Ops Files II--Terror Alert by Russell Blake

kidding?”
    “What did you do?” Uri asked.
    She told them about her brush with the intruders, and the older man relaxed back into the seat. “Well, that was lucky. But the bug’s in place and you weren’t spotted?”
    “Correct.”
    “Then all’s well,” Gil said.
    “Right. Except that you didn’t phone me, and the whole operation could have been blown.”
    “They must live in the complex. Nobody went in while you were there. Only people coming out.”
    “Well, there’s a data point to remember if you ever go back in. Seems like your man’s place is used for more than nap time.”
    “Which makes the wiretap even more critical,” Uri said. “Let’s get back to your hotel. I’ll drop you off, and then we can rendezvous later and trade off shifts watching the mullah.”
    “What about the tap?”
    “It’ll activate automatically and transmit any calls to a hard disk at my office. Latest thing.”
    The ride back took three times longer, the roads now jammed with rickshaws, motorcycles, tuk-tuks, and cars swarming without rhyme or reason or any obvious rules of the road. When they arrived at the hotel, Uri turned and nodded to her. “We can pair up later today. Gil here has a meeting – someone we believe is on the inside and can give us information on what the imam is up to.”
    “An informant?” Maya asked.
    “I hope,” Gil confirmed.
    “Does he know who you’re with?”
    “Of course not. He probably suspects CIA, but I’ll let him think whatever he wants. It’s the money that’s got him interested. Funny how all the religious fervor fades once you wave cash in front of these guys,” Gil said.
    “Well, good luck,” Maya said, and then addressed Uri. “What time do you want to pick me up?”
    “Give me a couple of hours to get the day in order. Say…eight thirty?”
    “I’ll be waiting.”
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    The cell phone on Ajmal Kahn’s nightstand trilled, filling the bedroom with its strident blare. Kahn rolled over on the bed and reached for the lamp, switched it on, and then raised the phone to his ear.
    “Hello?” he said, his voice thick with sleep.
    “I have good news,” Abreeq’s distinctive voice said.
    Kahn was instantly wide awake. “Yes?”
    “We should have the package wrapped within a week.”
    “Ready for delivery?”
    “Of course. As agreed.”
    “That is good. I will get you the material you requested. Where are you?”
    “In England.”
    “I will have a courier meet you wherever you like.” The information was far too important to entrust to the Internet or a shipping company, and Kahn was taking no chances with it.
    “Excellent. There is a place that is perfect for a meeting. Crowded. A tourist spot.” Abreeq told him where he had in mind, and they agreed on a day and time. “You have the final payment ready to send?”
    “Yes. As soon as you give me the word.”
    “Very well. I hope to have confirmation that the final steps have been taken and all is in order within…three days, no more.”
    “You are a miracle worker, surely.”
    “Or the bringer of nightmares.”
    “May Allah be with you, my friend. It is a marvelous thing you do.”
    “I shall call after I have met your man. Have him wear a green shirt and a white cap, so I can easily recognize him.”
    “Green and white. It shall be so.”
    “As always, have him come alone. That way if I spot any surveillance, I’ll know it’s not your people.”
    “Of course. He shall be there at the agreed upon time.”
    The phone went dead and Kahn lay back, his mind a blur of thoughts. Finally, the cause he had set in motion months ago would come to fruition, and all the planning, the fundraising, the risks would converge in a plot so audacious, so damaging to the Western fools who meddled in his people’s affairs that they would have no choice but to take notice.
    Kahn knew that foreigners paid little attention to anything that happened outside of their own countries. Their media distorted the