A Thick Crimson Line (Mike Walton Book 3)

by Simon Gervais

  Then the bullets started flying.

  ........

  The first phase of the operation was a complete success. Sergeant Mariwali’s team had killed the four Israelis agents without them even returning fire thanks to their suppressed Ak-47s. Davari walked into the restaurant and shot the maître d’ with a short three-round burst of his silenced MP5 while Nazmi Salama and his men rushed passed him and threw a multitude of stun grenades into the two dining rooms.

  That was an overkill that served no purpose whatsoever. A single stun grenade in each dining room would have done the trick. Davari shook his head as he closed his eyes and covered his ears. The explosions shook the entire building and, for a moment, Davari feared the ceiling would cave in. By the time Salama and his men regained their senses and were ready to go in, too much time had elapsed. Davari warned them not to go in but it was too late. Salama led the charge and was shot the moment he set foot in the dining room. The others returned fire but didn’t care to aim as they sprayed the entire dining room with lead.

  Davari yelled, “I need him alive.”

  But after seeing their leader get shot, the men were scared and continued to fire their weapon until their magazines were empty. Davari swore he’d kill them all himself if Yatom was dead.

  “Stay here, count to one hundred, then go into the dining room. I’ll be in the kitchen. It’s sandwiched between the two dining rooms.”

  Nobody replied. “Hey!” he shouted. “Did you understand what I said?”

  The Hamas fighters looked in his direction and some of them nodded their heads. Idiots.

  Davari shouldered the MP5 and rushed into the other dining room, clearing his right corner first. His eyes darted from one person to the other, looking for threats. No one dared to move. The two dining rooms were connected by the kitchen. He wanted to block anyone from escaping. He cleared the dining room in no time. He pushed the kitchen door open with his left hand. The moment he set foot inside he felt movement to his right. A cook wielding a butcher’s knife slashed at him. Davari ducked just in time and the large blade missed the top of his head. He was so close to his attacker that he had to shoot him in the legs, as he couldn’t bring his muzzle higher than the man’s thigh. The man crumbled and Davari shot him in the head. He pivoted quickly to make sure no other brave souls took a swing at him. The remaining cooks had their hands in the air. Davari motioned them to exit the kitchen, which they did.

  Ten seconds later, he heard gunfire. It didn’t last long. The cooks were dead, cut down my Salama’s men.

  ........

  Yatom saw Ari clutching his side. He had been hit shortly after the firefight started. Next to him rested KORZEN’s body.

  “Can you move?” Yatom asked.

  Ari was shaking badly and needed medical attention. Things weren’t looking good. Yatom concluded that if the assaulters had managed to gain entry into the restaurant, his team members standing guard outside were either dead or incapacitated. He couldn’t count on them.

  Yatom picked up Ari’s pistol and helped him to his feet. There was a door at the end of the dining room leading into the kitchen. In the kitchen was another exit. It was their only chance.

  Another volley of fire forced Yatom and Ari to get back down. By the time Yatom realized the bullets weren’t meant for them, he had lost precious seconds. They were getting up again when Yatom heard voices yelling in Arabic. He remained immobile as a group of Arabic men armed with AK-47s entered the dining room. In theory, they should have seen him. But since he was motionless, their eyes, not picking up any movements, continued to scan the room. It gave him the half second he needed to bring up his pistol and start shooting. Outgunned three to one, he couldn’t miss. If he did, he’d be cut down immediately.

  Yatom squeezed the trigger three times in just over a second. Two bullets found their marks, hitting their targets’ center of mass. The third Hamas soldier dropped to the floor and, in his haste to return fire, jerked the trigger. His rounds went wide and Yatom finished him off with a single bullet to the head. One of the soldiers was moaning. Yatom walked to him and shot him again. He did the same with the others. He felt no remorse. None whatsoever.

  “Meir Yatom,” a voice behind him called. “At last.”

  A chill went through Yatom’s veins. He turned around, aware his pistol’s action was opened, and recognized the man instantly. Colonel Asad Davari. Quds Force.

  “You’re a hard man to find, Meir. But here we are.”

  In his peripheral vision, Yatom saw that Ari was slowly reaching for his ankle hostler where he kept a small revolver. He forced himself to look straight at Davari, not wanting to betray Ari’s attempt at saving them both.

  “You’ve been busy, Meir, and I think we’re long overdue for a small conversation. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Whatever you say, Asad,” Yatom replied.

  Davari smiled. “Glad to know there are no secrets between us.”

  Ari had his hand on the butt of his revolver. If Yatom could only keep Davari focused on him for another second or two there was a chance they could get out of there alive.

  “Oh, c’mon, Meir,” Davari said. In a lightning-fast move, the colonel swung his rifle to his right, fired a three-round burst into Ari, and shifted his aim back to Yatom’s torso before he could attempt anything.

  Ari! No. No. No!

  The bullets had torn through Ari’s head and torso, leaving a bloody mess of flesh and brain matter on the tiled floor of the restaurant. Ari’s death sent Yatom into a fit of rage. He surprised Davari by throwing his pistol in his direction. Davari ducked but Yatom was already on the move. For a man over sixty years of age, he was traveling fast and was almost on Davari when he heard the shot. It had come from behind him. The non-lethal round hit him between the shoulder blades.

  The pain was immediate and severe. For a moment, Yatom was convinced a 7.62 round had hit him. He fell forward, and, with his momentum, landed less than two feet away from Davari. The colonel didn’t waste any time and jumped on him. Davari’s knee landed in the middle of his back, and Yatom shouted in frustration and pain. He felt the cold steel of the handcuffs as they closed around his wrists.

  “Good shot, Sergeant,” Davari said.

  Yatom craned his neck to see who had shot him, but Davari smacked him behind the head with the butt of his rifle.

  And everything went black.

  CHAPTER 47

  Over Europe

  For the first time in the last seventy-two hours, Mike allowed himself to relax. They had successfully escaped the Greek authorities and the Gulfstream was now safely outside Greek airspace. Thanks to James Cooper, Mike and his team were able to keep their heads down in Athens and let things blow over in relative security. Mike couldn’t wait to get back to New York. Not only did he miss his wife like crazy, he wanted to go through the intelligence General Adbullahi had left them. The death of the Canadian prime minister had shaken him and he wanted to know how someone so close to the prime minister could be turned. Plus, there was the flash drive they had retrieved from Zaid al-Menhali. They could have tried opening its content from one of their laptops but James Cooper recommended they didn’t. He thought it would be more prudent to wait until they were back at the IMSI headquarters where they had the technology to sniff out Trojan horse programs and similar applications.

  “Hey,” Zima said, throwing him two sandwiches wrapped in cellophane. “Ham and cheese,” she added before taking a seat next to Eitan who had fallen asleep a while ago.

  Mike ate ravenously and washed the sandwiches down with a can of pink grapefruit Perrier. By the time he was done, Zima was snoring. Mike was too tired to think straight. They still had a good two hours of flight time before reaching London where they would stop to refuel before heading home to New York City. A couple of hours of sleep would do him a lot of good.

  He closed his eye
s.

  ........

  “Mike, Mike, wake up, buddy,” Martin St-Onge said, gently shaking his shoulder.

  Mike opened his eyes. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “It’s Mapother,” the pilot said. “He wants to speak with you.”

  “Do you have coffee?” Mike asked.

  “Give me a minute.”

  Mike grabbed the SAT phone. “I’m here, Charles.”

  “Is Eitan with you?”

  “He’s sleeping, and so was I.”

  “I don’t care, Mike. Wake him up. And Zima too.”

  Mike didn’t like where this was going. What now?

  Zima and Eitan must have slept lightly because they were both looking at him.

  “All right, Charles,” Mike said once Zima and Eitan had sat next to him. “You’re on speaker.”

  What Mapother said next shocked them all. “MOSSAD thinks Meir Yatom has been taken.”

  Mike and Zima turned their attention to Eitan who looked perplexed.

  “Care to give us more details?” Eitan asked.

  “I don’t have many of them, unfortunately,” Mapother replied. “All I know is what your colleagues back in Tel-Aviv were kind enough to share with me. I’m sure they’ll be more forthcoming with you than they were with me.”

  “Still, what do we know so far?”

  “It seems that Meir was on an operation in Bethlehem—”

  “What the hell was he doing in Bethlehem?” Eitan interrupted Mapother.

  “I can’t answer that,” Mapother said. “His protective detail was wiped out. Including Ari. I’m sorry.”

  Shit! Mike and Ari had fought together in Mykonos only a few months ago. Ari was a true warrior and had played a big part in stopping the terrorist mastermind known as The Sheik from launching a bioterrorism attack on the United States. Without Ari and his team of Israeli assaulters—including Eitan—there was a big chance the Sheik would be prepping his next terror move instead of being debriefed by American interrogators in a black site somewhere in the continental United States. Mike wasn’t privy to the Sheik’s location. Mapother had repeatedly refused to tell him where he was, and with good reasons. The Sheik had altered Mike’s life from the inside out. First there was the kidnapping of Ray Powell—Mike’s father and the Canadian ambassador to Algeria—four years ago. He had psychologically tortured Celina Powell, Mike’s mother, by sending her pictures of her beaten-up husband and then by orchestrating devastating, multiple-front terror attacks that had killed hundreds, including Mike and Lisa’s daughter Melissa. In Mykonos, Ray Powell had sacrificed his life to save a badly injured Lisa and had died at the hands of the Sheik before Mike, Eitan and Ari could save him. And now this?

  Mike doubted the Sheik had anything to do with Meir Yatom’s capture and Ari’s death but he still wanted the chance to conduct a one-on-one enhanced interrogation session with the terrorist.

  “They didn’t find Meir’s body?” Eitan asked.

  “No, they haven’t found his body. That doesn’t mean—”

  “You don’t need to spell it out, Charles. I know he might be dead.”

  “Again, I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t go to New York,” Eitan said, visibly shaken.

  Zima took her boyfriend’s hand. Ari and Eitan were close. Best friends. Brothers, really.

  “I know,” Mapother said. “I’ve asked Martin to stop by Ben Gurion. Do what you have to do, Eitan.”

  “Thank you,” Eitan murmured.

  Mike knew Zima was about say something so he raised his hand, stopping her before she could open her mouth.

  “We’ll see you in a few hours, Charles,” Mike said, before hanging up.

  The moment the SAT phone was off, Zima shouted at Mike, “What the hell?”

  “There was no point in arguing with Mapother. He’d never say yes.”

  “You don’t even know what I was about to ask,” she said, her eyes on fire.

  “You want to go with Eitan,” Mike said matter-of-factly. “And like I said, Mapother would have never allowed it. You would have ignored him and he would have cut you loose for it. It’s often much easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, Zima, you know that.”

  “And you don’t mind? You’ll let me go?”

  “I do mind, but yes, I’ll let you go.”

  Martin St-Onge returned with three cups of coffee.

  “How long till we get to Tel-Aviv,” Eitan asked.

  “Less than an hour,” St-Onge replied.

  Without another word, St-Onge walked back to the cockpit.

  “Meir doesn’t get out in the field much nowadays, and when he does it’s with an entourage. For our enemies to successfully abduct him and kill his whole protective detail, it was a trap. Ari was no amateur.”

  “What could push Meir to take such a risk?” Zima asked. “He must have known he was too valuable to go into Palestine.”

  Eitan took a while to respond but when he did, his answer made sense. “A direct threat to our prime minister would.”

  “And with the attack against the Canadian prime minister, Meir would have to take any threat seriously,” Mike added.

  “I guess I’ll know for sure soon enough,” Eitan said.

  ........

  An hour later, the plane landed at Ben Gurion without incident. It rolled to a private hangar owned by a MOSSAD shell company. A four-door sedan was waiting.

  Mike shook hands with Eitan.

  “Good luck, my friend,” he said. “Thanks for all your help. I’ll pray for your success.”

  Eitan slapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, and don’t worry, Mike. I’ll take care of her.”

  Mike looked at Zima. “Stay safe,” he said to her. “Or Mapother will kill me.”

  “I really appreciate you doing this for me, Mike,” Zima said.

  Mike nodded. “See you soon.”

  Five minutes later, the Gulfstream took off, Mike its only passenger.

  CHAPTER 48

  New York City, New York

  New York Police Department Sergeant Tracy Sassani opened the door of the large black SUV the moment she saw Mayor Anthony Church and his wife step out of Gracie Mansion, the official residence of the mayor of New York.

  “Morning, Tracy,” Mayor Church said, letting his wife slip past him.

  “Good morning to you too, Mr. Mayor,” Sassani replied.

  “Make sure you guys follow the speed limit, will you?”

  “Of course, Mr. Mayor.”

  “I don’t need more bad press. These assholes will do anything to bring me down.”

  The mayor didn’t need to specify who the assholes were; Sergeant Sassani was aware who they were. At the morning briefing, the officer in charge of Mayor Church’s protective detail had chewed their asses about a video that had appeared on YouTube the night before showing Church’s motorcade going over the speed limit and burning red lights. The fact that Church was about to unveil a 62-point safe street initiative wasn’t lost on Sassani, or on the reporters that had run the story. The relationship between the mayor and the press was at an all-time low and both sides were taking swings at each other. New Yorkers were due to the polls in six months, and the stakes were high. Church’s position on gun control had turned most of the liberal press against him. They had supported him in the last election but now they felt betrayed and were going to do everything in their power to bury him, even if that meant spending a fortune to keep him under surveillance twenty-four seven to catch a single slipup.

  Conscious the motorcade was being followed by at least two vehicles filled with reporters, the motorcade commander took his time to get to One Police Plaza. In fact, it took twice the regular time. But Tracy Sassani couldn’t have cared less about the reporters. She was the only one on the protective detail who knew the reporters
weren’t the real threat today. They wouldn’t be the ones taking the mayor down.

  She was.

  CHAPTER 49

  IMSI Headquarters

  “Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Mapother roared. “What went through your head?”

  It had been quite a while since Mike had seen Mapother get so worked up.

  “Do you really think she would have been an effective team member knowing Eitan was in harm’s way?”

  “It wasn’t your call to make, Mike, and you know it,” Mapother replied, his voice somewhat calmer.

  “That’s where she’ll do the most good,” Mike argued. Mapother was a good boss. A fair one. He hated to disappoint the man who had given a new purpose to his life. A second chance, really.

  Mapother sat down behind his desk and pinched his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.

  “I’ve never questioned your judgment in the field. You’ve always had the full support of this organization, but do this to me again and your status, and Lisa’s status, will change. Do I make myself clear?”

  Mike knew better than to continue the debate. All in all, Mapother was letting him off easy.

  “Understood. It won’t happen again.”

  Mapother nodded. “Follow me. We’ll join the techies and try to find out what’s on those drives you brought back.

  ........

  Mike entered the control room and spotted Sanchez and Lisa right away. They were hunched over the shoulders of Anna Caprini, Charles Mapother’s assistant and one of the best and brightest analysts the IMSI had on its payroll.

  “Anything yet?” Mike asked.

  Anna was typing vigorously on her cordless keyboard. She didn’t even acknowledge Mapother.

  Sanchez shrugged. “We don’t know. She isn’t talking to us.”

  “Almost there,” she said, her eyes fixed on her screen.

  “That the first thing she’s said in the last ten minutes,” Lisa chimed in.

  Mike wasn’t an expert in computer science. In fact, he had difficulty keeping up with new technologies. What the IMSI analysts and hackers could do with a simple computer blew his mind. His friend Jonathan Sanchez, and even his wife to a certain extent, never missed an importunity to tease him about it.