Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  Javin frowned. “Oh ... Well, I have questions of my own.”

  “What questions?”

  Javin realized al-Razi was not privy to the intelligence received from Tom and the CIS director. So he said, “About them not giving us everything they had on her, and also for not putting all resources to work to find her.”

  Al-Razi gave Javin a look of disappointment. “You’re lucky they even started to look for her. For most disappearances, especially when they’re people with ties to ISIS, the police don’t move a finger.”

  “Well, Ghanem was helping us. She gave us this address. If we had found her sister, she could have given us more.” He shook his head. “Now that she’s dead, we’ve lost that resource.”

  “Have you heard anything about her sister?”

  “No. But I’ll inquire with the governor and the police chief.”

  “I doubt they’ve done anything.”

  “Yes, but since I’m talking to them anyway, before we head out...”

  “You’re leaving? Why?”

  “We’re out of time, and, with the half-baked results we’ve achieved so far, I’m sure the governor will insist we get the heck out of Dodge.”

  Al-Razi blinked, apparently not understanding the pop culture reference.

  Javin said, “Leaving the city, and Iraq.”

  “When?”

  “Right away. Well, after I’ve talked to the gov and the commander. They want us to hand over the investigation to the local police, along with everything we’ve got.”

  Al-Razi shook his head. “That means Issawi, and he’ll keep it all to himself. My job here is done as well.”

  “Not necessarily. We’ll give you a file with all the intel.”

  “Plus, you have resources that Issawi is unaware of.” Claudia gave him a wink.

  A grin curled up the edges of al-Razi’s lips. Then he shrugged, as if to indicate that he was done. Javin offered to shake hands, but al-Razi stepped closer and gave Javin a hug. “I’ll see you again, inshallah, somewhere safer and better.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Al-Razi gave his farewell to Claudia without shaking hands, as did some pious Muslim men when it came to women that were outside their family circle. However, he placed his hand over his heart to indicate gratefulness. “I’m glad to have fought next to a true warrior.”

  Claudia nodded. “I appreciate the honor.”

  Javin and Claudia went inside the house. Issawi was barking orders on the phone, but when he noticed them, he abruptly ended the call and said to Javin, “The widow is dead and—”

  “Yes, I heard about it.”

  “Did you also hear the chief of police is blaming you and me for that?”

  “Why us?”

  “According to him, if you hadn’t talked to her, the widow would still be alive.”

  “Since when is talking to reporters a death sentence?”

  “Since always. This is Iraq, not Canada. Plus, these people are not fools. Someone saw you talk to her and either realized you were not a reporter, or suspected she told you something she wasn’t supposed to. And as we know, the latter turned out to be true.”

  “Right, so those people should take the blame, the ones who spied on her and kidnapped and murdered her. This isn’t Ghanem’s fault and definitely not mine.”

  “That might be the case, but the chief sees you as the catalyst of this entire mess.”

  Claudia said, “All right, I can see the chief blaming Javin, but why you? What did you do?”

  “It’s what I didn’t do. Somehow, I should have reported to him, even though that’s outside the chain of command. I should have informed him of what happened at every step of this investigation, and, should have prevented her murder.”

  Javin thought about telling Issawi that the chief had been trying to obtain intelligence from Makram, but decided to keep that piece of information to himself, at least for the time being. “Well, soon enough your troubles will be over. We’re done with our op.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We’re leaving Mosul and Iraq today. I’ll draft a report and hand over everything to you, as per the chief’s and the gov’s request.”

  “Great. Now, I’m left alone to clean up this mess.” Issawi cursed the turn of events.

  “Perhaps you can hand it over to the chief,” Claudia said. “He’d love to take it off your hands.”

  And bury it somewhere, Javin wanted to add, but he kept the thought to himself.

  “I might do that,” Issawi said. “I’ve had enough of all this … this slaughterhouse… We can’t get things done if the chief wants to stick his nose in everything…”

  “I hear you,” Javin said. “I’ll have the report ready in a couple of hours. Meet you at our safehouse?”

  “Sure. I hope to wrap this up by that time.” He spread his arms around, but his tone was anything but certain.

  “All right. Let us know if we can help.”

  “We’re good for now. But you’ll get a couple of calls from some furious people.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that too.”

  “Good luck, Javin.”

  “Same to you, Issawi. Are you okay if we take the SUV?”

  “Sure, but don’t wreck it.”

  “I won’t. See you at the safehouse.”

  Javin and Claudia headed outside. He said, “You drive while I take care of those calls. I want to end this as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  On the Way to the CIS Safehouse

  Mosul, Iraq

  The call to Governor Khaznadar was shorter and went better than Javin had anticipated. He told the governor right off the bat about the order to leave Iraq, and that seemed to set a positive tone for their conversation. Javin made sure to thank the governor for the assistance received from his administration. The governor sounded displeased with the turn of events and wished that Javin and Claudia had completed their mission, but he knew it was a farce.

  The conversation with Commander Zweiri was a different matter. He was loud and obnoxious, blaming Javin for wreaking havoc in the city and destroying the good work the police force had tried so hard to achieve. Javin did not allow the Iraqi to get under his skin, knowing that in a matter of hours he and Claudia would be out of the country. The commander, on the other hand, had some long and difficult work ahead of him, especially if he treated all his allies in such a hostile manner.

  His mouth was dry from all the talking, but Javin decided to make the next call as well. Perhaps this was the most dreaded one of the three, considering he was going to call Liberty. He was not sure what to say or what her reply would be, but he needed to talk to her and let her know at the very least that he would be leaving Iraq. Javin had no idea when or if he would be back to Mosul or Iraq. Eventually, but he would not be able to give Liberty a time frame.

  Thankfully for him, she did not pick up. He was not sure if she was letting the answering machine take his call or whether Liberty really could not answer her phone. He shrugged and left her a brief message, informing her of what had happened to Ghanem. Then he told Liberty about his plans, adding that he would like to see her before leaving Mosul. He spoke in a soft, warm tone, trying to come across as genuine as possible—well, as much as one could when talking to a machine. He shrugged when he was finished. I did what I could.

  At the safehouse, he drafted a full report of all the events that had taken place so far during the operation. Claudia helped by providing details about those times when Javin had not been present. When he was finished, she reviewed it and made very few changes, mostly a few typos. They fired off the report to Bateaux, then gathered most of the non-sensitive intelligence for Issawi and al-Razi. Javin emailed that intelligence file to the Iranian militiaman, then saved a copy on a flash drive for Issawi.

  The police officer came to pick it up at about the scheduled time. He joked with Javin about how he would be back in Iraq before he even knew it. As much as Javin wanted
to dismiss the thought, a sizzling feeling at the pit of his stomach was telling him that Issawi was right. We might go to Geneva, but I don’t think we’re quite done with Iraq.

  Issawi was kind enough to let them borrow the Kia SUV for their two-hour trip southeast to Erbil, the capital of the self-declared independent state of Kurdistan. The vehicle was in good repair and unmarked. Issawi gave them also a recent update about what roads to take to avoid the few checkpoints that had popped up along the Nawaran Highway, the main thoroughfare connecting the two cities. As much as the Iraqi security forces wanted to claim victory over ISIS and other terrorist groups operating in the area, the security situation was still very volatile. Small groups of gunmen continuously swooped down on the highway, preying on travelers, especially in remote stretches of the highway.

  Issawi said more than once, “Keep your eyes open at all times. If you see a car or passengers on the side pleading for a ride, pretending their vehicle broke down, don’t stop. Instead, gas it up, as that’s probably an ambush.”

  Javin smiled and nodded at his concerned friend. The Canadian agents were trained for such scenarios and had survived much worse. But it showed how much Issawi cared for their safety. He offered to send an escort of at least two police officers for increased security, but Javin politely declined. A small footprint was always better, to keep them flying under the radar. Besides, he wanted time alone with Claudia to discuss their current operation and future steps.

  As they left Mosul behind, Javin glanced to his left. In the distance, beyond the city limits, was the UNHCR Hasan Sham Refugee Camp and Liberty. He looked at his phone on the console between the seats. Liberty had never returned his call. She’s probably mad at me, and I don’t blame her.

  “Javin, what’s going on?”

  “Eh, nothing. I should give Mila a call and reschedule our meeting.”

  “She’s not going to be happy.”

  “I’m not cancelling, just postponing it.”

  “Still, I wouldn’t be happy...”

  Javin shrugged. “It’s what it is.”

  “Do you want me to pull over?” She gestured toward the side of the highway.

  “No. I don’t think I’ll say anything that’s a secret.”

  “You’d better not. She’s still a Russian SVR agent,” Claudia said in a mock warning tone and gave him a grin. “But, yes, I get it. Something private between the two of you...”

  “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

  He dialed Mila’s number. The phone rang three times, before an uncertain female voice asked in Russian, “Yes, who is this?”

  “Mila, it’s me, Javin.”

  “Oh, dear Javin, I didn’t recognize your number.” She switched to English with just a hint of the Russian accent that added an ounce of intrigue to her playful voice.

  “I had to get a new one.”

  “Are you in Turkey?”

  “Very observant, but no.”

  Javin and Claudia had obtained clean phone numbers registered in Iraq’s northern neighboring country. Plus, their agency had installed scrambling software in the phones, which masked the number to the callers. However, Mila’s phone most likely had been equipped with unscrambling tools for these specific situations.

  “So, Iraq or Syria?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Just curious. How are you doing?” Her voice grew warmer and sounded genuine.

  “I’m doing well, Mila. And you?”

  “Things are okay. It always snows in Moscow.” It was her favorite expression, and it meant that things in Russia never changed. Mila was an SVR operative, but she was fully aware of the government and the administration ruling her country. She used to say that “she served her country, not the regime. Presidents come and go; Russia is always here.”

  “We’re baking in the sun here, so some cold weather would be nice,” he said in a half-joking tone.

  “You don’t want this kind of snow. But in terms of cooling down, tomorrow night in Prague we might get a chance.” She paused for a moment, then added, “But then, who knows, it might turn into something hot...”

  Javin bit his lip and glanced at Claudia. She either had not heard Mila’s words, or was being nonchalant about it. Mila had always shown an open interest in Javin, even when he was married and his wife was still alive. Besides that very important fact, it was unacceptable for Javin and Mila—working for agencies that while not outright enemies were also not exactly friends—to have any sort of relationship except a professional one. However, with his back against the wall, Javin had been forced to reach out to Mila for help, which she had gladly given. In exchange, she had received a passionate kiss, and the implicit promise of more to come. “Yes, about our meeting—”

  “Are you blowing me off, Javin?” Her voice turned sharp and cold.

  Javin felt a shiver zip through his body as the thought about a woman scorned raced across his mind. He definitely did not want to get on the wrong side of Mila. “No, no, that’s not the case. I ... something happened, and we have to reschedule it.”

  “Is this because of work?”

  “Yes, it is work.”

  “So, if not tomorrow, when?”

  Javin shrugged. “Let’s say in three days. And let’s meet in Luxembourg City...”

  “Oh, Luxembourg. Are you trying to impress me, my dear Javin?” she said in a teasing tone.

  “Whatever it takes to keep me out of your bad books.”

  “Oh, in that case, don’t I have a deal for you...”

  Javin shook his head. “Let’s not get carried away, shall we?”

  “Right. We have to be professionals about it. Sorry, it slipped my mind.”

  “So, Lux City, Sunday evening at 7:00. There’s this restaurant, Clairefontaine, on—”

  “I’m sure I can find it, Javin.”

  “All right, then. It’s settled. See you there.”

  “I’ll be there, and Javin, listen, don’t blow me off again.”

  He shrugged and said nothing, finding it useless to go over the same argument with her. “I’ll be there, Mila.”

  “Good. I miss you, Javin, and it would be lovely to see you again.”

  “You’ll see me very soon.”

  “Looking forward to it. Now, stay out of trouble, wherever you are in Iraq...”

  How did she know? Just a lucky guess. He shook his head. “You too, Mila.”

  He ended the call and glanced at Claudia, who said, “You really think we’ll wrap this up in three days?”

  “I hope so. If not, I’ll be in trouble...” He grinned.

  “How is she doing?”

  “Okay, I think. Disappointed about the change.”

  Claudia nodded. “Why Luxembourg?”

  “Why not? Never been there. Prague just doesn’t have the same appeal.”

  “And what’s on the menu?”

  Javin shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Mila doesn’t like you for your sense of humor...”

  “Claudia, I know what I’m doing.”

  “I never said you didn’t. But, what about the consequences?”

  “What about them?”

  “A misstep here could get you thrown out of the service. Perhaps me as well, now that we’re barely back in.”

  Javin shook his head. “You have nothing to do with this. Plus, Mila and I are both pros. We know how to behave; what to do and what not to do.”

  Claudia gave him a look full of concern. “Are you saying that to me or yourself, Javin?”

  “To you, of course. You brought up the concern.”

  “I did, and I’m worried about what might happen. Look, we know how the Russians work. A little flirting and teasing on the side, that’s all right. But lines can get blurry very easily and—”

  “Mila isn’t setting up a honeypot, so that I’ll get ensnared by it.”

  Claudia shrugged. “I just want you to be safe, Javin. I don’t want to lose you.�
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  He leaned closer to her and put his arm on her shoulder. “You won’t, Claudia. It’s all right. I know what I’m doing. Mila and I will enjoy supper, have a good time.”

  Claudia nodded, but the look of concern remained in her eyes. “I hope that’s so, Javin. I hope that’s so.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Titanic Hotel and Spa

  Erbil, Kurdistan

  In part because of Issawi’s intelligence and in part because of Javin and Claudia’s trained attentive eyes and ingrained sense of awareness, they reached Erbil without any problems. Tom had reserved a couple of rooms at the Titanic Hotel and Spa, the most luxurious and safest hotel in perhaps all Kurdistan. The Titanic was a massive, recently built seven-story glass, steel and marble structure shaped as its namesake, and an oasis of peace in this land mostly known for wars and acts of brutality.

  Tom was in his room and had spread out folders, documents, and photographs, along with a laptop and a tablet, over the dark, small square-shaped table he had set close to one of the beds. He had closed the heavy brown curtains, and the room was lit solely by a couple of scones. Javin sat at the edge of the bed, while Claudia took the armchair opposite Tom. He slid one of the folders from the top of the pile toward Javin. “The file on Helmut Schmidt. He’s the Executive Director of Credit at CBF’s main branch, where the suspected account was opened and where the funds are deposited.”

  Javin opened the folder. The picture of a man perhaps in his early sixties, with a bald head and rosy cheeks, greeted him. Schmidt was on the heavy side, packing perhaps fifty extra pounds or more. He was dressed in a black suit and was shown entering a silver sedan. The next photos showed him dining with another man, who was younger, maybe in his early thirties. He had pale skin, blond dreadlocks, and a grin stamped on his long, narrow face. He too was dressed in a black suit and seemed to be in his element in the fancy restaurant.

  “That was taken last night in Geneva, at Il Lago, a high-class Italian restaurant. We suspect the man might be tied to the account,” Tom said as Javin slid the photographs toward Claudia.