Something about Itai’s tone resonated with Jet. She didn’t think he was faking. He sounded genuinely confused by the turn of events…and more than a little afraid.
Jet held the gun on him for a few moments as she tried to decide how to proceed, and then lowered it and raised an eyebrow.
“Where would you suggest?” she asked.
He looked around. “Anyplace but here.”
Chapter 36
A Brahms violin concerto drifted from hidden speakers in Ygor Kazamov’s hunting lodge as Sanjar Nabiyev watched live coverage of the assassination aftermath on his computer, his mouth agape at the helicopter footage of moving gun battles and tanks rolling down Baku’s streets. Much as he’d been prepared for what was to come, seeing it in real time stunned him speechless, and he was glued to the screen as the situation worsened.
“Well, my friend, the game is afoot, eh?” Kazamov bellowed from the doorway of Nabiyev’s room, a sturdy structure of rustic log walls. The entire six-bedroom home was a study in testosterone-driven design: bearskin rugs replete with snarling heads lined the floor of each bedroom, and a dizzying array of game trophies stared down from the walls with beady glass eyes. Outside, the soft purr of a generator provided power for the house and the satellite communication system that delivered high-speed Internet, television, and phone service to the wilds of the Azerbaijani mountains.
“You actually did it,” Nabiyev said softly. “At first I thought it might be some sort of ruse, but he’s actually dead.”
“That’s right. And you are now the new leader of the Azerbaijani people. Congratulations.” Kazamov held a glass of vodka up in a mock salute. “Never come between a Russian and his work, right?”
“A valuable lesson,” Nabiyev agreed. “I need to get back to Baku as soon as possible.”
“Nonsense. Let it all play out. There’s no rush. Perhaps in a day or two – but what’s the point of putting you into harm’s way before the military has had a chance to restore order?”
“The people need to see me, to hear my words, to be reassured…” Nabiyev said, his tone doubtful.
“And so they shall. I have a broadcast-quality camera system available for your use, and I’ve taken the liberty of having some of my best people draft a statement for you.” Kazamov paused. “With your approval, of course.”
Nabiyev smirked. “Of course.”
“I’ll email it to you shortly. We can film it as many times as we like and then send it to the networks. You’ll want to strike just the right tone – confidence, determination, sadness, hope. This will be the first time the nation really pays any attention to you in the biggest crisis it’s experienced during our lifetime, so it should put your poll numbers on top.”
“Do I cancel the elections?”
Kazamov laughed. “Of course. But you don’t say so tonight. There will be plenty of time once you’ve met with your cabinet. For now, your role is to pound the table and commit to bringing the parties responsible for this atrocity to justice, and to punish the opportunists who have seized the tragedy as a chance to challenge the very democracy of this fine land. That will lay the groundwork for postponing the elections until the smoke has cleared, and should play well to those who were on the fence between your party and the Nationalists. I’ve had my people sprinkle in hints that you suspect the assassination may be politically linked, and if so, that you will go to your grave before you allow the disruption to be successful. Fire and brimstone. They’ll eat it up.”
“Who are we going to blame it on? Officially?”
“Foreign powers attempting to overthrow the democratically elected leadership. Trying to subvert the will of the people. We’ll position you as anti-corruption, anti-manipulation. It’s just you and your determination against the barbarians at the gates, and it will take a strong and committed leader – like yourself – to ensure that Azerbaijan remains sovereign and free.”
Nabiyev clapped slowly, his usual cynical smile in place. “I’m tearing up.”
“By the time this is over, you’ll be a hero.”
“I could use a drink.”
Kazamov eyed him. “Maybe a half, just to steady your nerves. We can’t afford any missteps.”
“That’s all I was thinking.”
“Then come, my friend, and sample some of my private store.” Giggling echoed down the hall, and it was Kazamov’s turn to smirk. “I trust you have enough energy left to lead the country after two nights with the girls?”
“They are remarkable. More inspiring than draining. The fountain of youth, to be sure.”
“I’ve always thought so. Come, let’s get you some medicine and you can review the speech. It will be a ten-minute address, no more, organized to hit all the right high notes without saying much of anything.”
Nabiyev nodded. He’d been mouthing platitudes his entire career, so was adept at the dog and pony show he was about to put on. That the Russian was orchestrating the entire thing didn’t trouble him in the least. Politicians were always servants of powerful special interests that pulled their strings from behind the throne – one didn’t last long in the political world if one fought that reality. The trick was to negotiate a suitable reward for services rendered, which Nabiyev certainly would. That was the least of his problems with Kazamov, who had always been generous.
“Lead the way.”
The great room was a two-story-high cavernous space filled with overstuffed sofas and still more trophy heads. Three flat-screen televisions were droning from a massive dining room table that could seat twenty. The two men approached the slab, carved from a single tree, and sat. Kazamov snapped his fingers and a servant appeared from the swinging kitchen door, where he’d been waiting in anticipation of his master’s wishes. The Russian pointed at his glass and held up two fingers. The servant nodded in understanding and disappeared, leaving Nabiyev to watch the news feeds.
Kazamov looked around and sniffed at the air. “What’s that smell?”
Nabiyev sniffed as well. “Oh. That’s my cologne.”
The Russian made a face. “Smells like a French whorehouse.”
“Two thousand dollars a bottle.”
“You’re joking.”
Nabiyev colored slightly. “I’m glad you like it – I’ll send a bottle over once I take office.”
Kazamov shook his head in bemusement and pointed at one of the televisions streaming CNN. “The Americans have already issued a canned statement about standing in solidarity with the people of Azerbaijan, and condemned the assassination and coup attempt. The Russians have done the same. Everyone’s waiting to see what happens before they pick a side.” Kazamov grinned wolfishly. “I was thinking we can always salt the next few days with hints of Wahhabi extremists being behind the unrest. That’s a delicate balancing act, though, given your mostly Muslim population.”
“Probably best not to go there,” Nabiyev warned. “We’ll need as much support as possible, and there’s no need riling up anyone over religion.”
“I was just thinking it would be a nice way to get a dig in at the Americans.” It was commonly accepted in much of the Muslim world that the Saudi brand of extremism that was responsible for radical Islamist terrorism had been manufactured to further the interests of the U.S. and Saudi Arabia.
“Yes, but it could cause significant blowback. Better to do that via social media. We can lace the alternative sites with hints of it. They’ll publish just about anything.”
They laughed as the servant reappeared with a glass of vodka on a sterling silver tray, set it in front of Nabiyev with a flourish, and left without a word. Nabiyev took a grateful swallow and smiled at his host. More giggling emanated from the hall, and Kazamov waggled his eyebrows, unruffled by having just engineered a coup of a major oil-producing nation. “Better pull the speech up on the screen and have a look before the girls get bored and come out to put on another show.”
Nabiyev nodded at the recollection of the last performance they’d been treated
to. “Wise counsel.”
Kazamov clinked the edge of Nabiyev’s glass with his own and winked. “That’s what I’m here for – to keep you out of trouble.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
“Of course not.”
Chapter 37
Jet allowed Itai to lead her along the alley, unsure whether to trust the man, given that his subordinate had just tried to kill her. They avoided a noxious puddle of black water, and he tacked right down another small road, moving with a conviction she didn’t feel.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“I have an office by the mosque. We can talk once we get there. Keep your voice down until we do. No telling who’s lurking out here.”
Jet followed the station chief until they arrived at a four-story structure in a block of commercial buildings. He produced a key ring from his jacket, opened the steel grid over the entrance, and ushered Jet through before locking it again and proceeding to a glass front door, which he unlocked with a flourish. Once inside, he led her up the stairs to a second-floor office with the name of a travel agency painted on the door.
The office was just an outer secretary station, a medium-sized room with a steel desk and a few generic prints on the wall. Jet shook her head and raised a finger in warning as Itai made to round the desk and sit down.
“How about I sit where I can access the drawers instead of you, for now?” she said.
“No problem. I don’t keep any weapons here, unless you count a letter opener and stapler.”
They sat and Jet fixed him with a hard stare. “You said nothing about this makes sense. What did you mean?”
“The operation was designed to eliminate the body double, not Hovel. It was to be an attempted coup, which would then allow him to emerge as a hero, having prevailed in spite of nefarious parties unknown trying to take him out. You were never supposed to kill him,” Itai said, his voice gravelly and tired.
Jet absorbed the station chief’s words and sat forward. “Leah didn’t get the memo. She directed me to Hovel. Warned me that the man in the chair was a double. Claimed she had an informant in Hovel’s security detail, as you heard.”
He nodded. “I did. That means she was working against the director’s express orders and the Mossad’s imperatives.” His frown deepened. “You were never supposed to be killed. You were supposed to take out the double, escape without issue, and then Hovel would emerge, still alive, after a token coup attempt played out. He’d already arranged with some of his trusted military to pretend to be leading a coup in order to sway public opinion in his favor.”
Jet’s eyes never left Itai’s face. “Would have been nice if someone had told me.”
“You understand how this works. Need to know. If something had happened and you’d been captured, the less information you had, the better.”
Jet shook her head. “Leah knew about the double and had a backup to kill Hovel if I failed. Sounds like you have a real problem on your hands. There’s no way she was working alone.”
“Of course she wasn’t. But since you killed her, we’ll never know who was behind this.”
“Not necessarily. There’s always a thread to follow. You know she was bent now. That will lead to a trail. Something will surface.” Jet paused. “It wasn’t a bad plan from her standpoint. She could shoot me, supposedly in self-defense, and then it was me who went off the reservation, not her. That would have worked, I suppose. Why I did so would be a matter of conjecture, but I wouldn’t be around to contradict her, and she’d be home free.”
“I got that part of it. The real question is why she wanted Hovel dead in the first place. That obviously isn’t in our best interests. Hovel was sympathetic to our agenda. That’s why we were trying to help him get reelected.”
Jet snorted. “I suppose that made sense in whatever conference room it was cooked up, but it didn’t work so well in reality. How well did you know her?”
“Leah? Not at all. She was assigned here a few days before you arrived – no, make that a week before.”
“Who assigned her?”
“HQ.”
“No name?”
“That’s above my need to know.” He rubbed his face and sighed. “I have to call the director. I don’t trust anyone below him. This operation came from his level.”
“Then do it. We’re not going anywhere right now with the army on the streets.” She hesitated. “We’re safe here?”
“As safe as anywhere.”
“You said that she called you and wanted you to rendezvous at the construction site?” Jet asked.
“That’s right. My guess is she needed a witness to the aftermath of the shooting.”
“She tossed an old revolver to me and demanded I pick it up. You heard her.”
“I’m not questioning your story, Katya. Thick as I may appear at times, even I can put this together.” He indicated his jacket. “You mind if I retrieve my phone?”
“Be my guest.”
A sound from the front of the building interrupted them, and Itai’s hand froze halfway into his jacket.
“What’s that?” Jet whispered.
“Someone at the front gate,” he said, his voice soft.
At the distinctive sound of the barrier sliding to the side, Jet rose, weapon drawn. “We need to get out of here. Shut off the light.”
Itai did as instructed, and they waited several long moments as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. When they could make out the furniture by the moonlight streaming through the window, Jet moved around the desk just as the sound of glass breaking downstairs reached them.
“Is there a back way out?” she asked.
“No.”
Jet thought for a moment. “The building next door. Does it abut this one?”
“I…no, I don’t think so. There’s an alley that runs between them.”
“How wide?”
“Maybe…six feet?”
She studied him in the gloom. “You much of a jumper?”
“Not for about thirty years.”
“Show me the roof.”
Itai moved surprisingly quickly for a man of his years, puffing only slightly as he climbed the rear stairs. They could make out the sound of footsteps from the front of the building and Jet closed on him as he ascended. “Hurry,” she hissed. “They’re inside.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” he whispered with a glare tossed over his shoulder, but picked up the pace.
They reached the fourth-floor landing and he rushed to the back of the hallway, where there was a maintenance closet and a door that led to the roof. He pushed through the roof door, but Jet paused by the maintenance room and peered inside. She nodded to herself, grabbed a plank of wood, and shouldered an aluminum ladder leaning against the wall, and then followed Itai onto the roof, pausing to close the door, and wedged the plank against it at an angle, where it would make opening the door difficult, if not impossible.
Jet accompanied Itai to the edge of the building and stared over at the adjacent roof, a few feet lower and more like eight feet across. She extended the ladder to its full length and lowered it across the gap, leaving a foot on either side for support.
“Can you do this?” she asked, noting the queasy expression on Itai’s face.
“Don’t see any choice, do you?”
“I’ll go first. You hold this side so it doesn’t slide on me. I’ll do the same for you once I’m across.”
“Got it.”
Itai knelt and gripped the end of the ladder, his head turned away from the edge of the building, as though just looking over the rim would sicken him. Jet slid by him, holding his shoulders, and then lowered herself feet first, backing toward the far roof, her eyes locked on the ladder. She was on the other side within moments and then stabilized her side and motioned for him to follow her across.
He attempted the same maneuver, but his greater bulk and age worked against him, and the ladder sagged alarmingly as he crept along its length, eyes cla
mped shut. His right foot misjudged one of the rungs and he gasped as he locked onto the ladder for dear life. She looked over him at the roof door and whispered encouragement to him.
“Come on, Itai. Almost there. You can do it. Only another meter. Come on, they’ll be on the roof any second.”
Her final words spurred him into movement, and he continued his snail’s-pace crossing, the ladder trembling from his effort. Then his feet touched the roof and he was moving faster, eager to be back on stable ground.
Jet didn’t wait for him to get his bearings, instead lifting the ladder and running with it to the door at the other end of the building. She tried the handle and it swung open. Itai joined her, roof tar and gravel crackling under his shoes, and then they were over the threshold and in the building. Jet leaned the ladder against the wall and twisted the bolt before rushing down the steps after Itai, who’d gotten a second wind.
At the ground floor, Jet pointed at the rear of the building, where there was a steel fire door with an exit sign. They sprinted to the door and pushed the bar that ran across it. An alarm sounded in the hall, deafening in the confined space. Jet exited into the alley, trailed by Itai, and they bolted down the alleyway as voices called out from above.
The first volley of assault rifle fire rattled from the rooftop as they neared the corner, and ricochets whistled by them, the shooters’ aim off or the rifles out of range. Jet rounded the building with Itai and they zigzagged toward the mosque, now out of sight of their pursuers, the darkness shielding them as they ran for their lives.
Chapter 38
“Who was that?” Jet demanded as they made their way toward Itai’s apartment building, a half mile from the Sultanbey Mosque.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
She gave him an ugly look. “That narrows it down.”
“It wasn’t the police. They wouldn’t have fired on us.”
“Then…?”
“Likely part of the group Leah was working with.”
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