Ian considered that, unable to reconcile Duchess’s accusation with his present confusion. If the entry team had gotten into a scuffle or even detected one, they would have reported it immediately—their tactical frequency was unmonitored, and any stretches of truth were conducted as a team, with David filtering ground reality as necessary in his transmissions to Duchess.
But Gradsek was deeply involved in such a carefully orchestrated smuggling operation that they’d have no reason to call attention to their port facility; Ian wouldn’t have been surprised if they left pirate and vigilante attacks unreported just to fly beneath the radar of suspicion.
That thought made him bridge the mental gap between these irreconcilable truths as he finally recalled the ram skull sticker and gave a sudden gasp of realization.
“Of course,” he said, looking to David. “I’ve got it. May I?”
David offered the hand mic. “Well I’m not making too much headway in convincing her, now am I?”
Accepting the mic, Ian keyed it and said, “Duchess, it’s Angel. None of our guys heard any gunfire, but I think I can explain.”
“Then start explaining.”
Ian resisted the urge to inject a measure of defiance in his voice as he responded, “Whoever shipped that cocaine, we found enough of their product in the Gradsek facility to reasonably conclude they don’t have a secondary import location in Nigeria. Would you agree?”
“Tentatively, yes.”
“So all that coke,” Ian continued, “was branded with the ram skull logo. That’s the same logo we found aboard the pirate vessel during our infiltration.”
“Your point being?”
“The river pirates weren’t high-level traffickers. How are they in possession of near-uncut kilos straight from the Gradsek facility? All that wholesale product should be moving along international distribution corridors, yet we’ve got indicators of limited local distribution. Add that to our hard evidence of an open crate of heroin, where a number of kilos were removed from the pipeline to South America, and you’ve got your answer.”
Duchess replied snarkily, “The only answer I have right now is that your incursion wasn’t as undetected as it seemed, and until I can reconcile the news reporting with your account of the penetration, our mission in Nigeria has come to a permanent halt.”
Ian scoffed. If she hadn’t understood his point yet, he was going to have to spell it out for her. Lifting the mic to his lips again, he transmitted, “Gradsek isn’t in the retail narcotics business; they’re paying for protection from the vigilante and pirate groups. Definitely with drugs, likely with cash as well, and in doing so they’re protecting the expansion of their operation while every other oil company is pulling out of Nigeria. And since they can’t tie themselves to funding organized terror, how do they explain the fact that they’re the only ones not getting attacked on a routine basis?”
A pause before Duchess addressed his leading question.
“They spare themselves the trouble. Fake the attacks, and do so in a manner that can’t be confirmed or denied via their CCTV footage.”
“Exactly. All they have to do is file reports that they’re getting hit along with everyone else, and no one is any the wiser. The fact that we were inside their facility and didn’t hear any gunfire is proof of that.”
As he finished his transmission, Ian noticed that Worthy alone gave no indication that he was listening to the proceedings; instead, he was alternating his attention between a picture on his phone and a laptop beside him on Tolu’s mattress. Ian caught a glimpse of a map of Nigeria on the screen, the image from their mission planning software.
Before Ian could speak again, David snatched the hand mic back from him and transmitted.
“This all seems pretty obvious to me, Duchess. You’re supposed to be the intelligence agency, so why does Angel have to do all the heavy lifting here?”
“Don’t push your luck, David.”
“Look,” he continued, “if you find any hard evidence that an attack occurred, we’ll talk. Until then, why don’t you stop accusing my team so we can all get back on track doing what we came here for?”
“Small issue with that,” she replied coolly. “Until we can analyze the intelligence you collected, we have nothing further to go on. The oil and drugs conspiracy doesn’t have any ties to Boko Haram, much less the hostages, short of a few phone calls between a politician, the banker, and Gradsek. Right now we’re at a standstill.”
Behind Ian, Worthy spoke for the first time.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Stand by,” David transmitted, and the entire team turned to face Worthy as he stared at the phone in his hand.
“The Venezuelan cocaine arrived in barrels labeled as propanol,” he said. “But they were being transferred to empty cans of corn for export, and there are three destinations listed on the form I’m looking at. The majority of coke is being split for rail distribution between Niger and Chad. But a small amount is slotted for vehicle transport within Nigeria.” He broke his gaze to point to the computer map beside him. “The town of Maiduguri, which is in the northeast. That puts it in Boko Haram’s backyard.”
Then he looked at Ian. “That’s a serious load of dope, so that location has got to be a major logistics hub for Boko Haram, right?”
“Not just logistics,” Ian replied. “If they’re receiving the shipment, it’s got to be at least a semi-legitimate operation, which means there’s some link to their strategic leadership if not a full command-and-control hub. That means we could run the same play we just did—infiltrate, gather intel, and find out what we can. It’s unlikely the hostages will be there, but at a minimum they’d have lines of communication to the key players who know where they’re located.”
David was hesitant. “It sounds like a stretch.”
But Ian pressed him, pointing out the obvious. “Everything since the hostages were taken has been a stretch, and right now we don’t have anything better to go on. Until we do, I’d say our best bet is to collect some intel on that location and see if we can find a link.”
Cancer groaned, then took a drag off his cigarette and blew a long plume of smoke toward the ceiling.
“This is chaos,” he said. “We infiltrated from the coast on the way to Abuja. Then to Boko Haram’s backyard. Back to Abuja, back to the coast. Now we’re supposed to head into Boko Haram territory on the opposite side of the country?”
“Relax, buddy,” Reilly reassured him. “It’s a terrorist paradise out there; odds of us getting in without a gunfight are minimal, especially after Delta schwaked one of their camps a couple nights ago. My money says we’re looking at major enemy contact if this gets approved.”
That seemed to cheer up Cancer somewhat. He took another puff, nodding thoughtfully as he exhaled. “You know what? I agree with Ian. Probably some link to the hostages there.”
Leaning forward, David keyed the hand mic.
“Duchess, I think we’ve got an idea.”
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