“They’ve raised the threat level at the US Embassy, notified the Nigerian authorities that an attack is likely imminent. But between pirates in the south and Boko Haram in the north, that’s nothing new. We don’t know what Usman’s destination is, and he’s on a trajectory for Abuja or Lagos. So the real question is, how do we react?”
David tapped an index finger against his chin, studying the screen.
But rather than answer, he produced a sticker from his pocket and handed it to the intelligence operative. “After our little scrape with the pirates, we found three kilos of coke. Those stickers were on all of them—you recognize it?”
Ian took the sticker, examining the ram skull logo before handing it back with a shrug.
“It’s not unusual. Lots of producers label their stuff to create brand loyalty, the same as any marketing department would. Most of the time they use logos from major brands—Ferrari, Rolex, Gucci, that sort of thing—but sometimes it’s custom. I don’t recognize the ram skull, if that’s what you’re asking. Could try to run it down if—”
“No.” David returned the sticker to his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. I was just curious, and besides, I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
Then he stretched, groaning and releasing an exhausted sigh as he concluded, “I’ve got an idea about how to handle Usman.”
4
CIA Headquarters
Special Activities Center, Operations Center F2
David’s voice transmitted from the speaker box on the desk, “Raptor Nine One, this is Suicide Actual.”
Duchess grabbed her hand mic and replied, “This is Raptor Nine One, send your traffic.”
“Suicide element is consolidated at the safehouse. No complications since our pirate encounter last night. Angel has gotten me up to speed on our target status, and I have a proposed change to our mission plan.”
Pausing before she responded, Duchess surveyed the room around her.
The operations center was filled with staff members seated among the tiers descending to the front of the room, where a series of flat-screens displayed digital imagery of Nigeria. The one she was watching at present showed the town of Bauchi, where Usman Mokhammed’s cell phone beacon was conspicuously absent.
Feeling the eyes in the room upon her, she transmitted back, “Go ahead.”
David continued, “Recommend I take my team to Jos—it’s eighty miles southwest of Usman’s current location in Bauchi, and the last spot along the A3 Highway before he could change direction.”
Duchess located the town on her computer screen, orienting herself as David continued, “If Usman activates his cell phone before he moves, that gives us over an hour of lead time to set up a vehicle interdiction. Once we have eyes-on, I’ll make the assessment on whether he’s got more men than we can handle. If he does, we don’t spring the ambush but provide exact reporting on his vehicle makes, models, and license plates—everything the Nigerian military needs to find him before he can attack. But if he’s traveling with light security, my team can take him on the road, kill him tonight, and be back in Abuja, mission complete, by sunrise.”
“Let me confer with my staff.” Duchess set down her mic and called out, “J2, what’s the threat level between Bauchi and Jos?”
Andolin Lucios stood at the front of the room, turning to face her as he replied with a trace of Spanish accent coloring his otherwise monotone voice.
“Bauchi is pretty secure; the Nigerian government actually relocated a few hundred schoolgirls there after the Chibok kidnapping. No Boko Haram attacks for years. In Jos, where the team proposes to stage, there have been clashes between Christian and Muslim populations. Some of them fatal. But it’s all local ethnic strife, no Boko Haram activity to speak of. Given the large expat community in Nigeria writ large, I don’t assess any issues with the team traveling to either town.”
“Thank you,” Duchess said, and Lucios sat down as she called out, “J3?”
Wes Jamieson rose and answered in a booming voice.
“There are some small villages along that stretch of highway, but the vast majority is open woodland and tall grass savanna. We shouldn’t have a problem recommending ambush sites for the team to confirm or deny before nightfall. But I don’t think a static vehicle interdiction is our best play. Depending on traffic density, we risk civilian cars in the crossfire.”
“Noted,” she said. “Then what would you recommend?”
Running a hand through his auburn hair, Jamieson answered, “The team’s got multiple vehicles at their disposal. I’d advocate for a mobile ambush, probably tailing Usman out of Bauchi and having the assault elements spread out along the highway. That way they can consolidate and take him on the open road with a minimum of civilian traffic. If Usman is traveling in a single vehicle, it could be as easy as a PIT maneuver and gunning down any survivors. And if he’s moving in a convoy, they can transition to surveillance-only and see where he’s headed.”
Duchess nodded, and Jamieson sat down.
“Legal?”
Now Gregory Pharr rose, attired in a suit as was his custom despite the business casual dress requirements.
He began, “Geographically, we have no restrictions on moving inside Nigeria. The A3 Highway is as good as hitting Usman outside Gwoza as originally planned, and probably much safer for the team.”
“Understood. Thank you, Gregory.”
But rather than sit down, Pharr continued, “The real problem will be positive identification of the target. Once Usman activates his cell phone, we’ve got plus or minus five-meter fidelity on his location. When he’s out on the open road, that means something—but only if there’s not much traffic. Due to the delay in his cell phone GPS reporting, we need to mitigate any possibility of collateral damage. At a minimum, that’s going to require a positive identification within our margin of error.”
Duchess said, “So you agree with Wes—have a team vehicle tail Usman’s tracker out of Bauchi?”
“And then proceed within the five-meter bubble. If we co-locate a team tracker with Usman’s phone when there are no other cars in the vicinity, we’ve done our due diligence for positive identification on that specific vehicle.”
“At which point I can greenlight the attack.”
“Yes, ma’am. Then we’re in the clear, legally speaking. The rest is up to the team’s discretion. But to do any less is to put this project into a very gray area—”
Duchess interceded, “I’ve heard enough, Gregory. No need to push the envelope here.”
Pharr nodded, a subtle indication that to ignore his guidance was to jeopardize the Agency’s targeted killing program in its entirety, then took his seat.
Then Duchess turned her attention to the woman seated beside her: Jo Ann Brown, an active-duty lieutenant commander in the Navy and the head military liaison to Project Longwing.
“And what say you, Jo Ann?”
The Wisconsin native shifted in her seat, crossing her legs as she replied, “I think it’s got ‘clean kill’ written all over it so long as we get PID. This has potential to be the first no-strings mission success for our team. But that’s only if Usman is traveling with light security.”