Closure Page 8

  Javin drew in a deep breath, then said, “I understand about Wiz, and I’m saddened by his death. But how does this relate to me?”

  “Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” A hint of self-satisfaction crept into Martin’s voice. “I have my suspicions, but somehow Wiz’s death and leak of intel is connected to you, Javin.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “I still haven’t put everything together, but I will. Your fate will be very difficult if I can establish a connection. It’s better for you to come in now, and we can resolve this amicably, peacefully.”

  “How will that play out?”

  “Return right away to Ottawa, and we’ll find a way. We can attribute your ‘going rogue’ to a set of miscommunications and misunderstandings.”

  “And Claudia and I will return to our normal duties?”

  “Of course, perhaps not right away, but eventually.”

  “And everything will return to normal, right?”

  “Yes, it will, Javin.”

  But my wife, she’ll never come back. And neither will Wiz, who was killed by your cronies. And your treason, that will never come to light. Javin shook his head and said, “I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Don’t take long, Javin. My patience is running thin. The conference is taking place in two days. This generous offer is valid only until that time.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. And Javin, don’t try anything at the conference. It will end very badly for you and everyone else involved.”

  Javin grinned. “I got the message, sir.”

  “Good. Call me when you’ve made up your mind. And for your sake, I hope it’s the right decision.”

  “Take care, Martin.”

  “Yes, you too, Javin.”

  He ended the call and glanced at the phone. Martin, that old snake. Who told him about Geneva? Bakhtiar, or one of his men? He cursed whoever was the traitor. I’ll find him, even if it’s the last thing I do. And the offer ... Well, I gave it some thought, Martin, and your pathetic offer is rejected.

  Javin shook his head again and turned toward the Quds Force safehouse. His mind was in high gear. He would have to scrap the original plan about the Geneva operation. But he was not giving up; just switching things around to fit the new environment. As far as Javin knew, both Martin and Macdonald were still attending the conference. Yes, and they will both pay for what they’ve done. I won’t give up until they receive what they deserve.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dhahran International Palace

  Dhahran, Saudi Arabia

  Claudia had been able to get rid of the Hummer and had hailed a taxi in the village. The cabdriver and a few of the locals had given her curious glances. She was a woman travelling on her own, who did not speak the language and had no luggage. Everything about her was suspicious. But money was the international language that everyone understood. Once she had made clear her intentions to travel to Dhahran, Claudia had been able to arrange for the cabdriver.

  It was a long and quiet drive, but Claudia did not mind the chance to gather her thoughts. While she had escaped from her Riyadh captors, her ordeal was far from over. She was still inside Saudi Arabia and would be until Wissam and the boatman devised a plan to ferry her across the border and into Bahrain. And she still had to find Javin, wherever he might be.

  She thought about calling Wissam, but decided against it. He was supposed to contact her as soon as he heard from the boatman. The silence meant no progress.

  She also thought about getting in touch with a couple of contacts in Iraq, so she could start to look for Javin. But she did not want to widen the circle of people who knew about her and her objective. As the rule went, the more people who knew about Claudia, the greater the risk of one of them carelessly saying something to the wrong person. Once Wissam had taken care of the transport to Bahrain, she would enlist his help to locate Javin.

  It was late afternoon when the taxi reached the outskirts of Dhahran. She began to look for a hotel, where she could wait for Wissam. Claudia had no identification documents, and she doubted she would be able to convince a hotel clerk to rent her a room. Thank God for Wissam, she thought. Otherwise, I’d have to spend the night in a stolen car.

  The cabdriver began to talk to her, and, by use of hand gestures, Claudia gathered that he was asking about her destination. She glanced around and saw a five-story building up ahead. Dhahran International Palace was written in large letters in both English and Arabic on the side. “There, let’s go there,” Claudia said and pointed at the hotel. “International Palace.”

  “Yes, okay, okay,” the cabdriver said, the only two words he could speak in English.

  Claudia paid him before he dropped her off outside the hotel’s main entrance. She straightened her abaya and stepped outside. She made no eye contact with the few men walking in front of the hotel and a couple standing near the entrance and went through the revolving door.

  In the lobby, she turned left, toward the lounge with brown leather armchairs. She sat near one of the corners, away from the closest guests—three middle-aged men in black power suits who were chatting animatedly among themselves. She turned her back to them, but kept them in her peripheral vision as her eyes covered both the main entrance and the hall leading toward the back of the hotel. Claudia pulled out her phone and decided to dial Wissam’s number.

  He picked up after the second ring and said, “Claudia, how are you?”

  “All right, Wissam. I’m in Dhahran. You?”

  “I’m in the city as well. Where can we meet?”

  “International Palace. It’s at the corner of—”

  “I know where it is, and I’m not too far away from it. I’ll be there in ten, no, fifteen.”

  “Okay. Any news?”

  “Yes, Claudia. It’s your lucky day. The boatman agreed to get us across.”

  “How did you get him to change his mind?”

  “I didn’t. But ten grand has a certain influence on some people.”

  Claudia smiled. “That’s good. And you’re coming too?”

  “You thought I’d leave you?”

  “I ... I wasn’t sure of your intentions.”

  “I’ll go with you. I trust the boatman, but not enough to leave you alone.”

  “You know I can handle myself, right? And I have a gun.” Or two.

  “That’s not the point. But yes, you’re fully capable of doing this on your own.”

  “When are we meeting him?”

  “It will be after midnight. He’ll give me the exact time soon.”

  “Okay, that’s good.”

  Claudia smiled again, but this time at a waiter who had approached her. The young man said something in Arabic, and Claudia shook her head. “Give me a sec.” She covered the phone with her hand and said, “Sorry, I don’t speak Arabic.”

  The waiter switched to heavily accented English. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Oh, sure, I’ll have coffee, please.”

  “Honey? Milk?”

  “No, just black.”

  “Coffee, black.”

  “You got it.”

  The waiter nodded and left.

  “Wissam,” Claudia whispered onto her phone.

  “Yes, what was that?”

  “The waiter. Now, where do we meet our guy?”

  “Twenty miles south of the causeway. It’s a secluded area.”

  “And the patrols?”

  “The boatman has a man on the inside who’ll inform him of the rounds. That’s why the timing is important and still uncertain.”

  “All right. I’ll see you in a bit. Should I get you something to drink? How about supper?”

  “It’s too early for supper.”

  “Well, I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I’m starving.”

  “I’ll find you at the restaurant, then.”

  “Sure thing.”

  She ended the call just as the waiter was gliding toward
Claudia carrying her drink. He placed it on the small coffee table in front of her. “Is the restaurant open?”

  “Yes, yes, open all the time. Should I take your coffee there?”

  “No, I’ll enjoy it here. Would you mind getting me a menu?”

  The waiter nodded and disappeared without another word.

  Claudia took a small sip of the hot coffee. Mmmmm, the little pleasures of life. She closed her eyes for just a moment and drew in a deep breath, enjoying the coffee’s strong aroma. Once Wissam gets here, we’ll have to get down to business again. But until then, I should try to relax.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Quds Force safehouse

  Al Rashid District, Baghdad, Iraq

  Javin chewed the chicken and beef kabobs without tasting anything. His mind was preoccupied with the recent phone call from his boss. Javin was troubled by what Martin had said and even more by what he had not said. While Martin could have guessed Javin’s intentions to avenge his and Claudia’s betrayal, someone had disclosed Javin’s number. Someone Javin had trusted.

  He could not decide if it was the Iranians or Mossad. Besides Muath, they were the only other parties who had knowledge of the number. Bakhtiar could have contacted Martin to check the truthfulness of Javin’s claims. Or perhaps one of Bakhtiar’s men had leaked the information. Someone in the Iranian camp works for the CIS? Javin shook his head at the unlikelihood of that scenario, although there had been situations where even more improbable events had taken place.

  Or maybe it was Mossad. Asher was an old friend, but old friends can be forced to turn against you. What if Asher spoke to someone close to Horowitz or Yael, and they closed the loop by getting in touch with Martin? Javin frowned. That was more likely. Eventually, word would get around since Javin had requested the removal of the Mossad operative responsible for his shooting.

  Then another darker thought raced through his mind. What if it’s Muath? He was an old and dear friend, like Asher, but Muath worked for the GID, the Jordanian General Intelligence Directorate. If they had ordered him, Muath would have little choice but to give up Javin and his phone number.

  He shook his head. The doubts were starting to eat him up. I have to figure this out. I can’t go on with any plans if I don’t know who’s the traitor.

  “Javin, what’s going through your mind?”

  Firuz’s voice came to Javin as if in a dream. “Uh ... what? Oh, just a lot going on.”

  “But it’s all coming together. We’ll go to pick up our passports in a couple of hours, then catch our flight tomorrow morning.”

  Javin nodded, but without any conviction. “I have to take care of something before that happens.” He stood up.

  “Sure, where are we going?” Firuz said.

  “I’ve got this. It won’t take long.”

  “Something’s wrong?” Danyal asked.

  “I need some fresh air, so I’ll go out for a walk.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Firuz said.

  “No.” Javin shook his head.

  “Why not? You’re disappearing?”

  “What? No, why do you say that?”

  “Because you’re acting very strange.”

  Javin cocked his head. “Strange because I’m going out for a short walk?”

  “No, strange because you’ve been quiet the entire supper. And you have this look about you, as if you suspect one of us—”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

  Javin shook his head again. “You’re reading too much into it, Firuz. I just need some fresh air, stretch my legs, gather my thoughts. I’ll be back in half an hour, forty-five minutes at the most. I’ve got my phone with me, if you need to reach me.”

  Firuz returned an unconvinced gaze.

  Danyal studied Javin’s face and said, “All right, all right.”

  Javin walked to the door, then gave them a last glance. “Relax, I’ll see you soon.”

  Firuz nodded, but said nothing.

  The sharp wind hit Javin as soon as he got onto the porch. The night had fallen, and the courtyard was completely dark. Only a dim glow came from beyond the nine-foot-high walls.

  Javin tightened the collar of his black jacket and stepped quietly toward the gate. He stopped before opening it and listened for a long moment to faint noises coming from the alley. Male voices chatting, followed by laughter and a curse. Then the sound of a car door slamming, and the engine roaring and tires spinning.

  He drew in a deep breath, then unlatched the gate when the noise had died down. After casting a sweeping gaze down the alley, Javin stepped out of the courtyard. He turned to the left and walked at a hurried yet silent pace, moving away from a man smoking outside the house three doors down.

  When he neared Airport Street, Javin began to look for the cellphone store he had seen when they first arrived at the safehouse. Of course, everything looked different at night, and the neighborhood was poorly lit. Javin had committed to memory most of the area’s landmarks. So he found the store, but it was already closed.

  He shrugged, then asked a couple of young men who were riding their bicycles about a taxi. One of them pointed to the east, toward the airport. The other pulled out a phone and told Javin he was going to call one of the neighbors, who was a cabdriver.

  Javin thanked him and waited.

  Ten minutes passed, then a yellow Kia taxi approached Javin. The driver pulled up next to Javin and asked, “You called for a taxi?”

  Javin glanced at the mustached man, who had a large nose and a potato-shaped head. “I did. Can you take me to the nearest open cellphone store?”

  The man frowned. “There’s one just five minutes that way.” He pointed toward the north. “You can walk.”

  “No, I also need to go to a food store.” Javin pulled open the taxi’s door. “You’ll get paid well.”

  The cabdriver nodded, but did not seemed convinced. “What food are you buying?”

  “Sweets.”

  “I know a good bakery. Not too far.”

  “As long as we’re back in thirty minutes.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  The cellphone store was still open, and Javin dashed in. He bought two prepaid phones from two of the largest Iraqi operators, Zain and Korek. Once they were activated, Javin topped them up with one hundred dollars each, then left the store.

  Alaa’din’s bakery was busier, with a few men and women waiting in line. Javin ordered a large box of perhaps Iraq’s most famous dessert, mann al-sama or manna from heaven. The rich chewy sweets in the shape of large balls were prepared by boiling and milling the sap fallen from trees growing in Northern Iraq, then mixing it with nuts and flavoring it with cardamom.

  Then he stepped outside to place a call to Firuz and to prepare the trap to catch the traitor.

  Chapter Twenty

  Outside Alaa’din bakery

  Al Rashid District, Baghdad, Iraq

  Firuz picked up right away. “Javin, where are you?” he asked in a hurried tone full of concern.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “You’re late.”

  Javin glanced at his watch. “It hasn’t been even thirty minutes.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  “As I said, in forty-five minutes or so. Now, listen, my phone’s battery is almost dead. I’m trying to get a spare, but it may take some time.”

  “What model is the phone? Maybe we have something here.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I got a new phone, and here’s the number, if you need to call me.”

  “What is it?”

  Javin gave Firuz the number of one of the new phones, then repeated it to make sure Firuz had written it down correctly. “You got it?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Good, see you when I get back.”

  “All right, fine.”

  Javin sighed. First step done, now let’s take care of the second. His next call connecte
d him to his boss.

  Martin replied after the fourth ring. “Javin, you caught me as I was leaving the office.”

  “This will not take long.”

  “All right, go ahead then. You’ve made a decision?”

  “I have, and your offer is rejected.”

  “Now, listen, because you’re making a terrible mis—”

  “Martin, I didn’t call for a lecture.”

  “No, but this isn’t—”

  “I’m done with you, Martin. So long.”

  Javin abruptly ended the call.

  He glanced at the phone in his hand. It had been less than ten seconds, and the phone vibrated, then rang the tune Javin had assigned to Martin’s office phone. He’s taking the bait.

  Javin ignored the call. He turned the phone off, then returned to the bakery to wait for his order. It was not ready yet, so he paced outside the store for a couple of minutes. He glanced at the newest phone, the one whose number he had just given to Firuz. Is it going to happen?

  Another long minute passed, then his phone rang. It was an unknown number. Yes, this could be it. “Go for Javin.”

  “Javin,” Martin said. “You ungrateful son of a—”

  “You? How did you—”

  “Didn’t I tell you I have eyes everywhere?”

  “Still, I’m—”

  “Shut up and listen: this is your last warning—”

  Javin hung up on his boss. No need to listen to his scolding. Javin’s theory had been confirmed: Firuz or Danyal was the mole. One of them had given Martin the number of the new phone Javin had just purchased. Besides Javin, the Iranians were the only ones who knew the number.

  Javin’s new phone rang again. The call came from an unknown number. Javin shrugged and did not answer the phone. It rang and rang for what seemed like an eternity. Then it stopped, but only for a second. The second time the caller was less persistent, and the ringing stopped after the sixth or the seventh ring.