On Target - By Mark Greaney Page 0,27

wants to clean up the Darfur thing as much as anybody, and Abboud is almost single-handedly responsible.”

“Yeah, he is, but POTUS and his people want Abboud sent to the International Criminal Court; he wants to hand over Abboud on a silver platter to them. There’s been an ICC arrest warrant on him for three years.”

“I know. But whacking him will do it quicker and cleaner, with no CIA comebacks. You guys could have just let me do the hit for the Russians.”

Zack chuckled. “I know, Court. Your prescription for any disease is a double dose of lead to the head. But it’s a new day in D.C., bro. The president and his crew at the White House are all into making nice with Europe, bolstering international institutions and all that shit. They want to take credit.”

Court couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The White House actually wants to save Abboud’s life so that he can be turned over to the Euros?”

Zack shrugged. “There’s more to it than that. Tit for tat, quid pro quo, and a bunch of other phrases I don’t get paid enough to understand but . . . basically . . . yeah.”

Court shook his head, “Not like the old days, huh?”

“Yeah, right? Five years ago we would just whack whomever we needed to whack. To hell with the ICC. Listen, I’m with you; this seems like a lot of work just to hand the guy off to the fucking UN or whoever the fuck, but someone at Langley has convinced someone at the White House, who has convinced POTUS, that we have a surefire way to get hold of Abboud and deliver him to the ICC with no comebacks on us if it doesn’t go to plan.”

“And that way is me,” Court said.

“Exactly. Every intelligence agency worth its salt knows the CIA wants the Gray Man dead. So that makes you the epitome of plausible deniability. If this deal breaks bad, it won’t smell like a CIA op.”

“This was the CIA’s idea?”

“One hundred percent. SAD has been lying too low for our taste. CIA and military drones are buzzing around at thirty thousand feet, taking out bad guys left and right with their Hellfires, but Paramilitary Operations teams like Whiskey Sierra are just sitting around. The White House has restricted everything we do. Even our training regimen has suffered. We aren’t killing terrorists, we aren’t running in friendly countries, we aren’t wiping our asses unless we use extra soft TP. SAD needs this op to go ahead, to show POTUS that SAD’s Special Operations Group can still be viable in a kinder, gentler CIA. You are our proxy boy; you’ll take the risks, you’ll hand Abboud over to us, we’ll hand him over to the Justice Department, and they’ll hand him over to an appreciative International Criminal Court. POTUS and his risk-averse flunkies will give SAD more to do if they see how we can make his Euro fag buddies all warm and fuzzy by giving them Abboud tied in a bow. There isn’t a UAV out there that can kidnap someone. At least, not yet.”

“What about Sidorenko?”

“We pull it off, and Sid will just think you got whacked by us and we snatched Abboud in the same op. You don’t want to work for that caviar-sucking psychopath any longer, trust me. Even in comparison with the rest of the Russian mob, Greg Sidorenko and his Nazi henchmen are fucking loony tunes.”

Court cocked his head to the side. “If you guys are going to be in theater for the handover, how are you going to ensure there are no comebacks to the CIA?”

Zack waved his hand. “Details. We’ll lie low, spend most of our time in international waters, shoot in for the op. You’ll do the heavy lifting, and we’ll support you. CIA Sudan Station has an informant in Suakin who knows Abboud’s schedule for his trip there. This guy is involved in contingency planning for any emergencies; he knows the op orders for the president’s bodyguards and their tactics.”

“How does that help me?”

Zack smiled. “The security detail has a protocol for an attack when the president is making his morning walk to the mosque. If there is a threat while they’re in the square in front of the mosque, they take Abboud into the local bank and lock themselves in the vault until help arrives.”

“And I am guessing you have a way to make them think there is some

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