The older agent nodded, facing off with Jacob, his shoulders square. “You must think we’re stupid. In a way, that will make what we have to do even more enjoyable. Mr. Weinstein, last chance. What is your involvement with the explosion?”
“I’m not going to say anything more. Shall I get my lawyer and call the prime minister?”
The two agents exchanged a glance, and then the older one shook his head and signaled to the other.
“Weinstein, you should definitely speak with your attorney. Because next time we come, it will be to cuff you and take you in for questioning. And that won’t be due process questioning. At that point it will be too late, and all the king’s horses won’t be able to save your ass,” he spat, and then pushed past Jacob to the door.
The younger one eyed Jacob like he was lunch, sneering at him as he followed his partner out.
“Have a nice day. Thanks for your valuable time,” he said with a malevolent chuckle, chilling Jacob’s blood, although he fought not to show it.
And then they were gone.
Jacob sat, shaken, for a full minute before heaving himself heavily to his feet, his hands trembling from the adrenaline rush. And from something else.
For all his bravado, for the first time in a long while, Jacob was genuinely afraid.
Chapter 15
“Just get ahold of yourself. If they could prove anything, they wouldn’t have come in and tried to rattle you. That’s not how these guys work,” David said, trying for confidence, his voice betraying him.
“Oh, really? And how, exactly, do you know how they operate? I mean, other than that you believe it to be true? As far as I can tell, my ass is now on the firing line because of a series of bad decisions you drove me to. ‘The bomb could solve many of our problems.’ Really? Did that work like you thought? Because last time I checked, having the Mossad breathing down my neck is a pretty big problem,” Jacob worried, pacing in front of David’s desk, his last words still ringing stridently.
“Jacob. Just think about it for a few seconds. What do they know? Nothing. That maybe one of our hundreds of ships was in the area when some Somali warlord blew himself up while trafficking in banned weaponry. Am I missing something here? Did they offer anything other than vague threats, trying to get you to crack?”
“You didn’t have them telling you they were going to haul you away in chains for treason.”
“Jacob. That’s not how things work. You’re way too high profile. Seriously. This was a desperation move on their part. If they actually had anything they could act on, they already would have. As it is, they came, took their best shot, and got nothing for it. You sent them packing. The end,” David said, as if by declaring their hopes out loud he could make them true.
“I disagree. We need to accelerate things. Once the second part of our strategy is in motion, nobody will care about Somalia. They’ll have bigger fish to fry.”
“No, Jacob. You can’t go off half-cocked. Everything is proceeding on schedule. Don’t panic and do anything rash.”
“Rash, my ass. It won’t be you they’re cutting fingers off of in some back room.”
David shook his head. “Again. It’s not going to happen. The best thing you can do is continue on, business as usual. Don’t do anything that will give them a reason to come after you, and you’ll be fine.”
Jacob stared out the window at the cityscape before responding. “I hear what you’re saying, but it’s way easier to be brave when it’s someone else’s head on the chopping block.”
David sighed, obviously exasperated. “Please. Just give it a little time. You’ll see I’m right. As of now, you’ve had a scare. Hell, I’d be scared too. Having the Mossad pay a visit has to be harrowing. But they’ve got nothing. At this point, we could be our own worst enemy. Just play it cool, stick to the plan, and we’ll be fine. Come on. This is the culmination of, what, fifteen years of preparation? We’ve never been closer. Let’s not blow it now.”
“I hear you, David. But I’m not happy, and I’m worried. And if I’m worried, you should be too. These are big stakes we’re playing for. Winner takes all. I don’t buy that they’re just going to go away.”
“I didn’t say they would go away. Reality is that they’ll still nose around, but in a short while none of that will matter. Look, worst case, plan a trip to Zurich or Fiji and watch the whole thing play out on TV. This is now a cause set in motion, and it’s bigger than you or me. Just don’t lose your nerve.”
“Easy for you to say,” Jacob muttered, and then, after a few more minutes of David reassuring him, he left David’s office and returned to his own.
~ ~ ~
The technicians sat at a console monitoring on headphones as Jet and the director stood nearby, listening to catch any nuance over the speaker that was broadcasting the conversation so they could hear it. They heard the distinctive sound of footsteps echo on the playback, and then a door closed.
The director turned to Jet.
“Neat technology, no? We turned his cell phone microphone on without the phone indicating it’s in use. Just that little conversation is enough for us to pull him in, now, and work him over for as long we need to.”
“The problem being,” she said, “that there’s no telling just how much he knows, or how long it would take to get it out of him.”
“True…,” he murmured thoughtfully, and then they heard rustling, and another slamming noise from the tape. “Listen here. This is the call.”
She could hardly make out some tones, and then Jacob hung up as the line began ringing.
The lead technician stopped the recording. “We’re working on filtering out the background noise and enhancing it, sir. I think we can get a number within another half hour.”
“Give it your best shot. Call me the moment you have something. I’ll be in my office,” the director ordered, and then motioned for Jet to follow him.
“He used another cell phone for the aborted call. We think he was trying to reach the operatives, or another member of The Council, and then had a change of heart,” the director said.
“What are the odds are that we can triangulate the phone?” she asked.
“Depends on where it’s located. The most sophisticated equipment in the world belongs to the American NSA, and I have a good relationship with them. I’ll be pulling some backdoor strings once we have the number. If there’s a way to pinpoint it, they’ll be able to,” the director said as he moved back to his office. Jet knew that the high-rise wasn’t the Mossad’s permanent location – just as her former control and lover David had moved his operation around periodically depending upon the mission, she was sure that the director and his support staff didn’t stay in one place for very long.
“You mentioned the satellite footage. A plane?” she reminded him.
“Yes, but it hasn’t helped. It was owned by a corporation based in Nigeria, which not surprisingly turned out to be a shell. We nosed around and discovered that the pilot was a crazy Frenchman who was well known in the region, but he’s likely dead now.”
“Dead?”
“The same satellite detected an explosion near Yemen later that day. The plane was destroyed.”
“How good is the satellite coverage?”
“That’s one of the problems we’re having. Not very. If you asked for footage of any street in Jerusalem we would have it in seconds, but nobody really watches that part of East Africa. So it’s sporadic coverage, and only bits of it at that, on the periphery of whatever the bird is focused on as it orbits over it. For this region, it’s usually Iran, Iraq, Syria, and us.”
“Then there’s no chance of going back and doing a frame-by-frame analysis?”
“No. I mean, maybe NSA would have something, but they’re not going to share it with us until they’re done analyzing it and the CIA gets through with it. For something like this it’s still hit or miss. But we’ve requested getting several of our birds redeployed for our exclusive use from the military. We�
�ll have better visibility moving forward.”
“Hopefully that will translate into an advantage,” Jet said, as she took a seat in front of his desk.
“So far, we’re doing better than we could have hoped. This Weinstein made a mistake that with any luck will lead us to the bomb. That’s a significant break. We’re fortunate we’re dealing with amateurs. A trained operative would have never made that call,” the director said, lighting his tenth cigarette of the day. “If it’s someone here, we’ll drag them in and break them – the only reason I can think of that he’d have placed a call and then aborted it is because he was panicked, which is what we wanted. So he was either calling someone high up in The Council, or he was calling the operatives to warn them, and then thought better of it. Either way will lead us to them.”
“And once we know where they are?”
“Then, depending upon what country it is, you’ll be in the driver’s seat. If by some miracle it’s here, in Israel, we have the resources to deal with it, and you’ll be back on a plane to wherever you like in no time. If not, which is probably the case, I’ll work with you to come up with a plan. Nobody has the sort of field experience you have. Not since the team was wiped out…”
When the intercom sounded, the abrasive buzzing was jarring. The director lifted the phone handset and listened.
“You’re absolutely sure? Fine. Good. We’ll be right there,” he barked, then stood. “Looks like you’re going to be up at bat. We at least have a country now.”
Jet studied his expression and then rose to follow him.
“Where?”
He hesitated, his step slowing slightly before resuming its confident gait.
“Libya.”
Chapter 16
Bangkok, Thailand
Matt cleared airport customs quickly, answering the few questions from the officials in fluent Thai. His carry-on was subjected to a cursory search and then he was waved on. When he stepped out of the terminal he was immediately assaulted by the heat and humidity, a near constant in the capital city. Arriving passengers thronged the sidewalk by the taxi stand, and as always, pandemonium reigned, which he found strangely reassuring. Some things could be depended on, and Bangkok’s unending flirtation with chaos was one of them.
He chose one of the nicer hotels in the downtown area, having made his selection primarily for its convenient proximity to the bank where he kept the diamonds. Tomorrow he would arrive unannounced and pull a handful out, and then negotiate a deal with one of the numerous vendors he knew. He wasn’t going to try to sell them all at once – a million dollars would more than cover his needs for the foreseeable future, and the other nine million worth he was intending to withdraw would fit in his pants pocket. That would still leave him almost two hundred million in stones, counting the fifty Jet was holding for him – a king’s ransom, and more than enough to last him ten lifetimes.
Which got him thinking about her again, for the hundredth time since they’d said their goodbyes at the Mexico City airport. She’d been through so much over just the last weeks, never mind the rest of her life; and yet here she was again, pressed into a dangerous situation that had nothing to do with her, working on behalf of an agency she had faked her own death to escape from. He didn’t see how she maintained her sanity, much less the calm she exuded. And yet through it all, she remained rational, reasoned, and effective.
No wonder he was so attracted to her. Setting aside the obvious physical beauty, she had something inside her that increased her allure for him exponentially. A combination of strength and vulnerability that he’d never encountered before. And one that he was determined to explore, whatever the cost.
Matt was hardly a teenager in lust, but for the first time in his life he had the feeling that he’d met his match – maybe more than just his match, truth be told. And the attraction seemed to be mutual, so he wasn’t pining over unrequited love. But circumstances had again conspired to separate them, and there wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment but attend to his business and hope that Jet came through it unscathed.
Once in the hotel room, he quickly folded his clothes and stowed his valuables in the safe, then went down to the lobby and out onto the street. It was early afternoon, and he realized that he was starving. Fortunately, Bangkok was a town that catered to discerning appetites, and after years prowling the streets, he knew better than most where to find the best food. He walked slowly, easily, taking in the smells and sounds of the bustling metropolis, waves of pedestrians moving along the sidewalks like platelets in the bloodstream of a gigantic urban organism.
Four blocks away he arrived at one of his favorite Thai food places and took a seat at a table near the window, indulging in his customary people-watching as he ordered and then consumed his meal with an icy cold Singha beer. The heat from the spices made his eyes water – something he’d been missing since leaving Thailand, but for which his digestive tract had probably been grateful.
Matt wasn’t particularly worried about running into anyone he knew, but it was still in the back of his mind. His goal was to slip in and out of Bangkok with a minimum of drama. Even though the drug network he’d battled to bring down was now effectively in shambles, there was still a danger from his former colleagues in the local CIA station. For that reason, it was best to keep a low profile and avoid his usual haunts at night – the restaurant wasn’t a risk, but if he went to any of his customary watering holes, there was a chance that some enterprising snitch would recognize him and complicate matters.
He didn’t believe that the local Agency staff had been compromised by Arthur and his group, but he didn’t intend to stake his life on it. The danger had presumably died with the scar-faced miscreant, but enough stolen diamonds to buy a small country would still exert a magnetic pull, and he didn’t kid himself that he would ever be entirely safe. His customary field instincts were still sharp, and his eyes skimmed over the pedestrians as he munched, watching for any tell-tale signs of surveillance.
Once finished, he paid and then set out to get a cell phone and some other odds and ends. A mega-electronics store was all too happy to sell him a cheap Nokia, and after checking the new battery and verifying that it had at least a partial charge, he consulted his other phone, found the number he was looking for, and dialed it.
“Hello. Is Niran there?” Matt asked in Thai. After a brief pause, a male voice came on the line.
“Yes?”
“Niran. This is Ralph. I’ve got another bunch of stones I want to find a home for. How’s your cash position?” Matt asked, using the alias he’d adopted when dealing with the diamond merchants.
“Ah, my friend, it’s always too long since I hear from you. Business is challenging, but somehow I persevere. How large a transaction were you interested in?” Niran responded coyly. At no point in his history had the Thai jeweler ever admitted to doing better than scraping by, and yet he’d purchased tens of millions’ worth of stones from Matt over the years.
“Nothing momentous. I was thinking around a million dollars’ worth. Unless you aren’t in a position to carry that kind of weight. Given the fiscal environment, I won’t hold it against you if you can’t. I have several others who would snap these up, but I figured I’d come to you first…”
“Always a wise move. I shall find the money somewhere, even if I need to sell a few of my wives to do it. When are you thinking?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. Say, around three? It shouldn’t take long, and I’ll need to get to the bank to deposit the funds…”
“Three is perfect. I shall wait to see you then.”
As Matt slid the new phone into his shirt pocket, fatigue washed over him, and he realized he was beat – bone-tired from so many sleepless hours in the air. The combination of the food and alcohol had worked its magic, and it was all that he could do to get back to the hotel room before he collapsed onto the bed and was out cold, dead to the world until the following morning.
~ ~ ~
Moscow, Russian Federation
The drab gray concrete walls in the dank room reverberated with the screams of the naked man suspended by his wrists over a drain in the sloped floor, designed for easy hosing down following an interrogation session. Oleg Illyovich paced in front of the hanging figure, avoiding the congealing pool of fluid beneath him, smoke drifting towards the ceiling from his forty-seventh cigarette of the day, his suit rumpled from sitting slumped over for hours in the room behind the two-way mirror at the far end of the space as he watched the proceedings unfold.
The interrogator, Ivan Makarev, was taking a break, also smoking, having washed his hands in a steel laundry sink in the corner. He was leaning against the wall by the door, reading a gentlemen’s magazine, chuckling occasionally at the amusing anecdotes in the Letters section – some of the outlandish claims by the writers really did test the limits of plausibility, even if they were funny.
The naked man’s body trembled from the frigid temperature, the burns on his torso and legs heightening his sensitivity to cold. Illyovich stopped a few feet in front of the captive and spit a piece of tobacco on the floor – he preferred the non-filtered French cigarettes, raspy and strong, to the more civilized American brands that were now widely available. These were a throwback to the good old days when the Soviet Union manufactured its own cigarettes – vile-smelling creations, strong enough to etch steel; an acquired taste, and one he’d grown to enjoy.
“So you are going to stick with this absurd story of facilitating a sale to a group in Kuwait? If the devices went to Kuwait, then why aren’t they there now? Why was one used in East Africa?”
The captive opened his remaining good eye, bloodshot to the point where it resembled a tomato, and blinked the ruined lid a few times, trying to focus as he croaked a feeble response.
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