Again the soldiers worked the radio, and the iron gate at the inner wall parted. This wall was less charred than the outer, but several zebra stripes still reached from its top and bottom. As he pa.s.sed under the inner gate, David felt his chances of escape grow smaller. "Hit the closest guard and run" wouldn't cut it here. He had to focus.

Inside the inner gate, houses and shops lined another street, this one untouched by mines and improvised explosives. It looked more like a quaint ancient village. There were people in plain clothes here as well as more soldiers. This was clearly the main residential section of the base.

Beyond the second row of homes and shops, another wall rose, this one stone and much older. Another gate parted. The city was almost like one of those Russian matryoshka dolls with other dolls nested inside it.

Ceuta had probably been built like other villages along the Mediterranean. Thousands of years ago, the inhabitants of this place had no doubt built a small settlement on the sh.o.r.e. That settlement had prospered as a trading post. Prosperity had brought settlers and the less scrupulous opportunists: pirates and thieves. The ensuing commerce and crime had seen the first city walls built, and over the centuries the city had expanded, each time erecting a new outer city wall to protect its new citizens.

The buildings were much older here, and there was no one in plain clothes, only soldiers and seemingly endless stacks of artillery, munitions, and other equipment. The Immari were preparing for war, and this was clearly a major launching center. This was also the city's citadel. He would be judged here.

David turned to the soldier sitting in the jeep beside him. "Corporal, I know you're following orders, but you need to release me. You're making a very big mistake. Take me past the city gate and set me out. No one will be the wiser, and you might avoid a court-martial for interfering with a top-secret mission."

The young man eyed David, hesitated, then looked away quickly. "No can do, Colonel. Standing orders are to capture or kill anyone beyond the wall."

"Corporal-"

"They've already called it in, sir. You'll have to speak with the major." The young soldier turned away as the jeep crossed the threshold of a courtyard that housed the fleet of jeeps. The convoy stopped and the soldiers dragged David out and marched him inside the building, down several corridors, and parked him inside a cell with heavy iron bars and a small, high window.

David stood in the cell and waited, his hands still bound and fastened to his belt. After a time, loud footsteps echoed against the stone floor and a soldier appeared. His black uniform was unruffled and a single silver bar sat on his shoulder. A lieutenant. He squared with David, but kept his distance beyond the iron bars. Unlike the corporal in the jeep, there was no hesitation in his voice. "Identify yourself."

David stepped toward him. "Don't you mean: Identify yourself, Colonel?"

Hesitation crossed the man's face, and he spoke more slowly. "Identify yourself, Colonel."

"Have you been briefed on covert operations here in Morocco, Lieutenant?"

The lieutenant's eyes darted left and right. Doubt. "No... I've haven't been notified-"

"Do you know why?" David held up his bound hands. "Don't answer. It's rhetorical. You haven't been notified because, that's right, the operations are covert. Cla.s.sified. You log my presence here, my operation will be blown. And so will your chances of promotion or ever doing anything besides peeling potatoes. Understand?"

David let the words linger in the young man's mind a moment. When David continued, his tone was less harsh. "Right now, I don't know your name, and you don't know mine. That's a good thing. Right now, this is just a mix-up, a stupid mistake by a low-ranking perimeter patrol. If you release me and provide me with a jeep, it will be forgotten."

The lieutenant paused for a moment, and David thought he was about to reach for something in his pocket, possibly the keys, when a set of boots began clacking against the stone floor and another soldier emerged in the hallway, a major. The higher-ranking officer glanced from the lieutenant to David as if he had caught them in the middle of something. His expression was mild, almost blank, somewhere near amus.e.m.e.nt, David thought.

The lieutenant straightened at the sight of the major and said, "Sir, they found him in the hills below Jebel Musa. He refuses to identify himself, and I don't have any transfer orders."

David studied the major. Yes, he recognized the man. His hair was longer and his face was leaner, but the eyes were the same as those David had seen several years ago in a small square photograph paper-clipped to a printout of an after-action report. The operative had handwritten the report in neat block letters, not cursive, as if every letter and word had been considered at length. The major had been a Clocktower operative-a member of the covert operations group David had worked for. David had recently learned that Clocktower had actually been under Immari control. The major might actually know who David was. But if not... Either way, David was finished if he didn't make a play.

He stepped to the iron bars. The lieutenant moved back and placed his hand on his sidearm. The major stood his ground. He slowly turned his head.

"You're right, lieutenant," David said. "I'm not a colonel. Just like the man standing next to you isn't a major." David continued before the lieutenant could speak. "I'll tell you something else you don't know about the 'major.' Two years ago, he a.s.sa.s.sinated a high-value terrorist target named Omar al-Quso. He shot him at dusk at a range of almost two kilometers." David nodded to the major. "I remember it because when I read the after-action report, I thought to myself, now, that's a h.e.l.l of a shot."

The major c.o.c.ked his head, then shrugged and broke his gaze for the first time. "Truth be told, it was a rather lucky shot. I had already chambered the second round when I realized that al-Quso wasn't getting up."

"I don't... understand," the lieutenant said.

"Clearly. Our mysterious guest has just described a cla.s.sified Clocktower operation, which means he's either a station chief or a chief a.n.a.lyst. I don't think a.n.a.lysts get to the gym nearly as much as our colonel here. Release him."

The lieutenant opened the cell and unbound David's wrists, then turned back to the major. "Should I-"

"You should make yourself scarce, Lieutenant." He turned and began down the hall. "Follow me, Colonel."

As David walked down the stone hallway, he wondered whether he was now deeper in the trap, or on his way out.

CHAPTER 36.

Immari Operations Base at Ceuta

Northern Morocco

The major led David out of the building that housed the holding cells, and across a wide courtyard that was crowded with pens. David could hear rustling inside. Were they keeping their livestock here? Sounds he couldn't make out drifted into the night.

The major seemed to notice David's interest. He glanced at the pens. "Barbarians waiting for the boatman."

David wondered what he meant. In Greek mythology, "the boatman" carried souls of the newly deceased across the rivers Styx and Acheron that divided the world of the living from the world of the dead. He decided to let it go. He had more pressing mysteries to unravel.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to a large building at the center of the inner city.

David quickly took in the major's office. He didn't want to seem too interested, but several things struck him. It was too large. This was clearly the base commander's office. And it was spa.r.s.e. The walls had been stripped to the white drywall and there was very little else: a black Immari flag in the corner, a simple wooden desk with a swiveling metal chair behind it, and two foldout chairs across from the desk.

The major plopped down behind the desk, drew a pack of cigarettes from the top drawer, and quickly lit one with a match. He held the match and looked up at David. "Smoke?"

"I quit after the outbreak. Figured there wouldn't be any left in a few weeks."

The major shook the match out and tossed it in the ashtray. "Glad I'm not that smart."

David didn't sit at the desk. He wanted some distance between them. He walked to the window and stared out, thinking, hoping the major would tip his hand somehow, give David an opening.

The major blew a cloud of smoke between them and spoke carefully, as if measuring every word before he spoke it. "I'm Alexander Rukin. Colonel..."

He's good, David thought. Right to the point. No opening. What do I have to work with? The room. A major-commanding a base this large? It was unlikely. But David sensed that there was no superior officer on site. "I was told the base commander would be notified of my presence, should we come into contact."

"He may have been." Rukin took another pull on the cigarette. David sensed something changing. Is he changing his approach?

"He's in southern Spain, leading the invasion. He deployed almost everyone. We're running a skeleton crew. Our station chief, Colonel Garrott, got picked off two days ago. Stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h was making the rounds, visiting every guard tower, shaking hands like he'd been elected mayor of h.e.l.l. Berber sniper got him with one shot. We a.s.sume the shooter was in the hills, that's why we added the patrols. And the boomerangs on the perimeter. Now I need to know why you're here."

Yes, Rukin was giving him useless details, hoping David would reciprocate, tell his story, make a mistake. "I'm here for a job."

"What-"

"It's cla.s.sified," David said, turning to face Rukin. How long do I have? Maybe an hour before he finds out I'm a fake? At best, I can buy some time. "Call it in. If you have the clearance, they'll tell you."

"You know I can't."

"Why not?"

"The explosion." Rukin read David's face. "You don't know?"

"Apparently not."

"Someone exploded a sub-nuclear device at Immari HQ in Germany," Rukin said. "n.o.body's calling anything in right now, especially covert ops verifications."

David failed to hide his surprise. But... it was the opening he needed. "I've... been in transit, with no comms."

"From?"

Now the test. "Recife," David said.

Rukin leaned forward. "There's no Clocktower station in Recife-"

"We were in startup when the a.n.a.lyst purge began. Then the plague hit. I barely got out. I've been on special a.s.signment since."

"Interesting. That's a really interesting story, Colonel. Here's the reality: if you don't tell me who you are and why you're here right now, I'll have to hold you in a cell until I can verify your ident.i.ty. It's my a.s.s if I don't."

David stared at him. "You're right. It's... operational secrecy. Old habit. Maybe I was a Clocktower operative for too long." Then David gave the story he had been working on since he crossed the first gate. "I'm here to help secure this base. You know how important Ceuta is to the cause. My name is Alex Wells. If HQ is destroyed, there's bound to be someone from special ops directorate that can verify me."

Rukin scribbled some notes on a pad. "I'll have to confine you to quarters under guard until then. You understand, Colonel."

"I understand," David said. I've bought some time. Would it be enough to get out of here? One goal dominated David's mind: finding Kate. He needed information to do that. "I do have one... request. As I said, I've been in transit. I'd like to hear any updates you have. Anything uncla.s.sified, of course."

Rukin sat back in the metal chair, seeming to relax for the first time. "The rumor is that Dorian Sloane has returned. Naturally he was arrested outside the Antarctica structure. But they say he carried a case. The morons in charge took that case back to HQ and it blew up the building. Darwinism at work, if you ask me."

"What happened to Sloane?"

"That's the strangest part. The story is that in interrogation, he killed a guard and ripped open Chairman Sanders' throat. Then, get this, they kill him-double tap to the head, close range. An hour later, he walks out of the structure. A completely new body-with all his memories. Not a scratch on him."

"Impossible..."

"And then some. The Immari are desperate to create this mythical story around him. It's working. The rank and file worship him now. The end of days, Messiah, rapture rhetoric... here in Ceuta and every other place that flies the Immari flag. It's nauseating."

"You're not a believer?"

"I believe the whole world is circling the drain and Immari International is the only piece of s.h.i.t that floats."

"Then... let's hope it continues to float. Major, I'm a bit exhausted from my trip."

"Sure."

Rukin called two soldiers in and instructed them to escort David to quarters and arrange for round-the-clock guard.

Alexander Rukin stubbed out the cigarette and stared at the words on the page.

The door opened, and Captain Kamau, his second-in-command, entered.

The tall African spoke slowly in a deep voice. "You buy his story, sir?"

"Sure. It's about as real as the Easter Bunny." Rukin lit another cigarette and peered into the pack. Three left.

"Who is he?"

"No idea. He's somebody though. A pro. Maybe one of ours, probably one of theirs."

"You want me to call it in?"

"Please." Rukin handed him the strip of paper. "And put him under heavy guard. Make sure he sees nothing more than what the Allies can already see from the air."

"Yes, sir." Kamau studied the ship of paper. "Colonel Alex Wells?"

Rukin nodded. "I'm not certain it's a fake name, but it's strangely similar to Arthur Wellesley."

"Wellesley?"

"The Duke of Wellington. Defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo. Never mind."

"If he's a fake, why don't we take him now? Interrogate him?"

"You're a good soldier, Kamau, but you're lousy at intelligence work. We need to know what we're dealing with here. He could lead us to a bigger fish or reveal a larger operation at work. Sometimes you use the small fish as bait."

The major stubbed out the cigarette. He was good at waiting. "Bring him a girl. See if he's more talkative with her." He glanced at the cigarette pack again. "And get me some more smokes."

"The commissary ran out yesterday, sir." Kamau paused. "But I heard Lieutenant Shaw won some in a card game last night."

"Really? It's too bad they got stolen. Some men are sore losers."

"I'll see to it, sir."

David rubbed his eyelids. He was certain of two things: that Major Rukin hadn't bought his story, and that he couldn't shoot his way out of here. David decided he would rest, then try to take the guards at the door. After that, he wasn't sure.

A soft knock interrupted his internal debate.

David stood. "Come in."

A thin woman with flowing black hair and light caramel skin stepped in, quickly closing the door behind her. "Compliments of Major Rukin," she said softly, not looking at him.