Deception

by Ethan Jones

  They were getting close.

  The Andover Medical Centre was to their left, and a row of four-story apartment buildings came up to their right. These were social housing units offering struggling families low-rent accommodations. The bricks were dark brown with water stains under some of the windows. A row of shrubs lined a three-foot-high ornamental wall. The vegetation was unkempt and overgrown, spilling out on the uneven tiled sidewalk. The Iranians’ safehouse, according to Yael’s intelligence, was near the end of the complex but facing the street, just before they reached the next intersection.

  Javin looked in the rearview mirror. The Land Rover was there, about twenty meters behind them. Then the operative’s eyes began to scan everything around them: the vehicles, the passersby, and the windows, the endless rows of windows.

  When they came near the bus stop, Javin noticed a silhouette hunched inside the Plexiglas stand. He was a man in his late twenties or early thirties wearing black jeans, a brown jacket, and a tweed cap. He was unshaven and was paying a great deal of attention to the Nissan SUV.

  “Man at the bus shelter,” Javin said. “Keep an eye on—”

  “I know him,” Yael said. “He’s Mossad.”

  Javin jerked the wheel and tapped the brakes lightly, but the Nissan made a screech as it came to a halt. His eyes didn’t leave the face of the Mossad agent, who stood up and reached inside his unzipped jacket.

  “Gun, he’s got a gun,” Javin shouted and lowered his head as the agent pulled out a pistol.

  The windshield cracked as sparks erupted from the Nissan’s hood.

  Javin fired a quick burst through the windshield without raising his head.

  The Mossad agent returned fire. Bullets whizzed over Javin’s head, ricocheting around the cabin. He looked at Yael crouched low in her seat. “Why’s he shooting at us?” Javin said.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Yael said.

  “Or he doesn’t know who we are,” Claudia said from the backseat.

  “Cover me,” Javin said.

  He grabbed the handle and threw the door open with his shoulder as both Yael and Claudia squeezed off round after round. Javin dashed toward the nearest gate of the apartment complex, firing as he went. He wasn’t expecting to hit his target—and a part of him didn’t want to kill or wound the Mossad agent, even though the man was dead set on blowing their heads off—but a bullet tagged the man through the shoulder.

  Javin wasn’t sure if it was one of his bullets, but it didn’t matter. The Mossad agent dropped to his knees and scrambled for cover behind a metal garbage can next to the bus shelter. His pistol lay on the sidewalk, beyond his reach.

  The CIS operative crouched next to the ornamental wall and looked at the Nissan SUV. Both Yael and Claudia were still inside. Then Javin’s eyes went to the Land Rover stopped about ten meters behind the Nissan. Dhaif had just stepped out of the SUV when a bullet caught him in the chest. He fell against the SUV’s hood.

  Javin turned his head toward the apartment complex as bullets pinged all around him. He flattened himself against the wall as someone opened fire from a fourth-story window.

  It was the Iranians’ safehouse.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Finsbury Park

  London, United Kingdom

  A hail of bullets erupted from the Nissan SUV, the Iranians’ safehouse, and the apartment building across the street. Yael and Claudia stepped out of the SUV, then engaged the enemy firing at them. Then they disappeared on the other side of the SUV and out of his sight.

  Before Javin could do anything, a black Audi sedan rounded the left corner, driving illegally from the other direction. A man had slid his body halfway through the window and was firing a rifle at the safehouse window.

  Javin looked over the wall at the Nissan SUV. “Yael, Claudia,” he shouted.

  Gunshots erupting from all sides drowned out his voice.

  He looked at the apartment complex across the street. A man had popped up on a second-floor balcony and sprayed a volley of bullets at the Nissan SUV. Javin turned his pistol on the gunman and dropped him with a couple of center-mass shots.

  One of the Nissan’s rear doors had opened, and Claudia had crawled out on the side facing Javin. She fired a couple of rounds at the Mossad agent by the bus shelter, then she turned her pistol on the safehouse window.

  “Claudia, Claudia,” Javin called at her.

  “I’m good, I’m okay,” she shouted.

  “Yael? How is she?”

  Claudia shook her head. “Wounded, but I’ve got her.”

  “Shooters across the street. And we got help from the Audi.”

  Claudia nodded. “Saw them. They’re Mossad.”

  Javin peered over the wall. A man appeared at the shattered window. Before he could fire his pistol, Javin double-tapped the man’s forehead.

  “Retrieve the doctor,” Claudia shouted at Javin. “I’ll cover, along with them.” She tilted her head toward the Land Rover.

  “Okay.”

  Javin looked at the window through his pistol’s sight. There was no one there. Some lessons were learned fast.

  He looked over his shoulder at the Land Rover. The rear door was open, but Javin didn’t see any of the Bahrainis. He crab-walked along the wall in a crouched position, then stood up and ran through the hall leading to the back of the building.

  He stopped before he turned around the corner and listened. He thought about the Iranians’ reaction, and what he would do if he were in their situation. He stepped back and began to clear the corner, by slicing the pie—the tactic of dividing the area around a corner into equal pie-like slices—and advanced slowly around the corner.

  No one fired at him.

  He climbed up the first set of stairs and reached the second floor. He opened the staircase’s door and listened for footsteps. A few shouts and screaming but nothing else.

  Javin climbed another floor.

  When he opened the door, three men were running away from him in the dimly lit narrow hall. One of them was carrying a rifle. Javin aimed his weapon and shouted, “Stop, hey, stop.”

  The man turned around and raised his rifle.

  Javin fired a single shot that caught the man in the chest. The force of the bullet spun him around, and he fell on the dark-carpeted floor. The second man turned around and produced a pistol. Before Javin had a chance to fire his Sig, the man placed the pistol at the second man’s head, spinning him around. “Stay back, or I’ll kill him,” the gunman shouted at Javin in heavily accented English. “And drop your gun.”

  “Not gonna happen.” Javin took a few steps toward the man and kept the Sig trained at the gunman’s head.

  “I’m not bluffing. I’ll blow his head off.”

  Javin advanced toward the gunman, who was almost completely hidden behind the third man, who was larger, with a potbelly, and whom the CIS operative recognized as the nuclear scientist, Dr. Niyazov. The distance was about twenty-five meters, and Javin was a good shot. But the gunman was shifting constantly, making himself a harder target. Only a couple of inches of his face were visible at any given moment.

  “Last warning,” the gunman shouted.

  Javin glanced over the gunman’s shoulder but only for a split part of a second and said, “Okay, fine, fine. I’m putting it down. Don’t kill him.”

  He began to lower his pistol but still kept it aimed at the gunman.

  The gunman stepped to the side with a wide grin on his face and pointed his pistol at Javin.

  Before he could say a word, a gunshot erupted from the opposite end of the hall. Ziyad, one of the Bahraini operatives, had fired a round. It caught the gunman in the back, and he leaned against the wall. He turned his pistol toward the doctor, but Javin was faster on the trigger. He tapped it twice, and planted a bullet into the man’s chest and the other into his head.

  Ziyad ran toward the doctor. “Hands up. Up, or you’re a dead man like him…” He threatened the doctor with the pistol.

>   “No,” Javin said. “Leave him alone.”

  “He was with them—”

  “Yes, but he’s a doctor. And we need him alive.”

  Ziyad offered an uncertain look. “Doctor? Where’s Shinwari?”

  “Fourth floor.” Javin cocked his head. “Go, go. I’ve got him.”

  Ziyad nodded.

  Javin said, “Where’s the rest of your team?”

  “Downstairs. Men are firing from across the street…”

  “Yes, yes, okay.”

  Javin looked at the doctor, who seemed like he was going to pass out at any moment. His face had turned ashen, and his breathing made a wheezing sound. “You speak English?” Javin said in a low voice.

  The doctor nodded. “Yes, what’s going on? Who are you?”

  “That’s not important. Do you have a gun on you?”

  “No, I… I don’t know how to use one…”

  Javin still gave him the obligatory pat-down. When he was satisfied the doctor was clean, Javin said, “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Away from here.”

  He grabbed the doctor by his right arm and ushered him toward the end of the hall from where Ziyad had come. They descended the staircase, with Javin staying one step behind the doctor and covering all directions with his pistol.

  When they came to the ground level, Javin cleared the corner and looked at the Nissan. Yael and Claudia weren’t anywhere to be found, and no gunshots rang from any direction. Javin looked at the second-floor balcony across the street. It was empty. The Mossad agent who had been lying by the bus shelter was gone. Where is everyone?

  “Let’s go,” Javin said to Dr. Niyazov.

  When they stepped into the street, Javin’s eyes went to the Land Rover. A man was crouched next to the rear wheel. He raised his pistol, but then he realized it was Javin and began to lower it.

  As Javin came closer to the Nissan, he turned his head toward the entrance to the apartment building. Claudia was standing there with her back against the wall. “Claudia, you okay?”

  She gave him a tired smile and stepped out. “Yes, all good here. You?”

  “I’m okay. Where’s Yael?”

  “In the SUV. She’s not doing well.”

  “Why did you leave her?” He walked toward the Nissan with Dr. Niyazov in tow.

  “I didn’t. I patched her up, then secured a better position.” Claudia’s voice turned defensive.

  Javin looked at Yael laying in the backseat. The lower part of her shirt was ripped, and she had a wound on the left side of her abdomen. Claudia had bandaged it well, but there was still a lot of blood around it. The Mossad agent’s eyes were closed, and she looked at peace.

  “She’s unconscious,” Claudia said. “She was shot in the thigh as well.” She pointed at Yael’s left leg, where Claudia had attended to another wound right above the knee, in the inner part of the leg.

  “Let’s take her to the medical center back there.” Javin closed the door, careful not to bump Yael’s feet.

  “We can’t.”

  “If we don’t, she’ll die…” He marched toward the driver’s seat.

  “Javin, listen. We shouldn’t even be here, let alone start a war. She’ll get arrested, and the repercussions—”

  “I couldn’t care less about the repercussions. I’m not going to let her die…” He climbed into the driver’s seat. “Stay with the scientist, and when Ziyad returns, get out of here. Let’s meet at the VTG in one hour.”

  Claudia nodded. “Okay. Victoria Tower Gardens in one hour. Be safe.”

  “You too.” He put the SUV into gear, then threw it into reverse. Before driving away, Javin said, “What happened to him?” He gestured toward the bus shelter.

  “The black Audi. They took him.”

  “Were the shooters across the street Mossad as well?”

  Claudia shrugged and brushed a few of her messy hair strands from her face. “Don’t know. Haven’t checked.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just take the doc, and get out of here.”

  He listened for a brief moment as sharp sirens cut through the air thick with tension. They sounded very close, as if they were just around the corner.

  Claudia gave him a tired smile. “Ambulance.”

  “Let’s hope so. Hurry and go.”

  He stepped slowly on the gas and jerked the wheel. He completed a quick, three-point turn, then he drove toward the Andover Medical Centre a few blocks away.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Andover Medical Centre

  London, United Kingdom

  As it happened, the Andover Medical Centre didn’t provide emergency care for life-threatening wounds, like Yael’s. Still, a couple of paramedics gurneyed her inside the center, promising to stabilize her and seek further medical attention for the patient.

  Javin wanted to stay with Yael, but he was in a very difficult, uncertain position. He’d pulled into the center in a bullet-ridden vehicle, bringing in a gunshot patient fighting for her life. Someone would have already called the police, as per the standard protocol of any medical facility, and potentially other law enforcement authorities. Javin had already seen one of the security guards eyeing him suspiciously. Even if he could explain away his situation, that would only slow him down. So after giving some bogus details to one of the nurses, he excused himself, claiming he needed to use the washroom.

  He stepped outside the medical center through one of the side entrances. The Nissan was still in the front, but he had no need to return to it. He had retrieved his knapsack, which had everything he needed to survive: his passport, cash, cellphones, and his trusted Sig with two extra magazines. He had also checked to make sure neither Yael nor Claudia had left anything behind and had taken Yael’s phones.

  Four blocks south, Javin found a taxi, which drove him to the rendezvous point. Having a few minutes to spare, he walked on the promenade along the River Thames. He searched the faces of a dozen or so people meandering or sitting on the grass, looking for any suspicious characters. They all appeared to be minding their own business.

  Javin pulled out one of his burner phones and walked toward Victoria Tower. This was the tallest tower in the Palace of Westminster—stabbing at the sky at almost one hundred meters in height—and the namesake of the park. He dialed his boss, and when Bateaux answered the call, Javin stopped and said, “Hello, sir.”

  “Javin, what happened in London? The Iranians are mad, fuming mad.”

  “We went in peace, ready to make the deal, as sanctioned by you. The Iranians, of course, weren’t expecting us, but we would have announced our presence at the right time. Mossad was there already, and they opened fire as soon as we arrived.”

  “I just got off the phone with my Mossad counterpart. They claim the opposite, that you drew the first blood.”

  Javin shook his head. “That’s not what happened. We came to the apartment complex, and there was a guy at the bus stop just outside the building. We saw him, and Yael told us that she recognized him. She said he was Mossad, so we weren’t the first to fire at him. We had no reason to do so, especially after we knew who he was…”

  “Okay, so what was their reason to attack you?” Bateaux’s voice had taken on a tinge of desperation.

  “Perhaps they mistook us for Iranians. I’m sure they wouldn’t attack one of their own agents on purpose.” His voice, however, clearly reflected his suspicion.

  Bateaux had taken notice, because he asked, “You don’t sound very certain, Javin…”

  “I’m not. It’s not the first time I’ve been under friendly fire. Thank God, I wasn’t wounded. But Yael, on the other hand, she’s fighting for her life.”

  He told Bateaux what had happened to the Mossad operative and how he was forced to take her to the Andover Medical Centre. Bateaux listened without interrupting Javin, and when he was finished, his boss said, “She’s in serious trouble.”

  Javin shrugged and looked at a man reading a book at the ne
arest bench about ten steps away. He seemed fully immersed in the story. Javin cocked his head, but he couldn’t read the title of the book. Probably some enthralling spy story. He looked to his left, then to his right, as a couple of joggers zipped in front of him, then he said, “Getting caught operating in the UK is the least of her worries…”

  “Right, but we still have to deal with this mess.” Bateaux’s voice was full of exasperation.

  Javin cursed under his breath. She’s on her deathbed, Claudia and I are dodging bullets, and he’s upset because of paperwork.

  Bateaux continued, “Operating in a friendly country without their knowledge or involvement. That’s bad.”

  “Yes, but again, we didn’t cause this mess. If we hadn’t reacted, we’d all be dead.”

  Bateaux didn’t say anything for a long moment.

  Javin heard what sounded like shuffling of papers, then Bateaux said, “Where’s the nuclear physicist?”

  “With Claudia. I should meet them in a matter of minutes.” He glanced at his wristwatch.

  “And the Bahrainis?”

  “I left them at the Iranian safehouse.”

  “Have they realized you tricked them?”

  Javin frowned. He didn’t like the tone or the way his boss had framed the question. If there was any deception, it was sanctioned, authorized by Bateaux as the modus operandi. It was true that Javin had devised and recommended the plan, and both Yael and Claudia had supported that course of action. However, it was Bateaux who had authorized the operation, and ultimately, any and all responsibility fell on him.

  Javin drew in a deep breath, trying to relax. Then he bit his lip and thought about how to word his answer in such a way that he wouldn’t say something he’d regret. “Eh, no, when I left, they were unaware of our op’s real objective… I’m sure they’ll figure it out sooner rather than later…”

  Bateaux cursed a string of words out loud, a far cry from what was a normal reply from him.

  It meant the situation was truly complicated. Tell me about it, Javin thought.