The Scientist (Max Doerr Book 2)

by Jay Deb

  “I know. Now, go on.”

  “One Justice Department attorney is demanding your prosecution and immediate arrest for torturing someone. Why did you torture Ibrahim anyway? You should’ve read him the Koran. Give him a bag of fine dates from Tunisia. Bring a local mullah. What happened?”

  “First, I didn’t torture Ibrahim. An agent from the Mossad gave Ibrahim one shot. I gave Ibrahim a water injection and told him he was being given LSD and adrenalin,” Doerr lied. He had given Ibrahim LSD and adrenalin, a light dose. “And then Ariella gave a shot to Ibrahim suddenly, without asking me. I didn’t even know what she was injecting him with. I just–”

  “You were there,” the handler interrupted. “You share the blame.”

  “I share the blame. I accept responsibility.” Doerr’s frustration turned into anger. “But it’s a standard procedure to finish the mission and then investigate the legal issues later. Why is it being done differently now? We should think of the country first and then look at these stupid laws.”

  “I know all rules are meant to be bent. But you must realize Ibrahim could have died.”

  “What about Ariella?”

  “She has already been told to leave. As we speak, she’s preparing to board a plane heading for Tel Aviv.”

  “You can’t do that. She’s too valuable to this project.”

  “There’s nothing I can do, Mr. Doerr. The order came from the top and even the Mossad has issued an order asking for Ariella’s callback. Our new president is really concerned about torture and its long-term effect on perception by the world population. There isn’t anything I can do. You have to head back home and talk to those attorneys.”

  “I’m not going to waste time talking to some fat-ass attorney sitting in DC. I’m heading for Ankara, alone.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I’ve got to,” Doerr said emphatically. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “What is it?”

  “Can you report to your boss that you couldn’t talk to me?”

  “This call is being recorded.”

  Doerr knew it was useless to talk to the handler anymore. “Good-bye then.” He hung up.

  He walked back to his coffee, which was ready by now. He emptied three packets of sugar into the coffee mug and started sipping his beverage. He heard a beep on his phone. It was a text message from Ariella, confirming she was leaving for Tel Aviv.

  Doerr pondered calling Stonewall. In the end, he decided not to and started making plans on how to get to Ankara quickly.

  Chapter 40 Ankara

  It was two p.m., and Janco was still lying on the bed, alone, staring at the white ceiling. After a few minutes, Omar returned to the room, looking worried. Something must have happened. Janco had never seen him so nervous before. Omar opened a suitcase and pulled out a gun. Janco had never seen a firearm in Omar’s hand.

  What happened? Janco wondered, and he worried whether Omar was about to kill him.

  Omar pulled out a long-sleeve shirt and threw it at Janco. “Put that on.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t have time to explain,” Omar said angrily. “We should get the fuck out of here. Right now! Put on the shirt. Close your mouth and come with me.” Omar dashed to the door. “Hurry. They’re coming.”

  “Who’s coming?” Janco asked. But he knew Omar wasn’t going to answer, at least not now. So he slid the shirt over his head.

  “Hurry, hurry.” Omar stood at the door with the suitcase in one hand and the gun in the other. “We don’t have any time.”

  “Can I take my stuff?”

  “No. I’ll get you new stuff. Now if you delay anymore, I’m going to shoot your pie hole.” Omar raised the gun.

  “Okay, okay.” Janco took one last look at the suitcase that had his clothes and some books. Then he ran to the door, and Omar ran down the red-carpeted hallway, heading for the entrance to the stairwell.

  Soon, both men were rushing down the concrete stairs. After descending two floors, Omar peeked through the tiny window and shook his head as sweat streaked down his cheek. “Hurry,” he said and started walking down the stairs again. Janco followed him.

  “Who are those people?” Janco asked, sure that Omar had seen one or more men at the hotel front.

  “I think they’re your FBI or CIA men.”

  “They are not my FBI or CIA. But how did they find out we’re here?”

  “How would I know?” Omar said, grimacing. “You tell me. They’re from your country.”

  “When did you see them first?”

  “Yesterday.” Omar and Janco reached the ground floor, and soon, they were in the parking lot. From his pocket, Omar pulled out a ring with a remote control and a key. He pressed a button on the control device and the lights of a nearby Toyota Corolla blinked. Omar occupied the driver’s seat of the vehicle. Janco opened the passenger-side door, but Omar pointed his finger to the rear seat.

  “The guys you saw today, did you see the same guys yesterday?” Janco asked as he sat down on the backseat. He smelled alcohol on Omar’s breath. Janco was familiar with it, but in the car, the tang was stronger than in the hotel room.

  “I didn’t see anyone yesterday. Only saw a car moving around suspiciously,” Omar said and backed his vehicle out of the parking spot. “Should have moved out yesterday.”

  Janco understood that Omar had watched a vehicle yesterday and those two men today, and now Omar put two and two together.

  “Those two men may be from local authorities,” Janco said. “How could the CIA guys roam around so freely?”

  Omar pressed the gas pedal and the compact car sprinted from one end of the parking lot to the other, making a loud noise. “Your government has paid off the locals. The Americans move freely, acting like they’re the local police. But they aren’t. Everyone knows this happens. When you have lots of money in your pocket, you can practically do anything.”

  Omar rotated the steering wheel. The vehicle turned, and then Omar sped toward the hotel’s front gate. The route was clear until a black van came out of nowhere and blocked Omar’s path.

  “Fuck.” Omar pulled out his gun and shot at the blocking vehicle. The bullets hit the passenger-side windowpane and made a circular hole in the glass. The man in the driver’s seat in the van leaned to the side and his head hit the van’s window. Appreciating Omar’s marksmanship, Janco surmised the driver must be dead or gravely injured.

  Omar pressed the gas pedal again and rammed his car into the black van, making an enormous noise of crashing steel, and pushed the van by a foot and a half. But that was not enough for the Corolla to get through into the main road.

  So Omar backed up and pressed the gas pedal again, this time hitting the black van with greater ferocity, and the van moved by about two feet. Omar put the transmission in reverse and backed up again. Two hotel security guards showed up at the door and watched what was going on.

  “Come on,” Omar exclaimed as he floored the gas pedal again. The car hit the black vehicle, pushing it further, and this time there was just enough space for the Corolla to sneak through.

  Janco let out a sigh of relief. It was unreal as if he was watching a movie.

  Omar steered the Corolla through the hotel gate, into the paved main road. As soon as Omar’s car was on the street, a bullet hit the windshield. The glass cracked and some shards flew into the car.

  Undeterred, Omar continued driving, faster.

  Janco turned back and saw another black van standing on the roadside opposite the hotel. He was sure where that bullet had come from. Apparently someone in that van was waiting for Omar to exit the hotel. As Omar sped away, two more bullets hit the Corolla’s back, and more shards of glass fell inside the car.

  A few seconds later, Janco could no longer see the van and let out another sigh of relief.

  But it was short lived. He heard a bullet hit the rear of the Corolla, and a piece of glass hit Janco’s head. The van was less than a hundred feet away.
Janco saw the driver and a man in the passenger seat as yet another bullet hit the Corolla.

  Omar pulled out his gun, twisted his body and put his left hand outside the window. Omar kept the steering wheel steady with his right hand, turned his head backward, and then he took shots. The approaching van veered to the left to avoid the bullets from Omar’s gun.

  Omar turned back and took control of the steering wheel as Janco kept looking back to see what was going on.

  “Don’t move your head like that,” Omar commanded.

  Janco sat motionless, watching Omar deftly driving, passing other vehicles. Omar turned again, wielding the gun in his left hand, knees pressed to the steering wheels keeping the car steady.

  As bullets flew from Omar’s gun, Janco turned his head almost in a reflex action. The van was barely ten feet away, the driver unharmed.

  A series of bullets hit the Corolla from behind. Janco felt a blow to the right side of his head. Shocked, Janco immediately placed his hand on his head and felt the warm blood, and he panicked. He looked around and could see everything, which meant he was still alive, so the bullet must have hit Janco’s head superficially. Janco pressed his hand to the wound to stop the bleeding.

  Omar twisted his body with an unbelievable sharpness, half his body hanging out through the window. He shot a series of bullets. Janco heard a crashing noise behind them and was sure the van hit a tree or something.

  “Did you kill the driver?” Janco asked.

  “Maybe. I don’t care.”

  “I got shot.” Janco inspected his bloody hand.

  “I told you to stay steady and not move.”

  “I was still and that’s when I got shot.”

  “By steady I meant to say you duck.”

  “Then why didn’t you ask me to just duck.”

  Omar shrugged. “How is the wound?”

  “Not bad. Luckily the bullet just brushed my head, but there’s lots of blood. We need to go to a doctor now.”

  “We can’t go to a doc now. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “What if I die from all this bleeding?”

  “Take your shirt off,” Omar said as he drove into a single-lane road and slowed down. Traffic was thin, but there were more men and women on the roadside. Some were selling food, clothes and other things, but most people were buying them.

  Janco complied and took his shirt off.

  “Roll it and press it on your wound. Hard.”

  Janco did as told.

  A half hour later, the pain in his head subsided and the vehicle moved to a sparsely populated area. Janco watched the vast expanse of the rice fields, where dead leaves swung in the air like pendulums. The sun was going down, covering the horizon with an orange tint. Janco wondered how many more sunsets he would see in Turkey.

  “Where are we going now?” Janco asked meekly.

  “We’ll go to a friend’s place.” Omar held the steering wheel firmly, the vehicle moving at about forty miles an hour. Grimacing, Omar tried to straighten his back, which he’d perhaps hurt during his shooting spree.

  “Are we going to be at your friend’s place for a while?” Janco asked.

  “No. Not too long.”

  “Does your friend know what’s been going on?”

  “Shut up! You have too many questions.” Omar pulled out his cell phone and talked to someone in a language Janco didn’t understand.

  Later, darkness fell, and Omar stopped his vehicle behind a car waiting on the shoulder. The car’s door opened and a man came out, grinning.

  Omar got out of the vehicle, chatted with the man for a minute, and then waved to Janco to come out and get in the new vehicle.

  Chapter 41 Ankara

  Doerr’s plane landed at Esenboga International Airport in Ankara at exactly 7:10 p.m. As the aircraft taxied to the runway like a noisy monster, Doerr peeked outside. It was dark, only a line of streetlamps visible, and the rest of the land looked like a big mystery.

  A half hour later, Doerr walked off the plane. From baggage claim, he picked up his luggage, which was just a small suitcase with clothes and a few mundane objects like a shaving razor, a pair of flip-flops and a pocket-size Koran.

  The next morning, from his hotel room, Doerr dialed Stonewall’s number.

  “Hello,” said Stonewall with her usual sharpness. “Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you in the last two days.”

  “Why do you want to hear from me when I’ve already been taken off this project?”

  “Who told you you’re off the project?”

  Doerr wondered if the agency director was feigning ignorance. “My handler. He said the order came from the top. Which means it came from you,” Doerr said, “doesn’t it?”

  “I gave no such order to anyone!”

  “Then why did the handler say I’m off?”

  “I don’t know why and I’m definitely gonna find out. Looks like the chain of command broke down again. And some dumbass down the line decided he has the authority to call the shots. I’m gonna fire that handler as soon as I get off this call. Now tell me where you are. Are you still in Istanbul?”

  “I am…” Doerr hesitated, pondering whether to give away his location. “I’m in Turkey. I’m in an Ankara hotel.”

  “Which one?”

  “I’m in a three-star hotel.” Doerr was suspicious if his location could somehow be used against him. “Near the airport. I was told a couple of our guys were going to pick up Omar and Janco. What happened?”

  Doerr could hear Stonewall sigh. “They had Omar surrounded. But as per the latest report, Omar escaped, and in the process he killed one of our men and gravely injured another.”

  “Do we know where Omar is right now?”

  “We don’t. We were tracking him via satellite after he escaped the hotel. But then night fell, and we lost him. But one thing is clear – he has Janco with him. To catch Janco, all we have to do right now is track Omar.”

  “How can we catch Omar? And what if he flees Turkey?”

  “We have our satellites pointed at his known hideouts and his friends’.”

  “What if he leaves Turkey under night’s cover?”

  “We alerted the Turkish authorities. Thank God Turkey is our friend and they’re cooperating in every possible way. But there is always a chance that Omar gets through a crack. Time is of the essence. And I don’t really have to tell you all this.”

  “Right.”

  “Now let’s make some preparations. We need a team to capture ’em once they’re located. I’ll gather some people and make a good team first. Some to be flown in from the US and some from elsewhere.”

  “I don’t think a large team is necessary here. If Omar is found in some house somewhere, I think stealth will be way more important than strength,” said Doerr. “Ideally, to confront Omar, I want just one more person. Tops two guys. That’s it.”

  “Okay. What do you propose?”

  “I’ll drive to his hideout – with one or two men. They will do mostly support work. I go in and get both Janco and Omar. If Omar has an army in the house, then we’ll think differently.”

  “Don’t you think just you going inside a house might be a bit too much for you?”

  “No. As you know, in the past I have taken down three, four guys all by myself. That’s no problem. Like I said, stealth is more important than strength.”

  “Still. I will not send you on a suicide mission.”

  “Believe me, I can take care of the situation by myself.”

  “Tell me how you’re going to apprehend two people at the same time.”

  Doerr paused. His plan was to shoot and kill Omar as soon as he saw him. He would take Omar’s life with his own hand. But he couldn’t say that to Stonewall now, maybe never. “Once I rid Omar and Janco of their firearms, I’ll call in the backups.”

  “What if some guy sneaks up on you and shoots you in the head?”

  Doerr sighed. “Maybe that’s even better. I leave all the pain on this earth
and join Gayle up there. She is perhaps waiting for me. Her death haunts me every second of the day. My heart is aching twenty-four seven.”

  “You can’t modify the past, Max. But you can change the present and shape the future.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Max, listen to me. I’ve suffered a personal loss too. I know the feeling. You might have heard. I got divorced.”

  “Yes, I know. I felt sorry for you. But in your case there’s a bit of liberation in what happened. Wasn’t there a moment when you felt you became free and a load was lifted from your heart?”

  “You might be right. And I understand your loss was a mile deeper than mine. But I am the director,” Stonewall said, her voice serious now. “I run this agency. I give the commands. Someone will accompany you into the house. I’ve got a man who is very good with marksmanship and good at everything else. Take it or leave it. You take another man with you. Or leave Turkey and go back home.”

  “But you promised in the beginning you would let me call the shots. Do you even remember?”

  “I remember. We were in a bit of a panic back then,” Stonewall said. “Nothing was going our way and those senators were using my butt as a sandbag. But now things have changed. It’s under control now. And I’m still the director.”

  “Your promises got an expiry date, till things are under control. Is that it?”

  “Say what you want, Max. But you aren’t going to confront Omar alone. Do you wish to take on Omar, or you wanna come home?”

  Doerr knew Stonewall wasn’t kidding. She surely had chalked out the plan. “Okay. Another man will come in with me. But he is to do what I say.”

  “Yes, certainly. You’ll be the lead.”

  AFTER SWITCHING CARS three times, under the cover of darkness, Omar drove to a lonely house in a desolate region about a hundred miles north of Ankara, near Beypazari. It was Omar’s plan B, which he’d arranged before he had even set his foot in Ankara. The house had been originally owned by a farmer, who had vacated it a long time back. A friend of Omar had rented the house and used it for various purposes – hoarding weapons, drugs, women and slaves to be exported elsewhere.