by Ethan Jones
Al-Attiya said, “So you can appreciate my situation. Prince Al-Thani could be playing with fire, but I’ll be the one who gets burned…”
Yael nodded. “This makes sense, but of course, we need to check out everything.”
“Yes, yes, of course, but don’t take too long. I… I think I might be followed.”
Javin peered deep into Al-Attiya’s eyes. “But you said no one followed you?”
“Tonight, yes, no one followed me tonight, but—”
A couple of gunshots outside the restaurant cut off his words.
Al-Attiya sprang to his feet and turned around.
Javin’s hand went inside his jacket. He pulled out his Sig Sauer P320 9mm pistol and cocked it. He held it under the table and next to him so that he wouldn’t startle the patrons who were already glancing around and through the windows.
Javin wanted to believe the gunshots were unrelated to Al-Attiya and his visit to the restaurant. But his experience had taught him this was not a coincidence. The gunmen who had fired those shots were coming for Al-Attiya.
They were also coming for Yael and Javin.
Chapter Three
Morocco Nights Restaurant
Doha, Qatar
As soon as a gunman burst through the restaurant’s door, Al-Attiya pulled out a pistol from underneath his robe. It was an HK45 Tactical .45 ACP with a gold-plated grip. Javin wasn’t expecting the prince’s aide to be armed, or to be so quick in his reflexes and so brave in the face of danger. He aimed his pistol and fired a couple of rounds.
The first round missed, but the second slammed into the chest of the gunman. He flew backward through the glass door, which had been shattered by Al-Attiya’s first bullet.
Pandemonium erupted in the restaurant, with patrons screaming and crying. A few hit the floor; others remained frozen at their tables. A couple of young men threw chairs at one of the windows, smashing them and jumping through onto the sidewalk.
A second gunman raised his submachine gun, but before he could spray the room with bullets, Javin fired his pistol, double-tapping the gunman in the chest. He dropped to his knees and fell to the side, but there was no blood spurting from his body.
He was wearing a bulletproof vest.
“This way, go, go, go,” Yael pointed to the right, toward the restaurant’s back exit.
“The dogs are still alive,” Al-Attiya shouted and stepped closer to the door.
He fired a few more rounds, which slammed into the lower part of the door. They splintered the wood, but Javin wasn’t sure if the bullets hit the gunmen, who didn’t return fire.
“They’ll fire back and kill you,” Javin shouted. “Let’s go.”
He stood next to Al-Attiya for a moment, his pistol pointed at the door, then grabbed the aide’s arm. “Go, go, run.”
Al-Attiya shook his head. “We’ve got to find out who they are, what they—”
A bullet whizzed above their heads. One of the gunmen had crawled next to the windows, to the right of the door.
Javin aimed his pistol and squeezed off a quick burst. His bullets were off-target, since a couple of men were crouched next to a table, partially covering the gunman.
“We’ve got to go.” Yael was already halfway to the kitchen.
Javin dragged Al-Attiya, who let off another burst. He held his gun sideways, like a gangster in a bad music video, and, in part because of Javin’s action, his bullets didn’t hit anyone.
“Go, go, hurry.” Javin ushered Al-Attiya toward the back of the restaurant.
As they rounded the corner, bullets thumped against the red brick wall, lifting slivers and chunks behind them.
Yael was a few steps ahead of them. She reached the back door, which was already open, because the kitchen staff had scattered in panic. One of the waiters was still struggling to get his car going. Yael pointed her pistol at the man, who froze. “Get out, out,” she shouted at him.
When he did, Yael shoved him toward the back alley. “Run, run, and don’t look back.”
He nodded and broke into a sprint.
Yael slipped into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. The Chinese-made Chery Arrizo 3 coughed and spurted, but it started just as Javin and Al-Attiya opened the doors. The aide got into the front seat, while Javin jumped in the backseat. “Go, go, go,” he said to Yael.
She had already put the car in reverse, and, once she stepped on the gas pedal, the car shot out of the parking lot. Yael jerked the steering wheel and completed the turn. She switched gears and drove forward, then she turned to the left into the first street.
Javin was looking through the rear window at the parking lot, expecting one of the gunmen, or both of them, to appear at any moment.
They didn’t.
Still, he didn’t heave a sigh of relief until Yael had taken a series of turns, leaving the restaurant behind. Javin took a final look over his shoulder and listened for police sirens or any suspicious sounds. Hearing nothing, he drew in a deep breath.
Al-Attiya turned in his seat. “Who were those people?” he said to Javin.
The CIS operative ran his fingers through his brown hair, which he kept cropped in a buzz cut. “I’m not sure. I was going to ask you the same question.”
Al-Attiya shook his head, and a frown twisted his face. “Are you implying I brought them to you, to us?”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m asking if they followed you.”
“They didn’t.”
“Your men? Did they follow them?”
“No.”
“Could your men have given you up?”
Al-Attiya took a moment to process Javin’s question, then the Qatari man said, “No, of course not. They’re not traitors… They didn’t sell me out…”
“But you suspect you might be followed?”
“Yes, but as general paranoia. I’m certain no one followed me tonight.”
Yael said, “So, how did they know about our meeting?”
Al-Attiya shrugged. “Perhaps they followed you.”
“No, we made sure that didn’t happen,” Javin said.
“We’re pros,” Yael said.
“So are my men.”
Javin sighed. “Call them, if they’re still alive…”
Al-Attiya reached for his phone inside one of his robe’s pockets. He dialed a number and held the phone by his ear. “No answer,” he said after a few seconds.
He tried two other numbers. “No answer,” he said again.
Javin said, “We’ll have to figure out how this happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again. We can’t have a leak, regardless of where it’s happening.” His voice was soft and his tone agreeable. Javin and Yael needed Al-Attiya’s collaboration, and it’d pay to be in his good graces.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Al-Attiya said in a firm voice. “And you do the same…”
“By all means.”
“When are you going to start on your new assignment?”
“You mean looking for your master’s terrorist friend?” Yael didn’t hide the sarcasm in her voice.
“I don’t like your tone,” Al-Attiya said.
“And I don’t like what just happened back there.” She gestured with her hand over her shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned, that was your fault.”
Al-Attiya threw up his hands. “Typical Jewish pride. It’s always the Arabs’ fault…”
Yael shook her head. “No, not always. Most of the time.”
Javin jumped in. “Let’s just leave it there, alright?”
Yael hesitated for a moment, then offered a subdued nod. Her lips were pursed, clearly indicating her displeasure.
Al-Attiya said, “When and where are you starting?”
Javin said, “My boss will need to authorize this operation, you understand that?”
Al-Attiya nodded. “But of course.”
“If he does, I’d like to start tomorrow, in Bahrain,” Javin said.
“Why Bahrain? He’s no lon
ger there…”
“Right, but you admitted that your intel is spotty. He could be in Spain or Germany.”
Yael said, “We don’t have resources to cover both places, no matter how much your prince is willing to pay…”
Al-Attiya said nothing for a moment, then unclenched his teeth. “It will be a waste of time.”
“Maybe, but let us decide that,” Javin said. “Make arrangements for us to meet with the people who last saw the terrorist in Bahrain. I want to talk to them in person.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Javin didn’t want to argue with Al-Attiya over his noncommittal reply. He said, “And we need the location of the nuclear physicist—”
“I can’t give it to you until you deal with my prince’s situation.”
Javin shifted in his seat and looked Al-Attiya straight in the face. “Are you worried we’ll go back on our word?”
Al-Attiya nodded. “That’s exactly my worry. I’ve had bad deals with Mossad in the past.”
“Well, you’re not dealing with just Mossad here. You have my word—”
“No offense, but I need more than your word. Especially after what happened there.” Al-Attiya tipped his head toward the back, in the direction of the restaurant. “I need to see some results…”
Javin nodded. “All right. Results you want, and results you’ll have. But once we have Shinwari’s location, you’ll give up the whereabouts of the physicist. No more excuses, correct?”
Al-Attiya held Javin’s gaze for a moment. “If I agree to that, will you complete your mission of actually detaining Shinwari?”
“That wasn’t a part of our deal…”
Al-Attiya grinned. “We’re still negotiating the deal…”
Javin shrugged. “Since we’re still discussing the terms, then the prince needs to come up with more than just money. We can agree to look for and find Shinwari, but when it comes to capturing him, the prince’s men will need to finish the job.”
Al-Attiya’s face showed no reaction. “I will have to discuss that with the prince…”
“Do so ASAP,” Yael said.
“At my earliest convenience,” Al-Attiya said.
Javin shrugged. He looked through the windshield. They were coming up to Doha Expressway. “Park to the right, so we can switch cars,” he said to Yael.
She flicked on the turn signal and eased off the gas pedal.
Al-Attiya nodded. “I’ll contact you when I have the prince’s orders.”
Javin nodded. “That will set things in motion, so the sooner you get back to us, the sooner we can start…”
“And don’t forget the intel about the men in Bahrain,” Yael added.
“Rest assured that I won’t forget.” Al-Attiya gave Yael a toothy sneer.
She stopped on the side of the road in front of a grocery store, and Al-Attiya stepped outside. He nodded at Javin, then closed the door and disappeared into the night.
Javin took his seat and looked at Yael as she drove away from the curb. “What do you think?”
“I think he planned that.”
“Why would he do that? Risk his own life?”
Yael shook her head. “Don’t be naïve, Javin. There was no risk. The shooters were amateur at best. He was never in danger.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. I’ve seen this before. Al-Attiya is trying to make this situation appear more dangerous than it truly is, so that we agree to help the prince.”
“You don’t think Shinwari is capable of organizing terrorist attacks in Qatar?”
Yael shrugged. “I don’t think so. The US wouldn’t release top operatives to the Emirates. I remember reading about the Gitmo prisoners’ transfer. They were all low-level jihadists, suspected of links to the Taliban or Al-Qaeda. Those charges were never proven, and the prisoners were cleared for release by US government agencies.”
Javin nodded. “We need to find out whatever it was. These people made a big mistake putting us into their crosshairs. And they’ll pay for it…”
Chapter Four
Three Blocks South of the Morocco Nights Restaurant
Doha, Qatar
The second gunman, who was also the leader of the two-man team, grasped at his chest and ran his fingers over the jagged tears in his bulletproof vest. One of the bullets was still lodged in the small hole, three inches from his heart. The gunman pulled it out with his thumb and index finger. The bullet was half-flattened. The gunman shook his head. It must be my lucky day. He buttoned his jacket, tossed away the bullet on the sidewalk, and glanced at his partner, who was still on the phone. They were a short distance away from the restaurant, standing by their vehicle, a black Toyota SUV parked in a dark back alley, waiting for their new orders.
“The Canadian is a great shot,” the second gunman said.
“How are you feeling, Kanno?”
Kanno shook his large head. “Like I have to throw up. I might have some bruising but nothing serious. Did you get through?”
The other gunman shook his head. He drew in a deep breath, the cool night air filling his nostrils. He ran his hand over one of the SUV’s rear doors. His thick fingers found a dent made by the head of a man that the gunman had slammed into the vehicle two days ago during a vicious fight. “No, the colonel is away, on some important meeting. I’m trying his assistant; perhaps they can reach him at another number.”
Their boss was Colonel Salem Bukhari with the Saudi General Intelligence Department, or GID, the main intelligence agency in Saudi Arabia. Bukhari had insisted on an update immediately after the first phase of their operation, which they had completed successfully.
“How’s your back, Otayf?”
He shrugged. “I stopped bleeding, but I might have a slipped disk. The left shoulder still hurts…”
“It will hurt for days. I was in a similar situation last year. The pain didn’t go away for at least a week.”
Otayf cursed out loud and put the phone away. “No answer. The colonel says it’s urgent, then doesn’t pick up his—”
The ringing of his phone cut off his words. Otayf glanced at the phone. “It’s Bukhari.”
“Put him on speakerphone.”
Otayf glanced around. The back alley was empty. A constant hum came from the night traffic at the intersection a block away. He tapped a button on the phone, then moved the phone closer to Kanno, who said, “Colonel, we’ve been trying to reach—”
“Yes, yes, there was an emergency, but nothing related to you or your work in Qatar. How did the dinner go?”
“As expected. We delivered the message.”
“Was it well received?”
Kanno glanced at Otayf, who gestured with his hand at his chest, a clear sign that he wanted to speak. Kanno nodded, and Otayf said, “They overreacted at the surprise, but we recovered quickly.”
“Are you okay?”
Otayf winced as a shot of pain zipped through his back. “We’ll be okay, but we’ll have to leave right away.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
Kanno said, “No, not me. Otayf?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. The aide’s security team might become a problem.”
“In what way?” The colonel’s voice turned tense with a hint of concern.
Kanno seemed to struggle for the right word. While their conversation was over a secured line, there was no such thing as absolute security. Everyone in the intelligence business throughout the Middle East and the Persian Gulf knew that phones could and were often wiretapped as standard operating procedure. It was good practice to avoid the use of directly incriminating terms. “They were at the festivities and didn’t like our presence.”
“But they’re okay, right?” The concern grew in Colonel Bukhari’s voice.
Kanno clenched his teeth and looked at Otayf. They both had disagreed with the colonel’s plan to simply disable the security team of the aide to the Qatari prince. The Saudi operatives had insisted that their elimi
nation would send a stronger message to the Qatari royal. However, the colonel had refused to authorize such a swift escalation in the hostilities so early in their operation.
Otayf said, “Yes, sir, they’ll… they’ll be okay.”
The Saudi operatives had surprised and overpowered the aide’s guards and driver. One of the guards had resisted, and Kanno was forced to use his gun. The guard’s leg wound was minor, slightly deeper than a flesh wound. The guards and the driver had been gagged, blindfolded, and handcuffed to a chain-link fence a block away from the restaurant.
The colonel said, “And our guests, how are they doing?”
“They’re alright,” Kanno hurried his reply. “They left the party, and, as per our orders, we have no idea of their whereabouts.”
“Don’t worry about that. We know where they’re going, and we’ll meet up with them at the right time. Did they all leave together?”
“Yes, the aide, the Canadian and… the Jew.” Kanno spat out the last word as if it burned his mouth.
The Saudi operatives had clashed with their boss when it came to the fate of the Mossad agent. Both of them insisted on having her eliminated when they had the chance to “rid the earth of a Zionist pig.” But Bukhari rejected such an idea. “They will just dispatch another one, and avenge her death a hundred times over as they do,” he had said. “We’ll take care of both agents at the end of the mission. Just be patient…” Patience wasn’t the operatives’ strong point, but they knew how to accept and carry out orders.
“Do I need to explain myself again?” The colonel’s voice rang with disappointment and irritation.
He wasn’t really asking a question, but if he were, it was rhetorical, or more a demand for an explanation. Kanno knew it was useless to argue with their boss.
Otayf shrugged and shook his head. Don’t say anything, his look said to Kanno.
