JET V - Legacy

by Blake, Russell

  Taking his time as he rolled his carry-on bag behind him, he emerged from the strikingly modern terminal into the harsh glare of the late afternoon sun, where he stopped at the curb and shielded his eyes with his good hand. A rented Fiat pulled to a halt a few minutes later and he walked to the trunk, which the driver had opened from inside the car, and stowed his bag before circling to the passenger seat, pulling the door closed after him.

  The driver, a mid-thirties man with a goatee and a shaved head, nodded at him as he slid the transmission into gear and wheeled into traffic.

  “I’m sorry about Peter. He’ll be missed,” the driver said, his voice quiet.

  “Thank you. He was a good man.”

  The driver shifted gears and accelerated past an overloaded bus that was lumbering in the slow lane. “What happened?” he asked.

  “We were fast asleep, and then a gun battle erupted in the street in front of the house. By the time we were up and armed, the walls had been breached and there were shooters in the courtyard. It all happened very fast. Peter got shot within two minutes of the fight’s start, so I took evasive action. Lobbed a grenade, then slipped out through the tunnel. I blew the house, so hopefully I took some of the bastards with it.”

  “Was it an attack on us, or something random?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t know. My gut says it wasn’t random, but then why the gunfight out in front? If it was an attack on us specifically, they would have come in hard and fast. I’ve thought about it a lot, but other than speculation, nothing makes a lot of sense. But I think we have to assume that they were after us – in which case, they got nothing, and the trail ends at the house.”

  Both men sat in silence for a few minutes as they jockeyed their way through the stream of cars.

  “Well, you’re here now. You mentioned you were wounded?”

  “Yes. A doctor tended to it. I’m fine,” Solomon said. “How is everything set here?”

  “All is ready. Tomorrow night we need to go in and get the device, but other than that, everything is awaiting the arrival of the targets. I’ve selected a perfect site and come up with a viable mechanism for ensuring maximum destruction – the likes of which nobody will ever forget.”

  “Excellent. Soon the world as we know it will have completely changed. It’s been a long time, my friend. I wish my brother had lived to see it, but that wasn’t meant to be. Now tell me about the cargo container – the location, the security, and the plan to retrieve the bomb.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Bangkok, Thailand

  Matt boarded the plane for Phuket and shuffled with the rest of the passengers down the aisle until he found his seat, and then stowed his bag under the seat in front of him. His trip to the bank to deposit the cash had been uneventful, and he’d decided to stay in the hotel for dinner, eating in the room. The meal had been excellent, as he’d expected, given the hotel’s reputation, and he’d spent his evening checking on flights for exotic locations, deciding finally on the relatively large beach destination for ease of travel and its host of creature comforts.

  Once he arrived, he took a taxi south to his hotel, a five-star resort on the beach, and checked in. The bungalow room was opulent but understated, in keeping with the eco-conscious theme of the area, and he immediately felt more relaxed, the sound of the surf outside his glass patio door hypnotic. He packed the diamonds into the room safe and then changed into beach attire, locked the door, and padded across the sand to one of the three restaurants, his stomach protesting the lack of breakfast that morning in the interests of making the flight.

  The day proceeded peacefully, with Matt reclining in a chaise longue in the shade of an oversized beach umbrella, watching other guests explore the water in the cove, no agenda in mind and no pressure to do anything but study his navel. The soft ocean breeze brought with it all the exotic scents he loved about Thailand – flowers, jungle, the sea, suntan oil – and as he settled into the plush cushion, he felt himself relaxing, which was just what he felt he needed most. He’d bought a book in Bangkok the prior day and was halfway through it by the time dusk arrived, alternating his reading with an occasional nap, and when he rose and pulled his white linen short-sleeved shirt on he felt ten years younger, ready for a shower and then a foray into town.

  A Thai couple strolled along the sand, she a beauty, watching him make his way back to his room, and Matt hardly registered them as he went inside and tossed his book onto the bed. The pair exchanged glances, and the man slipped a cell phone from his shirt pocket and made a call. Without pausing further, they continued down the beach, apparently celebrating the natural beauty of the island’s famous seashore and the miracle of young love.

  Matt showered and dried himself, and after brushing his hair back with his fingers, donned shorts and a crème-colored linen shirt. He ran a hand over the two-day growth on his face and considered shaving, but when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror he decided that he didn’t look half bad, all things considered, and opted to forego the exercise until the next day. Scanning the room, he slipped his wallet and passport into his shirt pocket, locked the patio door, and exited through the main entry, taking his time as he ambled along the rock path to the main lobby, where he’d easily find a cab. The complex was only half full, the season having not yet gotten underway, and it had a rarefied feeling of secluded privilege that made him feel just a little spoiled, especially after having grown accustomed to living in the jungle.

  Maybe civilization wasn’t so bad after all, he reasoned as he reached the main hotel building, a pair of musicians strumming a tune in the lobby to the delight of a trio of guests sipping cocktails as they waited for friends. He stood listening for a few minutes, declining the server’s offer of a drink, and then cursed silently when he felt in his pockets and realized he’d left his cell phone in the room. He looked around the lobby, debating whether to go back and get it, and his thoughts turned to Jet – he didn’t want to miss her if she called. Matt reluctantly began the long trudge back to his bungalow, tiki torches illuminating the way. A mouthwatering aroma wafted across the expanse from the formal restaurant, where a band was just revving up an Asian-tinged jazz set that could only fly in Thailand.

  Matt reached the room door and was slipping the card key into the lock when he heard an unexpected sound from inside – the muted sound of a power tool. He stopped dead, his head cocked as he stood frozen in place, and then he heard it again, along with the unmistakable noise of metal on metal. His mind raced as he swung around, searching for anything he could use as a weapon, till he spied a pile of beach umbrellas lying a few yards away. Eyes roving over the area in case whoever was inside had an accomplice, he moved to the umbrellas and grabbed one of the wooden rod shafts and jerked it free, then jammed it between a concrete planter and the retaining wall and wrenched it. The shaft snapped, leaving him with a four-foot section in his hand. He returned to the door, where he could hear the clamor still emanating from within.

  The card key slipped into place with a soft click, and he twisted the lever handle with his free hand and then burst into the room, surprising the man kneeling in front of the room safe with an industrial drill clenched in his grip. Before the intruder could get to his feet Matt had covered the distance between them. The man twisted and brought the drill up to fend off a blow from the rod aimed at his head. He parried, the pole striking a glancing blow, and Matt swung again, trying to break the thief’s grip on the drill.

  The intruder lunged forward, now using the long drill bit as a weapon, with which he narrowly missed gutting Matt. Avoiding the attempt, Matt dodged out of the way and then slammed the staff against the man’s shoulder – he grunted in pain, but didn’t drop the drill, instead feinting to the left and throwing it at Matt with all his might. The heavy steel tool slammed into Matt’s abdomen, momentarily winding him and buying the thief a few seconds, which was all he needed. He swept Matt’s legs, knocking them from under him, and as Matt tumbled backwards
, the burglar leapt up and bolted for the door. Matt fell against the sofa and quickly pushed himself up, but by then the intruder was through the door and sprinting into the darkness. Matt weighed giving chase, but then decided prudence should rule the night, and instead moved to the door, removed the key card, and slammed it shut, taking care to lock it. Gazing around the room, he turned and approached the sliding glass patio door and spotted the thin steel blade the thief had used to jimmy the lock open.

  Matt slid it closed and re-locked it, and then, weighing the pole in his hand, leaned down and jammed it into the sliding track, creating an effective block against the door being opened. Breathing heavily, he pulled the drapes together and then strode to the room safe. The drill had mangled the steel but hadn’t made it through to the lock. Eyeing the keypad, he punched in the combination he’d chosen and removed the diamonds, then slipped the velour sack into one of the side pockets of his shorts before reaching back into the safe and removing his second passport and a wad of hundred dollar bills. With another glance at the door, he pulled the shirts off the closet hangers and quickly packed his bag, and after two minutes was ready to go.

  Staying at the hotel any longer was out of the question – he couldn’t afford the scrutiny that a complaint would bring, even though he was the victim. And more alarmingly, one of his identities had been compromised – whoever had planned this incursion had done their homework, which didn’t imply anything good. He racked his brain for possible slip-ups on his part, and decided that the only answer was that Niran had anticipated he might be carrying more diamonds and had put someone on to him. The greedy prick hadn’t been happy with the outsized profit he was making, and had decided to up his percentage with a little larceny. It was always a danger when dealing with big numbers, but Matt had thought Niran was above that sort of conniving.

  Apparently not.

  A much more distant possibility was that it was random, but he didn’t think so. The thief had been waiting for him to leave, which wasn’t typical of the crooks that preyed on tourists. That implied patience and planning, whereas most room robberies, he knew, were with the help of an accomplice working at the hotel, fingering the high rollers, looking for easy scores. Nothing Matt had done could have hinted at an easy money burglary, so unless it had been just bad dumb luck, this was something more.

  Whatever it was, he had no interest in sticking around and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It could be that it was over and done with – or the thief could be back to try again, and this time with a gun, or a friend, or both. Matt didn’t feel like seeing which, so he picked up the room phone and called the front desk and requested a bellman to come down immediately to help him with his bag, explaining that he’d received an emergency call and had to check out. The concierge was suitably concerned and assured him that a man would be down shortly, and Matt took the intervening minutes to stash the drill out of sight and close the wooden shuttered doors to the closet, concealing the safe behind them.

  A polite knock sounded from the entry. Matt hoisted his bag and walked to the small foyer, then looked through the peephole and confirmed that it was a member of the hotel staff. Three minutes later he was signing out as the bellman carried his things to a waiting taxi, and when Matt turned to follow him out he realized that he had no idea where he was going to go. The driver put Matt’s bag into the trunk and then slipped behind the wheel, and Matt dropped onto the rear seat and mentioned the name of a famous resort several miles away. The driver nodded and grinned, displaying a spectacular set of decaying teeth, and, then with a wave to the bellman, pointed the cab down the drive.

  Matt watched the side mirror for any indication that he was being followed, but the taxi was the only car on the private access way. When they turned onto the beachfront road the driver pulled into the steady stream of traffic, and Matt exhaled, satisfied that he’d gotten away clean. He impulsively changed his mind when they were halfway to the resort and told the driver to take him into town instead, and then considered his options. Maybe it would be a better idea to get the hell out of town, now, instead of lingering. Part of him was still uneasy, and questioned whether it would be smart to remain in Phuket.

  Because there was one other disturbing thing about the thief, in addition to his fearlessness and apparent skill.

  He was Caucasian.

  And while there were plenty of burned-out hopheads banging around Thailand in a drug fog, hoping to run out the clock in a foreign land where their poison of choice was inexpensive and they could sustain themselves by preying on fellow tourists, he hadn’t gotten that impression from the intruder. For one thing, the drill wasn’t cheap, and a junkie would have sold it long ago. For another, he hadn’t shown any indication of being impaired – if anything, his reactions had been cat-quick.

  Which meant only one thing. He’d been a pro. And if a pro was tailing Matt, there would be more than one – that was just how things worked.

  No matter how Matt sliced it, that spelled danger.

  He’d had about all he could handle of trouble finding him wherever he went. It was time to disappear and leave a cold trail. And he had a few ideas of how best to accomplish that, especially after dark in the nether reaches of Thailand. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it countless times before.

  Chapter 26

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  The cell door opened and two suited men entered. Ben looked up and cringed inwardly, anticipating another round of interrogation. He was surprised when the heavier of his two captors stopped in front of him and fixed him with a stony gaze.

  “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we’ve decided we believe your account, and that you acted in good faith when modifying the bombs.”

  Ben exhaled a loud sigh of relief. “Thank God. You have no idea how sorry I am that I did any of this.” He paused. “What’s the bad news?”

  “You’re going to remain a guest of the Mossad for a while. We might need your expertise if we can locate the device, and we can’t take a chance that you get hit by a bus. So you’ll have to forego your playboy lifestyle for a bit.”

  Ben considered the implications. “Are you going to keep me in this damned cell?”

  “No, we’ll move you to a more comfortable location. But you’ll be confined to house arrest with guards until the crisis is over.”

  “House arrest!”

  “It’s better than being charged with treason, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose so,” Ben conceded glumly. “How long do you think this will take?”

  “I wish we knew. Hopefully not long. But this isn’t a negotiation. And ironically, you’ll be required to sign all the secrecy documentation you did before – only this time, the genuine article. This can never be spoken about, to anyone.”

  Ben nodded. “I understand. Mum’s the word. Not like I’ve been posting it on the internet or anything. So when can I get out of here?”

  “How about now?”

  Ben’s face broke into a grin for the first time since he’d been taken into custody.

  “It’s about frigging time…”

  ~ ~ ~

  Jacob Weinstein was just settling in for the night when the knock at the door echoed through his lavish home. His housekeeper answered it, and a few moments later three men were standing in his bedroom, their expressions more than signaling how much trouble he was in. The lead man was the older agent from the prior meeting. His icy smile sent a chill down Jacob’s spine.

  “You were warned. Put your clothes on. You have thirty seconds. After that, we’ll drag you out of here in your underwear. I sort of hope you try me on that,” the agent said, and Jacob knew he was lost.

  “This is prepost–” he tried, but the Mossad man cut him off.

  “You now have twenty-six seconds,” he said, checking his watch.

  “I want to speak to my attorney,” Jacob tried a final time, mustering as much outraged conviction as he could while facing three seasoned Mossa
d operatives in his silk pajamas.

  “Twenty. You’ll have a better time in a cell with the boys in your jammies, I think, so keep talking.”

  Jacob didn’t need any further convincing. He threw off the covers and made for the closet. He’d slipped a shirt on and was pulling on a pair of blue suit trousers when the agent snapped his fingers.

  “Time. Get him,” the agent ordered, and the other two operatives moved toward him.

  “Please. I need shoes,” Jacob pleaded.

  “Should have thought of that when you were mouthing off.” The agent’s eyes strayed to the slippers Jacob had been wearing. “Put those on. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

  Jacob was horrified at the prospect of being forced to appear in public wearing his slippers, half dressed, his hair sticking up in all directions, but a glance at the agent silenced any protest forming in his mind. He trudged to his slippers and wedged his feet into them, and then an operative took his arms and held them steady while the other slapped on a set of cuffs, the snick of the locking mechanism as loud as a rifle shot to Jacob’s ear. The reality of the situation couldn’t have been better underscored than by that sound, and Jacob’s heart sank as he realized that all his work, all his money, would be lost in the witch hunt that was to follow.

  “I still want my attorney,” he managed, and then froze when the Mossad agent smiled again, this time with what appeared to be genuine merriment.

  “Jacob Weinstein, you are charged with treason – a capital offense in times of war, which it will be pretty soon if your bomb goes off. You have no rights, and should have no expectation of anything but death at the receiving end of a firing squad. If it was up to me I’d have you stoned, like the old days, but unfortunately it’s not. Then again, I plan to lobby for an exception, and you never know – given the heinous nature of your crimes, I may just get it. So shut your mouth and stop your whining. You disgust me enough as it is.”