The Cyprus Coverup

by Ethan Jones

  Justin fired at the jogger by the trailside. He had moved further away, near a row of wooden seats by the pier. Justin’s bullets missed him, and he was able to run into the forest.

  The jogger across the pond kept up his heavy fire.

  Justin pivoted on his knee and double-tapped his pistol. His rounds struck the tree trunk serving as the shooter’s cover. A third round found its way into the shooter’s head, and he fell onto the snow.

  Justin drew in a deep breath and waited for more rounds to whizz near his head. The eerie silence after a gunfight always put him on edge. His concentration was broken, and he had no idea when or where the next barrage would come from.

  But there were no more gunshots.

  Carrie dove next to Justin holding her pistol near her face. “How are you doing?”

  “All right. You?”

  “A couple of scratches.” She gestured at the left side of her face. “Nothing serious. Reza?”

  “He’s bleeding from a deep leg wound. Let’s check on him.”

  “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, and the police will be here at any moment.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  February 15

  Neuen See Café, Tiergarten Park

  Berlin, Germany

  Justin did not like to play the diplomatic card since it caused more problems than it appeared to resolve. But, in the current situation, with Reza nearly bleeding to death, and with the police on the scene, it was the best solution.

  The police chief, a large burly man in his early sixties, with a thick salt-and-pepper mustache and a heavy accent, was unimpressed with Justin’s move. He held both Justin and Carrie inside the café while the chief and his team were going to verify their credentials.

  Reza was gurneyed to an ambulance before Justin and Carrie had a chance to interrogate him at length. He had lost a lot of blood and was getting paler and weaker by the second. It was clear Reza had been forced to lure the Canadian agents into an ambush. He had admitted that much himself, although he had not disclosed any details about the blackmail used against him. The police had brought in two body bags—one for the shooter near the pier and one for the jogger by the trailside—and once the identities of the deceased were confirmed, that would help to shed some light on the situation.

  One of the young police officers had been kind enough to pour some coffee for Justin and Carrie. They removed their jackets, and brushed the snow off their clothes, and were huddling near the large fire crackling in the café. With police officers bumbling around the crime scene, Justin and Carrie could not talk much about what had just happened, or about their operation. So they sat in silence, enjoying their strong black coffee.

  Carrie leaned forward and stretched her hands toward the fire. “Oh, Justin, what’s going on here?”

  He glanced over her shoulder at the nearest police officer assigned to keep an eye on them. He was typing on his phone and paying little attention to them. Stripped of their weapons and surrounded by at least four officers and other specialists working the crime scene, the Canadian “diplomats” were not going anywhere. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around it. Reza isn’t someone who’s easily intimidated. These Russians—if they’re truly Russians—must have some really damaging intel on him if he was forced to betray us.”

  Carrie nodded. “Maybe they threatened his family. Most people would do anything to protect their loved ones.”

  “Yes, that’s something to look into.” He sipped his cup and leaned forward in his chair.

  “I’m still unclear on how they got to Reza. He or his agency must have some ties to either Egorov or the prince’s dealings.”

  “Both of those could be true. And if their interest is that none of those ties are discovered, they have the motive to come after us.”

  “Someone very powerful doesn’t want any of this to come to the surface.”

  “Perhaps it’s Prince Al Khater and his thugs.”

  “Possible. Once the police have IDed those shooters, we may know.”

  “If they tell us.”

  “I’m sure they will. You know how these situations work out: German authorities will act appalled at our actions, issue a stern warning, and scold our ambassador. Then they’ll hand us back our phones and passports, and let us go.”

  Carrie nodded. “I hope it’s that straightforward.”

  “It will be. Vale was telling me that was his case about six months ago. Dolina had a similar episode in Spain. We did it for a German agent last year.”

  “Yes, I remember that. The woman in Montreal, right?”

  “Yes. Our government let her go.”

  The police officer had put away his phone and was eying them carefully. He had stepped closer and was now within earshot.

  Justin took a long sip of his coffee. “How’s your mom doing?”

  Carrie could not see the officer behind her back, but she understood Justin’s cue. She shrugged and said, “Some days are better than others. With Alzheimer’s, it’s always an uphill battle. I should visit Mom next time I’m back to Canada. Does your dad have a surgery date yet?”

  Justin shrugged. “No, not yet. Seth was telling me the other day that Dad is improving, but still not strong enough for the surgery. And you know how doctors are, they like to cover their butts. So they want him to have an uninterrupted streak of many good days before they even consider including him on the surgery list. Then, he’ll have to wait until a spot opens up. By that time, his health can take a turn for the worse.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Justin. Must be very difficult for you and Seth.”

  “It is, but slowly I’m resigning myself to the fact that Dad may never get better. Seth is taking it harder, and I hate that I can’t be there for him.”

  “Yes, that’s probably the hardest thing.”

  “It is, yes.”

  They spent a few long moments in silence, then Carrie asked, “How are things going with Karolin?”

  “Much better now. We had a heart-to-heart conversation a couple of days ago. I told her about Azade and the hostage rescue.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “To tell you the truth, better than I had expected. I . . . I should have told her sooner.”

  “That’s what she said?”

  “Yes, and I know that’s what you told me to do.”

  Carrie smiled. “And you didn’t listen.”

  “I did listen. I just . . . I took a bit longer to put your advice into practice.”

  “Karolin is a good woman. Don’t let her go.”

  “I won’t.”

  He took a long swig and finished his coffee. He looked up at the police officer. “Do you mind if we get another cup?”

  The officer held his hand up, then called another of his colleagues. They consulted briefly, then the first officer gestured for Justin to come forward.

  Justin asked Carrie, “Do you want more coffee?”

  “No, I’m okay, but if you can get me some water . . .”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  When he returned to the fireplace, Carrie was putting a couple more logs onto the fire. A few sparks landed on the marble floor as the tongues of flame were caught on the black mesh by the fireplace glass doors. Carrie closed them before more smoke could escape. “There, that’s better. I’m still so cold.”

  “Your pants are dry?”

  “Almost dry.”

  Justin handed her a water bottle.

  “Thanks.”

  Carrie unscrewed the cap, but before she could take a sip, the police officer gestured toward them. “Please come this way.”

  “Something’s happening,” Justin said.

  “Maybe they’re letting us go.”

  A slick black Mercedes-Benz had just pulled into the café’s parking lot, followed by a couple of police SUVs. Justin and Carrie walked behind two officers who led them near the entrance and told them to wait there.

 
; A man in a long brown overcoat stepped out of the back of the Mercedes. He looked professional and was wearing a black power suit, a crisp white shirt, and a red tie. His pale face had that unmistakable look of superiority mixed with a dose of irritation.

  Justin said, “That’s our consul.”

  “He doesn’t look happy.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  A couple of men in black overcoats and gray suits got out of the SUVs. One of them, who seemed to be the chief, walked to the consul and motioned toward the café. The consul’s face tried to form a smile, but it twisted badly into a grin. He walked behind the first man, whom Justin immediately nicknamed “Blondie” because of his strawberry blond hair, and they were followed by the other man and three police officers.

  When the group had entered the café, Blondie led the consul to Justin and Carrie. “These are the ‘diplomats,’” Blondie said in a heavily accented voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Justin Hall and Carrie O’Connor?” the consul asked in a tense tone.

  “Yes, sir, nice to—”

  The consul cut him off and did not shake Justin’s hand. “What were you doing out here?”

  Justin cocked his head. “Sir, can we talk somewhere in private?”

  The consul shook his head. “My good friend Heinrich is extremely worried about this inexcusable mess you have caused to his city. There are two dead people outside.”

  Justin nodded. “True, and there would be three more, including the two of us, Canadian citizens, if we had not acted in self-defense.”

  “What were you doing here, and why wasn’t I informed of your presence?”

  “What level of clearance do you have, sir?”

  “The highest level.”

  “Do you mind giving me the letter and the number of classification?”

  The consul frowned, then thought about it for a moment. “It’s A2, no, A1.”

  Justin nodded, then offered the consul a small smile. “That explains why you weren’t aware of our diplomatic mission. You need to have higher clearance.”

  “What is it? There’s no higher clearance than A1.”

  “Actually, there is, sir,” Carrie said. “But the fact that you don’t know about it means you don’t need to know about it.”

  The consul’s frown stretched across his narrow forehead. “I don’t appreciate your tone, or your being smart with me.”

  Justin said, “What Carrie meant to say is that we cannot discuss the nature of our diplomatic mission in Germany without your receiving a higher-level clearance. I’m sorry about that, but you know the rules.” He kept his voice neutral and cold, void of any apologetic tone.

  The consul shook his head, but said nothing. He waved a dismissive hand, and two of the police officers escorted Justin and Carrie toward the back of the café. They stood there for a long moment in silence, as the officers remained a couple of paces away.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the consul turned around and headed out of the café.

  Carrie said, “What? He’s leaving without us.”

  “Relax. We’ll be out of here soon.”

  Blondie was still in the café, talking to a small group of officers and another man in a suit. Then Blondie walked over to Justin and Carrie. “Your representative is very, very disappointed with your insulting behavior. You need to show more respect toward your leaders,” he said in a firm, scolding tone.

  “Yes, sir,” Justin replied without a hint of arrogance in his voice.

  “If I had my way, you’d end up in jail and wait for your trial. But other people have made regulations I’m forced to obey.” He handed Justin his and Carrie’s phones and their passports.

  “Thank you, sir. I’m glad you’re being very respectful of your leaders.”

  Blondie either did not catch Justin’s sarcasm or decided to let it slide. “Now, get out of my country before I lose my temper.”

  Carrie said, “We’d like to see our friend in the hosp—”

  “That’s not going to be possible. He’s a suspect, and he’s neither a Canadian citizen nor a diplomat. You’ll head straight to the airport and out of Germany. Right now.”

  Blondie turned around and left the café without another word.

  “This way,” one of the police officers said in a firm tone.

  “Let’s go, Carrie,” Justin said. “We’ll have plenty of time to figure things out about Reza.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  February 16

  ECS Headquarters

  Vienna, Austria

  Carrie knocked on Justin’s office door.

  “Yes, come in,” he said.

  “Hey, Justin. I think I may have found something about the Iranian involvement.” She slid a three-page report onto his desk.

  Justin moved his laptop to the side and glanced at the briefing note. “What am I looking at?”

  “I drafted that this morning. Karolin and Dolina were a big help. So, here’s my theory outlined in the BN: The Iranians have received shipments of weapons from Prince Al Khater. There are at least two well-documented cases. Page 2. And this is all confirmed.” She sat across from Justin’s meticulously clean desk. “Once the prince is rumored to be routing weapons to terrorists, and Egorov contacts you, there’s a flurry of activity by the Iranian Guards. The prince’s name is mentioned all over the place. Again, concrete evidence about that.” She gestured toward the report.

  Justin nodded. “And how does this tie in to Reza?”

  “I’m getting there. Reza has ‘intel’ about Prince Al Khater that he’s willing to share with you.”

  “I was the one who reached out to Reza.”

  “True, but he would probably have contacted you with a sweet offer. So, you arrange to meet with Reza, and things go haywire. Here’s where my notes get fuzzy. Since I don’t have facts, I have to venture into speculations. But I have two versions.” She raised the index finger of her right hand. “One: either Reza was working all the time on behalf of the Guards, and something went awry in Istanbul.” Carrie’s next finger came up. “Or two: Reza was on his own—either helping you or acting for the Prince—and the Guards caught up to him.”

  “So the kidnapping was staged?”

  “I don’t know, but I haven’t found any evidence to support it. We only have Reza’s admission.”

  Justin frowned as he flipped to the third page. “In all your assessments, Reza comes out as one of the bad guys.”

  Carrie nodded. “That’s almost correct. There’s a slight chance he was really trying to help you—well, us. That scenario would have to give good answers to questions about the sources of his intel and how the ‘Russians’ kept finding him in both Istanbul and Berlin.”

  “They weren’t Russians, I assume.”

  Carrie smiled. “The cherry atop the cake: both men killed in the firefight were Iranians.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty bad.”

  Justin cursed the course of events. He skimmed through the first and the second pages again, then put the report aside. “Have you tried to talk to Reza?”

  “Yes, many times. He’s no longer in Germany. Took a flight this morning to Tehran. And his phone is no longer in service.”

  Justin’s frown grew deeper. “If Reza was genuinely trying to help me, he’s in deep trouble.”

  “Yes, and we can’t do much to help him at this point. But, if he was trying to set you up, then we don’t have to worry about him.”

  “Right, we’ll have to worry about other Iranians wanting us dead.”

  Carrie sighed. “How is the Mossad op coming together?”

  Justin sat back in his chair. “Oh, that’s the good news part. The op’s almost ready. Unless there’s another crisis, we’re flying out to Cyprus tomorrow, then crossing into Syria by motorboat. Ali Mansour is meeting us in Latakia. The trucks are already at the port, waiting for their drivers.”

  Carrie smiled. “I’m glad Nasser put forward al
l the names, and the prince approved them without hesitation.”

  “Well, according to Eli, there was a bit of uncertainty about one of the names, most likely Ali Mansour. His papers looked too clean.”

  “That’s interesting, considering he’s the only Syrian among you three.”

  “Yeah, I guess the docs desk paid more attention to my cover. But everyone’s good now.”

  “Well, that’s great. We’ll just have to keep an eye on the Iranians. I have a feeling they might make an appearance in Syria.”

  “If they do, it’s not going to be three guys armed only with pistols.”

  Carrie nodded. “All that work made me hungry. You want to do lunch now?”

  “Sure, but one last question: The woman and the two children at the park. Were they Iranians?”

  “I inquired about that. The German police never found them. Nothing showed up in security cameras around the park. The same with the second jogger. I would assume he was a part of the Iranian hit team.”

  “Most likely.”

  “I can’t believe she’d take those children in an op like this.” Carrie shook her head. “Some women would do anything to be successful.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, too bad.”

  He closed his laptop and stood up. Before he could say another word, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. It read: private caller. “Yes,” Justin said.

  “Justin, this is Ali Mansour,” a firm man’s voice said in a hurried and nervous tone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I won’t be able to make it for the operation.”

  “Okay, what happened?”

  “Free Syrian Front attacked one of our convoys. I got wounded in the firefight.”

  “How’re you doing?”

  “Not bad, but my leg’s all shot up. Nothing that can’t be fixed, but I won’t be able to drive for a long time.”

  “I understand. Let me put you on speakerphone so Carrie can hear our conversation.” He tapped a button on his phone.

  “I’d love to, Justin, but I only have a few moments. I’m borrowing a sat phone. I hope the op goes well, and give me a call if you need a hand while you’re in Syria. I can’t be of help, but that’s no reason I can’t find someone else.”