by Jay Deb
Doerr sat up on a step and listened for movement. There was none, so he extended his hand and took a few more shots at Omar, and Omar returned fire.
“I’m going to rush in,” whispered Doerr, “and see if I can run and grab Omar.”
“Are you crazy? He has weapons superior to ours,” said Conner. “You’ll be killed.”
“No. I’ll be fine.” Doerr remembered Ariella and missed her. If she were here, Doerr would have felt much better before taking this risky move. “In a war between good and evil, good always wins. You stay here. I’m going to run. I’ll stay on the right. Omar will try to shoot me. If you see him, gun him down. It’ll be better if you aim for his knee or arm. Not head. We want to capture him not kill, if possible.”
“Got it, boss. Anything else?”
“Yes. Try not to shoot my ass.”
OMAR HAD BEEN shooting at Doerr with the best weapons he had, the Uzi and the DP machine gun. His dealer friend had told him the automatic firearms had come from Russia just a week back. It had been all planned by Omar in advance, even before he’d set foot in Turkey. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need to use those firearms and live in this darn haunted house to hide. But once the CIA had appeared at his Ankara hotel, he had to activate plan B, a plan designed to give him stealth and hide him from the eyes of the freaking Americans. But now the CIA was inside his house, and he was holding those guns in the darkness like a ghost. He hadn’t thought the CIA could locate him twice. Now he wondered if he should have just sent Janco to Javed and taken whatever money had been offered. Then he pushed the thought away and focused on the current situation.
Thank God the Russians had sent him the latest night-vision goggles so he could watch everything. But the bad thing was they had sent only one pair, which meant Janco was sitting idle like a blind man, which wouldn’t have mattered if he could kill Doerr and his buddy. But they were proving to be tough, and Omar knew it was Doerr as soon as he’d seen him. He could’ve made out it was Doerr even if he had seen just the shadow – Omar knew him that well. Omar could never forget his brother’s killer, the brother who had the wit, strength, and had really loved Omar. Omar had been disappointed when he heard that Doerr survived the car bombing that killed his wife. Now that Doerr stood at his doorstep, Omar’s desire for revenge returned. He used his guns to rain bullets on Doerr and his partner, hoping to finish them both. But he’d run out of ammo and soon it was apparent that he could not kill Doerr or his partner, and he had to retreat to his room.
Now it was a different situation. Doerr was at his doorstep and he was sure killing him was Doerr’s top priority. Fearing for his life, he mentally cursed his Russian arms dealer, who had promised that the bullets would pierce any vest, even the ones worn by the US Army.
Either the CIA has better vests, or the Russian lied, thought Omar.
The Russian ammo had always worked on the street thugs Omar had used it on before. He decided to have a talk with his dealer later and ask for a refund.
But for now, he had to execute his plan C – a plan to enter a hidden doorway in the basement, connecting to a tunnel that would lead him to a deserted place where his men would be waiting to take him to a safe place once Omar sent him a text message.
“Stand up,” Omar said to Janco, who had been sitting in the corner of the room with his hands pressed against his ears. Omar’s plan C included sacrificing Janco, offering him as a sandbag to Doerr, making Omar’s getaway easier. Morality was an ephemeral matter to Omar.
Looking confused and unbalanced, Janco stood up, face stupefied.
“I have a bag in the room opposite,” Omar said. “You have to go get it. Can you hear me?” The light inside the room was very dim on purpose.
Apparently, Janco didn’t hear him. Maybe he was temporarily deaf from all the noise of the gunshots.
Omar shook Janco’s shoulder. “You have to go to that room.” Omar pointed to the room across the hallway.
“How will I do it?” Janco’s voice quivered. “It’s dark. Bullets.”
“Don’t be a pussycat. Just jump. The door on the other side is open,” Omar lied. The other door was closed. “You’ll live. Don’t worry.”
Omar grabbed Janco by the neck and made him stand at the door. “Now stay here. Take a breath and jump to the other door. You know what I’m talking about.” The other door was across the hallway.
Janco shook his head. He wouldn’t do it, not voluntarily.
Omar grabbed him by his hair. “Want to live? Want to go to Iran and walk free?”
Janco nodded. “You didn’t say any of this when you talked to me in Zurich.”
“Yeah. Things change. Are you going to jump or not?” Omar shook Janco’s head. “I need the bag from the other room. Are you gonna go, or shall I push you?”
Janco didn’t move and Omar waited two seconds. “Go, you motherfucker.” He pushed Janco into the hallway. Omar watched Janco struggle to open the door of the room on the other side. That door would never open; Omar had locked it.
Gunfire followed, from Doerr or his partner, and Janco’s body dropped to the floor with a thud. Janco lay on the ground motionless; he was dead. He wouldn’t go to Tehran or Nevada or anywhere else. He would never complain about running around like he’d done to Omar so many times.
Omar lobbed a pipe bomb that exploded near the staircase where Doerr was, and then he threw two smoke bombs that would make Doerr and his buddy choke for a while.
Omar rushed to the open window, jumped out, and landed on the soft soil, just like he had practiced before, and then he rushed for the entry to the tunnel.
DOERR WALKED OFF the stairs into the hallway and saw a man struggling to open the door. Doerr raised his gun, but he realized the man was Janco, so he didn’t shoot. A volley of bullets flew past Doerr, shot by Conner. Doerr was sure Janco got hit by the bullets in the head, and his body dropped. Instantly, Doerr knew Janco was dead.
Doerr took out a flashlight and turned it on for two seconds and saw Janco’s body on the floor. Using the light was risky; it immediately made him an open target for Omar’s bullets, but he was willing to take the risk.
Doerr rushed toward Janco. Someone threw a bomb from the open door, and it exploded just a few feet away from Doerr, who felt the shrapnel piercing his face and legs. Two smoke bombs went off, filling the entire place with a white cloud. He felt the warm blood running down his face and his legs. From the smell of the smoke, he knew it was harmless.
He called for Conner – no response. Doerr knew what Omar was up to. He’d thrown the smoke bomb to make an escape. With his flashlight on, Doerr walked through the smoke and checked all the rooms – no sign of Omar, and then he found the open window in the dimly lit room – Omar’s exit route. Before pursuing him, Doerr tried to check Janco’s pulse. There was none, and the scientist was dead. Doerr saw Conner approaching him.
Furious, Doerr faced Conner. “You killed Janco!”
“I aimed for his shoulder,” Conner said. “But he was moving, so the bullet hit his chest. I’m sorry.”
“You hit him in the head. And sorry doesn’t cut it, Harry. We were supposed to capture Janco. Take him back to the States.”
“If I may remind you, the instruction I received said capture Janco if possible, otherwise kill him.”
Realizing nothing would bring Janco back to life, Doerr said, pointing to the window, “Omar left that way. We must get Omar.”
Conner moved forward and stood in front of Doerr, blocking his path to the window.
Doerr was stunned. “We have to go and look for him!” Doerr wondered what Conner’s agenda was.
“No, you can’t,” Conner said. “You’re hurt and with Janco dead, this mission is over.”
“No, it isn’t.” Doerr pushed Conner to the side. “I must find Omar.” Doerr proceeded to the window.
It was a ten-by-ten-foot room; guns, rifles, machine guns, and empty cartridges were strewn on the floor. Doerr placed his right leg on the window, about
to jump to the ground, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
It was Conner, and he said, “No! We must leave. You’re injured badly.”
“I feel fine. Not much blood.” Doerr touched his face. “I feel fine.”
“You might have serious internal damage. We’ve got to get you checked.”
“Omar has to be killed.”
“In the instructions that I received, there was no mention of Omar. I am calling command center.” Conner pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
“I’m the leader. You follow my orders,” Doerr screamed. “I’ll report you.”
“I’ve got instructions to take over this mission when you don’t behave.”
“What!” Reality struck Doerr’s mind like a lightning rod. He realized he’d been set up. Conner had been sent to kill Janco, making it expedient for everyone. Doerr pulled his leg from the window and stood in front of Conner. “They sent you with a mission to kill Janco, didn’t they?”
“It doesn’t matter, Max,” Conner said softly, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Tell me the truth, Harry,” Doerr demanded.
“It doesn’t matter.” Conner put the phone back in his pocket. “Right now what matters most is your health. You’re in pain.”
“Screw my health and I have a worse pain inside. I have to kill Omar. They sent you with a mission to kill Janco. To make everyone happy. Isn’t that right?” Doerr grabbed Conner by his shirt’s collar. “Tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Conner freed himself from Doerr’s hands.
Doerr knew Conner would not divulge the truth easily, so he pulled out his gun, and before Conner could do anything, Doerr pointed the gun at Conner’s head. “The truth, Harry. Spill it now.”
“Put the gun down, Max,” Conner said. “We can talk this out. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Doerr was impressed by the cool composure Conner was displaying. “Don’t think I won’t shoot. Just look around. There’s no one here. If I kill you, no one will find out. You know I’ve killed too many.”
“I’ve already sent a text saying the mission is over. Now if you kill me, the forensic guys will find out that the bullet came from your gun. And prison life isn’t good. That’s why Janco was duped so easily to leave jail. Don’t you think?”
Doerr knew the implication. If Doerr killed him, then Doerr would be eventually caught and sent to prison. “If you get killed by a bullet from this.” Doerr wiggled his gun. “Then there are many ways to explain it. Maybe Omar came back, snatched my gun and killed you. Maybe I tried to kill Omar but missed. And then the bullet ricocheted into your head. I can come up with a dozen explanations, Harry. I’m the assassin. Now tell me. Are you going to tell the truth or–”
Conner thought for three seconds, and then he said, “What do you want to know?”
“I’ve already asked you.” Doerr wondered if he should just go after Omar and pick up this conversation later. Then he realized he may never get Conner alone under a gun. “Did the agency send you with a mission to kill Janco so that the agency’s skeletons won’t come out?”
“Yes, my report-to told me that Janco had to be killed and I had to stop you from killing Omar.”
“What! Why do they need to protect Omar?”
“They told me Omar has worked with the CIA in the past. And the real reason you may want Omar’s head is because he killed your wife.”
“Who is your boss? Who does he report to?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. I just do what my boss tells me to do.”
Realizing it was a waste of time to interrogate Conner, Doerr lowered his gun. “I gotta go now.” Doerr raised his right leg and placed it through the window, trying to get out.
This time Conner took the gun out of his holster and pointed it at Doerr’s head. “I can’t let you go, Max. I know why you want to get Omar. I wish I could let you go. But I can’t. I have a mission. I follow orders and leave my emotions in my backyard.” Conner kept his gun steady.
Doerr placed his other leg in the window. He was now just a jump away from falling to the ground.
“Stop, Max,” said Conner. “Stop now!”
“If you kill me, your boss will become your worst enemy. Trust me. I don’t think you want to do all the explaining that’ll come if you shoot me. Now, I have a job to do.” Doerr jumped and just like Doerr had expected, no bullet came out of Conner’s gun.
After the twelve-foot fall, Doerr stood up and saw an open window to the basement.
Soon, Doerr was in the basement, and he found a tunnel within a minute. Doerr tried to listen for the sound of Omar’s movement coming from the tunnel; there was none. He saw some fresh footprints, which confirmed Omar’s exit route.
After so much time was lost due to the fiery talk and gun-wielding with Conner, it was quite likely that Omar was far deep inside the tunnel, or maybe he’d even reached the other end.
Doerr raised his gun and shot twice into the tunnel, but nothing happened. He heard no wail coming from inside the tunnel.
The tunnel was spacious and rimmed by concrete. He took a few steps inside and then a few more. He turned on his battery-powered flashlight, and though his legs twitched from the shrapnel injury, he continued to march forward. After some time, the tunnel became narrow, its walls no longer lined with concrete.
Undeterred, Doerr started crawling on his arms and knees, through soft mud and water puddles. His clothes became dirty, feet soiled, but he continued to move forward. He was breathing heavily – the air in the tunnel was stale and oxygen scant. If he continued, he could become unconscious or even die. But then Omar must have crossed through the same tunnel. Why couldn’t he?
Doerr felt a rush of adrenalin in his arteries, and he continued to crawl forward with new vigor. Soon, he could feel the fresh air. Moving faster, he knew the end of the tunnel was near.
Minutes later, Doerr came out of the tunnel. It was dark everywhere. He moved around his flashlight. On the ground, he saw a few fresh footprints – must be Omar’s. Doerr walked around with his light, expecting to see some clue about Omar’s exit path. Two minutes later, Doerr found some fresh tire marks.
He conjectured the mastermind Omar had someone waiting in a vehicle to take him to safety. Out of frustration, Doerr shot a handful of bullets in the direction where those tire marks led to. The ensuing echo of the gunshot noise seemed to mock him like the Joker in a Batman movie.
Had he not spent so much time on the drama with Conner, maybe Omar would be dead by now.
Doerr also wondered who had given the order to kill Janco. Was it Stonewall or someone on a lower rung? Doerr’s plan had been to kill Omar and take Janco back to the Nevada jail. But the agency had a different plot – kill Janco expediently.
He knew if he called Stonewall, all he’d get was an evading, diplomatic answer. Doerr dropped to his knees. He knew he’d just blown a good chance to destroy his wife’s murderer. As he looked up to the star-adorned sky, he knew he’d have to find Omar again and kill him, this time with no help from the agency.
“Omar!” Doerr yelped.
Chapter 43 Tehran
“Salam. I have the three million dollars you asked for,” Javed said to Omar on the phone, from his office. “All of it.” It was around noon and the drapes were drawn on his office window, door closed, making the room dark, as if that would hide the phone call from everyone.
“Uh-huh.” Omar sounded tired.
“Should I send the money to the same account or a different account?”
Omar didn’t say anything.
“You required three million more and I have it,” Javed barked. “Don’t increase your price now.”
“You’re too late.”
“What do you mean I’m too late?”
“Janco is dead! You have to pay the right price on time for everything in life. If you don’t, this is what happens.”
The words hit Javed like a barrage of bullets. He s
hivered and felt coldness run down to his feet. Sighing, he asked, “How did he die? You said you had Janco in your control and you never failed in your mission.”
“It all happened because you delayed the money. I didn’t fail. You did. It happened because the CIA showed up and they sent their best man to kill me.” Omar gave the gist of what happened and his version of how Janco stupidly walked in the wrong direction and lost his life. “Can I ask you for something?”
“What?”
“Please don’t tell anyone that I didn’t deliver Janco. That I failed.”
“Why?”
“Because reputation is everything in my business. I would’ve delivered Janco to you if you didn’t make such a fuss about the three million bucks. And why your state can’t cough up three million dollars is still beyond me.”
“I told you it’s complicated,” Javed said, regaining his lost composure. If I talk to the president, I can buy some more time to get a new chief for the nuclear program, he thought. “But I can honor your request only if you send me the entire three million bucks I already paid you.”
“I will send you one million. Two million I’ve already spent. Remember what I said before? I said if I didn’t deliver Janco, I’d give you the money minus the expenses. Remember now?”
“I remember. But if you want me to keep this to myself, then send me the entire three million bucks. That’s my own personal freaking money.”
“You’re trying to extort money out of me,” Omar accused him.
“I’m not.”
“If you tell anyone about the failure–” Omar was searching for the right curse word in his mind.
“I thought you care more about reputation than money,” said Javed. “So why are you so finicky about the money?”
“Money,” Omar said furiously. “Money and reputation are equally important. I don’t want my future clients to skip payment. You understand?”
“I understand. Perfectly. But I need all my money back or else–”