“I’m taking you back to South Africa.” Jacob looked away. “Just as well. Colonel Frederick is in a foul mood. Best you not meet with him now.”
“Any word on Wahab or Van Wartt?”
“I have it on good authority that Mr. Dawid van Wartt is headed for some extensive legal problems in his country,” Jacob said. “As far as Abdul Wahab is concerned, he may have lucked out.”
“How’s that?”
Jacob spat. “You’ll have to bring the matter up with your Colonel Frederick when you see him next.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Elizabeth Kerr stopped in front of the metal security door and tapped five numbers on the keypad. The lock clicked open and she walked into the special task force office space. In more than a week the fourteen-person group gave the appearance of having been together for months. Maps and posters were pinned to the off-white walls; piles of files and books lay scattered on desks along with various-shaped coffee mugs.
As she started for John Matterhorn’s glass-enclosed office in the corner of the expansive space, flashing yellow warning lights suspended from the dull white ceiling startled her. They served to alert the office staff that non-CIA or non-cleared visitors were present in the office space, so safeguard classified material.
Kerr halted. Furious. This was the third time it happened. Everyone on the staff knew she was from the National Imagery and Mapping Agency, with security clearances on her dossier that matched theirs and a few additional accesses most of them hadn’t heard of. These people knew she was the reason for their existence as a task force. She had seen the blip on her computer indicating a nuclear emission originating in southern Africa. Because of her perseverance, her superiors followed up on the discovery and notified the CIA. Clutching her folder, she turned to leave when the chief, John Matterhorn, ran out of his office toward her.
“Elizabeth.” He led her to his office. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
If it weren’t for their family connections, she would have told John to take his task force and his surly, insular people and stick them all up his ass. She had calmed a bit by the time she entered his office and settled in a chair across from him. John began sorting out the photographs and data sheets she laid before him. Lost in studying the material, it appeared he had let the earlier flashing light incident pass — she hadn’t.
“John, before we start analyzing this data, please explain what happened in Namibia yesterday.”
He removed his glasses and cleaned them with an ironed handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket. A heavy sigh followed. Carefully he replaced them, avoiding her gaze. “Things did not go as planned.”
“Yes, I know. The plane flew off with the bomb.” She let the words hang.
“Our people were captured, tortured. Thank goodness, they’re alive.” He avoided her gaze. “We have alerted CIA stations in Angola and the Congo. We’re setting up an interception in the Chad region.”
“Interception?”
“We’re looking for an asset in one of the foreign air forces. Force the plane down, you know?”
Kerr looked out John’s office and saw his people on the phones, walking back and forth with papers in their hands. These people with all their sources and analysis hadn’t a clue where the plane was now, or was headed. She did.
“John. Look at this map and this readout.” She slid them in front of him. “Five hours ago we identified what we believe is our target aircraft flying over the northern region of Angola. The direction of the flight was still due north.”
“How?” John looked up. “Is the bomb leaking again? Is that how you found it again?”
“No. It’s not leaking.”
Then how …?”
“We have a new satellite. Polyphemus.”
John moved close to her. “Really?”
“Not to get overly specific, the satellite …” She searched for words not too technical and not too revealing of her agency’s sensitive information. “The satellite took an image of the plane while it was parked on the Bruin Karas runway. Sort of a three-dimensional fingerprint. The image is in the satellite’s computer memory, and it can search for the plane using the stored criteria.”
“So you know where it is all the time?”
“No. The technology’s not perfected. Weather, clouds play havoc with the input.” She folded her hands on the table. “You can imagine the problems with the tropical storms.”
John studied the map and the data in front of him. “It was here five hours ago. Looks like the intended destination is Libya.”
“Maybe.”
“I know what you’re thinking. We’re fixated on Libya.”
“What really happened on the ground in Namibia? I thought you had your top man there.”
John raised his hands. “We did. Gus Frederick told me his people fell into a trap. He’s very irritated with Hayden Stone.”
“John, you can say it. He’s damn pissed off. As he should be.”
“Yes, Gus is disappointed.”
“So get a new man.”
John Matterhorn studied her. “We all make mistakes. All have setbacks.” He looked down at the report as he spoke. “For years Gus and Stone have had running battles. Sort of like an ongoing Kabuki dance.”
“This is no time for dancing.”
“Hayden Stone always comes through.”
Kerr murmured, “Yeah.”
Matterhorn’s assistant knocked on the door. “Miss Kerr. You have a call on the Green Phone.”
Kerr left the office and went to the long table by the far wall holding a bank of secure phones. When she left his office, she heard John instruct his assistant to pass the word that the warning lights were not to be turned on when Kerr came in.
A few minutes later Kerr returned and sat waiting for John to finish his own phone call. When he hung up, he said, “Latest position we have for our target is over the Congo River. Moving faster than we thought it would. Wonder where the next refuel stop will be.” “Another bit of information. One of its two engines is giving it some problems,” Kerr said.
“Polyphemus can see that? Amazing.” He thought a second. “Good news. That’ll slow them down or force them to land.”
“Something else. The direction of flight is shifting slightly to the west.”
“Ah. North by northwest.”
“Sorry, John. That’s only a movie title. On a compass rose the direction is north-northwest.”
He looked up on the map of Africa on his wall. “That is not in the direction of Libya, is it? Unless they were blown off course.”
“More in the direction of Gabon or Cameroon,” Kerr said. “We should know in a little while. Unfortunately, Polyphemus is down right now.”
At the CIA safe house, Hayden Stone tried to relax on the wooden deck overlooking a gloomy False Bay. The gray, overcast sky accompanied a wintry wind from the beach. A doctor and nurse from the American Consulate were examining Sandra’s and Dirk Lange’s multiple injuries. Stone volunteered to be treated after them. He knew none of his bones were broken, although he had large welts and bruises on his chest and legs. The two gashes in his scalp might need stitches.
That morning they had flown back on Jacob’s helicopter and were dropped off at a nearby airport. The Mossad agent had fidgeted and huffed the entire flight. Jacob kept saying, “Shouldn’t have let them take it.”
An hour out of Cape Town, Stone leaned close to him and said he knew that the same helicopter they were in had landed a few days ago near the boxcar and the occupants had inspected the bomb.