Counterblow

by Ethan Jones

  Javin took the woman’s phone and opened the door. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get some fresh air. Let’s go.”

  The gravel crunched underneath Javin’s boots. The cool night air filled his nostrils. He thought he detected a slight hint of a chemical, bleach perhaps, but he couldn’t be certain. He put away Fang’s pistol at the small of his back, then turned to Fang, who was following him. “A million dollars. What would you do with a million dollars?”

  Fang did a double take. “You’re offering me a million dollars? You must need more than intel…”

  “I do, but with a million bucks, you and Xiulan can disappear, escape the wrath of the MSS. That’s enough money to buy a house or a piece of land pretty much anywhere in the States.”

  Fang hesitated for a moment. He had an interested look on his face, but also a frown of concern. “A million. That’s a lot of money… You must need something extremely valuable.”

  “It is, but it’s something quite doable, especially for a man with your skills.”

  Fang grinned. “I know what you’re doing, Pierce. Tell me what it is.”

  “I need you to hack into a database and get me something…”

  Fang stepped closer to Javin. The two operatives were now perhaps a foot apart. “It’s not intel, otherwise you’d have said so. What is it?”

  “It’s the Malan airbase in Xinjiang province—”

  Fang’s frown deepened as he shook his head violently. “Fengkuang de zhuyi!” This is crazy! He walked away, then turned around and wagged a finger in Javin’s face. “This is crazy, absolutely crazy. There’s no way I’m stealing a drone for you…”

  “Is it impossible?”

  “What? Yes… eh, no… but, it… it’s almost impossible.”

  “Almost?”

  Fang shrugged. “A figure of speech. The place is a fortress, impenetrable. It can’t be done.”

  “Even for a million dollars?”

  “Even for a million dollars.”

  “How about two million?”

  The Chinese operative cocked an eye at Pierce. “You have two million dollars?”

  “I can find it, if we need it. Look, I know you can do it. You’ve done miracles before.” He placed a hand on Fang’s shoulder. “Your million is in your pocket; no one’s touching that. There’s more money for equipment, bribes, whatever it takes. I just need a drone…”

  Fang grinned. “You don’t just need a drone. You need a war machine.” He shook his head. “The base is full of CH-4B drones. They can carry a payload of 350 kilograms. That’s laser-guided missiles, GPS-guided bombs, and anti-tank missiles. Weapons can be fired from five kilometers away. You’re going to war, Pierce.”

  Javin gave him a thoughtful look. “You can say that.”

  “Who’s the target?”

  “I can’t tell you that, and you know it. But if it makes you feel better, it’s not Chinese.”

  “It doesn’t.” He stepped away and shook his head. He drew in a deep breath, then let out a string of obscenities.

  Javin knew at least two or three of them. He walked toward the Chinese operative and said, “What will it take to get this done?”

  Fang didn’t turn around. “It’s not just breaking into the base and taking control of the drone. Perhaps I can pull that off without being caught. Then, we’ll need to fly the drone, make it disappear, hide it, transport it to the new location, and reactivate the satellite link. We need the physical equipment of the control station and two operators to fly it remotely.”

  He turned around and looked at Javin. “It’s a complicated process that has so many moving parts. So many things can go wrong…”

  The CIS operative said nothing. Fang’s voice was still doubtful, but there was a sliver of hope in his darkened face.

  Javin said, “But it can be done, and you know you can do it. Do it to save your life, Xiulan’s life, and start anew, somewhere else, better, safer…”

  Fang pursed his lips and shook his head. “I’ve got to think about it, Pierce.”

  “Fair enough, but we don’t have much time.”

  “I know, but we can’t do anything rash. If I go ahead with this, I need to assemble a team. They need time, reassurances, money.”

  “I can send the money at once…”

  “No wires, no records.”

  “I know, hard cash for you and everyone who’s helping you.”

  Fang drew in a deep breath and paced around.

  Javin gave him space. The Chinese operative might look like a caged animal, but Javin knew that Fang was the right man for the job. He had penetrated the White House and Fort Knox electronic defenses in a recent training exercise. The Chinese hacker had overwhelmed their systems through a series of concentrated attacks to penetrate their firewalls and install malware. He was one of the top MSS experts in electronic warfare and especially countermeasures. The latter included jamming applications to disrupt communications, intercept signals, and disable the target’s defenses.

  Javin also knew that Fang was in a tight spot. He could accept the potentially fatal job, execute it flawlessly, and disappear with the love of his life. Or he could simply refuse and accept his doomed fate. The choice wasn’t easy, but it also wasn’t hard.

  A few painfully slow seconds followed before Fang walked back to Javin. “All right, Pierce. If we manage this, where are we taking the drone?”

  “Somewhere in the Middle East.”

  “Of course, why did I even ask? You do want to start a war…”

  Javin shrugged. “No, I’m actually trying to end something I was dragged into, something I never wanted. I’m trying to right a wrong that killed a dear friend of mine…”

  “I see, so this is personal. That’s how people are killed, when they allow their emotions to take over their logic.”

  “This isn’t like that. I just need to settle an account.”

  “So, the Middle East, but can you be more specific?”

  Javin shrugged again. “It will depend. It’s most likely Syria or Lebanon. Do we have a deal?” He offered Fang his hand.

  The Chinese operative sighed as he looked at Javin’s outstretched hand, then shook it and said in a low, tired voice, “Yes, Pierce, we have a deal.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dragon Inn

  Western Outskirts of Beijing

  China

  Javin and Fang returned to the SUV and drove for about ten minutes toward the west, the residential part of the city. When they reached the nearest neighborhood, they ditched the vehicle behind a couple of dilapidated stores. They walked along one of the streets with stores still open until they found an electronics and cellphone shop. Fang helped Javin purchase four pre-paid burner phones for their somewhat secure communications and a number of international calling cards. Then, they split up.

  Javin flagged a taxi and gave the driver directions to the Bagou subway station on Line 10. Of course, Javin had no intention of taking the subway, but the station was six blocks away from the Dragon Inn, where he had booked a room. If the Chinese spy agency somehow made the connection between the driver and Javin, they would come to a dead end at the subway station.

  The Dragon Inn was a humble two-story building painted a faded red color at the edge of a poor, cramped neighborhood. A small, fire-breathing dragon statue stood next to a narrow entrance door. Javin guessed he must be a baby dragon. The five-starred Red Flag of China and the American flag were mounted on the wall next to a black sconce that barely cast a faint light on the street.

  Javin checked in using his forged Resident Identity Card, which was the personal identification document accepted in China. He paid in cash, although he did have a forged credit card that matched the name on his also-counterfeited driver’s license. The clerk seemed to go through the entire process quite mechanically, as if he were on autopilot. The inn had a poor reputation when it came to forwarding the name of guests, especially foreigners, t
o the police. Javin wasn’t concerned even if the inn complied with the regulations. He just needed a resting place for a few hours. He wasn’t planning to sleep or even take a nap. No time. He’d be awake when the police arrived, if the police arrived.

  Once he was in his room on the first floor, he checked the window above the air conditioner to make sure it opened, so that he could escape on a moment’s notice. He opened the window and removed the screen. The window was large enough for him to squeeze through without any difficulty. He stepped into a dimly lit backyard full of boxes, old furniture, tires, and kitchen supplies that seemed to have been stored there while waiting to be hauled to the dump. A metal gate led into a back alley. He slid the rusty bolt and pulled the gate, which opened with a bone-rattling creak.

  Javin stepped into the dark back alley. The wind had picked up, and the night had grown cold, so he tightened his jacket closer to his chest. He drew in a deep breath, and a rotten stench assaulted his senses. He shrugged it off and listened for a long moment. It was all quiet as he took a few steps; the crunching of his boots on the potholed alley was the only sound he could hear. He walked for about a hundred meters up to the point where the alley met with a three-way intersection.

  Satisfied that he had a way out if things went sideways, Javin returned to the backyard. He locked the gate behind him and climbed through the window into his room. He sat on the edge of the twin bed and pulled out the phone he had retrieved from the woman’s SUV. Thankfully, it didn’t have a password, so he had no trouble getting in. He used one of the calling cards to dial the number of one of the SVR operatives working with Mila.

  The man at the other end of the line replied after the third ring and spoke in Russian in a very annoyed tone, “Who do you want?”

  “This is Javin Pierce,” he said in a firm voice in Russian, a language he spoke fluently. “Is this Kalinin?”

  “It is. And this is Pierce, the man working with…”

  “Your boss, Mila.”

  “You mean Ms. Kuznetsova?” His voice kept the same tone.

  “She’s Mila to me,” Javin said, emphasizing the personal connection. “She said you’d have something for me.”

  “What would that be?”

  Javin sighed. “A briefcase with money, 100k to be exact. Not sure about the color of the briefcase. Do you want me to ask Mila?”

  Kalinin groaned. “Not necessary. Where do I meet you?”

  “I’ll come to where you are—”

  “No, where do I meet you?”

  “Outside the northwest entrance to the Bagou subway station. Do you know where it is?”

  “I’ll GPS it.”

  “Can you be there in half an hour?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  The Russian ended the call without another word.

  Javin shrugged and sighed. He thought about the next number he was going to call, and he felt his soul begin to be troubled. A sense of desperation overwhelmed him. Keep it together, Javin. You can do this. You promised Yael you’d avenge her blood. They will pay for what they did to her and Claudia. He drew in a series of breaths and tried to steady his shaky hands. He stood up and glanced at the dim reflection of his unshaven face in the mirror. He rubbed his chin, then ran his hand through the close-cropped hair. He looked at the phone in his left hand, sighed, and called a number from memory.

  A gruff voice replied in Hebrew in what Javin interpreted as the caller asking for his identity. So he said, “It’s Javin Pierce.”

  The caller switched to English. “Oh, Pierce, give me a moment.”

  A series of muffled noises that resembled the opening and closing of doors, then more noise, like blowing wind. Finally, the caller said, “Pierce, I wasn’t expecting your call until at least tomorrow…”

  “I know, Matthias, but I have some good news. The plan is in motion.”

  “Do we have the drone?”

  “We will, very soon.”

  “How soon?

  “Three, four days. I’m working as fast as I can. Do you know the targets’ whereabouts?”

  “The Syria mission is still going forward as planned. The four-man team is scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow.”

  “Is Feuerstein with them?”

  “Yes. His shoulder wound is fully healed.”

  Javin nodded and smiled to himself. Out of the four people involved in Yael’s murder, Peter Feuerstein was the one who had first opened fire against Javin’s team. It had resulted in the firefight where Yael was gravely wounded.

  “He recovered from his wounds while at a hospital in Haifa.”

  “Haifa? Yael was from Haifa.”

  “Yes, her… her mother still lives there,” Matthias said in a wavering tone.

  Javin said nothing. Matthias Hoberman was a cyber-security analyst working for Mossad. He had been a good friend of Yael, according to her. According to him, Matthias had planned to propose to her upon Yael’s arrival back in Tel Aviv after the completion of the mission that took her life. He had already bought the ring, confident that Yael would say “yes.”

  Javin had no doubt she would. After dropping her off at a medical center in London shortly after she was wounded, Javin had been able to retrieve Yael’s two phones. It was clear from her communications with Matthias that the two had been fondly in love. A love that had been severed because of the treacherous acts of Mossad agents against one of their own.

  “She cries all the time now… Yael was her only child. After losing her husband to cancer last year, now she’s all alone.”

  Javin closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. “Matthias, they will all pay for her tears. They will all die because of what they did.”

  Matthias didn’t respond right away.

  Javin said, “Keep tabs on them and keep me informed.”

  “I will. I have eyes on them at all times.”

  “Good. I’ll let you know when we have the drone. If there’s a change, delays, updates, call me right away, at any time.”

  “I’ve got it. I’ll do that.”

  “Thanks, Matthias. You’re a good man.” He wanted to add that he would have been a great guy for Yael, but the words could cause more harm than good. So he said, “Any progress on Al-Attiya?”

  “Yes, I have a complete file on him. Where can I send it?”

  “The same Gmail we’ve used so far.”

  “Okay. I’ll send you a link to an encrypted online drive.”

  “Anything compromising?”

  “Oh, plenty. You’ll see.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  “I sure can. He liked women, a lot of women.”

  Javin frowned. Al-Attiya was a married man, and adultery was punishable by death under Islamic law, considered one of the most heinous sins, particularly for women. However, the application of the law in practice varied widely depending on the country, the position of the adulterer, and the circumstances.

  Moreover, some Arab countries practiced what was called “nikah mut’ah,” or “pleasure marriage.” These were temporary marriages that sometimes were used as cover for sexual intercourse between an otherwise unmarried man and woman. Al-Attiya was a powerful man, and no one would be bothered if he enjoyed some sinful pleasures on the side.

  The CIS operative said, “He won’t get in trouble for chasing women.”

  “Not if he did it on his own coin. But he’s using the prince’s money.”

  Javin’s frown turned into a smile. “Are you certain about it?”

  “It’s all in the files. Transcripts of recordings where Al-Attiya admits to embezzling funds. Transactions confirm he withdrew money from the prince’s bank accounts, supposedly for business expenses. He found a way to funnel that money into his private, perverse activities.”

  “Good job, Matthias. I’ll look at the files and put those to good use.”

  “I hope he pays for what he did to you.”

  “I’m sure he will. Anything else?”

>   “That’s all for now.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you soon, then.”

  “Alright, Pierce. Goodbye now.”

  “Be safe.”

  “You too.”

  Javin glanced at his wristwatch. Time to meet my friend Kalinin and retrieve that money. He stood up, checked that the QSZ-92 pistol was safely secured at the small of his back, and stepped silently through the window.

  Chapter Ten

  Bagou Subway Station

  Western Outskirts of Beijing

  China

  Kalinin was a tall, well-built man in his early twenties. He was wearing a black leather jacket and black pants and was standing to the left of the station’s entrance holding a brown leather briefcase in his left hand. A stream of people was flowing up and down the stairs and the escalator, braving the cold weather, and heading toward the parking lot behind the entrance. Javin glanced at the schedule to the right side, but avoided looking up toward a dome camera suspended from a wall-mounted bracket. Kalinin was on the opposite side, almost outside the camera’s field of view.

  Javin began to approach him, and when he was about three steps away, Kalinin said, “Pierce.” His voice was strong and firm, but without any tone of annoyance or disrespect.

  “Yes.” Javin didn’t offer to shake Kalinin’s hand, but kept his hands in his jacket pockets.

  “Here you go.” He handed Javin the briefcase.

  Javin weighed it in his hand. “Thanks.”

  He began to turn around when Kalinin said, “That’s it?”

  Javin looked over his shoulder. “What?”

  “What else do you need?”

  “Eh, nothing… but if I do, I’ll let you know.”

  “The boss thinks differently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wants you to take this.” He pulled out a thick book from inside his leather jacket and gave it to Javin. “It’s a classic.”

  He looked at a black leather-bound hardcover copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace. It felt quite heavy. He looked at Kalinin, who shook his head. “Not here.”