Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  “It happens once in a while, but it’s a rare occurrence. Then, I thought about you.”

  “If you’re thinking about asking me to look into who sent the money—”

  “No, Javin, I don’t want you to do that.” A brief pause, then Liberty said, “I think you already know who sent the money.”

  Javin blinked. He had not expected that Liberty would make the connection. The first thought that popped into his mind was to outright deny it. Then he remembered he had promised to himself to be as truthful as possible with her. He took a moment to think, then said, “Liberty, I’ve got to tell you something.”

  “I’m listening, Javin.”

  “Years ago, the CIA came up with a phrase that said they could neither confirm nor deny the existence of some intelligence, an operation, or an agent. They thought they were being clever, but everyone knew it was ‘yes,’ perhaps subtle, but still a ‘yes.’”

  “So, you know who transferred the money?”

  “I can neither confirm nor—”

  “Ha, ha, Javin, you’re not working for the CIA … or are you?”

  “No, no, I’m not.”

  “But you know who sent the money?”

  A moment of hesitation, then he shrugged and said, “I do, but I can’t tell—”

  “No, I’m not asking you to tell me. But, please tell him, or her, whoever it is, tell them ‘thank you.’ Not from me, but the malnourished and sick children and women that will be able to survive for a few more weeks because of their generosity.”

  Javin nodded. “I’ll do that, Liberty. And I’m glad your camp received the money.” He hesitated for another moment, wanting to say what he was thinking, but he realized that it would tip his hand. Perhaps she’d tell him.

  “Yes, it was a surprise. But that wasn’t enough. I also received a personal gift.”

  “You did? From the same donor?”

  “I assume so, since they both came on the same day. Whoever it is, it must be someone who visited the camp, or who knows me well.”

  “Why?”

  “The gift was a twenty-pound bag of Jamaica Blue Mountain Coffee. I had gotten so tired of this lousy coffee here, that now I’m over the moon.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that, Liberty.”

  “Yes, but it’s too bad you’re not here, so we can share a cup.”

  Javin heard fingers snapping behind him, so he turned his head.

  Claudia gestured at her wristwatch, then tipped her head toward their boss’s office door.

  Javin nodded at Claudia, then said on the phone, “I’ve got to go, but we’ll enjoy a cup of coffee and more very soon…”

  “Yes, I can hardly wait, Javin. And…” Her voice trailed off.

  “And what?”

  “And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that I know where that money came from,” Liberty said in a conspiratorial tone.

  Javin smiled. “Liberty, have an awesome day.”

  “Yes, you too, Javin.”

  He ended the call and hurried toward Claudia, who said, “I would have let you go on forever, but Bateaux sent me a text.”

  “Is he worried?”

  “No, impatient.”

  Javin flattened the front of his black jacket, tightened his blue tie’s knot, then knocked on the door, just underneath the sign that read: Michael Bateaux, Director of Intelligence for the Europe Division.

  A moment of silence, then hurried steps and the door opened. “Claudia, Javin, glad you finally made it,” Bateaux said in a voice with a slight hint of irritation.

  “Sorry, sir, we were delayed downstairs.”

  Bateaux nodded. “Is it the rookies still? They drive me nuts.”

  “Yes, it’s them. We also ran into Wu.”

  “Yes, I talked to him and his director. We’ll get to that in a moment. But, first, how are you doing?”

  “We’re doing well,” Javin said.

  Claudia nodded. “Glad to be back.”

  “Take a seat.” Bateaux gestured at the desk by the floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass windows.

  This was the third time Javin had met in person with his new boss. Bateaux was in his early sixties, with a head full of snow-white hair that he kept in a short-cropped hairstyle. He had a large, broad forehead and a full gray beard, and liked to dress in casual black sweaters, especially now that fall was around the corner.

  Bateaux had replaced the old furniture and had rearranged the new pieces for a modern look with just the bare necessities. Gone were the large mahogany desk and the long, tall bookshelves. Bateaux had a square glass-top desk, a white leather swivel chair, and a white metal file cabinet. He unlocked the top drawer and picked up two folders, one red and one green. Then he sat at the desk across from Javin and Claudia.

  Bateaux said, “Let’s start with the most important thing, because I know it has been weighing heavily on your mind. General Director Chan approved your request for reinstatement to your old jobs. Javin and Claudia, welcome back to the CIS as correctors.”

  Javin smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  “We appreciate everything you’ve done,” Claudia said.

  “It wasn’t easy, considering the earlier Geneva disaster. Even this time around, things didn’t go as expected,” Bateaux said without any pretense in his voice.

  Javin nodded. He wanted to object to the way Bateaux had described the Geneva operation. In Javin’s view, it had been quite a success. But he did not want to argue. Descriptions did not matter much, now that he and Claudia were fully reinstated within the agency.

  Bateaux flipped through the pages of the red folder. “The Swiss are happy with how the story evolved and with the conclusion. They ended up being the heroes, bringing down the ISIS sleeper cell.”

  “What about the Russians?” Javin asked. “Are they happy?”

  Bateaux groaned. “Russians are never happy, but then, we weren’t expecting them to be. I talked to Baranov—the boss of the SVR team operating in Geneva. He’s still bitter about losing the money and Fawzi. But we’ve shared the intel from the cell phone you retrieved, and that will keep them settled.” Bateaux shrugged. “At least for a short time.”

  He browsed through the next page, then turned it. “Oh, yes. We got some good news from Iraq. Rania, the sister of the ISIS widow, she was found alive.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Javin said.

  “Well, barely alive, but recovering in a medical center in Mosul.”

  “Who found her?” Claudia said.

  “We’re not sure. Someone brought her to the center at close to midnight, a couple of days ago. Once she’s strong enough to leave the center, she’ll take care of the widow’s children. They’ve already come to visit her, along with the rest of the family.”

  Javin smiled. He liked that there was somewhat of a good ending to at least this part of the story. The widow had helped them as much as she could, giving her life in the process. He wished he knew who it was that had pulled the strings to secure Rania’s release. It’s either al-Razi or Issawi, probably the former, considering the police captain wouldn’t lift a finger to help with her search. “What happened to Commander Zweiri?”

  Bateaux frowned. “He was arrested and then disappeared while being transferred to one of the local prisons. The entire security detail assigned to escort him—eight men in all—has also vanished without a trace.”

  Javin cocked his head. “Did someone eliminate the entire team, including the commander, or did someone organize his escape?”

  “It’s not clear. There was no evidence of an attack against the convoy, although the vehicles were found bullet-riddled and scorched at another location, a few miles away from the route. No bodies were found.” Bateaux shrugged. “The Iraqi police are investigating, so, for now, we’ll leave this with them.”

  “And the governor?”

  “Oh, he’s still under house arrest, and he’s not going anywhere. If the governor disappea
red, the embarrassment and the humiliation would be extreme, even by Iraqi standards. The country is steeped in corruption, which reaches all the way to the top of the central government, but there are still a few beacons of hope.”

  Claudia shook her head. “I’m afraid the governor will disappear, like the commander.”

  Bateaux nodded. “That might be the case, and he would be reaping what he sowed. But, there’s still one last piece of good news from Iraq. The elusive ISIS fighter, he was caught after a battle with police and militiamen in Baghdad. Three days later, his head turned up in Mosul placed at the tip of a spike outside Grand al-Nuri Mosque, where ISIS made their final stand.”

  “Who did that?”

  “We don’t know, and we might never learn the truth. But we know that Al-Razi and Issawi took part in the Baghdad op. They worked well together, and got the job done.”

  Javin smiled. He was glad to hear they had put their differences away and were united to wipe out the terrorist scourge from their land.

  Bateaux closed the red folder and put it to the side. Then he reached for the green folder, which he slid across the table to Javin. “This is your new assignment.”

  “Middle East?” Claudia asked while Javin picked up the folder.

  Bateaux shook his head. “No, you’ve seen enough of those bloodied sands. This time, it’s China.”

  “China?”

  “Yes, there has been a complication.” Bateaux leaned closer to the desk. “The intel you gathered on the money-laundering scheme linked to a Chinese millionaire trading in looted artifacts. We forwarded that intel to our counterparts in the Chinese security agency, the MSS, who were very grateful for the assistance. Then things went sideways.” Bateaux sighed.

  “What happened?” Javin asked.

  “The agents assigned to the case were killed in a horrific car accident. The Chinese suspect foul play, and they’re investigating.”

  “Do they have any leads?”

  “Yes, they suspect there’s a traitor in the MSS team, and they’re requesting our assistance to find him, or her.”

  “Why us?” Claudia asked.

  “Two reasons.” Bateaux began to count with his fingers. “The first, because you and Javin are familiar with the case, since you gathered most, if not all, of the intel. And second, because the Chinese suspect there’s another intelligence service that might have links to this affair. The CIA.”

  “What?” Javin said.

  “Well, the Chinese are not certain, but they don’t want the Americans involved in this case.”

  “So, how are we approaching this?”

  “We’re treating this like a correction mission. You’re going to work with an MSS operative. His name is in the file.” He motioned to the folder that Javin was examining. “Wu will provide support, if needed. Work with the MSS team, find the mole, correct the situation.”

  Claudia nodded.

  Javin said, “We’re on it, sir.”

  BOOKS BY ETHAN JONES

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  Interception

  From the Javin Pierce Spy Thriller Series

  Book 5

  The Story

  They’re tracking you…

  Back into service after going rogue, Javin Pierce and his partner Claudia are working with the Chinese intelligence agency to discover a traitor among their ranks. Paired with a team they can’t trust, the agents are facing a crafty hacker that moves in the darkest shadows of cyberspace. As Javin and Claudia get closer to discovering the traitor’s identity, they realize this is only the beginning…

  As they now go head-to-head against a man determined to sacrifice all others to save himself, how will Javin and Claudia outwit the hacker and bring down the traitor posing as a patriot?

  Start the adrenaline rush now...

  Chapter One

  Outskirts of Beijing

  China

  The hacker knew he was in huge trouble as soon as he heard the first knock on the door. The rap was gentle, as if whoever was behind the door was reluctant to wake up the hacker at this ungodly hour of the night. He glanced at the clock on the wall across from his couch where he had yet again fallen asleep. He blinked the sleep away and shrugged. Nothing good ever came from someone arriving at your apartment at 3:30 a.m.

  He jumped to his feet and bolted toward his workstation at the other end of the room. A quick glance at the first monitor told him there were at least two men outside the door. One of them had blocked the peephole, which was expected. The hacker had installed a second camera in one of the doorframes, about an inch from the floor. It showed the lower half of the men’s bodies, with black flat shoes and dark blue pants that looked like uniforms.

  One of the men knocked on the door. “Open up. Police. Open up,” he shouted in Chinese.

  The hacker, of course, had no intentions of complying with the order. He flicked a switch in his custom-made computer, which released a small, thin hard drive. He picked up his black sport jacket from behind the chair, put it on, and tossed the drive in the front pocket. Then he picked up his two cellphones and put them in the front pockets of his black jeans.

  Another loud rap on the door, then the same voice said, “Last warning: This is the police. Open up, or we’re coming in.”

  The hacker ignored the warning. He glanced around the desk area to see if he had forgotten anything. He was usually extremely careful, but there was always the first time for a mistake, which he could not afford.

  A loud bang told him the police were attempting to break down the door.

  Time to fly, he told himself.

  The hacker pulled a lever and heard the computer’s back-up hard drive plunge into a specially-made plastic container full of highly concentrated hydrofluoric acid. The failsafe security measure he had employed in the past. The corrosive acid would dissolve the drive’s contents, making any retrieval attempt futile.

  He slid his Chinese-made QSZ-92 5.8mm pistol into the small of his back and an extra magazine in one of his pockets and dashed toward the balcony. At another time, in another life, he would have easily fought through this situation. He had done so more times than he cared to remember. He would not even need the gun. But this was different, and he was no longer a young man. More importantly, he had a pretty good idea about who was really coming for him.

  Out on the balcony, he released the fire escape ladder. It slid down with a loud rattling noise. If someone was watching his fourth-floor balcony, they would have noticed.

  It didn’t matter.

  The hacker glided down the ladder, but only halfway.

  As expected, two uniformed police officers ran toward the ladder. One of them shouted at the hacker to stop. The second officer aimed his pistol at the hacker.

  He didn’t stop.

  The officer fired a round that pinged against the ladder’s metal railing. It was a couple of feet away from the hacker’s hands. Either the officer was a bad marksman, or he did not fire to kill or wound, but to simply slow down the hacker.

  The hacker ducked, then turned his body. The second-story window about a yard away from the ladder had been left slightly open, as it was when the hacker had checked earlier that evening. He rented that apartment too, under a different, false name.
It was his insurance policy for situations like this.

  The apartment was empty, as he expected it to be. He zipped through the living room, then listened as he came to the door. Distant footsteps, so he burst into the hall.

  One of the police officers shouted at him, but the hacker ran toward the stairs. He reached them and ran up, instead of down. He knew the officers on the street would be rushing in that direction.

  He continued to the fourth floor, then another flight of stairs, and reached the door leading to the terrace. The rusty metal door was padlocked, but he had the key. He threw the door open, then bolted it behind him.

  The hacker ran across the terrace, careful not to trip on the uneven surface, littered with debris and slick because of the rain that had poured down throughout the day. The dim moonlight cast an eerie glow around him, barely enough to light up the terrace. He slowed down as he felt out of breath, his heart drumming in his chest. I’m getting too old for this.

  A gunshot rang from the street, but the hacker did not stop. As he came near the end of the terrace, he picked up speed, readying himself for the jump onto the other building. The gap was only a couple of yards wide, but he was jumping about ten feet down.

  You can do this, Han.

  He mustered all his strength and leaped over the gap, arrowing through the air.

  Han landed hard on his left leg. He rolled onto the dirty, wet terrace and shouted in pain as his ankle twisted under his body weight. Han cursed the officers, then checked his pockets. The hard drive was still there. The phones and the pistol were in their place. He struggled to climb onto his feet and hobbled toward the fire escape ladder that would take him down to the street behind the building. You’re almost there, Han.

  His 1978 Mercedes-Benz 450SL was parked just around the corner from the apartment complex. He was not expecting anyone to be waiting for him, but if they were, he wouldn’t hesitate to use his gun.