Deception

by Ethan Jones

  The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  The young man sipped his tea and said nothing.

  The third man avoided Javin’s piercing eyes, staring instead at the palm tree to his left.

  Javin opened his briefcase and pulled out a couple of manila folders. “I’d like to talk about what you already know, what you have seen and heard when you were out there, working, before you decided to turn your lives around.” He spread out a couple of reports in front of him. “Perhaps we have forgotten to ask you something specific. Or perhaps as we talk, we might jog your memory to tell us something you haven’t in the past.”

  The old man ran his hand over his face, then mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “As I said, this will be a waste of time. We have already told everything we know to the NSA and also to a couple of foreign operatives.”

  “Who were they?” Javin said.

  Haram jumped in. “He’s mistaken. They weren’t foreigners—”

  “They identified themselves as MI6 operatives,” the old man cut in. “They showed us credentials, and they sounded British.”

  Haram shook his head. “That’s not true.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” The old man’s voice sounded like a demand rather than a simple question.

  Javin said, “No one is calling you a liar or doubting your words. This… this must have been a miscommunication, a misunderstanding. Now, let’s go back to the reports. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask a few questions, and you can tell me what you know, what you remember. How does that sound?”

  The old man didn’t answer. He just folded his arms across his chest.

  The two younger men remained silent.

  A tense silence reigned.

  Javin drew in a deep breath. He was afraid the damage was done. The brief confrontation between Haram and the old man might have cost them this valuable opportunity. In order to prevent loss of face, the jihadists wouldn’t admit they might have been wrong, had hidden or forgotten anything, since they had just admitted to the opposite. In the Arab society, honor was sacred and more important than facts. If you stripped a man of honor, you’ve left him with nothing. Haram, of all people, should know this. Did he do that on purpose, to sabotage our interrogation? Why would he do that?

  The CIS operative looked at Haram, then at the other guards and operatives around the yard. “How about we try something different? How about we split up and have one-on-one conversations?”

  The old man groaned. “Waste of time and energy.” He leaned over the table. “Look, we’re not hiding anything. You’re not going to hear different stories by separating us from one another.”

  “Do we even need to do this?” asked the scar-faced man. “We were beaten up when we were caught. We said we’ll cooperate—”

  “So keep doing that,” Haram said. “Listen, and answer the questions, and this will be over.”

  “What’s your name?” Javin asked the scar-faced man.

  The CIS operative knew the man’s name, but the personal touch was supposed to help build the rapport.

  “Isn’t it in your file?” The man frowned and gestured at the folders.

  Javin sighed. He glanced at Claudia, who gave him a reassuring nod. You can do this, her warm eyes told him. So Javin decided to try something different. “Yes, Mr. Fardan, Issa Fardan. What do you prefer I call you?”

  “Issa is okay.”

  “Why don’t we go upstairs, on the terrace?” Javin looked at Haram when saying the words. “We’ll look over your file, and perhaps you can help me clarify a few things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “I don’t know how much of what’s here is true. They accuse you of many things that I’m sure you didn’t do…”

  “I didn’t do any of that. I was just a taxi driver. I drove a taxi to help my family, my sick mother and my poor father. I did nothing wrong.”

  Javin nodded. “Would you help me figure things out?”

  Issa looked at the old man, who gave him a stern headshake.

  Haram noticed it and said, “Are you intimidating him?”

  The man snorted. “No, of course not.”

  “So, what are you doing? Telling him to keep his mouth shut?”

  “I’m doing nothing. I shook my head, because this is futile.”

  Javin said, “Why don’t we let Issa make that decision? He knows what happened, since he was there. I wasn’t. That’s why I’m here: I want to learn the truth.”

  The look of suspicion remained on Issa’s face, but his brown eyes lost some of their anger.

  Javin said, “Would you want to do this? Clear the name of your family…” Javin was appealing to the Arab notion of family loyalty. A person’s honor and dignity came because of their family.

  “Of course, I want to do that.”

  “Good.” Javin picked up one of the reports and his briefcase and stood up. “Let’s go.” He tipped his head toward the house.

  Issa hesitated for a moment. He looked at the old man, who said nothing and made no gestures. Issa’s eyes then went to the other associate. He offered a small nod, which was all the encouragement that Issa needed. He sprang to his feet and walked ahead of Javin into the house.

  Usman stood up as well, but Javin said, “I can handle it from this point on. We’ll be right there, on the terrace. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

  Usman looked at Haram, who gave him a nod and gestured for him to sit down.

  Javin turned to Claudia and Yael. The Mossad operative said, “We’ll continue here, and see if we get somewhere…” Her words rang shallow and without any conviction.

  Claudia nodded.

  Javin returned the nod and hurried his pace behind Issa.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jawdurayn

  Bahrain

  Issa sat at a small plastic table that was partially in the shade. He gave a disinterested look at Javin, who sat across from Issa and set a couple of folders between them. Javin opened the first one and flipped through the pages. “I’m skipping the personal details and the background, since we’re both familiar with that, and there’s nothing unclear about them.”

  Issa nodded and ran his fingers over his sweaty face. He touched the site of his scar and gave Javin a shrug of indifference.

  Javin said, “How did that happen?”

  “What do you think, smart guy?” Issa cocked his head.

  “I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking,” Javin said in a calm tone.

  “Isn’t it in the file?”

  “It is, but as I said, I don’t know how much I can believe of what’s in here. There are accusations of many things: terrorist plots, attacks, sleeper cells. I don’t think you have anything to do with any of it…”

  “I don’t. I keep saying it, but no one believes me. I was a simple driver, making a living driving a taxi. People hired me, offered to pay me money to drive them places. I asked no questions.”

  “Did you know who they were?”

  “Yes. Why, does that matter? I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t just say, ‘You work for Al-Qaeda, so get out of my taxi.’ It doesn’t work like that here or elsewhere in our world.” Issa’s voice rose to a shout, and sprays of saliva shot out of his mouth. “I couldn’t decide who I drove and who I didn’t. I didn’t care who those people were or what their plans were. I wanted no part of it; I had no part of it.”

  Javin nodded. “So, how did these things end up here?” He tossed the report over the folders.

  Issa shrugged and shook his head. “Some of that… it’s my fault. I admitted things I hadn’t done just to stop the beating. The torture…” Again, he ran his fingers over his scar. His voice cracked.

  “I understand,” Javin said softly.

  “Some of it, it’s exaggeration. The mukhabarat, they embellished their work to make it appear like they nabbed a top-level terrorist.”

  “So, you were never Shinwari’s courier?”

  “No, no, never.”r />
  “It says here that you transported articles, crates, for Shinwari or his close associates…”

  Javin glanced at the report and flipped through a few pages.

  “I did not. I might have helped Shinwari carry a few things in and out of the trunk, which is standard work for a driver anywhere in the world.”

  “Did you ever carry messages for Shinwari?”

  “No,” Issa said with a headshake.

  “Never gave his message or messages to any of his confidants?”

  Another headshake.

  “Well, whoever drafted this is badly mistaken. Thanks for clearing that up for me.” Javin closed the report, put it inside the folder, and slid it to the side. “It’s obvious that you have no business being here. I’m sure men like Shinwari used dozens of taxi drivers simply to take them from one place to the other. Where are they? Why aren’t they also here?”

  Issa’s eyes sparkled with a certain amount of relief. “That’s what I asked, but I got no answers.”

  “So, tell me what happened. What did you say and hear, the truth about what went on…”

  Issa hesitated for a moment and shifted on his seat. He opened his mouth and shook his head, seemingly uncertain where to begin. “Uh, I… there was a time that I needed money, like I said, for my sick mother and my family. It was tough, and there wasn’t much business. So, I talked to a couple of friends, who had other friends with connections…”

  “Connections to Shinwari and his network of associates?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know that at first. A man showed up one time, asking me to drive him from Manama to Jaww in the south, which is about half an hour away. It was around midnight, and he wanted to leave right away. He offered to pay very well, so I asked no questions.”

  “Did you know who he was?”

  “No… well, yes, but not at the time.”

  “Who was he?”

  “A member of Shinwari’s organization. He was low-level, and his goal was to test me, my allegiance, to see if I was going to tell anyone about the destination.”

  “Which was?”

  “A safehouse, but I didn’t know that at the time.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Nothing. He asked me to wait until morning. He was going to pay me for my time. I slept in my car. Well, I tried to sleep. Unknown to me, I was under surveillance.”

  Javin nodded. He was familiar with the story, as it was in Issa’s file. But it was good to compare it, to test the truthfulness of the young man’s words. “Go on.”

  “In the morning, I drove him back to Manama. He returned with another man. I found out later, as I suspected, that he worked with Shinwari.”

  “What did you talk about during the trip back?”

  Issa shrugged. “Nothing important. I told them about my work situation, my family. They told me they worked for a Saudi charity that helped hospitals and schools and the poor people in the country. They might need more taxi services, if I could be reliable, trustworthy, and ready to go on long trips on very short notice.”

  “And you agreed to that?” Javin said in a warm tone with a small smile.

  “I sure did.” Issa returned the smile. “Good money, steady work. What’s not to like?”

  They talked for a few more minutes about Issa’s advancement within the ranks of Shinwari’s circle of confidants. Once he had been vetted as a trusted man, Issa had begun to drive high-ranking officials of Al-Qaeda in Bahrain. Next, he was dispatched to the UAE, where he contacted Shinwari and his right-hand man. He drove the terrorist mastermind a handful of times and transported his luggage and personal belongings dozens of times.

  The more the conversation progressed, the more comfortable Issa began to feel. Javin could tell by his relaxed body language, his clear and concise replies without moments of hesitation. At some point, Javin felt it was time he could ask about Shinwari’s current whereabouts, but he needed to approach the subject indirectly. “So, what was Shinwari like?”

  Issa peered into Javin’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “What impression did he give you? What did he like? Dislike?”

  Issa thought about his answer for a moment. “He didn’t talk much. He said he liked to read, mostly Arab literature. He liked to ride horses but didn’t have much time or opportunity to do so. And he talked about the need to change the society, to return to the roots of our faith, to return dignity to the people.”

  “Did he travel much?”

  “Not as much as he’d like, because of who he was, or who people believed that he was.”

  “Did you ever take him to an airport?”

  “Eh… yes, I did.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “He went to Lebanon a couple of times, and Istanbul a few times.”

  “What did he do there?”

  “I didn’t go, so I have no idea.”

  “Okay. Did he like going there?”

  “He liked going to Istanbul.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Issa smiled. “I could tell it from his eyes. He was always excited when going to Turkey.”

  “Who did he have in Turkey?”

  “No idea.” Issa shrugged.

  “Okay. Where else did you take him?”

  Issa gave Javin a sideways glance. “Why don’t you come out and ask me exactly what you want? You want to know if I know where Shinwari is.”

  Javin held Issa’s piercing eyes for a moment. “Do you?”

  Issa stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace. “No, but I remember his talking about disappearing to Southeast Europe if there were ever trouble, and he were hunted.”

  “Why Europe?” Javin stood up as well and walked closer to Issa.

  “Shinwari was well-known in the UAE, Bahrain, and across the Gulf region. He had run into problems in Lebanon and some other Middle East countries. He described Southeast Europe as an easy place to disappear and lie low for years…”

  “Could he have gone farther than southern Europe?”

  Issa nodded and leaned against the terrace’s parapet with his hands in his robe’s pockets. “It’s possible. I remember him saying he had friends in Spain.”

  “Spain? Are you sure?” Javin asked in a voice full of doubt.

  He remembered the file Al-Attiya had given Yael and him. One of the suspected places where the terrorist mastermind could be hiding was identified as Spain.

  “Of course I’m sure.” Issa’s tone carried a hint of irritation. “He told me he had good friends in Barcelona. Friends in high places.”

  “What high places?”

  “Politicians, I suspect. Or businessmen. Shinwari had many contacts in construction, shipping, and banking. Any one of those could—”

  A spurt of blood came out of his mouth, then Issa fell toward Javin. The agent dashed forward to catch him, but the young man folded onto the terrace. A large gunshot wound appeared on his back.

  A second bullet zipped over Javin’s head, boring a hole into the wall behind him.

  “Sniper! There’s a sniper. We’re taking fire,” he shouted.

  He looked at Issa, who wasn’t moving. Javin placed his fingers against the man’s carotid artery on the right side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. He found none.

  Javin crawled to the parapet. “Fire. We’re taking fire! We’re under attack,” he shouted.

  He waited for a moment, then looked through the gap formed where the parapet met the wrought-iron railing. Two houses were about half a kilometer away, in the direct line of fire. Considering Issa’s position when he was shot and the direction of the bullets, the shooter, or shooters, could be in one of those houses.

  Javin had almost instinctively drawn his pistol, but it was useless at such a distance. He crawled along the parapet, and when he got to the terrace’s entrance, he climbed to his feet and bolted inside the house.

  When he reached the courtyard, Haram looked at Javin and said, “What happened?”

  �
�Issa’s dead. A sniper, most likely from a house right there.” He gestured with his hand to his left, beyond the wall.

  “How many shooters?” Yael asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  “At least one, perhaps more,” said Usman.

  Merza rushed inside the house along with the two former jihadists.

  “Let’s go get them.” Haram rushed toward the gate.

  He leaned against it and slowly and carefully pulled the gate open.

  Javin remained a few steps back. He hadn’t determined the shooter’s location and moreover, the man could have changed positions. Once the gate was fully open, they’d be exposed.

  Thankfully, no one fired a single shot.

  Gunfire erupted in the distance.

  Javin listened cautiously but couldn’t determine their direction. He came to the Toyota and jumped in the front seat as Haram got behind the wheel. “Ready?” he asked.

  Javin looked behind him. Claudia and Yael were climbing into the second SUV. “Ready,” he said.

  Haram stepped on the gas, and the SUV leaped forward. They drove straight for a few meters, then Haram rounded the curve and came into a small clearing.

  That’s when the bullet hit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jawdurayn

  Bahrain

  The bullet pierced the windshield and struck Haram in the neck. A spray of blood shot toward Javin. He looked at Haram as his head fell back. He lost control of the Toyota, and his hands flopped to the sides.

  The SUV headed toward the wall of the nearest house. Javin reached over and turned the steering wheel, avoiding a head-on collision. He placed his hand on Haram’s wound, but blood kept gushing out of his neck. “Help, help,” he shouted, uncertain if the rest of the team in the second SUV had taken notice.

  The Toyota came to a slow stop out in the clearing. Javin looked in Haram’s eyes. There was still life in them, but he was hanging on by a thread. Javin glanced in the direction of the houses from which the shots had come, worried that there were going to be other rounds heading toward them. Both Haram and Javin were completely exposed.