“Have you lost many?” She didn’t mean for her tone to sound accusatory, but even to her ear, it did.
“Maya, I don’t answer to you. Are we clear on that? I’m your superior.”
“Of course.”
“We observed all safeguards with Gil and his informant,” he said stiffly.
“Then maybe you need to rethink the safeguards, because obviously they failed.”
He stared at her without blinking and then nodded slowly. “Fair point, and you’re right, of course. I’m sorry. I’m just defensive. You’ll see what it’s like when you’re running agents. You always feel like you’re to blame when something goes wrong. Always. Doesn’t matter if you did everything you possibly could. All you’ll think is that it wasn’t enough.”
“I…I meant no disrespect.”
He dropped his gaze. “None taken.”
They returned to the office next door, and Raj materialized several minutes later. Uri described the problem, and after a series of questions, Raj went to work. Maya watched him curiously as he tapped at the keyboard and plugged in a flash drive and then looked to Uri. “Can I have the room? I don’t work well with spectators.”
Maya got up from where she was sitting. “I think he means me.”
Raj didn’t say anything further, and Uri shrugged. She took the hint and walked back to the other room, this time lowering herself cautiously onto one of the cots with a grimace of pain.
When Uri opened the door, Maya bolted upright and glanced around. She caught a glimpse of the window – it was dark out.
“What…what time is it?”
“Took us three hours, but he cracked it. I told you Raj was the best.” Uri lit a cigarette. “Come on. He just left. You need to see what he found.”
Uri led her to his desk. The air was stale with smoke and burnt coffee, but he didn’t seem to notice. She sat down and began reading the printouts Raj had made, and after a few minutes looked up at Uri with wide eyes.
“These…why would they want blueprints of a stadium halfway across the world?”
“Yes. And why would they be worth killing over? A few ideas spring to mind, none of them good.”
“God. They’re planning a strike.” She eyed the documents again. “Judging by the size, that’s a venue that would hold…tens of thousands.”
Uri nodded. “Depending on the use, between forty and sixty.”
“It would be a massacre.”
“Yes. Yes, it would.”
“You have to call headquarters.”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“And they want to talk directly with you.”
“I see,” Maya said, her tone indicating she didn’t at all.
Uri dialed a number on the landline and then flipped a switch on a scrambler attached to the back. He spoke in rapid-fire Hebrew and then handed her the phone. She took it and looked at him. “What about you? Can you put it on speakerphone?”
“No need. I’ve already spoken with them.”
Maya raised the headset to her ear. “Hello?”
“Yes, Maya. Do you recognize my voice?” It was Jaron, the voice unmistakably his, even from thousands of miles away.
“I do.”
“Good. Your assignment in Dhaka is finished. I’ve authorized you to be on the next flight to England tomorrow, where you’ll be working with our Manchester field office.”
“I see. And…Uri?”
“Not your concern. He’s head of station in Dhaka, so of course, that’s where he’ll remain.”
She digested that, as well as the cold, unfeeling tone of Jaron’s voice. “Do you have a briefing document for me? Anything I need to know?”
“You’ll have a file in your hands via email within the hour.”
“It’s probable that my passport and identity are blown. The interrogation…I don’t have confidence that Gil didn’t tell them about me.”
“I understand. We’re making arrangements to have new docs sent to London. We don’t believe it will be an issue for travel. You’ll have an itinerary with the file, as well as flight information.”
“Very well.”
“In the meantime, I need you to fill out a complete report. Omit nothing, no matter how trivial. Ordinarily we’d bring you back to debrief you, but given the circumstances we felt it would be better to have you support the UK office and be debriefed there.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Great. And Maya? Good job. It sounds like you vindicated my decision to use you on this.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Stand by for the file. I’ll send it to Uri, for your eyes only.”
“I…see.”
“It’s a necessary step. Compartmentalization. You know that.”
“Of course.”
“See that you remember it at all times.” Jaron’s message was clear – don’t discuss anything with Uri.
The phone went dead. She replaced the handset in the cradle and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Uri was standing in the doorway.
“Well?”
“They’re sending a file to your encrypted inbox. For my eyes only. I’m to destroy it after reading it.”
Uri nodded. “Standard procedure.”
“I’m…this is awkward.”
He sighed and sat back at his desk. “Yes, sometimes, especially times like this, it can be. No way around it, I’m afraid. But I’m a big boy, so my feelings don’t get hurt. They need me to clean up my mess here. You’re off to fight other battles. That’s how it goes.” He looked up at her, his eyes red from strain and fatigue. “You get used to it.”
“Any word from your watcher?”
Uri shook his head. “No. We can assume he’s crocodile food by now.”
“Do you have other assets you can use to pick up the imam’s trail?”
“Of course. But that’s no longer your concern.”
“I’m making it mine,” she said quietly.
Uri drummed his fingers on the printout. “Maya, all due respect, that’s your concern. Whatever headquarters wants you to do is your concern. Catching Gil’s killers, getting retribution, allowing your sentiment to determine what you do…none of that is your concern. Are we clear?”
“Somebody has to care, Uri.”
“Yes, and I do. I’ll ensure we exact our pound of flesh, have no fear of that. But you need to put all of this out of your mind and prepare for your next assignment. HQ is sending more resources to help me…and they won’t be administrative staff, if you get my drift. Don’t waste your energy worrying about this. The Mossad takes care of its own, and nobody’s getting away with anything on my watch.”
Maya’s brow furrowed as she held Uri’s stare. “Promise?”
“Absolutely. As much for myself as for anyone.”
The hour dragged by as they waited for the file to arrive. When it did, Uri left her with the computer so she could assimilate the information at her leisure. It didn’t take her long – she was finished in twenty-five minutes, and after committing the relevant data to memory, she deleted the file, as instructed, and then dumped the recycle files as well using a utility on the desktop that also permanently erased the data from the disk and memory.
Maya knocked on the connecting door after she finished and Uri rejoined her.
“Do you have anything else you need me for?” she asked, suddenly anxious to be anywhere but in the office, which smelled like a giant ashtray.
“No. Just be careful. You’re still my responsibility as long as you’re in Dhaka.”
“I will. I depart tomorrow. I’ll touch base to let you know I’m officially gone.”
Uri held out his hand. Maya took it and they shook awkwardly.
“Good luck, young lady.”
She offered him a confident smirk that never reached her eyes. “Luck will have nothing to do with it.”
Uri watche
d as she walked to the entrance. “I’m keeping the guns until tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll leave them at the hotel and let you know the room number – there’ll be a room key waiting at the desk for whoever you send to retrieve them.”
“Probably wise. Tell them Sam is coming. I can remember that.”
“Will do. See you around, Uri.” And with that, she opened the door and slipped out without looking back. The door latched softly behind her, and Uri sat heavily in his swivel chair and turned to face the monitors. He watched her depart, noting how she blended with the pedestrians almost instantly, and nodded in approval.
“You never know, Maya. It’s an odd world,” he whispered to himself. “Odd, indeed.”
Chapter 19
Reims, France
A cold wind blew down the industrial street on the outskirts of Reims, the sky gunmetal gray. A kit of pigeons soared overhead as an overloaded truck labored along the thoroughfare. It was the only vehicle on the road, the warehouse district effectively shut down for the weekend.
Vladimir and Vahid walked briskly along the sidewalk, their destination a small building surrounded by pallets and crates. A single watchman stood by the iron gates, a navy blue knit cap on top of his head and a dusting of dark beard at the bottom. He took a long pull on a hand-rolled cigarette and shifted from foot to foot as the two men approached, his right hand in the pocket of his peacoat as he watched the arrivals through slits of eyes.
Vladimir greeted him in Russian and the guard answered in kind, reaching to pull open the heavy gates. The barrier rolled to the side with a creak, and Vladimir led the way to the building entrance, where a VW Golf and a Peugeot were parked. Another guard stood under the overhang, both hands in his pockets. Vladimir nodded to him and he returned the gesture and stepped aside so Vladimir and the Iranian could enter.
The interior of the warehouse was shrouded in gloom, the only light from a few high windows coated in grime. Scaffolding rose a story and a half in the far reaches, surrounding a newly constructed vault near the back wall. Vladimir strode to the heavy vault door and yet another Russian pulled it open for them.
Inside, Vahid moved to the smaller chamber that occupied the center of the room and inspected the construction of the walls and door jamb.
“Where did you get the lead?” he asked.
“From a hospital construction firm in Finland. They use it for shielding the radiation oncology vaults.”
“And you built it to my specifications?”
“Actually, no. We doubled the tolerances so we could handle more radioactive projects if the need arose.”
Vahid eyed the huge monitor occupying a third of a table with what looked like a gaming console sitting before it. He lowered himself into a Herman Miller Aeron chair and studied the levers and buttons, and then powered the monitor to life.
An image flickered on screen – the interior of the vault. In the foreground, a robotic arm was mounted on an overhead track. Vahid moved the joystick, and the arm slid toward the object in the center of the room – the Siberian generator’s radioactive source.
Vahid nodded in approval. “Excellent. I trust that the control sensitivity and speed are user adjustable?”
“Of course. All done through the computer interface. You can program the movements to whatever you feel comfortable with.” Vladimir studied the image. “How long do you think it will take to finish the device?”
“I want to double-check the work that’s been done so far, but assuming it’s been competently executed, no more than a day. The conversion of the strontium salts into a dispersible form is the most sensitive – your man was up to speed on how to best achieve that?”
“The technician we used was said to be one of the best.”
Vahid swiveled to face the Russian. “What happened to him?”
“It was an idiocy. He and a friend were coming back from a restaurant in Hautvillers when a drunk driver hit them head-on. They were both killed instantly.”
“A bit of bad luck.”
Vladimir frowned. “Yes. Fortunately, the project was far enough along that we could wait for your arrival. Otherwise we would have completed it and merely had you verify the device was constructed correctly.”
“Well, no harm, then. I trust you have all the other gear I requested.”
“Yes.”
“What are you using for the explosive?”
“A Semtex variant that won’t trigger any sensors. Manufactured by a specialty outfit in Russia.”
Vahid sat back. “Tell me about the size of the stadium.”
“I can do better than that. We have full plans of the venue.” Vladimir unfurled a blueprint, and Vahid eyed the legend at the bottom.
“It’s large. Ideally you’d want the device to detonate above it.”
The Russian shook his head. “That’s not an option. The airspace is too tightly controlled.”
“Then how? With the shielding, it will be far too heavy for a suitcase.”
“A vehicle will bring it into the stadium. From there it will be transported to the upper reaches of the coliseum. Next best thing to airborne.”
“The kill ratio will be smaller.”
“How much so?”
Vahid studied the image and did a quick calculation. “You might see a fifty percent exposure pattern.”
“So perhaps…twenty thousand casualties?”
Vladimir shook his head. “Oh, no, not anywhere close, at least not initially. Remember that the whole point of a dirty bomb is not just the initial blast effect and the subsequent radiation poisoning – it’s the epidemiology crisis from the exposure that will manifest over years. Strontium-90 is absorbed into the system and tends to collect in bone marrow, so you could expect to see huge increases in related cancers. The eventual toll might be in the thousands, although most of the damage would be psychological – nobody would want to be anywhere near ground zero for a long, long time, and those who were exposed could contaminate others. Depends on a host of factors, but it’s incredibly nasty stuff.”
“The blast alone should kill several hundred. The stadium will be densely packed, and the shielding, as well as the metal casing, should act like shrapnel and cut through the crowd.”
Vahid nodded. “Again, if it could be detonated in the air over the stadium, you would see a far greater effect.”
“Understood. But there’s a method to choosing this approach. Imagine the cleanup costs – not only will the health system be taxed beyond imagination by thousands, or tens of thousands, of cases of radiation poisoning and related cancers, but it will cost billions to make the area safe, and take years.” Vladimir eyed the screen. “That will make more devices enormously appealing for my client base – the likely success of any negotiation will rely on the other party’s understanding of the costs involved in refusing to negotiate. After this, anyone promising to use one will have to be taken seriously, which should change the political landscape for those whose interests align with yours.”
“That’s the hope. Something needs to change, because the imperialist aggression and refusal to recognize the basic rights of those in the Middle East seem like they will continue forever at the present rate, especially now that the Americans are funding their own false flag terrorist organizations to justify their invasion of the region’s oil-rich nations. Any death is a tragedy, but perhaps if those in the West understand that they will pay in kind, at home, where they believe themselves to be safe…”
Vahid trailed off at the thought and focused his attention on the console. He familiarized himself with the controls, moving the robotic arm to and fro, swiveling it, lowering and raising it, and then set to work on adjusting the velocity so he could perform the precision moves he required. Vladimir watched him for several minutes and then walked to the exit. “Want some coffee?”
The Iranian raised his head and smiled. “That would be great. I didn’t have a particularly restful night.”
“I’m not surprised. Freedom will do that for you.”
“I’ll begin work on this now, but I’ll be taking frequent breaks and might need to get a few hours of sleep. It’s not the kind of thing you want to be groggy for.”
Vladimir smiled, which lent him the appearance of a moray eel. “No, I wouldn’t imagine that would be good.” He hesitated as he took a final glance at the screen. “It will be sufficiently hardened so it won’t leak any radiation? That’s critical. There are detectors at all the ports.”
“Of course. As long as it’s properly packed, it will be undetectable. Just ensure your people don’t mishandle it. There’s only so much you can do.”
“Very good. Let me know if you require anything else. Food, stimulants, whatever. I’ll be back with the coffee in a few minutes.”
Vahid nodded absently, his concentration back on the computer screen. The Russian pushed the door open and strolled over to where a suite of offices were built out of sheetrock along one wall, and checked his watch. It would be a very long afternoon and likely an even longer night.
Chapter 20
Manchester, England
Max Petrov chewed on a stub of cigar, dipping the tip into a snifter of brandy as he sat back in his executive chair, phone clenched to his ear, admiring the wood-paneled walls of his office adorned with oil paintings from the turn of the century in ostentatious gilded frames.
“Yes, yes, of course. The insurance policy is in place. All will be made right shortly, I assure you,” he declared in a hearty voice.
“It better be. We did not place fifty million with you to watch it evaporate,” said Sergey Oborin angrily.
Max would have been terse too, given the circumstances. And if he’d been freezing his ass off in Moscow, like Sergey, his mood would have been even darker, he supposed. He studied the brandy like it was poison and pushed it away.
“I understand. Frankly, it came as a shock to everyone in the industry. The Swiss had been stating – officially, mind you – that they would keep the franc pegged to the euro, so it seemed like a riskless way to get the business. It’s not just my company that got caught upside down. Half the mortgages in Poland are denominated in Swiss francs. It’s going to cause seismic problems for millions of borrowers.”
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