Choke Points

by Trevor Scott

  “Are you sure it was military?” he asked.

  “I know a secure bunker facility when I see one,” she said. “Obviously the Israeli leadership agreed.”

  “You think they were building nuclear storage there?”

  Pause on the other end of the SAT phone. “We don’t know. But they couldn’t take a chance.”

  “I understand. I hope you’re getting the hell out of Dodge.”

  “We are. We have a couple of more hours to Eilat.”

  Eilat sat on the extreme southern tip of the State of Israel. A port city on the Gulf of Aqaba, this was where the Sinai met Israel, Jordan and Saudi Arabia.

  “I’ve been there,” he said. “Nice beaches.”

  “I won’t be there long enough to pull out the bikini,” she said. “I’ve requested one of our jets to extract me.”

  “And Bayla?”

  She said nothing for a minute, as if she must have been glancing at her old friend driving the car. Finally, she said, “She must go back for a debrief from her friends.”

  “Why did she need you?”

  Another hesitation. He guessed she didn’t want to say anything negative about her old friend.

  Instead of answering, Sirena said, “The Sinai can be a dangerous place. Especially at night.”

  “I know. I’m guessing you have something to tell me in person.”

  “The Chinese are making moves all over the globe,” Sirena said. “We’ve already provided raw images and a video to our old Agency.”

  “I get it. Ask for forgiveness, not permission. Makes sense.”

  Neither said a word for a minute.

  Finally, she said, “You’re in Lisbon at a hotel. Is she staying with you?”

  Jake quickly explained how Carla had been burned by someone within her own organization.

  “What’s the plan?” Sirena asked.

  “We’ll keep her agency in the blind while we look into the death of our people.”

  “What do you expect to find out? It’s obviously the Chinese.”

  He knew this. But knowing the who didn’t help him with the why. That could take some legwork.

  Carla came out of the bathroom wearing a T-shirt cut off to show her tight belly, and only a pair of short black underwear. Without saying a word, she crawled into the other side of the bed and pulled the covers under her chin.

  “I’ve gotta go. Be careful out there. And let me know when Gomez can get you with a jet.”

  “Will do. I’ll go directly to Lisbon.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Sirena hung up and Jake simply stared at his phone. Then he found the recharging cord in a side pocket of his bag, plugging in his phone. By the time he went to the bathroom and got ready for bed, Carla was already breathing hard—fast asleep.

  He got into bed and turned off the light. Back in the day, he would have taken advantage of a tight young body like hers. Maybe he had evolved. Then he realized that Carla was younger than his son Karl. He was still a man, though, and that made it hard for him to get to sleep right away.

  18

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  As the clock ticked past seven p.m., CIA Director John Bradford knew that he should have been long gone from his office, but there was too much going on in the world and it weighed heavy on his shoulders. He was getting briefings on the hour from his analysts indicating operations underway worldwide.

  The Director of Operations, Tim Taylor, came in carrying a tablet with his left hand. He used his right hand to continually pull up his pants. Taylor had lost nearly thirty pounds in the last month and still had not purchased new clothes to match his new body, or a good belt to keep his pants up.

  “What’s up, Tim?” Bradford asked, leaning forward on his desk.

  The DO pulled up a chair to the edge of the Director’s desk and pulled up a series of images on his tablet. He slowly flipped through the photos as he talked and shook his head.

  “Okay, Tim. I asked you for the time, not how to build the watch.”

  “Right. Well, these images were sent to our Israel desk an hour ago from a former officer named Sirena. She must have been before my time, because I don’t know her.”

  “She retired a couple of years ago,” Bradford said. “Before that, she worked special projects.”

  “Makes sense. I was at DIA back then. Anyway, these are interesting images.”

  Bradford glanced at the images and said, “What am I looking at? It looks like infrared images of a construction site.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s it. A new port under construction near Suez, Egypt,” Tim said. “Until a couple of hours ago. Now, it’s this.” The DO swished open an image of destruction and fire.

  “Okay. A terrorist attack?” Bradford surmised.

  “Not exactly. We have word from Defense that this site was destroyed by F-35s.”

  “How can they be sure of that?”

  His Director of Operations simply smiled, and Bradford knew the answer. For the past decade, when America sold military equipment to foreign governments, the Department of Defense had the ability to keep track of all of them by GPS. It was a dirty little secret, but Bradford guessed the Israelis and others suspected the US was doing this. Their need for great fighter jets outweighed autonomy and security.

  “Okay,” Bradford said. “So, what made the Israeli Air Force bomb the shit out of a port construction site.”

  “Our people got ahold of their counterparts in the Mossad in the last hour. They’re keeping it close to the vest.”

  “The Mossad wouldn’t have acted without authority from the government. Especially the prime minister.”

  Tim shrugged.

  Bradford said, “Alright. Keep digging.”

  The Director of Operations got up and nearly lost his pants in the process.

  “And get yourself a new belt,” Bradford said.

  The DO smiled as he walked out of Bradford’s office.

  Once Bradford was alone, he pulled out his secure SAT phone and stared at it for a moment. He didn’t like to do this, but now he had no choice. Once CIA officers retired, they still had a responsibility to report what they knew about certain situations that impacted America. It seems like Sirena had done just that.

  He punched in Sirena’s private SAT number and waited.

  After a few rings, the call was answered. Bradford could hear road noises through the phone.

  “Sirena?” he asked.

  “John,” Sirena said. “What can I do for you?”

  “You sent our people some interesting photos and a nice video. What can you tell me about them?”

  Hesitation on the other end. Finally, Sirena said, “That was a Chinese military installation.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Damn right.”

  “So, you were on the ground in Suez?”

  “You could say that,” Sirena said. “Close enough to feel the blast.”

  This got Bradford thinking. What was his former special project officer doing working with the Mossad? “How is this related to what happened to you and Jake recently in the Azores?”

  “We believe it’s all related, John.”

  “Is Jake with you?”

  “No. He’s still in Portugal.”

  “This reminds me of something,” Bradford said. “The FBI got an inquiry from some Portuguese cop on Pico Island.” He found a piece of paper on his desk and then said, “A Chief Superintendent from Ponta Delgada named Armando Machado.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s looking for you and Jake. He’s talking about contacting Interpol and putting out a Red Notice on the both of you.”

  Sirena laughed. “Let him. We were attacked and forced to kill four Chinese intelligence officers. In what world are we at fault?”

  “I know. I’ll do what I can to head them off at the pass. Where are you? It sounds like you’re at a NASCAR race.”

  “Crossing the Sinai,” she said. “We ran into a litt
le problem in Suez. Other than the bombing at the Chinese base.”

  “Are you one hundred percent sure it was a military facility?”

  “I know a missile bunker when I see it,” Sirena said.

  What in the hell were the Chinese up to? “The Chinese seem to be on the move across the globe.”

  “Well, Israel has just drawn a line in the sand,” she said. “America better get its shit together.”

  He couldn’t officially tell her about the missile base they had found in the Strait of Malacca, but he had a feeling Sirena and Jake knew damn near as much as the CIA about Chinese expansion.

  “Why is Jake still in Portugal?” Bradford asked.

  “We weren’t the only security operatives in the Gomez organization attacked,” Sirena said. “Jake’s looking into two of our people killed in Lisbon.”

  “I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  A pause on the other end. Then she said, “Yeah. Keep the police off of us and then convince our government to get some balls like the Israelis.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Bradford said. “We have worldwide interests. Not to mention a huge trade with the Chinese. Americans have come to like their cheap Chinese electronics and tennis shoes.”

  “But it comes at a cost,” she said. “The Chinese language is not easy to learn.”

  “I hear ya, Sirena. You take care.”

  “Roger that.”

  The line went blank and Bradford set his phone onto his desk. He considered calling Jake and letting him know that he had his back, but then he did the math and realized he shouldn’t have called Sirena at this hour. Luckily, she was still awake. He had not brought up the fact that she was working for a foreign government in an official capacity, and she was required to notify him if this was the case. But then there were rules for the average former or retired officers and exceptions to those rules by the likes of Jake and Sirena, who had continued to provide America with vital intel over the years. Bradford needed them out there doing what they did.

  19

  Lisbon, Portugal

  Jake woke to a dark room, with a woman’s arm wrapped around him, her hand firmly on his bare chest. He slowly extricated himself from Carla’s unknowing grasp and went to the bathroom. He checked his watch and saw that it was already past seven. So, he quickly showered and wrapped the towel around his body before heading back into the hotel room.

  Carla was out of bed and rummaging through her bag for new clothes. She was entirely naked. Smiling as she passed Jake with her new undergarments, she said, “I hope you left me some hot water.”

  After she closed the bathroom door, Jake dropped his towel and got dressed quickly. Then he found his SAT phone and saw that he had a message from Sirena. She had made it out of the Sinai to Israel and was waiting for a Gomez jet to pick her up. That was an hour ago.

  In a few minutes, Carla came out wearing only a bra and panties.

  “Hey, if we’re going to stay together,” Jake said, “we have to have a few rules. I might be old, but I’m still a man.”

  She hesitated across from him and said, “You’re not that old, Jake. I just don’t worry about nudity.”

  “I understand,” he said. “I feel the same way. So does Sirena. But I don’t think she would like the idea of you sashaying around the room naked.”

  She looked confused. “What is sashay?”

  “Flounce?”

  She shook her head.

  “Strut?”

  She still wasn’t understanding.

  “Just get dressed,” he said. “We need to get moving.”

  Carla pulled on a black sweater and black slacks, and then found a new pair of shoes in her bag. These were dark running shoes. Something more comfortable than the low pumps she had worn the day before.

  “Okay,” she said. “I need five minutes for makeup. Ten max.” She went into the bathroom with a small kit and closed the door.

  Jake sat on the bed and pulled out his phone. He quickly called Sirena and waited.

  “I’ve just got a couple of minutes,” Sirena said. “I’m getting on the jet right now.”

  “Awesome. You’re coming to Lisbon, right?”

  “Yes, of course. Listen, I talked with John and told him about Egypt.”

  “The Israelis are serious.”

  “Always are. We’re taking off.”

  “We’re both on SAT phones,” he reminded her.

  “I know. But I didn’t get any sleep last night. I was hoping to sleep on the flight. We can talk when I get there.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. “Let me know when you get about a half hour out and I’ll pick you up.”

  “Will do,” Sirena said. Then she hung up.

  Just as Jake put his phone away, Carla came out looking like a million bucks, her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. The ponytail makes you look even younger.”

  “Thanks. My hair will dry by sometime tomorrow. Are you ready? I need coffee and something to eat.”

  The two of them took the elevator to the ground floor and avoided the hotel restaurant. Instead, they found a coffee café buying cappuccinos and small custard pastries, called pasteis de nata, which were famous throughout the city.

  “Did you like the pasteis de nata?” Carla asked him.

  “They were good with the coffee,” Jake said.

  “There are better places to get them in the city. We could go to the famous Belem shop, but the line on Monday would be very long.”

  “It’s Monday?”

  “Of course.”

  “The days kind of blend together after a while. Are you ready to hit it?”

  “Hit it?”

  “Get moving.”

  “Yes.” She started to get up and then sat back in her chair.

  “What?”

  “I don’t have my phone. But I should check in to my office.”

  “Do I need to remind you that someone is trying to kill you? And me?”

  “But they will wonder what I am doing,” she said. “I could get in trouble for not reporting.”

  This was a good opening for Jake. “Who sent you to Porto? To find me?”

  She paused before saying, “My boss at SIED.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “That’s confidential.”

  “So, it is a man?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you trust him?”

  “I have no reason not to trust him.”

  “But SIED doesn’t normally work within Portugal,” Jake reminded her.

  “This is true. But we can if the case includes foreign nationals. And I understood that we were working in coordination with the Secret Intelligence Service.”

  “Which is like the American FBI?”

  “Yes. SIS took the lead from the Judicial Police Criminal Investigation Department in Ponta Delgada. Specifically, a Chief Superintendent Armando Machado.”

  Now Jake was getting somewhere. He had heard about this Armando Machado in his past. Perhaps this man had somehow found out about Jake’s real identity.

  “I wasn’t using my real name on Pico Island,” Jake said.

  “I know. You seem to have a lot of different names. Including the one you used to check into our hotel last night.”

  He shrugged. “When you have a background like mine, a lot of people would like to see you dead. Using my real name and identification would be a big problem.”

  Carla got up and headed toward the door.

  Jake caught up to her on the sidewalk out front. “You didn’t pick this hotel by random,” he said.

  “No. The apartment where your two associates were killed is two blocks from here. Just up the hill.”

  Hill was an understatement. The two of them pushed up the steep sidewalk and turned right, heading back in the direction of the main train station. Jake knew that his associates had used the apartment as a base of operations and their residence. The
two officers killed were in their mid-thirties and former communications specialists in the Spanish Army. After the army, they had worked for a number of years with Spanish Intelligence, before Carlos Gomez had recruited them into his organization. Jake had personally hired security chief Fausto Crespo, who had hired his deputy, Gilda Freitas.

  The apartment was on the second floor of an old stone structure that was connected to other buildings and seemed to connect to the hill behind it.

  As they went into the building, Jake casually glanced back on the street behind them.

  They climbed to the second level and found the apartment, which would have a view of the street below and the back side of the building.

  Carla hesitated at the door, waiting for Jake to decide what to do.

  He twisted his fingers, meaning to open the door. But without a key, Carla was forced to pull out a small kit and pick the lock. Which was just fine with Jake, since he didn’t feel like kicking in another door.

  Once inside, Jake took in the scene. Someone had trashed the place. “Did your agency do this?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “We are much more discreet than this. We believe those who killed your people were looking for something.”

  He could easily see where the bodies had fallen. The officers had been surprised on the sofa. The brown leather surface was still spattered with dried, sticky blood in two distinct sections on both ends of the large sofa.

  “Apparently, they were watching a football match when the killers came in shooting.”

  “Let me guess. Nobody heard anything.”

  “That’s right.”

  “They used suppressors,” Jake said. “The Chinese who came for me had the same thing.”

  “We don’t know if they were Chinese.”

  “They were Chinese or agents hired by the Chinese,” Jake assured her. “No computers?”

  “Not by the time our people got here,” she said. “They also took their phones and anything else of value.”

  Jake nodded and then went to the window, glancing at the street below. “Made it look like a robbery.”

  “Maybe it was just a robbery.”

  “Hmm,” Jake said. “We have company.”

  Carla rushed to the window and looked to the street. “I don’t see anyone.”