The Caliphate, André Gallo [best books to read ever .TXT] 📗

     Joyce called Justin to join her in the communications vault.

     “Typical Headquarters bugfuck,” she said. “They knew this guy was going to have an ops meeting in Paris because they’ve been monitoring his phone conversations. They also knew from the GPS device in his phone that he was here. There was no need to wait until now to tell us. Now it’s a fucking emergency.”

     She was reading a computer screen.

     “Wait a sec. Here, copy down these coordinates: 48.52345N - 2.2250E. Find out where that is.”

     Justin took the numbers, opened the heavy steel door, and felt the air inside decompress. He went to a wall map of Paris hung in his cubicle that was marked with small colored flags showing safe houses, hot spots where there were more likely than not to have concentrations of police such as banks, embassies and official buildings and the areas where his colleagues had been conducting operations during the week.

     He went back to the vault and told Joyce, “It could be the Opera or the Grand Hotel on Rue Scribe.”

     “Well, the signal has been transmitting from that spot since last night so we’ll assume that he spent the night at the hotel and not at the Opera. Headquarters switched the signal to transmit once every thirty seconds instead of once a day when he was in Africa. He, by the way, is CALIPH/1. I’ll give you his photo, true name, and basic bio in a minute.”

     “I’ll get ready and we can move out as soon as Larry and Doreen get here. Where the hell are they anyway?” Justin asked.

     He looked at his watch. It was 8:30 a.m.

     “They were up half the night keeping tabs on FARC visitors from Colombia,” Joyce said. “It looks like the French Government is negotiating with the FARC over hostages. CALIPH/1 could start moving any minute, unless he likes to sleep late. I’ll tell Larry and Doreen to go directly to the Place de l’Opéra. You can connect with them after they get there. You’re Blue Hunter. Larry will be green and Doreen will be red. Go.”

     Justin walked into the hotel and made a quick recon. When he was with the Marines in Iraq, “recon” meant skulking in the streets of Fallujah fully armed and anticipating hostile fire at any second. This was much better without giving up the feeling of contributing to something greater. His earphone suddenly came to life. He took a quick scan of his immediate surroundings and was satisfied that no one could overhear his conversation.

     “This is Green Hunter. We are approaching Place de l’Opéra heading east on Boulevard des Capucines. Over.”

     “This is Blue Hunter. No sight of him yet. But be aware that the hotel has exits on Rue Scribe, at the corners of Scribe and Capucines, and of Capucines and Auber. There may be another one on the northern side but I haven’t had time to check it out. If he takes a taxi, they’re on Rue Scribe by the main entrance. Over.”

     Justin walked through the central part of the ground floor, a vast sitting area lit by an equally large skylight. One dining room was round with balcony-type French windows thirty feet up. Another dining room was flanked by tall cream-colored Greek columns going up toward a Sistine Chapel-like ceiling. Justin searched for an informal breakfast restaurant where he thought his man might be having coffee when he spotted him.

     He again looked around before he said, “This is Blue. He is walking toward the Scribe side, probably for a taxi. Pick me up corner of Scribe and Capucines. Over.”

     “Roger, out.”

     With Larry driving the ten year old white Renault Clio Hatchback with custom BMW-3 engine installed by CIA technicians to give the little car a dependable source of power, they followed al Khalil’s cab down Rue Royale through Place de la Concorde and west along the Seine River until they reached Passy.

     “Hunter Control, this is Blue Hunter. Target took a cab to the sixteenth arrondissement and went into a building on Rue Chernoviz next to a grammar school. Red is on the street and we are around the corner on Rue Raynouard. Over.”

     “This is Hunter Control. Determine identity of target’s contact,” Joyce said. “Out.”

     An hour later, Justin reported back to Joyce, “Hunter control, this is Blue. Target just exited the building with another male in his late thirties to mid-forties. Right side of his face, I can’t describe it exactly but it’s unusual. The right of his mouth is up like he’s smiling but he’s not. Looks like he could star in a horror movie. We’ll try to take photos.”

     Using the cameras in the side-view mirrors, Doreen and Justin were able to take the photos they needed as the two men walked to a neighborhood restaurant. The unknown male eventually broke off from al Khalil. The team followed him to his car and continued to tail him.

     As they drove by the Porte de Bagnolet Metro station, Larry said smiling, “I think I know where our friend is going.” When their quarry turned left on Boulevard Mortier, he added, “I knew it. This guy is DGSE. I can’t believe it! CALIPH/1, a terrorist by any measure, is an agent of French Intelligence!”

***

During their meeting in the safe apartment on Rue Chernoviz, al Khalil had not revealed his major change in direction. Instead, he solicited funds. Captain Roger’s reply was “We already give you more money than I can account for with my supervisor. Why do you need more?”

     “We are really making progress. You know that unless I gather the extremist imams under my tent, someone else will. And French interests will not be safe.”

     “What about