“I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“Isn’t that England’s problem?” DeSantos asked. “If they’re not going to act on confirmed intel, that’s their choice.”
Knox swung both arms behind his back. “Theoretically, yes. But England’s our closest ally and a strike against the UK is a strike against us. So we’re going to help them — even if they don’t want it. And in spite of the animosity their MI5 director general harbors against us.”
“Why us?” Vail asked. “The risk of us being seen — and ID’d — is very high.”
“Because we have contacts there,” DeSantos said.
Knox nodded. “I assume that’s still the situation?” He made eye contact with each of them. “Or is that a poor assumption?”
“To my knowledge,” Vail said, “nothing’s changed. But if Buck doesn’t want his agents cooperating with us, our sources may not want to risk their careers.” Like we’d be doing.
“Then let’s make sure Aden Buck doesn’t know you’re in country. That’s a good idea, anyway.”
“So no contact with Buck whatsoever,” Uzi said.
“None. You have a problem, you’re on your own. You can’t call me. You can’t call Buck. You can’t call the embassy. This is a deniable op. Your presence on UK soil can’t come back at the US.”
Uh, wait a minute. When exactly did I sign up for this?
“Agent Vail?” Knox was looking directly at her. “You have a problem?”
Vail glanced at DeSantos, whose expression said, “Keep your mouth shut.” “Honestly, sir, if I’ve got a choice, I’d rather not—”
“You don’t have a choice. Simply put, Agent Vail, when you got your asses in hot water and I risked everything to clear your names — or at least to the extent possible — you signed an unofficial contract with me. This is an assignment you cannot refuse.”
Before Vail could object — and she was thinking about it — DeSantos intervened. He lifted Vail’s hand and gestured toward the engagement ring.
“You can’t take that with you.”
Knox extended a hand.
She looked at Knox and hesitated. Well, shit, if I can’t trust the director of the FBI … She stood there a moment, her right hand grasping the ring. C’mon, Karen, you think about it any longer, it’s gonna look weird. She finally pulled it off and handed it to Knox. She suddenly felt naked.
“What’s our objective?” Uzi asked. “Assuming we locate Yaseen, how are we going to get him out of the UK?”
“In a body bag. Your orders are to eliminate him. We’ve had enough of his handiwork. After you make a positive ID, leave his rotting corpse in the UK — or even better, drop it on Buck’s doorstep.” He shook his head. “Asshole.”
“Why not go above his head?” Vail asked, massaging her bare finger.
“That’d have to be handled diplomatically. Secretary McNamara did not feel that going directly to the interior minister was the right move. He’d be more inclined to trust Buck’s assessment than ours. And if we want to have any hope of cooperating with MI5 in the future, going over the director general’s head is a sure way to put a deep frost on our relationship for years to come. Even if Yaseen never set off a bomb in the UK, if he succeeded in screwing up relations between the FBI and MI5, he’d have hit the jackpot.”
An alarm beeped on Knox’s phone. He silenced it then said, “Are we clear? Any questions?”
Yeah. How do I unenlist?
It was DeSantos who replied that they were good.
Speak for yourself, Hector.
“When you’ve completed your mission, proceed to the Royal Air Base, where the C-17 will be fueled and ready to go.”
“No Osprey this time, eh?” Uzi asked.
Knox’s face broadened slightly. “That’s funny.”
No, it’s not.
Knox handed DeSantos a small satchel, then turned and headed back toward the Black Hawk.
“A word of advice,” DeSantos said as he watched Knox walk off. “The C-17’s an impressive plane, an engineering marvel and a jewel on the battlefield in terms of moving heavy machinery and troops around. But not so much for creature comforts when nature calls.”
Vail cricked her neck. “Come again?”
“You urinate out a little chute along the fuselage. No privacy. Go now or forever hold your pee.” He winked, then bent down and gathered up his duffel as a Humvee pulled up in front of the PX.
Vail decided to take DeSantos’s advice and started back toward the PX to use the facilities when the Humvee’s door opened. Out stepped Mahmoud El-Fahad.
At the sight of Fahad heading in their direction, Uzi was conflicted. He desperately wanted more information before confronting the man on his whereabouts and his meet with Amer Madari. But they were about to embark on a dangerous mission, one that required complete trust in your team members. It was now or never.
They met halfway and Uzi handed Fahad his duffel. As they walked back to the Humvee, DeSantos gave him a rundown of their mission based on the information Knox had provided.
By the time he finished, they arrived at the flight line, where the Boeing C-17 Globemaster III was waiting, engines hot. The exterior was painted a matte gray, with the tail call sign emblazoned with “McGuire” in yellow letters on a blue background. The cargo plane was massive, with four jet engines and several sets of wheels beneath the fuselage.
They climbed up the rear ramp and took a look around. The cargo hold was a no-frills shell with wires snaking along the ceiling, levers and coiled cargo straps in open cubbies along the cabin wall, and a nonskid metal floor. While it had a utilitarian look, this plane was relatively new and well maintained.
They pulled down the nylon sidewall seats that lined the periphery of the cabin. Uzi and Vail sat next to each other, while DeSantos and Fahad took positions opposite them on the other side of the fuselage. A tank sat strapped down in the middle, forward of their location, with pallets of crates secured in the center of the hold.
“I booked business class,” Vail said. “Where the hell’s my cheese plate?”
“Ring the call button,” DeSantos said.
“Mo,” Uzi shouted across the hold, “you owe us an explanation.”
“An explanation. For what?”
Uzi snorted. “For going off the grid. We tried reaching you throughout the day. You didn’t reply.”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
DeSantos twisted in his seat to face Fahad. “How would you know?”
Uzi tilted his head. “Where were you?”
“In the city, following up on some things.”
They waited, but Fahad busied himself with tightening his harness and did not elaborate.
“Secure yourselves,” the loadmaster yelled in from the open tail. “Closing up shop. Oh — the parachutes are in those kit bags up against the bulkhead. We’ll be dropping you thirty miles due east of London.”
“Wait,” Vail said. “What?”
The man laughed. “Relax, just givin’ you shit. The disposable earplugs are in that box by your feet. See you across the pond.”
DeSantos waved acknowledgment and the large ramp started rising, the exterior light disappearing as the metal door closed with a low groan that sounded like a garbage truck picking up a trash bin.
“How do you know Amer Madari?” Uzi asked above the din.
Vail turned to Uzi. “Who’s Amer Madari?”
“Yeah,” Fahad said. “Who’s Amer — Madari, you said?”
“Don’t bullshit me,” Uzi said firmly. “I know you met with him this morning.” He was talking to be heard over the ambient noise, but his demeanor, and perhaps his tone, made it sound as if he was angry and shouting.