by Ethan Jones
“And that’s why he’s worried?”
“In part. The second reason is that I haven’t worked with him or his team. I don’t know them, but I have to rely on them. Or at least give that appearance.”
Claudia peered at Javin and leaned closer to him. “What do you mean?”
“I need a fall guy.”
“What?”
“Yes. That’s the deal I have with Schell from the Geneva counterterror branch.”
“Explain all that to me.”
Javin opened his mouth, but at that exact moment, the waiter was walking toward them with their drinks. He set them on the table, and Javin drew a deep breath. He inhaled the aroma of smoky vanilla rising from the cup. He stirred the thick layer of milk foam on the top—the “little hood,” what the word cappuccino meant in Italian—then took a small sip. “Mmmmm, it’s so, so good.”
Claudia nodded, the only move she made.
Javin sipped his cappuccino again and said, “I should backtrack and tell you about Bakhtiar’s betrayal.” He told her about the phone number that the Iranian operatives had leaked to Martin, which had resulted in the devastating helicopter attack against the Baghdad safehouse.
Claudia listened while nodding or shaking her head. “So Bakhtiar is playing both sides,” she said when Javin had finished his brief account.
“Yes, very much so. The way he rules his men, there’s no way they acted without his full knowledge.”
“And this is payback for the betrayal?”
Javin shook his head. “No, this is the consequence of their actions. Qassim’s far from innocent, as are all the men in his crew. They already have blood on their hands.”
Claudia nodded slowly and brought the cappuccino to her mouth. After a sip, her first, she smiled. “This is really good, so soothing.”
“Yes, it is.” He took another swallow.
“So, the plan there, at the safehouse, none of that is taking place?”
“Some of the details are correct, but not the order or the locations. I must give the impression that Qassim and his team are a part of the entire op. But Mila and I have had our discussions. She knows what to do and when.”
“I see. Now, how much can we trust Schell?”
“One of my closest contacts recommended him as a rational, cool-headed guy. But as I haven’t worked with him before, I’m considering him unreliable at best.”
Claudia nodded. “So, smoke and mirrors?”
“More or less. He knows about the Iranians, and he’s good to go after them.”
“Yes, but he probably knows about you and me. Even if Martin hasn’t talked to the Geneva police, Schell would be really suspicious of your approaching him. And he most likely would double-check your story.”
“You’re right, and I’ve taken that into account. I doubt Martin would admit to anyone he has a rogue agent. It reflects very badly on him, that he can’t handle his people. Especially to acknowledge that this rogue agent might be coming for him and the big boss.”
Claudia nodded slowly. “Even when faced with the certainty of your presence here, and after the gunfire earlier today?”
“Yes, Martin is that kind of man. He won’t admit defeat, until the very end, when he’s left with no other option. Even then, he might try to twist things into some sort of victory for himself.”
Claudia sipped her coffee.
Javin continued, “But Schell has probably contacted CIS about what I’ve told him. That’s why we’re giving Schell very little, only what he needs to know, and keeping him close, but not too close.”
“And you think that’s going to work?”
“I hope so. He seemed intent on wanting the Iranians caught. I’ll give him a call and explain what happened at the park.”
“Yes, that was too bad about Muath’s contact.”
Javin nodded. “True, but it helped to highlight that the danger is real. See, I hope that Schell will see the situation in this way: No matter who’s trying to hit the Canadian minister—a rogue agent or Iranian terrorists—it would look extremely bad for him personally and the reputation of his force and his country, if it happens.”
“Right. So why would Schell agree to let you walk away with Martin and the minister?”
“He’s not. The plan has Schell taking care of the Iranians, while you and I, and perhaps Mila, bag our targets.”
A smile creased Claudia’s left lip. “A diversion?”
“If it works.”
“We’ll make it work, Javin.”
“We’ll give it our best, for sure.”
Claudia drew in a deep breath, then said, “And after all this is done, what do you think will happen?”
Javin shrugged. “I haven’t really thought that far. A lot will depend on whether Martin and the minister play hardball. I hope that when faced with the evidence, they’ll agree to go away, to save themselves the embarrassment of a long, public trial that will drag their names through the mud.”
“I doubt they’ll do that.”
“Yes, I have my own doubts too. Left with no other choice, perhaps they’ll pick the one they think is the best.” He sighed. “It wouldn’t be my first option, because I want them to pay dearly for what they’ve done to ... to Steffi and to me. But I also don’t want more blood on my hands.” He shrugged and looked down at the table.
Claudia reached across the table and held his hand. “Javin, you’re doing the right thing. They can’t, they shouldn’t get away with what they’ve done. And if there was a better way, you’d have taken it.”
He nodded, then looked at her. “Thanks, Claudia.”
She smiled. “No worries, Javin.”
“You got something there.” He gestured toward her face.
“What? Here?” Claudia rubbed the right side of her lips.
“No, the other ... let me do it.” He leaned over and cleaned a speck of froth from the left corner of her lips.
He had a strange feeling go through his body as he touched her face. Javin thought about the time when he had considered Claudia a potential date, shortly after they had met. It was before Steffi had come into the picture. And now Steffi was gone. He shrugged and shook his head. But she’s still so alive.
“Javin, what’s going on?”
He shrugged again. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking.”
Claudia finished her cappuccino and sat back on her chair. “Should we go back now?”
“No, not yet. I want to be away from all that chaos for another moment or two.”
“Good idea. Another cappuccino?”
“Yes, now that’s a good idea.”
They both smiled, and Javin began to look for the waiter.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chemin de Pesay 16
Geneva, Switzerland
Javin woke up around five in the morning after a fitful sleep. He had dreamed of Steffi. It was their wedding: a gorgeous, warm, and clear Ottawa spring day. She was magnificent in her cream-colored strapless dress and resembled a princess with her long black hair and her shining tiara. In his dream, she repeated the wedding vow: that they were going to be together. “Till death do us part, Jay,” she said his nickname in her lovely voice. “That’s what you promised. And now death will join us again.”
He gasped for breath and mopped the sweat off his brow. He was glad it was but a nightmare, although his troubled mind was serving Javin a clear premonition. This could be his last day. The operation would most likely kill or seriously wound him. The prospects of escaping with minor wounds were slim, especially if any aspect of the operation went sideways.
Javin gathered his team, and over breakfast they reviewed all details of the operation. They ran a couple of scenarios, each of them focusing on the different routes the Canadian convoy might take. It was striking, and Qassim pointed it out more than once, that the team had no fall-back plan. Javin confirmed that, insisting that there would be no abort protocol. The only acceptable outcome of the mission was success. If failure occ
urred by a stroke of misfortune or human error, then the team was to be disbanded. As far as Javin was concerned, he was going through with the plan until the end.
The team’s watchers on the ground—three men Muath trusted to get the job done—were its eyes and ears. They were keeping tabs on the delegation. The first man had been able to get inside the hotel under the guise of being a local reporter, whose badge he had swiped minutes earlier. He had confirmed that both the CIS boss and the minister were still in the conference room. The other men’s tasks were to attach a GPS tracking device to each of the two black Range Rovers used by the Canadians. The assignment was difficult, but the men had been able to execute it without a hitch. Javin had tested the monitoring device, and the signals were clear.
Around noon, one of the red dots began to slide slowly across the screen. Javin heard the device beep and jumped to his feet. He glanced at the map underlay on the screen, then called out to the team, “First Rover’s on the move.”
“We’ve got to go,” Claudia said.
“They’re early.” Qassim stood up and reached for his coat behind his chair.
“Do we know where they’re going?” Mila holstered her heavy, all-steel MP-443 Grach 9mm pistol.
“Toward the hotel,” Javin replied.
“Let’s get a confirmation,” Muath said.
“Go ahead,” Javin said.
Muath first called the watcher inside the hotel, then the other two surveilling the front and the back entrances to the Ritz Carlton Hotel de la Paix. When Muath was finished, he said, “Targets still inside the building.”
“Maybe they’ll leave at the break.” Javin glanced at the conference schedule taped to a corner of the whiteboard. All but a couple of papers had been removed, shredded, and burned in the fireplace.
“Lunch is at 1:00, but perhaps they’re ending early.”
“It could be,” Claudia said.
“So, we all go?” Mila asked.
Javin nodded. “Yes. Whether they’re rolling out now or later, we’re done here.” He began to stack the last few papers on the table, then folded the map and took down everything from the whiteboard.
Qassim said, “May it all go well, and Allah grant us success.”
Javin nodded and muttered a silent, brief prayer. Then he said, “Yes, may God bless us.”
In the parking lot, he climbed into a gray Škoda Octavia, an unassuming small diesel sedan. A common car in Geneva, no one would cast a second glance at it. Still, the Czech-made car could reach a top speed of one hundred and forty miles. Its handling of corners was not the greatest, but Javin knew it was never the car; always the driver.
Claudia had already slid into the driver’s seat and was buckled up. She glanced at Javin as he fastened his seatbelt, then her eyes went into the rearview mirror. Qassim, Mila, and Muath were in the silver Volkswagen Polo hatchback right behind them. “Can you hear me?” Claudia said after tapping her throat mike.
“Loud and clear,” Mila replied.
“Ready?” Javin said, also testing his mike.
“Yes, yes, let’s go,” Qassim replied in his usual impatient tone.
Javin nodded. “Sure, let’s do it.”
Claudia hit the gas and drove out of the parking lot. She turned right onto Route de Saint-Julien, then took another right turn at Avenue des Communes-Réunies. They were now heading north, with Mila following two cars behind.
They had driven for about five minutes when Javin’s earpiece rang with Muath’s excited voice. “Martin’s on the move. He’s heading out of the conference room.”
“And the minister?”
“Still in the room.”
“Is the session over?”
“Not yet.”
“All right. Tell your guy to stay with the minister.”
“And Martin?”
“Don’t worry about him. If he leaves the hotel, we’ll still have eyes on him.”
“Roger that.”
He glanced at Claudia, who said, “We’ll be at the hotel in no time.”
“Yes. I don’t think he’ll leave without the minister.”
“It would be great if they ended up in one vehicle.”
“Two for one.”
“Sale of the year.”
Javin grinned. “Maybe it’s our lucky day.”
“Maybe.”
They drove in silence for the next few blocks until they came to Boulevard Georges-Favon. Javin’s earpiece crackled with static, then he heard Mila, “Javin, can you hear me?”
“Barely, what’s up?”
“Muath’s men are reporting both Martin and the minister are exiting the hotel.”
“They’re leaving?”
“Affirmative. They’ve got their luggage with them.”
“We’re still a few minutes away.” He glanced at the tracking devices monitor. “Their Rovers are stationary.”
“Not for long.”
“We’ll still know where they’re heading. No need to rush and be noticed.”
“Right.”
“Confirm they got into the Rovers, then have Muath keep his men back.”
“Roger.”
He sighed and sat up straighter.
Claudia gave him a reassuring glance. “We’ve got this, Javin.”
“I know. It’s do or die time.”
“We do. We don’t die.”
Javin smiled. “But if I do, it’s been an honor, Claudia.”
“No, the honor has been mine, Javin.”
He reached for her hand on the steering wheel and held it for a long moment.
Claudia smiled at him.
She turned right on Quai des Bergues after they crossed the Rhône, the river meandering through Geneva. The Ritz Carlton de la Paix was now up ahead. As they approached, Javin glanced again at the monitor he had mounted next to the dashboard. Then he said into his mike, “Rover 1 on the move. Rover 2 following closely.”
“Copy that,” Muath said. “No confirmation yet.”
“We need visual.”
“Working on it.”
Javin doubted the security detail had discovered and removed the tracking devices. However, visual confirmation was always the preferred option. Moreover, Javin wanted to make absolutely sure both Martin and the minister were aboard the Range Rovers.
Claudia stopped at the red light behind a long line of vehicles.
Javin looked over his shoulder. The silver Volkswagen was out of sight, perhaps behind a blue cargo van that was riding very close to Javin’s and Claudia’s sedan. He waited for about thirty seconds for confirmation from Muath’s men, which did not come. Javin shifted impatiently in his seat. Then the light changed, and they slid forward. A beat later, Muath said, “We’ve got visual. Both Rovers travelling on Quai Wilson. Martin is in the second Rover, following a police car and a white Audi SUV.”
“Police?” Qassim said in a worried tone. “How many people?”
“Three, four at the most. It’s a small sedan.”
“Where’s the minister?” Javin asked.
“Second Rover, fourth vehicle in the convoy. And there’s another white Audi SUV at the rear.”
“So they’re taking Route de Ferney,” Mila said.
“Yes, they’re doing that, like we had expected,” Qassim said with a slight tone of disappointment.
“So why do you sound like that?” Mila asked.
“Too predictable.”
“It was a fifty-fifty chance,” Mila said. “There are two routes to get to the airport.”
“If they’re going to the airport. And we have to deal with the police.”
“Yes, but nothing changes. We’ve planned for that scenario,” Claudia said.
Javin nodded. He could not tell Muath that the police were a part of the deal with Schell. They would be the solution rather than the problem.
“Convoy still moving along Wilson,” Muath said.
“Yes, that’s what we have,” Javin said. “Have your men fall back.”
“Negative. Unnecessary, at least for the moment.”
“Perhaps we should have eyes on them until you can take over surveillance?”
Javin thought about it for a moment. He did not want the team following the convoy to be spotted, but he also could not rely on the monitor alone. “Okay, let’s do that. We should be able to take over in a couple of minutes.”
“Or a bit longer.” Claudia pointed at the traffic. “We’re stalled. Again.”
They crawled forward slowly until they came to Quai Wilson, then their gray Škoda was able to go faster. Claudia stayed within the speed limit, not wanting to draw any attention from traffic police or be caught on cameras. Many operations had been botched because of agents’ carelessness and rookie mistakes.
In a couple of minutes, Javin noticed a white SUV up ahead. He peered, but could not make sure that it was an Audi. Claudia stepped on the gas and passed a neon-green Peugeot, and Javin’s eyes caught a glimpse of the four rings of the Audi logo on the back of the SUV. “Yes, that’s an Audi.”
“And the black Rover in front of it,” Claudia said.
“Where are Muath’s people?”
“Right there.” Claudia gestured to the left lane, at a young man driving a dark blue Peugeot hatchback. “The other one we passed a few seconds ago.”
“All right, so now we can take over.”
“Okay.”
Claudia slowed down and fell in behind a white Mercedes-Benz coupe. She then allowed another car to get in front of her Škoda. The other surveillants disappeared on a side street, while Javin and Claudia followed the convoy.
When it reached Avenue de France, it was clear the convoy was headed toward the airport. In a few minutes, the avenue would turn onto Route de Ferney. So Javin said, “Qassim, get your men in place.”
“They’re already in place,” his voice echoed with a certain amount of irritation.
“That’s good. In a few minutes, it’s their turn.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Route de Ferney
Geneva, Switzerland
Martin brushed back his grayish hair and glanced over his shoulder, through the rear window. He was sitting behind the driver, in the second Range Rover, the fourth vehicle in the convoy. He noticed nothing strange behind them. No car was following or had been on their tail since they left the hotel.
