Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  The driver said, “Yes, at ten thirty.”

  Liu looked at his gold Rolex. It was about five minutes to the appointed time. “I hate waiting.”

  “Should I call him?”

  “Do you need to ask?”

  “No, sir.” The driver tapped a button on the dashboard to connect to the phone.

  As the SUV rounded the corner and slid toward the cathedral, one of the guards said, “Mr. Liu, the seller is right there.”

  Liu looked in the direction of the guard’s hand. An old man with a full snow-white beard was sitting on one of the benches by the phone booths. Yes, that was Maubeuge, and he was wearing his trademark brimmed black felt hat and dark brown Irish tweed vest. He seemed to be reading a newspaper, but Liu knew Maubeuge was observing everything and everyone around him. The old man had been a field operative for the General Directorate for External Security, or DGSE, which was the French external intelligence service, until he had retired seven years ago and had turned his attention to the lucrative antiquities market. Maubeuge was known to never go anywhere without at least a two-man team. Liu’s eyes flitted between a couple taking selfies in front of the cathedral and two men smoking while standing near their motorcycles parked to the right, near the phone booth. Any of them could be Maubeuge’s people. Maybe all of them.

  “Park to the left, beyond the bench,” Liu ordered the driver, who had turned off the phone. “You,” he gestured to the guard sitting behind him, the one who had located Maubeuge, “you’ll come with me. Take the briefcase.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Keep an eye on the lovely ‘couple’ and the bikers, especially if sparks start to fly...”

  “What about the woman with the stroller?” The driver pointed to his left.

  A woman was sitting at the steps leading up to the cathedral and talking on the phone. A stroller was a couple of feet away from her.

  Liu said, “Check her out, and make sure there’s actually a baby in there.”

  “You got it, sir.”

  The driver parked the SUV, and Liu ran his hand over his black Brioni suit and felt the gold-plated, compact Heckler & Koch VP9SK 9mm pistol in his shoulder holster. He disliked firearms, but knew they were a necessary evil. Liu did not expect any problems, since he had done business with Maubeuge in the past. The old man could get cranky at a moment’s notice, but he was quite reasonable and extremely discreet. Liu drew in a deep breath, then nodded at his guard. “Let’s go.”

  He stepped out of the SUV and made his way toward Maubeuge, while the guard followed closely behind. The Chinese millionaire walked with small, slow steps, taking in every face of the twenty or so people enjoying the warm autumn sun and the great views. The cathedral was built on a rock that stood over two hundred feet above the Mediterranean Sea and offered splendid vistas of Monte Carlo's port. Liu lifted his official United States Air Force pilot sunglasses to the top of his head and squinted so hard that his eyes almost watered. Still, he wasn’t able to see the Russian millionaire’s yacht, which was supposed to be anchored at the marina. Maybe he’s out, sailing or fishing.

  When he was about four steps away from Maubeuge, the Frenchman nodded at Liu. “Welcome to Monaco, my friend,” he said in a low voice in English with a strong French accent. He did not stand up or acknowledge Liu’s presence in any other way.

  Liu frowned, but only for a split second. The gesture meant that someone was watching them. Or it could mean that Maubeuge was being paranoid, as that seemed to be his second nature, especially over the last few months. Liu had suggested the meeting take place in a hotel or another private location, but Maubeuge had strongly rejected the idea. He wanted to meet in a public place. Maybe he doesn’t trust me, Liu thought. He shrugged. I wouldn’t blame him. I don’t trust him either.

  “I’m glad to see you, old friend,” Liu said in lightly accented English as he sat on the bench but not very close to Maubeuge. “Lovely weather, right?” He gestured with his hand toward the sun.

  “Yes, yes, but my bones still hurt…”

  “Arthritis is getting worse?”

  “Yes, but it’s these stupid treatments … I’m trying this new therapy, which leaves me quite tired and makes me grouchy.”

  Liu stifled a grin. You don’t need therapy for that. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Maubeuge shrugged and lowered his newspaper. “The doctor is saying I’m getting better, and I won’t need any surgery. How’s your daughter?”

  “She’s okay.”

  “More trouble with her business?”

  Liu cocked his head toward Maubeuge, but he was looking straight ahead at the cathedral. Liu’s daughter was a young entrepreneur trying her hand in the flourishing furniture business in China and abroad. She had insisted her father not use his influence to secure her favorable deals. As a result, her business venture had hit quite a few snags, mostly as she tried to enter the highly competitive European market. But how does Maubeuge know about that? Yes, it’s his way of keeping tabs on his business partners, just like I do.

  Liu gave the dealer a restrained smile. “She’s doing well, thanks for asking. But I haven’t come here to talk about my family.”

  “Or my health. You’ve come here for this.” He removed a small white envelope from one of the vest’s inside pockets and handed it to Liu. “Prices are on the back.”

  Liu glanced around. No one seemed to be paying attention to them. Liu’s guard was standing beyond earshot. The selfie-taking couple had disappeared, but the woman with the stroller was still there. Her phone was slightly pointed toward them. Is she recording this?

  He held the envelope close to his chest as he opened it and glanced at the photographs. Their quality was poor, and they looked as if someone had used an old phone in a dark setting to snap the shots. However, it was clear what the objects were. The first two were winged bull statues. A man in a headdress and long beard was standing near the statues, to indicate their size. They were slightly taller than the man.

  Liu smiled. They would be a great addition to his collection. He flipped over the picture and recoiled at the price. “How much room for negotiation?”

  “Depends on what you’re buying. No discounts on single items.”

  Liu nodded. It was standard practice. He moved to the third item. A gold necklace showing Inanna, the Mesopotamian-Assyrian goddess of love and fertility, resting her foot on the back of a lion crouching next to her. An eight-pointed star hung over her head. That would make a lovely gift for the Russian’s daughter. Liu smiled again. And get me back into his good graces. He glanced at the price, and, this time, he did not flinch. “I want this.” He returned the photograph to Maubeuge.

  The Frenchman nodded. “Excellent choice. It’s yours.”

  Liu went through the other dozen or so pictures. There were a few items he truly wanted: a box of golden coins embossed with the face of Zenobia, who was a Syrian queen ruling in Palmyra in the third century, and a set of intact ceramic pots etched with lavish decorative motifs. Liu made some calculations, then nodded to himself. It was expensive, but Maubeuge was offering a great deal. “I’ll think about the first two and these ones.” He pointed at the ones he had selected.

  “Don’t think for too long. You’re the first one to see these, but there are other buyers.”

  “Yes, I know that, and I appreciate the consideration.”

  “Two hours?”

  “You’ll have my answer by then.”

  “Good.” Maubeuge returned the envelope to his pocket. “There’s a new shipment coming in a few weeks, besides this one. Are you interested?”

  “Always.”

  “Good. These savages don’t know how to preserve their own culture. All they care about is slaughtering each other, through beheading or stoning. They’re destroying these pieces that survived the millennia simply because they’re not Islamic. Extremist idiots took explosives, bulldozers, and sledgehammers to marvelous pieces like these so as to avoid idolatry.” Maub
euge shook his head and cursed under his breath. “As if Iraqis or Syrians were bowing down before these statues. At the most, they visited them in the museum or at archeological sites. Unless we step in and protect these treasures, they’ll all be pulverized, like many other artifacts that, unfortunately, did not survive.” His voice rang with true regret, and he shook his head again.

  Liu nodded. “Yes, and then they complain about why our museums and private collectors buy these items. This culture, these civilizations, they are not only of Iraqis or Syrians, they’re a global inheritance, and we can’t let these barbarians destroy everything.”

  Maubeuge nodded. “I’ll be waiting for your call.” He folded the paper and handed it to Liu. “There’s an article you might like. Page 2.” He stood up.

  Liu nodded and looked at Maubeuge as he tipped his hat. “Au revoir, mon ami.” Goodbye, my friend.

  “Take care, old friend.”

  Liu followed Maubeuge as he walked with a limp toward the cathedral. Before he had reached the flowery median with the two tall palm trees, a red LaFerrari Aperta thundered in from the left side. It stopped right next to Maubeuge, and the driver—a tall, muscular man in his early thirties—jumped out. Maubeuge got in, sat behind the steering wheel of the convertible supercar, and gunned the engine. The Ferrari jumped forward, then rounded the right corner, gliding down Avenue Saint-Martin.

  Liu smiled at Maubeuge’s impressive exit. Even for a millionaire like Liu, a Ferrari convertible was a sight to behold. He had wanted to buy one, but Ferrari had manufactured only two hundred of these automobile engineering marvels, and they all sold out before Liu had a chance to act on his desire. Instead, he had opted for a Lamborghini Aventador Coupe.

  Liu’s eyes then went to the newspaper, which was The New York Times. The article Maubeuge had pointed out carried the headline: China Suspected of Hacking CIA Servers. Liu read the first few lines, and the frown across his forehead deepened.

  When he reached the second paragraph and read the nickname of one of the hackers suspected of taking part in the brazen attack, Liu cursed out loud. His outburst caught the attention of a young couple sitting on the next bench.

  Liu didn’t care.

  The hacker’s nickname was SPArrow.

  Liu had recently used this same hacker for an extremely sensitive operation.

  Liu’s mind went into overdrive as he jumped to his feet. Damage control, right away. If SPArrow is compromised, they might tie him to me. I can’t allow that to happen.

  Chapter Six

  Grand Hyatt Hotel

  Beijing, China

  Javin had already brought one of the CIS cybersecurity experts and most of the gear that Han would need for the operation to the hotel suite. While Javin possessed advanced skills when it came to computer security systems, he was far from being equipped to ensure that Han was going to stay on the straight and narrow. The team needed a constant pair of eyes monitoring every keystroke of Han’s well-trained hands.

  Zhang had initially insisted the observer be an MSS agent, but Javin had dismissed the idea. The reason he had given to Zhang was that the presence of a Chinese operative would add unnecessary pressure on Han. He had already agreed to work with them and do everything he could to assist them. There was no need for additional real or perceived threats. Zhang had disagreed, but because Javin was the team leader, he had overruled the objections of the Chinese agent.

  The true motive behind Javin’s decision was that he did not want Zhang to find out anything that Han might discover the moment it happened. One of the theories about the accident was that this could have been an inside job. If that proved to be the case, Javin would have to tread lightly and make absolutely certain the people who received the newly found intelligence were not already implicated in the affair. While he did not believe that Zhang was involved, Javin thought it was wise to compartmentalize who was receiving the intelligence and when. It served to protect both Zhang and Han.

  So Zhang had left the Canadian team and Han at the hotel to attend to another unrelated assignment. His absence fit quite well into Claudia’s plans, as she wanted to discuss with Javin something that was troubling her. After Javin made a fresh pot of coffee, they went into the bedroom and closed the door behind them.

  Javin brushed back his short cropped brown hair, then gave Claudia a pensive glance. “So, what is it?”

  Claudia sat at the edge of the bed. “It’s something Zhang said when we were at the warehouse.”

  “About Han stabbing him in the back?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “That caught my attention too, and I meant to talk to Zhang, but I never got to it.” Javin ran his hand along his jawline. The two-day stubble had started to become itchy.

  “I asked him about that on the way here.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It was part of the show. But I don’t buy it. Han was certain that Zhang was talking about a specific operation.”

  “I got the same impression.”

  Claudia took a sip of her coffee. “Yes. Zhang admitted that Han worked with MSS on at least a handful of ops.”

  “That’s more than what we know. We’ll go to Han and get at least his side of the story. He assumed we would know about it.”

  “Should we have known?”

  Javin shrugged. “It depends on what the op was, how Han was involved, and how it went sideways...”

  “According to Zhang, there were some problems, but nothing in which Han was tangled up.”

  Javin studied Claudia’s face for a moment, then sipped his coffee. He shrugged and said, “Still, Han seemed all riled up about it. We need to dig deeper here...”

  “I’m on it.” Claudia brought her coffee cup to her mouth.

  Javin leaned forward as if to say something, but at that exact moment, his phone rang. The ringtone told him, and Claudia, the identity of the caller. It was Liberty Smith, Javin’s girlfriend.

  Claudia stood up and smiled at Javin. “I’ll let you talk to your sweetheart.”

  “Thanks.” Javin returned the smile, then picked up the phone. “Yes, Liberty, this is Javin.”

  “Javin, babe, how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing well, honey. But … your voice tells me something’s wrong…”

  Liberty let out a fake laugh. “Do you ever miss anything?”

  Not usually, not when it comes to people I care about. “Sometimes. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on, and that’s the problem. My supervisor isn’t giving me any time off at all...”

  Javin felt his face tightening in a frown. They were thinking of spending at least a couple of days next week somewhere warm and safe in Europe. Liberty worked as Deputy Camp Manager at the UNHCR Hasan Sham Refugee Camp outside Mosul, in northern Iraq, where she had first met Javin. Iraq in general, and the area surrounding Mosul in particular, were still quite unstable, with terrorist attacks, roadside bombs, and other safety concerns reported on almost a daily basis. “That’s too bad.”

  “Yes, she’s saying that I’m irreplaceable.” Another fake laugh. “Especially now that we’ve received that new funding, I have to be around to sign new contracts and help supervise the deliveries and the payments.”

  Javin shook his head, feeling slightly guilty about Liberty’s predicament. While Liberty might still be in the dark about the origin of the two-and-a-half-million-dollar grant, Javin was fully aware who was behind the transaction. He sighed. “Did she say when you might be able to travel?”

  “Not this month for sure. Can you come to Mosul?”

  Javin shrugged. “No, I won’t be able to do that, Liberty. I’d love to, but I just can’t. Even for my leave to Europe, I would have had to pull some serious strings.”

  “Well, then, that’s that, Javin. If I can’t go to Europe, and you can’t come here, this is all we’ve got…”

  Javin drew in a deep breath, feeling very helpless. He wished he could do something, anything to see Libert
y again. “We can Skype…”

  “Eh, the Internet connection isn’t the greatest. Plus, it’s not the same.”

  “I’m sorry, Liberty.”

  “Yes, me too. Are you someplace nice?”

  Javin walked to the window and pulled the curtain to the side.

  A bullet pierced the glass and missed his head by mere inches.

  Glass fragments scratched the side of his face and neck as Javin fell to the ground. The phone fell out of his hand and cracked as it hit the floor.

  The call ended.

  Claudia burst into the room, pistol drawn. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, missed me. Seal the door.”

  “Got it.”

  “Then call Zhang.”

  “Where’s the sniper?”

  “Don’t know—”

  Another round shattered whatever was left of the window’s glass. A hail of bullets began to pound the walls above Javin’s head. He slid across the room and crawled underneath the window, waiting for a pause in the shooting.

  When it came, he stole a peek.

  The sniper could have been positioned anywhere in the tall tower facing the north side of the hotel. Javin’s eyes searched the rooftop.

  Nothing.

  He dropped his eyes to the top floors, examining especially a couple of windows that seemed to be the best location from where to launch such an assault.

  No one was there.

  Javin sighed, then crawled out of the room.

  Han and Benjamin, the CIS agent, were sitting on the floor next to the desk. Claudia was standing by the wall with her pistol pointed at the door. She looked at Javin, then gave him the okay sign with her left hand. “All quiet,” she said in a low voice.

  Javin tiptoed toward the door and stood against the wall on the other side. He listened for a moment, then gestured to Claudia that he was heading out. He unlocked the door, then pushed it with the tip of his boot.

  A quick barrage came from the hall. Bullets flew a couple of feet away from Javin’s head. A couple pierced the door, but none ricocheted inside the room.