The Caliphate by André Gallo (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

the dark as the Tuareg men stood in front of their tents and campfires. He felt deep sympathy for them. The Tuaregs had been important actors of the region’s history but they had been bypassed and become victims. It occurred to Steve that instead of giving candies to the kids, he should have given them books.

***

The following day, one day before Tariq and Hussein were to arrive, the advance team of Lahlou, Karim, and several additional men who would act as gofers and security guards, arrived in Gao.

     Steve’s first priority was the satellite phone. He only had a few days to come up with a plan and to execute it. While Steve avoided rigid structures and planning, looming deadlines energized him. He already had three-dimensional plans of the fort from CIA Headquarters. He still needed al Khalil’s schedule and information on the whereabouts of his satellite phone at any given time.

     He was in his room when he heard an urgently furtive knock on the door. He let Karim in and they shook hands.

     “I’m picking up mineral water from the hotel so I have very little time,” he said.

     “Okay. Any word from your mother and from Hassan? Is the family all right?”

     Karim smiled.

     “I don’t hear from them often but I was able to arrange a phone call with Hassan from the Oran Telegraph and Telephone Office. He sounded good.”

     “I’m glad.” Turning to business, he said, “Do you have a list of the attendees to the conference?”

     “Not a list, but I know the names.”

     Steve wrote them down as Karim recited them.

     “Is everyone still scheduled to arrive tomorrow?”

     When Karim nodded, Steve produced two oversized tacks and said, “These are miniature microphones. What I want you to do is to stick one in al Khalil’s room and the other in Salim’s room. Out of sight, of course; behind or under a piece of furniture, for example. You explained to me before that Salim is important, maybe the elder statesman of the group, right?”

     He didn’t explain that each tack contained not only a microphone but also a transmitter and a five-hundred-hour battery.

     Karim, gratified Steve took his information and personal comments seriously, smiled his assent.

     “Come back when you can. Until you have some sort of schedule, I’ll stay pretty close to the hotel. I need to know where everyone will sleep and the schedule for the whole conference. This is going to be the most important thing you have done so far. But also the riskiest so don’t take stupid chances.”

    He had urged caution before but was always concerned that Karim’s self-confidence and zeal would make him step over the line and make a fatal mistake. He knew enough by now to realize that, in this business, there were no second chances.

     Within two hours, Steve had gained a brief background on all of the expected Salafist chiefs, all on the CIA list of active radical Muslim terrorists.

     Karim was able to come late that evening. He told Steve the guards wanted him to get them beer.

     “What will al Khalil think about alcohol at the fort?”

     “It will be gone by the time he lands,” Karim laughed.

     With the plan of the fort in his mind, Steve debriefed Karim and quickly determined the use of most of the rooms. Al Khalil had a two-room ground floor apartment in the central tower, originally used by the Fort commander. The only other room in the tower on the ground level was larger than the apartment and had been used as an armory in the past. Now it was used for storage and contained odd pieces of furniture, much of it broken. The rest of the tower was taken up by a stairway to the top, punctuated on several landings by narrow openings in the outside wall designed to be used by armed defenders. He had noted there was a small room on the second landing, but its use then and now was difficult to discern.

***

On Wednesday, Steve met Hank, a CIA technician carrying the replacement satellite phone, at the airport. As they got into his car, Hank, in his forties with a light, Irish complexion, didn’t beat around the bush.

     “I have never run an operation headed up by other than a seasoned case officer. But I’m told you’re good, so I trust we can work together.”

     “I’m glad you’re here. I gave the quick-plant mics to Caliphate/4 yesterday. He should have placed them by now.”

     Hank nodded.

     “I’ll set up the listening post in my room. From there, the conversations will be transmitted automatically by satellite to CIA Headquarters, translated, and sent back to me via Inmarsat. I’ll test the system today. I gather that we don’t have much time, which is fine with me. I’ve been in some godforsaken places but…” he looked out the window at the arid scenery, “this has to be the worst.”

     “Hank, how long will you need once we get Caliphate/1’s phone?”

     “Count on one hour. Could be less, could be more; depends. I also want a chance to call headquarters if any special problem comes up.”

     Hank received the first transcript shortly after he set up his equipment. Since Tariq and Hussein were scheduled to arrive by road later the same day, and Salim wasn’t due until the next day, the main purpose of sending a transcript back at all was simply to test the system.

     The little audio picked up was clear enough, but the transcript showed how Murphy’s Law applied universally. A desk that had been in Salim’s room had been moved. Unfortunately, Karim had planted the tack-microphone underneath that desk. It sounded as if it was now located in the room where the Salafist leaders would eat