by Ethan Jones
Justin waited for a moment, to make sure the prince was finished, and said, “It’s clear, everything is unmistakably clear, sir.”
“That’s really good. I thought we might have a problem getting along. If you understand and do what you’re told, this might end up well for you, and also for me.”
“I hope so, and I’ll do my best.”
“Baeshen will send you instructions about what to do. Follow those to the letter. At first sign of disobedience, my men will end this ‘business’ meeting.”
“I understand.” Justin kept his voice neutral.
“Have a good day, Mr. Hall. I hope I will not have to talk to you anymore. Baeshen will be in charge of everything.”
“Thanks for your help, Your—”
The prince hung up.
Justin shrugged, then looked at Carrie. “So, what do you think: Good news? Bad news?”
“It’s all in the details,” Carrie said with a shrug. “The prince is committed, and he’s giving us what we want.”
Vale nodded. “Yes, I agree. Now we have the meeting, and you’ll get the chance to look for the intel.”
Justin shook his head. “But I don’t like this business of following Baeshen’s orders and being a pawn in this game.”
Carrie smiled. “You can’t always be the king.”
Justin returned the smile. “No, I know that, but maybe a knight?”
Carrie shrugged. “There’ll always be another time. For now, we’ll play by the prince’s rules.”
Justin nodded. “Yes, he’ll set the rules and we’ll stick to them. Unless something happens, and the rules fly out the window.”
Carrie nodded and sipped her tea. “Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
February 23
Larnaca, Cyprus
Prince Al-Taweel had arranged for the meeting to take place on the 25th. Justin spent most of the first three days in Larnaca reviewing the files related to the National Defense Group. The NDG was a weapons and military equipment company headquartered in Riyadh, owned by a close friend of Prince Al-Taweel. According to Baeshen, Justin’s role as part of the business delegation was only to observe and take detailed notes. However, on the slight chance the Qatari prince or someone else among his executives asked him questions, Mr. Sherif Ibrahim—Justin’s cover name—should be able to answer on the spot.
Justin filled the rest of the time with preparations for the operation once on board the Lusail, Prince Al Khater’s luxurious 187-foot yacht. The CIS had obtained the blueprints of the yacht by hacking into the manufacturer’s servers. The team of cyberspace analysts had also been able to recreate the interior, based on photographs the prince and a few of his guests had posted on business websites and social media. Justin was trying to commit to memory every important detail of the yacht, so he would not waste any time when he was onboard.
The CIS cyberspace team had also provided Justin with two flash drives, which were going to be the essential tools in obtaining the evidence. Once he gained access to the prince’s office—which according to the gathered intelligence was in the master cabin that spanned two levels and was located forward on the main deck—all Justin needed to do was plug the flash drives into the prince’s computer, laptop, tablet, or any other electronic device. The flash drives were equipped with malware that first infected the computer and overcame its defenses. Then the software installed on the flash drives scanned the device’s hard drive, copying only the sensitive data, ignoring irrelevant files like movie or audio files. As long as Justin could remain inside the prince’s office for three to five minutes, he would be able to retrieve all intelligence contained in the electronic devices.
The greatest problem, however, came in the form of security cameras and motion detector systems installed throughout the yacht. Some of the pictures showed the location of a few cameras, mostly around the cockpit area, near entrances, and along the deck. According to the manufacturing company, the prince had insisted on installing extra cameras in some of the cabins. Everything was connected to a large circuit, which was constantly monitored by a couple of guards.
It was clear that Justin could not enter the prince’s office if the security camera system was still on. He needed someone to interfere and override the system, providing him with a window of opportunity.
That someone, hopefully, was going to be Mossad.
* * *
At first, Eli categorically dismissed the idea, calling it “crazy.” But the more Justin explained the plan, the more Eli’s reluctance began to melt away. He could see the reasoning and realize this was a good chance to settle the score with the prince. “But I’m not sure how this will work in practice,” he said.
“Take it to your cyber team, and they’ll give you some options,” Justin said. “When our teams ran a similar op, they were able to shut down the system for sixty seconds. At the same time, they also disabled the back-up power, which extended the operational time to almost five minutes. I will need between three and five minutes to swipe the files.”
“So why don’t you get your own team to hack into the prince’s system?”
Justin groaned. “I did ask, Eli, but our agency doesn’t have the capacity. The op I told you about happened in an urban setting. The team could physically tap into the closed-circuit camera system. With the prince’s yacht, it’s different. We need to do this wirelessly.”
“And you know for sure Mossad has the capacity to carry this out?”
“No, I don’t, Eli. Again, why not look into it? Run it by your people, and see what they think.”
A brief pause followed.
Justin could almost hear Eli’s mental gears at work.
Carrie, who was sitting on the couch across from Justin, gave him a shrug. They were in Justin’s hotel room, while Vale had gone out for his five-mile run.
Finally, Eli said, “All right, Justin. I’ll take this to our folks and my boss. But no promises.”
“Thank you, Eli, that’s wonderful.”
“Oh, don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything. If this operation is authorized, the CIS will be indebted to Mossad.”
Justin nodded. He had grown to expect that everything Mossad offered them came at a steep price. “But of course, Eli, it couldn’t be any other way.”
“Justin, you sound disappointed, but this isn’t my call. My boss will not risk a team without anything in return.”
“Removing the prince and closing this weapons channel is not enough?”
Eli sighed. “Justin, you know what’s going to happen? Someone else will take the prince’s place. Someone who’s smarter, perhaps better connected and harder to catch.”
“I’m sure that’s what the prince is thinking. These people know the risky business they’re in, and that they have to look over a shoulder at all times. We can catch and stop them all, Eli, if we work together, rather than against one another.”
Eli sighed again. “All right, all right, Justin. I’ll get back to you.”
“That’s great, Eli. Don’t want to press, but the meeting takes place in two days, so . . .”
“That doesn’t leave much time.”
“No, it doesn’t, but the meeting has been set.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Eli ended the call without another word.
Carrie glanced at Justin. “It could have gone worse.”
“He didn’t sound very convinced.”
“But he agreed to look into it.”
“He did, yes. I’m still going to update Flavio, and see if he can pull in any favors. In case Eli comes back empty-handed.”
Carrie nodded. “All right, now can we talk about the back-up team plan?”
“Sure. Some of the details will depend on what Eli tells us, but in essence, you and Vale will be in the small motorboat, sailing a couple of miles away from the yacht, on the port side. Ali Mansour will be positioned in the speedboat, on the starboard side.”
�
�If we need to intervene at a moment’s notice, two miles is quite a distance.”
“True. So as soon as you see me on the deck—advancing toward the prince’s office—you and Vale will glide the motorboat close to the yacht. In this way, you’ll cause a distraction, which will give me an advantage. You’ll also be nearby, in case things go sideways.”
Carrie gave Justin a look of concern. She removed her glasses and rubbed her forehead. “Justin, I have a feeling things will go sideways.”
“Don’t you always have that feeling?”
“Not, not always, but most of the time. And most of the time, I’m right.”
Justin shrugged. “I’m not worried. I’ve got you and Vale, and don’t forget Ali Mansour.”
“Yes, what exactly will his role be?”
“He’s more the emergency guy. If something goes wrong, and I need exfil, Ali Mansour will be the diversion. He, and of course you and Vale, will provide cover.”
“When’s Ali Mansour arriving?”
“Late tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.”
Carrie nodded. “Good, we’ll have plenty of time to update him and go over the plan.”
“I also want to do a dry run, perhaps tomorrow evening; of course, after Eli has confirmed Mossad will be a part of our operation.”
“And what if they don’t? Are we still going forward?”
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m still on the fence. Our strategy will need to change completely if we can’t hack into the yacht’s security system.”
“And what’s the new strategy going to look like?”
“We’ll think about it if we actually need it. Of course, we can’t mount a full-scale attack on the well-defended yacht.”
“According to the intel, Prince Al Khater’s security detail is comprised of about twenty heavily armed guards.”
“Yes, so we’ll have to be shrewd and attack from inside.” Justin shrugged. “But, things may not go that far.”
Carrie nodded and brought her glasses back onto her nose. “Yes, now it all depends on Eli and Mossad.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
February 25
Aboard Prince Al Khater’s yacht, Lusail
Off the coast of Larnaca, Cyprus
Justin glanced at his laptop clock and continued to type, as one of Prince Al Khater’s advisors droned on, explaining the complexities of operating in the ever-shifting landscape of Syria. The three National Defense Group businessmen, sitting to Justin’s right, nodded, agreeing with the advisor. They were well-informed about the Syrian situation, but out of politeness, they did not interrupt the Qatari advisor. Being tactful and diplomatic was crucial in winning a lucrative business deal, like the one Prince Al Khater was offering the Saudi company. Justin had never mastered the art of diplomacy, but he respected the men and women who did.
He wondered how long it would be before Mossad’s operatives would overtake the yacht’s security system. Eli had sworn the pair of cyber security experts were among the best. But the prince probably had state-of-the-art security technology for his wireless network. Even for the best of Mossad, it would take more than one attempt.
Justin sighed, then his eyes went to his phone. The signal that the coast was clear was going to be a one-word text message: Go. Yes, I’d love to go, but when will it be?
“Mr. Ibrahim, why don’t you let us know how your company plans to outmatch the Russian chokehold on the Syrian weapons market, especially for the army and other government forces?”
Prince Al Khater’s firm voice brought Justin back from his daydreaming. He was paying attention to everything that was being said and done around him. Through many years of training he had developed the ability to compartmentalize his thinking and his listening skills, being able to simultaneously carry them out to perfection.
Before he could answer, Samara, the chief of the NDG executives, said, “Your Highness, Mr. Ibrahim has just joined our company as a junior advisor. He’s . . . eh . . . he’s in no position to express—”
The prince waved a dismissive hand. “Mr. Samara, you’ve included Mr. Ibrahim on your team, citing among others his stellar experience with backdoor negotiations in many countries. I want to hear his opinion.”
Justin looked at Samara. A dark frown was spreading across the old man’s face. He turned his head toward Justin and gave him a small nod. Samara’s weary eyes had a loud and clear message: Don’t mess this up.
Justin leaned forward over the dark mahogany table. He glanced directly into Prince Al Khater’s deep-set eyes and said, “The Russians are very clever. They used to buy those contracts by first offering ‘assistance’ to the government, in the form of half a billion dollars spent on security, training, and military operations. That was actually advertising, so not only the Syrians but the entire world could see how Russian-made weapons excelled in real battle conditions.”
Justin paused for effect, but his eyes never left the prince’s face. His stern, blank facial expression never changed. Justin could not read the prince’s true intentions. “Our company’s tactic would run along similar lines, but this time, we’ll use the American-manufactured weapons, secured through your intermediation.”
Justin glanced at Samara, who offered a nod and a small smile, then continued, “An opportunity to show off the goods. A small donation to the Syrian government forces, so they’ll have a chance to test high-precision missiles and other weaponry. At the risk of sounding cynical, the Syrians can see the actual effects of these weapons on human casualties, something that, as you know, cannot be actually tested in military labs.
“And once the Syrian leaders see how awesome these weapons are, they’ll rush to purchase more and more. The advertisement will be observed by neighboring countries. Iraq, Jordan, Kuwait, even Iran will want some of these goods, to replace their old stock or to ready themselves against any potential threat from these countries now boasting modern, new generation weapons.”
Prince Al Khater offered an ever so slight nod. “It’s a good strategy, Mr. Ibrahim. Costly, yet effective. Mr. Samara, perhaps you’re underestimating your junior advisor.”
Justin nodded with appreciation and looked at Samara.
He leaned forward and opened his mouth.
At that same exact moment, Justin’s phone lit up with the arrival of a text message. He knew what it was before he even glanced at the screen.
Go.
He slid the chair back and stood up.
Mr. Samara stopped talking.
Prince Al Khater gave Justin a frown.
Justin said, “My deepest apologies, Your Highness. I need to excuse myself for a couple of moments.”
The prince nodded at one of his guards, who was standing near the back of the large conference room by the windows.
The guard walked in front of Justin and opened the door.
When they were out on the deck, the guard said, “You need the washroom?”
“Yes, really quick.”
“It’s right here.” The guard pointed at the next door.
Justin frowned. “No, this . . . this is too close to the room. I don’t want any embarrassment . . .”
The guard shrugged. “This way then.” They headed toward the bow of the yacht.
He walked in front, and Justin followed him along the port side. Justin’s eyes scanned the sea for Carrie’s and Vale’s motorboat, but did not see them. Justin knew they were there, but well-hidden. He smiled to himself. If he could not see them, then it was very likely the prince’s security could not either.
“Here.” The guard pulled out a card and leaned toward the card reader mounted by the door. “What . . . what’s going on here?”
“Something wrong?” Justin said.
He knew what was going on. The card reader’s light should have been blinking red, to indicate the door was locked. But the light was off. When Mossad’s operatives overtook the yacht’s security system, they interrupted the separate power sources operating the door c
ard readers. They were supposed to leave the doors unlocked but turn the lights on, to give the impression that everything was in working order. What else have they missed?
“The door’s unlocked.” The guard reached for the radio strapped to his waist.
Justin could not let him sound the alarm.
So Justin stepped behind the guard and wrapped his hands around the man’s head and neck. Before the guard could even realize what was going on, Justin turned his hands and snapped the guard’s neck. His radio dropped to the deck as Justin shoved the guard’s lifeless body overboard. No one would find his body, but even if they did, they would assume he fell into the sea.
Justin sighed and glanced around. The deck was clear, but he had wasted a few precious seconds. He picked up the guard’s radio and dashed toward the prince’s quarters. They were located just beyond the conference room, in the other direction.
Within a few moments, Justin was at the door. The card reader was deactivated, so he pushed the door open and closed it behind him. He dashed through the prince’s spacious living room with white couches and a matching white coffee table. To the right, he went through another door and came to Prince Al Khater’s office.
Without wasting another moment, Justin turned on the prince’s computer and plugged one of the flash drives into the hard drive. He connected the second flash drive to the prince’s laptop on a small oval table at the opposite end of the office. Both flash drives blinked, informing Justin the information on both devices was being downloaded.
He drew in a deep breath and felt sweat forming on his palms. He wiped them quickly against his long, white robe and waited. His eyes looked quickly through a small gap between the gold curtains.
A guard was running along the port side.
Is he coming here?
Justin looked around the office for a weapon. He wished he had taken the guard’s pistol before he tossed the body into the sea. But he thought it might look suspicious if the guard’s body was ever found, and the only item missing was his pistol. Justin picked up a gold-plated letter opener shaped as a scimitar, the famous Arab curved sword. It was not much, but it was better than being caught empty-handed.
