Nassir frowned. “I thought you wanted me to do something. I’m not much for asking questions, unless Justin refuses to answer them.”
The colonel sighed. This is why I didn’t want to involve you in this. I don’t need a sledgehammer for a small nail.
“Let me make myself clear, Nassir. We need Mr. Hall alive, so that he can brief the Americans. I just want to know what happened during the time we didn’t have our eyes on him. Do you understand that?”
“I do.”
“And can you do that?”
Nassir stared at the colonel.
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes. I want to make sure you get it.”
“Yes, I can talk to Justin, if he wants to talk. In Sudan, he didn’t strike me as a man of many words.”
“Oh, now you know everything about him?”
Nassir shook his head.
“Let me tell you something about Mr. Hall. He was here two years ago, on a rescue mission. We dragged his wounded body to a cell and threw away the key. But he fought back and slipped out of our hands, destroying a mosque, and killing fourteen people in the process. An entire unit of elite operatives. Very good men.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“So that you don’t underestimate him. Tarek will go with you to ensure you don’t.”
Nassir looked at the other man in the colonel’s office. Tarek had not said a word ever since Nassir had arrived, about an hour ago. He was just staring at the colonel, his small body leaning forward in the chair. His hands rested on his knees and he looked ready to spring to action at any time.
Nassir began, “Look, I don’t need any—”
The colonel interrupted him with, “You’re a simple mercenary. Tarek is mukhabarat. He knows the city and he knows Mr. Hall.”
“I know—”
“You’re wasting time, Nassir.”
Before the colonel finished his sentence, Tarek was already on his feet.
The taxi driver, a thin-framed, elderly man who looked like he should have retired about ten years earlier, drove fast and hard. The Nissan rattled in loud mechanical protests every time the driver negotiated swift turns around narrow curbs. The brakes screeched as the wheels barely missed garbage heaps, stray cats, and all types of waste thrown almost everywhere. The driver chose the emptiest alleys as he raced for the fastest shortcut to the Libya British Diagnostic Center. As the taxi came to an abrupt halt in front of the four-story grayish building, Justin’s wristwatch indicated he still had ten minutes to spare.
The US Embassy’s compound stretched over an area of two city blocks. Justin walked by its white and beige walls, two feet thick and eight feet tall. They were topped with an additional two feet of cast iron staggered fence. The Old Glory flew atop a tall flagpole, under the bright glow of white floodlights.
The entire area was well-lit and a few uniformed police officers were patrolling the streets leading to the diplomatic residence. Two police trucks were parked on a sidewalk. Justin assumed police backup was in there.
“There he is.” Nassir stared through the windshield of the second police truck at Justin across the street. “Let’s go.”
Tarek, in the driver’s seat, shook his head. Both were dressed in police uniforms.
“We have only five minutes before he gets inside,” Nassir insisted.
“Wrong. He’ll circle the complex, to familiarize himself with the surroundings.” Tarek started the truck and put it in reverse. “We’ll wait for him on the other side.”
Marines manned an observation station set up to the left of the main entrance gate to the embassy. Justin could not see their faces, but he was sure the Marines were monitoring his moves from behind the small, bulletproof windows. He walked down the street that was the farthermost from the embassy walls and rounded the corner, coming face to face with a police truck parked about thirty yards away. Its length blocked most of the sidewalk. Two police officers were inside the idling vehicle.
Justin’s body tensed involuntarily. Are they here for me? No reports mentioned police patrols along the east side of the compound. Perhaps they beefed up security because of the bombings.
He looked beyond the police truck. A small convenience store was a hundred yards away, at the end of the backstreet. Someone from the embassy was supposed to be waiting there for Justin.
Turning around will raise more suspicion than if I just keep going. One last obstacle.
Justin slowed down but kept moving toward the truck.
“Now,” Nassir said, leaning on the door handle.
Before he could move, he felt a sharp pain stabbing through his ribcage. He opened his mouth to scream, but Tarek’s low voice stopped him.
“That’s for being full of shit.”
Tarek twisted the knife he had snatched from Nassir’s side. The sharp, serrated blade slashed through Nassir’s lungs, and a muffled cry escaped his bleeding mouth.
“And this is for disrespecting the colonel.”
Nassir left hand twitched, in a lame attempt to grab Tarek’s arm. Tarek blocked the effort with ease and held it there for three more seconds, the time it took for Nassir to stop breathing.
He pulled the knife and opened the truck’s door.
Justin stopped as one of the police officers, the one in the driver’s seat, stepped out of the truck. The other remained in the front passenger’s seat, his head slightly turned to the right, as if staring out the window.
“Good evening, officer,” Justin said in English, while looking to the left at the apartment complex and then at the officer approaching him. He was holding something in his right hand, something that seemed to continue up his sleeve. Is that a baton?
“What are you doing here?” the officer’s voice came out rough and accusatory.
“I was out for a walk. Is that a crime?” Justin took a step back, his mind calculating his options. The second officer was still inside the truck. Maybe I can outrun him. No need to start a fight.
“Show me your ID,” the officer demanded, closing in on him.
“Sure.”
Justin’s left hand went for a front pocket, but his eyes never left the officer’s frowning face. Where have I seen this man? A flash of headlights from a turning car lit up the area and Justin recognized the man. He was one of the prison guards.
Before Justin could act on his realization, the officer stretched his right arm. A long blade glinted briefly under the diming light. Justin had a split second to throw his head back. The tip of the blade sliced through the air, an inch away from his throat.
“Remember me?” the officer asked, stepping forward, while Justin fell back.
“Yeah, Tarek. You’re the one I left for dead.”
“Mistake. Should have finished your job.”
“I won’t waste this second chance.”
Tarek lifted the blade again. This time Justin had a defense plan. As Tarek thrust his arm forward, going for Justin’s chest, Justin took a step back. He deflected Tarek’s attack with his right forearm and grabbed Tarek’s wrist with both hands. His fingers sank into the attacker’s hand and he twisted the man’s wrist, his body moving away from the knife. Tarek began to scream, but Justin stifled him with a forceful punch to the throat. Choking, Tarek stopped fighting.
“How did you find me?” Justin asked.