Thinking, Jacob said, “And you can navigate the canals? If I gave you a spot?”

“Yeah. It’s actually not that hard. I got a map. A water taxi map. I can figure it out.”

Jacob nodded. “Good. Devon? Any luck?”

Devon was tasked with befriending the boys after the chaperone left.

“I followed them for a while, and they did what any tourist would do. Wandered around to all the attractions. When they reached the Rialto Market over on the other side of the canal they stopped for lunch. I approached them then. We struck up a conversation, and I asked if they wanted to party. They said no.”

Jacob waited, then said, “And that’s it? What, did you offer them cocaine or something? They’re high school kids.”

Devon smiled and said, “They said not today, but asked me if I was hanging around for a few days. They said they could maybe party later. Actually looked at one other as if they were breaking the law. I don’t think they realize the drinking age here is, like, sixteen or something.”

“So?”

“So they said their chaperone runs the show, but he’s apparently here partially on business. They’ve got a sightseeing trip planned for tomorrow during the day, but tomorrow night they’re free. The chaperone’s going to be busy doing something, and the following day he’ll be in business meetings. They’re on their own. They asked if I knew of a place to go to after he left. I found a pub called the Devil’s Forest. I told them to meet me there tomorrow night at nine.”

Jacob smiled. Business meetings. Right. This might work after all.

“That’s perfect. Devon, you meet them and get them liquored up. So drunk that they’ll let you in their rooms. Figure out the lay of the land of their hotel. Get control of one of their keys. We only need one. Put them to bed but leave with a key.”

He tapped his finger against his lip, thinking. He continued, “Do we know the specific room the chaperone is using?”

“Yeah. His is a floor above the kids. After you started following him, I found the room, but that hotel isn’t good for a hit. It’s a mess, with hallways and rooms spread out like a crazy aunt built it. I can follow the kids back and tuck them in, maybe even get a key, but we can’t kill anyone there.”

“I’m not going to. Carlos, I’m going to need that boat tomorrow around ten at night.”

Carlos said, “For what? We can’t kill them when they’re out drunk with Devon.”

“I’m not talking about the kids. We need the chaperone first. I’m taking him tomorrow night.”

“How? All we know is that he won’t be with the kids. You can’t kill someone in this city like that.”

“He’ll be where I say, when I say. Does this hotel have a printer? A business center?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Jacob raised his camera. “I have to print some pictures.”

47

Rashid read the direct message on Twitter and was astounded at al-Britani’s lack of security. Didn’t the man remember anything he was taught while working with Jabhat al-Nusra? Was the Islamic State so arrogant they no longer cared about operational compromise? How had Omar al-Khatami succeeded as long as he had with this example of leadership?

The message was succinct and to the point: Attack delayed, possibly tomorrow or maybe the next day. Inside man’s work schedule changed.

Rashid put an email address from a service called ProtonMail into his direct message response. He ordered al-Britani to create his own account, encrypted end to end and anonymous, and send him a message tomorrow. He instructed al-Britani to set the encryption password for the body of the email the same as the subject line, which would come through unencrypted. It was a risk, as someone could conceivably crack the email with the hints given here, on Twitter, but they’d have to find the new account al-Britani created first, and ProtonMail—located in Switzerland—was outside the eyes of the prying NSA. Anyway, it was much better than talking over Twitter, and he would change the password after the first message.

He hit send, logged out of his Twitter account, then cleared the history of the browser. He stood and saw two police officers enter the café, sending a little shiver of adrenaline down his back. They went to the counter and bought time on a system, then walked behind him to a computer at the end of the row.

Rashid exhaled, realizing they were from the security of the US embassy next door, and more than likely just on a break.

Really need to find another Internet café.

He exited the dungeonlike shop, walking up the steps from the basement, leaving the gloom and entering the sunlight. He went down Rruga e Elbasanit, passing right in front of the United States embassy compound, threading through the local-national guards milling about. He kept his head down, and hid the smile on his face.

He took a left, going past the Tirana soccer stadium and leaving the embassy behind. Blending into the crowds, appearing more local than not, he continued on, looking for the small grocery/pharmacy his apartment was above. He saw the sign above the store and ruefully thought that at least the rejection of bringing his entire team had meant less rental space needed. Less coordination.

He’d convinced the leadership of Jabhat al-Nusra that his trip was to ensure the success of the Islamic State attack, but in so doing he’d cut off his ability to bring all the men he needed. After the crusader air strikes, he had five left who were fiercely loyal to him, and unquestionably lethal, but the al-Nusra emir had balked when he said he wanted all five.

Why? he’d asked. Why do you need all of them to fly to Albania? If you’re just making sure the transfer occurs successfully, from the outside? Two will be enough to protect the transfer.

Yes, two would be enough to protect the transfer, but it made capturing Omar very, very hard. And there was no way he was leaving Tirana without Omar’s scalp hanging from his belt. Quite possibly literally.

He entered the small hallway next to the market and tromped up the stairs. Not wanting a surprise, he knocked on the door, paused, then twisted the key. He found his two men sitting at the kitchen table, looking at him expectantly. He smiled.

“So how did your day go? Did you find me another Internet café? One away from the crusader embassy?”

The first nodded and said, “Yes. Actually, there’s one about four blocks away.”

Rashid scowled, saying, “And you sent me to the lion’s den instead?”

The man recoiled, saying, “I . . . I didn’t know. I’ve never been here. I did the best . . .”

Rashid waved a hand, saying, “You did fine. I just don’t want to return there. How do we look for tomorrow? For the meeting?”

“We’ve both been into the garden. It will be hard. The meeting site is set back, in the glade, and there is no easy escape if we have to force a man to come with us.”

Rashid said, “We won’t take him there. We’ll follow to a more suitable location.” He saw the man had a further question, and said, “Yes?”

“Well . . . we were wondering . . .”

Rashid waited, but both were too respectful to talk. Rashid grew sick of the reticence. “What, Hashim? Damn it, don’t act like a woman.”

Hashim stiffened at the insult, then said, “Why aren’t we talking to the Albanians? You know the meeting, and you could contact the men. Why are we doing this risky operation? Just get them to put a gun on him.”

Rashid said, “That would seem to be easiest, but I don’t trust the Albanians. They are working for money. Don’t believe they have the faith, even if they’re Muslim. They would just as likely tell Omar what we planned.”

The second man said, “Why don’t we just kill him? Why do we need to capture him? We could shoot him from a distance before the meeting, then get the Albanians to give us the weapons. After all, they’re our weapons. They’re just holding them.”