Chapters (96)
- Cover
- Berkley titles by David Ricciardi
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- CHARACTER LIST
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Jake examined a crate of AK-47s lying open against the wall. On the side was stenciled SO XDS.
“What does that mean?” he said.
“Somali Army issue. Somebody raided an armory outside town, sold them to a dealer, and the next day you could buy one in the Bakaara Market for seven hundred bucks. That’s the scale of the problem we’re dealing with down here. Someone literally stole the army’s guns.”
Jake kept walking. Along the back wall was a bench press, a gun safe, and a concrete ramp to a set of Bilco doors that had to be opened from the inside.
“And all you have protecting this is that trap door in my closet?” Jake asked.
Pickens gestured to the ceiling. Evenly spaced around the room were two dozen blocks of C4 plastic explosive that were connected by bundles of explosive detonating cord that ran to an alarm panel.
“You wire that yourself?” Jake asked.
“With a safe-separation timer, a collapsible circuit, and everything.” Pickens grinned. “I’ve become something of an expert in the field.”
“It would turn this place into a volcano.”
Pickens nodded. “If you hear the alarm, it’s probably too late.”
“Do the sellers of all this stuff know you’re Agency?”
“Hell no.” Pickens laughed. “And I’ll be doing this long after you’re gone, so I’ll need to maintain cover while you’re here. I won’t be able to go to every meeting with you.”
Jake nodded as he walked around the basement. “I just can’t get my head around all the weapons,” he said. “How many arms dealers are there in Somalia?”
“Too many to count,” said Pickens, “but most of the serious stuff is handled by a dude named Cawar.”
SIX
THE NICKNAME MEANT “one eye.”
He’d lost the other one to an American bullet during the Battle of Mogadishu in 1993, but unlike most men who’d lost an eye, Cawar didn’t wear a patch or dark glasses.
It was just sewn shut.
And by the looks of it, by someone with no prior experience in the field.
—
HE’D GOTTEN HIS start soon after the Barre regime was deposed and Somalia fell into civil war. Frustrated with the near-anarchy, conservative Muslim elements in the southern part of the country had formed what came to be known as the Islamic Courts Union. Its original goal had been relatively narrow in scope—to provide a judicial system that transcended the clans, in this case, a system based on Islamic sharia law.
But like most bureaucracies, the ICU continually sought to expand its mandate and soon attempted to regulate all aspects of Somali life, by force, if necessary. By 2006, the ICU controlled most of the country from the southern border with Kenya up to the capital city of Mogadishu.