by Alan L. Lee
“Well, you have to be more specific.”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, but which one are you talking about?”
Agitated, Champion nearly bit his lip. “What the hell do you mean, ‘Which one?’”
“George, we have to talk.”
CHAPTER 30
The noise from the twin engines of the C-37A turbofan filled the spacious cabin with a gentle hum. If there’d been any ongoing conversation between its three passengers, the engines probably wouldn’t have been noticed at all. It was a smooth ride with just a few hiccups of turbulence, which was expected as they traveled over the Atlantic.
Except for taking and making several calls on the plane’s secure line, George Champion sat in relative silence. The plane was approaching the United Kingdom, but it wouldn’t be landing. Instead, its flight plan called for flying over the country on its way to Brussels National Airport. Champion didn’t need to look up to know that Sara Garland was monitoring his demeanor. The cabin’s other passenger sat a few seats back, catching up on some sleep since there was no telling how long the next leg of the journey might be and while in the air, his assignment was certainly secure and safe.
Sara knew not to press for answers. Though she still didn’t know much of anything about him, she was, at least, on her way to meet Alex Koves. It was obvious he and Champion had a prior relationship, which led Sara to believe Alex had been an agency employee in some capacity at one time.
He could have been a NOC (non-official cover) agent. But how a former professional football player might have any significance as an asset was beyond her scope of understanding at the moment.
When he wasn’t making phone calls, Champion kept his head buried in a file. Sara noted he didn’t study the contents as if he were seeing them for the first time. Instead, he thumbed through it much like one reconnects with a favorite novel or crams for an exam. He appeared to know the material; he just wanted to be doubly sure. When he finally clasped the file closed, he shut his eyes and rubbed the narrow landing between them, trying to gently massage some stress away. All of a sudden, he rose and headed for the galley. When he returned, he had two glasses of Scotch. He handed one to Sara.
“You strike me as the kind of person who can knock back a few. I hope Scotch is okay.”
With no hesitation, she swallowed a generous amount. “I’ve had my moments.”
Champion reached for the file he’d been perusing. He held it out for Sara to take. She had an unsure look until Champion waved it in his hand, urging her to take it.
“It’s the watered-down version,” he said as she grabbed the folder. He concentrated on his Scotch while she glanced over it. After a few pages, Sara looked up, puzzled.
“I first met Alex when he was a junior in college,” Champion said as he began to provide background on what was either buried in the pages in Sara’s hands or omitted because they were in a much thicker, more secure document. He relayed how impressed he’d been to learn that Alex spoke fluent Arabic, thanks to instruction from his Lebanese girlfriend at the time. He then took it one step further by developing a passable understanding of Farsi. Champion pointed out that he had accomplished that while being a high-profile athlete destined for a lucrative career in the professional ranks, managing to also maintain an A average in business administration.
Sara returned her attention to the folder. Champion was with the agency then, and Alex had represented mission impossible in terms of recruitment. While Champion had ascended the ladder at the CIA, he kept up with Alex’s pro career. During his fourth year in the league, in a playoff game against the Steelers, disaster had happened. Alex had emerged from a pile after making a crucial, bone-crushing tackle. His teammates were patting him on the back and smacking his helmet until it was noticed his balance was noticeably off. The third concussion of his career was deemed serious enough that it ended his season and ultimately, his career. Rather than shrink into self-pity, Alex accepted his fate and transitioned into a new career of money management, creating his own company.
A year after Alex had left the spotlight of the NFL, Champion paid him a visit in St. Thomas, where he’d worked in a modest office building. It took several days of convincing, but Champion had bagged his prize recruit. Alex missed the rush football had provided, and he was on board with the war against terror. Extreme training ensued, accelerated by Alex’s proficiency in martial arts. He’d gotten a black belt during his junior year in college after realizing how much the discipline improved his overall quickness and strength on the football field. Since his money management career was a success, its legitimacy provided a perfect cover for his CIA employment.
Sara was so engaged, she didn’t realize she’d emptied her glass or that Champion had refilled it. The folder’s brief detail told her that Alex’s early assignments sent him to Europe, where his command of languages again accelerated his development. From what she could decipher, he had helped identify and apprehend terror suspects and was part of operations that thwarted planned attacks against US interests and that of its allies, but Alex’s biggest value played out in hotbed theaters like Afghanistan and Iraq.
Champion took a moment to point out that, for security purposes, the exact nature of Alex’s assignments had to remain above her clearance level, but why he was no longer employed by the agency was an important detail.
“Following the invasion of Iraq, things, as you already know, were one chaotic mess after another, year after year,” Champion said, pausing only to listen to the pilot announce they were about thirty minutes from landing. “It was a public relations nightmare for the White House. There was intense pressure to produce results. Alex was eventually put in place to cultivate and recruit assets in the region. He was a rising star. His expertise in the region put him in position to run point on a number of ops. He was given a big leash. And then one day, some officials in Washington felt that leash was too big.”
“May I ask why?”
“Alex was adamant that a source our government was paying very well and held in high regard was working both sides, mostly against us. It ruffled a lot of feathers.”
“Did he have proof?”
“Nothing that would convince a group of people who really didn’t want to listen. What set Alex off was that a number of his assets were being targeted and executed. Their families included. Others just disappeared, presumably killed. Doors that were previously open to him all of sudden got slammed in his face. It got to the point where his life was very much in danger as well. We suspected the Russians, who were trying to salvage as much authority as possible during the collapse by assuring warring factions that they still had a measure of influence and would be rewarded in the aftermath for valuable intel. Still, the higher-ups didn’t believe the person Alex pointed a finger at would betray them.
“Alex and Mossa were also dating at the time. I didn’t know how serious it was, but apparently, they were very much an item. Their relationship, though, hit a wall when even she questioned him, begging him to drop the issue. But as I said, people Alex had befriended were dying around him. So he pressed. And pressed hard. Almost cost me my career as well.”
Champion addressed the confused look on Sara’s face.
“That’s because … I did believe him.”
“So you got a lot of heat because he was under your guidance and wouldn’t back off.”
“It got really dicey when part of the matter got resolved.”
“How?” Sara fidgeted. “That is, if I’m allowed to know.”
“Alex resigned.”
“That had to be convenient for a lot of people.”
“Yes. But he resigned right after he killed the man he had been accusing. In doing so, he also got the evidence he needed to prove the man’s guilt.”
“So he was exonerated.”
“His actions pissed off a lot of suits who sit around and make policy decisions. The man’s death caused a few political and stra
tegic ramifications that had to be dealt with very delicately. A few lies had to be created as to how the man died. Alex, though, walked away from the agency and from Nora. Never looked back. Wouldn’t take my phone calls or agree to meet. So now you’re up to speed.”
“I apologize if I’m asking for too much information, but who did he kill?”
Champion drained the contents of his glass.
“The former Iraqi foreign minister. He’d been on the payroll for quite some time. Alex is someone you really don’t want to cross.”
CHAPTER 31
The European drew little attention to himself. Brief with his words, he was polite and courteous while going through the process of checking into the hotel. He appeared tired. His thin-framed glasses were a window to weary eyes. For good measure, he let loose a drawn-out yawn. He was apologetic, but the female front desk clerk understood. Had she looked, his passport would’ve indicated he was Swiss and had been in and out of several other European countries during the past week, hence his lethargy.
After handing over his credit card, the man ran a hand through his slightly unkempt graying hair, aware that he needed some basic maintenance, like a shower. It wouldn’t hurt either to trim his equally graying mustache. Thankfully, the registration process didn’t take long, something he had counted on after planning to arrive at such a late hour.
He’d arrived in Kuwait City only a few hours ago, spending an extra thirty minutes at the airport before hailing a taxi. He used the time to make sure there were no eyes taking a particular interest in his arrival. Once satisfied, he was on his way to the hotel. There were the traditional telltale signs that one was in the Middle East, but there was no escaping some influences of the West. There’d been a McDonald’s and Starbucks in the airport. The hotels bore the names of very recognizable franchises as well. Yet, there still seemed to be enough of Kuwait’s culture in place to distinguish it as a place in tune with its past.
The Swiss traveler uttered his thanks and took a couple of steps before turning back to address the front desk. “I’m sorry,” he said. “By any chance, did a package arrive for me?”
The clerk searched her area, sifted through a few unseen items, and produced a padded express mail envelope.
“Here you go, sir.”
He didn’t bother with a bellboy since he had only a single piece of wheeled luggage and now his express package. A few minutes later he was walking down a quiet hallway to his room. Once inside, he deposited his suitcase and envelope on the bed, removing only his toiletry bag as he headed for the bathroom. He took off all his clothes after adjusting the shower temperature. Before the bathroom mirror began to fog, he started probing sections of his thick hair. He went about removing several small, plastic pins, and moments later, the gray highlighted wig was off his head. He placed it on the countertop next to the pair of glasses that were prescription in appearance only. Next he applied a small amount of specialized gel to his mustache before pulling it free from his face. His thick eyebrows received the same treatment. When he was done, Nathan Yadin let out a sigh of relief and stepped into the shower. He took his time washing the day away. Periodically, he increased the level of hot water. Feeling totally cleansed, he dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist.
He made his way back into the outer room and stretched out on the bed, reaching for the express mail envelope. Yadin dumped out its contents. He casually rummaged through the items, briefly glancing at the face and name on a passport. The packet also included credit cards and a driver’s license, along with nearly eight hundred euros. Satisfied, he put it all back into the envelope and slid it into the bedside table drawer. He unpacked only one set of clothes, laying them neatly on top of the dresser. After that, he returned to bed, tossing aside the spread. He allowed his mind to reflect on what lay ahead for only a few minutes before turning out the bedside light. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of Lauren and the good time he had while briefly in Crete. He missed her touch and smell, wishing the respite could have lasted longer.
It didn’t take long for him to fall soundly asleep.
CHAPTER 32
The penetrating stare totally betrayed the words that were forthcoming, and in so doing, reduced their effectiveness. The cat was out of the bag, and it had left a huge mark.
Still, George Champion couldn’t contain himself. The words had to be said. “Is this some kind of joke?” He shot up a protesting hand immediately. “No, you don’t have to answer that, because it’s obvious you’ve been misled. The Israelis running point on a major operation for years against Iran, involving a high ranking member of Congress and utilizing a black market arms dealer whose life they’ve threatened. Just making sure I’ve got all of this straight. And you put this whole thing together in a matter of days?”
“Trust me; I’d rather not be here. I called in a few favors, did some legwork, and it sort of fell in our lap.”
“The whole damn idea is preposterous.”
“Now, where have I heard that before?” Alex said with a smirk as he leaned back.
“Oh, don’t start that shit now. You still had a career. You chose to walk away. You weren’t forced out,” Champion countered, realizing his voice might be getting too loud.
“What would my future have been? Reassigned like Janway?”
“Nice. So you’re partially up to speed on some internal matters, and now you’re drawing conclusions.”
Neither would admit it, but when they’d first cast eyes upon each other, there’d been a shared feeling of admiration, as well as regret that their paths hadn’t crossed for such a long time. After exchanging a smileless handshake, Alex had led Champion to a corner booth in the dimly lit coffee shop. Sara Garland was on Champion’s heels while his bodyguard located a seat that afforded him a view of his boss’s booth.
Once seated, Champion made introductions. “Sara Garland, meet Alexander Koves.”
Alex gave her a polite nod of the head. “Nice to meet you. I’m sure you’re a wonderful asset to the agency, but good-bye, Sara Garland.”
Champion came to her defense. “She’s with me.”
“I don’t know her,” Alex responded. “So, please go take a seat with Fred Flintstone over there.”
Sara kept her frustration below the surface, mostly because she was somewhat amused by Alex’s brashness. Champion was no longer his superior, and this whole venture across the pond was conducted because the former employee had something he wanted. It was all about leverage.
Champion caved and motioned for Sara to join their associate.
“His name is Roger, by the way,” Champion said as Sara exited without fanfare.
Alex made note of the name, hoping he wouldn’t have reason to actually remember it. “Thanks for coming,” Alex said, casually noticing Sara’s physique as she walked away.
“Didn’t think I had much of a choice, but you could’ve saved the taxpayers a nice hunk of change if you had requested this meeting in Washington, since you were there recently.”
“Yeah, well, at the time, it was important to assess the threat level. And since you didn’t get a call…” Alex let the sentence linger.
“You honestly think I’d have a reason to harm one of my own?”
“Not knowingly.”
Champion leaned in closer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? These aren’t the Kim Philby days,” he huskily said, referencing a bygone era of betrayal within the CIA and British intelligence. “The names have changed dramatically, and so has the playing field.”
“Come on. Not even you can believe that crap. The names behind the names are still the same. Outsourcing is the new deniability.”
“We can debate this all day, but I happen to have a jet in a hanger with a crew that’s accruing overtime at a rate that’s increasing the national debt.”
Alex was halfway through his cup of coffee when the waitress made an appearance. She refreshed his cup and asked what she could bring the booth’s newest occupant. C
hampion inspected the place for a moment and then passed on ordering anything.
“Hold on a minute,” Alex told the waitress. “George, I know you love coffee, and this may not be a shrine to Juan Valdez, but the coffee is exceptional.”
Champion needed something to erase the taste of Scotch, so he yielded and ordered a cup per Alex’s recommendation. They didn’t want to interrupt any sensitive conversation, so the meat of their exchange would wait until after Champion received his coffee.
“I see your business is doing very well,” Champion offered, trying to make small talk on at least an interesting topic.
“You pulled my financials,” Alex retorted with a smile, appreciating the thoroughness. “You know, I can even make that government stipend of yours work for you. It’s not too late.”
The waitress returned with Champion’s coffee, and after a couple of sugars, he took a hesitant sip. “Hmmm,” he whispered, raising an appreciative eyebrow.
“See, there are times I know what I’m talking about.”
“To that end…” Champion took another taste and then placed the cup down. “What are you doing? You’re not in the game anymore. What’s so important that I had to come all the way over here? And where is Nora Mossa?”
Alex began to tell his former mentor everything he’d been able to ascertain over the past several days. He watched intently as Champion soaked it all in, his eyes adjusting with each shocking revelation. Not wanting to write anything down, Champion was putting all the pieces together in his mind. Though he didn’t interrupt Alex, it was beginning to sound like a fairy tale, a classic case of disinformation. There was a time he wouldn’t have questioned Alex’s observations, but there was plenty of rust sitting across from him.
Alex, when he wrapped up, purposely left out any reference to Davis Lipton, sensing he would need it later.
Champion bumped his head slightly against the wall of the booth as he pushed back. “I’ll say it again. This has to be some kind of joke,” he said. “Somebody has put this tale in the wind to see how it would stick.”
