by Ethan Jones
“All right, Ali Mansour. Heal fast, all right?”
“Sure, and you do this job right, okay?”
“By all means.”
“And give my best to Carrie.”
Carrie leaned closer to the phone, then said, “God bless you, Ali Mansour.”
“Hello, Carrie. Yes, same to you, and keep Justin in line, all right?”
“I will, yes.”
“Now, I’ve got to go. Bye.”
“Bye.” Justin ended the call and looked at Carrie. “Well, that complicates things.”
“It sure does. What will Flavio say about this?”
Chapter Twenty-three
February 16
ECS Headquarters
Vienna, Austria
Reaching Flavio turned out to be a more difficult task than Justin had anticipated. His boss usually answered his satellite phone, which was for absolute emergencies only. But this time, Justin’s calls were diverted to the voicemail. The automated voice prompted him to leave a message.
He sighed and glanced at Carrie sitting across his desk. “Well, what do you think?”
“As you said, this isn’t really an emergency. The plan’s still on, but now we have one less man.”
“And they have one more.” Justin nodded. “Yes, I don’t think Flavio would abort the mission just because Ali Mansour is unavailable.”
“It’s too late to put forward another driver.”
“It is. We’d have to create the cover, then run things by Eli, Nasser, the prince . . . Not enough time.”
“Let’s talk to Eli and see if we can add a man or two to the backup team.”
“Good idea. He shouldn’t have an issue with that.”
Justin dialed Eli’s number, and he answered right away. “Justin, I hope you have some good news.” Eli’s voice rang with a clear tone of anticipation.
“Sorry, Eli. Not this time.”
“What happened?”
“Ali Mansour is wounded and can’t make it.”
Eli cursed out loud. “The prince doesn’t like changes, especially at the last moment. He has grown very suspicious.”
“Sorry, Eli. It’s beyond my control.”
“Yes, yes, I’m not blaming you, but this is not good. You can still make it, right?”
“Of course, nothing else changes at our end.”
Eli cursed again. “But we’re one man short, and the mission is in danger.”
“You’re not thinking about pulling the plug, are you?”
“No, not yet, anyway. But it’s an option I have to take under consideration.”
Justin shrugged. “Didn’t you think until recently that two people were enough?”
“I did, but that was before we made plans. As I said, Prince Al Khater is very distrustful on a good day. He may smell a rat and cancel the shipment.”
“We can’t control what he does.”
“No, but we can nudge him to go where we’d like him to go. In any case, I’ll take some time to think about this. We’re monitoring the prince’s communications, so we’ll know if there’s a delay or cancellation.”
“You’re listening to his calls?” Justin asked in a voice that expressed no surprise.
“Eh, well . . . not exactly. But we’re aware of the circumstances surrounding this shipment.”
“All right. We’re not leaving for Cyprus until late evening, so let us know how the situation develops.”
“Will do. Take care now.”
“Yes, you too.”
When Justin had placed the phone back on his desk, Carrie said, “That was interesting: Mossad’s monitoring Prince Al Khater’s coms.”
“Indeed. Eli seemed to backpedal when I pressed him. What do you think he meant?”
“With Mossad . . . it can mean anything. They could be eavesdropping on the prince’s aides. Or the drivers’ team leader. Or they could have a direct line to the prince’s phone.”
“Knowing Mossad’s cyber-hacking capabilities, I’m willing to bet it’s the latter.”
Mossad, along with Shin Bet, Israel’s Security Agency, and the Israel Defense Forces, were at the forefront of cyberspace security and defense technologies. They had some of the best minds in the world who worked around the clock to gather intelligence from all over the world. The infamous 8200 Branch of the C4I directorate of the IDF was suspected to have been behind a series of extremely sophisticated attacks targeting nuclear facilities in Iran. Those attacks had set back Iran’s nuclear weapons plans by at least five years.
Carrie nodded. “Yes, I agree. At least we’re covered on that front.”
Justin leaned forward. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Mossad may not be giving us everything. Did I tell you what Flavio said about Eli?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“He said to be very careful and not think of Eli and Moshe as allies.”
“That’s harsh.”
“But true. He went on to say Mossad has a secret agenda in this op, as they always do. We just don’t know what it is yet.”
“And what do you think?”
“Flavio is perhaps exaggerating, to make his point. The truth, though, remains that we can’t really trust Mossad.”
“Well, then it’s good we have one another and Vale to watch each other’s backs.”
Justin nodded. “True. I’m not sure what this Mossad ‘agenda’ is. Maybe they’re after the prince for a different reason than we are.”
“It could be.”
“I’m going to review some files as I wait for Flavio or Eli to call. You want to go for a run before suppertime?”
“Sure, I slept in, so I didn’t get my workout today. Maybe Karolin can join us?”
“I asked her already, but she’s extremely busy. She’ll work through her supper and late into the night. Plus, one of her knees is giving her trouble.”
“Is it serious?”
“No, I don’t think so. She hasn’t seen a doctor, but it’s a minor inflammation. Karolin just doesn’t want to put more stress on her knee.”
“Smart girl.” Carrie stood up. “I’ll see you around four thirty or so. Unless, of course, something happens.”
“Let’s hope not. I’ve had it with changes and with sitting still. My hands are itching for some action.”
Chapter Twenty-four
February 18
Ten miles west of Markadah
Western Syria
Justin mopped his forehead with a fold of his headscarf and glanced at the driver. Abdulaziz was gripping the steering wheel with his large hairy hands, which were still trembling. Ten minutes ago, they had almost gone off the two-lane road after Abdulaziz avoided crashing into a dog that had run in front of the 3.5-ton Iveco truck. They were just leaving a small village when the creature had decided to cross the road. Abdulaziz had hit the brakes, and swerved, almost tipping over the box-shaped truck.
“Do you want me to drive?” Justin asked.
Abdulaziz shook his large thick head. “No, I told you earlier, no—so stop asking,” he said in a loud voice.
“All right, all right, take it easy. I’m just trying to help.”
“You can help by shutting up. If I want your help, I’ll ask. How’s that?”
“It’s a great plan.”
Abdulaziz nodded. “Good.”
Justin shrugged and glanced out the window at the semi-desert landscape. The convoy had four trucks, and Abdulaziz and Justin were in the third. In addition, a Toyota truck headed the convoy, and a Nissan SUV brought up the rear. Each vehicle carried three gunmen, armed with assault rifles and machine guns. Abdulaziz and Justin had AK-74 assault rifles, which were given to them before they boarded the trucks at the port in the Syrian coast city of Latakia.
Moshe was in the second part of the convoy, following about five miles behind. The convoy had split up about fifteen miles back, to avoid detection by American drones rumored to be monitoring the area. While the trucks would still be visible, American fighter jets were mor
e likely to bomb a larger convoy, which, of course, would draw more attention.
Prince Al Khater must have paid good money to secure safe passage, Justin thought. They had driven almost the entire length of the country without being stopped for more than a few minutes. They went through a series of government and rebel checkpoints, but only their papers were checked; the guards had a quick glance at the cabs, but never looked at the cargo. Justin never saw any money change hands, but it was clear a deal had been struck to allow for such a smooth transit through hot combat zones.
Every time someone came to inspect their vehicles, Justin worried about being recognized. There was a slight chance; he had been fighting in and around these areas, and a certain reputation preceded him. While none of the drivers had ever met Justin before they gathered at the port, the deeper they went into Syria, the greater the probability he might run into someone he had fought against or alongside.
He drew in a deep breath and muttered a short prayer that he would not run into old acquaintances. Then he wondered about Moshe and how he was getting along with his driver. Better than me, I hope. Justin’s mind then went to Carrie. Along with Vale and two Mossad kidons, she was supposed to be following a few miles back, driving on parallel roads, to remove any suspicions about the convoy being followed. Considering the trucks were being monitored by an Israeli drone, there was no need for Mossad’s Land Rover to be seen behind the convoy.
Justin returned his eyes to Abdulaziz, whose face still had a deep frown stamped on it. Their disagreement had started hours ago when Justin had insisted on getting behind the wheel. Abdulaziz was the primary driver, and Justin had no problem with that. But he wanted to get at least an hour or so of driving, so he would feel useful. But Abdulaziz refused, for no good reason. It seemed he had disliked Justin and Moshe ever since they were first introduced to Abdulaziz and the rest of the drivers. Most of them knew one another, had worked together in the past, and were distrustful of new additions to the team. Abdulaziz even challenged Justin’s Arabic accent, claiming it did not really sound Egyptian. Justin had been told by more than a few dozen people that his Arabic was flawless, and he truly sounded like a native Egyptian. Abdulaziz just wanted to pick a fight.
“Do you know how far we are from the border?”
Abdulaziz shook his head. “There’s a map in the glove box. Check it for yourself.”
Justin shrugged. He looked through the window and the rugged landscape. They were drawing near a small village with clusters of one- and two-story cinderblock houses scattered around, seemingly without any real purpose or symmetry. The road snaked toward the village. The lead Toyota truck and the first truck were just coming to a crude checkpoint formed by a burned-out truck and large piles of dirt and debris.
He squinted in an attempt to make out the facial features of a dozen or so gunmen stationed by the checkpoint. They were a motley crew of men in black fatigues, desert tan camouflage uniforms, and civilian clothes. Because of the distance, all Justin could tell was that the men had thick beards and were heavily armed, brandishing assault rifles and machine guns. Six or seven SUVs and trucks were parked on the right side of the checkpoint.
“Do you have any idea who they might be?” Justin asked.
Abdulaziz did not answer and did not shake his head. He was very attentive to the gunmen’s moves.
“What’s going on?” Justin asked.
“Shhhhh,” Abdulaziz said and rolled down the window.
He slowed down, then turned off the truck.
Two of the gunmen approached the Toyota. One of them began to talk to the driver, a man Justin had pegged as a hothead. He had started a fight with one of the port customs officials because he had delayed their departure by fifteen minutes. The Toyota was about a hundred yards away, too far for Justin to hear any of the conversation.
He whispered to Abdulaziz, “Can you tell what they’re saying?”
“Not if you don’t keep quiet.”
Justin nodded and gazed at the checkpoint. The gunman seemed to be looking at something he had received from the driver. The paperwork, Justin thought. They’ll find it all in order as everyone else has. The prince—
A gunshot broke off his thoughts.
The gunman holding the papers collapsed to his side.
The Toyota truck rocketed to the right side of the checkpoint, attempting to skirt it. The two men in the truck bed opened fire at the gunmen.
They returned a heavy barrage, but the Toyota managed to go around the checkpoint. Its bulletproof windows and run-flat tires withstood the bullets hammering every inch of the truck. The two men in the back lay flat in the truck bed.
“What’s going on?” Abdulaziz asked.
“Get out of the truck. Now!” Justin opened the door.
“No, we’re safer here.” Abdulaziz began to turn the truck around.
“Not when they open up with RPGs.”
As if the gunmen had heard Justin, one of them launched a rocket-propelled grenade. The warhead screamed through the air and slammed into the side of the Toyota. The explosion turned the truck into an orange fireball.
Justin had already jumped out of the truck. He held his assault rifle in his right hand, and sprinted toward the end of the convoy. The SUV had a couple of machine guns. That should be enough to cover their retreat.
The SUV’s driver had already made a U-turn.
“Hey, where are you going? Stop, stop!” Justin shouted.
The fourth truck had almost completed its turn, when an RPG pierced the cab. The explosion sent metal, plastic, and glass debris everywhere. The body of one of the drivers flew out of the windshield.
Abdulaziz struggled to steer around the stalled truck in front of him, which had taken both lanes. He decided to go into the ditch along the road, so he would have enough room.
The driver of the second truck had the same idea. He stepped hard on the gas, and crashed into the side of Abdulaziz’s truck. The vehicle veered to the right, as Abdulaziz fought to control the truck. Then it collided with the truck in front of it.
Justin shook his head and ducked. A volley of bullets struck around him. An explosion erupted about twenty yards behind, from the direction of Abdulaziz’s truck. Justin was not sure it was another RPG, but the explosion sounded much louder than a warhead. He turned for just a moment and saw the back of the truck engulfed in flames. Nope, that wasn’t an RPG.
He ran alongside the fourth truck as more bullets pounded almost everything around him. When he reached the cab, he saw the driver slumped over the steering wheel. The SUV was now about seventy yards away and speeding toward the horizon.
Justin cursed the SUV’s crew and assessed the situation. He could not outrun the gunmen, and they would surround the convoy in a matter of minutes. If he could drive the truck, he had a chance at making it out alive.
So he climbed into the cab and pushed the driver’s dead body to the side. Justin started the stalled truck, but the engine coughed and died. He cursed the truck and started it again. The engine lasted a few more seconds, but the truck did not move.
Justin cursed again. He glanced at the side mirror. Four gunmen were running fast along the ditch, coming toward him.
He sighed and looked at the assault rifle. He could hold them back for a while, but for how long? Will it be until Carrie and Vale make it here? Do they even know we’re taking fire?
Justin needed to make a decision and fast.
The gunmen were now maybe thirty yards back. One of them fired a volley, which shattered the side mirror.
Justin drew in a deep breath. This isn’t going to be my last day. As long as there’s life, there’s hope.
He slid through the windshield and dropped onto the road. He tossed the rifle away, then fell to his knees. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he was making a grave mistake. No time to go back. He prayed this would not be the end as he locked his hands behind his back and shouted in Arabic, “I’m surrendering, I’m unarmed. Don’t shoot,
don’t shoot.”
One of the gunmen came around the left side of the truck. His black headdress flapped in the wind as he aimed his rifle at Justin’s head.
Justin shouted, “Don’t shoot, please, I’m unarmed, I’m poor, I’m Syrian, just like you.”
“You’re nothing like me, you dog,” the gunman spat out his words. “You work for terrorists.”
“No, I work for my family. I drive trucks to feed my children, my wife.”
“Shut up, don’t talk.” The gunman drew near to Justin, keeping the rifle level with his head.
“Please, may Allah bless you and your hands and curse your enemies. Don’t kill me, don’t kill an innocent brother.”
“You’re not innocent, and you’re not my brother.” The gunman stepped closer.
Justin shrugged. “Don’t shoot—”
The gunman hit Justin at the back of his head.
Justin fell to the ground. Grains of sand were the last thing he saw before everything around him went black.
Chapter Twenty-five
February 18
Three miles south of Hasoms
Western Syria
“What do you mean you lost them?” Flavio shouted into the phone.
Carrie moved the phone away from her ear. “Sir, we don’t know exactly what happened. The convoy was attacked when it reached the village of Hasoms.”
“Who attacked it? ISIS? Other terrorist groups?”
“We’re . . . eh, we’re not sure yet, sir.”
“Well, find out. Mossad has the drone, right? Find out what happened. Right away. And get to Justin ASAP.”
“Will do that, sir.”
“Good.” Flavio ended the call without another word.
Carrie sighed and looked at Vale standing next to the Land Rover. “Well, he’s fuming, and I don’t blame him. Did you get hold of Eli?”
Vale nodded. “Yes, he said he would stream the drone’s feed in the next five minutes or so.” He pointed at the laptop set on the Land Rover’s hood. “But we still don’t know who controls the village.”
