Keeping a low profile was not easy anymore. After the botched assassination attempt in Savannah, Georgia on St. Patrick’s Day, his likeness and description had been telecast worldwide, and since that day, he was at the top of Interpol’s most wanted list.
The logical thing was to disguise his appearance. Although distasteful to him personally, he kept his hair bleached and dyed to match the natural white streak in his hair leaving him with a full head of white hair. Dark brown contacts in both eyes masked his mismatched irises, one vivid blue, the other light brown. All traits associated with his Waardenburg’s Syndrome, a hereditary medical condition passed to him by his father.
During childhood he’d dealt with the ridicule and joking about his different eye color and white streaked hair. He ignored the teasing and pretended it didn’t bother him. But things changed after he witnessed the rape. He began to get in fights, each one more brutal than the last, until he beat a boy to death. He hid the body and was never implicated — another runaway teenager the authorities ruled.
Fear was soon replaced by the thrill of domination. There were other children who later disappeared and were never found. But they got what they deserved. And so will the meddling American.
In the distance Collins could see the Greek island of Silkinos. A beautiful backdrop as the sun sank lower into the western sky glistening off the crystalline waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
Revenge. How sweet it will be.
He sat on the rock and plotted.
Plotted his revenge. He wanted to make the man pay for destroying his livelihood. He wouldn’t kill the man — not at first anyway. Killing the man was too easy. Collins wanted him to suffer. Just like the girl who teased him in school, he tormented her first by putting her cat’s head in her lunchbox. Later she disappeared.
The meddling man who had ruined his reputation would feel Collins’ wrath. Soon, the man would know it was he who killed his fiancée. Collins would take great pleasure delivering that message. The man needed to feel guilt, needed to suffer.
Then, Collins would kill him.
Collins left his perch at the top of the hill and started down the path toward his villa. His plan became clear. A smile crept across his face.
Collins knew how he’d kill Jake Pendleton.
CHAPTER 4
“What do you mean the mission might be scrubbed?” Jake looked at the ASIS analyst. The last thing he wanted was a delay. He could feel anxiety welling up inside him. He needed this mission. The missions were his therapy sessions. It was only during the missions where he had the opportunity to avenge his fiancée’s death. He wouldn’t let this terrorist escape.
The Integrator 2100TS secure phone beeped. “Ask him yourself, that’s the director now.” The analyst got up from his chair and pointed to the phone, “All yours mate.”
Kaplan stepped forward and pushed the speakerphone button. “Kaplan.”
The voice was CIA Director Bentley, “Gregg, is Jake with you?”
“Right here, sir.” Jake said.
The ASIS analyst walked to the door flap, stepped out, and secured the copper mesh door. A potential weak spot for leakage, the door was sealed with a copper infused version of Velcro then verified safe using the T-Set to check for signal leaks.
“Good. I’ll let George take it from here.”
Jake first met George Fontaine six months prior when he’d arrived at CIA Headquarters in Langley and received his initial briefing on the two Irishmen who had escaped the day his fiancée was mortally wounded. At just under six feet, Fontaine was overweight with brown hair and a crooked nose, which matched his crooked smile — the smile never seemed to leave his face. But most of all, Fontaine was competent.
Competent and thorough.
The same way Jake had been when he was an intelligence officer for the U. S. Navy. The way he had been when he served under Bentley. A trait Bentley demanded from his subordinates. ‘Leave no stone unturned. No possibility unexplored. No detail ignored.’ was Bentley’s dictum. Jake held fast to it in the Navy, as did Fontaine with the CIA.
“Jake. Gregg. We’ve picked up intel and chatter that an American might be in the camp. Goes by the name of Khan, Hashim Khan. He declared himself a traitor and now ranks high in al Qaeda, handling and planning cell movements and attacks. His photo should come across the wire any second now. He’s number three on the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorists List — even higher than Yasir. Khan has been blamed for planning several terrorist attacks around the globe including the failed Detroit airliner bombing, the DC subway attempt, and the Times-Square car bomb attempt. We believe he’s planning another attack or attacks and is in Australia with Yasir.”
“Sounds incompetent to me.” Jake said.
“Might seem that way, but those failed attempts were in the U.S. In other parts of the world he’s responsible for dozens of attacks and over a hundred deaths. We need more time to figure out his intentions. If we move prematurely, Khan’s associates might move without him and we’ll never know his intended targets.
Jake looked at Kaplan while he spoke to Fontaine, “That’s a load of crap, George. We’re ready for this op. We can get in and out, capture Yasir and Khan. Then we’ll let Gregg do that interrogation shit you guys taught him.” He glanced at Kaplan.
“Jake’s right, sir.” Kaplan said to Bentley. “We have all the data we need. It’s time to make our move. Whatever Khan is planning, I’ll get it out of him.”
There was a faint click on the speakerphone.
Thirty seconds later another click, Bentley’s voice. “Gentlemen, perhaps you’re right. Now might be the time to move. Jake, my concern is you. There is no room for compromise here. It is imperative they both be captured and interrogated. If Kaplan can’t break them, then I’ll send someone down who can.”
“I can break him, sir.” Kaplan said. “Just give us the green light.”
Jake smiled. He knew Bentley had decided to let them go ahead with the mission. He would control himself with Khan and Yasir. He had no choice. After the last mission, Bentley had talked to him about his trigger-happy tendencies and put him on notice.
Two weeks ago, Bentley looked him in the eyes, “Jake, the definition of clandestine is ‘executed with secrecy.’ That’s why we’re called the Clandestine Service — secrecy is our mission. You can’t leave a trail of dead bodies everywhere you go. It raises too many eyebrows. I have a member of the Senate breathing down my back about your last operation. Says I need to learn to control my people.”
“I’m sorry sir.” Jake said. “But in my defense, the mission you’re talking about, I stopped the bombing of the market. Those two men I shot were about to kill a lot of innocent people. You know how dangerous Afghanistan can be.”
“Again, Jake. Clandestine. I don’t give a damn that you killed those two goons. They deserved to die. I do care that you got caught on camera. It was hard to justify our presence over there. Just promise me you’ll be more discreet.”
“Yes sir.”
The radio cracked then Bentley's voice, “The mission with the Australians is on for tonight.” He said. “I’ll let Fontaine give you a briefing but before you sign off, I want to talk you about another matter.”
Jake noticed something out of the ordinary in Bentley’s usual calm voice.
Humming sounds filled the room as the data encrypted computers came to life. The monitor displayed a diagram of the al Qaeda camp. Jake recognized it immediately. The encrypted fax machine hummed the arrival of a new fax.