Man Farm
“Is Hal back yet?” Kurtzman asked as Price approached his workstation.
The urgency in his voice alerted her. “Not yet,” the mission controller said. “What have we got?”
Wall-mounted plasma screens flashed up messages. Kurtzman used a pen-size laser pointer to highlight the sections he was interested in.
“These are from Langley,” he said, offering no apology for the fact his information was from CIA data streams. “Been coming and going over the past couple of hours. Something’s gone wrong. And the other bad news is it seems to have originated from Sana’a in Yemen. A message from there, then acknowledgment from home. Since then no further contact with the Yemen source.”
“Could you intercept the email from Yemen?” Price asked, feeling the question was irrelevant.
Akira Tokaido swiveled his chair around and fixed her with a rueful stare. “Say what?” Then he laughed. “No problem.”
He tapped his keyboard and the last email Henry Lang had sent flashed up on a secondary screen.
Price scanned the text. Something about cover broken and a need to get out of Sana’a. And a reference to someone called Samir being compromised.
“We ran a back trace to see if we could link up with the computer,” Tokaido said. “Couldn’t get a peep out of it. Server links are there but the terminal is gone. No connection. My guess would be whoever operated that computer has purged it.”
“Probably after downloading what was on it to Langley,” Kurtzman added.
“We’re searching for the most recent data dump,” Tokaido said. “May take awhile before we find out who sent it.”
“I can tell you that,” a familiar voice said.
It was Brognola. He had entered the room unheard while they were all focused on the wall screens.
“Hal?” Price said.
“The field agent in Sana’a was Henry Lang. Been there a couple of years. His front was as a dealer in regional antiquities. Local goods. Ran a genuine business and had extensive contacts in Yemen. The guy named Karam Samir was his partner. Part Yemeni. One of the assignments Lang was handling had to do with locating Hand of Allah. Week or so back he came up with a thin lead and went after it. From what we now know it looks like that lead turned around and bit him.” Brognola helped himself to coffee and perched on the edge of a desk. “That call I got was from the Man. I just spent an hour with him. He was updating me on the file he’d just had from Langley, informing him of the loss of a CIA team in Yemen. Sana’a in fact. He thought we ought to know because of the Stony Man operation in the area. Gives us a chance to let Phoenix Force know.”
“We picked up CIA scuttlebutt,” Kurtzman said. “Yemen field office. A guy called Samir compromised.”
“Local news source from Sana’a reported a killing that corresponds with the time of Lang’s email. Guy shot to pieces in some backstreet area. Identified him as Karam Samir. He was confirmed as Lang’s partner in the CIA file the President had.”
“We can send a text message to Phoenix Force. Let them know what’s going down,” Kurtzman said.
“Okay,” Brognola said. “Do that. And let them know a name cropped up in Lang’s last email. Behin Jahir. The informant who gave us the initial information on the Yemen situation. Jahir supplied information to Lang’s guy, Samir. He’s a local information source. Lang passed along Jahir’s location in Sana’a. There’s a warning about a local cop named Ariq Taj being involved. Looks like he’s involved with Hand of Allah. Tell Phoenix to stay sharp.”
“It’ll be a help,” Price said. “They need something to get a grasp on things out there.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had to go in with practically nothing,” Brognola said. “Jahir could point the way for them to locate that camp and Cal.”
* * *
AARON KURTZMAN called a meeting in the war room. Brognola and Price joined him as Kurtzman brought up images on three of the plasma screens.
“These flashes started coming in around an hour ago. I had the team scour all our sources. Checking other agencies for background. Pulling in everything we could. Even news reports from the scene.”
Brognola and Price checked each screen as the images were played and replayed.
The scenes showed what looked like a massacre. Bodies lay strewed around the location. Some lay still while others moved, wounded but still living. There were bullet wounds in evidence, while other bodies showed evidence of what could only be grenade damage. Among the casualties were a number of children.
“This is what we have,” Kurtzman said. “Los Angeles. Lone shooter. Suddenly opens up in crowded area. It’s been confirmed the weapon was an AK-47. There was no warning. Guy fires indiscriminately into the crowd. Threw up to three fragmentation grenades. It all happened quickly. Open area with no cover. People panic. Shooter has no problem hitting targets. There was a police cruiser nearby with two officers. One gets caught by the blast from a grenade but the other gets his shotgun from the cruiser and takes down the shooter. Cop empties his full magazine into the guy. Cuts him to pieces.”
“Good for him,” Brognola murmured. “Casualties?”
Kurtzman sighed. “Thirteen dead. Close on twenty wounded. A number extremely severe so there could be more deaths yet. The media is having a field day over this.”
“What’s the feeling about the attack?” Barbara Price asked in a quiet voice. Her shock at the images being displayed was noticeable. “Was this some crazy loner, or was it part of a deliberate terrorist attack?”
“Jury is still out on that,” Kurtzman said. “We checked agency databases but no one has a valid opinion yet.”
“Any ID on the shooter?”
“We may have a break there. Just before I came down, Akira picked up on an image posted on the internet. Somebody took a cell phone photo of the dead shooter before the cops cleared the area. It was a pretty clear image. One of those fluke shots. We’re running it through every database we have. Domestic and foreign. We may get lucky.” Kurtzman paused. “Are we thinking this might have a link to the current mission?”
Brognola leaned his hands on the conference table. “We expected some kind of strike from Hand of Allah. No prior warning on exactly what it would be. The only tie-in is the fact that son of a bitch Jack Regan is involved. His business is weapons.” He glanced across at Kurtzman. “Aaron, make contact with Able Team. Update them on what’s happened. Let’s work on the assumption this incident has something to do with what Hand of Allah is planning. Hell, I know it’s supposition at this stage, but we have to stay with the ball.”
Kurtzman picked up one of the telephones and connected with the cyber unit.
“Aaron, give Able everything we have. Advise we might, only might, be looking at what Hand of Allah is planning. Okay, send it through.” Kurtzman put down the phone and swung his chair around to face the plasma screens. “Facial recognition made an ID of the shooter.”
