Recall

by David McCaleb

  “None now. They left. I sent my girls away after that.” She walked to a hutch along the wall and pulled out a box of plastic trash bags, then handed them to Marksman. “Upstairs. Take off everything. Anything that can burn goes in these. They’ll go in the furnace downstairs. I have uniforms, enough for all of you.”

  Jim frowned.

  “Many of my customers are soldiers,” she said, pulling back her hood a little, lifting her chin. “High-ranking ones. And politicians.” She looked at Marksman’s arms, following his form down to his waist. “Sometimes they lose clothes, forget things.”

  “English?” Jim asked.

  “The language of business.” She raised herself upright and pulled the hood back from her head, releasing a button beneath her chin. Marksman helped the cape off her shoulders. She stood much taller now. As it came down, a mellow scent of flowered perfume warmed the frigid mood of the room. Her forearms were bare and the flesh of her face was dark, smooth, inviting. Jet black hair covered her shoulders. No dot on her forehead. Late thirties, in a red linen dress falling gracefully from narrow hips down to her ankles. Her pedicured feet were in leather sandals adorned with small gold chains, matching ones around her neck.

  Something hit Red on the back of the head. He turned to see Lori in green fatigues, crossing her arms.

  “Quit drooling,” she said.

  Their guide smiled. “I am Jannat,” she said, then raised her arm toward a hallway with a dark-stained wooden staircase at one end. “Go upstairs one floor, to the right. There are two rooms.” She placed her hand on Marksman’s forearm. “The same as last time. You will fit, but it will be tight.”

  “What about customers?” Jim asked. “You closing your doors till we’re gone?”

  “No. Too suspicious. They stay in the front rooms. But keep your doors locked. No moving, no noise. We are empty at day, busy at night. There’s a bathroom between your rooms.” She squeezed her nose. “Please use it. I’ll give you an hour.”

  She pulled Marksman to her side, her voice calming. “You will stay three days. They bore easily and will not be looking so much after that. I have transport.” She waved her hands. “Enough! Too long here. Upstairs. One hour.”

  Salar said something in Farsi to Jannat, then to Marksman. “He thinks they’re done,” Marksman said, “Needs to be at work in a few hours or they’ll look suspicious.”

  “Tell him he’s staying till we’re gone,” Jim said. “If they try to leave, we’ll kill ’em. Be sure to smile when you say it.” He walked toward the stairs, stopping next to Jannat. “Don’t worry. If we do, we won’t make noise. I’m sure you’ve used that furnace to get rid of things other than uniforms.”

  Jannat maintained her empty smile, keeping her gaze on Marksman.

  Jim aimed two fingers at Red, then swept them toward the stairs. Red thumbed off his safety and took point, Lanyard behind. Red remembered that Jim never trusted safe houses, wherever they were. “An oxymoron,” he’d say. None were safe very long.

  Red angled his M4 up the stairs, each tread announcing his presence. The air warmed his cheek as he ascended. He was moving across the first landing when Lori said, “Thank you,” walking past Jannat. Her voice sounded emphatic, even sincere. She’d always been a quick judge of character. Red had learned to trust her discernment through their years of marriage. He was too apt to trust anyone. He blinked as a drop of sweat ran into his eye. Trust no one. That’s what Tom would say.

  Chapter 21

  Jamileh

  Jim knelt outside the first room and reached to steady himself against the door’s trim. White paint flecked off the rough woodwork, catching on the hair on his wrist like a fly in a spiderweb. Red gave him a thumbs-up from inside. Jim stepped to the next door. The floor creaked under his foot, vibrating through the shank of his boot. Safe houses weren’t supposed to squeak. He placed his hand on the knob. Carter, squatting low across from him, looked like he might know what he was doing. He hoped the interrogator could clear a room better than he could swim.

  Jim pushed the door open and Carter led through. All clear. Glass broke in the bathroom and Jim’s finger tightened on the trigger, then relaxed when Red stepped into the doorframe.

  Red dropped his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered, brushing shards of a broken drinking cup to the side with his boot.

  Jim split the team the same way as in the trucks, keeping two-man groups together. The rooms were about the size of his storage shed back home. Each had a bunk bed, a dresser, and a single window. The floors were unfinished plank, worn down to a pale shade near the doors. Crawler grunted as he knelt and dropped one of the drivers in the corner.

  Jim pointed his chin toward the door. “Crawler, keep your eye down the hallway.” He pushed the curtain aside with one finger. The window overlooked the courtyard where they’d come in. He switched to thermal, but only the neighbor’s chimney glowed yellow. The curtains were thick and the only light came through the cracked door. He took a wool blanket from the bed and threw it to Richards, who draped it over a lamp and switched it on. It cast enough light to see without night vision.

  The river had been rough tonight. It had its own plans, taking them far outside Jim’s control. How the hell had they ended up here? Jannat would sell them out first chance she got. It was one thing that she’d hidden Marksman and a few others before. But he’d just kidnapped a VEVAK operative, one who supposedly had inside knowledge of Iran’s nuclear program. He’d also stolen back their only bargaining chip, killed five guards, and blown up a VEVAK warehouse. Jannat could name whatever price she wanted. Only asking five hundred thousand euros could be an unwitting tip of her hand. He’d have felt better if she’d demanded more.

  Something touched his arm and he spun away. “It’s me!” came Carter’s voice. Jim was in the middle of the room with Carter’s arm pinned high against his back. He released him, then stepped away. Jim needed another plan. No, first he had to secure the area. But he and his team were like the deer he had used to hunt with dogs back in high school. Everyone on the Elkton Blue Jays baseball team had them. Some were bloodhounds that could follow a scent even if it was days old. Others were mutts picked up from the side of the road. They’d trained the dogs together all summer, to run their prey into Bailey’s Gulch. With nowhere for the deer to escape, everyone would hunt his season’s limit in a single day.

  A knock came. He swung his M4 toward the door as five safeties snapped. Crawler waved them off, stepped back, allowing Marksman to slip in.

  “Where you’s been?” Crawler asked in a whisper. Marksman leaned back, resting against the wall.

  “Status?” Jim asked.

  “Too early to tell. She’s got transport, like she says. She won’t call till it’s time to go. Less chance they’ll sell us out.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “She’s insisting I stay down there.”

  “Down where?”

  Marksman tilted his head. “Down the hallway, with her.”

  “She is, or you are?”

  Marksman’s temples tightened. “She is. Part of her deal. Always is.”

  Crawler looked like he was sucking on a SweeTART. “She ain’t getting paid enough for your nastiness.”

  This wasn’t good. The team would be too spread out. Or maybe he could use it to his advantage. “You did well. Stay close. Be my ears. Keep her busy. Don’t let her have time to think about what she’d make by selling us out.”

  Crawler slapped Marksman’s chest. “Why can’t I get dem orders? ‘Crawler, go keep a whore busy for a couple days. We’re payin’. See the doc for meds if you get tired.”

  “We move tomorrow night,” Jim said.

  Marksman’s eyes narrowed. “Barely twelve hours. Why?”

  “I’m arranging another safe house, outside the city. Need time to put it together. Keep your comm close.”

  “One hideout is as good as another,” Marksman said. “At least here we’re with someone that’s done it before.” He patted his chest. “Plus, we�
�ve got eyes watching Jannat.”

  Jim’s comm clicked in his ear. Red’s voice. “She’s coming.”

  Steps with dragging heels came down the hall. He’d almost made Jannat take off the sandals back in the alley because of the noise. But now, it was a nice way to distinguish the sound of her steps from others. She knocked twice, then pushed the door open. Sweet perfume filled the small room.

  “You’ve got to be more quiet,” Jim said.

  “No one is here. I locked. I told you, I am giving you one hour.”

  She carried a tray of flat bread and cheese. Over her arm lay what looked like sheets in drab prints. The door closed and she smiled when it revealed Marksman behind it. Crawler grabbed the tray and she held up one of the sheets. “Once you get dressed, put these chdors over. Keep them on always, in case someone sees you. Many women wear them inside when it is cold like this. You can hide anything under it.”

  “Where are the uniforms?” Jim asked.

  “I need two of you to bring them up.”

  “Marksman, you and Crawler. Go.”

  Marksman held up a chdor and pulled it over his head. It was dark gray, patterned with geometric shapes, in a design that looked like Turkish pottery. Jannat helped with the veils so that only their eyes were visible.

  “All my girls wear them outside their rooms,” she said. “Veils, too. Part of our job.” She cracked open the door and put her eye to it. “I’ll check the house again,” she whispered, “then come for you.”

  She took off her sandals and slipped out. With her long legs she could have been a dancer for the Iranian National Ballet, if the revolution had never happened. And if she could learn to walk without dragging her feet. Instead, she was a high-end whore.

  Jim commed, “Everyone, rearm with subsonics. Red, you and Lanyard are first watch. I want one set of eyes on the hallway, the other on the yard behind us.”

  Jim unbuttoned his cargo pocket and searched it with his middle finger. He felt the sticky rubber armor of his sat phone. Time to call the fusion cell. Screw higher. Screw Mossad. They could sit in their little control center at Langley and feel like they were running the show. Hell, the leak might be with CIA instead of Mossad.

  He flipped the phone open, then slapped it shut. “Ali, your Toughbook. Can you get something to our fusion cell that the control center can’t see?”

  “They’ll be able to see it, but I can make it so it’ll take a day or two to decode. What you need?”

  “DEA liaison. Get her to—”

  A click came in Jim’s earpiece, then Red’s voice. “She’s back.”

  Jim lifted his eyes toward Crawler. “Get going.” Crawler slipped out. Marksman had just left when a door slammed somewhere else. He stepped back in and swung the door till it was almost shut, eyeball close to the crack. A male voice, in Farsi, sounded from down the hallway. Marksman grabbed the fabric on his head and yanked it off in one motion. His pistol was drawn, barrel at the door gap.

  “She sold us out,” Jim whispered, raising his weapon.

  Marksman kept one eye on the crack. He covered his mouth with his hand, pushing the mic close, and whispered, “Jannat and an Artesh soldier are near the stairs. He hasn’t seen Crawler yet. Take down?”

  Jim held up his hand, palm facing Marksman. If she’d sold them out, she wouldn’t be there. If they took the soldier down, she could get hit and they wouldn’t have transport. They couldn’t risk getting back in their trucks in daytime.

  “Shit,” Marksman said. “He saw Crawler. Take down?”

  Jim kept his hand up. Crawler could handle it if he needed to.

  Footsteps trod closer. The male voice carried through the walls. Jannat’s was low, serene, seductive. A minute, then Marksman lowered his pistol. Heavy paces walked away, then fell silent.

  Marksman opened the door and Crawler stepped in, followed by Jannat. Jim drew his KA-BAR and grabbed her arm, pinning her against the wall.

  “It’s not what you think, sir,” Crawler said.

  Jim raised the knife to her chest. “We’re moving. You’re coming.”

  Crawler stood next to her. “She kept him from touching me. I was gonna gut ’im. He kept reaching out, but she pulled him back.”

  “He is Kia,” Jannat said, trying to yank her arm away. “He is arrogant, a bad lover, but our best customer. He protects my business, like a partner. I told him your man was a new girl and wasn’t ready yet.”

  Marksman holstered his pistol. “That’s truth. I heard it.”

  Jannat thrust her shoulder’s back. “I offered myself, but Kia wants the new girl. He always gets the girl he wants.”

  Jim furrowed his brow. “Crawler looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame wearing that thing. Expect me to believe that?”

  “He is like a girl that Kia enjoys. Kia has . . . other tastes.”

  “Men?”

  “Not Kia.” Jannat glanced at Crawler, then dropped her chin to her chest. “Fat women. He likes them big.”

  “You saying this guy wants Crawler instead of you?”

  Jannat nodded.

  Jim let go and sheathed his knife. “I should let him have Crawler. Where’d he go?”

  “In front. He has his own room. He is waiting for her.”

  Marksman slapped Crawler on the chest. “Got your wish, lover boy. Keep him busy. Like you said, see the doc if you get too tired and need meds.”

  Crawler gripped Marksman’s throat and pinned him to the wall.

  “Cool it,” Jim said, barely a whisper. “You’re going to take him down.”

  Dr. Ali was standing in the bathroom door. “We don’t have to. I’ve got Ketamine. It’ll put him out a couple hours.”

  “Then what?” Jannat asked.

  Crawler let go of Marksman. “If I off him, we could cut him up, drop him in the furnace.”

  “Kia is an important man,” Jannat said. “His guard knows how much time he spends here. They will look here first. Plus, he is important to my business.”

  Steps thudded from the hall. Jim reached for Jannat but she slipped out the door, closing it behind her. Kia’s voice was clear, just outside. Marksman put his ear to the wall, giving a smile and a thumbs-up. A door slammed in the distance.

  Marksman turned the black iron doorknob. Jannat was alone outside. “Lucky break,” he said. “Terrorists were seen headed into Tehran. He’s been called up.” Marksman smirked at Crawler. “He told Jannat to tell the new girl not to be disappointed, he’d be back. Seems your Iranian name is Jamileh.”

  Jim walked to the window and pushed the curtain aside. He drew back and kicked the leg of one of the drivers huddled in the corner. “They’re gonna lock down the city if they think we’re here. We’re better off on the move, outside the capital. Ali, get the DEA liaison. We need the coordinates of their safe house.”

  Jim stood in front of Jannat. Her slate-blue eyes were set deep. The skin wrinkled gently at the corners. Her job must be aging her faster than her years. “Where’s the uniforms?”

  “In the basement.”

  “Call for transport. You’re taking us to the pickup point. Make a wrong move, we’ll kill you. I’ll tell your transport where we’re going once we’re loaded.”

  “What about the prisoners?” Red asked. “We gonna take ’em or burn ’em?”

  Jim’s hand edged back toward his KA-BAR. Jannat stepped forward and held her arms out straight as if she still carried the tray. They were shivering. “I have baskets. Big ones. The bread merchants use them. You can knock them out—or I have heroin. We can shove them inside, carry them between us, walk through the market to where the transport will pick you up. It’s not far. You’ll wear the chdors. No one will know.”

  The creases next to her eyes were crisp now, no longer soft and inviting. What was her angle? Why did she care about their prisoners? Wouldn’t she want them dead? Fewer witnesses. Could a whore have a conscience? No, it had to be fear for her life.

  “Go make sure the general left,” he sai
d. A nod to Lieutenant Richards sent him following her. Jim grabbed Salar’s shoulder. He looked at one eye, then the other, trying to figure out which he was supposed to focus on. “I was told one of our drivers is a pilot. Who? One of them?” he asked pointing toward the corner.

  Salar winced and looked at Marksman standing with his hand still on the doorknob. Marksman spoke in Farsi and Salar pointed at Navid.

  “What can he fly?”

  Salar spoke with Navid, motioning with his hands like an Italian newscaster on speed. Navid glowered.

  “He can fly most anything up to twin engine jets,” Marksman said. “Mehrabad International is down the street. Says he could smuggle us in, then we could steal a plane. We’d be at the Gulf in thirty minutes.”

  “Ali getting us a safe house outside the city is plan one. If not, that’s our backup.”

  Navid walked to the window, driving his thumbs into his hips, gaze searching the room. “He’s worried about his cover,” Marksman said. “If he flies us out, it’s not like he can go back. He’ll have to come with us.”

  “We could beat him,” Carter said. He was standing next to the bathroom, rubbing his knuckles as if trying to hide them. “Not that I want to, but there’s an airport right on the Strait of Hormuz. We could bloody him up to look like a hijacking, maybe break a rib, then leave him behind. We can call in a sub, a SEAL team for pickup.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jim said. “Plus, we’re almost at daybreak. We’d have to wait till night.”

  Marksman leaned toward Jim. “They’ll kill his family. The only way we get out and his family stays alive is Carter’s idea. Even then, there’s a chance VEVAK won’t buy it and still kill him.”

  Jim rested his hand atop his holster. “It’s our backup. Hope we don’t need it. If we do, we won’t need to fake anything. He’ll be flying with my barrel in his ear.” Jim licked his bottom lip. It was salty and chapped. “Ali, get that message to the fusion cell. I need coordinates. We’ll knock ’em out downstairs. Everyone else, to the basement with Jannat. We leave in thirty.”