Deception

by Ethan Jones

  Javin didn’t mind.

  On the contrary, he welcomed having to overcome an obstacle before he came close enough to the house. If something went wrong, he could hopefully contain the damage, and the old man would be none the wiser.

  The CIS operative advanced along the sidewalk, using parked vehicles and trees for cover. He didn’t walk too close to the houses’ meticulous lawns, to avoid accidentally triggering motion detectors. He stayed the best he could away from the streetlights and intersections.

  When he was two houses southeast of the target house, Javin noticed a man standing near a dark SUV parked at the curb, in a direct line of sight to the target house and just across from it. The guard was dressed in a dark suit and a white shirt and was looking at something that had a dim glow in his hands. A phone or another kind of electronic device.

  Javin dropped behind a small sedan parked across the street. He looked at the SUV. He couldn’t see anyone inside but also couldn’t be certain. He aimed his pistol at the guard’s chest. At a distance of about thirty meters, he was an easy shot. But Javin didn’t want the guard dead. He was more valuable to the CIS operative alive.

  He drew in a deep breath and stood up. He held the pistol firmly in his right hand as he bolted toward the guard. Javin’s running shoes thumped on the street’s asphalt, drawing the guard’s attention. It took him a second to realize what was going on.

  It was a second too long.

  Javin had crossed half the distance. He kept the SUV in his peripheral vision, in case the guard’s partner jumped out.

  No one did.

  The guard must have realized he wouldn’t be able to draw his weapon before Javin tapped the trigger. So the guard raised his hands and took a step closer to the SUV.

  “Don’t move,” Javin said in a firm whisper. “Keep your hands up.”

  The man cast a harsh glance at Javin but did as he had been told.

  Javin stopped when he was six steps away from the guard. The CIS operative kept the sound suppressor’s muzzle aimed at the guard’s face. “Down, get down.”

  The guard kept his hands spread out as he dropped to his knees.

  Javin twisted the guard’s arms behind his back and handcuffed him with a pair of white zip ties. The guard struggled for a moment, but Javin jammed the suppressor’s muzzle in the guard’s neck. “Don’t even breathe. I’ll blow your head off, and they won’t even hear the pop…”

  The guard stopped fighting back.

  Javin quickly cleared the SUV, then returned to the guard and removed a Heckler & Koch VP9SK 9mm pistol from the guard’s shoulder holster. He also took the guard’s phone and asked in a low voice, “What’s the code?”

  “What?” the guard replied.

  “Shhhh, the alarm code?”

  “Alarm code?”

  “Yes, the digits you punch to turn off the house alarm.”

  “I don’t know them.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, I’m telling the truth.”

  Of course you are. Javin had no time to extract the truth out of the guard. If one of his partners called, and he didn’t answer, Javin would lose the advantage of surprise.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  “Okay,” he said to the guard, then pulled out a couple of rags from the knapsack he had on his shoulders. He gagged the guard and said to him, “Stay down, and you’ll be fine. I don’t want to see you again. Got it?”

  The guard mumbled something inaudible but still too loud for Javin’s liking. He stuffed another rag deep into the guard’s mouth, then shut his mouth with a couple of strips of heavy-duty duct tape. Lastly, Javin used another pair of zip ties on the guard’s ankles. He might be able to free himself with a great deal of effort, but it would take a few minutes. Enough time for Javin to reach the house and complete his operation.

  He turned and looked at the red brick house about thirty meters away. Javin held his pistol up and dashed toward the main entrance. He jumped over the low black wrought-iron gate, came to the front steps, and climbed them quickly. He reached the large wooden door and listened.

  No noises from inside.

  The second guard has to be in the back.

  He made some quick calculations. He had been able to secure the blueprints of the house. There was a bedroom near the back of the house and another on the second floor. Where does he sleep? Javin would have only seconds before the second guard barged in with his guns blazing. The old man also might be armed. Let’s make sure we do this right.

  He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand brushing against the bulletproof vest, and pulled out his phone. He dialed the number of Charles Sawyer, the former MI6 Deputy Director for Counter-Terrorism and listened. A few seconds passed, then Javin heard the ring coming from inside the house. He looked through the window at Sawyer walking through the hall and toward the study, which was also at the back of the house, across from the bedroom. The man must have been awake for a while, because he was dressed in a brown-flecked and lined tweed jacket, white shirt, and black slacks.

  Javin aimed his pistol at the window and fired a quick burst.

  The large glass panel shattered.

  Javin jumped through the still-falling shards. He ran across the front living room and stopped when he came near the hall. He stepped back and began to clear the corner. As he came out into the open, a bullet hit him in the lower part of the chest.

  The bulletproof vest lessened the pain but not by much. Javin lost his balance for a moment and leaned against the wall. He took a shallow breath, his lungs searing in pain. Still, he was able to tap the trigger of his pistol and fired at Sawyer, who was standing near the door of his study. Javin’s bullet struck Sawyer’s gun-holding arm right above the elbow. The pistol fell from his hand.

  A gunman in a gray suit burst in through the back door. He had a submachine gun pointed at Javin.

  Javin had expected him and had already turned the pistol in that direction. He fired a couple of rounds into the gunman’s legs. He collapsed onto his back and the submachine gun flew out of his hands. “Stay down,” Javin shouted and swung his pistol at Sawyer.

  He was reaching for his gun, so Javin fired a round. It splintered the hardwood floor a couple of inches away from Sawyer’s bony hand. “Don’t do it,” Javin shouted.

  Sawyer stepped back and away from the gun.

  Javin’s eyes went to the guard struggling to get to his submachine gun. He was ignoring the wounds and the pain he must be experiencing. Javin admired the guard’s sense of duty and responsibility and didn’t want to kill him. But he couldn’t have the constant threat to his exposed back.

  “Come here, hurry,” he shouted at Sawyer.

  The frail man shuffled toward the hall. When he got there, Javin gestured for Sawyer to face the wall and keep his hands up as much as he could. It seemed he could barely control the right arm, and blood was oozing from the wound. Javin patted him down and found no weapons. Keeping an eye on Sawyer, the CIS operative stepped to the guard and took his submachine gun. The guard had no other weapons, so Javin took the guard’s phone and said, “Stay here, and you’ll live.”

  “You’re not getting away with this,” the guard shouted back.

  Javin stood up. “Get in the study.” He gestured with the submachine gun to Sawyer.

  He walked in front of Javin and entered the spacious study. He sidestepped the pistol on the floor and sat in an overstuffed crimson armchair near the wood fireplace. Beautiful flames were dancing, and the fire spurted with soothing sounds. The walls were painted a deep red color, almost burgundy, and the room was furnished with dark antique furniture, lit only by the crackling fire and a lamp on Sawyer’s side table.

  Javin stood four steps away from Sawyer. Half his hair was gone, and he had cut the rest of his thin ashen hair in a short-cropped style. He gave Javin a look full of venom. The former MI6 deputy director’s small brown eyes cast a defiant gaze at Javin. “Do what you came to do,” he spat out his word
s. “And do it quickly.”

  Javin smiled and sat in the armchair across from Sawyer, which had a clear view of the door. He wasn’t expecting the wounded guard to burst in, but the silent house alarm had already been activated. Javin had maybe three minutes, if he was lucky. He glanced at his wristwatch and said, “I’m not here to kill you, so you can relax.”

  “So, what do you want then?”

  “I want to know: Why are you trying to kill me?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “It might be, but I want to hear it from you.”

  Sawyer sighed and shrugged. “It’s payback. You killed two SAS soldiers, brave, courageous men, who left behind wives and children…”

  “Brave men sent against a friendly force, Canadian operatives,” Javin said.

  Sawyer waved his bony hand in a dismissive gesture. “Who were working with Syrian terrorists…”

  Javin said nothing. He hadn’t come here to argue with Sawyer. “Is that the only reason?”

  He was asking to see if Sawyer would reveal something concerning Fox and the reopened inquiry about his suspicious death of a heart attack.

  “Why, do I need more than spilled blood?”

  “You tell me. This is the moment of truth…”

  “That’s all the truth you need…”

  “Fair enough,” Javin said.

  He looked at the submachine gun trained at Sawyer’s chest. Then he brushed his hand over the hole in his jacket and showed Sawyer the bullet still lodged in the bulletproof vest. “You tried to kill me, again. This is the last time you’re coming after me.”

  Sawyer’s face kept his stoic gaze.

  Javin said, “I want this to be over. I’m sorry about the SAS soldiers. We had no idea who they were, and I’m sure they didn’t know they were attacking Canadian operatives. I can’t bring them back, but we, you and I, can stop more bloodshed.”

  Sawyer said nothing.

  Javin glanced at his watch again. Two minutes. “Your life for my life. A fair deal. I’ll walk through that door, and you’ll never see me again. And I hope I’ll never see or hear from you…”

  Sawyer thought about his reply for a moment, then said, “Is that all?”

  “Almost all. I need a favor as part of this deal.”

  A grin started to appear across Sawyer’s face, but he said nothing.

  “You’re a man of influence, and the world listens to your voice. I want Yael’s release, right away, and without any conditions.”

  “You’re asking for a lot.” His voice came out sharp, then he winced and glanced at the blood-dripping wound.

  “Your life is worth a lot.” Javin stood up. “You can have that wound patched in a few moments.” He tipped his head toward the door. “And your guard will live. This… this entire mess will be over. But only if you want it.”

  Sawyer said nothing but held Javin’s gaze.

  “You have ten seconds to make a decision,” Javin said. “It shouldn’t be that difficult…”

  He began to count the seconds in his mind.

  It was clear that Sawyer was contemplating his only two options. He had locked eyes with Javin, but the CIS operative couldn’t read the former MI6 deputy director’s face. He had a blank expression as if he didn’t care about what Javin did or didn’t do.

  Javin wondered if he’d actually tap the trigger if the old man refused. He was far from innocent, going as far as shooting Javin in the chest less than five minutes ago. What if Sawyer’s bullet had struck Javin in the head? Still, would he kill an unarmed man?

  “Time’s up.” Javin pointed the submachine gun at Sawyer. “What is it?”

  Sawyer stared at Javin for another moment, then broke eye contact. He sighed and waved his left hand. “You have a deal, Pierce…”

  Javin heaved a sigh of relief. “Make the call.” He pointed at a phone on the side table by Sawyer’s armchair. Then Javin backtracked toward the study’s door and picked up the pistol. He removed the magazine and cleared the pistol’s chamber. He tossed them on the floor and looked at Sawyer. “You’re a man of your word, Sawyer. Don’t betray my trust.”

  The expression on Sawyer’s face was heavy and resigned. “It’s over, Javin. You don’t have to run…”

  “They don’t know about our deal.” Javin smiled and took a couple of steps toward the door. “And there’s still the little issue about the shootout at Finsbury Park…”

  “You’re on your own about that one…” Sawyer grinned.

  Javin nodded. “Of course I am. So long, Sawyer.”

  “Don’t get shot, Pierce.”

  Javin stepped into the hall. He looked at the guard wincing and panting, then turned his head toward the front. Nothing. He moved fast past the guard without so much as a second glance and bolted through the back door. He tossed the submachine gun to the side, scaled the grayish brick wall at the back, and darted through the backyard of the next house. Thankfully, no motion-detector lights flashed around him.

  He doubled his speed when he came to the sidewalk, running as fast as he could, then cutting through a small park. He looked over his shoulders a few times but didn’t see or hear anyone chasing him. No police sirens slicing through the cool night air.

  He slowed down when he came to the edge of Primrose Hill Public Park. He looked around but didn’t see anyone wandering the park’s grounds. Javin turned into Elsworthy Terrace, then continued on Elsworthy Road until he came to one of the larger streets in the area, Primrose Hill Road.

  He stopped to gather his bearings and look for a taxi. He didn’t see anyone, so he decided to continue north. When he reached King Henry’s Road, he pulled out his phone and called Bateaux.

  His boss answered in a loud, angry, primordial tone. “Pierce, what are you doing in London?”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  King Henry’s Road

  London, United Kingdom

  Javin didn’t ask his boss how he had figured it out. Bateaux knew full well how Javin operated, especially when it came to saving the lives of those he cared about. Or perhaps the Bahrainis had told him, or the NSA had tracked his phone. No matter what it was, the truth was that Javin had been caught red-handed. It was time to face the music. “I’ve got a deal to get Claudia back.”

  “Oh, so now you are running the show?”

  “No, far from it. I’m just doing what I can—”

  “No, Pierce, you’re doing what you were told not to do. I gave you clear orders to wait in Brussels, not to infiltrate London and cause new problems.”

  Javin shook his head. A taxi turned into the intersection, but he refrained from flagging it. He wanted to complete the conversation with his boss. “It’s nothing like that.” He spoke fast, anticipating Bateaux might cut him off at any time. “I talked to Sawyer. He agreed to stop hunting me down and convince MI6 to hand over Yael.”

  “Pierce? Are you out of your mind? I ordered you to stay away from London, but instead of listening, not only do you go back, but you also confront Sawyer? Why?”

  Javin didn’t reply right away. He wished he could freely say what came into his mind, but his boss sounded like he was already at the end of his rope. Javin sighed, then said, “I didn’t confront him. I made him call off his dogs chasing after me. I was tired of having a bull’s-eye on my back.”

  “I was working on that, Pierce. I had it covered.”

  Yes, well, not soon enough. “Just trying to help and get Claudia—”

  “That too was covered, and we were so close. Now the Brits are again outraged, asking for your head. Pierce, you’re playing with fire here…”

  “Sir, with all due respect, I couldn’t leave Claudia in the—”

  “You don’t seem to get it, Pierce. No one was abandoning Claudia, but we’re working in the background, trying to get things resolved quietly, peacefully, without causing more damage. We’re not in the business of sticking it to our allies, or mocking them, showing how we can enter their home, make a mess all over the p
lace, and get out without the slightest care. We can’t do that, Pierce. We just can’t.”

  Javin said nothing, because nothing he could say would change his boss’s mind. Perhaps I overstepped, he thought. It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens to me, it was worth it. Yael will go back to Mossad, and I’m sure she’ll land on her feet. And Claudia will come back home.

  “Javin?”

  “Yes, still here. I’m listening…”

  “Oh, now you’re listening… Well, listen carefully, then. Head over to our embassy and wait there. Don’t do anything else, don’t call anyone while you’re going there, don’t shoot anyone or anything, and, God forbid, don’t kill anyone. Is that clear, Pierce?”

  “It is, but before I do that—”

  “What, what is it now?”

  “Yael, how is she?”

  Bateaux didn’t answer right away. “I wish you hadn’t asked. Yael … she died.”

  Javin almost dropped his phone. “What? When did it happen?”

  “About an hour ago. She succumbed to her wounds…”

  Javin cursed out loud, then kicked a newspaper stand set next to the streetlight at the intersection. He shook his head at the unbelievable news. He knew Yael had been gravely wounded, but he had hoped she’d come back. Oh, Yael, I’m… I’m so sorry.

  Bateaux continued, “So, it was all for naught, Pierce. If you had only waited a couple of hours…”

  Javin shook his head. He wanted to let his boss have it, but nothing good would come from his blowing off steam. He’d feel better for sure, for the moment, but the damage would be irreversible. If it’s not already. Even worse, if he spoke his mind, Javin would be revealing his hand. He wasn’t going to do that. And he wasn’t going to give up. He shook his head again. Yael’s blood will be avenged. Along with the Qatari aide, these people will not escape justice…