets, I’m more comfortable with the real Garcia doing the digging for us instead of Hector 2.0.’
Sarah refused to budge. ‘Do you know how the CIA finds people?’
‘Very slowly,’ he teased.
‘Jack, I’m being serious.’
Cobb sighed. He had a lot to do, but he could see the determination on her face. She wasn’t going to accept his decision without a fight. ‘I assume you send agents out into the field to track down your targets.’
‘Wrong,’ she assured him. ‘There aren’t enough spies in the world to track everyone who needs to be watched. Think about it: there are seven billion people on the planet, and a few thousand spooks to watch over them. That’s a serious lack of manpower.’
‘And a serious misrepresentation of the facts. I mean, the CIA doesn’t need to keep tabs on all seven billion, now do they?’
Sarah just stared at him.
‘C’mon,’ Cobb laughed, ‘you’re not saying—’
‘All I’m saying is that when it comes to finding targets, spies don’t pick up the trail on their own. It’s the bloodhounds that lead us in the right direction.’
‘Sarah, I’m not following. What bloodhounds?’
‘Like I said, the CIA only employs a few thousand people. That means they have to outsource a lot of the legwork. When the Agency needs to find a target, they turn to specialists who have spent their entire lives hunting for people. These guys are known as bloodhounds — or hounds, for short. And trust me, they don’t care who you’re looking for or what you do to the target once it’s found. All that matters is that you meet their price.’
‘How is that any different than Simon?’
‘Simon was a local asset. We used him because he was part of the neighborhood. He’s good-looking and sociable, which meant he could blend in with the crowd. He didn’t have to become one of them; he already was one of them. For an asset like Simon, that’s the biggest risk. Connecting to your environment means you start to personally identify with the community around you. It’s easy to lose perspective. And when something goes wrong, it can tear you apart.’
‘You’re talking about the girls in the slave ring.’
She nodded. ‘All I can tell you is that before that, he never would have worked with a man like Hassan. I think the experience six years ago broke his spirit. He saw evil win, and he felt it always would.’
‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?’
‘Something like that,’ she said. ‘But that’s not my point. Bloodhounds aren’t burdened by the emotions that other assets have. They aren’t tasked with fitting into a community, and they aren’t concerned with making friends. They’re loners driven by one thing and one thing only: the almighty dollar.’
‘So you’re recommending that we reach out to an obsessed sociopath who doesn’t play nice with others?’
She didn’t laugh. ‘Jack, I know this source, and I’m telling you he can help. After we missed our shot at the sex slavery auction, we used him to find the bastards involved. To offset the impact of an opportunity lost, the director was willing to break the bank for information. This guy accomplished more in a week than our agents could have found in a year. He’s pricey, but he’s worth every penny.’