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
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Graves stared at the camera for a few seconds.
“Good,” he said eventually. “Maybe it’ll flush out our boy.”
The screen went dark.
TWENTY-TWO
PICKENS HAD THE machine gun on his lap again.
Dawn was still two hours away as Jake drove to the outskirts of Mogadishu. It was a dangerous neighborhood for two foreigners, made even more so by the nature of their work. A new IMSI catcher was on the center console, acting like radar to locate anyone around them who was using a cell phone. Jake killed the lights and turned off the pavement. The closest user was a quarter mile away.
The two CIA officers drove a hundred yards down a long dirt road and stopped. Jake opened the SUV’s trunk and he and Pickens hauled a mildly sedated Mahad fifty feet off the road into a flat area filled with nothing but scrub brush and litter. With Pickens holding the machine gun, Jake loosened the hood, removed the leg restraints, and told their prisoner that there had been a mix-up—that he wasn’t the man they were looking for.
Then they let him go.
While the Americans held no affinity for Mahad, detaining him too long would raise questions in the pirate community and potentially put the mission at risk. They needed to move on.
Pickens took the wheel. He’d spent his entire career as an Africa Center officer and eight years working the Somalia account—intentionally skipping rotations to other posts to build an absolutely airtight legend. Though his cover would degrade naturally over time—he couldn’t recruit sources if he didn’t occasionally risk exposure—he’d decided not to go to Greece. Being associated with a private jet widely believed to belong to American intelligence would be an unnecessary risk for a long-shot lead.
He drove Jake to the rear entrance of a nearby hotel, where he passed through the lobby and caught a cab to the general aviation section of the airport. Aden Adde International was the most heavily defended space in all of Mogadishu. Hundreds of federal and foreign troops guarded the terminal and the entire eleven-thousand-foot runway with armored vehicles, machine gun towers, and serpentine concrete barriers meant to prevent vehicle-borne IED attacks.
They were succeeded about 50 percent of the time.
Jake walked across the sandstone-colored ramp, already warm from the sun. He passed an old MD-88 from the United Nations and a newer Airbus 321 operated by Daallo Airlines. The Airbus had a hole blown in its skin where a laptop computer packed with homemade explosives had been detonated by a suicide bomber intent on bringing down the plane.
Fortunately, the suicide was the only successful part of the operation.
Farther down the tarmac was a gray McDonnell-Douglas 520 helicopter that was being rinsed with fresh water. The man working the pressure washer stopped what he was doing and watched as Jake approached the white Gulfstream G550.