The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  Burly nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll need time to think.” He sat quietly a moment, and then leaned forward to speak to Eitan. “Out of curiosity, where did the Israeli Air Force get a C-17?”

  “What C-17?” Eitan replied without turning his head.

  27

  Eitan pushed into Bryk’s office uninvited and sat in a chair in front of his desk. Bryk barely acknowledged his presence, continuing to scribble notes on a pad. Eitan waited him out. At last Bryk looked up.

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I’ve been debriefing our recovered undercover asset from the raid in Sudan. He’s the guy who got our picture of Klaus in the camp.”

  “Any surprises?”

  Eitan shook his head. “He said Klaus was a good instructor for technical competence, but he stayed aloof. Our guy tried to get close to him, but Klaus held him at a distance. It was as if Klaus was there against his will and biding his time.”

  “For what?”

  “We don’t know. Another bombing, maybe. But where?” Eitan shook his head again. “He’s a bit of a legend inside the camp, with supposed contact with that new terrorist rich kid, Osama bin Laden, but so far we haven’t been able to pin him against any known plans. Rumors there credit him with exploding a nuclear device in Afghanistan last year that caused those tremors we heard about, but that’s not confirmed.”

  Bryk eyed Eitan irritably. “Then what are you doing in my office?”

  “I’m trying to piece together Klaus’ next move. Here’s an interesting aspect. Before the raid, chatter was building with references to a Chechen, a bomb, New York, and the financial district. That all stopped after the raid.”

  “What do you mean ‘that all stopped?’”

  Eitan sat quietly a moment. “You know how it goes. The chatter is just that. Snippets of conversation along the lines of ‘he saw,’ ‘she said,’ ‘I heard,’ and the like. Quite a bit of it seemed to point to Klaus, and much of it was associated with New York and the financial district.”

  Bryk leaned back, his expression skeptical. “All the bad guys want to hit New York City, including King Kong and Godzilla. Do we have any confirmation or corroborating evidence of something imminent?”

  “No, but there is a difference between what we have and chatter.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “What our asset overhears inside the camp is a step up from chatter. He’s hearing the same things, but not from anonymous sources on a phone line many miles away. He’s hearing from flesh-and-blood people he trained with. And what he heard is that something big is going down in the New York City financial district.”

  “Then I ask again, what are you doing in my office?”

  Eitan smirked. “Seeking the wisdom of greater experience?” He leaned forward. “Seriously, we haven’t encountered a threat from terrorists as great as the one Klaus represents. Shouldn’t we at least be making preparations?”

  “That’s been done. Anything else?”

  “How about warning the US?”

  “That’s been done too. They’ve been tracking him as much as we have. How seriously they take the threat is on them.”

  Eitan nodded. “Do you mind if I back-channel Burly and Atcho? Klaus has a personal vendetta against Atcho. They’re likely to pay more attention.”

  Bryk let out a long breath. “I don’t see how that would harm anything. We’re really just talking about your gut instinct, right?”

  Eitan acceded, and Bryk went back to scribbling notes on his pad. He looked up a moment later. Eitan still sat in front of him.

  “Is there something else?”

  Eitan sighed. “Sir, what is going to happen to the mission leader on that raid?”

  Bryk dropped his pen on the desk impatiently, though his eyes held compassion. “It’s out of our hands.” He picked up the pen and toyed with it a moment. “I hate losing good people, but he showed remarkably poor judgment against all his training. He can never be allowed to lead an operation again. Beyond that, I don’t know.” He glanced at Eitan’s face. “Is he a friend?”

  Eitan looked down in resignation. “No,” he said slowly. “I just feel bad for him. He risked his life; he was the guy on the ground. I just wish we allowed for second chances.”

  Bryk rose from his seat, a gesture to end the discussion. “I understand, but when life and death are at stake, as they were on this mission—we lost three good men, and who’s to say that if allowed another chance he wouldn’t exercise similar judgment, or overcorrect by being too cautious? He’s damaged, and we can’t risk other lives for his sake.”

  Over eyes half-closed with regret, Eitan nodded and rose to his feet. “I suppose you’re right. I also wish we could find a way to even the score with Klaus.”

  “Get that out of your head.” Bryk spoke sternly. “We gather intelligence. We share it when and where appropriate. We mount operations. We even retaliate, but when we do, it’s after careful thought about possible outcomes by taking or not taking action. And we never allow a desire for revenge to cloud our thinking. That’s the way to ruin. Do you understand?”

  Chagrinned, Eitan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Bryk gestured that he would walk Eitan to the door. “I’ve given you your leeway. If you want to see justice for the failed mission, put the information where it can best be used. That includes your gut instinct. And then back away.”

  Eitan thanked Bryk and returned to his office. There, he put in a call to Burly, but connected with an answering machine. He left a message.

  28

  Yousef awoke with a start. A light shined in his eyes, and he felt a hand clamped against his lips. Around him in his bedroom, all was dark.

  “Shh, it’s me, Sahab. Don’t set off alarms.” Klaus lifted his hand from Yousef’s mouth.

  Bewildered, Yousef looked about wildly. “Wh-who? H-how did you get in here?” He struggled to pull his wits together.

  “Never mind that. I’m here. Or rather, I’m not here.” Klaus snickered. “You taught me well how to move in and out of countries without being seen.”

  “What are you doing here?” Yousef hissed, suddenly angry. “You put us both in danger.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be gone before the authorities know I’m here. I’ve already transferred my money to my own control, and my bombs are safely outside the country.”

  Fully awake now, Yousef stared at him. “Why are you doing that? Did we do something to gain your mistrust?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” Klaus growled, matching Yousef’s anger. “They came for me in Sudan, right in the training camp. They were taking me away on a jet. I came face to face with Atcho.” His face contorted with rage. “If one smart trainee had not been alert, who knows where I would be right now.” In vivid terms, he described the raid on the camp. “Our snipers killed three of them.”

  Yousef listened, almost disbelieving, except that Klaus’ fury was genuine, and here he was, in the dead of night, having entered Saudi Arabia undetected on his own, not once but apparently twice—and he had taken possession of his money.

  “I see why you’re upset,” he entreated when Klaus finished telling his story, “but don’t blame us, and don’t throw away our jihad.”

  “I’m throwing nothing away,” Klaus stormed, “but someone is to blame. How did they know where to find me?”

  Yousef thought for a few moments. “It had to be either the Americans or the Israelis. I think the Israelis. They have covert operators all through the Middle East and parts of Africa.”

  “But Atcho was with them.”

  “Maybe he was on loan.”

  “I’m going after him. I’m tired of his interference. He blew the operation for us in Berlin and then in Kuwait, he stopped me in Texas—and he killed my brother. He needs to go.”

  Yousef pulled his bulky frame out of bed, crossed the room to switch on a lamp, and then sat in an overstuffed chair. Klaus rem
ained sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “I understand your anger,” Yousef said, “but why are you blaming us? Why did you pull your money and take your bombs away? We’re on your side.”

  “I’m tired of waiting,” Klaus snapped. “I spent months in the Sudan training camps. I made three trips to Latin America and then spent more months in Sudan. I want Atcho dead, and I want to blow a hole in America that will never be forgotten. I have the ability to do both, and I don’t need Al-Qaeda’s permission.”

  Yousef saw that Klaus would not be easily placated. “Then why did you return to see me? You have your money and your bombs. Why not just plant your bombs?”

  Klaus took his time to respond, choosing his words carefully. “Because I have enough enemies. I don’t need more.” His tone seemed almost wistful. “When my brother was alive, we relied on each other. If I go alone now, I am truly alone. I don’t wish to alienate you or Osama bin Laden. I just want my revenge and to hit my own targets, and I don’t want to wait for anyone’s permission. I think we can still cooperate.”

  Yousef studied Klaus from across the room. He observed a rare ferocity in him, but also a dampening of spirit, as if Klaus felt his isolation for the first time, or at least the depth of it. He climbed from his chair, walked over to Klaus, and leaned over, placing his hands on Klaus’ shoulders.

  “Habibi,” he said, “you are one of us. You have no need to ever be alone. We fight for the same things.”

  Klaus looked up at him defiantly. “You gave me ultimatums.”

  Surprised, Yousef pulled back. “I did,” he said. “Maybe that was the wrong approach. You seemed about to take hurried action. We’ve succeeded by careful planning and execution.

  “You know the operation we have coming up. We’ve prepared for years, but moving the pieces into place took a lot of time. It’s almost ready. We didn’t want you to do something impulsive to jeopardize it.”

  Klaus dropped his head into his hands. Yousef returned to his chair and sank into it. “So, what do we do?”

  Klaus raised his head and regarded Yousef for a moment. “Just let me take care of Atcho. Now. More than two years have passed since he killed my brother, and he’s taken a wife, and they’ve had a son. He’s living life while my brother lies cold and desecrated by infidels in an unknown grave.”

  He cast a beseeching glance at Yousef. “I can make Atcho’s death look like an accident. I’ll even let his wife and son live, if you prefer. And whether I succeed or fail, I’ll turn over my bombs to the people you already have in the US, and they can add them to the ones they’re building. I’ll show the leader how to detonate them. In return, I only ask for help locating Atcho. I doubt he went home to Texas. This way, I get my revenge, your plan goes forward, and we both get to strike a huge blow for Islam—the biggest ever.”

  Yousef’s eyes widened in surprise. “You would do that?”

  Klaus nodded. “You’ve already scouted the target. You know where to place the bombs for maximum destruction. I’ll be happy to help.”

  Yousef sat in disbelief. “What happens afterward?”

  Klaus shrugged. “I’ll give you back my money to manage and go wherever Osama directs. I’ll be his most loyal soldier. If the bombs work, I’ll make as many as we can get plutonium for, and I won’t ask for another thing.” He stood and faced Yousef with fierce determination. “Atcho must die.”

  29

  Sofia hurried into Isabel’s house to answer the incessantly ringing phone while Isabel helped the children from the car.

  “You were right, little lady. If I ever doubt you again, please remind me to check my sanity.”

  Sofia recognized Horton’s voice and smiled despite the warning implied by his words. “What’s going on?”

  “Get to a secure line. I’ll fill you in.”

  An hour later, Sofia sat in the same West Point office where she had previously called Horton. He picked up on the first ring.

  “The mission failed,” Horton said. “Klaus got away.”

  Sofia’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. “Atcho—”

  “He’s fine. But the Israelis lost three men. Klaus went back to Riyadh.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have a friend in Saudi intelligence. Thanks to your shakin’ the bushes when you came to Berlin, they recruited an informant inside Yousef’s home in Riyadh. A man arrived there in the middle of the night, unannounced. He didn’t use the doorbell. He broke in. It was Klaus. The informant eavesdropped.” Horton chuckled. “Ya really shouldn’t take the domestic help for granted.”

  He coughed and continued. “We have a second source. The hawaladars had a conversation. Yousef in Riyadh called Kadir in Berlin, who called us. You and the Germans turned him good. A guy by the name of Sahab wants help to locate Atcho.”

  “That’s Klaus.”

  “Right. As I was piecin’ this together waitin’ on your call, I remembered that last year, here in Berlin, Kadir checked out you and Atcho for Klaus. He hired a detective agency in Austin and got pictures of you from an announcement in the Austin newspaper about your joinin’ a garden club.” He chuckled again. “Somehow, I have a hard time seein’ you putterin’ around in the roses and weeds with muddy gloves and rubber boots.”

  “Not now, Joe. What are you getting at?”

  Horton’s tone turned serious. “Klaus already has loads of information on you and Atcho. It’s only a mental hop, skip, and jump for him to find out that Atcho has a daughter and granddaughter and where they live. He’ll figure that Atcho will come to wherever his family is to protect them. It’s good that you’re at West Point. You should be safe there.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Security is pretty loose here.”

  “Well, when you hear from Atcho, there are a couple of other things to talk about. There’s some big operation planned inside the US. No mention was made of where, but it’s been in plannin’ for years, and they’re goin’ to execute soon.” Horton sighed heavily into the phone. “I don’t like tellin’ you this, but you got to know.”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “Klaus offered to contribute his bombs to the operation in exchange for being cut loose to come after Atcho. At last count, he has three left. He’ll deliver them to the stateside honcho for this operation, show him how to arm and detonate them, and then head Atcho’s way. You nailed it, Sofia.”

  Sofia felt pressure against her temples and a roar in her ears as a sense of dread descended. Her hands became clammy. She took deep breaths to regain emotional control.

  “Has our intelligence been advised?” she asked.

  “The CIA, military intelligence, and even the FBI are hittin’ their sources hard for whatever this operation is. So far, there’s not much to go on, but they’ve heard chatter about it for months. I don’t know where Atcho is now. Presumably, he’s headed home. My guess is you’ll hear from him today or tomorrow.”

  Silence ensued. “Ma’am, are you there?”

  “I’m here. I was trying to think through all of this. Thanks for the help, Joe. You’re a good friend to our whole family.”

  “That’s mighty nice of you to say, little lady. Ziggy is just glad I get to stay home nights now, and soon we’re headed into that promised land of retirement.” He laughed. “Anythin’ else I can do for you? Keep in mind that’s just a nice way of endin’ a phone conversation.” He laughed again.

  “Nothing for now, Joe. Thanks again.”

  “Seriously, if you need somethin’, alls you got to do is ask. Us Texans got to stick together.”

  When Sofia arrived back at the house, Isabel looked anxious.

  “Burly called,” she told Sofia. “He wants you to phone him back first chance.” She handed Sofia a piece of paper with numbers neatly written on it. “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll fill you in.” Sofia took the number and called Burly. “What’s up?”

  “Atcho’s on his way home. We lande
d in the US a little while ago. He’s fine. He asked me to get a message to you to stay where you are.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I’m read into the situation. Security here is not great.”

  “Got it,” Burly said, then chuckled. “There’s no reining you in, is there? Just do me a favor and keep me in the loop.”

  “I will, Burly, but you’ve got to do me a favor. Call our friend Joe Horton and get him to brief you on what he told me. Then call Bob, Isabel’s husband, on a secure line and fill him in. He needs to be home with Isabel while this is going on.”

  “Shouldn’t that come from you, or Atcho, or Isabel?”

  “Maybe, but you can locate him and get on a secure phone easier than I can, and we don’t know how much time we’ve got.”

  “Roger. I’ll shake some trees.”

  “Thanks.” Sofia hung up and turned to face Isabel.

  When Atcho arrived at Isabel’s house that afternoon, he was surrounded by the overjoyed embrace of his wife, daughter, young granddaughter, and toddler son. He could not help thinking of the stark contrast in atmosphere and living conditions between being among loved ones at this stately home above the Hudson River and roaming the streets of Khartoum.

  Isabel chided him. “Dad, those gray hairs on your head are multiplying. When are you going to stop this dangerous hobby of yours?”

  Atcho did not reply. He caressed the side of Isabel’s face and hugged her tightly. Then he stooped to pick up Kattrina and Jameson. With one under each arm, he bounded out onto the lawn, dropped to his knees in the grass, and rolled over onto his back amid the children’s happy squeals.

  Watching them, Sofia’s chest swelled and her eyes moistened. She turned to Isabel. “Atcho has never had a malicious bone in his body. That’s the life he yearns for and deserves.”