“Israeli Port Authority, this is the Sea King requesting safe passage,” Skylar said. “I repeat, we have an Israeli national aboard whose life is in danger.” She gulped. This was it. Taking it all the way to the edge this time. No going back. “His name is Elad Luria. He is with Mossad.”
Another volley of rounds tore into their hull. Another pop. Bang. A fan of hungry flames erupted from the second engine.
“Israeli Port Authority, do you read?” she asked.
Elad was pressed flat on the deck. Fiberglass and wood burst around them in a fountain of brutal shrapnel.
“Israeli Port Authority, do you read?” she tried one more time.
The Jordanian Response Boat was close enough she could see the sailors on deck preparing to board. They took potshots at the Sea King with their rifles, forcing Skylar and Alex down.
She opened her mouth to hail the port authority one more time. An unlucky round caught the radio, sparks flying.
“Guess this is it,” she said to Alex. “It was nice while it lasted.”
-21-
Alex ducked under another wave of rattling gunfire. The Sea King was dead in the water, the engines no longer working. They drifted slowly toward Eilat, starting to go sideways as the waves lapped against their hull. The Vigor was nearly on them after having turned the gunmen’s fishing boat into a smoking wreck. The few gunmen that had survived the onslaught were trying to swim away, but the spotlights of the Response Boat lit them up, making them easy targets for the Jordanian sailors even as the Response Boat slowed down to approach Alex and Skylar’s vessel. Each burst of gunfire was followed by a short, pained scream.
This was Alex’s nightmare. A mission unraveling around them because they’d gotten themselves caught.
The Response Boat bore down on them. Through the black smoke, Alex could see the six-man boarding crew at the railing of the Vigor, ready to leap into the Sea King.
All spotlights were aimed at them now.
The machine guns on the Response Boat went quiet for a moment. Then one of the guns roared back to life in a chattering rip of fire, strafing the Sea King. Fiberglass chipped and sprayed from the wounds, holes plunging through the deck.
Alex tightened his grip on his pistol, palms sweaty. He hated the idea of fighting back against these sailors. After all, they were only doing their jobs. They had no idea that he and Skylar were on a mission to save the world from a new weapon with unforeseen power.
He saw the husk of what remained of the other fishing boat. The last charcoaled fragments of the hull were now slipping beneath the waves.
Another burst of fire cut across the deck of the boat. Alex, Skylar, and Elad shrank behind the operating console, clinging to what little cover they had.
“We can’t let them take us,” Skylar said. “If they get Elad, a Mossad agent operating unauthorized in their country, they aren’t going to like it. They’ll take the samples then throw us all in prison. Assuming they don’t just kill us outright.”
Alex took out his pistol. “I know.”
As much as he loathed what he was about to do, he had no choice. They had to get Elad out of there. And if that meant using lethal force, then that’s what he had to do.
Deep down, he feared the Jordanian government might already know about the Ring of Solomon. He didn’t know who those gunmen were that had been chasing him and Skylar in Aqaba or Amman. While they didn’t seem to be cooperating with the JRNF, they could have been members of the GID. Maybe the Jordanians wanted to prevent the Ring of Solomon from getting out because they, in fact, were the ones wielding its power.
Those samples Elad had in his pack had to get back to the States. Park and Weber needed them to figure out what fresh hell was being inflicted on the world before it was too late.
Elad scrambled behind Alex and Skylar. He had his own pistol out.
“I’m ready,” he said, his hard-shell backpack slung over his shoulders. “If what you told me is true, I will not let them have these samples.”
The three of them waited, ready to face an unwinnable battle. But they had no other choice.
Alex’s vision narrowed to the approaching vessel.
Another rash of gunfire lanced through their boat. It began to list, water pooling through the bullet holes.
A voice boomed over a megaphone. “Sea King, put down any weapons you may have and raise your hands. Surrender now.”
The Jordanian boat was just twenty yards away.
Just a little closer, and Alex would take his first shot.
“Ready,” he said to the others. “At my signal.”
Ten yards away.
The first of the boarding party leaned over the bow of the Vigor, ready to secure a cable around the railing tracing the Sea King’s gunwale. Alex raised his pistol, peering past the control console. The smoke rising from the motors stung his nostrils. His eyes were watering, but he maintained his aim.
Five yards away now, the first of the boarding party pointed at where Alex was crouched beside Skylar. Alex raised his pistol, his finger gently tugging on the trigger.
Before he could fire, the boat’s engines suddenly roared, and it turned, showing its flank to them. As Alex watched, stunned, the vessel shot away.
“What are they doing?” Skylar asked, standing slowly, bracing herself on the console.
“They’re running,” Elad said. “But why?”
Between the crackle of the flames on the engines and the fading gurgle of the Jordanian vessel, Alex tried to figure out what had just happened. He turned back toward Eilat. The two Israeli patrol boats they had seen were still speeding toward them.
Spotlights from the Vigor lanced over the Sea King, but this time, no one fired on the sinking fishing boat.
Maybe the crew of the Vigor had backed off so quickly to avoid an international incident. Jordan and Israel’s relationship was rocky enough. The JRNF sailors probably figured they had taken care of one fishing boat full of terrorist gunmen—they would leave their counterparts to take care of the others now that they had crossed into Israeli waters.
That, or the Israelis hadn’t given them much of a choice. Maybe Skylar’s risky plea had actually reached receptive ears.
Or maybe the Israelis just wanted to claim a little victory for themselves.
The two Israeli patrol boats drifted on either side of the Sea King, dwarfing the fishing vessel. Sailors with rifles ran out of the cockpits and lined up along the patrol boats’ gunwales.
It would have been hell to fight off one boarding crew. Alex had no illusions they stood any chance of surviving against two.
Elad looked between him and Skylar, all the color drained from his face. Maybe it was the seasickness. Maybe the lingering effects of the Ring of Solomon. Or maybe, in his amnesia-addled brain, it was just pure fear.
The guy apparently didn’t know who he was, and now he was at the center of what looked to be an international showdown.
“Put your weapons down,” a voice boomed over a megaphone from one of the boats.
“What do you think?” Skylar asked.
“We shoot, we definitely die,” Alex said. There were twice as many Israeli soldiers on those boats as on the Jordanian Response Boat they had almost engaged. “We surrender. It’s up to our friend Elad. At least we might have a chance.”
Elad put down his gun. “You two better be right.”
“I don’t think they would’ve stopped the Jordanians if they didn’t want you,” Alex said.
Even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure if they were true. It was hard to believe much of anything when twelve men were aiming assault rifles their direction.
“Command, we’re giving ourselves up to the Israelis,” Alex said. “Kasim, please tell me you heard something.”
“I’m sorry,” Kasim said, and there was defeat in his voice.
“Kick your weapons toward us,” the Israeli said over the megaphone.
Alex placed his pistol on the deck and kicked it a
way. Skylar and Elad followed suit.
Before they could even stand with their hands raised, the Israelis poured into the vessel. Boots pounded all around the deck, and the sinking boat rocked from the sudden blitz. The soldiers scooped up their weapons, patted them down, and tore out the comm unit from Alex’s ear. Another ripped the mic from his collar.
Voices clamored all around. Even if he could understand Hebrew, he wouldn’t have been able to make sense of the chaos enveloping them. Someone yanked his hands back. Another gagged his mouth with a cloth, and someone else secured a blindfold over his eyes. Rough hands threw him into the back of one of the Response boats. Two heavy thuds sounded behind him.
Skylar and Elad, he guessed.
The engines of the patrol boats roared again, taking them to the shores of Israel.
At least that’s where Alex hoped they were headed.
Frederick, MD
“Vector One, do you read?” Kasim asked. He stood behind Morris’s station in the operations center, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handset.
No response from Wolfe.
“Vector Two?” he tried.
Cruz didn’t respond either.
“Damn it,” Kasim said.
This was exactly the scenario he had most feared when Vector was formed. His two field operatives had just become the focal point of an international standoff. No matter how brief, no matter how seemingly insignificant, this incident was not going to be swept under the rug.
While Jordan cleaned up the mess those gunmen had left behind in Aqaba, Israel would be wondering what two Americans were doing shuttling an alleged Mossad agent across the Red Sea in the middle of the night. And they would stop at nothing to find out why.
“What’s going on, Morris?” he asked.
Morris pulled his hand over his cleanly shaven head. “I’m not getting a read on either of them. Both units are turned off.”
“They wouldn’t do that.”
“Probably not,” Morris said. He adjusted his headset, pausing for a moment as though listening in. “I’m still tapped into the Port Authority’s comms.”
“Do you know where they’re taking Cruz and Wolfe?”
“Not a clue. They’re being very hush-hush.”
“Cruz’s play might’ve worked,” Kasim said. “They wouldn’t be taking those three in if Luria wasn’t valuable.”
“You sure?”
Kasim wanted to say yes. But he couldn’t, in good faith, be certain.
Morris waited a few seconds in silence before speaking again. This time in a lower, more serious voice. “I don’t need to tell you how to do your job, but you gave me strict orders about what to do if Vector’s identity was compromised.”
Kasim felt as though a storm cloud had passed over him, ready to unleash a volley of hail and lightning. He knew exactly what he had told Morris before they had embarked on Vector’s first mission. The unit had been formed to live in the shades of gray between United States and international laws and accords. They were supposed to operate in places where the United States wasn’t officially authorized to pursue covert missions. Cruz and Wolfe, for all intents and purposes, didn’t work for the United States, and Vector’s very existence was a secret from almost everyone in the government. Only USAMRIID’s commander, Brigadier General Heidi Liang, knew about their current operations.
That was about to change fast. Especially if Kasim couldn’t get ahold of his Mossad contact to put a lid on this before it spiraled out of control.
“Call Rahel Arnon again,” Kasim said. “I need to get her on the line. Whatever it takes.”
Morris started to set up the encrypted line and handed a headset to Kasim.
“If we don’t get in touch with her, if she can’t stop this, I’ll need to scrub everything,” Morris said. “I mean, that’s contingent on your order. But, uh, I don’t think we have a choice.”
Kasim couldn’t imagine saying those words. All his life’s work would be erased in an instant. Vector would never exist. Cruz and Wolfe would become nothing but a pair of stateless vigilantes left to fend for themselves. Park, Weber, Morris—all would have to start over from scratch, their careers and lives sucked into a virtual black hole. Their existence would be erased from the system, discarded from their association with the government immediately to prevent anyone from suspecting US involvement in this op.
All they would have left was the knowledge that they had failed.
“Boss, you want me to start shredding files?” Morris asked.
“Just get Arnon on the line,” he said.
Rahel had worked with him on cases around Egypt and Syria for nearly five years. She had belonged to Mossad’s Metsada, the mysterious group consisting of smaller, specialized units responsible for dangerous, offensive operations. Their missions included everything from assassinations to sabotage and even psychological warfare.
Rahel was an unforgiving woman whom Kasim had had the fortune to meet when they were both on the same side. She hadn’t told him her exact role in Metsada, instead letting his imagination do the work. Later, she’d told him that whatever things he thought she might’ve done, she guaranteed it was ten times more unbelievable.
Humorless and deadly, she had unrivaled skills in hand-to-hand combat and weaponry. She had only been retired from the field, from what Kasim could tell, because of an injury. Kasim hadn’t seen her in person since. But from what he did know, instead of taking her pension and going off to wherever agents like her went to retire, she joined the ranks of the administrators at Mossad, determined to continue the fight.
The agency’s organization was enigmatic. Even though the United States called Israel a close ally, the US intelligence community’s relationship with Mossad could be everything from cooperative to contentious depending on the hour of the day and mood of the agents.
So Kasim hoped Rahel remembered him in a good light. That wherever she was, she still had the power to pull a few strings to help Wolfe and Cruz.
But he knew that she wouldn’t do anything out of charity. Her primary objective was protecting Israel, putting her country’s interests first.
“She’s not answering,” Morris said. “So… should we execute Protocol Controlled Burn?”
Kasim considered the question. Operating procedure dictated that he say yes. He had rehearsed the moment in his head thousands of times.
But he couldn’t utter the command.
Not when the Ring of Solomon was still out there.
Not when his operatives’ lives were still in danger.
“Kasim?”
He didn’t know what would happen next, but he knew his answer. Even if it meant career suicide.
“No, we keep trying to get ahold of Rahel,” Kasim said. “And more importantly, we keep working. Because that’s exactly what Wolfe and Cruz will be doing. Until we know with absolute certainty that they’re gone, we keep working.”
Eilat, Israel
Elad was thrown onto what felt like a concrete floor. With his hands tied behind his back, his shoulder hit with a crack, and pain shuddered through his bones. He still couldn’t see anything with the blindfold over his eyes.
Restraints that felt like metal shackles bit into his ankles. Footsteps retreated. Then the door slammed shut.
He tried to hold his breath, biting back the pain, and listened. Was there someone else in the room with him? Watching as he lay there helpless?
Since Petra, he had been running for his life. And now he’d finally been caught.
God, maybe he was a spy. But he had been running from his own country. He might have been in Jordan seeking asylum after Mossad had washed their hands of him. That’s probably why he had been reported KIA.
He thought back to the stray dog he had fed in Wadi Musa. The poor animal had been left in the streets to wander aimlessly. No pack. Hunger its only companion.
He could’ve chosen to disappear. To be forgotten, homeless like that poor mutt. But instead, he had tried to con
front his problem. To chase after the ghosts of his memory.
At the time, it had seemed like the right choice. Courage, he had figured, was always the right choice. Courage was supposed to be admirable.
But stubborn courage had gotten him here. Straight to some holding cell where his own alleged countrymen were treating him like a criminal.
The door swung open. Strong hands grabbed him from under his shoulders. They slammed him down onto a chair then wrapped what felt like a rope around his chest, tying him to it.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
He got no answer except for rapid footsteps retreating back outside.
Then someone else walked in. Their gait was steady, measured. Slow enough that Elad pictured a diabolical torturer prowling around him, figuring out the easiest way to slice through his flesh and let him bleed out. He felt like a goat tied to a wooden post and left as a sacrifice to some ancient monster.
A shudder crawled through his flesh. “What do you want from me?”
He heard the scrape of a chair being dragged over the floor toward him. Then the blindfold came away.
The woman sitting across from him balled up the blindfold and pocketed it. Her features were striking despite her age. Maybe even because of her age. Beneath the wrinkles and the graying hair was someone Elad imagined might have been a model in her youth. Beautiful, except for the scars.
Ridges of scar tissue emanated from around her milky-white left eye. It appeared as though half her face had been burned. Maybe an acid attack. A fire. Horrifying either way.
If she noticed him flinch, she didn’t show it. Which told him she was used to people cowering at the sight of her.
“Elad,” she said in Hebrew, her voice soft. Almost comforting. “Where in God’s name have you been?”
“That’s a good question,” he said. “Maybe you can tell me.”
The woman offered him a smile. “You think you’re funny?”
He said nothing.
Her single good eye flared with an intense heat that made Elad think she, too, had been infected with the Ring of Solomon. She stood, her chair flying back from the sudden movement. She slapped Elad hard enough to send him toppling backward. The impact sent another wave of pain through his body, reawakening the wounds he’d sustained in Smadi’s house.
Demon Mind (Vector Book 2) Page 19
