JET - Forsaken

by Russell Blake

  “How did they find us?”

  Itai scowled. “Leah met me at that office when she first arrived in town. It would be a natural spot to look for us if they found her body at the construction site.”

  “We should have seen that coming.”

  “My fault. But nobody’s been to my apartment. It’s completely off the radar. I pay for it myself in cash every month, so it isn’t even in the Mossad system.”

  “Are you going to call the director?”

  “Yes. But only once I’m home. I have an encrypted scrambler on my landline I can hook up. I don’t like how intermittent cell coverage has been tonight, nor do I trust the system not to be logging calls. Depending on how sophisticated Leah’s group is, they might have the ability to triangulate a call to Israel if they know what to look for.”

  “That seems like a long shot,” Jet countered.

  “Not if they’re in the government. They buy a ton of technology from us, as well as from Russia. Trust me on this – they’re as advanced as anything on the planet in that regard.”

  Jet didn’t argue, preferring to remain silent as they trudged toward his apartment. When they arrived, he unlocked the front door and let them into the lobby, and then pointed to the stairwell. “You willing to risk being stranded in the elevator if there’s a blackout, or take the stairs? I’m on the fourth floor.”

  “Stairs.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  The apartment turned out to be comfortable but Spartan, Itai a confirmed bachelor without many needs that she could see. He offered her a bottle of water, which she accepted after checking the seal to confirm it was unopened, and Itai noted her caution with a smile.

  “You’re going to have to decide whether you trust me or not,” he said.

  “Not right now, I’m not.”

  He nodded, acknowledging the reasonableness of her doubts. “Not sure I would, either. Want to accompany me to my study so you can ensure I don’t come out with an Uzi?”

  “You read my mind.”

  Jet was coming around to the idea that Itai was what he looked like and that the treason stopped at Leah, but she wasn’t about to bet her life on it, not only minutes after nearly being gunned down in the street. A thought occurred to her, and she eyed Itai skeptically. “Your cell. Did you ever call Leah with it?”

  His smile was sad and utterly without humor. “I’m not a complete rank amateur. No, nobody has my cell. That’s not how they found us.”

  “What about in Israel? Anyone there?”

  His eyes narrowed. “A few people…” he admitted.

  “Pull the battery.” Jet paused. “We don’t know who’s involved in this, Itai. They probably have access to Mossad resources back home. If so, you can’t assume anything is safe.”

  He nodded and removed the battery. “Following your logic through, we shouldn’t linger here, then.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Okay. Let’s go make that call.”

  He looked at a wall clock as he entered his office. “They’re an hour behind us. He’s not going to be happy to be woken up.”

  Jet took a seat beside his desk, her hand on the pistol in her pocket. “No chance he’s asleep with the mission going upside down on us.”

  “Good point.”

  The station chief plugged a gizmo into the telephone on his desk and dialed a number. When the line answered, he recited an authorization code and told the operator he wanted to speak to the director, urgency level one. Sixty seconds went by, and the director answered.

  “What went wrong, Cohen?” he barked.

  “Everything,” Itai said, and then gave a succinct summary of what had transpired and what they had discovered. When he was done, the director was silent for a half minute.

  “Is she there?” he eventually asked.

  “Yes. She’s sitting beside me with a pistol in her pocket trained on me.”

  “Put her on,” the director ordered.

  Itai held the handset out to Jet, who took it like it was radioactive and held it to her ear. “Yes?”

  “First, my apologies. This is an unmitigated disaster, but it’s not of your making.”

  “I’m glad you realize it. I was double-crossed by your operative.”

  “Yes. I know. I’ll get to the bottom of that shortly.”

  “You have a leak.”

  “At the very least. It might be worse than that. Again, not your issue.”

  “Fine. So what now?”

  The director exhaled, and she could hear him sucking on a cigarette before he answered, “I don’t know. I’ll have to get back to you.”

  “That’s it? You haven’t been able to come up with a plan B since hearing he was assassinated?”

  The director’s voice had an edge to it when he replied, “I appreciate your impatience, but there are quite a few moving parts we need to consider. I’ll let you know what we come up with shortly.”

  “I’m afraid Itai’s apartment may be compromised.”

  “Then get out of there.”

  “There’s a curfew. Martial law.”

  “He’ll figure something out. Let me talk to him.”

  “You confident he’s clean?” she asked softly, her eyes holding Itai’s stare.

  “Absolutely. This is localized to your handler. Itai’s above suspicion. Don’t waste your energy in that regard. Now put him on.”

  Jet handed the station chief the phone and sat back, thinking. Itai listened for a good minute, asked a couple of questions, and then signed off. He placed the handset in its cradle, disconnected the device, and pocketed it as he addressed Jet. “All right. If we’re going to get moving, we’ll need a few things. You have your documents with you?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “I need to open the safe in my bedroom. Inside there’s a wad of cash, some paperwork we’ll want, a sat phone, and a few weapons. You satisfied with your pistol?”

  “I haven’t fired it. But it’s a Beretta, so it should be bulletproof. I could use some more 9mm, though. She got off four shots.”

  “I have a pair of H&K 9mm’s in the safe with extra magazines and a box of cartridges. I’ll bring those, too. Use what you need.”

  “The question is where we can go.”

  Itai walked to his bedroom, accompanied by Jet, who for all the director’s reassurances was still on guard. The station chief seemed to intuit that and didn’t protest when she sat on the bed and watched him open his closet and spin the dial on a medium-size gray metal safe.

  He opened it and removed two pistols, setting them on the floor with a spare magazine for each, and then placed a half-empty box of 9mm bullets beside them. Next came a passport from a small stack and a bound document on official stationery. Finally, he removed a satellite phone and a fat wad of local currency before closing the safe and spinning the dial.

  “What’s the document?” she asked.

  “A release from arrest or prosecution. Signed by Hovel and the prime minister. It’s my get-out-of-jail-free card. Might get us past any roadblocks, assuming there still are any by the time we get on the road.”

  “Any idea where we can hole up?”

  He smiled, and this time it had some genuine warmth. “You know, if you don’t mind damaging your reputation, I do have an idea.”

  “Reputation?”

  He nodded. “I have a friend…” he started, and by the time he’d packed a small bag with the pistols and his belongings, Jet was smiling too.

  “Call him. I can play a fallen woman with the best.”

  Itai regarded her and grunted. “Or the worst.”

  Chapter 39

  Rabbi Dor Herzog opened his front door and nodded a greeting to Itai and Jet. “Please,” he said, “Come in.”

  The rabbi’s home was next to the only synagogue in Baku, which fronted on a long park and plaza, rock-throwing distance from the winding alleys of the old town. He stood aside, and Itai motioned for Jet to enter first, t
he rabbi silently taking her measure as she passed.

  Itai had called Herzog when they’d left his apartment, and the rabbi had been gracious in extending his hospitality, inviting them over immediately in response to Itai’s explanation that he and a special friend were in a spot of trouble and needed a place to stay the night. The station chief hadn’t elaborated on what the nature of their special friendship might be, and the holy man hadn’t asked, instead insisting that they come by and enjoy his hospitality, apparently untroubled by a call in the middle of the night.

  Itai had explained to Jet that he played chess with Herzog on a biweekly basis, and while Itai wasn’t the most observant of the small Jewish population in Baku, he and the rabbi had a good relationship and had become friends.

  “Does he have any idea of your…entanglement?” Jet had asked.

  “None. He thinks I run the world’s worst travel agency. I don’t disabuse him of that, although I take my share of grief from him over it.”

  “Anyone else know of your friendship?”

  “No. Nobody in the life.”

  “What story are you going to tell him?”

  Itai had laughed. “With Dor, all I have to do is show up with you. He’ll assume the rest.”

  Jet waited for Itai and the rabbi to join her at the threshold of the living room, her clothes now mostly clean after a hurried rubbing with a wet towel at the section chief’s apartment. The rabbi closed the front door and walked heavily to where they stood admiring the décor and the breathtaking art framed on the walls.

  “These are troubled times,” Herzog said. “You hear the shooting? Terrible.”

  “Any news on that?” Itai parried.

  “They’re saying it’s criminal gangs. A few websites are saying it’s a coup attempt by disgruntled military officers. All I know is that nobody’s sure what’s going on, but the shooting continues – although it’s slowed in the last hour or so.” The rabbi shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire time in Baku. Twenty-six years, and this is a first. And what they did to the president? Shocking. Animals. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was no fan, but still…”

  “Thank you for letting us stay,” Jet said.

  “Oh, any friend of Itai’s is a friend of mine,” Herzog said, appraising her in the brighter light of the living room. “He’s a good man, even if a little worn around the edges.”

  “I know,” Jet said, leaving it at that.

  Herzog and Itai exchanged a knowing look, and the rabbi busied himself giving them a fast tour of the house. His family was away in New York on vacation, so he was alone, with the large home all to himself.

  “I have a bedroom for each of you,” he said, underscoring that they wouldn’t be staying together. “Simple, but it should do,” he said with a shrug.

  “I’m sure it will be more than fine,” Itai said.

  “Let me show you your rooms.”

  When Herzog indicated a smallish guest room for Jet, she thanked him and yawned. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m beat.”

  “Of course not,” the rabbi said. “Good night.”

  Herzog guided Itai to another room at the opposite end of the hall and put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s awfully young, isn’t she?”

  “It’s not like that, Dor.”

  “It never is. Look, it’s none of my business, right?” Herzog paused. “What kind of…trouble…is she in?”

  “It’s private.”

  The rabbi eyed him. “You’re a little old to be skulking around in the middle of the night with a girl half your age, my friend. Not that I’m judging you.”

  “Clearly not.” Itai cleared his throat. “And we’re not skulking.”

  “Just the first word that came to mind. I retract it.”

  Itai exhaled and eyed his room. “Thanks for doing this.”

  “My pleasure. Just name the little one Dor if it’s a boy and we’ll be even. Are you planning on getting married?”

  “Very funny.”

  “If I didn’t laugh every day, it would be all tears.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  Herzog nodded at Itai with pursed lips. “Seems like you’ve found ways to keep yourself amused. I will say I’m constantly surprised by life. You amaze me, my friend.”

  “If you knew the half of it, I’d have to kill you.”

  “I’ve seen what you charge for a flight. That’s close enough.”

  Itai stepped into the room and looked over his shoulder. “Good night, Dor.”

  “Likewise.”

  Chapter 40

  The director glowered at his staff; the tension in the conference room was palpable. Amit Mendel and Maor Lachman were bearing the brunt of his anger, but that was only fitting, given it was their operation.

  “So now what? The entire mission has gone upside down on us, Hovel’s dead at our hands, and the exact outcome we were trying to prevent – a scenario where he’s not at the helm – is suddenly our reality.”

  “There was no way of foreseeing this,” Lachman protested. “We couldn’t have incorporated being betrayed into our plan.”

  “That’s a related issue we’re going to get to the bottom of, but it doesn’t solve our current problem,” the director snapped. “With Hovel out, our interests are in jeopardy, and the choices we’re now faced with range from bad to terrible.”

  “Do we actually know what went wrong?” Mendel asked.

  “Yes,” the director said without elaboration.

  “How do we know that this woman, this assassin we sent in, wasn’t working against us all along?” Mendel pressed.

  “I’m confident she wasn’t. But that isn’t what we’re here to discuss. The question is what we do now, not how any of this happened.”

  “I think it’s relevant,” Mendel said.

  The director lit a cigarette and eyed him. “Again, it’s late, I’m old and tired, and I need a solution. That’s why I called you, my experts, in. Not to waste time covering ground that will be analyzed later. So final time. What. Do. We. Do? Let’s hear some suggestions. Our people on the ground are waiting to hear from us.”

  “Where are they?” Lachman asked.

  “Safe. In Baku.”

  “You’re not giving us anything to go on,” Lachman complained.

  “Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I’ve gathered you here to propose how we dig ourselves out of this hole using the resources at our disposal. Do we simply do nothing? It’s fine if that’s the safest course. Or is there some action that would result in a less unbalanced outcome? Everything’s on the table here, gentlemen. Everything. I want some creative solutions, and fast.”

  “Well…we could always knock the prime minister off.”

  Mendel shook his head. “No. That would be a mistake.”

  “Why?” the director asked.

  “Because it would leave an even larger vacuum and would place the outcome of the election in jeopardy.”

  “I think it’s safe to say it already is,” Lachman argued.

  “The real question is which would be worse for us – Nabiyev holding the reins or one of the other parties?” The director puffed at his smoke, serpentine coils drifting to the ceiling as he eyed the men thoughtfully. “Lesser of two evils time.”

  “We can’t attempt another assassination without drawing international attention we can ill afford,” Mendel said. “So we need to eliminate that possibility out of the gate. Perhaps…perhaps we can reach out to Nabiyev and feel out how interested he might be in playing ball?”

  “Too risky,” Lachman said. “No way to do that without him suspecting us.”

  “We could use a third party.”

  “He’s clever like a fox. He’ll see through it, and then it’s game over for us.”

  The director listened to his subordinates argue back and forth for fifteen minutes and then thanked them for coming and abruptly left. A tall, thin man with black curly hair and a mustache was waiting for him in the outer area of
his office when he returned, the inner sanctum locking automatically upon the director’s departure and requiring a retinal scan to open. The director nodded to him and escorted him into his office, where they sat at a small round table in the corner.

  “Avi,” the director began, “I explained the situation. I want a proctology exam on this Leah. Everything you can learn. She wasn’t working alone. Someone, possibly a group here in Israel, had a hand in it. Your job is to discover who her accomplices are.”

  “I’ve already run a background on her and there’s nothing obvious, sir. Who picked her for the posting?”

  “As I recall, she was selected by committee for the slot in Baku,” the director said.

  “It’s possible that the entire committee was in on it, then,” Avi said drily.

  The director shook his head. “Maybe, although I doubt it. Too many disparate personalities. My money’s on her having been co-opted once she received the assignment, but I’ve been wrong before. Come at it from all angles. But I need to find any other traitors, and find them quick.”

  Avi nodded. “And when we do?”

  “We’ll deal with them appropriately.”

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything else?”

  “A practical matter.” The director explained what he wanted to know.

  Avi thought for a few moments and then sat forward with a smile. “Here’s how I would do it,” he said, and spoke for two minutes.

  The director asked a number of pointed questions and then nodded once he had the answers he was after. “Very well. Keep me informed of any progress. There will be a trace, I’m sure. Find it and you’ll make the connections.”

  Avi rose. “Will do. I’ll be in touch.”

  The director watched his most trusted internal affairs investigator leave and reached for his packet of cigarettes. He had the outline of a plan in mind, but needed a backup in case for some reason it failed. He smoked, thinking his scheme through, and then made a phone call on a secure line to Itai’s cell phone.

  When Itai answered, the director spoke quietly, explaining what he needed the station chief and the woman to do. When he finished, Itai had questions of his own, which the director fielded, taking notes.