The Belgian Bagman (Justin Hall #11)

by Ethan Jones

  In the small kitchen, he prepared a cup of coffee, wondering if Carrie was still asleep. It was only six-ten, and like Justin, she was usually up by this time. He listened for a moment, but no sounds came from her room at the end of the hall. The three-bedroom apartment had two wings, with two rooms reserved for “boys,” since the station had almost twice as many male operatives as females. At the moment, though, only Justin and Carrie were staying in the apartment.

  He shrugged and sat at the small table in the living room. He fired up his laptop and read the briefings that had come in during the night. The situation in Antwerp was tense, but there had been no terrorist attacks. The Muslim community had rallied around local politicians—a few of them belonged to the same faith—calling for peace and justice and against discrimination. The terrorist cell seemed to have disbanded, but “the Syrian” leader was still unidentified.

  Then Justin checked his email. Nothing of importance. Karolin had not sent him a message. She usually did not, but after the nightmares, he wished she had. Justin thought about calling her, but then shook his head. Karolin could still be sleeping, or she might interpret his call as checking on her and not trusting her enough to make it on her own. No, if I can’t make things better, why make them worse?

  “Morning, Justin,” Carrie’s voice coming from the kitchen brought him out of his daydreaming.

  “Hi, Carrie. How did you sleep?”

  “Pretty good, until someone started monkeying around in the kitchen.”

  “Uh, I made almost no noise.”

  “Almost.” Carrie snorted. “It was actually the coffeemaker’s gurgling. Or maybe the smell, which is so good.”

  She stepped out of the kitchen carrying a mug in each hand. Carrie had tied her auburn hair into a semi-ponytail. She was wearing shorts and an olive-green T-shirt with the words Canadian Armed Forces stamped across the front. The shirt fit well, accentuating her chest and her arm muscles. Justin wondered if the shirt was from the time Carrie had served in Afghanistan. She had completed two tours of duty in Afghanistan—where she served with Joint Task Force Two, the army’s elite counter-terrorism unit—before she joined the CIS.

  “Thanks.” Justin took one of the mugs.

  Carrie sat across from him. “What are you working on?”

  “Reading about developments in Antwerp.”

  “What’s the situation?”

  “Mostly quiet.”

  “And Karolin?”

  “Okay, I guess. Haven’t heard from her today.” He tipped his head toward the phone.

  “And you’re worried about her?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “That’s good. Means you love her.” Carrie sipped her coffee.

  “That’s it? Not going to tell me ‘not to worry’?”

  “No. I know it’s warranted, and I know you’re not going to stop even if I told you.” She smiled.

  “True.” Justin sipped his coffee.

  “What about the phone hack?”

  “Yes, nothing new about that. The hackers broke into the Swisscom network and accessed my account. It’s not child’s play, but also it’s not like breaking into our servers.”

  “Did the Belgians have any suspects?”

  “No, and they don’t care about the source, illegal as it is. The phone numbers matched, and, according to them, that proved my connection to the terrorists.”

  “What about the Austrians?”

  “They’re looking into the security breach. Swisscom is not very cooperative, denying any hacking has occurred. Of course, rumors and news of their networks and accounts being fully exposed and in the hands of hackers are not good for shareholders.”

  Carrie nodded. “I doubt we’ll get anything from the Austrians. Anything useful, that is.”

  “I agree. Not great on their priority scale, for sure.”

  Carrie sipped her coffee again, then her green eyes searched Justin’s face.

  He said, “What is it?”

  “Something’s still bothering you.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, it’s Egorov.”

  “What about her?”

  “Let’s go for a run and talk about it.”

  “Sure.”

  They finished the coffee and went to change. Justin put on a black tracksuit. Carrie wore a blue windbreaker and yoga pants. “Where do you want to run?” she asked. “Our normal 5K along the canal?”

  “Yes, that’s a good one. Quiet.”

  They walked at a fast pace along Rue Doyen Fierens, next to the Parvis Saint-Jean Baptist Church, and made their way to the Charleroi Canal. As they began to jog, Justin stayed to the left, glancing at the leafless trees. The smallest of their branches were swayed by soft but ice-cold wind gusts.

  Carrie said, “So, Egorov. What’s bothering you about her?”

  “I’m not really sure. Maybe the timing of my phone hack and the bank statements. It’s not a coincidence this is happening as we’re going after Egorov.”

  “You suspect the Russians are behind the hack?”

  “I do.”

  “Wouldn’t they be more direct?”

  “Maybe they’re going for the gentle approach, a nudge, if you will, instead of a shove.”

  “A warning?”

  “Yes.”

  Carrie said, “If this hacking creates problems for you—well, us—then we’ll forget about Egorov and her affairs, whatever they are.”

  Justin nodded. “Yes, maybe not forget, but we’ll have our hands full, so we can’t look for her. At least not right away.”

  “Makes sense. Egorov still has the connections and the means to finance the hacking and pay for the bank info.”

  “Yes, but what worries me even more is what else she has bought, and how she’s going to use it.”

  A frown darkened Carrie’s face. “How much do they know?”

  “It depends on who gave me up. If it’s the Erbil banker, then only statements are available. True, one can piece together some of my activity in Iraq and Kurdistan at the time, but not much. If it’s the forger, the story gets complicated. If she was tortured and gave up Gezo—the mediator who bridged the connection between us—it’ll be very messy.”

  Carrie nodded. She stepped behind Justin to allow a jogger to sprint past them. Once he had gained about ten steps on them, Carrie asked, “You see a trip to Iraq?”

  “Yeah. I tried to reach both the banker and Gezo. No answer. Then I tried a few other contacts. I learned the banker is supposed to be in Erbil, but no one has a new number for him.”

  “And Gezo?”

  “He’s harder to find, and I got conflicting intel. One source told me Gezo was gravely wounded about a month ago and is recovering in southern Turkey. Another claimed Gezo had some strong disagreements with the Peshmergas. The second source places him in northern Syria.”

  “And who do you trust?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m still checking with a couple more people, but I don’t have much hope I’ll get in touch with the banker or Gezo. That adds to my irritation. Instead of hunting Egorov in Europe, I’ll have to hit the scorching sands and cover my tracks.”

  “I wouldn’t mind some sun.” Carrie glanced upwards at the gray skies. “Haven’t seen it in over a week.”

  Justin smiled. “I wasn’t talking about the sun, but the gunfire and RPGs.”

  “Can’t say I miss those,” Carrie replied with a shrug. No one missed rocket-propelled grenades.

  A sharp bell sound came from behind, followed by a dog’s panting. Justin slowed down and moved closer to the edge of the trail, to allow for a man on a bicycle to pedal by. He was followed by a large gold-and-white collie who seemed eager to run in front of his owner and set the pace.

  As Justin started to jog, his phone rang. He stopped and answered it, “Yes, Justin here.”

  “Hello, Justin, how’re you doin’ today?” Flavio said in a cheerful voice.

  “Doing well, boss. And you?”

  “It’s been a good day so
far. I hope we don’t jinx it.”

  “Fingers crossed. I’ve got Carrie with me, so can I put you on speakerphone?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hi, boss,” Carrie said.

  “Hello, Carrie. I was telling Justin it may be a good day for us, but not so much for a man fished out of the Charleroi Canal.”

  Justin frowned. “Someone we know?”

  “Well, it depends on what the Belgians find out and what they share. The man is, well, was Faris Saadoun, a thirty-year-old man working for the Brussels Royal Bank.”

  Carrie said, “BRB? Isn’t that the main channel of Russian money into Belgium?”

  “It is. And it’s also under investigation for money laundering. Profits from wars in Syria and Iraq, and the drug trade in Afghanistan.”

  “How is he tied to Egorov?”

  “It’s not clear yet. But Egorov’s asset also worked for BRB.”

  “The two men may have known each other,” Carrie said.

  “Yes, there’s a few months of time overlap, but they were stationed at different branches,” Flavio said. “Anyway, that’s something to investigate. Carrie, I’m sending you what I have so far from the Belgian police and the VSSE. Work with them to find any connections.”

  Justin glanced at Carrie, then at the phone. “And . . . what about me, sir?”

  A tense pause, then Flavio said, “You’ll head to Iraq. We’ve got to plug that hole, Justin, so that intel doesn’t leak.” His stern voice left no room for discussion or objection.

  Justin frowned, but the news did not come as a complete surprise. He was not expecting Flavio to separate him from Carrie, but he understood Egorov’s case was the greatest priority to the station. “All right, sir. I’ll make arrangements and leave ASAP.”

  Flavio said, “Plan for two. Vale’s going with you.”

  Vale Schuster was Justin’s partner in the ESC’s Vienna team. When Justin and Carrie had joined the team last year, Vale and Justin had not exactly started on good terms. Male rivalry had raised its ugly head, and Vale saw Justin as a threat to his career advancement. Flavio had made Justin head of the team, considering Justin’s experience. The move had not been well-received by Vale. While he had kept his emotions mostly in check, he let his discontent known by occasional small, subtle comments. But Vale was a great operative and always reliable.

  Justin said, “I’m not sure how—”

  Flavio cut him off. “This op will give both of you a chance to mend your wounds and forge your working relationship.”

  “Sir, Vale has never been to the—”

  “Justin, I know that. I’ve been leading this station for a veeeery long time, almost as long as you’ve been with the agency. I’ve seen Vale at work, and I know what he can and cannot do. Vale is the right man for this op. Brief him and enter Iraq, pronto.”

  Justin shook his head. “All right, sir. We will do that.”

  “Great. Anything else?”

  Justin looked at Carrie, who shook her head. “No, nothing.”

  “All right, take care.”

  Justin cursed under his breath. “This . . . this isn’t good.”

  Carrie offered him a small smile. “Yes, but you can make it good. Vale has proven himself in many ops and will be a valuable teammate.”

  Justin nodded slowly but did not unclench his teeth.

  Carrie tapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s finish our run. You were going to tell me about Karolin’s stint with the BND. I’m all ears.”

  “Yes, why not? Maybe you can help me figure out that part.”

  Chapter Five

  January 12

  Three miles south of Cukurmli, Turkey

  Ten miles north of the Iraqi border

  Justin drew in a deep breath, the fresh crisp air filling his lungs. He hoisted his C8SFW assault rifle over his shoulder, then wrapped a fold of his tan headdress around his neck. He brought his binoculars to his eyes and examined the valley below. A narrow path snaked through the semi-desert terrain, leading all the way to Iraq. Justin and Vale were supposed to be on that path and on their way. But their guide was late, over an hour late.

  “See anything?” Vale whispered.

  He was stretched on the sand next to Justin, observing the valley from behind his rifle’s ELCAN night-vision scope.

  “Negative,” Justin replied, his voice dripping with frustration.

  “Should we call him again?”

  Justin shrugged. “Why bother? If he didn’t pick up the last ten times, he’s not going to start now.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

  Justin turned his head toward Vale. He was right: another attempt at trying to contact their guide could bring about something positive, if the man answered the phone. Justin glanced at Vale as he dialed the number. He’s trying, trying hard to remain calm and do everything he can to help. No complaints, no cursing. But where is Hamid? What happened to him?

  Vale shook his head. “Nothing. Now it doesn’t even ring.”

  “Out of range of service?”

  “Or battery’s dead.”

  Justin shrugged. “I hope he still shows up.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Justin thought about the answer for a moment. He had run a few scenarios through his head during the last sixty minutes. If Hamid never came to the meeting point, Justin and Vale could continue on their own toward the border. This was quite dangerous, as they would have no intelligence about the movement of Turkish troops, Iraqi government forces, or rebel fighters roaming around the area. Yes, it was two past midnight, but in this area, many people were still awake and alert. The other, safer option was to return to their last stop, in Yeslica, and make arrangements for a new trusted guide.

  Justin sighed, then said, “We’ll wait another thirty minutes, then we’ll contact Hamid’s close associates. Perhaps they may know if he has run into trouble. We’ll also check with a couple of other contacts, who can give us an assessment of what’s happening on the other side.” He pointed to the southeast, toward the border.

  Vale nodded. “That’s good. Perhaps we should call Kubar and inform him we’re running late?”

  Kubar was expected to provide Justin and Vale with safe passage from Dereluk, ten miles inside Iraq, to Erbil in Kurdistan. The delay in Hamid’s arrival had thrown the team’s entire schedule into disarray. “Sure, call him but don’t tell him we’re still in Turkey, and our guide is a no-show.”

  “Got it. I’ll just say we’re running late.”

  “Good.”

  Vale reached for his satellite phone, while Justin debated the pros and cons of his potential steps. If they backtracked to their base in Yeslica, they would have to re-plan the infiltration into Iraq. People and vehicles would need to be in place, again, perhaps as early as the next night. But the situation on the ground evolved and worsened by the second. The path that was open tonight might be shut the next.

  Vale ended his call and glanced at Justin. “Kubar is jumpy. He has noticed movements of rebel forces around the border.”

  “Is the road still clear?”

  “It is, but he doesn’t know for how long. Something big seems to be in the works.”

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t know, but rumors have it the government may launch an offensive, trying to retake the area.”

  Justin nodded. Dereluk had been in rebel hands for over two months, and they were threatening to expand the area under their control westward. The government needed a show of force. Even if its troops were unable to push back the rebels, it would be a victory if the government stopped their advance. “That may be true. And if it happened, it would screw up our plans.”

  Vale nodded.

  Justin shrugged. “We better pray Hamid shows up, and we can sneak in before the army rolls in.”

  Vale sipped water from his metal bottle. “Have you been in this situation before?”

  Justin nodded. “Many times. The best thing to do is wait until the guide arr
ives. If he doesn’t, then return to base. Make the attempt at another time.”

  “Not cross on our own?”

  “No. Not if we can help it. Unless we’re under fire or being hunted or we have confirmation it is clear. None of those factors are at play.”

  Vale nodded and drew in a deep breath. Then he let it out and saw the mist forming in front of his face. He rubbed his gloved hands. “If we only had some hot coffee.”

  “There’s some at the bottom of my mug, but it’s lukewarm.”

  “I’m okay. This reminds me of the Tabernas Desert.”

  “Spain.”

  “Yes. Driest area in Europe. A couple of ETA Basque militants were hiding in the province of Almeria. We had intel their stronghold was somewhere in the desert. So we marched during the night. It was just like here.” He waved his arm around. “Pitch black. Broken terrain. We closed in on their shack around three a.m.”

  “And what happened?”

  Vale shrugged. “They didn’t want to be captured alive.”

  Justin nodded. “I had no idea you operated in Spain.”

  Vale gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “True. We’re making progress.” He smiled.

  “We are.”

  Vale took another sip of water, then opened his mouth to talk.

  Justin’s phone vibrated at that same moment. He glanced at the screen, but did not recognize the number with the Turkish area code. “Yes, who is this?” he whispered in Arabic with a hint of impatience and frustration.

  “Hello, this is Behrooz. I must talk with Hall, Justin Hall. Right now,” said a loud male voice.

  Justin frowned. “What for?”

  “I will tell that to Hall.”

  “You need to tell me, so I can get you to Hall.”

  A moment of hesitation, then Behrooz said, “Hall needs something from a friend of mine, Hamid.”

  “Okay, and what might that be?”

  Behrooz paused for another moment, then said, “Crossing a border. Now, tell him that.”

  Justin drew in a deep breath and nodded at Vale. “Yes, this is Justin Hall. Where’s Hamid?”

  “Oh, that’s you. So why the—”