The Corrector

by Ethan Jones

  The CIS initial report concluded that the emails and the report were genuine. Of course, they had no other sources to confirm the authenticity of the files, but the careful examination did not detect any tampering with the format or the content of these files. They were truly an exchange between the two top-level officials, and a genuine early draft copy of the deal.

  Armed with that intelligence, Martin approved the operation to bring Erkan out of Syria. The plan was to take him across the border into Lebanon, and from there to Italy. Saif Hakim was going to be the team’s fourth man, and he was going to take care of the logistics on the ground. Saif was a CIS-trained operative, and Martin had nothing but admiration for the man. Javin had never worked with Saif, but had heard about his operations. Saif had a reputation for acting first and thinking later; however, almost all of the missions he had been involved in had been successful. Saif was also known as a man who found it hard to take advice, especially from people he considered incompetent in offering that advice. Javin was not a rookie, and had had his fair share of operations in Syria and Iraq. As recently as six months ago, he had run a correction operation in southeastern Syria, working alongside the Jordanian General Intelligence Directorate, the fierce and respected security agency of Syria’s southern neighbor. But Saif was ten years older than Javin and had more experience in the field, especially in Syria, his home country.

  Javin sighed as he finished talking to Martin. Working with Saif was going to be difficult, but Javin was willing to give it his best shot. He looked at Claudia and Zeki, sitting across the dining table. “Time to give Erkan the news.” He glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost eleven thirty. “With plenty of time to spare.”

  He dialed Erkan’s number, then set the phone on the table, so everyone could hear the conversation. Erkan answered after the first ring. “Mr. Pierce, I assume you have positive news since you called by the deadline.” His voice had a tone of eagerness mixed with impatience.

  “I was going to call no matter the kind of news, but yes, you’re right, we have a deal.”

  “Great, that’s great. What’s the plan?”

  “We’ll explain it to you when we meet, but in broad strokes, we’re taking you to Lebanon, then Italy.”

  Erkan did not reply for a long moment.

  Zeki began to shake his head.

  Claudia offered Javin a reassuring nod. He’ll accept it, she mouthed the words.

  Finally, Erkan said, “Not my first choice, but Lebanon will do.” His voice did not have any hint of regret. “When will you be here?”

  “Eh, we’re still working on that. ASAP, within forty-eight hours.”

  “Let’s make it twenty-four.” Erkan’s voice left no room for objection.

  Javin shook his head and sipped his coffee. “That doesn’t depend on me, Erkan.”

  “Pierce, I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation.”

  “I understand it very well, but things take time. After all, we’re talking about your safety. You don’t want us to rush and make mistakes, right?”

  A tense pause, then Erkan said, “Forty-eight hours.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “I’ll give you the pick-up address once you’re on the ground. I’ll be in southern Damascus.”

  “Alternative phone numbers?”

  “This one will be fine.”

  “You have a clean passport?”

  “I do. And I don’t need cash, just safe passage. Oh, and I want to meet with Ajaz.”

  A deep frown creased Javin’s face. “That’s . . . Why is that?”

  “I have my own reasons. Just bring him with you.”

  Javin thought about his answer for a moment as he searched Claudia’s face. She returned a blank look and a shrug.

  Zeki shook his head and made a rude gesture with his right hand.

  “Pierce, you still there?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m . . . I’m trying to understand Ajaz’s importance in this—”

  “You don’t have to understand. Take Ajaz with you and bring him to Syria.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you not hearing me?” Erkan’s voice rose to a shout. “Ajaz is part of the deal.”

  “Is it because he’s your friend?”

  “The reasons don’t matter, but yes, I owe Ajaz one.” Erkan’s voice indicated everything but gratitude.

  Javin shook his head. Getting Ajaz into Syria complicated matters even further, as if they were not difficult enough. Ajaz was wounded, wanted by the Turkish police and intelligence services, and a Turkish citizen. The team would need a different plan, at least as far as insertion into Syria was concerned. “You know you’re condemning him to an assured death sentence if he comes to Damascus.”

  Erkan said, “He deserves much more, but this is the best I can do.”

  Javin drew in a deep breath, then said, “I’m not in a position to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ at this time, but—”

  Erkan cut him off. “No, unacceptable, Pierce. Ajaz comes to take my place, or we have no deal.”

  Javin looked at Claudia.

  She slid a piece of paper across the table. It’s a way of getting rid of him, it said.

  Javin shrugged. He was still undecided. Sending Ajaz to his death was not Javin’s preferred way of dealing with this problem. Despite Ajaz’s initial unwillingness to cooperate, he had come through with precious intelligence. “Sure, Erkan, we’ll bring Ajaz to Damascus.”

  “Great, that’s great. Call me when you’re in the city, or if there’s any change of plans.”

  “Will do.”

  Erkan hung up without another word.

  Javin cursed the situation, then glanced toward Ajaz’s room. He had kept his side of the deal. Well, perhaps I can find a way to keep mine.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  CIS Safehouse

  Istanbul, Turkey

  As expected, Ajaz did not take well the news he was being shipped to Syria. He pleaded with Javin to let him go, promising he would never tell a soul about the face, the accent, or any other identifying details of Javin or his team. When begging led nowhere, Ajaz resorted to threats, vowing to make Javin’s life a living hell and to repay a thousand times the pain that would be caused to him.

  Javin wasted no time worrying about Ajaz’s threats, knowing full well that none of them would actually take place. Instead, Javin and his team spent most of the next day preparing for the Damascus operation. While Saif was in charge of the Syrian part of the assignment, it was up to Javin and Claudia to bring the team safely all the way from Istanbul to the Turkish-Syrian border. Crossing the porous border was the easiest part; making it out of the metropolis was the hardest.

  Javin drafted a back-up plan, but decided to rely on his DGSE counterpart, Louis, for Plan A. Javin and the French operative had played a game of favors for a long time, and the scales were tipped in Javin’s favor. Louis was still in the hospital in stable condition, but Javin did not want to discuss the matter over the phone. He also wanted to talk to Louis about the French operative who had executed one of the Syrians who had attacked the DGSE station. However, Javin did not want to risk being noticed or nabbed by the police, the intelligence service, or anyone who might be looking for him. So, despite his reluctance, Javin picked up one of his burner phones and called Louis’s personal phone number.

  There was no answer at first, and Javin wondered whether Louis was sleeping or was in an area of the hospital where cellphones were not allowed. Louis had never been a man to play strictly by the rules, but those nurses had very effective control even over the toughest covert operatives. Louis responded in French after the third ring and in a groggy voice: “Yes, this is Louis.”

  “How are you, my friend?” Javin said in English. He spoke French fluently after graduating at the top of his high school class in the French immersion program. But he opted for English, his native language, and the one he spoke on a daily basis and almost everywhere he went.

  Louis
grunted. “Bored to death. I’m ready to get back to work, but the doctor insists I must be under constant observation.” Louis’s English was heavily accented, and he pronounced the “s” with greater emphasis than necessary.

  “I’m sure he has a good reason for that.”

  “Yes, a reason to charge us an arm and a leg. But, oh, well . . . Now, what do you need?”

  “I just wanted to see how my old friend is doing.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Louis, it’s true.”

  Louis groaned. “You’re such a bad liar; I don’t know how you can be a secret operative.”

  “Lucky, I guess, but you’re close to me, and you know me.”

  “So, again what do you need?”

  “I need to get out of town. Room for three, plus one guest. Air way. Urgent.”

  “You’re asking for a miracle, Javin.”

  “From a man who performs them regularly.”

  “To where?”

  “Damascus.”

  “Dream on, my friend.”

  “No, Louis, I’m serious. I need you to do this for me.”

  Louis let out a deep sigh. “I’ll see what I can do. It’s not going to be today for sure. And needless to say, it’s a gigantic favor; the greatest.”

  “I’ll owe you big time,” Javin said, although he knew that Louis would be indebted even after taking care of Javin’s request.

  “I’ll pull some strings; twist some arms, as you say. No promises.”

  “No, never. Just results.”

  “Exactly.”

  Javin drew in a deep breath. “There’s another matter I wanted to bring to your attention.”

  “You’re sounding all serious, Javin.”

  “Because it’s a serious matter, Louis. It’s something that happened during the attack against your station.”

  “Yes, what happened?”

  “It was near the end of the firefight. Three operatives moved against the shooter hidden behind a black Chevy.”

  “Yes, yes, I read their report. The shooter went for his weapon, and one of the agents shot him.”

  “That’s what they said? It’s . . . it’s incorrect, Louis.”

  “Oh, how so?”

  “The operative shot the disarmed gunman in the back of the head. Point blank. Execution-style.”

  “Javin, do you realize what you’re saying?” Louis’s voice had turned icy cold.

  “I do. I thought you needed to know.”

  “Well, now you told me.” Louis’s voice rang with a dismissive tone.

  “That’s . . . that’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know what I saw, Louis.”

  “And I know what I read, Javin. I have the written testimony of three long-serving operatives, compatriots. They were there, eyewitnesses. The shooter was reaching for his rifle, so he could kill the operatives. They reacted in self-defence, as trained, and as expected.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “It’s the official version, and it’s not going to change. Unless you have other evidence besides your claims . . .”

  Javin shrugged. This conversation was going nowhere, and he did not see the point of pressing any further. “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, in that case, this is no longer your concern.”

  Javin shook his head. “All right, Louis. Give me a call when the plane’s ready.”

  “Of course, Javin. Be safe now.”

  “Yes, you too.”

  Javin ended the call as a feeling of disappointment washed over him.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Five miles south of Damascus International Airport

  Damascus, Syria

  Louis was able to secure Javin’s team a flight the next day. It was a small Dash 8 airplane powered by two turbo-prop engines. The airplane was flying to Syria on behalf of Charité Sans Frontières, or Charity Without Borders, one of the many humanitarian organizations helping with the refugee crisis spreading across the area. After the terrorist attack against the DGSE station in broad daylight and in the heart of Istanbul, which the Turkish authorities had failed to stop or even intercept, they were bending over backwards to appease the French. The plane was loaded without any delay, and the Turkish customs officials barely cast a cursory glance at the cargo.

  Nonetheless, Javin and his team had taken measures to lessen the risk of being identified by any overzealous official. Javin had gotten a short-cropped haircut and had dyed his hair strawberry blond. He had also shaved his full beard, leaving just a thin doorknocker-style beard. He kept his Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses on at all times. Claudia had tied her hair in a ponytail, and wore a headscarf and dark sunglasses.

  Louis’s Personal Documentation Specialists Team had created IDs for everyone, which identified them as French citizens and personnel of the non-profit organization. Besides his own newly minted French passport, Javin also held the one that the DGSE team had created for Ajaz. He had been drugged and placed in one of the large crates supposedly carrying medical supplies. Javin made sure the crate was loaded slowly and carefully onto the plane, so that the “fragile cargo” would not be damaged.

  During the three-hour flight, Javin and Claudia sat next to a six-member team of real doctors and nurses from the humanitarian organization. While Claudia could hold her own and have deep conversations about diseases, treatments, and advances in the medical field, Javin felt out of his depth. He claimed he was a mid-level administrator, going to Syria for some vague audit of expenditures for the organization. One of the doctors had some sharp questions about lack of funds and delayed payments for local vendors. Javin had anticipated most of the questions. Both he and Claudia had spent a few hours the previous day going over Charité Sans Frontières’ records and had become familiar with the organization’s policies, practices, and problems.

  When the aircraft was about an hour away from Damascus, Javin went to the cargo compartment beyond the galley and the locked door, to wake up Ajaz. One drug to send him to sleep and another one to wake him up. Javin did not have to say much to convince Ajaz of the need to keep his mouth shut. If Ajaz turned them in, he was going to land in a mountain of trouble. While Javin and Claudia were covered to a large extent by their diplomatic immunity, Ajaz had no such protection. Once the Syrian authorities discovered Ajaz was a Turkish intelligence agent, it would take a miracle to get him out of their hands alive.

  Going through the Syrian customs was as hard as Javin had anticipated. The chief inspector went through all their paperwork with extensive scrutiny. He asked many pointed questions that made Javin twirl on the inside. A single out-of-place detail on any of the documents would compromise the entire team and their operation. Javin knew of many situations where operatives had been burned because of a small oversight. A date or number that raised suspicions, and the entire structure could come crumbling down.

  It did not happen.

  When they exited the airport terminal, Javin and his team said their goodbyes to the medical personnel. The latter were heading toward the northern part of the country, while Javin’s team had business in Damascus.

  Saif, the CIS local operative, was waiting for them in a grayish old-model Land Rover Defender. He had parked near the furthermost corner of the parking lot, near a gas station. The box-shaped, five-seater off-road vehicle was covered in dust with a thin mud crust caked on its sides. The vehicle looked battered, to give the impression that it was not worth much. No self-respecting thief would ruin his reputation by stealing it. But the Land Rover’s doors, windows, and engine compartment were reinforced to withstand 7.62mm caliber assault rifle fire. That was the caliber of the notorious Kalashnikov assault rifle, and Syria was awash with those kinds of weapons.

  Saif did not step out of the Land Rover, but lowered the window just a crack when Javin came around. “You’re late,” Saif said in a low voice, with a clear tone of impatience.

  “We hit some turbulence in a couple of places,” Javin replied i
n a warm tone. “How are you?”

  “All right. How’s everything?”

  “It’s good. We’re ready to go.”

  “Give me the address.”

  “I have to call Erkan.”

  “Do it as we drive.” Saif rolled up his window.

  Javin climbed into the back behind Saif.

  Claudia, who had already gotten into the front passenger seat, said, “How are things going, Saif?”

  “Things were quiet, until two days ago.” Saif put the Land Rover in gear and drove out of the parking lot.

  Javin stifled a concerned frown that began to form on his face. Saif had been informed two days ago about the situation developing in Istanbul and Damascus, when he had been assigned to this operation. It was then that his quietness had been shattered.

  Claudia sighed and looked out the window.

  Javin glanced at Ajaz, who was sitting in the middle of the backseat, with Zeki on the other side. Ajaz’s face was twisted in a grimace as if he were in deep pain. He might soon be if everything went according to Erkan’s plan.

  Saif turned left onto Damascus Airport Motorway, which would take them to the city about twenty miles to the north.

  The village of Al-Ghizlaniyah was on their right, but Javin ignored it along with the small swaths of arable land surrounded by wide stretches of semi-desert. He pulled out his phone and dialed Erkan’s number.

  Erkan replied right away. “Pierce, where are you?” His voice was loud and with a sense of urgency.

  “Just arrived in the city. You want to give me your location so—”

  “I’m no longer in Damascus.”

  “Our plan was for you to wait until—”

  “I had to leave. That’s why I said twenty-four hours. Otherwise, they would kill me.”

  “They? Who are they?”

  “State security. Do I have to spell it out for you, Pierce?”

  “Yes, so we can be clear about what’s going on. Where are you?”