The Monroe Decision Read online

  “Honey, trust me. If both of us tail him, it will be too easy for him to make us. It’s better if I do this alone.”

  Aaron kissed her, then quickly turned and moved to keep his prey in sight. Behind him he heard Sarah call out, “Be careful.”

  Aaron followed brown shirt as he walked on Les Rambles Boulevard for about a third of a kilometer to the metro station near the Liceu Theater. The station entrance was located in the center of the boulevard with a heavy concrete and wrought iron fence marking the entrance. Aaron followed him down the steps and paid for a ticket at a kiosk with his credit card. He followed him through the turnstile and sat on a rail side bench under the colored lights of the green line about thirty feet from where brown shirt was seated.

  They waited three minutes. After the train came to a stop and a large group of passengers disembarked, brown shirt stepped into a car. Aaron entered a car one behind the car brown shirt was in.

  The man got off at the next stop and Aaron casually disembarked and walked with his hands in his pockets to a seat under the lights of the red line. The next train came and went and brown shirt remained on the bench. As the second train approached, he stood and waited. Again, Aaron stepped into a car one behind the car where the man with the brown shirt was seated.

  The metro passed through five stops before brown shirt stood to disembark at the Clot station. Aaron followed and crossed the intersection through four lanes of traffic and southwest toward the Clot market place. They walked past the Islamic Cultural Center and past the marketplace, then turned right on Carrer del Clot.

  At night, Carrer del Clot was dimly lit. Aaron stayed in the shadows on the opposite side of the street. Brown shirt stopped at the small bakery, pulled out his keys, and entered through the storefront. Aaron saw a light go on inside. A second light further inside illuminated, then the first light went dark followed by a door closing, which caused the second light to go dark.

  Aaron walked to the end of the block and found an alley behind the buildings. He crept up the alley and noticed a light on inside the back of the bakery, which he assumed were the living quarters. There was a back door with a lock that would be simple enough to pick.

  * * *

  Abdul-Aziz opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of ouzo and sat at the kitchen table. He poured a glass and drank it quickly, then sat tapping his fingers on the table. That girl did not come. She wasted my time. Who does she think she is? He poured another glass of ouzo and downed it. These girls are all foolish little whores. “Filthy whores.”

  After another shot of ouzo his face felt warm. Abdul-Aziz smiled and stood, a little off-balance, then walked down the steps to the room downstairs and unlocked the door. Three of the five girls in the room were asleep. They awoke as he burst into the room. The pretty girl with black hair, dark complexion, and pretty brown eyes sat up on the bed she shared with one of the other girls.

  Abdul-Aziz stumbled over to her and grabbed her by the arm. She struggled but was no match for his size and strength. She cried as she tried to wriggle free from his grip while the other girls all stood and inched toward the other side of the room.

  “You will come with me!” Abdul-Aziz bellowed. She struggled as he pulled her to the door. He opened the door, pushed her through, and slammed it behind him. She continued to struggle as he locked the door. Then he dragged her up the steps, tearing off her abaya.

  She stood naked in front of him at the top of the stairs. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she begged him, “Please don’t do this.”

  “You will garner less at auction if you are not a virgin, but I will still get a good price for you,” growled Abdul-Aziz. He pushed her through the door to his small bedroom.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BARCELONA, SPAIN

  SATURDAY, JUNE 18TH

  9:00 A.M.

  “We need to see if we can draw this recruiter out again. If you contact him on Facebook today and ask to meet him again and the same guy shows up, we’ll be certain,” Aaron said as they walked leisurely in the shadows of the Catedral de Barcelona.

  Sarah moved closer to Aaron and placed her hand in his. “I was worried last night when you left on your own.” She leaned her head on Aaron’s shoulder as they walked.

  Aaron squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled like a luscious blend of coconut and citrus. He did not want to discuss why he separated from her the night before. “You smell wonderful.”

  “I know that tactic lover, you’re avoiding the subject,” answered Sarah. She looked up at him and wore a big smile.

  They arrived at a small café on the back side of the cathedral that Aaron had read about at the hotel. “Here, this is where I thought we would have breakfast,” Aaron said as he opened a small gate to the outside seating area.

  A twenty-something hostess with braided dark hair and a red apron asked them something in Spanish. Aaron started to say something when she asked in heavily accented English, “You want breakfast? Yes?”

  “Yes. Breakfast.” Aaron answered.

  She nodded, smiled, and picked up two menus. “This way, please.” The hostess walked to a table and two chairs and pulled one chair out for Sarah.

  They ordered cappuccino, eggs, and pastry.

  “So you say the man you followed last night is a baker?” asked Sarah.

  “I assume so. He went directly to a bakery and he had a key to open the door,” Aaron replied. “It looked like the front of the place is a bakery shop and his living quarters are in the back.”

  “Do you think he lives there alone?”

  “Yeah, I think so. There were no lights on when he went in. He turned on the lights when he went in so I think he lives alone.” Aaron placed his hand on his fork and turned it over repetitively. “So,” Aaron continued, “after breakfast let’s go back to the first Internet café we used and you can post something on Facebook to this guy. You can make up some reason why you didn’t show yesterday and ask him to meet you again today. I’m pretty sure the guy I followed last night is the recruiter we’re after, but if he agrees to meet you again and the same guy shows up, we’ll have a positive identification.”

  The hostess delivered their cappuccinos and walked back toward the kitchen.

  “Okay, what will we do if you positively identify him?”

  “Well, then I’ll pay him a late-night visit and see what he is willing to tell me.”

  “You mean we will pay him a visit, don’t you?” Sarah reached over and put her hand over Aaron’s.

  They finished their breakfast, then headed over to the Internet café that was only a few blocks away at the Plaça de Catalunya. Aaron paid cash again for an hour on a computer and a sleepy attendant with greasy hair and stubble on his chin gave Aaron the password. They sat at a station in the corner opposite the one they had sat during their last visit. Again, they faced the front window of the café; however, this time, the painted fruit on the wall to their right was a large orange.

  Sarah logged on with the password given to Aaron and then logged into the phony account she had created as Yasmin. “I have five more friend requests.”

  “Check your Twitter post and see if there’s anything there.”

  She tapped a few keys and scrolled through the Twitter feed. “Yeah, there are a few more posts but they all appear to be consistent with other bored kids. Nothing in here looks like someone trying to draw in a recruit.”

  Sarah entered some keystrokes and reopened Facebook, then typed a message and posted it. “I sent Arbab a message and apologized for not meeting the imam last night.” Sarah turned sideways in her chair and now faced Aaron. “I told him that last night I told my father that I miss my friends from Tangier and that he became angry with me for that. He would not let me leave the house.”

  Aaron smiled and nodded.

  “I also told him that was why I wanted to get away.”

  “Great, let’s see if he responds,” Aaron replied.

  Whil
e they waited, Aaron stood and paced the floor. Several times he stepped outside and paced in front of the café. Their purchase time was almost expired when Sarah motioned for Aaron to come back inside.

  “Arbab said the imam wants to meet again,” Sarah said as Aaron approached her. “He said that if I want to return to my old way of life that I should gather up all the money that I can find, including stealing from my father if I can, and that I should pack a small backpack with any female essentials and meet the imam at the Mirador de Colom.” She turned away from the monitor and looked up at Aaron, then asked, “Where is that?”

  “Son of a bitch. He’s making a bold move.”

  “Mirador de Colom is a large monument to Columbus at the opposite end of Las Rambles away from Plaça de Catalunya. That place will be crawling with tourists.”

  “What time?”

  “He said he will be there this afternoon at three.”

  “Son of a bitch wants to do this in the daytime where there are hundreds of people.”

  “Do you think he suspects something?” asked Sarah.

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. We just need to see if the same person shows up.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WASHINGTON, DC

  EISENHOWER EXECUTIVE OFFICE BUILDING

  SATURDAY, JUNE 18TH

  8:00 A.M.

  Stafford had already been in the vice president’s northeast corner office for over an hour when Patterson arrived. He had used that time to prepare a meeting agenda and set up the eight-seat oval conference table with two sets of like documents for each participant.

  Vice President Patterson took off his blue suit coat and hung it in a mahogany armoire, then turned to face Stafford. “I assume you’re here to discuss Monroe’s request for authorization of what you have described as his ‘search and destroy evil mission.’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.” He sat and placed his hand on the documents. “The president is not ready to authorize this yet.”

  Stafford leaned forward. “Mr. Vice President, I don’t understand. This is a justifiable mission. I don’t understand why this wasn’t approved.”

  Patterson tapped a pen on the table for a few seconds before he responded in a condescending tone. “Nigel, the president and the entire Council have seen the video and have read the documents that Monroe gave you. To say that we were all disgusted would greatly understate the collective thoughts of the group. The president discussed Monroe’s activity with the entire Council early this morning. Frankly, most of the Council probably would have favored authorizing his request if he had not involved his girlfriend.”

  “Dammit!” Stafford snapped. “I knew that was going to be a problem.”

  “Well, you better believe it’s a problem, and a big one at that,” replied Patterson, “but that’s not the only problem. Senator Walsh expressed a strong concern that Monroe is asking for a virtual license to kill. He does not want to empower a single agent with the authority to be the judge, jury, and executioner.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Stafford pushed his chair back, stood, and walked over to the counter to refill his coffee cup. “Senator Walsh is not even a member of the Council. It’s the president’s call to make.”

  “Yes, ultimately, it is the president’s call. But as the senior member of the Senate Judiciary Committee on Terrorism, Senator Jonah Walsh is a key stakeholder. Not only can he affect funding for the Council, he could also influence the senate’s counter-terrorism policy. Besides, the senator does have a point.”

  Stafford came back to the table and sat across from Patterson again. He placed his coffee on the table and scratched his head. “So what should I tell Monroe?”

  “Bring him in.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BARCELONA, SPAIN

  SATURDAY, JUNE 18TH

  2:25 P.M.

  Aaron wore jeans, a white shirt, and a light sport coat. Under his sport coat he wore a shoulder-holstered Sig Sauer pistol with one fifteen-round clip inserted. He carried a second fifteen-round clip and a sound suppressor in his backpack.

  Aaron had also advised Sarah that in a stakeout she would need to be as inconspicuous as possible, and he asked her to dress down so she would not draw attention to herself. She wore a green and brown patterned shirt-dress that stopped just above the knees with gladiator sandals and carried a large crochet tote. Her hair was drawn back in a ponytail and she wore brown-and-black-rimmed Prada sunglasses.

  “This is your idea of inconspicuous?” Aaron asked.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Sarah.

  “It’s hopeless,” Aaron teased. “You could wear a brown sack and still draw the attention of every man on the street.”

  Sarah touched Aaron’s forearm. “You meant that as a compliment, right?”

  Aaron chuckled and shook his head. He then handed the other unloaded pistol and two clips to her. “Here, put these in your bag?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, then saluted Aaron.

  “Careful, smart-ass,” replied Aaron. “I might have to spank you.”

  Sarah moved her sunglasses lower on the bridge of her nose and blinked with feigned innocence.

  The sidewalks were crowded so it took twenty-two minutes to walk the one and a half kilometers from the hotel to the Mirador de Colom. “Did he say anything about where he wants to meet at the monument?” Aaron asked as they crossed the street to the plaza.

  “No,” answered Sarah. “Just meet at the monument.”

  “Shit,” Aaron said as he surveyed the scene.

  A group of German speaking tourists stood in line next to a bronze lion guarding the underground opening of the sixty-meter-tall monument, and several other groups clustered around the colored signs held aloft by their tour guides.

  “I was hoping we could go to the top of the monument. From there we could see him approach from any direction. But with these crowds, we’ll never get in there.”

  Aaron walked around the monument and Sarah had to trot to catch up to him.

  They were on the side of the monument that faced the harbor when Sarah grabbed his arm. “Aaron, look, over by the crosswalk, in front of the concession stand.”

  “Turn toward me,” Aaron commanded. “Look up toward the top of the monument. Act like a tourist.” Aaron looked past Sarah and focused his gaze on the man. “That’s him,” he proclaimed. “Same dark glasses and this dude’s even wearing the same brown shirt he wore yesterday.”

  Brown shirt’s gaze shifted in their direction so Aaron leaned in and kissed Sarah to obscure his face. As he kissed her he kept his focus on brown shirt. That’s definitely him.

  “You pick the funniest times to get romantic,” quipped Sarah after their lips parted.

  “He was looking in our direction,” Aaron replied. He took her hand and they walked in the opposite direction of the man in the brown shirt.

  Aaron’s phone in his front pocket began to vibrate and his sci-fi ring tone sounded. He nudged Sarah toward a vendor stand that sold pitas and vegetable plates and stepped behind it, out of brown shirt’s line of sight. Aaron looked at the iPhone face and frowned. He ignored the call and placed the phone back in his pocket.

  “What was that?” asked Sarah. “You didn’t look too pleased.”

  “It was Stafford. Bad timing. I can’t talk to him right now.” He stepped out from behind the vendor stand and looked for brown shirt but he was gone.

  “What do we do now?” asked Sarah.

  “We go pay a visit to his bakery.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  BARCELONA, SPAIN

  SATURDAY, JUNE 18TH

  4:10 P.M.

  Before they rode the metro from the Gothic Quarter to the Clot station, Aaron insisted they stop at the hotel and change clothes in case brown shirt made a mental note of the people he saw at the monument. Aaron changed his shirt and Sarah changed into jeans and a V-neck tee.

/>   Aaron led as they climbed the stairs and emerged on the boulevard de Meridiana Avenue. They crossed the intersection through four lanes of rush hour traffic and headed southwest toward the Clot marketplace. Aaron retraced his path from the previous night and they crossed a less busy side street, then walked past the Islamic Cultural Center and past the marketplace, then turned right on Carrer del Clot.

  “When we get to the bakery,” Aaron began, “I want to go inside and evaluate the premises before I do anything.” He stopped walking and turned to face Sarah. “I want you to come inside with me and shop for some baguettes or something. I want whoever is in there to be focused on you while I look around.”

  Sarah nodded. “Okay.”

  “If brown shirt is in there I may move on him so I need you to be ready for that.”

  “What should I do?” asked Sarah as they started to walk again.

  “If I move on him, the most important thing for you to do is to not let him get to you. You have your gun; use it if you have to.”

  Sarah swung her gaze toward Aaron and she clutched her bag tightly. They turned the corner and walked about thirty paces on the opposite side of the street from the bakery, then stopped. Both sides of the street were lined with compact cars tightly parked. The pungent smell of a fish market hung in the air as a double-parked seafood delivery van driver delivered fresh product to a restaurant two doors down from the bakery. An elderly couple walked along the sidewalk in front of the bakery while two young boys skateboarded past them.

  A sign hung in the window of the bakery that said “open” in English, Spanish, and Arabic.

  “Let’s go.” He took her hand in his and they walked between the parked cars and across the street to the bakery entrance. The door chimes rang when Aaron pushed open the door, and the smell of sweet baked goods rushed over them. Abdul-Aziz, still wearing the same brown shirt, was busy serving a portly, middle-aged woman with a weathered, blue scarf over her graying hair.