Her brow creased as she moved closer to the gap in entryway and squinted at the figure standing outside, a satellite phone in one hand, his posture relaxed, apparently unarmed. No obvious threat in evidence, she slipped the bolt open and stepped away, her pistol aimed at the doorway.
“It’s open. Just you, come in. Nobody else,” she instructed.
The wooden slab swung slowly inward and the man stepped through the door.
“Close it behind you and bolt it,” she ordered, the gun unwavering in her steady hand.
He turned, slowly, and locked the door, then faced her, holding the phone out. “It’s for you.”
“Set it down and back away.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and placed the phone on the dirt between them. “How far?” he asked, edging backwards.
“That’s good,” she replied, kneeling, the Beretta trained on his head, eyes never leaving his face. Her fingers groped in the hot dirt until they found the handset. She lifted the unwieldy phone to her ear.
The director’s voice boomed from the speaker. “I trust you met our associate, Tom,” he said, more statement than question.
“Tom?”
“An American. I think your phone died before you heard my entire message.”
“Which was?”
“To go to the fort, wait for the military to show up, and surrender the case to them.”
“Hand the device to an American working with an Arab country’s military…,” she said unbelievingly.
“Correct.”
Tom unwrapped his headdress, revealing piercing blue eyes set in a tanned, forty-something face.
“I should give him the bomb.”
“Yes. There’s more to the story, but I don’t have time to explain it all now. Suffice to say it will be well taken care of. Give it to him and get back to Doha. I’ll have a jet waiting to pick you up. It’s over.”
“Fine,” she said softly, then stepped toward Tom and offered the phone.
“Where is it?” Tom asked, clear eyes scouting the interior of the fort.
“Behind you. First room.”
“You can lower your weapon now,” he said with a trace of a smile, and then turned and ducked into the darkened barracks. A few moments later he emerged with the case, the strap over his shoulder, the handle gripped tightly in his hand.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, his Arabic flawless.
“Likewise,” she replied as she slipped the pistol back into her robes. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I leave in the big bird, the bully boys get back into their trucks and take off, and you’re free to do whatever you like. Although my advice would be to avoid staying in Qatar for any extended vacations.”
“Put like that, how can I resist?”
Tom gave her a two fingered salute, slid the bolt to the side, and opened the door.
“Nice outfit, by the way,” he said in Hebrew.
And then he was gone.
The Humvees rolled out of the parking lot and onto the road once the helicopter was out of sight, and Jet watched from the fort as they disappeared into the horizon’s distorted heat. Several minutes later she returned to the car, and after thoroughly checking it to ensure that no bomb had been planted to end her part in the mission while she’d been occupied with the American, she cranked the air conditioner, relieved that the ordeal was finally over, but also feeling somehow incomplete. It was surreal – all that, the world on the brink of chaos, only to hand over the nuke to an unknown foreigner.
Eyeing herself in the rearview mirror, she removed the bourga and allowed the cold air to blow on her face, taking a moment to savor the icy draft before putting the vehicle into gear and coaxing it onto the lonely strip of asphalt. The tires murmured to her as she passed the vulture again on her way back to civilization, leaving it to its solitary duty in the uninhabited wasteland.
Chapter 40
Jet rolled to a stop on a dusty street on the outskirts of town, a few miles from the safe house, where a weathered sign proclaimed internet access and air conditioning. She stepped out of the car and took care to lock it, and then strolled into the café. After a brief discussion, the proprietor pointed to a phone in a corner of the main room, and she took a seat. A few moments went by and then the man gave her a thumbs-up sign. She closed her eyes, thinking, then dialed the director’s number from memory.
“I’m back in town, on the way to the safe house to get my gear. I’m starving, so I’m going to stop for lunch. I presume I’ll be safe for that long?”
“The danger’s past. Take your time.” The director chuckled. “I heard that you made quite an impression on our friend.”
“He must not get out much.”
“Perhaps. Anyway, it was a job well done.”
“Not that well done. Two men dead, and the bombers – one of them escaped.”
The director hesitated. “The danger was neutralized. I’m not worried about the last of the traitorous scum – we’ll catch up to him eventually.” The director cleared his throat. “The jet should be in Qatar in two hours. I’ll alert the crew to be ready for takeoff in…how long?”
“I’ve got to go retrieve my papers and eat, so figure around three to four hours, depending on traffic – it’s snarled all over town because of the meeting. I could probably walk across car roofs faster than I’m going to be able to drive there.”
“I’ll let them know. Safe travels, and again, congratulations,” the director said, then hung up. She hadn’t expected anything more, and wasn’t disappointed. At least he was consistent – she’d saved the world, and all she’d gotten in return were a few grudging words of praise. But now her obligation was fulfilled and she could be rid of his meddling in her life once and for all. The only remaining item was her debriefing, and she was finally free.
The thought cheered her, but then a tickle of anxiety roiled in her stomach. The decisions that had been made had put everyone in the region in jeopardy, and it was only because of a last minute bit of luck that Doha wasn’t a smoking crater. As much as she wanted to trust that the same men who had weighed those odds and decided to favor their own interests would honor their commitment to leave her in peace, Jet didn’t really believe it.
She knew too much, and there would always be another emergency that they absolutely needed someone to help them with.
Only one solution would be foolproof. She would need to disappear. This time for good, leaving no trace. She knew that it wouldn’t be that simple once she was in Israel, so she moved to one of the computers and checked on flights from Doha. She had another ID with her, and once she was on the ground in another country she could become someone else and find her own way home, leaving the whole ugly mess behind her.
A flight bound for New Delhi departed in two hours. She would call right before takeoff and warn the director that she was running late, buying herself another couple of hours, and by the time anyone realized that she wasn’t going to show up, she’d be gone, permanently off the radar. The director wouldn’t be happy, but he would understand – he’d practically invented the game, and she was just following her operational instincts, trusting no one.
Jet moved back to the phone and dialed another number.
“Well, hello there,” Matt answered, and Jet immediately felt the familiar tug of emotion he evoked in her so easily.
“Hello yourself. How did you know it was me?”
“Nobody else calls me.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“In the wilds of Vietnam. How about you?”
“Getting out of Dodge,” she replied, preferring to keep things vague.
“Wow. That was quick.”
“No point in wasting any time, was there?”
“Guess not. Everything turn out okay?”
Jet took a deep breath. “Routine. How about you?”
“A few surprises. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’ll tell you all about it in person. I ran my errand and I’
m just loafing around now.”
“Vietnam, huh? The old stomping grounds lost their charm?”
“Yup. I got tired of Thailand pretty quickly,” he said, a slight edge in his voice.
She didn’t press him. There would be time to fill in the blanks later. “Nothing stays the same.”
“Indeed.”
“Are you near an airport?” she asked.
He paused. “I could be within four or five hours.”
“I was thinking. Maybe we should hook up in Singapore. From there we can make our way to South America. We still have a date for that, right?”
“You bet. When will you be there?”
She looked at her watch. “In about twelve hours.”
“I’ll have to check on flights, but it sounds doable. I may take longer, though. Will you wait for me?”
She debated possible responses, and then smiled.
“Absolutely.”
~ ~ ~
Back at the safe house, Jet handed Isaac her dead phone and her gun as she was preparing to leave. He accepted them without expression, sitting at his workstation, the screens dark now, the mission finished.
Jet lifted her bag and slid the strap over her shoulder, watching him as he slipped the weapons into a drawer. She was still wearing the robe and the veil, preferring the anonymity, and figured she would get rid of the outfit once at the airport.
“Thanks for all the help, Isaac,” she said as she backed toward the door.
“No problem. You know, I never even knew your name.”
“Best to leave it that way.”
She caught a small movement, a shift, a flicker of his eyes, and she shook her head, fixing him with a hard stare.
“Don’t, Isaac. You don’t have to do this,” she said softly.
He shrugged, a sad expression on his face. “I’m afraid I do. Following orders,” he said, then raised a tranquilizer gun from where he’d had it in his lap, out of sight, the desk shielding it from view.
The 9mm parabellum round hit Isaac high in the chest and he dropped the weapon, his eyes registering surprise, the smoking hole in her abaya from the gunshot all the explanation he needed.
She withdrew Eric’s silenced pistol from the garment and popped the magazine out, taking care to eject the round from the chamber before placing the weapon on the table in front of him.
“I could have killed you. You’ll live, but you’ll need to get to a doctor for that. I figure you have someone discreet you use. Is that right?”
He nodded, blood seeping from between his fingers as he clutched the wound.
“I’ll do a compression bandage. Keep pressure on it and you should make it. Give me the doctor’s number, and when I’m safely away, I’ll call him and have him come for you.” She took a step closer to him, staring deep into his eyes, her gaze unflinching. “That’s what I’m willing to do for you. Now, let’s talk about what you’ll need to do for me. You’re going to call your handler and tell him that I contacted you and won’t be here for three more hours – I stopped for lunch and to get a new phone. If you say anything else, no matter how innocent it sounds, I’ll cut your throat and let you bleed to death. Clear?”
Isaac nodded, and she picked up the handset on the desk. “What number are you supposed to call?” He told her and she dialed it, and then held out the phone. He took it with a hand slick with blood and did exactly as she’d instructed, her eyes boring through him the entire time.
Ten minutes later he was seated in the kitchen, hands cuffed to a length of chain that she’d fastened to a gas line that ran under the cabinets, a bloody makeshift bandage in place. After a final look around, she lit one of the burners and then tossed the still-smoking wooden match on the floor by his feet.
“Just be patient. It’ll be five hours before I call for help. The bleeding has all but stopped, so just don’t exert yourself and you’ll be fine. I’ve got the doctor’s number.” She glanced at the chain. “If you try to pull the pipe loose, the room will flood with gas and the burner will ignite it before you have a chance to reach it. So bad idea. Just stay still, conserve your energy, and wait for the doctor.”
Jet opened the refrigerator and removed a liter bottle of orange juice, then unscrewed the top and placed it within his reach.
“Keep hydrated. The juice will help replace the blood you’ve lost. Pace yourself. Here, I’ll give you some water, too,” she said, reaching into the fridge and grabbing a plastic container before setting it on the floor near him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone meek. “I had to do it.”
“I know.”
Jet moved to where she had left her bag, then approached the front door and gave Isaac a parting wave. “I’ll leave this open so he can get to you easily. You should call the director once you’re freed and tell him what happened. He won’t be that shocked. Probably the only thing he’ll be surprised by is that I let you live. Consider it my gift to the agency. Tell him, and use these exact words: I’m not the enemy. Do you understand?”
Isaac nodded, pain clouding his eyes, and she knew that he would remember. For the rest of his life.
Jet made her way to the car and threw the bag onto the back seat. She would drive to one of the big hotels and leave the vehicle with the valet, then catch a taxi.
And disappear without a trace, her operational life behind her, finally, on her way to a brighter future, with Hannah – and now Matt – going to a destination where they could be safe, and ultimately, free.
At the airport, she placed a call at the internet café as she was waiting for her flight, much as she planned to do once she landed in India – honoring her commitment to Isaac to contact the doctor. Magdalena’s voice answered, sounding slightly out of breath.
“Magdalena. It’s me. I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to touch base and tell you that I should be home in a couple more days.”
“Señora! That’s wonderful news. Is everything…did you accomplish what you’d hoped to?”
“Yes, Magdalena, everything went well, and I miss you both. But I have some news. I want you to pack up and take a bus to Colonia, today, and get a hotel there. Please do it now. I’ll meet you there in a couple of days, and I’ll call to find out where you’re staying.”
“Oh. Is…is anything the matter?”
“No. But it should be nice on the water, and you’ve spent a lot of time where you are. A new town would be a good idea, just in case.”
“Just in case…”
“Don’t worry, Magdalena, everything’s fine. I’m just being extremely careful. Could you just please me on this?”
“Yes, Señora, of course. I’ll get our things immediately and take the next bus south.”
“Thank you, Magdalena. This is almost over.”
“And…we’re safe, right?”
“Of course. Again, there’s nothing to worry about. I was just thinking that it would be a good idea for you to move around a little. That’s all.”
“All right, then,” Magdalena said, a trace of doubt still lingering.
“Is Hannah there?”
“Si. Let me get her. She’s very excited – she played with a puppy in the park an hour ago.”
Ten seconds went by and then Hannah’s squeaky voice came on the phone. “Mama!”
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”
“Good,” Hannah said, sounding tiny and a million miles away.
“Mommy misses you.”
“Me too.”
“Have you been good?”
“Yeth,” Hannah assured her in a tone that made clear it was a stupid question. Of course she’d been good. She was always good.
“I’m coming home soon.”
“Good.”
Jet had almost forgotten how limited a conversation with a two and a half year old could be.
“Magdalena tells me you played with a puppy today?”
“Yeth. I love him.”
“What kind of puppy was it?”
“A baby dog,” she answered tentatively, surprised her mother didn’t know what a puppy was.
“What kind of dog?”
She heard rustling as Hannah held the handset against something while she conferred with Magdalena, and then she returned to the conversation.
“A bagel.”
“A beagle! Those are very sweet dogs, aren’t they?”
“Yeth. Hannah want.”
“I’m sure you do, honey. But a puppy is a big step – a lot of work.”
“I want. Bagel. Baby bagel!”
“Well, we can talk about it when I get home. I have to go now, but I wanted to say I love you very much, my angel.”
“Me too,” Hannah said solemnly, and then her tone brightened. “I love bagel, too.”
Jet’s eyes moistened at her daughter’s single-minded determination and she smiled.
“I’ll be home soon. Bye bye, honey.”
“Bye bye, Mama.”
The overhead speaker announced boarding for her flight to India, and she rose and paid the attendant before making her way to the departing gate, a lump in her throat as she walked, visions of Hannah, and maybe Matt, playing in a yard with the cutest ‘bagel’ puppy the world had ever seen. Jet took her place in line with the other travelers and struggled to mute the emotions surging through her, the internal battle raging behind her placid gaze hidden from the surrounding passengers. By the time she made it to the podium and handed the attendant her ticket she was herself again, a cool, confident woman, self-possessed and in control.
She’d booked a window seat with nobody next to her, the plane only a third full, the traffic typically light on the return trip to India, and as the jet taxied to the end of the runway and began its takeoff run she closed her emerald eyes and pictured her daughter, her Hannah, rolling in the grass with a puppy, safe at last.
For a brief and precious moment, life was good.
<<<<>>>>
Excerpt from Blood of the Assassin
Author’s notes:
Blood of the Assassin is the fifth installment in the Assassin series, consisting of King of Swords, Night of the Assassin, Revenge of the Assassin, Return of the Assassin, and now, Blood of the Assassin. The series chronicles the exploits of El Rey, also known by his professional moniker “The King of Swords,” who is the most lethal and notorious cartel assassin in Latin America – now retired after a series of misadventures culminating in his being forced to work for CISEN, the Mexican intelligence agency.
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