John Ringo - A Deeper Blue

“We sit on our hands?” Adams asked angrily. “You want us to just sit on our hands?”

“I’ll try to find something for you to do, legally,” the admiral said. “But right now I’m not sure what.”

“Yes, sir,” Adams said, taking a deep breath.

“And Master Chief?”

“Yes, sir?”

“If you fuck me over on this I will put your ass in Guantanamo and throw away the key.”

“Hey, Master Chief,” Vanner said as Adams strode into the suite. “What you get at the meeting?”

“Dick all,” Adams said, walking over to the fridge. He was followed by Lieutenant Himes who was looking around the room with interest. “You got anything?”

“Sort of,” Vanner said. “I arranged for an intel dump, but it’s not complete. Our clearances are ‘under review.’ It’s a bunch, though. The girls are sorting it at the moment. I looked at the analysis and, frankly, it’s shitty. These guys either don’t keep up with the players or are incompetent as hell. I did pick up one item that’s sort of funny, in a way.”

“What?” Adams asked. “I could use some funny. LT, you want a beer?”

“Sounds great,” Lieutenant Himes said, taking off his BDU top.

“The original data on this came from Al-Kariya,” Vanner said, grinning. “Well, him and his laptop.”

“Al who?” Adams asked, pulling out two ceramic bottles and opening the wax tops expertly. He handed one of them to Himes and flopped into one of the chairs.

“That Al Qaeda money guy we picked up in Chechnya,” Vanner said. “The one we rolled into the bird all wrapped up like a Christmas turkey.”

“Wait,” Himes said, holding up the beer bottle. “You’re the guys who were in that battle with the Chechens, right? Jesus, that sniper shot. Everybody’s sure that came from some guy bellied down closer. I’ve been running that vid over and over again looking for him.”

“Nope,” Adams said. “Lasko. The guy’s pure magic with a rifle. Damn near three klicks. Yeah, that’s us.”

“Damn,” Himes said, sitting back and taking a sip. He pulled the bottle back from his lips and held it up with a stunned expression. “DAMN. What the hell is this stuff? It tastes sort of like Mountain Tiger but it’s… Fuck, it’s better !”

“It is Mountain Tiger,” Vanner said, chuckling. “It’s just that the stuff we sell in the U.S. is our crap. The Keldara bitch unmercifully when that’s all they get to drink. So whenever possible, we bring the pure quill. And that’s…” He looked at the casting on the bottle and shrugged. “Hell, that’s Mother Kulcyanov’s brew. It’s not a patch on Mother Lenka’s.”

“I think I’m gonna like this detail,” Himes said, grinning. “And I begin to understand why they’re such good shooters if this is what they’re protecting. But…” He stopped speaking when the side door of the suite opened and a fucking vision walked in the room.

“What’cha got, Grez?” Vanner asked as the intel girl walked over with a document.

“Do you Americans even use face-matching software?” Greznya asked angrily.

“Probably not,” Adams said, burping. “Be accused of racial profiling or something.”

“Zaman Al-Sabad,” Greznya said, dropping the picture on the desk. “He is an Al-Qaeda member who specializes in shipping. He arrived on a flight from Mexico this afternoon under a false name, Farhad Nejat. There’s a picture, though, from the customs’ security cameras.”

“Lots of people,” Himes said, frowning. “Lots of faces. It would take forever to do facial matches on them all.”

“Not if you do a visual sort for Islamic looks,” Greznya said scathingly. “That only turned up about two hundred. We hit this one on the first pass. He’s not even disguised ! He’s on your own terrorism watch list for the All Father’s sake!”

“Racial profiling,” Himes said. “That, right there, would get the data thrown out of court. Even if it didn’t, the defense attorney would use it and if you got the right jury it would get the guy acquitted.”

“Americans are so stupid ?” Greznya asked, confused. “Every major terrorist attack on your people has been by Islamic males between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. Paying particular attention to such people simply makes sense . When a person that looks Islamic comes through the Keldara region you can be sure that we take a closer look. What is that thing about if it walks like a duck?”

“Welcome to the land of the free,” Adams said sourly. “You’ve watched CNN, surely. Liberals aren’t going to admit that until the Islamics have cut off their balls and put them all under jizya.”

“No wonder the President called us,” Greznya said, shaking her head. “He is not even covering his trail. There is a record of him, under his false name, reserving a hotel room here in Miami.”

“The who?” Himes asked.

“Well, now, ain’t that interesting,” Adams said, ignoring the question. “Daria found us an out-of-the-way warehouse, yet?”

“Not yet,” Vanner said. “But we can lay in some collection on his room, put in a trail.”

“Yeah, but can we do a quiet snatch?” Adams asked.

“Where’s the hotel?” Vanner asked.

“It’s something called a Best Western,” Greznya said. “Just south of here near the junction of your turnpike and a road called U.S. 1. I have a map. The layout is for exterior rooms. He has a room on the ground floor towards the back.”

“Uh,” Himes said, holding up his hand.

“You got a problem with any of this, LT, you just take your beer and go to the other room,” Adams said.

“Actually,” Himes said, “I was hoping I could go along. I haven’t done an entry in a few months but I figure it’s like riding a bicycle…”

The Best Western was just north of the long stretch of marsh that separated the keys from the Florida mainland. Near the turn-off for Everglades National Park and convenient to the Keys, it was often packed on weekends.

At four o’clock in the morning on a Wednesday, the parking lot was nearly deserted. There was a large moving truck parked towards the back and a few tourist cars.

Vanner had elected to not even lay in a physical bug; they could get plenty of take from a laser mike. The laser bounced off the window of the room and reflected in tune with sound waves. By reading the vibration of the window, everything said in the room could be monitored. He’d put in a connection to the hotel phones as well and with Al-Sabat’s voice print, which they already had, they could filter for all the other calls out of the hotel. They’d also pinpointed his satellite phone.

The target had left twice, once to go to a local convenience store and the second time to the nearby Golden Corral for dinner. He had participated in a number of conversations, including some to overseas numbers, during the evening, up until one AM when his light finally went off. Most of them, with the exception of a call to his mother, had dealt with moving, buying and selling various goods. All of them could have been codes but, if so, Sabat would soon be explaining that.

“You two stay back and take security,” Adams repeated as the Ford Expedition started. “I don’t know why you talked me into this.”

“Because you like my stunning good looks,” Vanner said, grinning. He was, for once, all suited up, MP-5, balaclava and all. You could see his grin right through the mask.

“Because I’ve done this sort of thing before,” Himes added.

“I’ve got plenty of shooters,” Adams said. “You just do the door, then swing back.”