Deception

by Ethan Jones

“I haven’t tried it.”

  “Why don’t you try it?”

  “I’d rather we finish talking business first.”

  Fakhry shrugged. “The targets will be leaving tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “It’s still unclear at the moment, but it appears they’re going to Manama, Bahrain.”

  “How long are they staying there?”

  “Not sure.”

  “You don’t have much.” His voice rang with a tone of accusation rather than just a statement.

  “It’s enough to give you direction,” she said curtly, losing some of her calmness.

  “I already have direction. I know what to do, and I’m capable of doing it.”

  “I have very specific orders, Tom. My boss is very particular about this job.”

  Murphy didn’t like the mention of his name. Only friends called him “Tom,” and this woman was definitely not his friend. He thought about calling her by her first name. She had never given him her name, but Murphy had done his homework. He had discovered who she was, but her boss was still hidden behind a thick wall of secrecy. No matter how hard Murphy tried, the man—or perhaps it was a woman, although Fakhry had always referred to her boss as a man—remained as elusive as a ghost.

  “Yes, extremely particular. Has he made a decision?”

  “About?” Fakhry cocked her head.

  “How he wants it done…”

  “I’ve already told you that. He wants it to look like an accident. Not a car accident, though. Those are investigated in such great detail that eventually signs of foul play come to light…”

  Murphy nodded. “Yes, we’ve discussed that. I have a plan for it. But I was asking whether your boss wants them eliminated at the same time?”

  “Oh, I see. Yes, same time.”

  Murphy frowned. “An accident that takes the lives of two well-trained, experienced operatives at the same time? He’s not asking for much…”

  Fakhry returned the frown. “You said you could take care of this, and you’re going to be paid very well. Now, is there going to be a problem?”

  Murphy didn’t reply right away. He reached for his latte and took a sip. It was delicious, but he couldn’t enjoy it until he had wrapped up his conversation with Fakhry. He said, “There will be no problem, as long as there are no other complications…”

  Fakhry gave him a confused look with arched eyebrows. “I don’t understand…”

  “No more changes to the plan.”

  “I can’t guarantee that. I do what I’m told, and so do you.”

  “Well, not for long.” Murphy gave her an intense look. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not pulling out. But the more things change, the harder it is to get this right.”

  “I see.” Fakhry sipped her coffee. “Make plans to go to Manama. Be there no later than tomorrow evening. Stay at this hotel.” She reached for the folder, removed a sheet of paper, and handed it to Murphy. “Someone will meet you with the targets’ location. Be ready to act on short notice.”

  Murphy glanced at the paper, memorized the name and the address, and returned the paper to the woman.

  She asked, “Any questions?”

  “No, not at the moment.”

  “Okay.” Fakhry stood up. “This will be our last meeting, hopefully.”

  Murphy got to his feet as well. They didn’t shake hands, only exchanged cold, polite nods.

  The former CIA operative watched her walk away, then returned to his seat. He sipped the latte and drew in a deep breath. Pierce, it’s been a long chase, but it will soon come to an end…

  Chapter Seven

  The Pearl Hotel, Al Annabi Street

  Al Rayyan, Qatar

  “She… she must have meant a lot to you.” Yael sat on the sofa next to Javin.

  He gave her a look full of sorrow. His lips were pursed, and his shoulders had slumped. He shook his head. “It’s… it was so unexpected, but… who ever expects death?”

  “Who… who was she, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Javin shrugged. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not ready to talk about her.”

  “No problem.”

  “I understand you’re trying to help, and I appreciate that. I really do.”

  “If you want to talk, I’m here.” Yael sat back on the sofa.

  Javin nodded. He let out a deep sigh and drew in a deep breath. He said, “Should we try to talk to your boss?”

  “I called him while you were on the phone. I got the voicemail. We’ll try again in a bit.”

  “What’s the likelihood of getting support from Mossad’s agents in the Emirates?”

  “One of them is a good friend, so I texted him. No reply yet.”

  Javin shrugged again. He stood up and walked to the window. He wanted to do something, anything, to get his mind away from the bad news about Mila.

  Yael noticed his frustration. She flicked back her long blonde hair, then said, “Do you want to go out?”

  “We should stay off the streets.”

  “We can be downstairs at the café. Or out in the back alley.”

  Javin shook his head. “It’s better if we stay inside. But I’ll call Claudia and give her an update.”

  “Is she back?”

  “She should be.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s been half an hour since I called her. Claudia said her meeting was supposed to be over in a matter of minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you talk to her. I’ll be in the other room.”

  He dialed her number, and Claudia answered after the second ring. “Javin, I was just about to call you.”

  “How did the meeting go?”

  She sighed. “It was mostly a waste of time. The two men had a ‘hunch’ about the man being the Kazakh scientist, but they couldn’t be certain once I showed them his picture. They had met Dr. Niyazov two years ago during a conference in Moscow but had lost contact. One of them, the Italian physicist, said that he believes he saw Dr. Niyazov in passing at the Rome Fiumicino Airport a week ago. He only remembered that detail after watching the news about the two scientists who disappeared and the death of one of them in Athens. That’s when he called the police.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “A taxi driver the police identified as possibly being hired by the doctor to take him to a hotel in downtown Rome. But the dates don’t match. The Italian physicist places the doctor at the airport on a different date than the cabbie. And there’s no record of the doctor ever staying at the hotel where the cabbie claims he dropped him off.”

  “Camera recordings?”

  “Nothing. And there are no records of his ever flying and no video of his ever being at the airport…”

  “Could it be that someone is erasing their tracks?”

  “I suspect that. But who?”

  Javin told her about the conversation with the aide of the Qatari prince and the series of events that had followed. When he finished, Claudia asked, “So, this rainy place. Is it London?”

  “That’s a good guess, but we’re not certain. Even if we knew it was London, there’s no way to narrow it down any further. We’ll have to find Shinwari and then get the intel about the physicist from the prince’s man.”

  “Okay, so where do I meet you in Manama?”

  “We still don’t have a flight. I’ll have to call you once we’ve made arrangements and once I’ve heard more from Al-Attiya. But head out to Bahrain ASAP.”

  “Yes, right away.”

  Javin sighed, then said, “Now, I… eh, I’ve got some bad news about Mila.”

  “Oh, no, what happened?”

  He told her about the call and Mila’s passing. Claudia tried her best to comfort Javin, but her words didn’t help much. He felt like he was talking about someone else. “I… I don’t know how to feel, what to feel… or what to do…”

  “Well, there’s not much to do. Since the
re’s no funeral, and her cremation ceremony will be private, I just don’t see how you can be there.”

  “Perhaps I can call her family, express my condolences…”

  “That would be a good idea, and they’ll appreciate it. I’m sure it will bring you some closure as well. And you know how to find those numbers…”

  “Yes, I can find them.”

  “You can also send a flower arrangement, but there’s not much more you can do.” Claudia paused for a moment, then said, “But, Javin, have you talked to Liberty?”

  “Not yet. I just heard about what happened a few minutes ago…”

  “I get that, but don’t delay. In a sense, this is a good thing.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. You don’t think so?”

  Javin sighed. “It depends on how you see it.”

  “And how do you see it?”

  “I’m not sure at this point. I need some time to think, think clearly. Then, I’ll call Liberty.”

  “Okay, as long as you do it tomorrow.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Twenty-four hours, Javin. That should be enough time to make a decision. Liberty has been waiting for a long time. It… it might already be too late.”

  Javin clenched his jaw. He didn’t like what Claudia was saying, but it was the truth. He sighed again, then said, “I’ll … I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “Good decision. Anything else?”

  “Not at this point. I’ll let you know if we have any new intel from Mossad or our agency.”

  “Sounds good. See you in Bahrain.”

  “Yeah, have a safe flight.”

  “You too.”

  He ended the call and stood up. He walked to the window and moved one of the cream-colored blinds to the side. A bright glow came from the advertising boards and the lights of a couple of tall office towers across the street. A stream of vehicles rushed through the busy intersection. The world keeps going… Cold, indifferent to Mila’s death… He shook his head. Will it… will it be like this when I leave this world? Will any of these people care? Probably not.

  He cursed under his breath and tightened his fists. Why do I care if they’re safe or not, if they don’t care if I live or die?

  “Javin, what’s going on?”

  Yael’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. He drew in a deep breath, then said, “Nothing, just thinking. Claudia didn’t have anything new. The Italian angle led nowhere.”

  “I got a couple of texts from my team. One of our assets from the Emirates will meet us in Manama…”

  “Is he an Israeli?”

  “No, he’s Emirati, but he can be trusted. He’s worked for us for over a year. Always gave us accurate intel. Never said no to a mission.”

  “Great,” he said in a tired voice. “Let’s schedule our flights now…”

  “I can take care of that. Why don’t you go lie down and rest? We’ve had a long day—”

  “I’m not tired, so I don’t think I can sleep.”

  “Then just rest. No point in both of us being awake. I’ll take the first guard shift. Then, you can take over at two or three in the morning.”

  Javin wanted to object, but a wave of exhaustion washed over his body. He stifled a yawn but not before Yael noticed it. “You’re not tired at all.” She covered a yawn and smiled.

  “I’ll go. Wake me up at two.”

  “Sure thing. Good night.”

  Yael placed her pistol on the kitchen counter next to her coffee cup. “Yes, let’s hope it’s quiet…”

  Chapter Eight

  The Next Evening

  Grand Gulf Hotel, Adliya District

  Manama, Bahrain

  Murphy received the information about Javin’s and Yael’s location in Manama as soon as he arrived at the Bahrain International Airport. A thin young man dressed in a white thobe approached Murphy with a stack of newspapers in his arms. “Sir, sir, read today’s news. The world is going crazy. Read the news,” he said in a high-pitched voice in English.

  Murphy tried to shrug him off. “I don’t have time for that.”

  The young man stepped in front of Murphy, blocking his path. “Look inside,” he dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “It’s important. Just for you.” The young man unfolded one side of the newspaper.

  Murphy saw a handwritten note.

  The young man winked at Murphy. “Two dollars. Only two dollars to learn what’s happening today in the world.”

  Murphy shrugged and fished a couple of banknotes from his wallet.

  “Thank you, thank you, good sir.” The young man hurried away.

  Murphy looked at the note. It read: Grand Gulf Hotel. Call this number when you get there. The digits of a cellphone number, most likely a burner phone, were scribbled underneath the note.

  Murphy frowned. It was a posh hotel, always crowded with businessmen and tourists. The area always had heavy traffic. Murphy didn’t have much time, he was working alone, and his mission demanded the deaths of the two operatives be made to look like an accident. He shook his head and cursed out loud.

  He memorized the number, tore the note to pieces, and scattered those into two different trash cans. Next, he hailed a taxi and gave the middle-aged driver the address to another hotel about five blocks south of the Grand Gulf Hotel. Murphy needed to run reconnaissance, but that also was going to be difficult. Javin knew his face, and, even though Murphy had dyed his hair black and was wearing a black baseball cap and aviator-shaped sunglasses with reflector lenses, he was sure that the talented CIS operative would recognize Murphy the first time their eyes met. If that happened, Murphy was planning to exploit their relationship to his advantage.

  It was almost eight in the evening when the taxi dropped him off in front of the hotel where Murphy wasn’t staying. He paid the driver, hoisted his backpack over his shoulder, and walked at a brisk pace toward the Grand Gulf Hotel. The warm air was dry, and Murphy’s white polo shirt began to stick to his armpits. He slowed down as he approached a donair store. The sweet aroma of roasted lamb, onions, and garlic overpowered him, and he felt hungry. He shrugged off the thought of stopping for a quick bite and pressed on.

  When he came to the hotel’s south entrance, he pulled out his phone. He removed his glasses and looked around for any sign of Javin or Yael. As expected, they were nowhere to be found. Murphy then cast a wide, sweeping gaze on all sides, this time looking for any police officer or suspicious character. Finding no one, he walked to the edge of the sidewalk, away from the entrance, and dialed the number he had memorized at the airport.

  A man’s croaky voice replied right away. “Mr. Murphy?”

  “Yes, I’m in position.”

  “You are? I… I don’t see you. Where exactly is this position?”

  “Where are you? I’ll come and find you.”

  A moment of hesitation, then the man said, “Sorry, my orders are to come and meet you.”

  “Fine. South side.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “And I’ll be here.”

  He ended the call and cursed out loud. He was getting tired of this game of smoke and mirrors. He preferred things to be simple: Here’s the enemy; kill them. But he needed the money, and he had agreed to take on this job.

  He paced in place, thinking of his employer. Murphy had tried to discover his identity by pulling in favors with a couple of old friends at the CIA. They had immediately returned his calls, asking—no, demanding—he stop that line of questioning. Their message was clear: The person, man or woman, who was ordering the elimination of Javin was a “ghost” that didn’t want to be disturbed. If Murphy didn’t stop now, there would be a new contract, this time on his head.

  He knew he couldn’t take the threat lightly. His employer knew almost every move that Javin and Yael made and had eyes, trusted eyes, almost all over the world. Murphy shrugged. Whoever this person is, they have the money and the connections. A deadly blend. I’ll just keep
my head down, do my job, head back home.

  There wasn’t much home to go to, but he had started to date a woman he had met online. They had gone out a couple of times, and he liked her. She was a fine woman who didn’t ask a lot of questions. She had a tattoo on her right biceps: a piece of barbed wire. It looked amateurish, and he wondered if it was prison ink, but he asked no questions. They had decided to take things slowly, which was fine with him.

  When he turned around, he saw a man in his thirties walking with a purposeful gait. He was holding a black duffel bag and stopped when he was a few steps away from Murphy, “Are you Mr. Murphy?”

  “Yes.”

  The man studied Murphy’s face for a long moment, as if to be absolutely certain that he had the right man, then he said, “This is for you.” He handed the bag to Murphy. “It has everything you need.”

  Murphy weighed the bag. It was probably ten pounds, somewhat on the light side. “What’s inside?”

  The man shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t ask questions…”

  Murphy read between the lines: He shouldn’t ask questions either.

  The man continued, “They’re in suite 908 and have checked in for two nights.”

  “Where are they going and when?”

  “You’ll be contacted when that inform—”

  Murphy shook his head. “No. Look, I’m tired of intel trickling in like this…”

  “That’s… I’m not the right person to complain to about that.” The man shrugged. “But if you don’t want to wait, you can find the information on your own.” He tipped his head toward the hotel’s door.

  Murphy gave the man a menacing frown. “Now you’re the man giving me orders?” His voice matched his facial expression.

  The man took a step back and raised his hands. “No, nothing like that, Mr. Murphy. I just… it was merely a sugges—”

  “Well, no one asked for your opinion.”

  The man nodded and said nothing.

  Murphy said, “Anything else you can tell me, something you were ordered to tell me?”

  The man shook his head and took another step back.

  “All right, then scram.”