“You have no power over me,” Hamid snarled.
Jet shook her head and walked to the door. “Cut him up into small chunks. I saw some dogs outside that could use a meal. At least this miserable piece of shit will serve some useful purpose, if the stink of his fear doesn’t sour the meat. Have a nice eternity in hell, you bastard,” she growled, then moved through the door and out into the pre-dawn.
Alan emerged five minutes later.
“Did he tell you anything?” she asked, without much hope.
“No. I don’t think he knew much. But I got the impression that he wasn’t worried about us catching his glorious leader, so that tells me he’s not going to be back here.”
“Which leaves us no better off than when we started.”
“Not exactly. I took photos of them and will e-mail them to the Mossad as soon as I have a cell signal. Maybe they’ll come up with something. If they’re known terrorists or have been sloppy, they’ll be in a database somewhere. It’s a long shot, but it’s more than nothing,” Alan said, his voice conveying defeat even though his words were defiant.
“Then our best bet is to get back to Sana’a as soon as possible so you can send the photos off.”
“Yes. And I scanned their fingers, too, so they can run their prints. Maybe one of them has a record.”
“For all our sakes, let’s hope so. Although I’ve given up on hope as a viable strategy.”
“Me too. But sometimes hope is all we have.”
“I know,” she murmured as they moved towards the compound entry. “And God help us all.”
Chapter 29
The return trip was anti-climactic. On the way north to Sa’dah they’d had the chance that they were headed for a showdown with their enemy; whereas now, tearing along as fast as the roads would allow back to Sana’a, they were headed into the unknown. The terrorist had been too confident, even as he died, that they were doomed – his unshakable conviction was obvious, fueled by hatred. He had gone to his grave sure that their world was about to come apart and so his death hadn’t been in vain. You couldn’t fake that type of faith. He’d believed they were only days from Armageddon.
Half an hour north of the capital, Alan’s iPhone finally displayed a signal, and he sent all of the data he’d collected to headquarters, where the images would be compared to thousands of known terrorists and the prints run through every database in the world. The Mossad had a powerful network it could leverage, and if there was any chance of any of the dead men being identified, they would do so. Alan knew their capabilities and was optimistic.
Jet was glum. She had the sense they’d wasted their time, but she tried to remain upbeat even as she sank despondently into the passenger seat, her robes back on, her veil and headdress in place.
They arrived at Sana’a after rush hour and the driver dropped Jet off in the center of town – she didn’t want anyone knowing where she was staying, no matter how trusted by Alan they were – and she made her way gratefully to her room, exhausted after a sleepless night of hyper-vigilance. Even though it was only late morning, she decided to get a few hours of sleep so she’d be rested if Alan needed her later.
The traffic outside her window roared and revved as she pulled the curtains closed and prepared for bed. Sputtering cars battled for supremacy with delivery trucks and swarms of motor scooters with a death wish. Dropping onto the mattress, she resolved to be out in seconds, but even as she drifted off she was struck by a sensation that something wasn’t right.
They were all missing an important part of the puzzle.
What it was, she couldn’t say, but she was sure of it.
And she was rarely wrong.
~ ~ ~
It was late afternoon, and Alan looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, fatigue wearing at him as the pressure of the mission mounted. Jet had checked online and the furor over the terrorist threat had grown to colossal proportions, with civil unrest in New Orleans and Philadelphia threatening to bring the cities to a halt.
“You look like crap,” she offered when he opened the door to his room.
“Nice to see you, too,” he replied with a hoarse voice, stepping aside so she could enter. “You really like that outfit, huh?”
She twirled in her abaya, niqab and hijab as if modeling for him. “This is the racy version – they call it sexy nurse. You can almost catch a glimpse of my toes.”
“They’re very nice,” he observed.
“Anything new? You break this wide open yet?” she asked.
“Not exactly. I have a call set up a few minutes from now. Sat phone. I’m hoping that we got a match on the IDs that will take us in a different direction.”
“Other than stalled.”
“Dead by the side of the road.”
“Finito.”
“End of the line.”
They both giggled, sleep deprivation and tension starting to show.
“You check the news?” she asked.
“Not much else to do, is there? Looks like all hell is breaking loose. Iran has issued another statement offering to allow in an international team to inspect their nuclear facilities. They’re worried. Which they should be. Whether or not they’re involved in this threat, they’re being treated as though they are by the U.S..”
“If the terrorists are successful, Iran will wind up getting hurt far worse than the U.S., and they know it.”
“It’s definitely an ugly position to be in. I mean, they’re probably guilty of a lot, but I’m unconvinced that they’re guilty of this,” Alan said. “Let’s hope we can cut this off before it goes ballistic. Which I’m working on. Can you wait for me in the lobby? I need to prep for this call.”
“Sure. I love sitting in Yemeni lobbies waiting for mystery men.”
“That’s how I was hoping you’d feel.”
Jet obligingly went downstairs and took a seat on one of the leather sofas, and after reading several of the tour brochures offering trips around the country, fished a cell phone from the depths of her robe. She pressed a speed dial number and then listened as the tremulous ring sounded in her ear.
“Hola!” Magadalena’s voice sounded distant, but excited.
“Hello, Magdalena. How are you?”
“Oh, Señora, very good. I want to thank you again for everything. This is like a dream come true.”
“I’m glad you were able to help me, Magdalena. How’s Hannah?”
“She’s already made new friends in the building and across the street in the playground. But I can tell she misses you...”
“That’s great about the friends. Is she there? I’d like to talk to her.”
“Of course. Just a moment.” Jet heard Magdalena call Hannah, and then rustling as the phone was handed to her.
“Hello?” Hannah’s voice sounded tiny and tentative.
“”Hello, sweetie. How are you?”
“Mama! Hannah is good. I play lots!”
“Magdalena told me you met some other kids?”
“Two. Two kids!” Hannah enthused.
“Well, that’s wonderful. And are you being good?”
“Yes, Mama.” She sounded indignant that her behavior could be questioned.
They talked for another two minutes, and then Alan emerged from one of the elevators, his face animated.
“I have to go now, sweetie. Mama will be coming home soon. I love you, Hannah.”
“Hannah love Mama!”
Her heart felt like she’d been dropped off a building as she terminated the call. She turned to Alan, who had taken the seat across from her.
“How is she?” he asked.
“Good. Enjoying her vacation. Sounds like Magdalena is spoiling her rotten. Now tell me how the call went.”
“I think we may have just gotten the break we’d been hoping for. I don’t want to get too excited, but one of the terrorists was in our databases. He’s Yemeni, which is no surprise, but he’s also a known associate of one of the lowlifes in the cell I had infiltr
ated. A character by the name of Abdul Nasr.”
“That’s great news. But how does that help us?”
“Before I blew up, Nasr was dissatisfied because he felt that the cell wasn’t taking large enough steps, and was hinting that he was thinking of taking his brand of murderous extremism elsewhere. To a new group. The guy’s a frigging nutcase, but he’s considered dependable, if extremely violent in both behavior and ideology.”
“And you know where he lives?”
“I do indeed. Or rather, I know where he lived five months ago. But I doubt he’s moved. People don’t change their ways here for no reason. My guess is we can find him, and then watch him. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s better than anything else we’ve come across.”
“Small world in terrorist circles, huh?”
“Which isn’t unexpected. Especially in a region like Yemen. The truly extreme are a relatively small bunch – most everyone with a desire to maim and kill joins the rebels. So there’s an outlet for the homicidal. But I’d bet that most of the really devoted know each other. Like minds think alike, and all.”
“Too bad you can’t get a whole surveillance team in.”
“That’s a problem. Remember Yemen isn’t exactly sympathetic to our cause. And with the civil war, they’d probably spot a bunch of Mossad personnel flying in. Besides which, we’re running out of time. We need to start now.”
“Fine. Do you have a dossier on the target? Photos? I can take first shift if you want. Between you, me, and the driver, that would be four hours on, eight off, which is manageable.”
Alan stood. “Upstairs. I have everything.”
“Why, Alan. Are you just trying to get me into your room?” Jet teased, batting her lashes, the veil hiding everything but a small strip of eyes and the bridge of her nose.
“I wish it was a social visit. Believe me.”
They waited for the elevator in silence, and when they got in, Jet took his hand. “You really look beat, Alan. Just give me the information and get a few hours of shut-eye. You’re not going to do either of us any good if you’re too tired and start making mistakes.”
He squeezed her hand. “I never make mistakes.”
“So I’ve noticed. But you have to be exhausted. Just point me at him, and I’ll take the first watch. The likelihood that anything will happen is pretty slim in any four-hour period anyway. You get some sleep, have Umar take the second shift, and if there’s anything worth reporting he can call you, and then you can call me. We still have our arsenal, so I’d think we can take on a few lousy amateur-night Yemeni terrorists, don’t you? I mean, I single-handedly cleared the last house and didn’t break a sweat.”
“You make a compelling case.”
The elevator door opened and they walked to his room. Once inside, he moved to his little desk and pulled up a series of images on his laptop.
“This is the guy. He shouldn’t be that hard to spot. He’s got a slight limp – birth defect. Left leg’s shorter than the right. Probably why he went the terrorist route.”
“Not enough breast feeding when a baby.”
“Nobody understood him.”
“None of the other terrorists wanted to play suicide vest with him.”
They laughed while she studied the shots.
“How old are these?”
“Less than a year. I took them. I’ve known the creep for over three years, and he’s always looked the same, so you should be able to pick him out pretty easily. He has a room in a dump over by the Al-Thawra Stadium. Here’s the address and a photo of the exterior.” Alan switched to another shot.
“Does he have a car?”
“No. Motorbike. He’s pretty low on the financial totem pole.”
She nodded. “Fine. Send all these images to this email address. I can access it from my cell phone.” She scribbled on a piece of hotel stationery. “I’ll get over there right now. I’m guessing you have a car?”
He handed her a valet stub. “Green Toyota Highlander in the lot. I can get another car, and Umar has his Land Cruiser.”
She studied his face, several days’ stubble darkening it, and reached up and laid a cool hand on it. “Get some rest. Really. Even if it’s a couple of hours.”
He nodded, hesitating, then thought better of whatever he had been going to say and grinned instead.
“You’ll probably want your weapons, right?” He went to the duffle in the corner and unzipped it, extracting an MTAR with four extra clips, a silenced pistol, her night-vision goggles, a complement of knives, and an empty black nylon backpack.
“All that for me? You definitely know how to win your way to a girl’s heart. Did you reload the clips?” she asked, moving towards the bed, where he’d placed the weapons.
“Yup. All full. But don’t do anything until you call me and everyone is in place. Please. Promise me that.”
She slipped everything into the backpack and then hoisted it over one shoulder, the MTAR barely fitting inside the oversized backpack.
“I’m good to go. With all this firepower, I can take on the whole city.”
“Remember, anything suspicious, you call me.”
She moved to the door. “Anything else?” she asked.
“Be careful.”
Chapter 30
The neighborhood was seedy, the homes crumbling and the roads decrepit. This was an area where only some of the larger arteries were paved, with the majority dirt. Trash lay strewn across the rutted streets, and the area had a lingering stench of rot, made worse by puddles of murky fluids of suspect origin. Jet looked around as she drove, and the further she moved from the main intersection the more buildings were either abandoned hulks or bare cinderblock dwellings with bars on the windows and laundry hanging on clotheslines.
She checked the time. It would be three hours before dusk came. Once it was dark she could park closer and watch the address from behind the wheel, but right now it would be conspicuous, and she opted to leave the car a block away and reconnoiter on foot, her robes rendering her unrecognizable from the dozens of other Yemeni women moving like black ghosts along the squalid streets.
Jet left the MTAR in the vehicle, covered with a local blanket, and shuffled towards the barren house, a simple two-story cinderblock rectangle with windows, where Nasr rented a room. Flies buzzed around her as she meandered along the dirt road, carrying the backpack like it contained shopping. She had pocketed two of the throwing knives and slipped the silenced pistol into the side pocket of the lightweight cargo pants she wore under the robe, so the backpack only had the goggles and the clips in it.
Two other women in full garb were walking carefully along the side of the rustic street, approaching her, and with a flash of inspiration she realized that Alan’s concerns about being recognized on his watch were unwarranted. She dug her cell from the depths of her robe and placed a call.
“Are you asleep yet?” she asked when he answered his phone.
“I swear I’m just lying down,” he lied.
“Well, add an abaya, niqab, and hijab to your shopping.”
“Why, did something happen to yours?”
“No. For you. If you slouch you can pass for a tall woman. Nobody can see anything but your eyes. As a woman, nobody will give you a second glance, so when you’re in the car, you’ll be as close to invisible as you can get. No chance of someone placing you. It’s perfect.”
“A woman...”
“Correct. Nobody suspects women. I’ve been using that to my advantage for years. If it will help you get into character, shave your legs and wear something pretty under the robe.”
There was silence as he considered her odd advice. “You know what? That actually makes a lot of sense.”
“Even a broken clock’s right twice a day,” she reasoned.
“I’m going to lie down now.”
“Nice neighborhood, by the way.”
“I imagine it’s improved since I was last there.”
“The dirt has dirt on i
t.”
“Maybe it hasn’t improved that much.”
“Is Umar taking the next shift, or are you?” she asked.
“Umar. I’ll be working graveyard.”
“I’ll watch for him, then. Nighty night.”
Jet punched the phone off and drifted towards the building. A few ancient SUVs that looked like they had gone through a war sat rusting near it, but as she passed the graffiti-covered cinderblock perimeter wall and open gate that led to the parking area, it was empty. Glancing up, she saw that the window of the room Alan had identified as belonging to Nasr was open. No guarantee, but that probably meant that he was there.
She continued along the grim road until she came to a small market on the corner with an extremely fat, sweating man sitting behind the counter chewing qat, watching a small black-and-white television, a fan blowing stagnant air from the front of the tiny store to the back. She purchased a bottle of water, and he didn’t even look up from his show as he felt for the coins she had left for him and nodded.
Her return trip to the Highlander was equally uneventful. There were few signs of life other than the screeching blare of tinny music from the second story of what appeared to be an abandoned building, and a woman’s voice screaming at her children from the house next to Nasr’s.
It was going to be a long four hours.
Jet reached the vehicle and got behind the wheel, far enough away to not be spotted but still close enough to see anyone coming or going from the building. A niggle of unease worried at her stomach as she thought about her abbreviated discussion with her daughter and she pushed it aside, preferring not to dwell on the unpleasant. They would be reunited soon enough and would make their way to a new area to live, and hopefully never be endangered again. It was a shame, because she genuinely liked Montevideo, but Uruguay had become too hot for them to stay. Maybe she’d try Mendoza next. It was worth a shot.
Two hours later, men began appearing on the road, on their way home from work, clothes dusty, with the defeated gait of the downtrodden and perpetually hopeless. A few glanced at her in the car, but most ignored her, their battles with life so consuming that they didn’t notice their surroundings. Four adolescent boys appeared near Nasr’s dwelling and began kicking a soccer ball around in the dirt, laughing and screaming at each other as the orb sailed through the air, brown legs and arms flailing as they battled one another for possession. Another pang of longing struck her as she watched. Even in this hellhole, kids managed to have fun – as Hannah did even when her mom had to go fight for their lives.
Jet 03: Vengeance Page 19