by Ethan Jones
Javin looked at the store just as the baker behind the counter waved at him. Javin went in and paid for his sweets, a one-pound box of white manna from heaven. He glanced at the box. After their betrayal, I’ll be the only one enjoying these treats. But who is it: Firuz or Danyal? Or are they working together against me?
He shrugged. As much as he did not want to go back to the safehouse, which had turned into a treacherous snake pit, it was necessary.
Javin walked to the taxi and offered one of the large chewy balls to the cabdriver, who shook his head and waved his hands. “I can’t have those sugar-filled candies. My blood pressure.” He pointed at his potbelly.
Javin nodded. “Not even one?”
“No, no, but you go ahead.”
Javin shrugged and put the dessert back into the box. “No, I’ll wait until I get back to the house.”
“Where is that?”
Javin gave the cabdriver an approximate address in the Al-Jihad neighborhood, which was five blocks away from the safehouse. The driver took a different route, and in about five minutes they came to stalled traffic on a two-lane road. The vehicles were soon crawling along, but Javin did not mind the delay. He was not in a hurry.
They had covered perhaps a mile when Javin heard a loud rumble coming from over their heads. He glanced through the window and saw a black helicopter. The rumble turned into a heavy thumping noise as the helicopter drew near the road. It was now hovering at a distance, and because of the night’s blackness, Javin could not make out any markings on the helicopter. All he could tell was that the helicopter most likely belonged to the Iraqi Army, and they were looking for someone.
The helicopter completed a full circle around the vehicles, then banked to the right and disappeared in the direction of the airport. Javin did not think much of it, and his mind returned to the task at hand. He mulled over a couple of scenarios about how to deal with the betrayal. He was going to approach the topic delicately, so that neither Firuz nor Danyal was clued in to Javin’s tactic. If that did not work, Javin was prepared for a tough approach.
When they reached the address, Javin paid the cabdriver, then walked toward the safehouse. He covered the first two blocks without running into anyone. When he came to the third block, a group of young men were playing soccer under a couple of faint streetlights.
Javin walked along the house walls without making eye contact with anyone. At some point, the soccer ball came near Javin’s feet. He could not help but touch the ball with his right foot. He passed it to his left foot, and, as one of the young man came to pick up the ball, Javin dribbled the ball around him, then passed it between the legs of a second young man.
The other young men erupted in cheers and laughter. Javin lifted the ball up, then hit it with his head toward the goal. The young man in the role of the goalie jumped and caught it with both hands.
“Excellent catch,” Javin said.
The young man smiled and nodded, as more cheers followed from his teammates.
Javin waved at the players, then rounded the corner. The safehouse was now less than a hundred yards away. He hurried his steps and glanced at his watch. He had been gone for over an hour.
A thundering noise came from the left. A helicopter rumble drawing louder and louder. What is it doing here? Is it the same helo?
He looked up as the black shadow of the helicopter cut across the moon-lit sky. It veered to the right and began to complete a small circle. Then it turned around, heading toward Javin.
What’s going on?
A bright flash flared up from the helicopter.
A moment later, the safehouse blew up, turning into a large fireball.
The force of the explosion threw Javin to the ground. He rolled into the alley, groping around, trying to find the way up. A thick cloud of dust and smoke was swallowing up everything around him. He felt a sharp pain across his back, and his lungs struggled to fill with air.
Another explosion came from the safehouse. Javin was not sure if the helicopter had launched another missile. A large fragment of the nearest wall collapsed. He slid away from the cinderblocks landing near his feet.
A loud machine gun barrage erupted from the sky.
Through the thinning smoke, Javin noticed at least two gunners laying heavy fire. They were shooting indiscriminately at the safehouse, but also at the alley. A few bullets whizzed over his head.
Javin cursed the situation, then crawled over the heap of cinderblocks and inside the courtyard of the next house. He lay in the dark behind the wall, as the volley of bullets continued to tear up the alley. Round after round thumped against the walls, while Javin slid away and through the courtyard.
The lights inside the house turned on.
Javin ran bent at the waist. He did not want the owners to find him and mistake him for a thief—or worse, a soldier with the assault team. He reached the other side of the courtyard, then struggled to climb over the wall. On the second try, he scaled it and dropped into the alley.
The helicopter’s rumble had grown weaker.
Javin rushed through the alley, which was crowded with shouting people. He checked himself for any serious wounds. Minor scratches and an injured back. That’s not bad, especially if nothing’s broken.
He made his way through the crowd, deep in thought. How did they find the safehouse? Was it ... He stopped and slapped his head in frustration. Yes, it has to be the phone. They must have tracked my signal. But how ... Is Martin behind this?
He cursed Martin and shook his head. He fished out the two phones of which Firuz knew the numbers, removed the batteries, and tossed them. Then he took out the phones’ SIM cards, broke them in half, and threw them in different locations. He waited until he had gone another block, then tossed the phones over the next house’s wall.
He sighed and listened for the helicopter’s rumble. It had disappeared, but his ears were filled with shouting and wailing. Javin looked behind, and no one seemed to be following him. Without the phones, he thought, he should be clean. Well, that took care of Firuz and Danyal. I still have to get to Geneva, though. Now, what’s the best way to move forward with my op?
Chapter Twenty-one
About twenty miles south of King Fahd Causeway
Dhahran, Saudi Arabia
Wissam knelt behind the cluster of palm trees and glanced at the dark sea through a pair of powerful binoculars. The boatman was late, which was quite unusual. He had said after midnight, and it was almost a quarter to one. Wissam had tried to call the boatman several times, but he had not answered.
“Anything good?” Claudia asked.
She was sitting next to him, but further away from the banking coastline.
“Nothing. The area has poor reception, especially in the water.”
Claudia turned and looked up north, in the direction from where they were expecting the boatman. She saw the glowing lights of the Qurayyah power plant in the distance. The night had grown cold and dark, and a mist hovered over the waters. “But will he make it?”
“He promised, and he has never let me down.”
Claudia nodded, then looked around. It was a deserted sandy area, and they had not seen anyone since their arrival, over an hour ago. The longer they stayed in one place, the greater the risk of being discovered. She sighed and thought of Javin. Where are you? What are you doing? Then her mind considered the next option, if the boatman never showed. She had to make it to Bahrain, but attempting to sneak across the causeway would be extremely difficult.
A low splashing noise came from the sea. She turned her head and squinted, but saw nothing. “Is that him?”
“A small boat with a single man aboard. Who else could it be?”
Claudia nodded. “I hope that’s him. Otherwise, we’re in big trouble.”
In less than a minute, the boatman’s silhouette was clear. Hunched over the stern, he was pulling hard at the oars. The boat was swiftly cutting through the waters, assisted also by the small waves. Claudia could not
see his face. “Hundred percent certain it’s him?”
“Affirmative.” Wissam handed Claudia his binoculars.
Most of the boatman’s dark face was covered by his black headdress, but when he turned his head, his aquiline nose and bushy silver mustache confirmed he was their man. The outline of an assault rifle was clear, along with a couple of boxes and cans stored next to the boatman.
Wissam and Claudia waited until the boat had reached the sandy beach. Then they glanced around, scanning the area. They bolted through the stillness of the night and in a matter of seconds stood by the boat.
“This is Nabil,” Wissam said in English and shook Nabil’s bony hand after they exchanged the customary Muslim greeting. “And this is my friend Zainab.” He gestured at Claudia.
Nabil’s face formed a small grin. “Wissam, always a guy funny,” he said in a low coarse voice in broken English. “We go.”
“Sure, sure, right away. What happened that you were late?” Wissam asked as he climbed aboard.
“Guards. Move different times.”
“But now you know the new times of their rounds?”
“Yes, we see not the guards.”
Claudia swung her leg into the boat and sat next to Nabil.
He moved the assault rifle closer to him, then handed Wissam the oars.
Claudia said, “I can give you a hand, if you have another set.”
Nabil gave her a startled glance, seemingly trying to make sense of her words. Then he shook his head. “No, no, no, you sit, sit.”
Claudia shrugged, then looked around the boat. A couple of knotted ropes were tied to holes bored on the starboard and port gunwales. Near the bow, a large net with floats and a couple of bait boxes gave the impression that Nabil was out for late-night fishing.
Wissam began to row, and the boat soon left the shallow waters. They were moving at a good speed, considering they were going against the waves, which were growing taller by the second. Nabil switched to Arabic and began to chat with Wissam in hushed tones. It seemed they were exchanging harsh words, but Claudia knew it was the strange sound of the accents.
About ten minutes or so into the voyage, she noticed two navigational lights of a large vessel in the distance. “Patrols,” she whispered to Wissam.
Nabil had also noticed the lights. He nodded. “Coast guards, yes. Slow, slow, and shhhh, quiet.” Then he reached for the assault rifle and hid it behind one of the bait boxes.
Wissam had noticed Claudia’s eyes following Nabil’s every move. “We can’t fight them,” Wissam said to her.
“And if they notice us?”
“Let’s pray that doesn’t happen.”
The patrol boat’s lights grew larger and brighter. It was about thirty feet long. The boat seemed to be steering away from them and parallel to the coast. Then it began to turn around and head in their direction.
“It’s coming this way,” Claudia whispered. She was calm, but there was a sliver of tension in her voice.
“Yes, so jump out. I’ll let you know when they’re gone,” Wissam said.
“What?”
“In the water. They can’t find you here.”
Claudia nodded.
Nabil and Wissam stood up and moved around, blocking the view of anyone observing from the patrol boat. Claudia lowered herself onto the deck.
Wissam said, “Hold on to the rope. I’ll pull it when the boat’s gone.”
“All right.”
Claudia cursed under her breath and slid over the gunwale. A chill went through her back as she let her feet drop into the cold water. Then she lowered herself slowly into the sea, ignoring the chill on her skin and the shivers zipping through her body. She swam slowly, making no noise, and held on to the rope. When she reached the end, she stopped, about twenty feet away from the boat.
The large patrol vessel was nearing the boat, which was bobbing with the waves. A large searchlight flashed across the water, about thirty yards from Claudia’s head. She dropped deeper into the water, leaving only her nose above the choppy surface.
The searchlight swung in the other direction, missing her. But the patrol was now on the other side of the boat, and the searchlight turned again. Not wanting to risk being discovered, Claudia drew in a very deep breath and dove down a couple of feet.
Chapter Twenty-two
A mile north of the Quds Force safehouse
Al Eqtisadeen District, Baghdad, Iraq
Javin waited until he was certain the helicopter had disappeared, and no one was on his tail, before crossing Airport Street, the large artery stretching across this side of Baghdad. A number of police vehicles and a couple of firetrucks had been racing toward the house destroyed by the attack. More sirens were echoing in the distance, but Javin could no longer see the vehicles.
When he was a block away from the Embassy of Mauritania, three blocks north of Airport Street, Javin pulled out his brand new phone and dialed Muath’s number. After the first two rings, a hesitant voice said, “Who is this?”
“Muath, it’s me, Javin.”
“Javin, I didn’t recognize your number. I’ve been trying to reach your old—”
“Yeah, that number’s not good anymore.”
“Oh, okay. What happened?”
Javin described in broad strokes his suspicions about the Iranians—while making no mention of his boss—then told Muath about the attack on the safehouse.
Muath was completely startled at the way in which the operation was carried out. He cursed whoever was behind the assault, then said, “Javin, you know this isn’t a terrorist attack or our usual enemies?”
“Iraqi Army, yes, not the normal opponent.”
“I get that, but why would they target you and the Iranians? And why so openly?”
Javin shrugged. He was not going to tell Muath about Martin’s potential involvement. Regardless of whether Martin had informed the Iraqis about the safehouse, it was surprising that the elite army forces would come in so heavy-handed. “Maybe they wanted to make a point, show their strength. Or make sure they didn’t suffer any casualties.”
“Maybe they’re learning from the foreign troops: shoot first, figure things out later.”
“Anyhow, we still need to get on with the Geneva op.”
“Without the Iranians, it will be pretty brutal.”
“We’re used to that.”
“In Iraq and Syria. Not in Geneva.”
“The E in Europe stands for ‘easy’: no unexpected kids running out of houses wielding RPGs.”
“True, but the police are the best. And they’re always on guard. Considering the conference’s attendees, the security will be at the highest level.”
“Right, and our target knows we’re coming.”
“What? How?”
“The Iranians must have leaked some intel, limited as it was, and the target figured out the rest.”
“What do we do now?” Muath’s voice rang out with true concern.
“We don’t panic, and we change our plan.”
“We’re scrapping the attack?”
“The conference will be off limits, now that we’ve lost the Iranians. How many people can you gather?”
Muath exhaled deeply. “At such short notice, three, five at the most. But they’re not going to be trained operatives. Average assets, good for driving or picking up a package.”
“That will have to do. I’ve worked with worse odds.”
“So have I. Any chance we can improve them?”
“I’m not sure. I still have to call someone for a favor. We know Claudia won’t be a part of this op for sure. Everyone else I know and can trust is likely under surveillance. It was very strange no one picked you out as someone who would help me.”
“That’s because we’re not really friends.” Muath laughed. “And I was away on holiday.”
“Being away should have been even more reason to suspect, or at least double-check.”
“Javin, what are you trying to say?” M
uath’s voice had lost all its warmth. “Are you saying I’m somehow involved?”
“No, no, no, of course, not, Muath. I’m saying none of that. I’m glad you’re helping me, and both agencies are in the dark. We both can use some luck, now more than ever.”
“Can’t argue with that. Where am I meeting you?”
“I’ll come to the hotel. I should be there in twenty minutes, depending on traffic.”
“All right, see you then.”
“Take care, Muath.”
Javin continued to walk along the street across from the Embassy of China, located just a block north of the Embassy of Mauritania. Three black SUVs and a couple of white trucks were parked to the side near the high walls. A number of officers in dark uniforms were grouped around the vehicles. The guards’ presence brought a false sense of security in a city rocked by violence on a regular basis. Embassies, especially, were a magnet for all extremists.
Javin looked for a taxi and found one. He gave the cabdriver the address of a mall about a five-minute walk from the hotel where Muath was staying. Inside the taxi, Javin’s mind returned to the Geneva operation. Regardless of how many people Muath gathers, now that Martin knows I’m coming, this op got ten times more difficult. He clenched his teeth. As much as he hated it, he would have to call in extra help.
And that meant involving the Russians.
Chapter Twenty-three
Somewhere in the Gulf of Bahrain
Claudia had been underwater for almost a minute. She had been trying to stay very still, regardless of the shivers going through her body. The patrol boat’s searchlight had flashed regularly over the water’s surface, right above her head. But thankfully, the patrol had stayed at a distance.
She was still holding on to the rope, staying down, a few feet below the surface. No one had tugged at the rope, and she was not expecting that to happen until the patrol boat had left. She was not sure if she would hear the noise of the departing boat, but she hoped it would be soon.
