Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  He ended the call and drew in a deep breath. He glanced at the smoke billowing in the distance. Claudia is right. It’s too bad it went this way. But maybe there’s still a way we can correct things. It might be very difficult, but it’s worth a try. He sighed, then dialed his boss’s number.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Hotel Blanc, Rue de Lausanne

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Claudia had understated Vassily’s state of mind when she had described him as “fuming mad.” In fact, it took the intervention of Loger and Bogdan and the other Russian agents, or else the argument between Vassily and Javin would have escalated into a brawl right there in the park. While Javin did not appreciate the Russian agent’s attitude and language, his fury was understandable. Not only had the Russians lost Fawzi and his associates—perhaps the only ones who could confirm the links between the Iraqi police and government and the money-laundering network—but all the money, the evidence, had gone up in flames. Of course, Javin kept from the Russians the fact that not all the money had burned in the wreckage. His mind was preoccupied with how and how soon he could return to retrieve the money.

  When things had calmed down enough for an intelligent conversation, the teams moved into a hotel on Rue de Lausanne. Despite the Russian agent’s offer, Javin did not want to go back to the SVR’s safehouse, but wanted to have their last meeting on neutral ground. He explained to Vassily the course of events, from the moment that Fawzi or someone in his group had suspected they were walking into a trap, to the moment he had called Claudia. Vassily repeated that Javin had made a foolish mistake, which had cost the teams the entire operation. Javin found it pointless to argue with the Russians. He just wanted their meeting and the entire affair to be over, so he could return to the shoreline and take back the duffel bag.

  After about an hour, Vassily felt like he had released enough steam. Before leaving, he told Javin that this matter was not over, and that he would suffer the consequences of his actions. It did not sound like a threat, but a sort of a bad omen, like “what goes around, comes around.” Javin nodded, and deep in his heart, he knew Vassily was right. This was the second time the Canadian agents had turned half of Geneva into a war zone. We will not have a third strike against us. No, that’s not going to happen.

  The second conversation with their boss, Bateaux, went much better. He updated them on the status of the Geneva police investigation into the high-speed car chase and the explosion on Quai de Mont-Blanc. Bateaux had pulled in all the favors he could, leveraging even some political connections, to keep the CIS involvement away from the low-ranking police officers and the media, which was already on the scene. A cover story was taking shape, according to which, the newly created counterterrorism branch of the Canton Geneva Police force had thwarted an attempt by an ISIS sleeper cell to strike at the heart of Switzerland and Europe. Local units had been working with their counterparts in foreign security services to exchange intelligence, but the operation had been carried out solely by Swiss nationals. While the story’s veracity was weak and might have a few holes—especially if investigative journalists started to pry around—since no innocent bystanders or Swiss police had been gravely wounded or killed, Bateaux was confident that the cover story would stand up to scrutiny.

  Javin informed Bateaux about the cell phone, and they agreed for Javin to drop it off at the Canadian consular office in Geneva. A CIS cyber-security expert would be dispatched from Vienna to extract all possible intelligence from the device.

  Bateaux agreed for Javin to take a personal day off, for rest and recuperation, and to return the day after that to Ottawa. There was still the unfinished matter of Javin and Claudia’s return to their regular assignments as correctors, dispatched to fix and finish up those tasks where other teams had failed. However, the Iraq operation could only be considered as half successful, since one of the ISIS masterminds was still at large. Bateaux promised to discuss the matter with the CIS General Director Chan, but warned Javin and Claudia not to hold out much hope.

  When the call was finished, Javin told Claudia he was going out for a jog, to get some fresh air and to clear his mind. She offered to go with him, but he politely declined. He hated lying to his trusted partner and kept telling himself that it was the truth, at least in part. He was going to do all that he had told Claudia. Still, he had left out the most important reason for his impromptu trip.

  As fate would have it, the black duffel bag was still in the garbage can. Some of the oil and sauces from the pizza and the hamburger leftovers had spilled over the side of the bag, but it was nothing a good scrub could not remove. Javin cleaned it as much as he could in the bathroom of a restaurant across from the park. In one of the bathroom stalls, he counted the money. Three million dollars. He assumed it was all untraceable banknotes, mostly hundred- and fifty-dollar bills.

  Javin was still unsure what to do with the money. His first, almost instinctive, reaction had been to hide the money from the Russians. It did not feel right to hand it over to them, especially after what had happened at Schmidt’s apartment and how Vassily had treated them. The next best option was to inform Bateaux about the stash and arrange for the delivery to the consular office, along with the cell phone. This option presented some difficulties, chief among them the reason why Javin had kept this fact to himself for so long. As Claudia and he were trying to earn their return back to the agency, any suspicions would only jeopardize their chances of a clean, safe return.

  Plus, the money belonged to the Iraqis, since it was stolen from them. Of course, Bateaux would arrange for the money to be returned to the Iraqi government’s coffers, but, as recent events had proven, that did not mean the money would automatically go to the people who were in the direst need. I don’t want this to end up in the hands of another corrupt governor or police chief. He shook his head. No, there has to be a better way.

  Javin went into a nearby boutique store where he purchased a couple of pairs of jeans, and a new black wool felt coat, as well as a large suitcase, where he could store everything, including the duffel bag. Before returning to the hotel, he called Tom. A woman who refused to identify herself informed Javin that the man he was trying to reach was unavailable. Once Javin was able to convince her who he was and that he had just finished working with Tom on a joint operation, the woman told Javin that Tom was doing well, at least for the time being. He was still in the operating room. The surgeon had been able to remove all bullet fragments from the wound and had performed debridement of necrotic and damaged tissue to allow for new tissue growth. The repair of the shoulder joint was taking longer than anticipated, but it seemed that there were no visible nerve injuries. Further examinations and additional investigations might be required at a later date.

  It was not the worst news, but it was not the best news either. Depending on the result of the surgery, Tom would be inoperative and in recovery for at least a few weeks. Javin shook his head, realizing that it could have been him lying in that hospital bed instead of Tom. Yes, as luck would have it...

  At the hotel, he reminded Claudia about his plans to travel to Luxembourg. With that goal in mind, they spent the next few hours preparing the after-action report of the Geneva operation. It was almost four o’clock when they were finished and ordered room service.

  In the small suite, they enjoyed mouth-watering chicken cacciatore in white wine sauce, which was so tender that it fell off the bone. Tomorrow, he was going to dine with another woman, Mila, and perhaps have a glass of wine with her. Unlike Claudia, the Russian SVR agent had a completely different agenda on her mind.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Clairefontaine Restaurant

  9, Place de Clairefontaine

  Luxembourg City, Luxembourg

  The Michelin-starred restaurant was one of those establishments where food was elevated to the level of art. It was a feast for the eyes, as well as the palate. Javin glanced in awe at the elegantly displayed starter plate in front of him. It was scallo
ps carpaccio and tartar with truffle and celeriac in shallot dressing. He felt a bit guilty to destroy such a perfect food exhibition.

  Mila, who had already taken a couple of bites of hers, said, “Javin, what are you waiting for?”

  He shrugged. “Eh, it’s so beautiful.”

  “Right, but it tastes even better. Unless you’re not hungry...” She jokingly reached for his plate.

  “No, I’m starving, actually.” He lifted his fork and knife and cut into one of the scallops. He took a small bite and enjoyed every bit of the soft, delicious delicacy. “Mmmmm, this is beyond divine...”

  “It was an excellent choice, Javin. I’m very, very impressed.”

  She leaned over the small round table and planted a kiss on his lips. It was the second one this evening. The first one when they met had been a deep, passionate one, like the one they had exchanged the last time they had met in Moscow. Javin did not pull back, but also did not seem to enjoy it as much as he thought he would. His mind kept going back to Liberty. He had not heard from her, but still he could not just brush her out of his mind. Javin knew that Mila was not looking for a deep, long relationship. But Javin could see himself with Liberty even after six months or a year.

  “You’re still so stiff, Javin. I thought we came to Lux City to relax...”

  “I’m sorry, I know better. Just ... there’s so much work, and I’m waiting for some news.” He glanced at the phone set near the middle of the table.

  “Give me that.”

  Mila picked up the phone and dropped it into her small purse next to her chair. Then she flicked back a couple of strands of her long black hair.

  Javin shrugged. It was a burner phone that contained no sensitive intelligence. He had used it only a few times. He smiled and gave her an intense gaze. “Mila, you’re so beautiful.”

  Indeed, she was gorgeous in her black V-neck sleeveless dress that accentuated all the right curves. Her hair flowed down her slender neck and her back in a rich cascade. Mila was wearing a black pearl necklace and an earring set.

  She smiled. “You haven’t seen the best half of me yet...”

  Javin returned the smile, but did not say anything.

  “There’s so much of me for you to discover, Javin, but we have time for that. Like I said, no work, though.”

  Javin took another bite of the scallops and chewed it slowly, savoring the scrumptious taste. “All right, so what do you want to talk about?”

  “How about us? Us beyond work. Like, where do you see yourself when you’re retired?”

  Javin grinned. “People like us never retire, Mila.”

  “Humor me, Javin. Dream with me.”

  Javin shrugged and thought about his reply. “If I weren’t in the field, I guess I could teach at The Plant. They’re always looking for new people.”

  The Plant was the training facility for CIS recruits.

  “I don’t see you as a teacher, Javin.”

  “I can teach—”

  “You’re impatient. You’d probably shoot rebellious students...”

  “If they deserve to be shot...” he said in a low tone, although the table next to them was empty, and the nearest patrons at the table further away were at a distance of about six feet.

  “Exactly.” Mila smiled. “How about having a sailing shop? Somewhere in the Caribbean?”

  “That sounds fantastic. But I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

  “Why not? We both like sailing and scuba diving...”

  Javin’s forehead formed a small frown. He had never thought Mila’s interest in him was more than superficial, a hot night here and there, in between missions. Is she teasing me or feeling my pulse? “Would the SVR let you go?”

  Mila shrugged. “Why not? We’re not bound forever to our job, our assignments. We can always ask for a reassignment, or quit altogether.”

  “Okay, let’s say you can get Mila out of the SVR. Can you get the SVR out of Mila?”

  She smiled. “I don’t know, Javin. But we can try it, and see how it works.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mila leaned over the table and reached for his hand. She held it and said, “Why don’t we take some time off? Three, four days at the most. There’s this gorgeous place in the Caribbean that I’m sure you’ll love. Turks and Caicos. Ever been there?”

  Before Javin could reply, his phone rang with a sharp beep.

  Mila shook her head. “No, you’re not getting it.”

  “It’s important, Mila.”

  “Of course it is, but it can wait.”

  The phone beeped again.

  One of the old men at the next table turned his head and looked at Javin and Mila.

  Javin said, “We’re making a scene. This will only take a minute.”

  “Yes, but when you come back, you won’t be the same Javin,” she said with a sigh and let go of his hand.

  She tossed him the phone as it rang a third time.

  Javin picked it up, gestured his apology to the old man, then hurried down the hall and out of the restaurant. When he had stepped through the entrance doors, he said, “This is Javin.”

  “Javin, what’s going on?” Bateaux said in his usual impatient tone. “I told you to expect my call.”

  “I am expecting it. I just couldn’t get to the phone right away.”

  “All right, can you talk now?”

  “Yes, I can talk.”

  “All right, I’ve got some good news. First, the intel from the cell phone you collected in Geneva. It belonged to one of Fawzi’s associates and contained a treasure trove of information. We’ve gone through about half, and there are emails and calls that undeniably link Fawzi to Commander Zweiri and Governor Khaznadar.”

  “That’s excellent, sir.”

  “Yes, we weren’t expecting those results. But it doesn’t stop there: there was an important name in the list of contacts. Do you want to venture a guess?”

  “The escaped ISIS fighter?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Javin smiled. “Where is he?”

  “Baghdad.”

  “When am I going—”

  “Not so fast. You’re not returning to Iraq.”

  “But, sir, the fighter—”

  “Yes, the local police and militia will take care of that. You’re a corrector, Javin, remember?”

  Javin did not respond right away. “Am I, sir? I mean, officially…”

  It was Bateaux’s turn to pause. “No, not officially, but I’m working on it. Anyway, you’re not going to Iraq. And that’s not open for discussion.” His voice took on a resolute tone.

  Javin nodded at a couple approaching the restaurant and held the door open for them. The woman thanked him, and the man waved.

  Javin pulled up the collar of his gray pinstriped jacket. He had left his wool felt coat inside the restaurant, and the brisk wind had turned the evening quite chilly. “All right, Director. If I can’t go to Iraq, may I suggest the perfect men for this assignment?”

  “You can, but it doesn’t mean they’ll get it. As you know, it’s up to the Iraqis to decide whom they dispatch for this mission. They’re a sovereign nation.”

  “Right, but you still hold sway over your counterparts in the Iraqi interior ministry.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”

  “I understand. There are two guys with whom I worked during my last op in Iraq. Captain Najib Issawi, Iraq Federal Police, and Murtada al-Razi, Shia PMF militia.”

  “All right, Javin. I got the names.”

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “How’s your R&R going?”

  Javin glanced inside the restaurant. He could not see what Mila was doing, but she was not thrilled with the interruption. “It’s okay. I should go back to my dinner date.”

  “You’ve got a date?”

  “Well, sort of…”

  “Good for you, Javin. You need to get your mind off work and relax.”

  Everybody
keeps saying that. Perhaps I should listen. “I will, sir.”

  “One last thing, Javin: Some of the intel about the money-laundering network connects to a powerful Chinese artifacts dealer, who appears to have made millions buying and selling treasures pillaged from Mosul and other dig sites in Iraq and Syria. We’ll be sharing that intel with the Chinese security agency, so they can take care of that part.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. The last thing I want to do is get involved with the Chinese…”

  “Yes, that wouldn’t be my preference either. Now, go back and enjoy your dinner and your date.”

  “Take care, sir.”

  He ended the call and drew in a deep breath. The intelligence had left him conflicted. On the one hand, he was glad the hideout of the second ISIS mastermind had been identified. On the other hand, he wished he could be there when the ISIS butcher met his fate. You can’t have everything you want, Javin. You had your fun in Iraq. Now, it’s time to go back to being subtle and discreet. Like a true corrector.

  When he returned to their table, Mila gave him a look of sadness mixed with regret. “Do you have to leave right away?”

  Javin shook his head and handed her the phone. “No, and you can put this away.”

  A restrained smile returned to her face. “For real?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn it off then.”

  Javin hesitated for a moment, then pressed the button and held it until the screen went dark. “There. No more work tonight.”

  “Only fun.” Her voice took on a playful tone. “Lots of fun.”

  “In moderation.”

  “But of course. We will do nothing you don’t want to do…”

  Javin nodded. “Yes, about that… We can chat about that. Now, why don’t we enjoy our supper?”

  “I’m done and ready to order the entrée. You still have a long ways to go.” She tipped her head toward Javin’s half-full plate.

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “I’m thinking about getting the lobster. It comes with this great crustacean sauce. I haven’t tried it but have heard only great things. And I want a bottle of Riesling to go with it.”