The Belgian Bagman (Justin Hall #11)

by Ethan Jones

  “Am I that clichéd?” Justin smiled.

  “Sometimes.”

  The other Peshmerga peered at them. Apparently, he had missed some of the meaning since Justin and Azade were talking in English.

  Tori was on the phone, hammering his words fast and loud in Kurdish. He was waving the hand not holding the phone as if the gestures could be seen by the person at the other end of the call. A moment later, he shook his head, then stood up and walked a few paces. The other Peshmerga followed him.

  “Is there a problem?” Justin asked.

  Azade said, “No, they’re . . . they’re talking about something else, unrelated to Mehmet.”

  “Money. I recognized the word money, dirav.”

  Azade smiled. “You know a lot of Kurdish?”

  “I manage. Is Tori in debt?”

  “No.”

  “But he’s cash-strapped.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But, like most people around here, he’s not swimming in dollars.”

  “So, how do I convince him to let me give him something? A small contribution, donation. Let’s call it by whatever name that will make it acceptable.”

  “You won’t convince him. Tori’s very stubborn. Impossible to change his mind. He’s always been like that.”

  Justin leaned closer to Azade. “How long have you known Tori?”

  “We grew up together, well, in the same town.”

  “It’s clear he has feelings for you.”

  Azade began to blush. “It is? You’ve just met him, and you’ve figured everything out?”

  Justin shrugged. “The truth’s pretty obvious.”

  Azade cocked her head. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Justin. Tori has always liked me; I don’t deny that. But the feeling is not mutual.”

  Justin did not answer. He was not sure what to say. I . . . I should have kept my mouth shut. He shrugged. “Sorry, I . . . sometimes I speak without thinking.”

  “Yes, you do that.” Azade laughed out loud.

  “I’ll have some rice, if I may. If my mouth is full, I won’t say anything stupid.”

  Azade laughed again and handed Justin the rice pot.

  Chapter Eighteen

  January 14

  Kadjalah, thirty-five miles south of the Bashaweh Turkish base

  Northern Iraq

  Justin, Azade, and Tori left shortly after the latter’s phone call. The first stop was at the other edge of Kadjalah. Tori filled the Nissan and two jerry cans at a makeshift gas station on the side of the road. Azade bought a case of water bottles, and they started their two-hundred-mile trip to Erbil.

  Tori stuck to secondary roads, avoiding the highway. The news about the Iraqi Army movements had proven to be false, but the recent attacks in the area had made the highway treacherous ground. Russian or Turkish jets had bombed convoys and had targeted random vehicles suspected of belonging to Peshmergas or their supporters. American drones were also known to monitor the area. Tori had picked a dirt-gray sedan, an older model from the nineties, in hopes of not drawing any attention. But they could never be certain.

  While the secondary roads offered some protection—perhaps more mental assurance than anything else—the downside was the lengthier period of time on the road. The longer they traveled, the greater the likelihood of running into shifty characters roaming the area, especially the back roads.

  So Justin studied the terrain through his backseat window. Although his eyes were heavy and his mind was drained, he tried to stay alert by taking endless sips of coffee. They stopped in some of the small towns and villages to check the situation in the area. Tori was constantly on the phone with his contacts, staying informed about any developments. Most of the area was in the hands of Peshmergas or their allies, but loyalties shifted at a moment’s notice. The advance of the Turkish Army and the presence of so many international troops—not to mention foreign fighters of so many nationalities that even Justin had lost track—created endless problems.

  Thankfully, they neared the outskirts of Erbil without running into any trouble. Justin was getting ready to call Vale and give him the heads-up, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. It was an Erbil number he did not recognize. “Yes, who is this?” he asked in Arabic.

  “Justin, this is Vale. Where are you?” His voice was edgy, with a clear sense of urgency.

  “Just getting into Erbil. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, well, nothing yet. I have the banker, but he may slip through my fingers.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “He’s . . . somehow his people know of our safehouse. They could be here at any moment.”

  Justin frowned and cursed. “You’re sure about that?”

  “The banker’s pretty sure about it. And so is, was, his security detail.”

  Justin cursed again. Vale was a professional who would not be rattled by a simple threat. If he believed the safehouse could be under attack at any moment, it was very likely that scary scenario would take place. “Hold tight. We’ll be there shortly,” Justin said on the phone. Then he turned to Tori. “How far to Pirmam Street?”

  “Fifteen min—”

  “Make it in five.”

  “Oh, that’s impossi—”

  “Just get it done, okay?”

  Tori flattened the gas pedal, and the Nissan arrowed through traffic. He took the shoulder lane, driving with one wheel on the hard-packed ground alongside the asphalt. Rocks and gravel hit the undercarriage, and the Nissan began to make rattling sounds. But it picked up speed, and that was all that mattered.

  Justin glanced at his wristwatch, counting the seconds. They were still at least ten minutes away, especially now that Tori was flying down the road. He turned into one of the crooked alleyways and kept his foot on the gas. The Nissan bounced over the potholes, while Tori held on to the steering wheel. He jerked it left and right and often stepped on the brakes, to avoid debris and litter scattered around the alley or children dashing from the houses.

  They came to a small intersection, and the Nissan arrowed through it. Tori thought he could make the turn and miss the van barreling from the other side. He tried and was almost successful.

  Almost.

  The van driver slowed down, but was unable to stop in time. The front of the van slammed into the side of the Nissan, sending it spinning. Justin clenched the door handle, then looked at Azade. She was holding onto the dashboard and gave Justin a small nod.

  Tori’s white-knuckled hands straightened the steering wheel. He drove around a couple of stopped trucks that had blocked most of the road, then climbed onto a sidewalk. He ignored loud shouts and threatening gestures from the van driver and its two irate passengers. Tori also avoided a couple of taxis that had slid and almost hit one another because of his reckless maneuvering. He cursed the intersection, then hit the gas.

  “It’s not your job to kill us,” Azade said in a tense but warm tone.

  “Sorry,” Tori mumbled. “I was going for five minutes.” He looked in the rearview mirror and found Justin’s eyes.

  Justin nodded. “You handled it pretty well. Still need to make good time.”

  “I’m doing my best.”

  “You are.”

  Tori nodded and stepped on the brake as they came to another intersection. He slammed his fist on the horn. Its blare scared away an entire family of father, mother, and a seven- or eight-year-old child piled on a small motorcycle. They moved closer to the sidewalk; Tori squeezed between them and an SUV on the other side. It brushed past, and their mirrors bumped, but there were no scratches. Tori hit the horn again, then flattened the gas pedal. The Nissan jerked forward, barely missing a large cement truck zooming from the right.

  Justin clenched his teeth as Tori swung the wheel. The Nissan drifted. Its rear end hit the grocery stand of a street vendor. The crash sent bananas, rice, and other produce flying all over the sidewalk. The vendor escaped unharmed, but waved a menacing fist at Tori.

  He shrugged, cu
rsed the heavy traffic, and stepped on the gas.

  Justin glanced through the windshield. Despite the crashes, they were getting closer to the safehouse. Tori was taking any possible shortcut, crisscrossing the city. “What’s the address?” he asked.

  Justin said, “Across from Ishik Gulan School. It’s by the—”

  “Yes, I know it.”

  Tori turned the steering wheel. They entered another narrow alley, and he slowed down. He cut to the right in sixty yards or so, then took a few turns.

  Justin sat up straighter and began to look for the school. The safehouse was a small one-story house the CIS had started to rent about six months ago. It had never been breached, but there was always a first time. Did they track the banker’s phone? Or someone noticed Vale drag the banker in? Justin shrugged. Whatever it was, it was done. What mattered now was to bring Vale and the banker out of the safehouse alive.

  Justin’s fingers tightened almost involuntarily around his rifle. It was ready for action, but he still checked it. He sighed, then looked at Azade, who said, “It’s okay, Justin. We’ll be on time and give—”

  Her words were cut off by gunshots. They echoed in the distance, and Justin could not be certain they were from the direction of the safehouse. But it was not a good omen. He looked through the side window, hoping, praying the gunfire was not rogue fighters storming the safehouse. “C’mon, Tori, hurry up.”

  Tori nodded. “Doing what I can. Two more minutes.”

  “Just hurry.”

  He began to feel the adrenaline rush as the Nissan reached the school. A delivery truck had blocked the alley, so Tori parked near the sidewalk. “Going in,” Justin said and shoved open the door with his shoulder.

  “Right behind you,” Azade said.

  “Tori, stay with the car,” Justin said.

  He brought his rifle up in a high ready position: holding it to his shoulder, with the barrel upwards. He checked the truck’s cabin. No one was inside and no signs of bullets. His eyes scanned the school’s back entrance, then he studied the windows of the nearby houses. Nothing suspicious.

  He entered the alley. A grayish SUV was stopped by the safehouse’s front entrance. Justin frowned. That wasn’t the transport when Vale left. Did he find it here, or . . . Or is that the enemy?

  He pointed his rifle at the truck and stepped closer to the house’s cinderblock wall. He glanced back for a moment and met Azade’s tense gaze. She gave him a clenched-fist gesture and a nod. “Checking the truck,” he said.

  “Got it,” Azade said.

  He advanced to the truck and found it empty. He circled it, then came to the safehouse’s entrance. The gate had been left slightly open, another reason for concern. Justin pushed the gray metal gate with the tip of his boot. The door hinges screeched, and Justin bit his lip. He stepped behind the wall, expecting to be greeted by a volley of bullets.

  Nothing came.

  He waited for a moment, then heard a quick gunfire burst. It came from behind the safehouse, and it was perhaps three or four blocks away. Did Vale have to leave?

  Justin peered inside the empty yard, then he stepped through the gate. He crossed the short distance leading to the house. The main entrance was partially open. Justin frowned and cursed under his breath as the picture was becoming clearer. He was late. He muttered a prayer that it was not all over.

  Azade shuffled inside the yard.

  Justin gestured to her to advance along the right side of the house, while he stepped inside. He began to clear the hall and the three small rooms. No one was inside, and there was no sign of a gunfight. But he noticed dirt carried in from boot tracks on the carpeted areas.

  As soon as he came to the back door, he saw the body of a man stretched out on the ground. A pool of blood had formed around his head. Justin did not recognize him, but checked to make sure the man was dead.

  “He’s no longer a threat,” Azade said. She was standing near the back gate.

  Justin nodded and walked toward her. Boot tracks continued to the back gate. Another dead man’s body lay just outside the gate, in the alley. Justin glanced to the right, then to the left, trying to figure out which way Vale might have gone. Maybe I should call him. He reached for his phone, but before he could speed dial Vale, a gunfire burst came from the left. Two blocks away.

  “This way, left.” He gestured to Azade.

  “Copy,” she said.

  Justin dashed to the left and dialed Vale. He answered after the first ring, “Justin, where are you?”

  “Back of the safehouse. And you?”

  “We’re pinned down near the mosque at the—” Vale’s words were cut off by a quick burst. “A blue-and-yellow house.”

  “Copy that,” Justin said. “Who’s with you?”

  “The banker and one of Behrooz’s men.”

  “Be there in two minutes.”

  “Be careful. We got at least three, four shooters.”

  “Copy and out.”

  Justin waited until Azade had caught up to him and relayed to her what Vale had said.

  “I’ll call Tori to bring the car around,” she said.

  “Good. And keep your eyes open.”

  “Will do.”

  Justin advanced toward their target. As soon as he rounded the next corner, he saw the body of another man slumped against the wall. But he was not dead. He looked at Justin, then scrambled to pick up the rifle next to him.

  “Don’t do it,” Justin shouted at the man.

  But he had already brought the rifle up.

  Justin fired a single round that caught the man on his right arm. He dropped the rifle with a scream, then cursed at Justin. The agent kept the rifle pointed at the man and shouted, “How many are there?”

  The man replied with another curse.

  “That’s not helping you.” Justin stepped closer to the man. “How many?”

  He shook his head.

  Justin glanced at the man’s deep leg wound. Even if he survived, most likely he would never walk again, at least not straight. Justin kicked the man’s rifle away, so he was no longer a threat to them, then glanced at Azade. “This way,” he said to her.

  “Finish him off,” she said.

  Justin shook his head. “No, let him live.”

  “Jerks like this did the unspeakable to me, and you’ll let him live?”

  “It wasn’t him. And he’ll lose his leg. That’s enough payment.”

  “No, not enough.”

  Justin shook his head again. “Let’s go, Azade.”

  She spat at the man. “Thank God that he’s here,” she shouted at the man’s face. “Otherwise, you’d be eating dirt.” She kicked the man on the side of his head, and he fell down face first to the ground.

  Justin rounded the other corner. The front of the blue-and-yellow house was now within sight. Two gunmen had set up positions near the gate and were firing through its bars. A third one was thundering his machine gun from the back of a truck through an opening in the wall.

  Justin fired a quick barrage. His bullets caught the gunmen by surprise. A couple of rounds struck the first one, and he fell to the side. The second one took a bullet to the side, but was able to crawl away for a moment. Justin squeezed off another burst and planted a few more bullets into the man, who stopped crawling.

  Bullets pounded the wall next to Justin. The gunner had turned his weapon toward Justin’s position. The agent dropped behind the corner as cinderblock slivers and dust erupted around him.

  Azade had dropped to a knee next to him. “Machine gun?”

  Justin nodded. “Yeah, but I took out two fighters.”

  “Grenade?”

  “Negative. Too far away.”

  Azade gave him a curious look and shrugged. “I’ll cover.”

  “Too dangerous.”

  Machine gun rounds relentlessly hammered the other side of the wall.

  Justin said, “He can’t fire forever.”

  “Not at this rate.”

 
; Justin glanced toward the roof of a two-story house behind them. “Maybe if I climb up there?”

  “It may work.”

  He stood up, but the gunfire abruptly stopped.

  Justin looked at Azade. “He’s reloading?”

  “Not sure. Let me see.”

  “No, don’t.”

  Before Justin could stop her, Azade rolled onto her stomach and into the alley. She swung her rifle and fired a quick burst. Then she jumped to one knee and called to Justin, “He’s dead.”

  “Wow, you got him.”

  “No, was already dead. Cover me.”

  Justin stepped around the corner and quickened his pace. No one fired from the truck or anywhere else. He stepped away from the eight-foot wall surrounding the house and tried to look over it, at the house’s windows. They were too far away.

  Azade had reached the gate and checked the gunmen. “Dead,” she shouted.

  “I’m calling Vale,” Justin said.

  “No need. They’re coming out.”

  He glanced through the bars. Vale was half-pushing, half-carrying a pot-bellied man in his sixties. The man’s khaki pants were bloodstained, and he was hobbling on his right leg. It was Hezan, the banker.

  “Where’s Tori?” Justin said.

  “Maybe he’s in the back. I’ll tell him to come around.”

  Justin’s head swiveled around, as he took in all angles. All gunmen had been eliminated and all threats neutralized, but he was not sure if there were more. Could there be a second team, ready to strike if the first one went down? He shrugged. It would depend on who sent the gunmen. And Justin had no idea.

  A rumbling noise came from the right. Justin swung his rifle in that direction. A vehicle was coming from behind the truck. He stepped closer to the opposite wall to check on the vehicle.

  It was the Nissan.

  Justin returned his glance to Vale and Hezan. They were almost at the gate now. Azade was covering their exit, so he observed rooftops and the other side of the alley, expecting the unexpected.

  Tori tried to squeeze the Nissan past the truck, but it was impossible, so he stopped behind the truck.

  Justin dashed toward Vale. “Where’s the other guy?”

  Vale shook his head. “Shot in the chest. All because of this animal.” He gave Hezan a hard shove.