Target America: A Sniper Elite Novel (17 page)

37

LAS VEGAS,
Luxor Hotel

With word of the shooting on the twentieth floor quickly spreading throughout the hotel and casino, Sheriff Moleska’s men were already flooding inside by the time the service elevator reached the ground floor. He stood beside Pope directly outside the service entrance, where the SEALs were now loading the mysterious laundry cart into the back of a white van with US Government plates. They climbed in after it, and Gil slammed the door. Beside the van, two Vegas paramedics loaded Tuckerman’s body into the back of an ambulance.

Moleska looked at Crosswhite. “How big of a mess did they leave up there? I’m already getting reports of a bloodbath.”

“Gil?”

Gil turned to the sheriff. “Five or six unknown gunmen rushed us from the stairwell and killed my man. They’re all dead. A hooker took an errant round to the head. She’s dead too. Also, the hotel concierge. All on the twentieth floor.” He looked at Crosswhite. “We gotta roll.”

“Hold on a minute,” Moleska said. “What about the gunmen? Were they Faisal’s people or somebody else?” Pope had shared Faisal’s identity,
since the sheriff would have learned it soon anyhow. “I need to know whatever you people can tell me right now, because once you disappear, I’ll be on my own to sort this mess out.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but those concerns don’t fall within my mission profile.”

Gil went around the driver’s side and got in behind the wheel. Crosswhite climbed into the passenger seat, and the van pulled out.

Pope offered the sheriff his hand. “Sheriff Moleska, thank you. If we find the nuke in time, you’ll be the man this nation has to thank for it—though I’m afraid that’s going to have to remain a perpetual secret.”

The sheriff only half shook his hand, realizing he was being treated like a schmuck but not really knowing what to do about it. “This is pure bullshit, you know that?”

Pope walked off, but not before promising that the president would personally be helping clean up the mess.

38

LAS VEGAS,
Airport

Pope arrived at the hangar only a few minutes behind Gil and the others. He had just received word through one of his informants inside the NSA that Lijuan had been taken into custody at Los Angeles International Airport, and his guilt was almost more than he could bear. He had not only allowed the NSA to discover that she was a mole, but he had known she was a spy for the Chinese before he had ever even recruited her. Over the past ten years, he had used her as a conduit into the Chinese intelligence network, making her an unwitting accomplice in his grand caper. And though she had performed exactly as planned over the years, he had not. He had allowed himself to fall in love with her, and for a man to allow a woman he loved to hang herself with her own rope was a fiendish act of betrayal—irrespective of his responsibility to his country.

“So who’s doing the interrogation?” Crosswhite asked.

“Gil and I,” Pope answered.

“I’d like to be present.”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

Pope leveled his gaze, his blue eyes gentle. “Because you lost a friend tonight, and you’re known to fly off the handle.”

“We all lost a friend tonight,” Crosswhite said, taking exception to what he considered a slight. “These men have known Tuckerman longer than I have.”

Pope’s expression did not change. “The fact you’ve taken offense only confirms the appropriateness of my decision—which is final.”

Crosswhite felt Gil staring at him and took a step back, remembering all too well that Pope was the reason he was not on his way to prison. “In that case, I’d better see about making sure we’re ready to move on whatever intel Faisal is willing to share.”

“Good idea,” Gil said, giving him a wink.

As Crosswhite walked off across the hangar, Gil could see that Pope was deeply troubled. “I accept full responsibility for everything that went wrong tonight.”

Pope shook his head. “The mission was a success. Faisal is here.”

“Civilians are dead and wounded,” Gil said. “Tuckerman’s body will be identified, and he may even be linked with the Chicago killings. I should have insisted we bring his body back with us.”

“Neither Tuckerman nor Crosswhite were ever in Chicago,” Pope said. “That’s been taken care of. As for the killings at the Luxor, that’s the president’s mess, and his people will have to clean it up. Our job is to find the RA-115.” He took a Red Sox baseball cap from his back pocket and pulled it on. “Now let’s go see what Mr. Faisal has to tell us.”

 • • •

THE FIRST RULE
of enhanced interrogation was never be afraid to lie to the subject. It was important early in the process for him (or her) to believe there was hope of returning to his or her life. It wasn’t always effective, but this gave the interrogator his best shot at getting the information fast.

This was why the first thing Gil said to Faisal was, “If you ever want to get near that American pussy again, I suggest you tell us everything you know about the RA-115.”

Faisal was sitting on a bench in the pilots’ locker room with his hands still flex-cuffed behind him. The surgeon had given him a shot of adrenaline to wake him up and declared him to be in good health, save for the broken nose he’d received from Tuckerman’s flying elbow. But a clean bill of health wasn’t exactly good news for Faisal; it cleared Gil to treat him as brutally as he needed to.

“I don’t know what that is,” Faisal said with a shrug. “I swear to you.”

“It’s a Russian suitcase nuke.” Gil tore the top from a box of common garbage bags. “We need to know where the fuck it is, and you’re going to tell us—one way or another.” He pulled a bag from the roll and dropped the box onto the bench beside a roll of duct tape.

“I’m a member of the Saudi royal family.” Faisal’s voice was shaking. “I demand to speak to our lawyer.”

“The family’s already given you up,” Pope lied. “How do you think we found out about you?”

For Faisal, that was the worst piece of news he could have received. Not only had the family somehow discovered his ties to AQAP, they had completely disinherited him.

Gil saw the crushed look in Faisal’s eyes. “Do you think we’d torture a member of the royal family without King Abdullah’s consent?”

Faisal’s eyes filled with tears. “What do you need to know?”

Gil smacked him hard across the face. “I already told you, numb nuts! Where’s the fucking bomb?”

Faisal shook his head, feeling his bladder letting go. “I swear to you, I don’t know! I only provided the money. It’s Kashkin you want—the Chechen! You need to find Kashkin. He brought the bomb from Mexico.”

Pope recognized the name Kashkin but couldn’t remember from where. He took a satellite phone from his pocket and stepped to the back of the room.

“So where do I find Kashkin?” Gil pressed.

“I have no idea.”

“Listen, fuck stick. This little Q&A is about to get real unpleasant for you.” He opened the black garbage bag and shook it out to fill it with air.

“Please!” Faisal said. “I don’t know where to find Kashkin or the
bomb. If I did, I would tell you! Do you think I want to be here? He was in Vegas on the day of the accident, but I don’t know where he is now.”

Pope put away the phone and came forward. “Did you
speak
with Kashkin on the day of the New Mexico Event?”

“Yes!” Faisal answered. “That was the last time.”

This told Pope they had a recording of Kashkin’s voice.

“Names,” Gil said. “Give us the names of everybody you know who was involved.”

Faisal knew that to admit to helping AQAP would doom him forever with the family. He had to at least try to save himself. “Kashkin was my only contact.”

Pope stepped forward, producing an ice pick from what seemed like thin air, stabbing it deep into Faisal’s face alongside his busted nose and leaving it there.

Faisal shrieked in terror, his eyes crossing as he tried to see what had been stabbed into his face.

Gil took a step back, shocked to see such a vicious act coming from an otherwise very mild-mannered man. They let Faisal scream himself out, which took about thirty seconds before he fell to sobbing like a child.

Pope took hold of the ice pick handle, and Faisal screamed again.

“Shhhh!” Pope looked down into Faisal’s horrified eyes. “Listen to me now. Listen to me, Muhammad. I’m going to do that over and over again until your face looks like a tomato unless you stop lying to me. Okay?” He was thinking of Lijuan sitting in a government holding cell, alone and afraid.

Faisal blinked once, afraid to move because of Pope’s grip on the wooden handle sticking out of his face. “The al-Rashid brothers,” he whined. “Akram and Haroun. Wahhabi fanatics with Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula. They came to me for money four years ago. I didn’t want to help them buy the bomb, but they threatened me.”

Pope knew of the al-Rashid brothers, and to hear their names made him nauseous. “Are they still living in Canada?”

“Yes.”

“Where in Canada?”

“Windsor!” Faisal sobbed.

“Very good,” Pope said softly. “Now, what other names can you give me?”

Faisal was sobbing openly now, his upturned face awash in his tears. “I swear to you I don’t know anyone else.”

“But you’ve already lied to me so many times, Muhammad. How can I possibly believe that?”

“I’m not lying now!” Faisal wailed. “Please believe me!” He choked painfully on the blood and mucus draining down the back of his throat from his pierced sinus cavity, each convulsion causing the sharp steel probe to contort the musculature of his face. “Pull it out!”

“Look into my eyes, Muhammad. I’m going to stab you in the face again because I believe you’re lying to me.”

“
No
!
” Faisal shrieked. “I’m telling you the truth!”

Pope pulled the ice pick from Faisal’s face. “Hold his head, Gil.”

Gil reluctantly grabbed hold of Faisal’s head to steady it.

“
No
!
” Faisal shrieked with such force that it sounded like his vocal cords might snap. “I don’t know anything more!
For the love God! I don’t know anything
!
”

Pope stood back and looked at Gil. “What do you think?”

Gil had seen enough, both of the ice pick and of Faisal’s testimony. “I’m pretty sure he’s tapped out.”

They left Faisal sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of the locker room.

Gil had some difficulty concealing his discomfort as he stood in the hall watching Pope think things over. He would have personally preferred the bloodless method of torture by suffocation, but he had to admit that Pope had gotten results very quickly after that stab to the face.

“Should we call the president?” he asked. “We’re going to need to get the Canadians on board to help us find—”

“No,” Pope said, half lost in thought. “We don’t need their help. I already know where the al-Rashid brothers live. They’re across the Detroit River from Detroit.” He stood staring at the floor.

“What’s wrong?”

Pope looked up. “I classified the al-Rashid brothers as low risk six months ago.” He shook his head. “The ultimate failure on my part—absolutely unforgivable.”

“What are you going to recommend to the president?”

“Nothing at all. It’s our mission to find the bomb, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Right,” Gil said, “but the president needs to get the Canadians on board.”

“And risk the Canadians screwing things up?” Pope shook his head. “No way. You and your team are going to cross the river and bring the al-Rashids back to American soil, where we can deal with them however we need to.”

“Bob, that could be considered an act of war against an ally.”

“Yes, it could, and that’s precisely why the president has chosen a team that he can easily disavow. Don’t forget what you signed on for. We’re all expendable assets.”

Gil nodded. “Okay. You gather the intel, and I’ll brief the men.” He gestured at the locker room door. “What about him?”

“Forget him,” Pope said absentmindedly. “He’s my problem now.”

39

LAS VEGAS,
Airport

Gil took Crosswhite aside after briefing the team on a probable incursion into Canada. “This stays between us.”

“Okay.”

“Pope took an ice pick to Faisal’s face.”

Crosswhite pulled back his shoulders. “How, exactly?”

“I mean he stabbed the fucker in the face with an ice pick.”

“Jesus! I guess it worked, huh?”

“You could say that.” Gil put out his hand. “Gimme a smoke.”

“When you gonna buy your own?”

“After I smoke all yours.” Gil lit the cigarette. “Something’s up with him.”

“Pope? Or Faisal?”

“Pope. He’s on edge about something. First he snaps and stabs a guy in the face, and now he’s ordering us into Canada without consulting the president.”

“Gonna go over his head?”

“We just have to make sure we don’t get caught on the wrong side of the river, that’s all.”

A few minutes later, he was sorting his gear and decided to check his iPhone on the off-chance that Marie had called.

He listened to her voice mail and called her right back.

She answered on the first ring. “Gil?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Where are you?”

“I’m in Nevada.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“I can’t,” he said. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She didn’t reply immediately.

“Marie, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone. Why can’t you come home?”

“Because I’m—I’m working.”

“Jesus!” she said. “Can’t you tell me what the hell you’re doin’ just once? You’re not even workin’ for the goddamn navy anymore.”

He knew instantly that something was gravely wrong. “Is it Mom? Did something happen?”

“Gil, tell me what the
fuck
you’re doin’ that’s so important!” Her voice was shrill, and it scared him deep in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m looking for the goddamn nuke!” he blurted. “There, ya happy? I just gave out classified information over a fuckin’ cell phone! Now what’s wrong, honey? I don’t have time for this.”

She fell silent, and he could just imagine her sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hand; Oso sitting next to the chair, whining. “Marie, please tell me what’s wrong.”

She sniffled hard, and he knew she was crying.

“Baby, please tell me.”

“There was a man here,” she said finally. “Up on the ridge—with a rifle.”

Gil’s heart skipped a beat, but he remained composed. “Is he still there?”

“I shot him, Gil. I shot ’im from the bedroom window and hid his body in the stable.”

His eyes filled with tears, knowing that his wife would never again
be the same woman. Now there would always be a hardness to her, a hardness where once there had been only innocence.

“I love you,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened.”

When they finished talking some twenty minutes later, Gil got off the phone and called an old friend of the family named Buck Ferguson, who owned the ranch on the other side of the valley from his own. He told Buck what was going on and asked him if he wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Marie and his mother-in-law until he could get there himself.

“Hell, no, I don’t mind!” Buck said. “The boys and I are leaving right now.”

With that taken care of, Gil crossed the hangar to where Pope was on his satellite phone with a high muckety-muck in the DOD. “We need to talk right now.”

Pope saw the look in his eye and cut the call short. “What’s wrong?”

“I gotta get to Montana.”

“You gotta what?”

“Get to Montana.”

Pope looked around as if there might be a clue to this unexpected intrigue elsewhere in the hangar. “Gil, I don’t understand. We’re airborne for Detroit in less than an hour. I just got us clearance to land on Grosse Ile.”

Gil told Pope what had happened on the ranch and that Marie was in possession of the dead assassin’s laptop computer.

“Can she access the hard drive?”

“It’s password protected. Look, the assassin’s not an Arab. Marie says he’s a Caucasian with a German passport. So he’s probably Chechen. If he is—”

“He could be connected with the bomb,” Pope said, finishing the thought for him. “Okay, listen, there’s no way I can let you go to Montana. What I’ll do is have an Air Guard helo pick the computer up from the ranch and fly it back to the air base at Great Falls. From there an F-15 from the 186th can rendezvous with us in Detroit. That’s the fastest way for us to get our hands on it. Tell Marie to have the computer and passport ready and waiting when the helo gets there.”

Aside from her emotional well-being, Gil was also concerned for
Marie in a legal sense. “What are you going to tell the president about Marie shooting the guy? She hasn’t called the police.”

“The truth,” Pope said with a shrug. “What else?”

“And if he decides to sic the attorney general after her?”

Pope adjusted his cap with a smile. “He’d never even consider such a thing. In fact, he’ll probably invite her to the White House for a Medal of Freedom ceremony. We already know how much he loves bestowing our nation’s highest honors upon members of the heroic Shannon family.”

Gil smiled dryly. “When ya get a minute, kiss my ass, will ya?”

Pope laughed. “You remind me of your father.”