Agent in Place

by Mark Greaney

  “Tell them all to be ready.” He stormed past Tarek without another word and disappeared into the hearth room.

  Seconds after Voland left the kitchen, Rima stepped up from the wine cellar where she had been watching over Bianca. She saw the worried look on her husband’s face. “What is it?”

  “They’re here,” Tarek replied.

  “What do we do?”

  “I have no idea.” And with this, he pulled her close and hugged her.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sebastian Drexler sat on an old bench in the hearth room, eyeing Voland as he entered from the kitchen. The older Frenchman’s wavy silver hair was a little askew, telling Drexler the man had been lying down, and he saw that Voland had a pistol jammed into his waistband under his jacket.

  Drexler said, “A gun in the pants? Really? I didn’t take you for a man of action.”

  Voland put his hand on the grip of the Walther self-consciously. “Yes . . . well, when killers are bearing down on one’s location, one must take precautions.” He sat in a wooden chair across from the Swiss agent, looking him up and down as he did so. “I’ve seen photos of you, of course, but you’re younger-looking than I expected for a man who’s caused so much trouble for so long.”

  Drexler gave a half shrug. “I got an early start on my career in mayhem, I guess.”

  “I was thinking it was the plastic surgery.”

  Drexler smiled. Unoffended.

  “You know I have been looking for you for a long time.”

  “Of course I know. You could have had me in Tripoli, in fact. You hesitated, and I got away. Indecision is a recurring theme in your career that I’ve noted over the years.”

  Voland nodded. “Well, you can trust that I won’t hesitate tonight.”

  “We shall see,” Drexler replied.

  Voland regarded the comment, then asked, “Why did you come here like this?”

  “As I told Dr. Halaby, I am here to prevent further catastrophe. Simply put, you are seriously outgunned, Vincent. A few Syrian expats and some over-the-hill mercenaries aren’t going to slow down what’s waiting out there in the trees.”

  Voland chuckled. “If I thought we were in any danger I would simply contact the local police. There is a station in La Brosse; they could be here in minutes.”

  Drexler shook his head. “I doubt that. You are working off book tonight, and if the police come you’ll go to prison for kidnapping Medina and causing death and chaos in the streets of Paris. No . . . you are affiliated with like-minded intelligence officials inside the French government, but you have no sanction for any of this. You are not going to reach out to the police.”

  Voland didn’t seem fazed by being called out like this. “Actually, you are correct. But while I might not call the gendarmerie myself, someone else here certainly will, especially if they are in fear for their lives. I am a consultant . . . I am not in charge.”

  Drexler smiled. “The landline is cut. The mobiles are jammed.”

  Voland had not expected this, Drexler saw. He reached into his pocket for his phone and checked it. After confirming Drexler’s assertion, he looked up. “I’m impressed. But you’ve underestimated us. We have a satellite phone.”

  “Which is nothing more than a radio that connects to a satellite network. They are jammable, too, Vincent, over a limited area.” He waved a hand in the air. “Like if you know the exact house the sat phone is located in, for example.” With a frown he added, “Technology is hard to keep up with, true, but maybe you should have tried a little harder before bringing these poor people out into the country where they could be so easily surrounded.”

  Voland cleared his throat. Now the insecurity was clear, both on his face and in his voice. “What is it you are offering?”

  “I want the girl. That’s all. Give her to me and you will walk out of here.”

  “So you can kill her to satisfy Shakira al-Azzam?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid. And it’s more complicated for you, too. Your original plan, I assume, was to get intel on Azzam by using his mistress. But that scheme is sunk, man, and you have to know that. Now you are just holding her for no good reason.”

  Voland laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You might have us surrounded, but now we have you. Your men out there won’t dare attack us now for fear of you getting killed in the process. I could shoot you myself, in fact.”

  “Of course you could, but it won’t help you. Just like you, I’m not running the show.”

  Voland’s white eyebrows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

  Drexler did not answer immediately.

  Voland’s chin jutted out a bit. Drexler wondered if it was real confidence or fictitious bluster. “And you don’t know what assets we have assembled here on the estate to protect her.”

  Drexler replied, “I’m sure you’re hinting about your American. I hear he was quite good. But I do not believe he is here.”

  Voland smiled now. “Attack the house, and find out.”

  Drexler stared Voland down, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. “Who is he?”

  Voland maintained his grin. “He is the Gray Man.”

  Drexler leaned back against the wall, confident and relaxed. “I was almost ready to believe you, but then you ventured off into fantasyland.”

  “Believe what you want, Drexler.”

  “Matters not. We’ve been watching the house; we know who’s here. None of my people have reported any mythical uber assassin sightings.”

  Voland said, “He is still part of our team. If something happens to any one of us, he’ll come for you.”

  “I seriously doubt that. You aren’t as important as you think you are. Why would the world-famous Gray Man take on such a futile assignment for the Halabys?”

  Voland did not answer the question. Drexler determined with certainty that the Frenchman had been lying.

  Now Voland asked, “Since we’re having such a frank conversation, why don’t you tell me who is out in the trees?”

  Drexler did not hesitate. “Fourteen Quds Force–trained commandos of the Syrian GIS. Their leader has worked for me in the past all over Europe. Perhaps he is not the Gray Man . . . but I can assure you, he does exist, and he is here.”

  “Do you take me for an idiot? Azzam himself controls GIS paramilitary forces. You are working against Azzam, for his wife.”

  “What must be going on in that head of yours right now. You calculated that Shakira would send me up here to kill Bianca, because that had been my original mission. Yes, I’ve figured out that you have somehow intercepted my communications with the ISIS cell in Belgium. You know who I am working for, so that is why you are confused as to what GIS is doing here. They work for Ahmed, after all, the unfaithful husband, not Shakira, the jilted wife. Well . . . as I said, it is more complicated. I’ve changed alliances midoperation. I only want to bring Bianca home to her child.”

  This was a lie, of course, but Drexler had determined there would be a greater chance he could get Voland and the entire house to surrender if they felt Medina would not be harmed.

  Voland swallowed, and Drexler could see the true fear of a man unaccustomed to being outsmarted. “The leader you spoke of. Is he the one they call Malik?”

  “One and the same.”

  “He killed four counterterror police in Bruges last year.”

  “Not my operation, and this is certainly no official-channel corroboration, but I can confirm he was the gunman. Multiply him by fourteen, and that’s what you’re facing, right now, if you do not agree to my terms.” When Voland did not reply, Drexler said, “All you need to do to prevent a bloodbath is to allow Bianca to leave with me. She will return to Syria unharmed, and you will survive.”

  Voland looked at the tile floor for a long time. Drexler felt
bad for the old man. So many miscalculations.

  “If what you say is true . . . if you could take this building over at will . . . why would you let me live?”

  “I’m glad you asked that, Vincent. I won’t be working for Syrian interests much longer. I will turn that page and take on something new. I have beaten you tonight, but I have need of men like you. I use people in the field, yes, but they are paid well for their work. As I mentioned, I’ve studied your career, and you are a good intelligence officer. Not great. You haven’t been willing to stick your neck out when operational duties required it, but you’ve done your best. I will offer you survival tonight, and in exchange I would hope you might consider my requests for contract work in the future.”

  Voland seemed stunned by it all, the employment offer included. “I’ve made the last several years of my life about putting you in a French prison. Now you want me to serve as your hired hand?”

  Drexler shrugged. “You needn’t die for a lost cause. I would much rather put you to work.”

  It was silent in the room for most of a minute. Then the Frenchman stood on unsteady legs. As he turned away he spoke softly, almost to himself. “I must talk to the Halabys to discuss your terms.”

  “By all means.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Tucked between the sofa and the chair in the complete darkness on the back patio of Bianca Medina’s Damascus home, Court tuned his ears to the scene around him, listening for any movement either inside the home or out on the grounds of the house. He knew from Bianca that the baby’s room was in the southern wing on the second floor and Yasmin slept right there in the room with him, so he considered climbing the outside of the house and trying to gain access via the balcony.

  But again, the alarm code would be impossible to defeat without tools, so he was hoping to be able to wait for someone to turn it off.

  He checked his watch and saw it was one thirty. He told himself he’d give it another twenty minutes before taking down the patrolling guard for the access code. He felt like he had to get to the Jordanian border well before first light, so he couldn’t wait much longer.

  And then, right before his eyes, the light on the keypad turned from red to green. Someone was on his or her way into or out of one of the doors, though he saw no movement at any of the three ground-floor doors in front of him.

  A sound came from the balcony above. Soft footsteps, right over Court’s head. Apparently a single individual had exited there, and now he or she stood at the railing, looking out over the rear courtyard.

  Court wondered if it was Yasmin, but then it occurred to him that he’d been lucky enough to see the alarm deactivated in the first place. There was no way in hell he would be so lucky as to have the woman he needed to grab make it that easy for him.

  Just as he decided now was the time to head for the door, he could hear the footsteps turning away, heading back to the house.

  Court realized the person above might reset the alarm as soon as he or she was inside. He looked around quickly, stood up, and darted towards the sliding door to the bedroom, since he’d identified this as the one of the three doors easiest to breach.

  First he tested it, making certain it was locked. When it did not slide open, he knelt and leaned against the glass, put his right hand under the handle, and shoved it up while coming up higher on his legs. The door lifted a fraction of an inch in the track, but the latch held. He did this a second and a third time, worrying he was making too much noise but aware this was still the quietest way to get into the house.

  On the fourth try the latch popped up audibly, and Court lowered the glass door back down into the track and slid it open. He stepped inside, then turned to close the door.

  The alarm keypad on the bedroom wall beeped softly, and the light remained green. The man upstairs had indeed tried to set it, but he’d received a warning that this downstairs bedroom door had been open.

  Court had been too slow.

  Quickly Court closed and locked the door, and he turned to find a place to hide, but before he could move, he heard a different soft beep from the keypad. The alarm turned from green to red. The man upstairs had tried again to arm the alarm, and this time it had worked.

  Court knew if the man was any good at his job, he would either call someone and have them check on this bedroom door, or else he’d come do it himself. Court wanted to be out of the middle of the downstairs bedroom before that happened.

  He hurried over to the en suite bathroom and stepped inside, tucking himself behind a half-open door while pulling Walid’s fixed-blade knife.

  The wait was interminable, but eventually footsteps in the hall indicated someone had come to check the door.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sayed Alawi flipped on the light to the spare bedroom and looked around. He held a walkie-talkie in his left hand, and he brought his right hand down to the pistol on his belt there.

  The room was empty. He glanced into the dark bathroom as he headed around the bed to check on the door, but he didn’t go in. Instead he looked outside on the patio first, then pulled on the door, making sure it was, indeed, properly locked. He was already glad he hadn’t broadcast over the radio the fact that he’d received the alarm exception message, because clearly, there was nothing to worry about.

  Still . . . Alawi found this curious. He’d been working here since just before the birth of the child, and the alarm had never once erroneously signaled an open door when the door was locked. Also, none of the other security men on the premises should have been in this wing of the home.

  He wondered if the new guy outside had come in to take a leak, or if one of the other men in the house had gone outside for a stroll. No one was supposed to move from his post, either static or mobile, without first making a request to the agent in charge.

  Alawi wasn’t the agent in charge, but he would have heard that transmission in his earpiece, and he’d heard nothing over the radio in the past hour.

  He decided he needed to find out if there was either a problem with the alarm system or a problem with one of the new guys following orders. He reached for the transmit button on the radio on his belt, and as he did so he turned away from the glass door and back towards the well-lit bedroom.

  And then he stopped.

  A uniformed soldier stood in front of him, feet away, near the threshold to the bathroom.

  Alawi was confused. “Who are you?”

  * * *

  • • •

  Court launched at the guard, desperate to get to him before he made a noise. The American knocked the radio away with a backhand, then punched the man in the jaw, staggering him on his knees.

  He began to fall backwards into the glass door, but Court leapt closer, caught him by the collar, and spun him around, back into the room.

  Court punched him hard in the face again, knocking him unconscious onto the bed. Court then moved over to the door to the room and shut and locked it softly, then flipped the lights off again.

  Court stood there in the darkness of what was obviously a guest bedroom, and he shook the pain out of his right hand. His jab had hit more cheekbone than he’d intended, and his fourth and fifth fingers throbbed from the impact.

  Back at the unconscious man, Court rolled him face-first off the bed and onto the floor of the bedroom, knelt on the man’s back, and grabbed his head.

  With a single swift movement Court pulled and turned, snapping the guard’s neck and killing him. He stripped the man of his shoes, his suit, his shirt, his tie, and all the while he listened to the walkie-talkie on the floor for any hint that the guards on the premises were alerted to the noise or the absence of this man.

  Court stripped his uniform off and dressed in the guard’s clothing; it fit a lot better than Walid’s too-loose tunic and too-short pants.

  Then Court put the Desert Hawks Brigade
uniform on the dead body.

  This was surprisingly arduous work that took him nearly five minutes, but when he was through, after he’d holstered the guard’s big SIG Pro pistol and clipped the radio onto his own belt, he knew he would be able to move through the darkened house more easily now.

  He put the earpiece in his ear and began rifling through the man’s identification, hoping to learn his name, but the writing was in Arabic, so Court just pocketed the wallet and dragged the body into the bathroom. Here he placed it in the bathtub, closed the curtain, and headed back for the door that would lead him to the rest of the home.

  CHAPTER 44

  Vincent Voland sat with Rima and Tarek in the library of the French estate, while Drexler was kept under guard in the hearth room by Boyer.

  Voland told the Syrian couple about the offer made by Drexler, and he added, “I don’t know why the Syrian GIS men are here, but this changes the equation totally. None of us stand a chance against—”

  “You want to surrender!” Rima screamed it as the realization came to her.

  Voland held up his hands. “Face the facts! They will kill every last one of us in here, and we will lose Medina anyway. If we withdraw, then perhaps we—”

  Tarek snapped now. “By ‘withdraw,’ you mean run away.”

  “We will have our chance, I feel certain. Just at a later date.”

  Tarek shook his head. “There is no later date. My nation is dying! You have spent three days telling us no one could take Medina from this house. A lone, unarmed man walks up and you want to surrender without firing a shot?”

  “I know Drexler, and I know the Syrian out there leading the attack against us, and I know the capabilities of the force he has with him. They promise Medina won’t be harmed if we—”

  “She won’t be harmed?” Rima shrieked. “Drexler sent ISIS to kill her just days ago.”