Closure

by Ethan Jones

  The woman standing in front of them was Yael Rosenberg, the former Mossad operative.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Route de Ferney

  Geneva, Switzerland

  “Yael, of all people, you’re the last one I was expecting,” Javin said in a loud shout.

  He walked slowly as he and Mila came near the first Range Rover. Javin made eye contact with one of the CIS operatives inside the vehicle. The man’s face was locked in a menacing grin. Javin nodded, then returned his gaze to Yael.

  “Sorry, I’m early, but we have some unfinished business.”

  “Yes, about that. Why don’t we try for a more private place?” Javin waved his arms around, pointing at the stream of vehicles still entering the tunnel.

  Yael shook her head. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I’d rather get this out of the way. But I agree, we need to clear the area.” She gestured to someone inside the BMW.

  Two gunmen in black balaclavas and armed with assault rifles stepped out.

  Javin tightened the grip around his pistol and brought it up.

  “Relax, Javin. They’re not here for you.”

  One of the gunmen pointed his rifle at the nearest vehicles, shouting and gesturing for the drivers to make haste. The second gunman moved further toward the back and began to redirect traffic out of the tunnel. A couple of stubborn drivers showed some reluctance, but when the gunman fired a quick burst over their heads, their hesitation melted away.

  “So, now we can talk.” Yael spread out her arms and took a few steps forward.

  Javin cocked his head toward Mila. “Wait here.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Just stay here.”

  “Okay.”

  Javin walked toward Yael. His pistol was still in his hand, but his fingers were more relaxed. As far as he could tell, Yael seemed unarmed.

  “Put that gun away, Javin. I’m here to talk, not fight.”

  “That’s surprising, coming from a Mossad operative.”

  Yael shook her head. “I no longer work for Mossad, thanks to you.”

  He stopped when he was about six feet away from her. Javin returned the pistol to his waistband holster and stayed slightly off to the side. He remembered the last position where Mila had been standing. If she needed to fire at Yael, he made sure Mila had a clear shot.

  “Why did you go there, Javin?” Yael spat out her words.

  “What, removing you from Mossad?”

  “Yes, taking away from me the only thing I lived for.”

  “I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life as a Mossad target.”

  “That would have not happened. This was just an operation, Javin. I had clear orders.”

  “From whom?”

  “Your boss, Martin.”

  “He ordered my elimination?”

  “He was vague on specifics, but clear in direction,” she said in a cold, emotionless tone.

  “So it was just business, then?”

  “Yes. You would have done the same.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I would have warned my partner, who I trusted.”

  Yael grinned. “Trust? Really, Javin, you’re going there?”

  “You don’t trust anyone?”

  “Very few people. Not to hurt your feelings, but you’re not one of them.”

  Javin shrugged. “I got over my disappointment in Riyadh.”

  “Look, Javin, this was only business. I had an order from Martin, which was confirmed by my superior. You, you made this personal, coming after my career.”

  “You left me no choice.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it. You received no order to have me dismissed. You acted out of your own desire for revenge.”

  Javin did not reply right away. “And if I did?”

  Yael shrugged. “Well, this doesn’t end here, Javin. And it’s not going to end well for you.”

  “I’m quite used to threats, Yael.”

  “What do you think I’m going to do now? Work as a security guard in a mall? Tell people not to throw their trash on the floor?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something that’s—”

  Yael cut him off. “The only thing you can be sure of is that I’m going to find you again. At that time, I won’t be in the mood to talk.”

  Javin nodded. “You’d be making a grave mistake.”

  Yael grinned. “Oh, no, Javin. That grave mistake has already been made by you.” She wagged a finger at him and began to slowly step back.

  “It’s over, then?”

  “You wish. This is just getting started.”

  Javin shrugged. “I hope I’ll never see you again, Yael. Otherwise, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.” He tapped the pistol on his side.

  “You’ll see me again, Javin. And the pleasure of pulling the trigger will be all mine.”

  Sharp blares of police sirens began to fill the tunnel.

  Yael hurried her steps, but she still walked backwards and kept her eyes glued to Javin. A moment later, she slid inside the BMW, and the gunmen followed suit. Yael gunned the engine. The BMW spun around and arrowed out of the tunnel.

  Seconds later, three unmarked SUVs entered the tunnel with their sirens screaming and their lights flashing. The first one, a silver Volvo, jumped the low median dividing the opposing traffic lanes and stopped not far from where the BMW had stood just moments ago. Three plain-clothed officers came out with their rifles drawn. They began to shout orders in German and French.

  Javin put his hands up and dropped to his knees. He began to look for Captain Schell, but could not find him among the officers streaming from the other SUVs, a black Opel and a red Saturn. He noticed the license plate of the Volvo: GE 663547. Javin memorized it, in case he needed it. “Where’s Captain Schell? I need to talk to Captain Schell,” he shouted at the officer nearing him.

  “Quiet, quiet, don’t talk, and get down,” the officer shouted back.

  “I must talk—”

  “Get down. On your face!” A second officer thrust his knee on Javin’s back, shoving him to the pavement.

  Javin used his hands to protect his face as it came inches from the coarse pavement. His eyes searched for Schell, but he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he’s commanding this op from a distance. But our deal was that he would be present at our arrest.

  Javin tried to move his head around, but it was impossible. The officer had placed his knee over Javin’s lower back. He thought about Claudia and Mila, wishing they had escaped. Another officer removed Javin’s pistol and searched him. Finding no other weapon, the officers twisted Javin’s arms and handcuffed him.

  When they had pulled him up on his feet, Javin said, “Captain Schell can explain all this. I have to talk to him.”

  “Who’s Captain Schell?” asked one of the officers.

  “Terrorists like you will talk to interrogators in detention,” the other officer replied in French-accented English.

  Javin shook his head. “I’m not a terrorist. You’re mistaken.”

  He looked around for Claudia, but did not see her. Mila also had disappeared.

  The officer shoved him toward an unmarked, black windowless van that had just arrived. “That’s what everyone says. Let’s go, go.”

  Javin wondered if this was for show, or if Captain Schell had stabbed him in the back. If Martin or someone from the agency convinced Schell that Javin and his team were acting like terrorists, the captain would trust those reliable, official sources rather than a couple of gun-toting reckless operatives running riot in Geneva. With Martin and the minister dead, I have nothing to use as my get-out-of-jail-free card. Leaving this mess behind might be harder than I thought.

  He frowned, then shook his head, and a small smile began to form on his lips. No, this isn’t going to end this way. This affair is bigger than me, and Claudia and Mila. The minister was a political figure. This affair will have a political end. I feel it. I know it. It has happened in the past. It will happen again.r />
  He nodded to himself. Yes, Javin. An escape plan will soon be in the works. All you have to do is sit tight and wait for the call. If that doesn’t happen, you can always come up with something. You always do.

  Javin lowered his head as the two officers threw him inside the dark van.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Two days later

  Office of the Prime Minister and Privy Council

  Ottawa, Canada

  Prime Minister Thomas Tremblay removed his rimless reading glasses and tossed them over the sizable light mahogany desk, his office’s centerpiece. He heaved a deep sigh, rubbed his ashen temples, and said, “This operation, assignment, whatever you call it, this has turned into such a nightmare.” He tapped a manila folder in his hands. The white label on the front cover read TOP SECRET – GENEVA. “How can we make this go away?”

  Samuel Winston, the prime minister’s National Security Advisor, sat up straighter on the burgundy leather sofa across from the desk. He did not reply right away as his eyes wandered around the oak-panelled walls of the octagonal office. Then he shrugged and said, “As much as we may not like it, we’ll have to pull Javin out of Geneva, sir.”

  “This isn’t an issue of liking or disliking something, but of the cost. What is the cost to the agency’s reputation, Chan?”

  Hao Chan, the CIS General Director, peered into Tremblay’s light blue eyes. The prime minister was giving Chan an intense and impatient glare. Chan had already explained the consequences of Javin’s and Claudia’s actions and their unsanctioned operation throughout Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Switzerland. Both men knew Tremblay’s real interest was political. It went without saying that he was asking whether the political investment he was about to make was going to yield results that were worth his involvement. So Chan leaned forward and said, “This scandal has truly damaged our agency’s image.” His voice had a grim tone like a doctor informing a patient about his incurable disease. “Our allies have grown distrustful of our service and our operations. The political backlash could be immense.”

  “And this distrust could seriously damage our political, trade, and security relations,” said Winston, albeit in a less somber tone.

  “So what are our options here? We wash our hands of these two reckless operatives?”

  Winston cocked his head. He thought about his answer for a moment, as he did not want to outright contradict the prime minister. “That is an option, sir, of course, but it’s not as easy as it appears. Pierce and Aquarone were still CIS operatives, although they stepped beyond the parameters of their mission.”

  Chan nodded slowly. “I’ve studied their files at great length, and the truth is that neither Javin nor Claudia will go down without a fierce fight. Their extensive record with the agency and the recent operation prove that. If the late Mr. Martin’s and the minister’s ... let’s call them indiscretions ... became public, it would be very ugly for everyone, but especially this government.” He stressed the last word perhaps more than necessary to drive home his point.

  Tremblay ran his hand through his hair. “They will do that?”

  “Yes, sir, and more,” Chan replied. “We have a standard protocol in place for such situations when covert operatives have been detained in a neutral or allied territory. Seventy-two hours. If the operatives haven’t had contact with their agency or haven’t been released within seventy-two hours, they’ll activate the escape protocol.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “Escape at any cost.”

  “And you believe they’ll break out of Swiss detention?”

  “I have no doubt about it, sir. I’m more worried about further negative consequences of their actions.”

  Tremblay drew in a deep breath and heaved a long sigh. “All right, so we’ll pull them out. We can’t have them destroy the rest of Geneva, what’s left of it.”

  “That’s the right decision, sir,” Winston said quickly.

  Chan nodded. “I will make that happen.”

  “How are we going to appease the Swiss? Their president, she’s furious about our interfering.”

  Winston said, “An apology, a sincere one, and the promise for stricter measures to ensure this doesn’t happen again will go a long way. Perhaps even a visit to Switzerland by our director or the new minister.” He gestured toward Chan.

  “I agree,” Chan said. “I’ve already talked to my Swiss counterpart and informed them we’ve opened an inquiry on what transpired in Geneva. They’re extremely displeased. We’ve broken their trust, and it will take time to re-establish that trust.” He gestured to the folder in the prime minister’s hand, then continued, “As highlighted in the report, the Swiss counterterror authorities received conflicting reports about our agency’s involvement in their country.”

  “Yes, yes, I read about that. It was very clever of Pierce to muddy the waters with his tactics.”

  “Standard spycraft, sir,” Chan said with just a hint of admiration in his voice. “Captain Schell with the Canton Geneva Police had a difficult time deciding whom to believe. In the end, he went with Martin’s version of the story, but, as we know, that did him little good.”

  “Yes, and that opens up the question about his passing along with that of the minister. While I understand their deaths were an accident, or a series of accidents, that’s not something that should go unpunished.”

  Chan nodded slowly. Tremblay’s tone of voice did not match the words supposedly conveying his indignation. Chan, as well as Winston, knew that bad blood ran between the prime minister and the late minister. Rumour had it that Tremblay had confronted the minister about the scandal brewing in Syria where Canadian special operatives had been training future jihadists. The minister had continuously reassured Tremblay that the training had ended and that no one would ever learn about the Canadian involvement. But that had not been the case.

  Chan said, “We’ll handle it appropriately, sir. Javin and Claudia will receive the right amount of discipline for their actions.”

  “That’s good. And how is this Martin affair going to play out?”

  Chan had anticipated the question. A day earlier, he had received a package containing highly classified CIS intelligence reports linking Martin to the Tel Aviv operation. It came from an anonymous source, but Chan was sure it was Javin. Chan had been a director at that time, but he remembered the stories going around, which blamed Martin and his team for the spectacular failure to thwart the attack. The intelligence report had proven that Martin had, in fact, allowed the Iranians to move forward with their massacre. So Chan said, “Martin will be given a proper send-off. His family and colleagues will learn he lost his life serving his country.” Chan’s voice was dripping with disgust.

  Tremblay nodded. “As long as Mossad never learns about it, that suits me fine.”

  “We’ll keep monitoring the situation,” Chan said. “We can’t exclude the possibility. Once Javin is brought in for questioning, we’ll know more and have a clearer picture.”

  “All right. Let’s consider that issue closed, at least for the time being.” Tremblay flipped through a couple of pages in the folder. “Now, the Iranians. How are we handling them?”

  Chan shrugged. “As best as we can. Since our operatives—and everyone else for that matter—ended up either dead, wounded, or in jail, the Iranians do not suspect us of setting them up.”

  “Not yet,” Winston said.

  “Let’s keep it that way,” Tremblay said. “We don’t want more hostilities with the Quds Force or anyone from Tehran. And on the Saudi front?”

  “There are still a few wrinkles, but overall the situation is calm. The prince is pleased he has received the intel about the assassination attempt against him. Something the agency can take the credit for.” Chan offered a wry grin.

  “Well, glad we can please someone.” Tremblay sighed and flipped through the pages. When he reached the end, he closed the folder and said, “Well, I think that covers it all. Did I miss anything?”


  Chan said, “No, nothing that pertains to us.”

  Winston shook his head. “We’ve covered everything, sir.”

  “All right, let’s put this to the side.” The prime minister swiveled in his chair and leaned closer to his desk. He put the manila folder away, then he reached for one of the red folders on the desk. The white label on the front cover read CLASSIFIED: RAQQA’S EVACUATION, SYRIA. “Now, moving on to this request from the CIA. This would be a suitable operation for Pierce and Aquarone, correct?”

  Chan glanced at his copy of the folder. The ten-page report highlighted the secret deal that allowed hundreds of Islamic State terrorists and their families to escape from Raqqa, the de facto capital of IS’s self-proclaimed caliphate. Kurdish forces and local Arab and Shiite fighters had surrounded the city on all sides, and the US-led coalition was constantly pounding the IS positions through daily air strikes. But the Syrian Democratic Forces, or SDF, and IS senior leaders had reached a treasonous deal. It secured the safe exit from the city of most of the battle-hardened militants, including foreign fighters, and their families, tons of weapons and ammunitions, and many possessions.

  The US and the international coalition fighting IS in Syria and Iraq not only knew about the deal, but allegedly watched the convoy closely as it snaked its way out of the city. Colonel Ryan Dillon, the spokesman for the forces fighting IS, notoriously had tried to explain that the decision was made by the Syrians, who were “the ones fighting and dying.” The heart of the coalition’s strategy, Dillon had said, was to operate “by, with, and through local leaders on the ground.” Clearly, that included even situations when these “leaders” made such disastrous mistakes with deadly consequences for American, Canadian, and Western soldiers fighting IS terrorists.

  Most of the IS fighters were still in Syria, where they had resumed their beheadings and brutalities, threatening to plunge Syria even deeper into chaos. The most troubling development resulting from the escape was the fact that IS fighters were emerging in Turkey, Iraq, and Jordan, spreading the IS plague across the violence-soaked region. The US and international forces had to deal with these threats again, now scattered over a much greater area.