Page 50 of End of Days

Creed looked a little sick at the words. He said, “Pike, I think that’s something you should tell him yourself.”

“I don’t have the time. Tell him I’m on the thread, but someone’s going to die tonight if I sit on my hands. I gotta go. Thanks for the help.”

He said, “Pike, I really—” and I disconnected.

I turned to Jennifer and Shoshana, saying, “I think you’re right. It’s an American, and we have about one hour to make a plan to prevent the killing.”

Chapter 33

Vice Admiral Gregory Stiles saw he wasn’t going to have time to return home before his dinner tonight. He stuck his head out of his office door and said, “Megan, can you call my wife and tell her I’m not coming home first? Tell her I got caught up and am going to have to just leave from here.”

His secretary nodded with a smile. Getting “caught up” was a regular occurrence. Admiral Stiles wore so many hats he could be a haberdashery salesman, and the job was so punishing, the commander from two years ago had committed suicide.

Known as the commander of the Fifth Fleet, the commander of NAVCENT, and the commander of combined maritime forces comprising three separate task forces combatting piracy, counterterrorism, and Arabian Gulf security and cooperation, it was a wonder he could keep them all straight.

Tonight’s dinner was with his foreign naval peers of CTF 151, the task force dedicated to counter-piracy. The ranking representatives of the naval forces working that mission from the United Kingdom, France, Australia, and Denmark were paying a visit, and as had been his custom since taking command at the Naval Support Activity in Bahrain, Vice Admiral Stiles was treating them to dinner at Rodeo Bahrain, a fairly new restaurant that served steaks with an American country-and-western vibe.

It had become sort of an inside joke—no matter who showed up to visit, that was where they were going. It saved Admiral Stiles fromhaving to spend any mental energy on the visiting delegation or worrying about cross-cultural issues—if you came to visit, you were getting an American steak. It was also within walking distance of the pedestrian gate outside of the naval base, saving them from trying to find parking in the congested downtown area of Manama.

And the walk allowed him to connect with his guests, breaking the ice on the way instead of doing so at a table.

The admiral’s aide stuck his head in the door and said, “Sir, they’re here.”

Stiles grimaced and said, “Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”

Chapter 34

At 1830, I followed the hostess to a booth for two. The restaurant wasn’t that big, with only a single room fronted by a bandstand, a country-and-western act from the Philippines tuning up their instruments. The décor looked like it had been stolen from a Longhorn Steaks franchise, with deer heads on the wall and rough-cut steel silhouettes of cowboys riding horses backlit by red lights, two wide-screen TVs behind the bar.

She showed us to a corner booth, which was perfect, and Knuckles sat across from me. He was wearing his usual, which is to say a ratty T-shirt with some obscure band’s name on it, a pooka bead necklace, and had his mass of black hair in a ponytail. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a granola-eating backpacker out traveling the world. Right up until you met his eyes.

He said, “Doesn’t look that crowded. Not sure how they’ll take him here.”

I watched Brett and Aaron enter, getting their own table. They’d see where we were, and triangulate accordingly. I said, “If he’s coming with an entourage, they’ll want to separate the target. They don’t want to take them all on.”

I glanced around the place, seeing a smattering of Arabs, but mostly the tables were full of guys from the Navy base. I knew the killers were in here, though. They were watching. And waiting. Maybe back in the kitchen, maybe part of the waitstaff. I couldn’t take anything for granted.

I saw a booth in the opposite corner with four locals, all wearing masks. Which was a little strange, because you had to have a mask to enter, but you could take it off after sitting down. Knuckles and I still had on our masks because we wanted to do what we could to shield ourselves from the surveillance cameras. Which made me think they were doing the same.

Knuckles said, “They won’t take him in here. The choke point is the doorway. They’ll wait until he’s leaving, then attack.”

I nodded and said, “I agree, but we need to pinpoint the target. We can’t wait at the doorway for every guy who leaves. I think it’s an American, but it might not be.”

My earpiece chirped, Shoshana saying, “Pike, Pike, we’re outside, and I have the Bosnian in sight. He’s in a sedan right down the street, parked next to a dumpster.”

I looked at Knuckles and saw he realized this was the endgame. I said, “What’s he doing? Who’s he with?”

“He’s by himself, but in front of him is a panel van. Two people in it that I can see.”

From the message, we knew they were going to attempt a capture, which is precisely why I’d taken such a lax approach by invading the space and biding our time. If I’d thought they were going to kill the target in some sort of gangland-type slaughter, I would have used different tactics. The panel van confirmed my thoughts. That was the exfil vehicle.

I said, “Okay, listen, when this goes down, I need you to close on the van. Ignore the Bosnian. They’ll be using the van, and they’ll separate. He’s there for security and oversight, but the van is the key.”

“The Bosnian is thereasonfor this whole thing. Who cares who they capture? He’s the key. We should take his ass out right now.”

I saw five older men enter the bar, all of them looking like theyheld rank, moving with a slight arrogance that told me they were men used to being in charge. I said, “Carrie, I get you want a little payback. Let’s stop this killing and then get on him. One step at a time.”

She said, “The van’s on the move. It’s headed your way. To the front of the restaurant.”

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