by Ethan Jones
Out in the hall, Firuz caught up to them. “Our Nissan’s outside. It’s a small car, but sturdy and low-key. We’re not going to attract any attention.”
“Weapons?” Javin asked.
“I’ll load up the trunk with a PKM, RPG launcher, and ammo.”
Javin nodded. “Good.”
“Let’s get it ready.”
Javin glanced at Danyal, who was struggling to keep up with their pace. “How are you doing?”
Danyal tried to hide a wince. “It doesn’t hurt. The cane’s clumsy.”
Yes, it’s the cane’s fault you can barely walk. Javin shook his head at the less-than-helpful thought. He tipped his head toward Firuz, who was a few steps ahead, then whispered, “What’s going on here?”
“I had to tell Tehrani.”
Javin shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”
“He’s a good friend of my uncle, and he’s the imam. I can’t lie to him. Plus, he would have found out sooner or later.”
Javin bit his lip. “So he knows everything?”
Danyal nodded.
Firuz cast a glance at them as they neared the main entrance to the house. “This way.” He gestured to his right.
When they reached the car, Firuz called to a couple of gunmen standing a few yards away. He explained to them what the team needed, and they disappeared inside one of the houses a few blocks away.
Firuz said to Javin and Danyal, “It shouldn’t take them long to bring everything we need. Now, I say we drive to Sahawil, then head north until Karbala, before turning east.”
Javin glanced at Danyal, who was nodding, then said, “The safest route?”
“By far. A couple of checkpoints, but we know the people controlling the areas,” Firuz said.
“What do you think, Danyal?”
“We go that way.”
Javin said, “Good. Let’s do it.”
“I’ll drive,” Firuz said.
“You know where we’re going,” Javin said.
Firuz smiled, revealing crooked teeth. Then he scratched the side of his unkempt bushy beard. “I’ve been to Baghdad a couple of times, but never to Europe.”
And you’re not going this time, unless I know I can trust you, Javin thought. “Let’s make it to Baghdad, and see how things go.”
“We’ll reach the capital safely. No need to worry about it. Just relax.”
Javin frowned. Whenever he heard the word “relax,” it seemed to have the opposite effect on him. Especially in these circumstances, when he was in a hostile country, and operating with a team he barely knew. He sighed, then said, “Let’s just see how things go.”
Chapter Sixteen
Twenty-five miles east of Riyadh
Saudi Arabia
The cabdriver had been hesitant to change routes, especially since he had not seen or heard about any accidents. He said one of his friends would have given him a call to let him know if the highway was gridlocked. Besides, vehicles were zooming at high speeds in both directions as if nothing had happened. Claudia had promised to compensate him for the extra time, so eventually he had agreed to turn onto Old Khurais Road.
Claudia was sitting upright in the backseat and scanning every vehicle travelling around them. They had not run into any checkpoint and had not seen any police vehicles while they were on the highway. Now, there was little traffic around them, and no suspicious vehicles belonging to the police or other security agencies. But that did not calm her nerves. Wissam’s voice rang in her ears. The police were looking for her in Riyadh, and soon they would expand their search. What if they set up a checkpoint on this road as well?
She furrowed her brow at the thought. Claudia shifted her body and felt the two pistols tucked away on the waistband of the jeans she was wearing underneath her abaya. Sixty bullets. That’s not much if we run into a checkpoint. She bit her lip and hoped the taxi would not come upon the police or any situation in which she would need to use her guns.
Claudia sighed and sat back. The taxi’s radio was playing a tune that sounded quite sad. She shook her head at the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then she leaned forward, ready to ask the cabdriver to change the channel.
The driver of the truck in front of them hit the brakes.
The cabdriver cursed him, then slowed down. The taxi’s front bumper almost hit the back of the truck.
Claudia said, “What’s going on?” She looked through the windshield, but the truck had blocked most of the view.
The cabdriver stuck his head out the window. Then he threw the car in reverse, drove back, then forward, edging to the left. “Everyone is stopped.”
“Yes, I see that, but why? Accident or ...”
Claudia had shifted to the seat behind the cabdriver. She slid half her body through the window, but she still could not make out what had stalled the traffic. So she opened the door and stepped outside.
“Wait, where are you going?”
Claudia did not answer the cabdriver. She stepped into the middle of the road between the taxi and a stopped van and looked up ahead. She frowned when she noticed a police checkpoint. An SUV and a truck had blocked off one lane. Three uniformed officers were examining each vehicle.
“It’s the police,” she told the cabdriver.
“That’s no problem. My papers are in order.”
Claudia glanced around. Desert stretched on both sides of the highway. Then she looked at the taxi and shook her head. That’s not going to cut it. I need a better vehicle. She glanced around, and her eyes found a black Hummer four vehicles up ahead. Yes, that one.
The truck in front of the taxi moved forward along with the other vehicles.
The cabdriver said, “Get in.”
Claudia’s hand went for the wallet underneath her abaya. She took two hundred Saudi riyals and handed them to the cabdriver. “Thanks for the ride.”
“What? What are you doing?”
Claudia ran in between the vehicles.
A couple of drivers honked at her as the vehicles moved forward slowly, but she ignored them. She had slipped her right hand through a slit in the side of the abaya and was holding one of the pistols. When she reached the Hummer, she opened the door. “Get out,” she shouted at the startled young man in the driver’s seat.
He did not answer for a moment, still dazed by her appearance.
Claudia had no time to waste. “Out,” she shouted again and pulled the man by his arm.
He pushed her back and said something in Arabic.
Claudia pulled out her pistol and aimed it at his head. “Move, out.”
The young man began to tremble and put his hands up.
Claudia pulled him again with her left arm.
When he was out on the road, she slipped into the Hummer and locked the door. She turned the steering wheel, but the vehicle was too close to the white Kia sedan in front. Claudia stepped on the gas. The Hummer’s grille smashed into the back of the Kia, tossing it to the side. She drove onto the shoulder of the road. The right-side wheels sank into the sand, but the Hummer began to pick up speed.
Drivers around her began to honk their horns.
The police also had taken notice of the Hummer trying to evade the checkpoint.
One of the officers ran toward the truck. He climbed in and started it.
Another officer raised his assault rifle and aimed it at Claudia.
She ducked as a volley of bullets struck the side of the Hummer and shattered one of the rear windows. Thankfully, none of the rounds hit her.
Claudia kept her foot on the gas.
The police truck pulled in front of the Hummer.
She jerked the steering wheel, but a split second late.
The Hummer slammed into the truck.
Both vehicles spun around.
The driver’s side of the Hummer crashed against the truck. Claudia was thrown against the door, but she kept her head from hitting the glass. The pistol she had put on the front passenger’s seat fell off the sea
t. So she pulled the other gun.
Before she could use it, one of the police officers pointed his rifle at her.
Claudia dropped down.
The barrage blew apart the windshield. Glass fragments rained over her head. Claudia waited for a pause in the gunfire.
When it came, she glanced up.
Her eyes found the police officer reloading.
She fired a well-placed round. It struck the officer’s right arm above the elbow, and he dropped the rifle.
The police officer in the truck driver’s seat struggled to bring his rifle up.
Claudia turned her pistol toward him and double-tapped the trigger. Her bullets shot the rifle out of his hands.
She shifted the Hummer in reverse and flattened the gas pedal. The vehicle drove onto the shoulder, then Claudia yanked at the steering wheel, bringing the Hummer back onto the road.
Bullets struck the front of the Hummer, but Claudia did not slow down. She kept her foot on the gas, then pulled the steering wheel to the right. The Hummer swung around into a J-turn. Claudia completed it, then continued to drive forward.
Another barrage broke the rear window.
The Hummer began to pick up speed. The road was clear of most traffic, because of the police checkpoint. She looked over her shoulder at the police truck and SUV growing smaller in the distance.
She heaved a sigh of relief, but only for a moment. They might decide to give chase. I’ll have to get off the road and ditch the Hummer.
Claudia glanced to her right. Further up ahead, she saw a small village with houses seemingly clustered around a mosque. Yes, that should work.
She nodded to herself and turned right.
Chapter Seventeen
Quds Force safehouse
Al Rashid District, Baghdad, Iraq
Javin, Danyal, and Firuz reached Baghdad safely in the early evening. Firuz had taken backroads, switching direction almost every thirty minutes. He had kept in constant contact with a series of associates, to ensure the team was always aware of the checkpoints’ locations and how to avoid them. While Javin still had to see Firuz fire a round, the Iraqi was a great navigator and had excellent communication skills. He kept his voice calm, yet firm, and never said more than what was necessary to get the job done.
The safehouse was in central Baghdad, the neighborhood of Al-Jihad, along Airport Street leading to Baghdad International Airport. Javin was not overly impressed with the location, since the safehouse was near the middle of a dense neighborhood. If it became necessary to make a swift exit, it would be a series of tight turns to reach the nearest road. But he did not have a say in the matter. The other option would be to take Danyal and Firuz to Muath’s hotel room across the city. Javin was going to do everything he could to avoid that scenario.
He was not sure he should even introduce Muath to Danyal and Firuz. That might cause problems and not be beneficial. Javin was determined to keep Firuz from continuing with the team to Geneva. It was too early to tell if Danyal was going to recover well. He would walk with a limp for days, but Javin would have to rely on him, if only to please Commander Bakhtiar. Danyal will have to be our eyes and ears and cover our entrance and exit. Even driving is out of the question.
He shook his head as they entered the small courtyard. The one-story cinderblock house looked indistinguishable from the others surrounding it. Javin smiled. The Iranians have gotten this part of the cover right.
Javin began to climb the stairs leading into the house, when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. The caller ID told him it was an unidentified number. “Go in. I’ve got to take this.”
“Who is it?” Firuz said.
Javin shrugged. “I don’t know. No ID.”
He was not going to tell Firuz even if the identity of the caller was confirmed. Javin moved away from the stairs, then answered the call, “Go for Javin.”
“Javin, how are you?”
He clenched his teeth as he recognized the hated voice. It was his boss, Martin.
“How ... how did you get this number?”
Martin groaned. “Javin, I have eyes everywhere. I know how things work. I was a field agent, running ops like you, at a time when things were harder, much harder.”
Javin tightened his fingers around the phone. “Were you ever running for your life, because your boss wanted to kill you?”
“Javin, you know that’s not true.”
“It isn’t? You threatened to send a retrieval team to detain us. Then, when that was impossible, you unleashed Mossad’s assassins on us.”
“Javin, you’ve got it wrong. I had nothing to do with any action taken by Mossad.”
“You’re denying you ordered them to come after me and Claudia?”
“Correct, Javin. Mossad’s agents have operated under the responsibility of their superior officers. They don’t report to me.”
“But you did pull the strings, call in favors?”
“No, Javin, you’re mistaken. I did nothing of that sort.”
Javin shook his head. He wanted to tell Martin about the files with classified intelligence Javin had received from Wiz, one of the best CIS cyber security wizards. That would tip Javin’s hand and also put Wiz in a precarious position. It would not be difficult for Martin to find out who Javin had reached out to for help within the CIS, considering the fact that Javin and Wiz were good friends.
The files documented clearly how Martin was indebted to Bakhtiar and had dispatched Javin and Claudia to work with the treacherous Iranians for that reason. A disturbing finding in the files had completely shattered Javin’s trust in his superior officer. Martin was involved in the accidental death of Javin’s wife, Steffi, who had been a star investigative journalist with the Ottawa Times, the largest and the most prestigious newspaper in the country. Steffi had been on the brink of uncovering a scandal involving Canadian special operatives training vetted moderate opposition fighters in Syria, who had turned out to be among the most extremist jihadists in the country.
The Minister of Public Safety John Macdonald—who was in charge of the CIS and thus, Javin’s ultimate boss—was aware of these issues from the beginning of the training program, but he had turned a blind eye. When he had heard about the story, the powerful politician had pulled in favors to kill the story. Macdonald had contacted someone in Martin’s CIS section, with clear instructions to ensure Steffi never published the story in another medium or leaked it online. The story never saw daylight, and Steffi was killed in a car “accident.”
“Javin, are you still there?”
“Yes, yes, still here. So, you had nothing to do with what happened in Riyadh and how Mossad turned on me?”
“Correct. I’ve talked to Horowitz and asked for clarification, since there are conflicting reports about what took place at the tower.”
“And?”
“Mossad is denying any wrongdoing.”
“Of course they are.”
“According to their version, the prince’s bodyguards returned fire and eliminated most of the Al-Qaeda assassins. One of them escaped by jumping through a window.”
Javin clenched his teeth and shook his head. Then he said, “Was Mossad involved in the firefight?”
“They were, yes, but to kill the terrorists and then in self-defense. Once it was clear that the assassination plot had failed, the Mossad team vanished and left Riyadh.”
“Pretty simple, right?”
“That’s what they say, Javin.”
“And you’re not asking about my and Claudia’s version?”
“I’m very interested in listening to it, Javin. When you and Claudia return to HQ, then you can present a full report of all sanctioned and unsanctioned activities.”
Javin grinned. “Right, and the retrieval team; they’re standing down?”
“No, they’re still looking for you, Javin,” Martin’s voice lost its warmth and turned stern. “But if you promise to drop whatever you’re plotting and return home, I’ll give the order
.”
“Whatever I’m plotting?”
“Javin, don’t play games with me,” Martin said in an ice-cold tone. “I know about Geneva.”
His words caught Javin by surprise. The frown on his face deepened, and his eyes turned into small slits. “What?”
“I know you’re planning to attack the conference in Geneva. Your revenge.”
“I’m not sure I follow.” Javin tried to keep a neutral tone of voice, but on the inside he was simmering with rage, frustration, and disappointment that his plan had been exposed.
“Javin, you know I’m not a fool, so don’t treat me like one. Wiz is dead.”
“What? How did that happen?” His hand trembled with rage.
“He hung himself in his apartment.”
Javin shook his head. Wiz was a young man barely in his thirties, full of life and energy. He would never take his own life. “Someone got rid of him.”
“Maybe, maybe not. The internal inquiry found something very troublesome. Any idea what that was?”
Javin suspected what the CIS investigators may have found, but he could not share his thoughts with Martin. “How would I know?”
“Oh, maybe because you and Wiz were close, very close friends.” Martin stressed the words “very close” more than necessary.
“What did they find, Martin?”
“Wiz had leaked some intel, classified intel. We’re not sure as to the buyer, but the inquiry suspected that’s what led Wiz to hang himself. A lot of pressure to sell more intel.”
“A buyer? Wiz was selling intel?”
“We found his bank account. Almost two hundred grand in there.”
Javin shook his head. This whole affair sounded like a set-up. Wiz was a patriot; he would never betray his country to the enemy. It was true that he gave Javin classified intel, but that was to help a fellow operative who was in deep trouble. It was quite a different situation from selling intel to a buyer from the street, or worse, to another security service. Even on the remote chance that Wiz had actually sold classified information, he knew better than to deposit the money in his own bank account.
