“I don’t have to tell you this escalates the terrorist game to a whole other level. Imagine a madman running an oil-rich nation and threatening everyone, including Israel, with untold calamity. Even if not officially.” He thought for a second. “It could very well work. Which underscores the importance of what the director’s requested you do.”
Jet shook her head. “It’s nothing personal, but I’m unavailable. The director’s going to have to solve his own problems.” She frowned. “What’s the weather report for tonight?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. No internet, and nobody’s broadcasting anything but music on the radio.”
“An open boat like a Zodiac isn’t all that stable if the seas kick up, and there were a lot of clouds on the horizon this morning. Maybe we should wait for something more seaworthy?”
“Negative. There’s no second choice. All the decent boats are long gone. It’s this one or nothing.”
“HQ has confirmed the helicopter?”
“Yes.”
“And there’s no complications from using the oil platform?”
“The company that operates it evacuated all but a skeleton crew of maintenance staff when it became obvious that the country was coming apart. As far as the crew is concerned, your arrival is a humanitarian relief effort.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Money’s the ultimate lubricant.” Leo chewed his lower lip. “I just have to figure out where I can get a second scooter for you.”
Jet smiled. “The director’s paying.”
“Then all things are possible.”
Chapter 41
Tel Aviv, Israel
Matt finished brushing Hannah’s hair and inspected her school uniform. His face cracked into a smile. “You look beautiful as ever, sweetheart.”
The little girl turned and studied herself in the full-length mirror, angling her head to confirm that Matt had done an adequate job with the brush before matching his smile and smoothing her blue skirt.
“Thanks.” Her smile turned into a pout. “I miss Mama.”
“Me too, my love.”
She looked up at him, her eyes huge. “Will she be home soon?”
“Should be any day now.”
Her pout intensified. “When?”
“Maybe in a couple of days.”
Hannah thought for a moment. “Why don’t you know?”
“She hasn’t told me yet. But it won’t be long,” Matt said. “Now go grab your backpack or we’re going to be late.”
“Two boys pick on me at school,” Hannah announced when she returned with her bag.
“What do they do?”
“They tease me. They’re mean.”
He knelt down to look her in the eye, his expression serious. “They probably like you, but they’re too shy to say so.”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “No. They’re mean.”
Matt relented. “Could be. But sometimes when boys are mean, it’s because they want your attention.”
“I don’t like them.”
“Right now I’d be surprised if you did.”
Matt slipped on a light windbreaker and extended his hand. Hannah took it, and they left the condo and descended to the ground level.
Their walk together to and from Hannah’s private school was one of the high points of Matt’s day. For the first time in a life that had largely been spent in the field, he felt complete as the head of a real family, even if it was hardly traditional. Still, the routine of preparing the little girl each morning, walking with her to the school, and then helping her with her homework – she, in very unladylike fashion, was fascinated with astronomy and devoted reams of paper to drawing the solar system and coloring in planets – and finally, preparing her for bed was strangely satisfying for him even in Jet’s absence, as though Matt was accomplishing something truly worthwhile.
The wonder of the transformation from a clandestine life into one of seeming mundanity amazed him at times like these, when the morning sun warmed his face as they strolled along the sidewalk. He’d gone from trained killing machine to a glorified nanny, and he couldn’t have been happier with the change, especially after so many months on the run.
He’d quickly grown accustomed to the routine of living in Israel, which in many ways was oddly like living in America. Matt supposed that in a world of megacorporations that knew no national borders, it made sense that people everywhere would be wearing Nikes and Levis and Hollister while chatting on iPhones. He wondered what it must have been like in the sixties when Israel was still in its infancy, and imagined it as very different from what it had become.
Then again, he supposed nothing remained the same, and progress inexorably steamrollered forward, whether for better or worse.
They reached the main boulevard, and Matt stopped with Hannah.
“What’s the rule?” he asked.
“Look both ways. Drivers are crazy.”
“That’s right,” Matt intoned. “Completely nuts.”
Their heads swiveled to the right and left, and then the light changed and they crossed with a throng of pedestrians, some of whom were also escorting their children to the same destination. They walked hand in hand and turned the corner onto the school street, where a line of cars was discharging tykes at a rapid clip while a pair of serious women waved the empty vehicles along to keep the file moving.
A horn honked just behind Matt, and he glanced over his shoulder to where a woman in a compact car was pulling her child’s hand off the steering wheel. Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he zeroed in on a parked car, where a man had looked away when Matt had twisted at the honk.
The skin on Matt’s arms prickled and he returned his attention to the school. His craft instincts immediately kicked in and he began walking back toward the boulevard, eyeing the reflection in the windshields of the waiting vehicles to see if the car followed him. As he neared the final car, he saw that the man was now following him on foot, keeping his distance like a competent professional would.
It had only been luck that the horn honk had triggered his glance, and he swallowed hard at the unexpected scenario. If a pro was staking out Hannah’s school and following him, there was only one possible reason, and it wasn’t good. Matt didn’t allow his mind to worry over the possibilities, but instead focused on how to proceed – whether to lose the tail or try to get the upper hand and learn who he was working for.
A vision of Hannah made the decision easy. If it were only himself, Matt would have put his considerable skills to use and tried to corner the man. But that would entail risk to Hannah in addition, if he failed, or if the man was working with a team. Matt hadn’t spotted anyone else, but he hadn’t had the time to do a thorough scan of all the parked vehicles, much less of the surrounding buildings.
So he needed to err on the side of conservatism and call in the cavalry.
He fished his cell phone from his pocket as he turned the corner and selected one of the speed-dial buttons and, when the screen indicated the call was active, raised it to his ear.
“This is Bluebird. I’m at school, and I’ve got company. Following me now. I need you to send someone to pick up the package.”
There was a brief pause. “I understand. Are you in danger?”
“No way of knowing. But I’m not the imperative.”
“Roger that. We’ll have a team get the package. In the meantime, I’m looking at your phone’s location and you’re four blocks from the condo, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Take evasive action, but play it slow. We’ll have someone pick you up in a few minutes. Leave your phone on and I’ll call with details when we’re close.”
“Will do.”
Matt terminated the call and held the phone up as though checking something on the tiny screen. The man was forty meters behind him and across the street, confirming Matt’s impression of good tradecraft. Any closer, and he ran a greater risk of being detected; any
farther away, he might lose his quarry.
Matt slowed and began window-shopping, the game now to run out the clock until the Mossad could bring him in. The boulevard had scores of shops he could linger in, so he wasn’t worried about having to make a move. Rather, his mind was on Hannah. Matt was more than equipped to deal with whatever came his way, but Hannah was vulnerable, and anyone who wanted to get to either Matt or Jet would use her to do so. Which left a narrow window of opportunity to whisk her to safety. What he was doing was buying her time, nothing more.
He dialed the number again, and the same voice answered. “Pick up the package first. Then me. Do not reverse the order, understand?”
“I understood the first time. A team’s been deployed. I’ll call shortly to confirm pickup.”
Jet and he had the same emergency number on their Mossad-issued cell phones – their last line of defense in case someone came for them. It had been part of her negotiation with the director: her family would be protected at all costs, no matter what happened to her. That was the arrangement, and Matt fully expected the Mossad to live up to its end.
He entered a store and browsed a rack of men’s jackets, and then tried one on for size with the assistance of a fussy clerk, who assured him that it was the highest quality and he looked fabulous in it. Five minutes passed as he debated the purchase, and he decided to buy it as plausible cover for the time he’d spent in the store.
Paying for the jacket took another couple of minutes, and when Matt left the shop, he spied the tail farther up the block, gazing into a display window. Matt’s cell vibrated and he took the call.
“The package is secure. Stand by for pickup in two minutes. We have your location from the cell. Any special instructions?”
“The tail looks to be about six feet tall, wearing a brown shirt and jeans. Caucasian. Fit. Maybe ex-military. He’s at the junction on the west side of this block. Might want to see if you can pull traffic cam footage and identify him. His vehicle is a white compact car parked on the same street where you retrieved the package.”
“Ten four. Your pickup will be a silver Nissan sedan,” the voice said, and gave him a license number. “They’re now ninety seconds out.”
“Roger that.”
Matt hung up and pretended to be fiddling with his phone so it would look to the watcher like he’d requested an Uber. He then checked his watch to further reinforce the assumption the man would have to make, and stared at his cell screen as though tracking his ride’s progress. When the Nissan pulled to the curb in front of the shop, Matt opened the back door and slipped inside, and then they were off, leaving the watcher with no option other than to return to his vehicle – where he would get a reception from the Mossad that was more than he’d bargained for.
“Where are we going?” Matt asked the hatchet-faced man in the passenger seat.
“Safe house. We have to assume the condo is blown. We’ll retrieve your personal effects this evening.”
“That won’t work. I want to go with you. There’s a safe, and a few things stashed around the apartment I need to get.”
“You can clear it with HQ. My orders are to take you to the house.”
Matt exhaled sharply. “Okay. Where’s the girl?”
“Already on her way there.”
Matt sighed and closed his eyes. “How could this happen?”
The driver didn’t say anything, preferring silence to responding to questions to which there were no answers, and left Matt to ride the rest of the way with his mind racing.
Chapter 42
Tripoli, Libya
Lights in the windows of the surrounding buildings twinkled as Leo and Salma climbed aboard Leo’s Vespa and he cranked the starter. When the engine had settled into a steady purr, he rolled away into the dusk, leaving Jet, who’d gone downstairs ten minutes earlier to scout out the street on a scooter of her own, to follow at a discreet distance.
There was little traffic, although more than the prior days when pandemonium had ruled the city. A radio broadcast that afternoon had assured the population that order was being restored by the new interim governor of Libya, Tariq Qaddafi, and that violence or looting would be severely punished in keeping with Sharia law, where the penalty for theft was the amputation of the thief’s hands, and for murder and highway robbery, summary execution. The announcement had apparently had the desired effect, because the pedestrians that Jet saw as she rode well behind Leo’s scooter were unarmed, with the only gunmen those clearly acting as police on behalf of Qaddafi’s group, standing on street corners with AK-47s and wearing red armbands to denote their authority.
Their route to the waterfront was circuitous, and night was falling by the time they arrived at the wide avenue that traced along the harbor. Leo had called Mahdi an hour earlier and told him to expect their arrival by dark, and the smuggler had confirmed the boat would be ready by then, and had agreed to meet them at the marina for payment.
Jet coasted to a stop well away from Leo’s scooter and removed a pair of small binoculars from beneath the robe Leo had provided, along with a two-way radio and a box of ammo for the Heckler & Koch. She did a slow sweep of the waterfront, beginning with the deserted pedestrian walkway and ending at the jetty where the remaining boats were moored.
The Zodiac that would ferry them to safety was easy to pick out, being the only inflatable in the harbor. The sleek craft was lashed to one of the concrete docks, where an older Arab man was standing near the Zodiac with another man half his age. She watched as Leo and Salma made their way down the dock to the pair. After exchanging greetings, Leo paid the older man with a small cloth bag containing the gold and gestured toward the waterfront.
The older man counted the contents of the bag and, once satisfied, pointed to the inflatable. The younger man led Leo and Salma toward the boat as the older Arab left the dock, and then Jet gasped when she saw a figure climb from beneath a tarp that covered a dinghy near the Zodiac and follow the trio toward the larger boat.
She raised the radio to her lips and depressed the transmit button. “Leo, abort. Repeat, abort. There’s a shooter behind you.”
She released the button, but Leo didn’t answer. As the figure closed the distance to Salma and Leo, Jet sprinted for the gangplank, the MP7A1 hanging from its shoulder strap beneath her robe bouncing against her ribs.
She was halfway to the dock and was transmitting another hurried warning when the figure called out. Salma and Leo turned, and then gunfire shattered the silence as he shot Salma three times at close range. Leo ducked and drew his own handgun as the shooter fired again, this time at him. Leo stumbled backward as the assassin’s round slammed into him, and he slipped and fell into the water. Jet increased her pace, feeling for the submachine gun butt as she ran, her breath a snake’s hiss between clenched teeth.
The shooter bolted for the dinghy as she pounded down the gangplank and onto the dock, and he was inside with the outboard roaring to life by the time she freed the MP7A1, and then the little boat was tearing across the inky water, leaving a white froth in its wake. Jet squeezed off three bursts at the dinghy, and then ran to where Leo was struggling to stay afloat at the side of the dock.
Jet set the gun aside and lowered herself onto her stomach, her arms extended toward him. He grabbed at her hands, and she latched onto him and heaved him onto the dock, noting a wound in his upper chest.
The young Zodiac captain stood frozen by the boat, watching the surreal scene with a shocked expression. Jet ignored him as she stood and scooped up her weapon and hurried to Salma’s prone form.
“Oh…Salma,” Jet whispered. The younger woman was clearly dead and lying on her back, the top of her skull blown off along with two bullet holes in her chest. Jet knelt beside her and closed her sightless eyes with her free hand, and then retraced her steps to Leo, who was grimacing in pain.
She examined his wound and looked up at the captain. “Do you have anything on the boat like clean towels and rope?”
; The man nodded rapidly.
“Get them.”
He raced off to do as asked, and Jet returned her attention to Leo. “Looks like it missed your lung. How’s your breathing?”
“H…Hurts.”
“I’ll make a field dressing, but there’s not a lot more I can do here. With the city like this, you’re pretty much screwed – I doubt many doctors are working.”
“I…how’s Salma?”
Jet’s face hardened. “Dead. She was obviously the target.”
“God…”
The captain returned with a handful of rags and some yellow nylon line. Jet took it from him and eyed him. “Get your boat ready. We’ll be leaving in two minutes.”
Leo coughed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Jet selected the least dirty rag and folded it twice, and then placed two of the filthier ones on top before placing the makeshift bandage over the wound and uncoiling the rope.
“I’m going to rig a pressure dressing. It should keep you from bleeding to death until you get to the oil platform.”
Jet lashed the rope around his shoulder as he winced in pain, and ran the line over the rags several times so it would hold the dressing in place. She finished by tying a pair of knots and then called to the captain, “Help me get him into the boat.”
The young man did as instructed, and when Leo was in the bow, leaning against the rubber hull, she handed him her 9mm pistol. He took it, and she turned to the captain.
“Take him to the rig and your job’s done. Try anything funny and he’ll blow your head off. Understand? Now go. You’re out of time.”
Leo’s eyes widened when she leapt back onto the dock. “What…where…are you…going?”
“You need to be evacuated, Leo. I’ve got some unfinished business to take care of,” she said, staring out across the water at where the assassin’s dinghy was half deflated and taking on water, its outboard silent. “Give me your keys. I’ll need to get into the apartment.”
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