by D. I. Telbat
"I'm expected to call in by noon."
"It's nearly noon now."
"Then calls will be made on my behalf."
"But you said you worked in the private sector." Titus placed his hands on his hips. "How much trouble can you Christians be? Maybe the people who scare me the most won't know you're missing until much later."
"Okay. Except . . . I founded COIL."
"COIL?" Titus glanced at Oleg. Annette wondered what the new revelation meant. "Did you know he founded COIL?"
"I know international agencies envy COIL's network behind closed borders."
"What's this COIL?" Luc asked.
"The Commission of International Laborers," Titus said. "A team of case workers out of Manhattan manage a network of field operatives who make the Iranian Pasdaran writhe in fury. They're like spies with Bibles who carry non-lethal weapons. And this entire time, you've been running it?"
"Since I left the Agency a few years ago." Corban stepped forward. "I wish I could introduce you in such a flattering manner, Titus, but I have an insulin delivery. A life hangs in the balance. Tomorrow may be too late."
"Who's the dead man across the street?"
"Jachin Numan, the diabetic girl's father."
"Nice shooting, Lannoy." Titus shook his head at the Belgian. "Of all the bad people in Gaza, you manage to shoot only the good ones."
"The insulin, Titus," Corban said. "That girl doesn't have long."
"I have a meeting. Let me make this deal and everyone can go their separate ways. Besides, it's too dangerous to move right now."
"People are looking for me, too," Annette said, her hand on the wound of the IDF soldier. "It's only been a couple hours, but the American embassy will stop at nothing. My family is very important in the United States. Titus, please?"
"I'd be more concerned about Aaron Adar." Oleg pointed at the IDF soldier. "Israel is the muscle here. They'll tear up the whole city looking for their missing man."
"Which is why we give them no indication as to where we are." Titus glared at Luc. "Except you, Lannoy. Ten-percent is back on the table for you if you go tell Crac Hassad the meet is here." Titus placed his hand on the canister. "And I'll keep this safe until you return."
"Me?" Luc licked his lips, then doused his face with water from Corban's bottle. "I don't have the weaponry to reach the district of Tuffah. And I never set up a signal with Hassad. I'm supposed to take you to him."
"The only reason you're part of the deal is for you to set up the meet. If you can't do that, what do we need you for? I can go to Hassad myself when the heat cools down outside."
"No, I'll do it. Ten-percent?" Luc moved around the wall and looked out the window. "I can probably find a rifle somewhere. It's only about a kilometer or two."
"Thata boy. Tell Hassad to meet us here at three o'clock tonight. That's 0300. And tell him to bring some food and water. We're pinned down here with nothing."
Luc checked his handgun and ammo, then eased up to the window. Annette watched him climb out, hoping she never saw him again.
"It ain't easy being Luc Lannoy." Titus laughed with Oleg. "Okay, everyone out of sight. Oleg, check that back corridor. I don't want anyone sneaking up on us through some back door."
Annette met Corban's eyes, and he nodded. He wouldn't abandon her. If he really was a Christian, Annette guessed he had some sort of luck. She was even tempted to pray right then herself.
*~*
Chapter Five
Manhattan, New York City
Forty-five-year-old Chloe Azmaveth cracked her knuckles as she watched the clock turn to five a.m. in her Manhattan office. That made it noon in Israel and Gaza. Corban still hadn't checked in from his Gaza City mission. She reached for the phone and dialed a number she dreaded calling. It wasn't that Chloe dreaded bothering people. As COIL's public relations manager, she did that for a living. What she did dread was news of Corban's death or capture. He insisted on the most dangerous missions for himself. One of these times—and this could be it—he wasn't coming home.
"Shalom," a man answered. "This is Colonel Yasof."
"Kalil, it's me, Chloe."
The line was silent for several seconds.
"This is unexpected, Chloe. You're not due to report for another week, and certainly not on this line."
"I wish I was calling to visit, Kalil, but I've been watching the news. Gaza City looks bad, even worse than normal."
"Hamas has made it bad, Chloe. Hezbollah is gathering its forces in Lebanon, and there is rumor of a biological weapon in the hands of Muslim sympathizers backing Crac Hassad. Yes, Gaza City is bad. We wish there was peace, but the attacks keep coming."
"I hear you're in charge of the incursion to hunt Hamas extremists. The media says they're hiding amongst civilians to fire their rockets."
"Yes, I'm in charge of Forward Command in Ashkelon, living in a bunker for the past week. Regardless of our air strikes, Hamas is still launching rockets at our cities and digging tunnels into Israel. Their rockets are hitting Tel Aviv almost regularly now."
"Have you noticed any reports of a foreigner spotted in Gaza City?"
Silence again. Chloe popped her knuckles against her leg. She didn't want to tell him anything about their COIL operation, but she knew she'd have to.
"Which foreigner? We had a UN convoy disaster earlier this morning. Hamas used our own captured armaments to destroy four vehicles full of peacekeepers and humanitarians. An investigation will show that IDF weapons shed the blood. There were several foreigners in the party. A couple aren't accounted for, but we're still securing the site."
"I'm actually looking for a foreigner who wasn't in the convoy. He was an unofficial aid worker, Kalil."
"Unofficial? Chloe, the last time you called me unofficially, you wanted help with your new organization. You're not still acting as Mossad's eyes and ears just to use us whenever you want."
"I know, and I don't mean to jeopardize your position, but no one in the IDF knows about Corban Dowler going into Gaza."
"Oh, Chloe. In Gaza? Did he go under the name Corban Dowler?"
"No, he's under the name Christopher Cagon, a Red Cross ambassador out of London. He missed his scheduled call."
"Of course. We're jamming everything in Gaza. No one can call in or out."
"He was supposed to be well out of Gaza by now. If he could have, he would've at least sent a message, because he knows I'll send in the troops for him. He would do it for me. He's done it for others."
"And what exactly do you want from me?"
"I can mobilize three COIL units within twenty-four hours. Can you authorize me?"
"No! Even if it were up to me, no. Israel wouldn't allow covert foreign troops into Gaza, not intentionally. Give me an hour, Chloe. I'll look for a report of this Christopher Cagon. We have IDF in Gaza, some on foot. Someone may have crossed him."
"I'm sending you my sat-phone number. I scheduled a flight while we've been talking. I'll be in Tel Aviv by the time your sun sets."
"Don't come, Chloe. If your agent is here, give us time to find him."
"I can help, Kalil. Don't forget, I worked in the field for twelve years. Those were our glory days, huh?"
"That's what I'm afraid of. I don't want to have to monitor your activities while I need to command our troops. The world is watching."
"Then don't ignore me. I'll definitely cause a scene."
Yawning, Chloe hung up the phone. The COIL office that filled two suites over Times Square was as crowded at that hour as it was during the day. It was always daytime somewhere around the world. At any given time, COIL had no less than thirty field operatives smuggling medical supplies or Bibles into a country, or whisking a missionary family out of harm's way. Sometimes those operatives were soldiers armed with the NL weapon series, and other times COIL sent in one man or woman to make a difference, like Corban.
Chloe dialed her phone again. Her husband, a micron gold miner and salesman, didn't pick up. She left him
a voicemail: "Hey, Zvi. I'm needed overseas. Corban missed a check-in. I'll call when I can. Praying your Australian convention went well. Hope to be back by this weekend. Love you."
She didn't have time to go home, so she shouldered her overnight bag and headed for the elevator. Though she was worried, she wasn't panicked. Corban had gone missing before, and she had responded by searching for him. Hopefully, his wife, Janice, wasn't panicked, either. Chloe would have to call her before she left, even if she couldn't tell her where Corban was.
#######
Luigi Putelli couldn't sleep, but that was nothing new. He sat at his computer monitor and popped three pieces of bubble gum into his mouth. He still craved cigarettes, but the gum was helping.
On his desk, he adjusted a photo of Heather Oakes. She'd once tried to arrest him in New Jersey, but Luigi had since gone legit. Well, mostly. He was doing his best to avoid the wicked contacts from his past and live up to his commitment to Heather and his old spy friend, Corban Dowler. Heather now worked for COIL, so Luigi's whole social circle was easy to track in one location, but that didn't bring him any closer to marrying Heather.
Marry Heather? Luigi looked at the wall where he had a tranquilizer dart hidden behind a picture frame. He figured he should tranq himself right then and there for even thinking about marriage, but his heart was winning this battle.
The distance between him and Heather wasn't geographical or even emotional. He knew she had feelings for him, even if they were borne from sympathy. They had shared a meal the first day they'd met, and since then, he hadn't imagined growing old with anyone else. No, their distance was spiritual, and she was the one who insisted they couldn't be a couple because he wasn't committed to God.
Luigi wasn't against God. One of his other favorite people in the world, Corban Dowler, was a man of God. But Luigi couldn't thrust all his evils onto a holy and good God. No one would deal with his sin but himself, Luigi decided. And yet, that kept him from drawing closer to Heather.
He clicked a desktop icon on his computer screen that resembled an ear. A number of new calls had been placed to and from people he'd been monitoring. Just because Corban and Heather had saved him from a livelihood as an assassin didn't mean he had given up all forms of espionage.
The first message was from his sister to a friend upstate. It was in Italian. Luigi found himself smiling as he listened to the women gossip and laugh. For several years, Anna had been a chain-smoking recluse, but now she had built friendships in America, thanks to her connection with Janice Dowler. Anna and Luigi even talked once a week, but he never gave any indication that he'd been eavesdropping and watching over her.
After listening to the phone calls, which were mostly by Corban's neighbors and potential COIL enemies, Luigi pushed away from the computer. He rubbed his short hair and wondered if he should grow his hair out like the old days. No, he'd just have to update all his new identities and passports. He would keep it short for now.
His computer chirped and he hit a button. It was an incoming call to Zvi Azmaveth. This early in the morning? Luigi counted the rings, anticipating who the caller could be. He guessed it was Zvi's wife, Chloe, though Zvi had many international contacts. Corban and Janice were friends with Zvi and Chloe, but Luigi doubted Corban would be calling Zvi at that time. Corban had disappeared three days earlier on some mission overseas. The COIL offices were impossible to bug, since Corban had them swept twice a week, so Luigi usually had to find out Corban's whereabouts through secondary surveillance.
A message was left for Zvi, and Luigi noted the details that interested him. Chloe was going overseas in search of Corban, who had missed a scheduled call.
Luigi pulled up Chloe Azmaveth's file. He'd met her first in Malaysia, then again when they had worked in tandem to rescue Corban in the Caribbean.
After Chloe's call to her husband, Luigi's computer chirped again, and he eavesdropped on a call from Chloe to Janice Dowler.
"I don't want you to worry, but Corban missed his last check-in. It's probably just something simple, but I'm heading out the door for the airport to be sure."
"Oh, Chloe, please tell me where he is."
"I'm sorry, Janice. You know I want to tell you. But I'll call as soon as I have news, okay? You just pray and . . . well, God knows."
"Corban doesn't make this easy on me. After twenty-five years, you'd think I'd be used to this."
"I debated even calling you . . ."
"No, I'm glad you did. Stay safe, Chloe. Bring him home. I'll be praying."
Luigi had already traced the call's origin: Manhattan. But he got no further than that, which meant Chloe was calling from the COIL offices. With his heart racing, Luigi fingered two more pieces of gum into his mouth. Even after so many years, it still excited him to help his old friend, Corban, though he knew the risks were great. But where was Corban? Chloe would know.
He played the phone messages over twice more, but Luigi still found no clues that would help him locate Corban. His better sense told him to let COIL handle the dilemma, but he was tired of sitting on the sidelines for almost a year, listening to wire taps, and occasionally meeting with government men to assure them he wasn't an active agent. Since his debriefing with the CIA, they had checked on him, and he had remained obedient, mostly for Corban's reputation, who had vouched for him. But he missed the action! No one was targeting the Dowler family at the moment, so he felt he deserved to be at Corban's side, wherever he was.
Collecting his laptop and phone, Luigi packed light, careful to include his weaponized belt. The buckle face held jagged edges coated with a tranquilizing agent not unlike a gentle scopolamine. Because of Corban, Luigi didn't own a firearm anymore. Corban wouldn't want his help if he did. Though Luigi wasn't a Christian, he'd grown comfortable with COIL's non-lethal policy: "God's people can't show God's love if they are intent on killing their enemies."
Luigi rode a taxi to JFK International and took a seat in the lobby entrance with a magazine in his lap until he spotted Chloe enter with a carry-on backpack. He let her pass, his head down, then he followed her into the terminal. He'd gained weight and a little hair since they had last seen one another, but he knew the pretty woman with curly black hair and bold eyes was no civilian. She'd been a field agent for the Mossad and spoke more languages than he did. Her file showed she was Krav Maga trained, and most importantly, she was still Corban's right hand. Corban wouldn't let her remain at his side at the top unless she was still on her game. Thus, Luigi figured Chloe had already spotted him.
Chloe stopped at the counter offering flights to Berlin with a connection to Tel Aviv. Standing in a bookstore across the terminal, Luigi computed his next move. If she were going to Berlin, he'd need only his passport under the name Francis Malvao. But if she was going on to Tel Aviv, he'd need a visa as well. Luigi had been monitoring the news and hadn't seen anything happening in Germany, or its neighboring countries. However, Chloe had dual citizenship with Israel.
Stepping into the men's room, Luigi locked himself in the spacious handicapped stall. He connected to the airport's Wi-Fi and informed the new Canadian embassy in Tel Aviv that the Canadian citizen, Francis Malvao, would be on real estate business in Israel for an indeterminate spell. Next, Luigi purchased an expensive last-minute ticket on the flight that left in an hour. Finally, Luigi used a razor to shred and flush the other identities he'd brought along—since he'd determined where Chloe was headed. A pocketful of passports would set off all kinds of alarms in Israel, which had the most secure customs border in the world.
He made it through security with no problem, then found his gate and sat a few seats down and across from Chloe to await boarding. They were seated in a quiet area. Her face betrayed her anxiety and weariness; she had dark circles under her eyes. Instead of busying herself with a book or the phone in her lap, she kept popping her knuckles every few minutes.
"They say that causes arthritis," Luigi voiced with a smile. He wasn't used to speaking to people face to fac
e, but Chloe was no stranger.
"Luigi Putelli." She smiled with what Luigi guessed was tolerance. Not everyone was happy to see him, but he didn't mind. "Why do I only see you when there's turmoil somewhere in the world?"
"That's just an old wives' tale, though," he said. "The popping sound of the knuckles is just air squeezing over cartilage or something."
"Oh." Chloe frowned at her hands. "I don't think about it. I hate these long flights, you know? Database crash in Germany's COIL office. When the boss says go, I have to go."
"Germany. Huh. You're sticking with that cover story?" He picked up a novel left behind in the next seat. "Well, while you're going to Germany, I'm heading for this plane's next stop: Tel Aviv. A friend in need. Did they seat you well?"
"First class was open. Gotta love those early morning, mid-week flights. Practically empty."
"Me, too. First class. The spoiled life." Luigi pretended to read his book, enjoying their reunion on behalf of Corban.
"Do you go to Israel often?" She barely masked a smile.
"It's been a while. I'm from Ontario, Canada, and I don't travel as much as I'd like. And you should probably call me Francis Malvao."
"Francis Malvao again? Ontario. That explains the French accent."
"Oh, my accent . . ." Luigi laughed and feigned embarrassment, touching his mouth with his fingers. "I've lived in New York so long, I thought I'd lost it."
"It's nothing to be ashamed about."
"How about you? Ever get to Israel?"
"I've wanted to, but never got the chance."
Luigi nodded, wondering what her plan was. She had to be going to Israel. Israel's Palestinian thorn was the only thing in world news. It was too explosive for Corban to avoid. He would find someone to help in the midst of the missile strikes. Why was she being evasive when she could use his help?