by Jay Deb
“I’ll be wearing a blue shirt and black pants and I will scratch my head from time to time.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Doerr hung up and tried to remember where the heck he’d heard that voice before.
THE PLAN WAS to pay Salauddin some money now and then some later and finally make a big offer asking him to divulge anything and everything he knew about Omar. Money was the CIA’s first-level weapon; if it didn’t hit the target, only then were guns brought in.
Doerr reached Buckingham Palace at 1:50 p.m.; there weren’t that many people in front of the palace. Doerr could count only twenty-six men and seventeen women there. He wore a hat and a thick pair of sunglasses. On his jacket, there was a body camera, and in her hotel room, Ariella was watching everything through that camera.
Doerr visually searched for a man in a blue shirt but saw no one. He sauntered around the Victoria memorial statue for a few minutes and then sat down on one of the steps. He knew the statue was sculpted in 1911, and the palace had been built more than three hundred years back and partially rebuilt after being bombed during World War Two.
Doerr stood up and looked around. Soon, a man appeared wearing a blue shirt and black pants, and he scratched his head twice. He was about a hundred and fifty feet away from Doerr, and his face was familiar. Doerr took a few steps toward the man and the man kept walking closer.
As he got closer, Doerr’s heartbeat went up, and he was stunned to see who Salauddin was and then he realized why the voice on the phone had been so familiar.
Salauddin was no one but Ibrahim, the man who’d helped Doerr kill Rafan, his wife’s murderer.
Doerr zipped his jacket, lowered his hat and scampered away from Salauddin like a gazelle shot in one leg.
DOERR RETURNED TO his hotel and trudged to Ariella’s room.
Ariella opened the door, and Doerr stepped inside.
“What happened?” Ariella asked. “I saw you turned at the last moment.” She pointed to the monitor on the table in the corner of her room.
“Something crazy happened.” Sweat appeared on Doerr’s forehead.
“You don’t look very good. You better sit down,” Ariella said and pointed to the chair. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Yes.” Doerr sat down. “I could use some water.”
Ariella filled a glass with tap water and handed it to Doerr.
“Tell me what happened,” Ariella said and she sat down on a chair.
Doerr drank the water. “Salauddin is someone I’ve worked with before.”
“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s terrible.”
“How so?”
“Salauddin is Ibrahim. And Ibrahim was someone who helped me with–” Doerr paused, hesitating whether to divulge everything about Ibrahim. “He helped me with a mission that was very important to me. The most important mission of my life.”
“Ibrahim helped you kill your wife’s murderer,” Ariella said. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes. But how do you know that?”
“Never mind. It’s not important right now.”
“Right. Ibrahim is Salauddin or Salauddin is Ibrahim. Can’t say which one is his real name.”
“Maybe neither one is his real name,” Ariella suggested.
“Most likely.” Doerr felt as if he was sitting inside a centrifuge. His head was spinning. Now he remembered the moment he’d killed Rafan, the man who’d supposedly murdered his wife. He recalled the surprise on Rafan’s face before Doerr shot him to death. A murderer always denies his deed, so at that time Doerr had not thought much about it. But now he wondered if he’d killed the wrong person. If Ibrahim worked for Omar, then it was quite possible that Omar had murdered his wife, and then Ibrahim had come to Doerr to mislead him. As he thought about it more, he became sure that Omar had been the killer; he had the motive as well as the wherewithal to do it.
Doerr felt a shiver down his legs knowing that his wife’s real killer was still out there, roaming the streets somewhere. But he couldn’t say all that to Ariella, who he’d started liking though he had no amorous proclivity toward her. He liked her as a colleague due to her knowledge and capability. With her, he’d been sharing everything he knew. But now he couldn’t tell her that if Omar indeed had killed his wife, then killing Omar would be his first priority and bringing Janco to America – a distant second priority.
“What are you thinking so deeply?” Ariella asked. “Why are you so disturbed?”
“It’s nothing,” Doerr said and started walking toward the bathroom. “Just need to freshen up.”
Inside the bathroom, Doerr threw plenty of cold water into his face, but still he was very stressed.
He came back to the room, and Ariella confronted him. “What’s bothering you so much?”
“It’s…” Doerr hesitated. “It’s nothing.”
“Come on!” Ariella was tenacious. “If we’re going to work together, you’ve got to be truthful. We’re a team. Everything you say is confidential. I won’t disclose anything to anyone in Langley. I don’t even work for the CIA. No Washington attorney can quiz me.”
Doerr started realizing that he had to tell her everything sooner or later. She was right. “What bothers me the most is whether I really killed the bastard who took Gayle away from me.” Doerr wiped sweat from his eyebrows. “If Ibrahim is Omar’s man, then whatever he told me about his brother were just lies.”
“What did he tell you about his brother?”
“Ibrahim said Rafan had killed his brother, and that was why he was giving me Rafan’s location so that I could go and kill him.”
“But Rafan was the one who killed your wife, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.” Doerr stood up and started pacing. “That’s what I thought.”
“Ohh, sit down, please.” Ariella pointed to the chair where Doerr had been sitting. “I’m feeling dizzy just looking at you.”
Doerr sat down. “If Rafan wasn’t Gayle’s killer, then her murderer is still roaming around somewhere. And I’m now sure that Omar killed my wife.”
“Describe to me how you came to the conclusion that Rafan was the murderer.”
“My agency told me. Stonewall told me. I was hospitalized for three months after they blew up the car that killed Gayle. I was in the same vehicle. Once I was outside the intensive care unit, Stonewall called me and said that they were a hundred percent sure Rafan was the one who had planted the bomb under the car – no doubt. She said they had verified it from multiple sources. So I believed them and now I’m not so sure.”
“The investigation to find your wife’s killer must’ve been headed by someone, right?”
Doerr nodded.
“Who was that man?” Ariella asked.
“It was a man named Tim Oxley. An ex-marine. A rising star in the agency.”
“Is it possible he was a mole?”
“No,” Doerr said emphatically. “Not possible. But something is amiss here. Something went wrong somewhere. Now I think Omar was the real killer. He took revenge. I’d killed his men. And now I have to find out the truth.”
“How will you find out? Remember our current mission is to bring Janco back to America.”
“Based on what Parvez told me, I thought Ibrahim was just a regular accomplice in Omar’s organization so money would work. But now I think he’s more than that. So I have to catch Ibrahim and bring him to the safe house. Bring him quickly. And ask him where Omar is and everything else about Omar.”
“When do we pick up Ibrahim?” Ariella asked. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Doerr squinted at Ariella.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a crazy witch. But with some help, you and I can do it.”
“I hope you’re aware that there are closed-circuit monitoring cameras rolling in every street of London.”
“I know. That’s why we may have to put on some disguises. Follow Ibrahim from work to his flat or wherever he lives and then kidnap
him. That’s the way I’d do it.”
“What if his neighbors see us?” Doerr shook his head. He was regaining his composure. “We have to do a perfect job. We can’t afford to lose him. He’s the only bridge to Omarland. If we lose Ibrahim, we lose Omar, and then we lose Janco. We have to make the kidnapping appear like legitimate work. Even make it look like we are trying to help him.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“First we have to shadow him for a couple of days,” said Doerr. “We have to learn where he lives, where he goes at night. Who are his friends? So that we know who will be searching for him after we pick him up.”
“Okay, after all that prep work is done, how do we actually kidnap him?”
“Here’s what we’ll do.”
Chapter 32 Zurich
When Janco woke up in the morning, he saw the clouds through the window, and after freshening up, he peeked outside, trying to decide whether to go for a quick morning stroll. The drizzling had stopped and the day became a little brighter.
Janco avoided going out during the daytime. But he’d been getting depressed, and after thinking for a minute, he decided to go out and walk for a while.
After he had strolled for about ten minutes, the rain started again. He could wait under the shade of the nearby building’s entrance, but that would expose him to the eyes of the people passing by.
Drenched, he turned around, heading back to his hotel. On the way, he purchased a copy of the London Times and a science magazine, and then he rushed back to his hotel.
Standing about two hundred feet away from his hotel, he was stunned to see policemen standing at the hotel’s door. Three police cars were parked nearby, their lights flashing.
His mind started working fast.
Are the cops trying to grab me? Are they there for a different reason?
The answer was clear as he saw an officer look up. Another one from the third-floor window made a hand gesture. It was the window of Janco’s room.
He immediately turned and started rushing away. He trotted for about five hundred feet, and he felt exhausted, his face sweaty and knees damn tired. He stopped, bent his body, and rested his palms on his knees, breathing heavily like a dog that had just completed a mile-long run.
He had about a hundred francs in his pocket. The rest of the money and, more importantly, the passport were still in his hotel room.
He was burned out, physically and mentally, not a drop of energy left in his body.
This running has to stop, no more, thought Janco. Ever since he’d left the Nevada jail, he’d had freedom of varying degree, but not even for second during the last two months had he felt truly free. Fear never left his mind; stability was gone from his life.
Deciding to turn himself in to the cops, he reversed direction and started to walk back to the hotel.
He wanted to surrender, to go back to the Nevada prison where he’d been sodomized. But at least he wouldn’t be running around anymore. He would be able to read a book without having to look behind him and watch TV once in a while and laugh a few times, maybe even have one or two buddies.
Slowly, he started pacing back to the hotel, and he saw two cops get out of their vehicle.
AS JANCO APPROACHED his hotel, he felt as if his legs weighed a hundred pounds each. It was a march back to the Nevada jail, and the bad prison memories circled in his brain. But a part of his mind calmed knowing that the running was over for good.
Janco was about two hundred feet away from the hotel when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw a man standing right behind him. The man was a bit taller than Janco; six feet, Janco estimated.
“Come with me,” the man said in English.
“Who are you?” Janco asked.
“I’m your friend. Trust me. We can do the rest of the introductions later.” The man started walking away from the hotel. “Come.”
If he went back to the cops, then certainly a lifelong jail term awaited Janco; perhaps sodomy would be part of his daily routine. Janco wondered if he’d be charged with the murder of that prison guard killed by Gibbs. Did death row await him?
This man appeared to be a ticket to freedom, at least a chance for freedom – one more chance.
Should he go back to the pain for the rest of his life or see what the man had to offer? Carte blanche.
It was an easy decision.
“Okay,” Janco said and followed the man.
They trotted for ten minutes, passing six or seven pedestrians, and then they slowed down.
“What’s your name?” Janco asked. “How do you know me?”
“My name is Dexter.” The man extended his hand for a shake. “I work for a great man named Omar.” The man raised his hand for a taxi. “I think he has a plan for you. And you will like it very much. I’m taking you directly to him.”
Chapter 33 Tehran
During the last couple of days, Javed had been glancing at his phone a lot as if the phone would rescue him from the big hole he was in. Four days had passed since Navid had given him two weeks to find a new head of the nuclear program. He’d transferred three million dollars from his personal account to Omar, and now all he could do was wait.
An hour later, his phone rang, and he picked it up.
It was Omar. “I have some good news.”
“Go on,” said Javed.
“I got the man. Keep three million dollars ready.” Over the phone, Omar and Javed had agreed earlier that they would always refer to Janco as the man and talk in old Tehrani dialect, which very few people spoke.
“That’s great news,” Javed said. “How did you get him? Did you walk into his hotel and drag him to your place.”
“What? No. Who does that? I told you about the hotel where he was living. I sent some guys to watch. This morning, when he was out of the hotel, I had another man call the cops from a public phone and gave them the hotel name where the man was staying. Once Janco returned to the hotel, he understood what a predicament he was in. Then one of my guys rescued him and brought him to a hotel. This way he thinks I’m rescuing him and he’ll do what I tell him to.”
“Brilliant. Tell him how great his life here will be. He can have multiple wives and beat them up whenever he wants to. Having alcohol or hashish won’t be a problem either.”
“I will. Just keep that fucking money ready. Okay?”
“He should know the CIA or FBI can’t touch a hair on his head if he’s in Iran. Tell him all that.”
“Sure. Keep the money ready.”
“You probably need a new passport for the man,” said Javed.
“Definitely. Do you have the money ready?”
“Send me his picture and I’ll send a passport within twenty-four hours.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can get that done here. Lot quicker.”
“How soon can you bring him here?”
“It’ll take a week,” Omar said. “I’ll need the rest of my money.”
“A week?” Javed continued, ignoring the money question. He got the good news that Omar had captured Janco; one problem solved, but now a new one arose – how to gather three million dollars.
“I can’t just book a ticket from Zurich to Tehran,” Omar balked. “You understand?”
After a pause Javed said, “I understand.”
“I’ve got to be very careful. Take him through multiple countries to lose the trail. Perhaps I’ll go to Austria first. I hear the CIA has assigned their best agent to take the man back to America. And their president is very concerned about the missing scientist. So when you have the man, you can use him to taunt the great Satan. The man will serve two purposes. I feel you should pay me twelve million dollars, not six.”
“I think I’m paying you too much already. By the way, you seem to know a lot about the CIA’s plans.”
“I have a mole.”
“Inside the CIA?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the mole’s name?”
“You
ask too many questions? Do you have the three million dollars ready?”
“Yes, I do,” Javed lied.
“Okay then. Bye.”
“Don’t hang up. Just one last question. How did you find out where the man was hiding?”
“Can you tell me what a man wants once he’s out of prison?”
“What? Good food?”
“No. They look for a warm female body. I know this from personal experience. So I spread the word about the man among the major escort service providers in Europe. Promised big rewards. I’m a customer for many of them.” Omar laughed. “And then I got a call from one of the girls. Paid her ten grand for now, but I may have to get rid of her later. Goodbye. I’ve got to go now and meet Janco. Keep the money ready.”
Javed hung up. He didn’t have the entire three million dollars for Omar. He had only half the money. He wasn’t going to ask Navid for help, but he had a plan.
Chapter 34 Zurich
Omar took a two-hour flight from Rome to Zurich to meet Janco, who was being kept in a four-star hotel by Omar’s men.
From the airport, he took a cab to the hotel, where one of his men had been waiting. The man took Omar to Janco’s room and handed him a gun on the way.
Soon, Omar was sitting in front of Janco, who was looking pale and confused, and Janco was swinging his legs under the chair he was sitting on.
After introductions were complete, one of Omar’s men handed him a glass filled with vodka and orange juice.
Taking a sip from his glass, Omar asked Janco, “How you doing?”
“Honestly,” Janco said. “I feel all I’ve done since leaving the jail is run and run. I feel I never really left jail. I just got transferred to a new one. I have money, but I want to throw the money into a dumpster and go back to the prison. No one will be chasing me there.”
“I’ve been in the same situation, Mr. Janco,” said Omar, which wasn’t a hundred percent lie. There were times when he’d felt like giving up his business and having a normal life – with a wife and kids. But most of the time he enjoyed what he was doing for a living. “There is nothing in life that compares to freedom.” Omar looked at Janco’s eyes for a reaction. There was none.