Page 86 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
“We’re not letting him go,” Rourke says, stopping in front of me while his men secure Ibrahim’s hands with zip ties behind his back.
“This isn’t your call,” I say, holding my ground and making it clear to Rourke that he isn’t in charge. “Besides, we don’t need to bury Ibrahim. In the end he’s more valuable running to General Ke?taand reminding the man that we’re inside his network and he’s no longer in control.”
Rourke puts his hand on his weapon in an attempt to intimidate me, but I’ve come too far to back down now. He rests his hand on the butt of his gun for a long moment, exhales sharply, then nods.
“We can’t remain here long, but there’s no time to return to Paris before we do the initial debrief,” I say.
Rourke might have brought us here, but I intend to make it clear that I will be the one asking the questions.
“We need to know as much as possible, as quickly as possible, in order to set things in motion and stop the arms transfer.”
To my surprise, Rourke asks, “What do you need?”
“A blanket and some food and water,” I say, heading to where Oumar is now sitting on a stack of wooden pallets.
Rourke hesitates, then orders one of his men to fetch the items from the vehicles. I nod my thanks to Graham, who heads outside with him. We’re still treading on dangerous ground, and I’m grateful he’s here.
I sit down next to Oumar on the makeshift bench. He’s shaking from the cold, and there are cuts on his face and hands and dark circles under his eyes.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Alive.” His expression is glassy as he looks at me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“It took us some time to find you, but we did,” I say, acknowledging Rourke with a glance. “He’s the one who located you.”
“You found my message then,” Oumar says.
I nod as Graham returns with a blanket, a water bottle, and his laptop.
Oumar wraps the offered blanket around himself, still shivering, then takes a packet of nuts and dried fruit and a dark chocolate bar from Rourke’s man.
“I thought you were hiring me to make you disappear, not need to be rescued,” Rourke says.
“That’s what I thought as well,” Oumar turns to me. “I should have come to you sooner—I know that now—but I was scared and needed a back-up plan.”
“Forget that for now.” I stand up to address Rourke. “I need you and your men to watch the perimeter while I do the debriefing. This site won’t be safe indefinitely, and we can’t risk being here if and when the authorities arrive.”
Rourke glances at the door. “I have a right to hear what he knows.”
I frown. “I’ll put in a request with Chapel that you receive a full debrief once we’re back in Paris, as well as make sure he knows you’ve been cooperative.”
While I don’t have all the details on what Hawke is holding over Rourke, my veiled threat works. A moment later he ushers his men—along with Ibrahim—outside.
I glance around the barn that offers some shelter even though it’s drafty and reeks of old hay and engine grease.
It’s not the ideal place for an interview, but I’ve had to work in far worse locations.
I sit back down next to Oumar as Graham clears off a workbench and quickly sets up his laptop and recorder for the audio.
“I know you’re exhausted,” I begin, “and you’re going to have a lot to process over the coming days and weeks, but we need your help right now. We know about the arms deal being organized, and we need to know details about when and where it is going to happen.”
Oumar nods. “It must be stopped.”
“Was Ibrahim telling the truth about these men?” Graham asks, looking at the bodies scattered across the floor.
“Yes. They are Russians, working for Ivan Kozlov. They are the ones fighting General Ke?tafor control of the Sahel.”
“So our theory was right,” I say, frowning at the familiar name of the arms dealer. “And now there’s another player trying to push Kozlov and the General out.”
Oumar nods as he takes a sip of water, then screws the cap back on. “I’ll tell you everything, but first I need to know what he meant about Mariam.”
I glance at Graham, not knowing what to say.
I close my eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, but we believe she was taken as well.”
“By her?” he asks, jetting his chin toward the dead woman.
I nod. “They sent her to us, posing as Mariam. She had information that only Mariam would have had.”
“Trying to use Mariam to get to me.” Oumar looks away, clearly trying to process everything. “I tried so hard to keep Mariam out of this. Somehow I thought I could do the right thing and protect her at the same time. I should’ve been there to stop them.”
“You did everything you could,” I say.
“I could have come to you sooner.”
I wait a moment, giving him time to process, but time to grieve will have to come later.
“How did you get here?” I ask.
“I was out running when they grabbed me. Trying to clear my head. There were two men in a van. No shouting. No chaos. Just a needle in my neck that knocked me out. I woke up here, with no idea how much time had passed.”
“You know what day that was?”
“I don’t know. Three. . .maybe four days ago.” He scrunched his brow as if he were trying to remember. “It was the day I was supposed to meet Mariam for lunch.”
“What happened next?” I press.
“I couldn’t tell if it was day or night most of the time. This place has no windows. They rotated guards.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “They believed I was disrupting their supply routes, so this was as much for payback as it was for information.”
“What did you tell them?”
“As little as I could,” he says. “I did everything I could to stall them, including feeding them misinformation, but they kept me awake, with lights shining in my eyes. Kept me confused. They told me that whoever I was working for in intelligence had abandoned me, and showed Mariam in a video telling me she’d sold me out.
I knew it all had to be fabricated evidence, and yet, I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe it was true. ”
I want to tell him Mariam hadn’t sold him out, but I can’t tell him something I don’t know is true.
“What about the information on the arms exchange?” I ask, glancing at my watch.
“I was planning to come to you the day they grabbed me. I’d just intersected the last piece of information and knew I needed to put it somewhere safe.”
“What information?”
“Offshore routing numbers, shell company names, payment trails, and encrypted chats about the transactions, plus specific details about the impending arms deal.”
“And your source?” I ask.
“Most of it comes from intercepted communications between the broker of the arms deal and General Ke?ta’s second-in-command. The encrypted chats were given to me by someone who’s been feeding me intel for months.”
“Someone you trust?” Graham asks.
“An ally. Someone just as anxious to shut down these networks as I am.” Oumar took a long drink of his water. “You need to understand that this impending arms transfer. . . It’s an attempt by the Koumana Syndicate to push the Russians out of the Sahel.”
“Wait. . .” I glance at Graham, not expecting this twist. “We thought it was an outside player, but General Ke?ta is the one who’s actually behind this?”
Oumar nods. “Everything I have is in a secure cloud storage account to keep it safe. I just need computer access.”
Graham brings over the computer and sets it in front of Oumar, allowing him to enter his login credentials and passphrase.
“Can you stop the deal from going through?” Oumar asks, handing the computer back to Graham as soon as he’s done.
“We’ll do everything we can,” I say while Graham works to transfer the intel on a secure channel. “My team in Paris will need to verify the information you have and then look to coordinate with our military and any local allies. It will take some time.”
Oumar shakes his head. “We don’t have time.”
“I know,” I say. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”
“There was a second reason Kozlov took me.”
He takes in a deep breath, and I can tell he’s getting tired. On top of that, I’m worried about staying here much longer.
“There is a book—I’ve heard it called ‘the black ledger’—it contains Cold War black ops secrets.”
“What kind of secrets?” I ask, glancing at the door.
“Basically, it’s rumored to be an internal log of every illegal arms deal, bribe, and off-the-books operation involved in recovering or redistributing arms.”
“Do you have access?”
Oumar shrugs. “I don’t even know if it’s real.”
“Then why would Kozlov think you have it—or at least have access to it?”
“Before my father died, he told me about one of his employers who ended up in possession of what he called the Violet Protocol. He was a smuggler turned informant for the Americans, who ended up vanishing years ago.”
“And the information?” Graham asks. “Did it vanish as well?”
“Far as I know, yes.”
“What was it exactly?” I ask. “A thumb drive. . .a ledger. . .”
“I’m not sure. All I know is that the coordinates for hidden arms caches would be extremely valuable.”
“As would any names,” I say. “But it sounds more like rumors if you ask me. Cold war superstitions.”
“Maybe,” Oumar says. “But Kozlov believes it’s true.”
Graham looks up at both of us. “All the intel has been transferred securely.”
I nod. “Then we need to get back to Paris.”