One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [134]
Getting directions from the front desk, he found an Internet café four blocks away. Logging on to the account known only to him and Sayyidd, he was relieved to see the reference to Fallujah, then excited when he saw that Walid had sent the instructions for the next meet. It would occur at one o’clock today at a coffee shop in Oslo. Sayyidd ended by saying he would relay what had occurred later on, as soon as he was done.
Bakr leaned back in his chair, satisfied that their planning was still on track. His shift to Bosnia might have been unwarranted, but it was still the prudent thing to have done. It might also have removed one burden from Walid’s back, as he thought he could get explosives and detonating material from a contact inside this country. He wasn’t convinced that Sayyidd had the expertise to ensure the correct materials were taken from Walid, and there was no way they would return to Norway to remedy any mistakes. Better for him to see if he could gather the materials here.
While still a fighter in Iraq, he had been given the name of a person who was very active helping out Chechen rebels in their fight against the Russian infidels. All he knew was his name, Juka Merdanovic, and that he lived somewhere around Tuzla. He had never met the man but had been told he wouldn’t turn away a Muslim in need.
81
As I was pulling into my fourth parking spot, my phone rang.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Pike, he’s waiting at a bus stop. I think he’s going to get on. What should I do?”
Shit. I couldn’t believe I had failed to plan for a Metro or bus scenario. That was absolutely what would be expected, since the terrorists more than likely didn’t have a car. Chalk one up to fatigue. You’d better pull your head out of your ass, or you’re going to fail. I told her to hang on a second, rapidly running through courses of action in my mind.
“All right, board the bus with him. When you see him get up to leave, give me a call. You stay on the bus. Getting on with him can be a coincidence. Getting off is asking to get burned. You exit at the next stop and head back to the one where he got off. I’ll call you when I either find out where he’s going, or I lose him.”
“Okay. I can do that. Sorry I didn’t see this coming and call earlier.”
I smiled at her taking the blame. “I’m the one who should have seen this coming. Don’t worry about it. We’re still good to go.”
We had landed in Oslo a couple of hours ago and had immediately checked Jennifer’s e-mail account for a message from the Taskforce. Sure enough, the terrorists had received another message directing a meeting at a coffee shop at one o’clock in the city center, which didn’t give us a lot of time to set up. We located the shop with only thirty minutes to spare. I’d put Jennifer inside, with me outside as a spotter, since I was the only one who knew what they looked like. Of course, that meant I couldn’t conduct the actual surveillance because they would spot me.
When Jennifer found out she’d be in the coffee shop alone, she seemed to realize for the first time this was for real. I had reassured her, reminding her of the surveillance classes I’d given on the flight over, stressing again that it wasn’t some arcane skill reserved for spies, but just common sense. She didn’t seem to buy it, but she’d exited the car. At precisely one o’clock I’d recognized the shorter of the two guys who’d mugged me in Guatemala. I’d almost missed him, because I was looking for a pair. His friend was nowhere in sight, which could mean he was conducting countersurveillance like I had in the mall. No way to tell and nothing I could do about it anyway. I called Jennifer and triggered the surveillance.
After the meeting broke up, Jennifer had managed to track him for five blocks to the bus station, but she was now out of play. That was going to leave me doing the dismounted work, which would be