by Ethan Jones
“But witnesses, people who were at the ballroom, they describe a different version,” said Mohammad Al-Amin, a senior operative with the General Intelligence Presidency, or the GIP, Saudi Arabia’s security agency. “If you don’t cooperate, their words will have you hanged.”
Claudia’s eyes never left Al-Amin’s stern face. She studied it for any signs of bluff and found none. Still, the threat did not unnerve her. “Listen, I’ve told you what happened; I’ve given you the truth. But here it is again: We came to Riyadh because we were tracking the two Al-Qaeda operatives sworn to assassinate the prince. We tried to stop them at the warehouse, but that op went sideways.” She glanced up at another man who was standing back near the hotel room’s window. “You were there, Al-Faraj; you saw what happened.”
Nasser Al-Faraj, another GIP operative, folded his arms across his chest. He shrugged and said, “Whatever happened at the warehouse is irrelevant.”
“It’s not, because it shows the course of events. Unable to stop the jihadists at the warehouse, we learned the location of the assassination attempt.”
“Learned it from whom?” Al-Amin asked.
“Our sources.”
“In Riyadh?”
“Yes, but they were outside sources, no one in the GIP, if that’s what you’re suspecting.”
“So who were they?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Al-Amin shook his head. “You understand your fate depends on your cooperation with me, with us, right?”
“I’m fully cooperating, but I can’t reveal my sources. Plus, that’s not important. Our intel was accurate, as Al-Qaeda did make the attempt at the reception. You found the bodies of the dead assassins.”
“We did, yes. How do we know they weren’t working with you?”
Claudia sat back on her chair. “Oh, come on, Al-Amin. You can’t be serious. Canadian intel working with Al-Qaeda?” Her disappointed eyes flitted between Al-Amin and Al-Faraj.
Al-Faraj did not say anything.
Al-Amin nodded. “We’ve seen it before. CIA, Mossad. They use all kinds of terrorists to accomplish their dirty goals.”
“But not us. We don’t do that.” Claudia stressed her words more than necessary. “And we overpowered the assassins and killed them. I took one out and Javin killed another. Why would we do that if they were working with us?”
Al-Amin shook his head. “I’m the one asking questions.”
“Right, but think about it. Makes no sense.”
“I’ll determine what makes sense or not. That’s my job.” Al-Amin waved a finger in Claudia’s face. “Your job is to answer questions and to tell me the truth. Otherwise, you’re not getting out of this alive.”
Claudia sighed. You should stop it with the threats. They don’t work. She drew in a deep breath and looked around the room. It was a spacious deluxe room in the glitzy hotel. Shortly after she was detained at the Kingdom Business Tower, Claudia was first transported to a police station, then blindfolded and moved to an undisclosed GIP location. Two masked men interrogated and threatened her for almost an hour, but did not lay a finger on her. Then, all of a sudden, she was blindfolded again and transferred to the Ritz Carlton, which was a far cry from any prison.
She did not know the reasons for the transfer, but suspected it had something to do with Javin. He had disappeared during the tower shootout, but Claudia was sure he had survived the fall and had not collapsed under his wounds. Otherwise, the Saudis would have produced the body. Mossad could have gotten their hands on him, but Claudia seriously doubted it. The turn of events and her knowledge of Javin’s survival skills led her to believe he was still very much alive. And he was working in the background to secure her release.
She nodded to herself and leaned back on the comfortable leather chair. The Ritz Carlton was the favorite hotel of businessmen, consultants, and rich travellers. Even the President of the United States of America, Donald Trump, during his first trip abroad as commander-in-chief, had stayed at the Ritz Carlton. The House of Saud had given Trump a royal welcome, even projecting his portrait onto the building and covering five floors, a gesture the president loved.
More recently the hotel had turned into a gilded, five-star prison, when over two hundred Saudi Arabian rich businessmen and powerful officials, including eleven princes, had been detained on serious charges of abuse of public office, bribery, extortion, and money laundering. Most of them had paid billions to regain their freedom; the fate of others was still unknown as the anti-corruption purge flowed through the Saudi royal house and the kingdom’s government.
Claudia sighed. These changes would not make any real difference in the House of Saud policies. She shrugged. Different sheikhs, same family. Billions changing hands among billionaires, while a fourth of the dirt-poor Saudis survived on a few hundred dollars a month.
“I’m still waiting here,” Al-Amin said in an impatient tone. “Your agency has abandoned you, branding you a ‘rogue agent’ and claiming you disobeyed a clear and direct order. Your partner is dead. I’m your only hope.”
Claudia’s face showed no emotions. “I really don’t know what else to say,” she said in a calm voice. “If you don’t believe my words, I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“You were ordered to get out of the country and leave this job to us,” Al-Amin said. “You didn’t do that, but caused a huge mess.”
“If it weren’t for me and Javin, you’d have a dead prince, and many other kidnapped or beheaded dignitaries and businessmen. I’m not asking for a medal, but don’t blame me for your agency’s failures.”
“We were there, and we would have unmasked and caught all who were involved,” Al-Faraj said. “If you and Javin had not interfered, you wouldn’t be in this hopeless situation.”
Claudia shrugged. It seemed the conversation was going in circles. She opened her mouth, but then Al-Amin’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then stood up. “We’ll pick this up when I return. Think about what you’re doing and the consequences of keeping your mouth shut. I’m running out of patience.”
He stormed out of the room, followed by Al-Faraj.
Two guards stepped inside the room. One of them was waving a pair of metal handcuffs.
Claudia cursed under her breath. She put her hands together while the guard cuffed her. Can you hurry up, Javin?
Chapter Six
Al-Abawia, fifteen miles southwest of Najaf
Southern Iraq
Javin had already retrieved his phone, but not his weapons. Two gunmen were keeping him under watch as he paced along the narrow, crooked alley. He was waiting for Danyal, but the man was still in the meeting with Commander Bakhtiar. It was not supposed to take that long—already twenty minutes—and Javin wondered if the commander was giving Danyal new, different orders, which, of course, he would not relay to Javin. It doesn’t matter. This was always a hostile mission.
He sighed and his hand went to his phone. He wished he had better news, but his operation had just begun. Javin shrugged and dialed a number from memory. He waited for a long moment, for the signal to go through a series of encrypted servers, then a man’s deep voice answered in Arabic. “Yes, who is this?” asked Qenan bin Alawwad, the first aide of Prince Khalid bin Abdullah Al-Hamad, the third in the line of succession to the Saudi Arabia throne.
“Javin. I’m in.”
“What have you found?”
“I’ve gotten the commander’s attention, so very soon—”
“Anything concrete, useful?”
“I’ve been here for less than an hour. I’ll need some time.”
“Time is a luxury you don’t have. The GIP is growing restless. There’s pressure from the government, from the military, from all sides. We need some results.”
“Yes, and they will come.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That’s not good enough.”
Javin glanced around. The two gunmen were still looking in his dir
ection, but they were beyond earshot. The alley was clear but for a group of men over a hundred yards away. “What do you want me to tell you? Make stuff up?”
“We want you to do the job for which you were sent into Iraq.”
“And I’m working on it.”
“Well, work faster. The prince is running out of patience.”
“Should I remind him how I saved his life?”
“Should he remind you how he saved your partner’s life, Claudia’s?”
Javin bit his lip when he heard her name.
Bin Alawwad continued, “Prince Al-Hamad took a giant risk trusting you, considering all the evidence pointed to your involvement.”
Javin shook his head. “We’ve gone over this more than once. I killed the assassin who was going to blow off the prince’s head. And I got shot; I took a bullet to save the prince’s life.” He glanced at his left shoulder. The wound was healing well, but the thought sent a jolt of pain searing through his body.
“That’s what you’re saying. All we know is that you were trying to kidnap the prince, move him to another location, so the terrorists could cut off his head.”
Javin shrugged and cursed bin Alawwad under his breath. “Then why would I reach out to the prince and offer help?”
“Because we have something very dear to you: Claudia. And you’re willing to do anything for her.”
“I want to save her life, yes. But I also want to know the truth. The truth about why Iranians first released, then went after the Al-Qaeda operatives plotting to assassinate the prince.”
“Yes, but the truth is much more important to Prince Al-Hamad than to you,” bin Alawwad said in a terse voice. “He has invested so much in you, and he’s kept his end of the deal. He intervened to have Claudia moved from the prison into a lavish hotel like she has never seen. She has been spared any ‘rough’ interrogation, in hopes of your producing results. If that doesn’t happen, the prince can no longer guarantee Claudia’s safety.”
Javin clenched his teeth. “If something happens to Claudia—”
“Nothing will happen to your dear partner as long as you deliver what you promised. Don’t forget that you are where you are because of the prince’s generosity and trust—perhaps misguided in my humble opinion—in you and your abilities. He paid for your safe passage through the kingdom and insertion into Iraq. And he’s funding the rest of your operation.”
Javin nodded, then sighed. “I know the good deeds the prince has done, bin Alawwad. No need to repeat them. And I will deliver the promised results.”
“That’s excellent, but you must hurry. As I said, the prince is losing patience. He’s giving you forty-eight hours to—”
“That’s not enough—”
“Javin, I wasn’t finished, and I hate interruptions,” bin Alawwad’s voice rang loud, full of irritation.
Javin flinched and moved the phone away from his ear. “I was telling you—”
“No, listen, the prince doesn’t care about words but actions. Don’t waste his and my time. Next call, you’d better have some specific information about the Iranian involvement in the assassination attempt against the prince. You understand?”
Javin nodded but said nothing.
“Do you understand, Javin?”
“Yes, how can I not?”
“Well, then say so. Report to me in twelve hours with good news. And by that I mean concrete intelligence.”
Javin sighed. Twelve hours was extremely tight. Even if he met again with Commander Bakhtiar—which he doubted would happen—it was unlikely he would give away that secret. Javin shook his head. I’ll have to activate option B.
He cursed bin Alawwad again and the way he and the prince were putting on more pressure. Javin hated Mossad, not only for what they had done to him and Claudia, but because of the general distrust and ever-present possibility of backstabbing and treachery. Mossad’s allegiance could change and did change in an instant, as shown by the Riyadh affair. Still, he would have to contact Mossad and ask for their assistance.
“Javin, are you still there?”
“Yes, still here.”
“Good. You’re clear as to your purpose?”
“I am.”
“Make it happen.” Bin Alawwad ended the call.
Javin nodded and glanced at the phone. Then he looked up at the gunmen. One of them was talking to Danyal, who had just stepped out of the house being used as the Quds Force headquarters. He gestured at Javin, then called out at him, “We have to go. Now.”
Javin nodded. He pocketed the phone. Calling Mossad must wait until the next time I can sneak away. It will have to be very soon. Forty-eight hours is not a lot of time to secure the sensitive intelligence.
Chapter Seven
Five miles north of Al-Abawia
Southern Iraq
The Nissan SUV came to a rolling stop as it reached a fork in the road.
Javin glanced through the window. He was sitting behind the front passenger, a man Danyal—who was driving the SUV—had introduced as Ali. Danyal glanced at Ali for a quick moment, then turned to the left.
Javin’s eyes went to the wide road they were leaving behind. Then he consulted his phone’s map. The SUV was taking a detour. Is this to avoid any checkpoints up ahead? Neither Danyal, nor Ali or the third gunman in the SUV, Naveed, had mentioned taking a new route. In fact, none of them had spoken much during the few minutes they had been driving.
Javin leaned forward, then asked, “What’s going on?”
Danyal said, “Nothing. Why?”
“Where are we going?”
“Kuhiya, it’s a small village up ahead.”
“What for?”
“I have some business there. Now relax.”
“This wasn’t part of the plan.”
Danyal frowned at Javin’s objection. “It is now.”
Javin sat back. He was everything but relaxed. Danyal had been playing the “Bakhtiar card” every time Javin inquired about anything related to their plan, like the two gunmen, the route they were taking, or the people they were meeting in Baghdad.
He tightened his hands around the M4A1 assault rifle on his lap. The favorite weapon of the US Navy SEALs was not difficult to find in Iraq, provided one knew the right people. It was a small measure of comfort that his fate was in his hands.
Javin drew in a series of shallow breaths. It was his almost automatic response to the feeling of immediate danger. His palms began to sweat, and he rubbed them quickly against his pants. Adrenaline shot through his body as his eyes focused on several small cinderblock buildings on the right.
They were two-story houses with missing sections and large bullet holes in the walls. IS—Javin thought of the Islamic State, the bloodiest of terrorist groups, that had ruled the area until a few weeks ago. Or maybe there were clashes between Shiite and Sunnis. The two groups in Iraq had been waging war for the largest part of the decade. Even when open hostilities were not taking place, there was always an undercurrent of the bitter power struggle.
A truck appeared in the distance, then two gunmen materialized on the right side of the truck. They were dressed in mismatched fatigues and looked like a ragtag militia. They held their assault rifles muzzle down, but they could be pointed at Javin and his teammates in a heartbeat.
Javin’s senses were on overdrive, and his heart was beating faster. He noticed a third gunman pop up on a rooftop, behind a machine gun. “Who are they?” he asked in a firm yet worried tone.
“Relax, just relax,” Danyal replied. “They’re friends, good friends.”
There are no friends in this place. Javin shook his head and kept the thought to himself. He lifted his rifle just an inch, then cocked it and readied it for action.
Danyal looked askance at Javin. “You won’t need that.”
“Just in case.”
Danyal slowed down as the SUV came closer to the truck. “This is going to take only a few minutes. All of you, stay here.”
The g
unmen approached the SUV. They carried their assault rifles in a relaxed way, now that they had recognized the driver.
Javin still did not like the situation. Any change of plans did not sit well with him, especially at the last moment or when he was caught off guard. He did the only thing he could: held on to his weapon.
Danyal greeted the closest gunman, and the two exchanged a bear hug. Then Danyal shook hands and embraced the second gunman. They chatted for a few seconds in low, inaudible tones, then the first gunman led Danyal toward the nearest house. It had a courtyard surrounded by seven-foot-high cinderblock walls.
“Do you know what’s going on in there?” Javin asked Naveed.
He shook his head. “Danyal doesn’t talk much, if you haven’t noticed.”
Ali shifted in his seat. “He’s picking up something.”
“Something like what? Weapons?”
Ali locked eyes with Javin and gave him a stern gaze. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Javin shrugged. “I’m a curious guy.”
“You know that expression about curiosity and the cat. Do you have that in Canada?”
Javin frowned at the veiled threat. “I’m a dog person, and I smell trouble.”
Naveed shook his head. “It’s all good. These are friends of—”
A couple of gunshots interrupted his words. They seemed to come from the house where Danyal and the gunman had gone in.
The second gunman ran toward the house and entered the courtyard.
Javin tightened his jaw and brought up his rifle. “Let’s go.”
“Danyal ordered us to stay in the SUV,” Ali said.
“Did he go there to test weapons?”
Naveed shook his head. “No, but—”
Javin said, “Danyal’s life may be in danger. Let’s go. Now.”
“We’ve got to wait here.”
Javin’s eyes went to the machine gun on the rooftop. The gunman had trained the powerful weapon on the SUV.
