by Trevor Scott
Carzani thought about that for a moment. “Can you at least close the door?”
Jake thought about what he himself had just said. But what if the wind shifted? He slowly closed the door.
“The formula?” Nelsen said.
The Kurd’s eyes shifted toward a fire safe along one wall.
“So, it’s in there?” Nelsen asked. “Open it.”
Carzani hesitated.
Jake leveled the M-16 on the box.
“Wait,” Carzani yelled. “It’s wired. I must disarm it or we will all die.” Carzani went to the safe, pulled a key from around his neck, slowly opened the box part way, and then disconnected a trip wire inside and brought the top all the way open.
Helena rushed toward the box. As she did, there was a flash from the side and she swiveled toward the floor, returning fire twice.
Before Jake or Nelsen knew what had happened, Carzani was on his stomach, a bullet in his right lung and another in his liver. Near the fire safe, Helena lay on her back holding her left shoulder.
Jake ran to her and set the rifle on the floor. “Let me see it?”
She reluctantly removed her hand.
The bullet had entered her shoulder, but he couldn’t find an exit wound.
Her chest was heaving from the pain.
“Can you breathe normally?” Jake asked. “Slow down and try to breathe normally.”
She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Does it hurt to breathe?” Jake asked.
She shook her head.
“Can you talk?”
“Yes,” she forced out. “What do you want me to say? It hurts like hell.”
She was a tough one, Jake thought.
“What about Carzani?” she asked.
Jake gazed over at Nelsen, who had checked on the Kurdish leader. Nelsen shook his head.
“He’s seen better days,” Jake said. Then Jake rolled Helena over to her side. There was a growing spot of blood on her shoulder. Jake quickly unbuttoned her top and pulled it down over her shoulder. There was an exit wound on the far side of her scapula. Two more inches and the bullet would have severed her spine. But that was the good news. The bullet had probably missed bone completely. If it had hit anything hard, it could have turned inward toward vital organs. But the bullet had even missed her lungs, since the blood was dark red. Jake ripped a piece of cloth from Helena’s shirt and stuffed it over the exit wound. Then he found some wide, heavy duct tape on the console and he patched the wound. He did the same to her shoulder where the bullet had entered.
In a few minutes Helena was sitting up. “What about the formula?” she asked.
Nelsen was busy looking through the safe. Most of the documents were written in Turkish, and probably Kurdish. Finally, he pulled out a package of papers with Slavic writing and chemical diagrams. “Got it.”
“I don’t think so,” came a voice from the inner door, which was wide open now. Jake and Nelsen had been so preoccupied, they hadn’t noticed the man enter.
Jake glared at the man, who was holding an automatic pistol on them. It was Chavva’s boss, Omri Sherut. “So, Omar. I see you didn’t get on that flight to Tel Aviv.”
“Nor did you look up some old friend,” Sherut said with a gap-toothed smile.
This was the first time Jake had seen the man without his huge bodyguard, or whatever he was. He had to be somewhere close.
“You can give those papers to me,” Sherut said, his hand outstretched toward Nelsen.
“Who the hell is this?” Nelsen asked Jake. “You know this Bozo?”
“We’ve met. My guess is Mossad.”
“Well I’m Agency,” Nelsen reminded the room. “Last time I looked, we were on the same side.”
Omri Sherut laughed. “When the moon is full on a leap year.”
“A fucking comedian,” Nelsen said. He had returned his gun to its holster while searching through the papers, and he thought of pulling it now.
Jake was five feet from the M-16. His own 9mm was also in its holster inside his leather jacket. “Put the gun away, Omar. I’m sure our governments will work out some sort of deal. They always do.”
“Not this time,” Sherut said, his gun still trained on Nelsen. “This one’s for me.”
Jake considered that. Had Sherut been working for himself all along? Jake didn’t get a chance to find out.
There were three shots from the open door that Sherut had entered. The Israeli’s gun dropped to the floor. And Omri Sherut, as if in slow motion, sunk to his knees.
Jake pulled his gun.
Nelsen drew his.
Out of the darkness came Chavva. She walked up to Sherut, who was still on his knees in obvious pain. “You fucking pig,” she screamed in Hebrew. Then she switched languages and spouted off in a long recitation, as if she were a teacher lecturing an errant student.
Jake watched her in awe. She was dressed in all black, and it clung to her perfect body. A body he had seen and felt and made love to. He had known she was dangerous, and that had been part of the attraction. Yet, here she was now, having just shot a man. A man Jake had thought she worked for. Something didn’t quite add up.
When she was done yelling, she finally regarded Jake with a smile. “I had a feeling you would come,” she said.
“You know her too?” Nelsen asked.
“Afraid so. Odessa was a crazy town.”
“Who are they, Jake?” Chavva asked, nodding toward Nelsen and Helena.
Jake explained who they were. Nelsen still had his gun out, but Jake had relaxed slightly. Looking at Chavva he finally realized what was going on. He had watched Chavva lecture Sherut, and the little girl in her seemed to leap forward, out and away from that tough exterior. He had suspected all along that there was something special about Chavva, but it took that very moment to confirm his suspicions. She had become the 15-year-old girl in Halabja, tears in her eyes, wondering how anyone could be so inhuman. He returned his gun to his holster and walked toward Chavva.
“You were Halabja,” Jake said to her. “Tvchenko was talking about you. You killed him.”
“I had to Jake. Nobody should make weapons like that.”
Chavva still had her gun out, but it was poised on Sherut. “Jake. How could he do this?”
Omri Sherut let out one last gasp and then dropped to his side, looking up to Chavva with wonder in his eyes.
Jake put his hand on Chavva’s shoulder. She turned and settled into his arms. “It’s okay, Chavva. It’s over.”
51
Finding out where the Kurds were keeping Sinclair Tucker wasn’t a difficult task. Chavva had come across the primitive cells in the depths of the catacombs while making her way toward Carzani’s control center.
She and Jake were now sneaking through the near darkness of the damp passageways, with the only light coming from low-watt bulbs strung like Christmas lights down the center of the arched ceiling.
After a short distance they came upon a crumpled body. Jake shone the flashlight on the huge form. It was Omri Sherut’s bodyguard.
“Some of your work, I suppose,” Jake whispered to Chavva.
She shrugged. “He got in my way.”
They continued on, both with their guns drawn.
When they reached the cell area, they became more cautious. There were six cells in all. Three on each side. Chavva was on one side and Jake on the other. The first two doors were open, so they each slammed inward simultaneously, their guns leading the way.
Nothing.
They were empty.
The middle doors were closed, but the far end doors were open. They slipped past the center ones and smashed through the last two.
Nothing.
There was a passageway on the far wall with a closed door. Jake pointed toward it. She motioned that she had come from that way. She had told Jake earlier in the control room that there was a back entrance from the mountain side.
“Tuck. Are you in here?” Jake asked, breaki
ng the silence.
After a moment. “Jake, is that you?”
“Damn straight.”
Jake and Chavva moved to the outside of Tucker’s cell.
“How’d you get here? You crazy bastard.” Tucker laughed softly to himself.
“Same as you. Helicopter. Only mine blew up after I got out.”
“Great. I heard an explosion a while back. Was that you?”
While they were talking, Jake and Chavva were both looking for some way to get in. The wooden door was by no means impenetrable, but there was nothing to even pry at it with. It appeared like an old skeleton lock.
“Stand to the side, Tuck. I’m going to shoot the lock.”
Jake shot once and missed the metal throw. The second shot hit metal, but the lock held. After the third and fourth shots, Jake decided to try the strength. He kicked the door and it went inward partially, leaving a one inch gap. The second kick did the trick, the door flung open.
Inside, Sinclair Tucker was crouched low against the side wall, next to a body covered with a blanket.
Chavva waited at the door, her gun still drawn.
Jake helped Tucker to his feet. “You look like shit, Tuck. You smell too.”
“I’ve been here a while, you bloke. Besides, you don’t smell great yourself.”
Jake had forgotten about crawling through sheep shit to get into the lab earlier.
“I was meaning to ask you about that,” Chavva said.
Jake shrugged and then pointing to the covered man at their feet. “The co-pilot?”
“He died a while back,” Tucker said. “They wouldn’t remove him. The bastards. I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted. Thanks Jake.” Then Tucker nodded toward Chavva. “Who’s this lovely woman.”
“I’ll explain later. Right now we’ve got to get the hell out of here.”
Jake propped the Brit’s arm over his shoulder and started to work his way toward the door.
Tucker stopped him. “We can’t leave him here.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Jake checked his watch. “If we don’t get out of here soon, the Turks will level the town. Unless we can convince them not to.”
Jake saw the movement behind Chavva’s shoulder before he knew precisely what was happening. The door across the corridor was opening. With one sudden and fluid motion, Jake pulled his gun and fired twice, just to the side of Chavva’s shoulder.
Chavva jumped and then turned to see what Jake had shot.
A man lay crumpled face down on the cement, an M-16 under his chin.
“That’s the prick of a guard who kept kicking my broken leg,” Tucker said. “Damn it, Jake. I wish I’d done that myself.”
The three of them made their way back down the dark corridor to the control room. Nelsen was on the phone when they arrived. Helena was resting on the floor, sitting up against one wall.
“What’s the word?” Jake asked.
Nelsen quieted him with the palm of his hand. “But we’re stuck here, sir. The entire area is swarming with Peshmerga Guerrillas.” He paused for a moment. “Yes. Yes. I can’t leave Garcia. I understand. Yes, I have it.” He looked at Jake. “He’s with me. I don’t think he’s aware of that. Yes, sir.” Nelsen waited for a moment, and then slammed the phone down. “Son of a bitch.”
“What now?” Jake asked.
“They refuse to stop the air strike.”
“What?”
“The Turks want to take advantage of the opportunity,” Nelsen explained. “Besides, the Agency tends to agree with them. They want to make sure there are no other copies of this formula out there, or anyone who knows anything about it.”
“How much time do we have?” Jake asked.
Nelsen checked his watch. “Three hours before they level everything east of Lake Van along this mountain ridge.”
“They’re not going to bomb the city of Van.”
“No.”
Jake saw the troubled look on Chavva’s face. She had to be thinking of the Iraqi jets dropping chemical weapons on her city as a child. “We have to leave, Chavva.”
“I can’t go,” she muttered. “I must warn the people. Most of them have done nothing. They just want a homeland. You go. Go now.”
Jake gazed around the room, and for the first time, noticed Tucker had gone over to Helena and was sitting next to her. Jake hurried to his friend. “You know each other?” Jake asked Tucker.
“I’ll explain later.” Tucker said, and then gave Helena a kiss on the cheek.
Nelsen came over with the Tvchenko folder. “This is getting too weird. Now these two know each other?”
“Afraid so.” Jake was starting to understand how, without Tucker’s explanation. Sinclair had said he was running an agent, and now he knew who.
“I can’t let you go,” Chavva yelled.
When the four of them turned, they saw Chavva pointing her gun toward them.
Jake moved away from the others. “What are you doing, Chavva?”
“I’m sorry Jake. I must have the formula.”
“For who?”
She hesitated and tears streaked her cheeks. “For me. The formula is for me.”
Nelsen had the folder in his hands, and Jake quickly pulled them away from the larger man. “Don’t give them over Jake.”
Jake moved closer to Chavva with the papers. “You don’t want these for your Israeli friends, or for your Kurdish ancestors?”
She shook her head.
Jake pulled out a metal trash can from under the console, dumped out the garbage, and set the papers inside. “Do the honors, Chavva.” Jake backed away.
She squirted lighter fluid on the papers and lit a cigarette lighter.
“No,” Nelsen screamed. “That’s the most important weapon developed in decades.” He thought about going for his gun.
“Don’t you see, Nelsen,” Jake said. “She knows this more than any of us. She’s been there. Nobody should have this one.”
Sinclair and Helena agreed with silence.
Nelsen was alone, yet even he wasn’t protesting with any great vigor. He didn’t say another word.
Chavva lit a small piece of paper and threw it into the can, which went up in a puff of flames. The room filled with smoke, but within a few minutes, the entire Tvchenko file was nothing but ashes. Chavva dumped the smoldering paper, which was light and fluffy now, onto the cement floor, and then dispersed them into nothing. There was no way to reconstruct the most deadly nerve gas ever conceived. It too was nothing more than thoughts in the air of the dead.
Sinclair Tucker helped Helena to her feet, and they stood together where neither could have probably done so on their own.
“Let’s go ladies and gentlemen,” Tucker said. “Before we end up like those papers.”
Nelsen shook his head with a strange smirk. He realized that maybe thousands of lives would be saved by that one simple act by a courageous woman he didn’t even know.
●
The five of them headed out toward the back door. As they reached the cell area, a flash of gunfire pierced the silence. They all dove to the side.
Jake and Nelsen quickly returned fire.
“Where’s it coming from?” Sinclair yelled. He was on the ground with his arms wrapped around Helena.
“The middle cell across from your old home,” Jake answered.
Jake, Nelsen and Chavva returned fire.
“Is that you, Mr. Agency man,” came a voice from the cell.
Nelsen clenched his jaw. “Baskale,” he yelled.
“A good memory. I like that.”
“You know him?” Jake asked.
“The Kurd from Texas,” Nelsen said. “I had to know someone here.” He smiled. “What do you want?” he barked at Baskale.
There was hesitation. “The formula.”
“Too late. It’s gone.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Chavva yelled something in Kurdish and there was silence for a moment. The only wor
ds Jake understood for sure were Carzani and Halabja.
In a moment there was sobbing from the cell. Then a rifle slid out through the opening.
Nelsen frowned at Jake, and gazed at Chavva with surprise.
Chavva walked up to the cell, opened it, and looked down on Baskale, who was huddled in a ball. By now Jake and Nelsen had reached the cell.
Nelsen reached down and pulled the man to his feet. When his eyes met the large Agency man, Baskale’s face turned to anger. He took a wild swing at Nelsen, catching him with a glancing blow to the chin, but barely fazing Nelsen. Nelsen retaliated with a quick flurry of punches to the stomach and then the face, and he followed up with a straight kick to the man’s jaw. Baskale collapsed to the cell floor. Out cold.
●
Chavva helped them out the back way. She agreed to get them started on the road to Van, but wouldn’t leave the village before warning the people. They could have a truck she had stashed on the edge of town. She handed Jake the keys. There was still a few hours before the Turks would sweep in and bomb the place.
Jake pulled Chavva aside. “Come with us,” he pleaded. “We still haven’t gone out.” He tried a smile.
“I can’t,” she cried. “Besides, I’d rather stay in like last time.”
“I’ll wait for you in Adana or Istanbul.”
She pulled out a Turkish driver’s license and handed it to Jake. “Here. I live there in Istanbul. Meet me there.” She pulled him to her and they kissed for a long moment. “Two days,” she whispered and smiled.
Then she was off into the darkness.
52
ODESSA, UKRAINE
Over thirty hours had passed since the Turks swept down out of the west in their F-16s, came in low over Lake Van, and dropped their 500 pound bombs. The attack had been more of a show than anything, with no casualties reported in all of Kurdistan. In fact, only four jets had dropped bombs.
Jake had said goodbye to Sinclair Tucker and Helena at the Diyarbakir hospital, where they both required medical attention, he with a cast and her with a better bandage. Jake had agreed to call him in London in a week to see how he was doing. He didn’t expect to see Helena again. And that was a shame, because she was quite a woman. Tuck explained how she had been working as a double agent with the GRU and him. The two of them had become close, to say the least.