“Mistresses.”
“Mistresses?” Cancer scoffed. “How’d you arrive at that?”
Leaning forward in his seat, then back again in consideration for the proximity of Cancer’s nether regions, Ian said, “It’s the only logical explanation. These guys are big oil executives working in Nigeria while their families are back in the States, right? Even under night vision, those women were not unattractive. No way Usman got distracted from his core hostage-snatching mission to roll up a few expats, particularly after we knocked out his tail vehicle on our first attempt to get him. Conclusion? He targeted the oil execs, and the women were targets of opportunity at the same location.”
Cancer took another puff of smoke. “Son of a bitch. So that’s how you know—”
“That there are two more? Yes. Otherwise Usman would have covered their bases by separating two more oil executives from the main group of hostages.”
“Why not do that anyway?”
Ian shrugged. “Female hostages will incur more international outrage. Especially since rape and sex slavery are cornerstones of Boko Haram’s corporate policy. Remember all the hashtags when they captured those schoolgirls? More pressure to recover the hostages equals a greater likelihood of their demands being met, albeit through third-party channels.”
Nodding in silent consideration, Cancer asked, “You tell all this to David?”
“Yup.”
“He believe you?”
“Nope. Doesn’t matter—he’s going to hear it all from Duchess in a few minutes. The question is, what’s she going to do with us?”
Cancer eyed Ian warily, a tendril of smoke rising lazily from his cigarette. “For someone with pronounced tactical ineptitudes, you can be pretty smart at times.”
“Someone’s got to be the brains of this operation, no?”
“And someone’s got to be the looks,” David called out from the doorway as he entered the room with coffee in hand. “Sure as shit not going to be either of you two. Cancer, put your old-man balls away before you scare Ian into therapy.”
Cancer took his leg off the desk somewhat self-consciously and asked, “You really don’t believe this clown?”
David pulled up a chair and said, “It’s a fine working theory, I suppose. But Ian’s not telepathic, so there’s no way he’s right about all of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a completely different explanation we haven’t considered.”
Before he could speak further, the desk phone rang.
Ian checked his watch, then raised his eyebrows at David. “Duchess is early.”
22
Duchess held the receiver to her ear, listening to the male switchboard operator say politely, “It’s ringing now, ma’am.” She took a sip of tea from the mug on her desk as she waited, then set it beside her keyboard as she studied the photograph of a man on her computer screen.
She’d retreated to her office for the call, the only place she could have a candid conversation away from the OPCEN’s prying ears.
And the call she was about to have was particularly candid.
It wasn’t just the new tasking for her Longwing team, but the why behind it. Political approvals often moved at a snail’s pace, and right now she had no time to spare. When the current administration said the gloves were off, they meant it—but the moment their goal was attained, the free rein would end.
In between those two moments, though, was a twilight period where Duchess could further her own agenda, one focused less on the current hostages and more on pursuing a new global terror organization that could easily kidnap hundreds more in the coming years.
Project Longwing had been creeping incrementally closer to uncovering that network, first by disrupting its earliest known effort—the July 4th attack—and then, in China, by attaining the first pseudonym linked to one of its agents: Erik Weisz.
That name, and the money trail leading to a Nigerian bank official, had led to Duchess selecting a Boko Haram target in the first place. The ongoing hostage crisis was merely a coincidence, and while she’d never admit this, a lucky one in the grander effort to track down Weisz and his people. Her personal theory of a new terror organization, however, hadn’t yet translated to additional operational authorities, so she had to make do with the limited resources at her disposal. At the moment those consisted chiefly of a single ground team, and with the current situation in Nigeria, she could now justify using them however she damn well pleased.
But only until the hostages were recovered.
After that, she’d be back to grasping at straws. As she waited for the call to connect, Duchess decided that she was going to make the most of it while she still could.
Finally the switchboard operator said, “It’s connected, I’m patching you through.”
Duchess waited a moment and heard a new voice on the line.
“David here. I’ve got you on speaker with my guys.”
Drawing a breath, she replied, “Then let me congratulate your entire team on a successful reconnaissance mission. If you hadn’t been able to pull that off, it’s very likely we’d be weeks from locating, much less rescuing, those hostages.”
“Speaking of hostages,” David countered, “my understanding is that we’re still down one oil executive, and up three women the US didn’t even know were missing. News reports have been pretty vague about the women, though—who are they?”
A wry observation, Duchess thought. “Two Americans and one Canadian, all expats with dual citizenship living in Nigeria. News reports will remain vague because as it turns out, all three were shacking up with married ExxonMobil employees during their lengthy stay in the country.”
David snickered. “If you can’t trust wealthy oil company executives, who can you trust?”
“It gets worse,” she said. “The rescued hostages confirmed that an additional two women were captured and are still at large. Both Americans.”
The slapping sound of a high five came over the line then, though David sounded disappointed as he continued, “Well, I have to say that Ian predicted all of this, so let’s see if he’s right on one more point. Where is Usman?”
Duchess reached for her mug, then thought better of it and cleared her throat instead.
“He was transferred to Nigerian custody last night.”
He shot back, “Why would we give him to the Nigerians?”
“What an excellent question,” Duchess responded dryly. “Short answer? Due to rampant corruption, the Nigerians weren’t notified of the hostage rescue effort until the last possible minute. They are deeply embarrassed, and the transfer of Boko Haram prisoners was part of the arrangement in allowing the US to take over the airport in Abuja to facilitate repatriation.”
A new voice spoke, this one slightly more nasal.