We picked up our pace in hopes of closing the distance, but we paused when two figures stepped out from an alcove in front of us and began following him. Lovely, the thugs had made it in after all, though there was no sign of Mahdi, so he was probably hanging back to patiently wait for his loyal servants to serve up the scientist. After a left turn into the next hallway, the crowd thinned drastically, and the only people around were a young woman talking on her phone and a couple quietly arguing. Farid entered the bathroom with the thugs only a few steps behind, and I had to wonder why it was that Iranian men had such a penchant for interrupting people during their precious bathroom time.
“I guess we should talk strategy before we go busting in there,” I said.
“Yeah, any thoughts?”
“Well, as it’s the men’s room, it might make sense for me to initially go in alone, but if things get out of control and I need some help, I’ll scream like a motherfucker.”
“Good, I’ll hold off until I hear you scream.”
I slipped through the door and silently entered the bathroom, hoping to keep my presence unknown in order to maintain the element of surprise. Fortunately, the bathroom was L shaped, and Farid and Mahdi’s men were somewhere out of view around the corner. I silently slipped closer and could hear a discussion being spoken in Persian, but I didn’t need to understand the language to know that it didn’t sound friendly. Several tense words were exchanged, then Farid suddenly responded in English.
“Fuck off! I’m never going back!” he yelled.
“Already speaking the language of the infidels, I see. Well there’s no point, as you are not going to America. You’re coming home, Farid,” the man said, in surprisingly passable English.
“Never! I will die first!”
I heard a grunt, which was probably the wind being knocked out of Farid. Things were getting ugly, so it was time to step in and lend a hand to my new friend. I leaned around the corner and stole a quick glance and saw that one thug was only a few steps away from me and watching as the other thug held Farid up against the wall between two of the urinals. Neither man had his pistol out, but that made sense, as Farid was far too valuable of an asset to risk killing. Sure, they might rough him up, maybe even torture him when they got him home, but murder would be strictly out of the question for Iran’s most brilliant nuclear scientist.
My first obstacle would therefore be the closest guy, who I suspect was supposed to be watching the door, but he was obviously too interested in the action. That was fine with me, because his lack of vigilance would give me an excellent opportunity to take him down nice and quietly. I crept silently forward to my target then slipped my left arm around his throat and simultaneously placed my right hand over his mouth. This kept him from screaming and alerting his friend while I dragged him around the corner and out of view. He struggled and kicked out with his legs, but I was lucky that he was in panic mode and unable to form a coherent defense. The proper first step to deal with a headlock was usually to turn your head and create a little space, as it kept you from passing out and bought you the precious time you needed to deliver a strike to either the groin or eyes. Unfortunately for the thug, the human body’s most natural response could sometimes be the worst defense, and he was only focused on trying to pull my arm free of his neck. Only a few seconds passed before the lack of blood flow to his brain made him go slack in my arms. He wasn’t dead, but he’d be out until well after we were long gone. I gave him a quick search and found both a gun and a syringe, the latter probably filled with some kind of sedative to make it easier to get Farid quietly out of the club. I pocketed both then pulled out my gun and slithered around the corner to take care of the final asshole.
“Come! It is time to go,” the thug said, to Farid.
He went to grab him, but Farid knocked his hands away, and squared off like a cornered animal ready to fight for his life.
“Paniz, get over here and help me!” the thug yelled.
“Go fuck yourself, Ali, and while you’re at it, step the fuck away from my friend,” I said.
I had remembered Mahdi saying that he would take Paniz and Ali to the club, so it was safe to assume, by process of elimination, that the remaining thug was Ali. He and Farid turned to look at me, and both were surprised, though Farid’s expression quickly transformed into relief. Ali, however, did not look the least bit relieved, and, as expected, he tried to reach for his gun.
“Don’t even think about it, falafel face, or the first bullet is going to part your balls and make you a dickless asshole!” I said, as I aimed the pistol down at his groin.
I’m not sure he understood exactly what I had just said, but it was clear enough that he removed his hand from his coat and gazed at me wearily.
“Alrighty then, Farid, would you go take Ali’s gun?” I asked.
“Gladly,” Farid said.
Farid slid Ali’s pistol out of his shoulder holster and started walking back in my direction.
“Tule saag!” Ali snarled.
Farid stopped, casually turned around, and walked back to Ali.
“Excuse me? What was that?” he asked.
“I said tule saag.”
“Oh, that’s what I thought,” Farid said, before suddenly throwing a lightening fast right cross to Ali’s jaw that knocked him out cold.
Farid turned back around and walked over and joined me.
“What the fuck did he just call you?” I asked.
“The son of a dog, and no one calls my mother a dog.”
“And get’s away it, apparently.”
“Definitely not,” Farid said, as he smiled and hugged me.
“I take it you’re happy to see me.”
“Yes, but how in the hell did you find me?” he asked.
“It was easy—I just followed the trail of your cologne to this club.”
“Hey, go ahead and make your jokes, but how else would the ladies find me in the dark?”
“They could probably use your farts, but I suppose it’s probably a little bit safer and a lot more romantic to use your cologne. Now, we’d best get going, as our plans have changed, and we’re leaving tonight.”
“Can I take the models?”
“Normally I’d say yes, but there just isn’t enough room for all of us in the submarine.”
We walked out and joined a relieved looking Ayala and headed for the exit. Unfortunately, it entailed walking back across the dance floor, which made our progress slow. I did a visual sweep of the crowd and managed to spot Mahdi up on the upper balcony, where he stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched us navigate the throngs of people. He wasn’t the type of person who failed often, or at all, and I had an uneasy feeling that we’d probably meet again someday. I brought my hand up to my head and gave him a little salute. He returned the gesture, a resolute look on his face as he conceded his defeat. We were winning at the moment, though I wanted to maintain our lead by gaining as much distance as possible. We continued on to the front, and Farid looked back and stole one last glance at his precious group of Nordic models before we exited the club and reached the relative quiet of the street.
“I’m sorry I left the hotel,” Farid said.
“No problem, as you bought us some precious time that made everything work out for the better.”
“What do we do now?”
“Go to the boat and get the fuck out of Turkey.”
We got in the Jeep and drove the quarter mile to the marina where the fishing boat was moored then parked in the mostly deserted lot. We had a good look around the place to make sure we weren’t under surveillance then stepped out and unloaded our things. As we were getting ready to say goodbye to Ayala, her phone rang, and she looked at the screen then walked a few steps away and spoke in Hebrew. Farid and I waited and couldn’t help but hear the tone of her voice becoming increasingly tense, and, like my recent experience in the bathroom, I didn’t need to speak the language in order to know that the speaker didn’
t sound very happy. She was also pacing back and forth, and, when she signed off, she took an unusually long time before joining us.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I need to speak with you—alone.”
“OK.”
We walked until we were well out of range of Farid, then Ayala stopped and held my hands as she gazed into my eyes.
“I have bad news,” she said.
“What is it?”
She stood there and looked conflicted as she considered her words, and it was starting to make me nervous.
“Unfortunately, we have new orders.”
“Which are?”
“To terminate Farid.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No. They believe the situation has apparently become too hot, and it would be best to terminate him rather than let him fall back into Iranian hands.”
“That’s bullshit. We’re in the fucking clear!”
“I told them all this, but it didn’t change their opinion.”
“Fuck the Mossad. I work for the Agency, and I’m not going to do it.”
“I’m afraid both of our countries are in agreement, and I was given explicit instructions to relay these new orders to you.”
“Fuck the orders! I’ll say I never got them!”
“If you don’t do it, then they will expect me to finish the job.”
“Are you seriously going to be able to kill Farid?”
“No, but, if we don’t, someone else will.”
I took a moment to try and clear my head, but my mind was racing, and my heart was feeling as though it might beat out of my chest.
“And just when in the fuck do they expect me to do this?”
“On the Gordita. A bullet to the head. Make it fast and painless then send his body down with the boat in the middle of the Aegean. From there on out, you are to follow the original plan and rendezvous with your submarine.”
“You realize that if I can make it to the submarine, so can he.”
“I know, and, as I said, I told them all of this, but they responded by saying that only you would be allowed to board the submarine, and, if you had not discharged your duty by that time, then Farid would be dealt with in a much less desirable manner.”
I took a second and rubbed my head, which had started to ache.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve reached an all time low in my professional life,” I said.
“Me too.”
Farid, who had been waiting patiently, called out.
“What’s up? Are you two going to have sex or what?” he yelled from across the parking lot.
Ayala and I looked at each other, but neither of us wanted to speak. After a time she let out a pained sigh.
“All right then, I guess this is where we part ways,” she said, sadly.
“Yeah, and I do the dirty work.”
“I’m sorry.”
She hugged me and started crying, and, after a time, she lifted her head and kissed me. It was a brief respite from the misery and anger that now coursed through my body, and I didn’t want to let go of her and face my new reality. At long last, it was obvious we could postpone the inevitable no longer, and we let go of each other and walked back to the Jeep to join Farid. He looked puzzled when he saw our expressions, and it made me feel even worse.
“What’s wrong with you two?”
“Nothing, I’m just sad that I have to leave you guys. I’ve done my part, and now Tag will take you the rest of the way,” Ayala said.
“I understand, but it’s no reason to be sad. We can all get together again later. Who knows? Maybe we can all go to Disneyland or something,” he said, trying to cheer us up.
“Yes, that would be nice,” Ayala said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
She hugged Farid, then I walked her to the jeep, and we shared a hug and a kiss.
“This is not how I saw this day coming to an end,” I said.
“Me neither.”
An awkward moment ensued with neither of us sure what to say.
“Well, good luck. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day,” she said.
“Yeah, hopefully after we’ve left government service,” I added.
“Yeah,” she said, as she gave me a parting kiss then climbed into the Jeep.
I closed the door, and she mouthed the word sorry then gave me a final sad wave as she drove out of the parking lot. I continued to watch until she was completely out of view then turned back around to see Farid smiling.
“I guess it’s just the two of us again,” he said, as he suddenly shifted his hips a little to the left and let out a massive fart.
“Phew! I’ve been holding onto that one all night,” he said.
“It smells like it.”
It was a nice distraction, and I had a little laugh as I picked up my things and started walking down the gangplank. We followed the main dock, and, at the end, came upon the Gordita, a sixty foot fishing boat that didn’t have any fishing equipment, as she was only intended to perform one last trip before meeting her sad demise on the dark waters of the Aegean. We climbed aboard and entered the main salon to find it dark, dank, and smelling of fish and diesel. I flipped the switch on the wall, and the room’s built in teak furniture was bathed in the warm yellow glow of the twelve volt lighting. I put my things down then ventured into the pilothouse and started the old engine, which coughed to life after only a few turns. As it warmed up, I went to the deck to make sure water was cycling through the engine and saw a nice stream pouring from the stern exhaust port. She might have been past her prime, but the Gordita would serve us well on her final voyage.
Farid undid the lines, then I steered her out of the harbor and into the main shipping lane that would take us out to the Aegean Sea. We had a ways to go, so I told falafel boy to relax and take a nap while I took the first shift. It might have seemed like a nice gesture, but avoiding talking and bonding was actually an easier way to deal with my growing guilt. I instead focused on the task at hand, which was getting us away from the city of Istanbul, and, fortunately for me, the vessel had been equipped with Satellite Navigation, so it would be easy to find our way across the Aegean and eventually rendezvous with the Submarine.
We also had to contend with traffic, but, while the Bosphorus Strait was one of the busiest shipping routes in the world, the late hour meant that we had little ship and boat traffic. Still, I did a quick sweep with the radar, and, seeing that all was clear, decided to use the down time to bring up the chart and scan the coastline ahead. We would eventually have Turkey on our left and Greece on our right, and I found the area I was looking for and programmed the coordinates into the GPS. Next, I picked up my phone and made a call and, soon thereafter, had my new alternative plan in place. Surviving in the field was all about adapting to changing situations and overcoming obstacles, and I was hoping my efforts would achieve both of those ends.
With my work done for the moment, I did another quick radar scan then went below to check on Farid. He was asleep in the main salon and snoring lightly, as he was obviously drained from the excitement of the night. The world certainly wasn’t a fair place, and I would miss my new friend, but now I had a difficult job to do. I returned to the pilothouse, leaned back, put my feet up, and settled into the captain’s chair, where I gazed out at the dark horizon and felt the slow rise and fall of the Gordita as it plowed through the waves.
At three AM, I throttled back the engines and checked the GPS. We were right on target, and, a minute later, Farid appeared, looking sleepy and sporting a mild case of bed head.
“Why are we stopped?”
“A slight change of plans.”
Navigation lights appeared off the starboard bow and continued to move closer until a spotlight flashed twice. I used the Gordita’s spotlight and returned the signal.
“Is that the submarine?”
“No, it’s plan B.”
“I don’t understand. I thought we were meeting up with an American submar
ine.”
“I am, but you’re not.”
Farid noticed the pistol in my hand and looked at me nervously.
“Why? What’s happened?”
“I have some good news and bad news. Now, first, the bad news, which is that the powers that be have decided that it’s easier to terminate you rather than let you fall back into enemy hands.”
“That doesn’t make any sense—we’re home free,” Farid said.
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
“So, then what’s the gun for?”
“You.”
Farid suddenly looked as though he might shit his pants.
“Wait! You’re going to kill me?” he asked nervously.
“No, jackass, it’s part of the good news, which is that I’m not going to kill you.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re not very good at expressing yourself?”
“No, and for your information, the gun is for your protection!” I said, as I handed him the pistol.
It didn’t seem to offer him any consolation, for he stared at me with his face still locked in a state of confusion.
“This is crazy,” he said.
“I know, but it’s just a precaution.”
“Not the gun. I’m talking about all of this.”
Farid rubbed his forehead with his free hand and took a moment to gaze out at the dark sea.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
“I know. It’s stupid and clearly a sign that the people in charge are a bunch of extremely stupid amoral assholes.”
“I thought my countrymen were bad.”
“Apparently, they’re all bad, and I’m really sorry—which is why I’ve arranged to have that boat take you to Greece, where you will meet a contact of mine. She’ll make you a new passport and all the requisite documents to create a new identity.”
“But, I want to go to America.”
“I’m sorry—you can’t. You have to go somewhere else, preferably not Europe, then disappear. No one can know you’re alive.”
Gordita Conspiracy Page 15