by Ethan Jones
Javin shrugged and returned to his desk. He began to reread the report, and this time underlined and highlighted several sections that he deemed crucial. He was so immersed in his task that he forgot all about the coffee. Even the machine’s gurgling at the end of the brewing cycle did not break his concentration.
Then one of his three phones rang.
Javin jerked up as if someone had poked him in the ribs. He tried to figure out which phone was ringing, then picked up the one whose number he had given to Mila. “Go for Javin,” he said in a warm tone.
“Javin, how are you?” Mila’s voice lacked the usual excitement.
“I’m doing well. So, what’s the good news?”
“No good news today, only bad. My section chief is reluctant to get involved. After the hit in London, he wants to draw no further attention to Europe.”
“So, I can’t count on any help from the SVR?”
“I didn’t say that. The SVR team will be minimal: only myself and another partner.”
“Someone I know?”
“No, but you’ve probably heard of him—Andrei.”
Javin nodded. “Yes, he’s good.”
“He’s excellent, but still not enough.”
“I know, Mila. But we’ll do what we can.”
“How’s the rest of the team coming along?”
Javin shrugged. “Still working on it. Should have more news in the morning.”
“I hope it’s good news.”
“Yes, me too. Anything else?”
“No, that’s all. Sorry, Javin.”
“No problem, Mila. You did your best. We’re on the first flight out of Baghdad, flying through Vienna. I’ll email you when we’re on the ground.”
“Good. Andrei and I will probably be there earlier, since we’re closer, and there’s a non-stop flight.”
“Great. So we’ll meet up and hammer out the plan.”
“Fly safe, Javin.”
“You too, Mila.”
He sighed as he placed the phone back on the table. With the drawback on the Russian front, the chances of a successful hit had worsened. Between the two teams, they had only four capable people, and that was insufficient. Muath was working on gathering more help, but they were not going to be professionals. The situation was going from bad to worse.
Javin let out a deep sigh. Then a noise came from the other end of the suite, followed by the door creaking. Muath’s awake? Javin walked to the kitchen and saw a sleepy Muath walk toward him. “How come you’re up? It’s not your shift until two hours from now.”
Muath yawned. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Too much rice last night?”
“Yes, I think so. Indigestion.”
Javin stifled a yawn. “Well, now that you’re awake, I’ll hit the sack.”
“See you in a few hours.”
“I should be up by six.”
Javin took his phones and walked to the room, trying to clear his mind and leave the worries for later. The troubling thought rattled through his head: With such a small team, what are we going to accomplish?
Chapter Twenty-nine
Qindar Palace
Baghdad, Iraq
Javin woke up at half past five after three hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep. He lay in bed for a few minutes, his mind completely awake, running through a series of scenarios for the day’s operation. All of them ended up with Javin and his team detained, wounded, or dead. He shook his head. That’s not going to work. I need something else. I need to think harder.
He sat at the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his messy hair. He glanced at the window to his right, then his eyes went to the jacket he had placed over a chair near the end of the bed. He thought about the assignment that had taken him to Riyadh and the events that had snowballed after the shooting at the reception. He had been sent to Riyadh on a correction mission, but ...
Then it dawned on him. The solution had been before his eyes this entire time, but he had not seen it, until now. I’m coming at this from the wrong angle. I’m looking at this operation as if it were a snatch-and-grab or an assassination. This is a correction. And I am the corrector.
He smiled and nodded to himself. Yes, if I run it like that, our chances of success increase, and we fly under the radar. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced it was the right course of action.
Javin jumped to his feet. I’ve got to tell Muath.
Over breakfast, Javin explained his plan to Muath. The correction operation would require the re-engagement of the Iranians, which Javin believed was not going to be a problem, considering Bakhtiar’s offer and desire to be a part of the hunt for Martin. But since Javin could not trust anyone of the Quds Force, the Iranians would have to be kept in the dark about the actual details of the operation.
The next phase involved the local police and Swiss law enforcement agencies. While Javin did not know anyone in the Geneva police, he had a vast network of assets and contacts that stretched throughout Europe. He could think of at least a handful of people who owed him favors and, with a bit of persuasion, they would be willing to give him a hand.
“So, what do you think?” Javin asked when he had finished with his narrative.
Muath sipped his coffee. “There’s a lot of moving parts, but it could work.”
“What would you change if you were running it?”
Muath laughed. “I would scrap the entire thing and go home.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’d wait for a more opportune moment. Martin knows we’re coming for him, so he has doubled his security. Probably has informed the locals to be extra vigilant. And we have to rely on the Iranians to do their part, and on the Geneva police to react on time.”
Javin nodded. “Good points, but enemies are closing in on all sides.”
“Have you done something like this before?”
“No.”
Muath shrugged. “I guess we’ll try, and see what happens. What about Plan B?”
“What’s that?”
Muath grinned. “You’re hilarious. We don’t have a Plan B, do we?”
“No.”
“So if this doesn’t work, we abort the op?”
Javin did not answer right away. “If our odds are unbeatable, we’ll retreat.”
“Our odds are already unbeatable, Javin.”
He nodded. “Yes, but if they get worse, much worse.”
“Like you and me are the only ones standing.”
“Or crawling. Or wounded.”
“Or dead.”
Javin grinned. “We’re not going to die today or tomorrow.”
“Or ever.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Why not? Live forever or die hard.”
“You’ve watched Bruce Willis again?”
“I love his movies. Can’t wait for the new one.”
Javin laughed. “Yeah, that should be a good one.”
Both agents continued their light-hearted joking. Consciously or perhaps unconsciously, they were trying to steer the conversation away from the operation at hand, which could end up being their last.
Chapter Thirty
Strasbourg Palace Hotel
Geneva, Switzerland
It had not taken much to convince Commander Bakhtiar to commit four Iranian operatives to the Geneva mission. He was eager for his men to be a part of the team once again, but had a few pointed questions about Javin’s change of plans. Once he explained that the difficulties in securing an appropriate number of people put the operation’s execution at risk, Bakhtiar was determined not to let that happen. He went so far as to suggest that the Quds Force take over the assignment, should Javin decide to abort it. As Javin had no such plans, they struck a new deal: same objective, but different agents.
Persuading a senior official with the Geneva police proved to be a more demanding task. One of Javin’s contacts working for the Bundesnachrichtendienst, or the Federal Intelligence Servic
e, Germany’s foreign intelligence agency, had put Javin in touch with Roger Schell, a captain with the newly created counterterrorism branch in the Canton Geneva Police force. However, the captain was less than convinced about Javin’s assertion that a terrorist plot was in the works and that Geneva was the target city. Schell insisted on meeting with Javin and discussing specifics regarding this matter. Javin had agreed and, along with Muath, he was waiting for Schell’s arrival in the lobby of the Strasbourg Palace Hotel, a short drive from the Ritz Carlton Hotel de la Paix, where the conference’s reception was starting in less than an hour.
Schell was running a few minutes late, but he had called to inform Javin about the unexpected delay. A major traffic accident had closed off a few of the main roads leading to downtown Geneva. Schell hoped to be at the hotel in ten, fifteen minutes at the most.
Javin did not mind the delay. He was expecting a call from Prince Al-Hamad’s aide. Bin Alawwad had received a redacted version of the Mossad file earlier in the day, before Javin and Muath left Baghdad. Despite Javin’s insistence, bin Alawwad had refused to let the Canadian agent talk to Claudia. Bin Alawwad had claimed that he needed to verify the authenticity of the report before making such a concession. Javin had begun to worry about Claudia’s fate. Maybe they don’t want her to tell me how they’ve beaten her. What if they’ve tortured her so badly that she can’t talk? Or worse ... He did not even want to complete the dreaded thought.
Javin glanced at the phone, then at Muath sitting across from him. “I need to make a call.”
Muath got the hint and stood up. “I’ll go for a walk and be back in ten?”
“Sure.” Javin nodded.
He waited until Muath was out of earshot, then dialed bin Alawwad’s number. After a long series of rings, finally the prince’s aide replied. “Yes, Javin. I was just going to return your call.”
“Okay, so what’s the prince’s conclusion?”
“He’s still checking some of the facts. It’s going to take some time, as I’ve already told you.”
“The prince can take as long as he wants. He has the files, and I’ve kept my part of the deal. Now, let me talk to Claudia.”
“Yes, Claudia. There seems to be a slight problem.”
“What is it?”
“She’s ... eh ... no longer in GID’s custody.”
“Explain that.”
“I don’t like your tone, Javin.”
“And I don’t like your reply, bin Alawwad. Where is Claudia?”
“We’re not sure.”
“Where did the GID take her?”
“Nowhere, I told you she’s—”
“They handed her over to the police?”
“I don’t know.”
Javin frowned. “Did they hand her back to my agency?”
“I don’t know that either, Javin.”
“Bin Alawwad, do you know anything?”
“Javin, are you forgetting who you’re talking to?”
He let out a muted curse, then sighed. “Bin Alawwad, I need to find out what happened to Claudia.”
“All I can tell you is that she’s no longer in the Carlton. Neither the GID nor the police know where she is.”
Javin nodded, then a thought raced through his mind. Could it be that Claudia escaped? “But they’re looking for her, right?”
“Yes, all over the country. And you’ll be the first one to know when she’s found.”
If she’s found. Javin wanted to believe Claudia had run away from the GID’s brutal hands, but he also did not hold out much hope. GID’s henchmen were among the best in the cutthroat intelligence business in Saudi Arabia. But then, Claudia was one of the best as well. “Bin Alawwad, keep me posted as soon as you hear something.”
“Certainly. Finding Claudia takes priority.”
Javin was not sure how to interpret bin Alawwad’s words. He sounded genuine, but in the past, Javin had misread bin Alawwad’s assertions. He had told Javin bald-faced lies. I’ll start my own search for Claudia. “Perfect. I’ll be awaiting your call.”
“And the operation?” bin Alawwad asked in a hurried tone.
“What about it?”
“You’re still going ahead with it?”
“Well, I’ve run into a slight problem,” Javin repeated bin Alawwad’s earlier expression.
“What problem?” Bin Alawwad did not understand Javin’s sarcasm.
“The less you and the prince know about the op, the better.”
“Javin, you still work for the prince.”
“Bin Alawwad, let me clarify something once and for all: I don’t work for the prince; I never did. Prince Al-Hamad and I had a deal, which someone in his circle broke when they lost Claudia. Until I hear her voice or see her in person, you can let the prince know I’m done.”
“It’s not that easy, Javin.”
“It is.”
He glanced around the lobby and saw Muath pacing on the sidewalk with his hands deep in his pockets.
“Javin, the prince will be very unhappy with your reply,” bin Alawwad’s voice rang with true disappointment.
“So am I at the loss of my partner. Look, we’re wasting time. The sooner Claudia is found, the sooner I can brief the prince on the op’s status. Now, I’ve got to go.”
“Javin, I’m not finished—”
“Bin Alawwad, I don’t want to hang up on you, but I have things to do. We’re done talking. Goodbye.”
“Javin, listen—”
Javin shook his head, then ended the call. He slid the phone on the small coffee table. The phone clanged against Javin’s cup of coffee. He sighed and leaned back in his armchair. What has happened to Claudia? Did the Saudis hand her over to Martin? What if she escaped? Where would she be? Is she looking for me? Javin shook his head. If Claudia truly escaped, she might be still in the kingdom. Depending on when it happened, she might already be beyond the Saudi borders. I’ve got to find her.
He began to think of Claudia’s network of friends, assets, and contacts inside Saudi Arabia and in the neighboring countries. He did not know everyone, of course, as Claudia had run her own solo and team-leading operations. But there were a few people he remembered Claudia had talked about. Yes, let’s start with them. Maybe she has tried to make contact.
Javin smiled and reached for his phone.
Chapter Thirty-one
Satigny Café
Geneva, Switzerland
Claudia sipped her second cup of coffee, trying to warm up. The Geneva weather had turned freezing cold, and the air was wet. Gray clouds had blanketed the skies, looming low over the city’s skyscrapers. The evening was still about a couple of hours away, but the darkness had begun to cover Geneva.
From her stool near the window, Claudia did not have a clear view of the Ritz Carlton Hotel de la Paix, the conference’s location. But she still had eyes on the ground. Wissam had been observing the hotel’s entrance for over an hour, ever since they arrived in the city. He had reported no signs of Martin, the minister, or anyone from the Canadian delegation.
Claudia suspected a couple of bodyguards from the minister’s security detail had already arrived, as per the security protocol. Wissam would not recognize them. She doubted she would recognize them either. By now, Martin would have realized that Javin and Claudia were coming after him. Since he had not cancelled his plans to attend the conference, that left the option of their chief tightening the security. In all likelihood, Martin would have employed personnel from the CIS Security Division who were unknown to Claudia and Javin. She would have taken the exact same action.
According to Claudia’s intelligence, Martin and the minister were on the same flight, which should have arrived at the airport about forty-five minutes ago, barring any delays. She had checked the website and Swiss Global Flight 355 had arrived on time. Claudia would have wanted to make the move on Martin, the minister, and his entourage shortly after they had left the airport, but she was a dozen or so operatives short of the necessary fi
repower. She doubted Javin would have been able to assemble such a capable crew in such a short time, considering the limitations of operating not only outside his agency, but also against it. Claudia was convinced Javin would have to find another, more subtle way.
She brought her cup to her mouth, then her hand almost went to brush back her long hair. She smiled as she remembered she had cut it into a short, textured bob with bangs before leaving for Geneva. Claudia had also dyed her hair blonde, was wearing blue-colored contact lenses and a pair of black aviator sunglasses. Sooner or later, she would have to venture close to the hotel, so she wanted to be as unrecognizable as possible. Wissam too had undergone a considerable transformation, sporting a fake beard and a shaved head, and dressed in unassuming gray jeans and a gray coat. Claudia doubted anyone from her agency would recognize Wissam, but she wanted to leave nothing to chance.
The phone next to her vibrated, then buzzed with the arrival of a call. It had to be Wissam, the only one who had that number. “Claudia here.”
“We’ve got movement,” Wissam whispered.
“Our targets?”
“No. They look more like security, or watchmen.”
“Watchmen?”
“Yes. Observing the hotel.”
“Have they made you?”
“What?”
“Have they noticed you’re there?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You’re not certain?”
“No, but I’ve been careful.”
Claudia frowned. If Wissam had noticed these “watchmen,” they could have spotted him as well. “What do they look like?”
“Young, dark-skinned men. Short hair, dressed in casual clothes.”
“Dark skin? Like African?”
“No, more like Arab, like me.”
Claudia thought of the diverse workforce in the agency. Yes, they could be CIS surveillants, studying the hotel surroundings, so they could notice Javin, Claudia, or any one of their associates. “How many?”
