by Ethan Jones
“I’m right here, Javin.”
Her voice was weak and sounded to Javin as if he were in a dream. He blamed his ringing ears for that sensation. “Claudia, you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I was in the other room. But . . . you’re bleeding?”
“A scratch. Now, let’s get them.”
Claudia nodded and cocked her HK assault rifle, the same model as Javin’s. “Where are they?”
“Not sure about the RPG man. Louis was firing at someone on—”
Louis cut Javin off. “Three buildings to the right.”
Claudia nodded. “I’ll take the shooter.”
“The RPG man should be on the ground, but let’s check the windows across the street.”
Claudia nodded again. “Good plan.”
“Let’s do it.”
Javin climbed to his feet and reloaded the rifle. He moved closer to the door as bullets flew into the room. He glanced at Claudia, who was positioned across the door, and gave her a nod. Claudia returned the nod.
He stepped out and fired a quick barrage at the shooter’s location. It was suppressive fire to force him down or at least to break the attack. The break would provide a small window for Claudia to take her accurate shot.
Javin switched the fire selector to single fire, then shouted at Claudia, “Now.”
She popped from behind the wall and fired well-placed, single rounds. Her first bullet missed the shooter, but the second struck him in the head. He toppled next to his sniper rifle.
Javin listened for a moment.
No more bullets zipped next to them, but heavy gunfire came from the street. The French operatives were exchanging heavy fire with other shooters. Javin stepped cautiously onto the balcony, keeping his head down, just under the parapet. He stole a quick glance at the buildings across the street, then dropped his gaze below.
Something caught his attention and made him bring his eyes back to a second-story window.
The building to his left.
The RPG man.
He was shouldering an RPG launcher and aimed it at Javin on the balcony.
Javin turned his rifle and fired a couple of rounds. They struck the man in his chest. He fell to one side and disappeared behind the room’s window.
A moment later, an explosion came from that room. A bright orange flash followed by gray smoke. The RPG had erupted, killing or maiming anyone inside.
Javin dropped behind the balcony’s parapet, pivoted on his knee, then looked at the other side. A dark brown SUV was driving away. Someone was firing an assault rifle from the rear window behind the driver. Javin aimed his rifle and squeezed off a few rounds. They struck the back of the SUV. Then one of the bullets hit the man in the arm. His rifle fell to the ground, but the SUV turned onto the next street and vanished from view.
Javin glanced back at Claudia, who was standing near the balcony’s door. “All good?” he asked.
“All good,” she replied.
Weak, sporadic gunfire echoed from the street.
Javin stood up and looked down.
Three of the French operatives were moving toward a black Chevy sedan parked a block away, near the intersection with Tarlabashi Boulevard. A man was still moving behind the sedan. He was unarmed, wounded, and trying to crawl away.
The closest operative stepped near the man and fired a single round at the back of the man’s head. He collapsed onto the sidewalk, dead.
Javin recoiled at the execution. It was not the first time he had witnessed merciless acts of brutality, but it had always been by terrorists of various creeds and banners. Never by an ally or a friendly operative.
He shook his head. The French agents had been ambushed; Louis was wounded and other operatives might have been wounded, or perhaps even killed. But did that justify that killing? Plus, the attacker was much more valuable alive, as a potential source of intelligence. With his death, all the information he might have known was lost.
The operative who pulled the trigger looked around as curious faces began to appear behind windows and on a few balconies.
“It’s over,” Claudia said in a low voice as she stepped close to Javin.
“Yes, I think that was the last one.” He pointed at the man behind the sedan.
One of the French operatives began to search the black sedan. The second one glanced at the balcony and gave Javin a gesture he did not understood. It looked like he was saying it was over, but Javin could not be certain.
“Who are these people?”
Javin shrugged. “Don’t know. But we’ll find out soon, once the dead have been IDed.”
“If they are IDed.”
“Well, we can be certain they’re not MIT. They wouldn’t do this.”
“Agreed. Has all the marks of a terror op.”
“IS?” Javin asked referring to the Islamic State terrorist group, who recently had expanded its network and had escalated its campaign of attacks across Europe.
“First name that popped into my mind too.”
Blaring police sirens cut through the tense air.
“Let’s go check out the bodies before the police cordon off everything.”
“They’re already taking care of him.” Claudia pointed at the dead gunman sprawled onto the sidewalk.
“Yes, yes, they are,” Javin said in an almost somber voice.
“Javin, what’s going on?”
“Huh, what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Claudia looked deep into his eyes. “You don’t sound very happy he’s dead.”
“I . . . I wish he was alive, so we could interrogate him. But . . . I can’t always get what I want.”
“Nobody does, Javin. The ones who claim they do, they’re lying.”
Javin nodded. It did not feel right to hide from Claudia what he had just witnessed. I’ve got to talk to Louis about it. But not now. Right now, we’ve got more pressing matters.
Chapter Sixteen
DGSE Station
Istanbul, Turkey
Javin and Claudia took several pictures of the dead men and rummaged through their pockets. They found a few scraps of paper with indecipherable text that seemed to be written in Arabic and a cellphone. For the moment, Javin decided to keep those findings from the Turkish police and perhaps share them with Louis and the DGSE agents. That is, if his own agency came up blank.
Javin was not able to send any of that intelligence to his boss before the police started their interrogation. For Javin and Claudia, this was a routine exercise. Their cover story was that they were cultural attachés with the Canadian consulate in Istanbul. When they were fired upon by what they thought were members of a terrorist group, the diplomats and their guards resorted to self-defense, in order to thwart the attack. No, they had no idea why the station fell under fire. No, they did not suspect they were the targets.
The police treated them well, considering their diplomatic status that gave Javin and Claudia immunity from any prosecution. The most the Turkish authorities could do was to expel the Canadian agents from the country. Javin would have not minded it, since they had overstayed their welcome in Turkey.
After three long, excruciating hours of telling and retelling a similar version of the same story, Javin and Claudia were free to go. The police warned them that more questioning was forthcoming, but did not request them to remain in the city. Javin and Claudia had no intention of obeying that order even if it were given.
Before leaving the station, Javin wondered whether he should talk to Louis about the killing Javin had witnessed. But Louis had been taken to Florence Nightingale Hospital. His wound was deeper than he had thought as the shrapnel had severed the radial artery, and Louis had lost a considerable amount of blood. So Javin decided to save his friend the additional pain of bringing up the sensitive issue of the execution.
After Javin and Claudia had climbed into their new car—a silver Fiat Albea sedan—and had left the mess behind, Javin dialed their boss to give Martin an update. Martin p
icked up only after the fifth ring. “Javin, keep it short,” he said in a hushed voice. “Had to step out of a meeting.”
“Sure, sir. The drive’s clear. There were . . . hmmm . . . some complications, but we’re unharmed,” Javin said in a hurried voice on the speakerphone.
“What kind of complications?” Martin’s voice turned cold.
“A terrorist attack against the DGSE station while we were there.”
“Casualties?”
“Louis and two other operatives. Minor wounds.”
“You and Claudia?”
“A couple of scratches. Claudia?”
“Shrapnel cuts, sir. Slightly deeper than paper cuts.”
Martin laughed. “You like saying that.”
“It’s true.”
Javin shook his head and looked at Claudia’s bandaged left forearm. He had seen the three-inch-long gash.
She shifted her body so she could face him better.
“Who’s the terror group?”
“Not sure. We have some intel I’ll upload on the servers ASAP. Pictures, a few names, and some phone numbers.”
“Good. Our team here will do the rest to match them with what we have on our databases.”
Javin nodded. “Exactly.”
Martin said, “Have you accessed the drive’s docs?”
“Negative,” Javin replied. “But they should be intact.”
“Good. Now, I’ve got some bad news from Fox.”
Javin frowned. “The masked men were MI6?”
“No; at least Fox didn’t admit as much. But they were MI6’s local assets, operating under Fox’s direct command.”
Javin’s frown deepened. “Their failure made Fox look bad.”
“Made him look terrible. Again, according to Fox, the Foreign Office Deputy Secretary is furious at Fox’s failure.”
“How’s DS involved in this affair?”
“Fox didn’t elaborate, regardless of my repeated attempts. But it’s obvious that something very sensitive is on the drive.”
Javin exchanged a thoughtful look with Claudia.
Martin continued, “The drive you don’t have.”
Javin blinked in confusion. “Please repeat your last, sir.”
“Fox doesn’t know you have the drive. He asked for my confirmation, and I told him the drive is not in CIS agents’ possession. But you’re still looking for it.”
“And so are MI6 and their assets in Turkey,” Claudia said.
“Affirmative. It’s time to get out of Dodge.”
“Understood,” Javin said. “We’re still trying to figure out the identities of those cronies, which according to our friend, Mr. Fox, are working for MI6.”
“Yes, pursue that angle.”
Claudia leaned closer to the phone that Javin was holding in his right hand. “It will also tell us how these people, whoever they are, learned about the drive. Perhaps even why the Foreign Office is so alarmed.”
“Excellent point. Yes, find that as well.”
Javin nodded and smiled at Claudia. “Perfect. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it, and that’s all.”
“Make it home, Javin, along with Claudia.”
“We’ll do that, sir.”
Martin ended the call.
Javin tapped the End key, then glanced at Claudia. “Let’s see how well pressure is working on our MIT friend.”
Chapter Seventeen
CIS Safehouse
Istanbul, Turkey
Ajaz looked quite relieved to see Javin and Claudia. The MIT agent glanced at them with eager eyes. “Oh, I’m glad to see you again,” he said in a voice full of relief.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Javin looked at Zeki, who was standing near the door. Across from him, Ajaz was handcuffed to the wall-mounted space heater. There was a glint of mischief in Zeki’s eyes, and his pursed lips clearly expressed his mood.
Zeki shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong. We . . . we had a disagreement, which was resolved.”
Ajaz turned his head toward Javin. A fresh bruise was visible on the Turkish operative’s face. “He tortured me.”
“I barely laid a hand on him, after he swore at me and threatened me. Considering what he said, he deserved much more.”
Javin shook his head, unwilling to get in the middle of a he-said-this-and-I-said-that situation. Besides, he was not going to scold his partner in front of the detainee. So Javin nodded at Zeki, then looked at Ajaz. “He did what needed to be done. If you watch your tongue, nothing bad will happen to you.”
“I didn’t insult him. I just said—”
Javin interrupted him. “It doesn’t matter now. Who could have leaked the intel about the drive to the masked men?”
“Yes, our . . . eh, disagreement, started because of that. Your man here, he wanted to beat the truth out of me.”
Javin crouched near Ajaz sitting on the floor. “I told you to leave him out of this. Now, what did you find?”
“There’s a man I suspect was behind the leak.”
“Go on.”
“One of the newest members of our team, just assigned to our section about two weeks ago.”
“Assigned from where?”
“The Prime Minister’s office.”
“Okay, what’s the man’s name?”
“Farook, Farook Erkan.”
Javin glanced at Claudia, who wrote down the name on her tablet. “And why do you suspect Erkan?”
“Well, he wanted to know everything; details about all operations. At the time, I shrugged it off as being interested in learning, to grow, expand his knowledge. In hindsight, he was gathering intel, so he could sell it off.”
“To whom?”
Ajaz glanced at his handcuff. “Can you remove this?”
“Sure.” Javin gestured at Zeki.
Reluctantly, he stepped forward and uncuffed Ajaz.
He rubbed his scraped wrist.
Javin said to Zeki, “Do you mind getting him a cup of water? Or do you want coffee?”
“Coffee, sure.”
“Make us all a cup, would you?”
Zeki nodded. “Black as usual for both of you?”
“Yes,” Claudia said.
“Of course,” Javin said.
“Put milk and sugar in mine,” Ajaz said in a voice that came out as a command.
“Certainly; anything else, Your Majesty? Maybe some cake or baklava?” Zeki said.
“No, coffee is fine,” Ajaz spat out the words.
Javin gave Ajaz a piercing look. “Watch it, and don’t test my patience. He’s a member of my team, and you’ll treat him with respect. Otherwise, bad things will happen.”
Ajaz’s grin disappeared from his face.
Zeki said, “I’ll be right back.”
When he had left the room, Javin asked, “To whom did Erkan sell the intel?”
“MI6.”
“MI6?”
“Yes, the British intel—”
“I know who MI6 is. But how do you know it was MI6?”
“Erkan worked in London and Manchester for two years. He boasted many times of his extensive ties to MI6, MI5, and other services.”
“So it could be one of those other agencies?”
“Yes, but I suspect it was MI6.”
Javin frowned. “You’re changing the story from ‘I know’ to ‘I suspect.’ Which one is it?”
Ajaz shrugged. “I know—I’m certain—it was the British service.”
“All right, but let’s double-check, to be absolutely sure. You’ll have to dig deeper.”
“I’ve told you everything I know. Erkan said he had close friends who were British spies. It’s clear.”
Javin said, “It may be clear to you, but all I have is your word. I need concrete evidence, like I told you. And if this is all you know, you need to learn more, and fast.”
Ajaz held Javin’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I will try—”
“No, I have no time to waste. You’ll get
this done right away.”
“Or?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Getting evidence will take time. And I can’t do it if I’m locked here.”
Javin shook his head. “That’s not going to change, Ajaz. You’d do the same if our roles were reversed.”
Ajaz nodded.
“Now, something else you can probably find, and which should be easier: why is MI6 after this intel?”
A look of confusion spread across Ajaz’s bruised face. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
Claudia stepped closer to Ajaz. “It’s probably for the same reasons MIT wants the drive.”
Javin nodded. “Ajaz, those reasons are?”
Ajaz glanced first at Claudia, then at Javin. “Our orders were clear: retrieve the drive. All we knew was it contains classified intel that shouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“What’s on the drive?” Claudia asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“I did. I was told it was none of my business, none of anyone’s business on my team. We had to go in, and retrieve the drive.”
“So you need to find out the reasons.”
Ajaz cocked his head. “You have the drive. Why don’t you check for yourself?”
Javin nodded. He had thought about accessing the files ever since his team had recovered the flash drive. Martin’s orders did not prohibit Javin from taking such action. At first, it was not necessary to know what was stored on the flash drive’s memory. Then, after Claudia had discovered the flash drive had a tracking device, Javin began to suspect that small pieces of software might have been embedded into the files. As soon as someone accessed the files, the software would be activated and would transmit the drive’s location. Besides, Martin had informed Javin that the files were protected by nearly impossible-to-break encryptions. The CIS team who had lost the drive—and which had caused Javin and Claudia to be dispatched to correct their error—had tried in vain to access those files.
Javin shrugged, then said, “Yeah, I could do that, but you need to do your part. Otherwise, you’re dead weight.” Javin stressed the word “dead” more than necessary.
