by Ethan Jones
Two men were beside her. One of them noticed Justin and dropped to one knee. Then he opened fired.
Justin was already on his stomach.
The glass parapet erupted in a million pieces. Justin buried his head in his arms, which were cut by the sharp slivers. He cursed the shooter, then aimed his rifle. He glanced through the parapet and double-tapped the trigger.
The shooter fell to his side.
The other man did not point a weapon at Justin; he seemed to be staggering on his feet.
Justin scanned the helipad for other shooters.
There were none.
Egorov stepped closer to the man and pressed a pistol to his temple. “Come out or I’ll blow his head off,” she shouted.
The helicopter’s rumble came from the right side.
Justin fired a long barrage as soon as the helicopter appeared high above him. The pilot, though, had anticipated the incoming volley, so he nose-dived between the skyscrapers.
Egorov fired a couple of rounds that pinged right by Justin’s head.
Justin turned his rifle toward her, but Egorov returned her weapon to the hostage’s head. “Drop it, or the bagman dies.”
Justin climbed to his feet and took a few steps toward Egorov. He put most of his body weight on his right leg, slightly dragging the left one to his side. The helicopter was nowhere in sight, but the rumble told Justin it was not far away.
“Stop, or I’ll kill him,” Egorov shouted.
“Kill him! What do I care?”
Justin was now halfway across the helipad.
Egorov slid her body behind al-Gailani. The wind was blowing her long black hair, but only a small fragment of her face was visible. “I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I.”
“Stop, don’t move! Last warning!”
The helicopter appeared behind Justin.
Before he could turn, bullets pounded all around him. Justin rolled on the tarmac, then flipped on his back. He fired a short burst at the helicopter, then rolled again.
Egorov also squeezed off a couple of rounds.
One missed Justin, but not by much. The second one grazed his back. It felt as if he had been struck by a heavy hammer. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs for a moment. He was glad he had worn a bulletproof vest underneath his black jacket.
He fired the rest of his magazine at the helicopter, which dove to the right. Then he reloaded quickly and rolled again, as more bullets zipped around him.
Justin turned onto his stomach and aimed at Egorov. The hostage, al-Gailani, had stepped away from her, but not much. There was not a large enough gap for Justin to fire a sure shot at Egorov. But he did.
The single round hit al-Gailani in his left leg.
He screamed and dropped to the tarmac.
Egorov was exposed.
She squeezed off a round.
It struck by Justin’s head. Two inches to the left, and it would have been over for him.
Justin fired again.
His bullet caught Egorov on the right side of her chest. The force of the impact sent her flying toward the parapet. She tried to hold on to it, but her body slipped through the broken glass.
“No, no,” Justin shouted.
He had not wanted to kill her, but only to neutralize the threat. He sighed and crawled forward. He struggled to climb to his knees, and then to his feet.
He drew in an uneasy breath and stood up. The helicopter’s rumble seemed to come from right in front of him.
Yes, there it is.
The helicopter appeared high over the other side. The pilot must have noticed Egorov had fallen—wounded or perhaps dead—because he let off a long barrage. It was aimed at al-Gailani, who was moving away from the edge of the landing.
Justin aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger. He fired round after round. Bullets struck the helicopter’s fuselage. Others thumped against the rotor blades, lighting up sparks.
The pilot tried to bank to the right, but he seemed to have lost control. The maneuver was not well-executed, and the helicopter whirled around. It gained some altitude, while Justin kept hammering it with his ceaseless volley.
The pilot veered to the right, but the helicopter dropped in mid-maneuver. One of the skids hit the top of the skyscraper’s steel crown. The crash yanked the helicopter back, and it completed a full circle.
Then it nose-dived toward the helipad.
Justin cursed the turn of events and bolted to the left. He tried to calculate where the helicopter would crash-land, hoping against hope the pilot would regain control, and the helicopter would soar upwards.
It did not.
The nose of the helicopter slammed near the middle of the landing. The force of the impact swung it to the side. The tail was broken in two pieces. The back rotor flew toward Justin, who was already rolling toward the parapet.
One of the twisted rotor blades flew overhead, almost beheading him. He lay flat on the tarmac, praying the rotor and the debris would miss him. The rotor touched down about three feet to his right, then bounced over his body, and spun onto the other side.
Justin kept his head down as a hail of debris continued to fall over him.
Then a violent fiery explosion rocked the area. The mangled wreckage of the helicopter erupted to his left. Bright orange flames shot up as high as fifteen or twenty feet. Another wave of blazing-hot shrapnel rained down on him.
Justin stayed down until all became quiet, but for the crackling fires chewing through what remained of the scorched helicopter. He checked himself and noticed his arms and legs had been punctured by shrapnel. Nothing life-threatening, but he would need more than a few bandages.
He tasted blood in his mouth, then noticed a long, deep cut along the left side of his face. He also had a deep gash along his forearm.
Justin shrugged, then pointed his rifle at al-Gailani. The bagman was not moving, but Justin had to double-check and make sure al-Gailani was dead.
He was. Two bullets had gone through his back.
Justin then hobbled to the shattered parapet. He glanced down, expecting to see Egorov’s body lying on the floor three stories down.
She was not there.
Justin frowned. What? Where did she go? There was a bloodstain on the terrace. He looked around. Nothing. He cursed under his breath. We lost her again? He limped further along the parapet and studied the terrace and the helipad. No sign of Egorov anywhere.
He shook his head and sighed.
“Justin, Justin,” Markov called to him from across the helipad and dashed toward him.
“Egorov’s gone.”
“What? How?”
“Don’t know. I wounded her; I’m sure about that. But she’s not here.” He spread his arms around, gesturing toward the parapet. “And she’s not down there either.” He tipped his head toward the terrace.
“We’ll check everywhere. She won’t go far. Egorov’s wounded, and we have people on every floor.”
Justin shook his head. “Don’t underestimate her.”
“I’m not. We’ll get her. Now, let me help you down.”
“No. I can do it. Go after Egorov.”
“You’re sure? You’re bleeding a lot.”
Justin shrugged. “It’s not gonna kill me. Go.”
“All right. See you. And when we meet, I’ll have Egorov or her body.”
Justin nodded. I hope so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t find her.
Markov cursed the turn of events and bolted toward the staircase.
Epilogue
January 21
ECS Europe Headquarters
Vienna, Austria
Flavio’s small office desk, which was usually clean, was covered by heaps of scattered folders. Justin glanced at them, then at his boss sitting across the desk hunting-and-pecking on his tablet.
Justin drew in a deep breath, and shifted silently in his chair, so that it would not appear he was trying to distract or interrupt his boss. Flavio had ca
lled only Justin into his office, although Vale had been a crucial part of their Iraq operation. The hint was clear, and Justin did not want to jeopardize his already delicate position any further by even slightly irritating his boss.
Justin’s mind began to wonder how much of what happened in Iraq Flavio knew, and how much Justin should tell him. In the past, Flavio had adopted a hands-off approach, asking and caring about only what he needed to know. But was the attack on the Turkish army base something he cared about? I guess I’ll find out in a few moments.
Finally, Flavio glanced at Justin. “This . . . this is acting up. I need another minute.”
“Sure, take your time, sir.”
Flavio slid his fingers across the tablet, then shook his head. “Will have to wait.” He picked up some of the folders and dropped them onto the hardwood floor. “It’s a mess here. The D-G has demanded a full review of the last five years. You know what that means to our section?”
Justin knew the numbers, as he had asked around. But he gave Flavio a blank expression. “About a hundred ops?”
“More than five times that many.” Flavio sighed. “We’ve always been busy, and things are just getting crazier.”
Justin nodded.
“Let me find your report.” Flavio dug amongst the folders. It seemed he had a system for navigating his organized chaos. “Oh, yeah, here we are. I changed the folder to red. Easy to find.”
“That’s true.”
Flavio flipped through the pages. “Let’s . . . eh, let’s start with Egorov. You have no updates on the search for her. Do we know anything about her whereabouts?”
Justin shifted in his seat. “Well, as described in the report, she disappeared at the Evo Tower. Markov and the rest of our teams turned the place upside down. No Egorov. She slipped through our fingers and is staying under the radar. Hasn’t popped up anywhere. But GRU and FSB are looking everywhere for her.”
“Do you think they’ll find her?”
“I doubt it. The first time, we were able to lure her by giving her the location of someone she was looking for. I don’t think the same trick will work twice. Plus, we don’t know whom she’s looking for.”
Flavio nodded. “Known associates? Assets? Contacts?”
“GRU and FSB have them all covered. They want to get to Egorov as much as we do, perhaps even more. We’re exploring every angle, but no progress so far.”
“Okay, this should remain high among our priorities. Now, let’s go back to the beginning. Your guide who was supposed to take you into Iraq. You’ve noted here that he was most likely killed by Russian operatives or their lackeys. I didn’t see any concrete evidence.”
Justin nodded. “That’s right, because there’s none. But the connection is clear. One of Behrooz’s associates—the man who was killed during the attack on our Erbil safehouse—had a phone number that belonged to one of Egorov’s operatives. Behrooz was the man who—”
“Yes, I remember. Behrooz replaced the guide. And you believe with absolute certainty that Behrooz is somehow tied to the guide’s death?”
“Yes. Why would his man have a Russian operative’s phone number? Behrooz stood to benefit from the guide’s disappearance. I checked the facts, and there were no Iraqi government attacks in the area where the guide was killed. No one could verify Behrooz’s version.”
Flavio nodded. “And what about the ambush on the way to Musayri? Behrooz was escorting you at the time.”
“Yes, that was very clever, making it seem as if we were under attack, when the shooters were amateur. He had most likely hired them, to make himself appear as a great fighter and indispensable to our mission.”
Flavio cocked his head. “Eh, I’m not so sure about that, Justin. Setting up an ambush against yourself is a pretty risky gamble.”
“I was there, sir. Behrooz was never in real danger.”
“Okay.”
“And the version where he’s deeply involved also explains how the Erbil safehouse was compromised. Besides Vale, Behrooz and his men were the only ones who knew of its location.”
Flavio nodded, then peered at Justin. “Could it be that his men acted without Behrooz’s knowledge?”
“I doubt it. The man ruled with an iron fist.” Justin shrugged. “But we’ll investigate this further, so we come to the right conclusion.”
“Definitely. This is far from over, and we’ll need to pay a visit to Behrooz.”
Justin smiled. “I know where he is.”
Flavio flipped through the folder. “Okay, now on to the next operation in Iraq.”
“The hostage rescue?”
“Yes, but before we get there. I learned there was a fierce attack against the Turkish forces stationed at Bashaweh.”
Justin nodded. “I heard that too.”
Flavio held Justin’s eyes for a long moment. Then he walked around his desk and stood with his back against it, just a couple of feet away from Justin. “This is an interesting incident, Justin. Initially, ISIS claimed the attack, and the Turks confirmed that. They bombed ISIS headquarters in the region, razed the place to the ground. Most of the captives denied ISIS had anything to do with the attack.”
Justin said nothing but kept his poker face on.
“Now, the Turks are looking at the Peshmergas, their century-old enemy. Maybe they were somehow involved.”
“It could be,” Justin said in a flat tone.
Flavio nodded. “Yes, as long as we’re not dragged into this . . . whatever this was, it’s not going to be a problem. But if fingers are pointed at us, and we come under fire, it will be a very tough day, for both of us.”
“I understand, sir.”
“I’m glad you do, Justin. So, the hostage rescue.” Flavio folded his arms across his chest. “No authorization was needed?”
“I didn’t think so, sir. I wasn’t taking on your authority; no, far from it. I considered it a situational decision about an operation.” He shrugged and raised his hands in an apologetic manner. “But if I overstepped, I’m sorry.”
Flavio nodded. “It wasn’t an immediate decision, but it had a certain outcome, in terms of intel pertaining to your mission to Iraq. Now, it did happen to be helpful, extremely useful in identifying the major players in the Egorov affair. But you didn’t know that going in, did you?”
“No, sir,” Justin said in a low voice and dropped his eyes to the floor.
“And you didn’t even have a gut feeling?”
Justin shrugged. “I knew all the hostages would be dead if we didn’t intervene. The local Peshmergas had neither the will nor the resources to rescue the hostages.”
“And your decision would have been the same if your old sweetheart wasn’t among the captives?”
“I . . . I don’t know, sir. I’ve thought about it many times. I’d like to say ‘yes,’ but I’m not sure.” Justin glanced up and met Flavio’s eyes.
Flavio nodded. “Following your heart is not wrong, Justin. We have feelings; we’re not machines, and we don’t follow orders blindly. But we have to weigh the risks and the benefits of our actions. Balance the scales.”
“By all means, sir.”
“Okay, figure it out, Justin. The sooner the better, and not just for you.”
“I will do that,” Justin said in a confident voice.
“Great.” Flavio returned to his chair and leaned over the desk. “On the good news front, I’ve received a call from a certain prince.”
“Prince Al-Taweel?”
“He’s very grateful his nephew is back to safety.”
“Nephew?”
“Yes, they kept it extremely well-hidden until he was back to Riyadh.”
Justin shook his head. “I’ve done all I can, sir. Nothing new about how he got involved with ISIS. No one can ever place him fighting alongside Peshmergas, but also no source can confirm he fought for ISIS.”
“A misguided young man from the kingdom?”
Justin cocked his head. “Uhhhh, not exactly. A misguide
d nephew of a Saudi prince that harbors quite extremist views.”
“If I could see into the future, I would say I see you in Riyadh, looking closely into this matter.”
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. The Saudis and I don’t get along too well.”
Flavio grinned. “Too well? That’s a euphemism, Justin. After your killing one of the princes, there’s a lot of bad blood between you and the royals. Perhaps getting closer to Prince Al-Taweel can improve the relationship.”
Justin hesitated for a moment. “He’s . . . he’s not exactly one of the favorites within the House of Saud.”
“Yeah, I know that. But a detested prince is better than no prince. And he could be a good asset, if we have common goals.”
Justin again was not sure if approaching the prince was a good idea, but did not want to contradict his boss. So he said nothing.
Flavio flipped through the report. “Let’s move on to those bank records supposedly implicating high government officials.”
Justin frowned. “What do you mean ‘supposedly?’”
Flavio arched his eyebrows. “You have trouble understanding the meaning of the word?”
“No, the word is clear, but I have trouble understanding why those records are not sufficient proof?”
Flavio shrugged. “I’m not a lawyer, but our legal section doesn’t believe there’s much value. At least, as far as a court of law is concerned.”
Justin waved a dismissive hand. “We all know this affair will never go to court.”
“Right, but fear of a long, embarrassing, public process is what could have worked in this case. These politicians and businessmen, they have the money and the power to discredit these documents, their accuracy and authenticity. Without witnesses . . .” Flavio shook his head. “Without the bagman and Egorov . . .”
“So this case is closed?”
“Look, Justin, I want to get these dirtbags as much as you do. But we’re talking about party leaders, billion-dollar businessmen, ministers. The case needs to be bulletproof.”
Justin nodded. As much as he hated it, Flavio was right.
Flavio continued, “But this isn’t the end. Of course, some of these people know they’ve been exposed. Politicians, who are usually cowards, will resign or fade to black. The businessmen, they’ll be shrewder. But we know who they are. We’ll get them the next time.”
