Closure

by Ethan Jones

  Still, Martin could not bring himself to relax. The previous evening’s shootout had given him cause for concern, especially since Claudia had been able to escape. Although he was anticipating both Javin and Claudia to make their moves, Martin did not expect them to be that bold. They were lying in wait for us. But maybe losing one of their men would force them to change their mind.

  He frowned.

  Or maybe they just changed tactic.

  He had convinced the minister to leave early, which had been easier than Martin had initially thought. The tedious discussions droned on, and the absence of the Chinese and the Russian representatives made for very one-sided conversations. While Martin and the CIS might disagree with Chinese and Russian tactics and strategies, it was imperative to have them at the table when consulting on issues of global terrorism and coordinated responses. Otherwise, it was a waste of everyone’s time, and the minister had bigger, better matters vying for his attention.

  Of course, Martin had kept the truth from the minister, worried about the backlash if he learned about Javin going haywire. The CIS director feared that Javin and Claudia would make another appearance at the end of the conference. The Canadian delegation was not scheduled to leave until the next morning. Perhaps they’re planning to hit us after most of the people and their security staff are gone, or perhaps they’re plotting an ambush while we’re traveling.

  Martin sighed and leaned back in the comfortable leather seat. Our early departure must have thrown their plans into disarray. The police presence certainly would deter them. He glanced at the minister, who was pecking at his tablet, writing what seemed like an important email. Martin could not see the content without craning his neck, and that would be too obvious. He could see the minister was already on the email’s second paragraph.

  Martin closed his eyes, but only for a moment. He opened them and glanced through the windshield and the side window. A premonition sizzling at the pit of his stomach warned him that something bad, very bad was about to happen.

  And it did.

  A black SUV barrelled in from the left. It hit the side of the Audi SUV next to the front wheel. The violent crash spun the Audi around, sending metal and plastic pieces flying everywhere. The black SUV was thrown to the side, blocking the left-side lane.

  The driver slammed on the brakes.

  The guard sitting in the front passenger’s seat went for his weapon.

  “What happened?” The minister looked up.

  “A crash, sir. The lead Audi.”

  “Oh, my. Is everyone all right?”

  “The police are checking,” the driver replied.

  The driver and the guard remained inside the armoured Range Rover, but their vigilant eyes began to take in everything around them. The Swiss police had surrounded the black SUV. A couple of them were already talking to the erratic driver who had plowed into the convoy. A third police officer was checking the damage to the Audi and chatting with two Canadian operatives who had stepped outside.

  “Are we under attack?” the minister said.

  “Negative, sir,” the guard replied.

  “So, what’s with the gun?”

  “Precaution, sir.”

  Martin peered through the windows, his head swiveling in all directions. His pistol remained in his shoulder holster, and he did not intend to pull out the weapon until it was absolutely necessary. It seemed this was, indeed, just an accident. A young careless driver making a stupid but innocent mistake. Or is this part of an ambush?

  “What’s going on? Why can’t we go?” the minister asked.

  “Uh ... the police will wave us through in a moment,” the driver said.

  “They need to clear this up first,” the guard replied.

  “We’re going to be late,” the minister said.

  “The plane will wait for us.” Martin tried to contain the irritation seeping into his voice.

  He shifted in his seat and looked around. Other vehicles were stopped near the intersection and around the scene of the incident. A few people were standing outside their vehicles. None of them had any weapons or looked threatening.

  A moment later, two of the police officers began to direct traffic and clear the intersection.

  One of the CIS agents rushed toward the Range Rover.

  “What is it?” the driver asked.

  “The Audi’s wrecked. Plus, the police need witnesses.”

  “We can take one more—”

  “No, it’s pretty tight here as it is,” the minister cut him off. “I need to work, and we already have enough guards.”

  Martin said, “All right. See if two can get in the other Rover and Audi. Two can stay with the police.”

  The agent nodded and ran back to the crashed Audi.

  “Did we even need all this security?” the minister said. “This is Geneva, not Syria.”

  “Just standard protocol, sir,” the guard replied.

  “This is standard, now?”

  Martin nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  “Who approved this?”

  “I did, after a detailed risk assessment.”

  The minister gave Martin a puzzled look. “How come it hasn’t crossed my desk?”

  Before Martin could reply, the driver said, “We’re clear to go.”

  The minister shrugged. “Let’s go then,” and turned his attention to the tablet.

  Martin sighed and looked at the negligent driver. He had a dark complexion, as if he were from a Middle Eastern country. A sliver of doubt appeared in Martin’s mind. Could this be the work of Javin? Causing a crash so we would lose several guards? Weakening our defense, yet still not killing or seriously wounding anyone?

  The frown remained on his face long after they had taken the turn and left the crash site behind. A few more minutes, and we’ll be at the airport. Whatever this is or was, will be over.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Route de Ferney

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Javin did not need to check the tracking device monitor to know the convoy had stalled. Traffic began to slow down as they neared the accident site, and no vehicles were zooming from the opposite direction as had been the case moments ago. Knowing what had taken place, Claudia took the first available right turn. Mila followed suit, and they parked a few blocks away, where they monitored the situation from a distance.

  When the two dots representing the Range Rovers began to move across the screen, Claudia set the car in gear. She drove further up and skirted the crash site. The last thing the team needed was for her or Javin to be recognized by one of the operatives who might have had to remain behind.

  When the Škoda returned to Route de Ferney, Javin said into his mike, “Mila, is Andrei in place?”

  “He is, yes. Just called me a minute ago.”

  “Good. It’s time for him to light the fires.”

  “I’ll give the order.”

  “Copy that.”

  He tapped the mike and turned it off. Then he glanced at Claudia. “So, here we are.”

  She turned off her mike as well. “Can’t wait to get this done.”

  “No doubts?”

  “None. You?”

  He shook his head. “No turning back. We’re taking them down.”

  Claudia looked in the rearview mirror, then stepped on the gas. She passed the van in front of her, putting that vehicle between theirs and Mila’s.

  Javin glanced at her. “Why did you do—”

  Claudia leaned over and planted a deep kiss onto his lips. Javin hesitated for but a split second, then kissed her back passionately.

  Claudia said, “In case something terrible happens.” She cocked her head toward the windshield.

  “But why the secrecy?”

  “I’ve seen how Mila looks at you.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “If you’re a woman and you know what you’re looking for.”

  Javin nodded and smiled. His eyes went to the rearview mirror. Mila had pa
ssed the van as well and was right behind the Škoda. “I’m turning the mike back on,” he said to Claudia.

  “Me too.”

  “All right, everyone. We’re getting close.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Two, three minutes at the most, then it’s zero hour.”

  “Javin, this will be so great you won’t believe it,” Mila said in a zealous tone.

  “Time to make them pay.” Qassim’s loud voice boomed with intense hate.

  Javin wanted to remind everyone to refrain from shooting to kill, but decided against it. He sighed, then admitted to himself the bitter truth: The only way to stop Qassim from killing Martin or the minister is to kill Qassim first.

  * * *

  Martin suspected they were driving into an ambush as soon as he saw the first orange-and-white pylons cordoning off a section of the road. The traffic had slowed down, and vehicles were trickling through just one lane, alternating about every thirty seconds.

  “Why are we stopped?” the minister asked.

  Martin sighed and gestured with his hand. “Some kind of construction.”

  The guard said, “Eh, I’m just being told there’s an accident up ahead. A cement truck rolled over, dropping the load all over the road.”

  “What? Another accident?” Martin sat up straight in his seat.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said.

  Martin shook his head. This isn’t a coincidence. Javin’s here. I can feel it. “Tell everyone to watch out,” he said in a worried tone.

  “Why? Is something wrong?” the minister asked.

  Martin shrugged. “Just making sure we cover all the bases.”

  The vehicles began to inch forward, then picked up speed, but were doing only about five miles an hour. Both Range Rovers passed along the pylons and were coming near the cement truck. Two men in blue overalls were busy pulling something out of the truck’s cabin. They had turned their backs toward the Range Rovers, so Martin could not see their faces. Pools of cement had formed on almost the entire surface of the road, and debris was scattered all around.

  “There’s no police.” The minister pointed out the obvious.

  “It must have just happened,” the driver said.

  The guard’s hand was already hovering over the pistol in his waistband holster.

  “I don’t like this,” Martin said in a low voice.

  The minister turned his head toward Martin. “Why?”

  Before Martin could reply, his eyes went to a gray Škoda stopped near the wreckage. It was in the opposite lane, but it had turned slightly to the left, not exactly the right position to drive through the single lane. Martin lowered his head and peered hard. He cursed out loud, as he recognized the man sitting in the front passenger’s seat. “That’s Javin,” he shouted, pointing at the gray car.

  “It’s an ambush,” the guard said.

  “Get us out of here.” Martin pulled out his pistol. “Go, go, go.”

  The driver honked, then stepped on the gas. The Range Rover in front of him had not picked up speed. The driver began to shout into his radio, explaining to the crew of the other vehicle about the ambush.

  Finally, the driver of the first Range Rover got the message. By now, the Škoda’s driver—whom Martin had identified as Claudia—had thrown the car in reverse. She had blocked off the last remaining gap.

  “We’re stuck,” the driver said.

  “Get us out. Now!” Martin shouted.

  The driver switched gears and looked over his shoulder. The white Audi SUV was behind them, followed by a long line of vehicles. They were on an overpass, with high metal railings on both sides. There was no way out.

  “Nowhere to go,” the driver said.

  “Can’t stay here,” the guard replied. “We’ve got to fight.”

  “No, stay in,” Martin said.

  He glanced through the windshield.

  Javin stepped out of the gray car. He held a pistol next to him, as he stayed near the door. Then he gestured toward the Range Rover for the passengers to leave the vehicle.

  “What’s he doing?” the minister asked. “He’s expecting us to get out?”

  Martin shook his head. “The Rover’s bulletproof. His pistol is useless.”

  Claudia was also standing next to the car. She made a similar motion with her right hand holding a pistol.

  No one from any of the Range Rovers made any moves.

  “What will happen now?” the minister asked.

  Martin looked at one of the men crouching by the cabin of the cement truck. As he turned around, he aimed a large assault rifle at the second Range Rover. Then he seemed to shout something to the effect of everyone to get out.

  The minister had noticed the rifle pointed at his window. The gunman was standing maybe twenty yards away. “Is he ... Is he going to fire at me?”

  Martin opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, the gunman opened fire.

  Chapter Forty

  Route de Ferney

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Andrei, Mila’s SVR partner, fired three-round bursts, trying to concentrate his fire in two or three spots. He assumed the Range Rover’s windows were bulletproof even before he began his barrage. His suspicions were confirmed when spider web cracks stretched across the windows, but the glass withstood the 7.62mm rounds of his AK-104 carbine. Once he had sent a few bullets at the same spot, perhaps they would pierce the glass. Even if they caused a small crack, that would be sufficient for the next stage of their operation.

  The Range Rover began to move backwards, then toward the truck. Andrei squeezed off a few more rounds, but the vehicle’s move made it impossible for his bullets to repeatedly hit the same spot. He then shouted at the Iranian agent standing next to him, “Reloading. Your turn.”

  Andrei fell behind the cabin, while the Iranian stepped forward and began his barrage. The rifle bounced in his hands, and Andrei doubted the Iranian’s bullets struck twice at the same place. Still, he was keeping the Canadian operatives in their vehicles. They had yet to return fire.

  Just as Andrei finished reloading and cocked his rifle, the Iranian shouted in pain, then dropped to one knee.

  The Canadians were fighting back.

  Andrei stayed behind the cabin and away from the bullets, which thumped against the thick metal.

  The Iranian crawled to safety next to Andrei. “First Rover. Rear door,” the Iranian said and gestured at his bleeding thigh.

  Andrei nodded. He took out a smoke grenade from his chest rig. It was the canister type, about eight inches long and two inches thick. He was supposed to throw it underneath the second Range Rover, to force the passengers out. But he would use the other grenade for that purpose. This one, once it exploded, would screen their movements from the enemy.

  Andrei waited until the Iranian had reloaded and pulled the grenade’s pin. He tossed it at the first Range Rover. The smoke curtain began to cover the area around them.

  The Iranian pointed his rifle at the second Range Rover, but before he could fire, Andrei shouted over the gunfire and bullets pounding the cabin, “No, the other Rover’s our target.”

  “They’re shooting at us.” He pointed at his wounded leg.

  “We shouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “I’m not. I can’t let them kill me, kill us.”

  The Iranian pointed his rifle around the cabin’s corner and squeezed off a quick barrage.

  Andrei nodded. Still, he did not like the Iranian firing blindly through the thickening smoke veil. There was a great danger the bullets would strike not only the Canadian operatives springing out of the first Range Rover, but also Javin and Claudia.

  * * *

  Javin fell behind the door of the Škoda as bullets zipped around him. A couple pierced the door, while plastic and metal pieces flew near his head.

  He had yet to fire a round. Andrei and one of the Iranians were tasked with assaulting the second Range Rover. Javin was observing, and everything was going according to plan. There had been
no movement and no fire from the guards in the first Range Rover.

  Until now.

  That was a gutsy move. By opening the doors and stepping outside, they were leaving behind the safety of their armored vehicle. They were making themselves vulnerable targets. At the same time, they were becoming extremely dangerous.

  A barrage shattered the glass right above Javin’s head. Most of the fragments missed him, but a couple scraped against his face. He turned away, and his eyes met Claudia’s. “Fire back,” he said.

  Claudia nodded. “Cover,” she said.

  Javin rolled onto the ground and fired from around the door. He aimed his pistol at a CIS operative kneeling by the Range Rover’s driver’s door. Javin did not want to kill or gravely wound his fellow operative. But Javin had to stop the barrage, which could turn deadly for him and Claudia.

  So he double-tapped his pistol.

  Javin’s bullets hit the operative in the leg. He dropped to the ground, and the rifle slipped out of his hands. He tried to reach for it, but Javin squeezed off two more rounds. They struck inches away from the operative’s hands. He got the message and withdrew inside the first Range Rover.

  Claudia also fired a couple of rounds. Her bullets struck the other door, then the arm of the CIS operative firing a carbine. He fell back and was exposed for a long moment. But Claudia’s next bullets struck the glass, away from his head and body.

  Javin kept his pistol trained on the first Range Rover, then a cloud of gray smoke began to swallow it up along with everything around them. Why? They were supposed to hit the second Rover.

  “What’s going on?” Claudia asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  He glanced through the windshield, which immediately erupted in a million glass pieces. Javin was able to lower his head, then he slid back as more bullets pounded the vehicle. No gunfire was coming from the first Range Rover. What’s happening? Who’s firing? “Who’s shooting at the Škoda?” he shouted into his throat mike.