Closure

by Ethan Jones

  “I’ve identified two so far.”

  “Good job. Stay back and just observe.”

  “I understand.”

  “And call me if there’s anything new.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Claudia placed her phone next to her cup and took another sip. A thought popped into her mind. What if the surveillants were not from CIS, but were Javin’s men? He’d employ the same tactics as I am. What if they’re allies, rather than enemies?

  The promising thought gave her hope, but also cause for concern. Her forehead creased into a deep frown. How could she tell? Even if she were monitoring the hotel, she would not be able to tell whether the watchmen were working for her boss or her partner. Unless they’re someone I know.

  The idea gave her purpose. She finished her coffee, then reached for her phone. Wissam, I’m coming to give you a hand.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Strasbourg Palace Hotel

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Javin finished his third call with a deep sigh. All three assets had no information about Claudia. She had not contacted any of them or anyone else in their network of friends and associates. Where can she be? Where did she disappear to?

  He thought about dialing another number, but then looked up and saw Muath entering the lobby with a man resembling Captain Schell, the man in charge of one of the Canton Geneva Police counterterrorism units. The captain was a tall, thin, blond man in his early fifties, with close-cropped hair and a pair of silver-framed oval glasses. He walked with a steady pace straight toward Javin, who stood up. “Captain, thanks for agreeing to meet with us,” he said in a warm voice.

  Captain Schell shook Javin’s stretched hand. “Mr. Pierce. I’m sorry for making you wait,” he said in a firm tone with just a hint of his sharp accent.

  “It’s all right. You’ve already met my partner, Muath. Please take a seat.”

  The captain nodded and sat across from Javin. “I don’t have much time, so let’s get right into it.”

  “Sure, would you like coffee or something else to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Javin shrugged. “Okay, so here’s the situation. According to CIS intel, a terrorist plot is in the works to disrupt the Global Counterterrorism Summit starting today.”

  The captain’s face formed a slight frown. “What terrorist group is it?”

  “It’s not any particular one, but we know it has Iranian support.”

  “Iranian?”

  “Yes.”

  “Strange. We haven’t seen any Iranian activity in Geneva in almost a year.”

  Javin nodded. “You’re familiar with the Quds Force, right?”

  “Yes, it’s one of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard’s special units.”

  “Perhaps the best IRG unit. Two Quds members are already in Geneva.”

  The captain blinked in surprise. “You have evidence of your claim?”

  Javin smiled. He was expecting the captain’s question. “Have a look,” Javin said and handed the captain his phone. “This was taken today, at the Geneva International Airport. Do you know the man?”

  Captain Schell glanced at the picture and shook his head. “Should I?”

  “He’s Qassim Mokri, one of the toughest Quds operatives stationed in Europe.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He flies under the radar. But you can check him out. Now, slide to the left. There’s another picture.”

  The captain’s eyes turned into small slits as he studied the next photo. “Sadiq Hejazi. He’s suspected of a plot to eliminate Iranian activists in the Netherlands.”

  “Yes, and he’s in Geneva as well.”

  Captain Schell nodded slowly, then leaned back on his chair. He seemed to be deep in thought, so Javin did not say anything. He gave the captain space and allowed for the truth—at least the part of the truth he wanted to reveal to the captain—to sink in.

  A waiter approached them, but Muath waved him away with a hand gesture.

  After a long moment, the captain said, “What is their plot?”

  Javin leaned closer to the captain. “We’re still unraveling it, but it seems their target is the summit. A car bombing or an assassination attempt against the delegates; we’re still not certain.”

  “Car bombings are not Hejazi’s style.”

  “Agreed, but we suspect the Quds men will make this look like the work of the Islamic State or other terrorist groups.”

  Captain Schell nodded again, then glanced at the phone, before returning it to Javin. “Why haven’t we received an official communication about this plot?”

  “It all happened quickly. We had some intel about the plot, but not the location. Very few people know about this attack, the timing is still unknown.”

  “So, you don’t know when they’ll attack the conference or where?”

  “No, but we will find out. Here’s where you and your team come in.”

  The captain peered deep into Javin’s eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

  “We’ll follow the Quds men and learn the specifics. The men involved, the bomb, if they’re using one, their exact plans. Then, we’ll set up a trap.” Javin gestured toward Captain Schell. “We, including your team.”

  “You’ll find their exact targets and how they’ll execute the attack?”

  “We will, yes. We already have someone inside their network.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Why do you sound surprised?”

  The captain shrugged. “This is all very unexpected. I had no idea the Iranians were so active in my country, or that the CIS was so close to them.”

  Javin thought about his reply. The Swiss had always believed that their centuries-old, dearly held neutrality principle would spare them from the wave of brutal jihadist attacks that had bloodied Europe. But recently, the Swiss government had slowly begun to understand the new reality. The defense minister had famously stated that “the question isn’t if an attack will take place in Switzerland, but when.”

  The Swiss Federal Intelligence Service, or FIS, had noted that the terror threat in the country was the greatest it had ever been. Many Swiss-born or naturalized citizens held extremist Islamic views, and a couple of dozen had recently returned after fighting in the never-ending sectarian conflicts in Iraq and Syria. A few of the jihadists were convicted, but others remained at large, threatening to turn Switzerland into a hotbed of terrorism. Still, the Swiss did not seem to take terrorism seriously.

  Javin drew in a deep breath, then said, “You’re right. As I said, this op was carried out in complete secrecy. My agency didn’t know the location of the attack or the key players until a couple of days ago. Thus, cooperation with FIS or your section was not possible. Until now.” He leaned forward and looked Captain Schell deep in the eyes. “Now, you have the chance to save the innocent people of Geneva and Switzerland a lot of pain and suffering, as well as keep the country’s reputation as safe and secure.”

  The captain nodded slowly. He seemed to have started to become convinced by Javin’s words. “I understand,” he said in a measured tone. “I will double-check your story, but at first glance, it sounds credible.”

  Javin returned the nod. “Captain, I’d be more than happy to help you make your decision.”

  Captain Schell’s face formed a small smile. “Very well, Mr. Pierce. Now, what do you need from me?”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Outside Ritz Carlton Hotel de la Paix

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Claudia was a block away from the hotel when she thought she spotted one of the surveillants. He matched the description Wissam had given her. The young man was dressed in civilian clothes: a navy blue jacket and jeans. He was standing with his back against the black rail along the edge of Lake Geneva. His eyes were glued to the hotel’s entrance across Quai de Mont-Blanc.

  She stayed behind one of the thick trees and gave the surveillant a closer look. The young man seemed t
o have a pistol underneath his right arm and was quite aware of it. His hand hovered over the pistol three times in less than a minute. Claudia shook her head. He can’t be from the agency. No such rookie would ever be sent into the field.

  Claudia pulled out her phone and began to speak in Italian, feigning she was having an animated conversation. She held the phone with her left hand, while the right was in her jacket pocket, holding her cocked Sig Sauer pistol. She was not expecting the young man to recognize her, let alone pull his gun on her. But in the unlikely event, she was ready.

  She walked briskly past him, without making eye contact, but kept the young man in her peripheral vision. The surveillant did not give her so much as a second glance. She shrugged. Another sign he was not looking for her.

  Claudia then scanned the area for Wissam and the second surveillant. She found Wissam near the corner of Quai de Mont-Blanc and Rue des Alpes. He was talking to a young man, who seemed to be very enthusiastically engaged in the conversation. Wissam was strategically positioned so he could cover both the hotel’s front entrance and the side street, Rue des Alpes.

  Claudia walked as far as the Brunswick Monument east of the hotel, but saw no one she could peg for a watcher. Men and women walked on the sidewalks and along the lake, but they all seemed to be going about their business, not keeping the hotel under surveillance. Am I missing him? Or did he move to another location?

  She cut through the park surrounding the monument, constructed in honor of Charles II, Duke of Brunswick, who had left all of his fortune to the city. When she reached Rue des Alpes, she stopped and checked her phone, as if she was lost. She asked an old man walking nearby for directions and, while he explained, she observed everyone around them. Again, no sign of the watcher Wissam had described.

  She thanked the old man and crossed the street. She took in the faces of people coming and going in every direction. Nothing caught her eye. So Claudia walked slowly along Rue de Alpes, trying to draw no attention to herself.

  Wissam was no longer at the intersection where she had last seen him. Claudia thought about calling him, but before she could reach for her phone, four black SUVs slid along Quai de Mont-Blanc and stopped in front of the hotel. Claudia hid behind a couple of pedestrians waiting to cross the street, but her eyes were glued to the convoy.

  As soon as two men in dark suits stepped out of the lead SUV, Claudia knew it had to be a high-level delegation. The men stood on the sidewalk, glancing around for anyone who might look suspicious. Two other dark-suited men opened the rear doors of the second and third SUVs.

  The traffic light changed, and the people in front of Claudia began to cross the street.

  She remained in place, waiting to see who would get out of the vehicles.

  A gray-haired man, followed by a petite young woman, walked quickly toward the hotel. She looked around including, for a split second, in Claudia’s direction, but she did not know the woman. However, Claudia recognized the man walking with a slight hunch, even though he always kept his back toward her. He was the man in charge of the CIS, the Minister of Public Safety John Macdonald, one of Claudia’s targets.

  She peered at the man, to make sure she was not making a mistake. Macdonald turned his head slightly to the right, and Claudia caught a glimpse of his face. She nodded to herself. Yes, that’s the minister. What about Martin? Where is he?

  Before she could lay her eyes on her boss, Claudia noticed one of the guards was staring at her. Without the pedestrians for cover, she was exposed. The guard said something to the man next to him, then pointed at her.

  Time to go, girl.

  She turned around and bolted along the sidewalk, heading toward the Brunswick Monument. As she came to the first thick ornamented column with a marble lion guarding the approach to the monument, a strong hand grabbed her by the arm.

  Claudia turned swiftly and threw a quick punch.

  The man who had seized her arm ducked. But Claudia’s fist was faster. The blow struck the side of his head. He lost the grip on her, wavered on his feet, then fell to one knee.

  Claudia pulled her pistol and pointed at the man, leaning over him. The man fit the description Wissam had given her about the second surveillant.

  “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot,” he said in English with a thick Arabic accent. “I’m with Javin.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, yes. Don’t shoot.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Close by. I can call him.” The man pointed at his jacket pocket.

  The pounding of heavy running footsteps came from the sidewalk.

  Claudia glanced at the man, then gave him a hand. “We’ve got to run.”

  They dashed through the park without looking back. As they came near the tall mausoleum surrounded by two large basins, a bullet whizzed past her head. It thumped against a winged lion statue standing proudly at the right-side edge of the basin.

  Claudia shouted, “Down, down.” Then she pushed the man behind the statue’s base and rolled behind him inside the empty basin.

  Another bullet struck inches away from them, lifting slivers that rained over their heads.

  Claudia aimed her pistol at the shooter, but he had disappeared behind the column. She glanced further away to the right, then to the left, but saw no other shooters.

  The man next to her let out a low moan.

  Claudia asked, “What is it?”

  “I’m hit.”

  “Where?”

  “My leg.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “All right, go then. I’ll cover.”

  The man climbed slowly onto his left leg and began to hobble away.

  Claudia’s eyes were glued to the column, but the shooter remained behind it. She moved the sight of her pistol a couple of inches to the right, where she thought she noticed some movement.

  One of the black suits was standing behind a couple of young men walking along the wall surrounding the monument’s park.

  Claudia did not have a clear shot at the man.

  He did.

  The man raised his pistol.

  Claudia slid back for cover before he fired. More bullets clobbered the stone base serving as her cover. She crawled backwards, then got up and began to run through the park.

  Claudia had barely taken ten steps when she spotted the young man’s body sprawled face down on the grass. He had taken a bullet right between his shoulders. Considering the blood pooling over his jacket, and the fact that he was not moving, it had to be a fatal wound. Still, she stopped and turned him over.

  The young man looked at her with his lifeless eyes.

  A bullet struck the grass a foot or so away from Claudia.

  She lay next to the young man and double-tapped her pistol, firing at the shooter who had popped up next to the column. She missed, but her bullets sent the man ducking for cover.

  Her gunfire also sent a few tourists—who until moments ago had been taking pictures and enjoying the serenity of the park—scampering for cover. Claudia squeezed off another round, then turned her attention to the other gunman. Her attentive eyes found him lying next to the columned wall. She fired a few more rounds, more intent on forcing him down than killing or wounding him. Claudia was here for Martin and the minister, not their guards, who could well be fellow CIS agents.

  Taking advantage of the brief pause, she went through the young man’s jacket. She took the phone from his inside pocket and the Heckler & Koch P30 9mm pistol from his holster. She put the phone and the second gun away, then crawled away toward the back of the park.

  Another couple of bullets flew over her head, but she reached Rue Adhémar-Fabri unharmed. She squeezed through the cars parked along the street, then returned her pistol to her pocket. Claudia ignored the vehicles rushing along the street and began to cross it. A white Audi SUV almost hit her, but the driver was able to come to a screeching halt inches away from Claudia. He honked, but she just shrugged. She z
ipped through traffic to the sidewalk, climbed the four steps leading to Le Richemond Hotel, and stepped through the glass doors.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Le Richemond Hotel

  Geneva, Switzerland

  Claudia stood a few steps away from the entrance doors and glanced at the park through the large windows. One of the gunmen appeared at the edge of the park, then dashed along the parked cars. He looked around and underneath them, then cast frustrated glances up and down the street. He turned around, shrugged, and pointed toward the Cottage Café at the back of the park. A moment later, he ran in that direction.

  She heaved a sigh of relief and looked around the dimly lit lobby. A handful of guests were sitting on cream-colored couches and chatting in hushed voices, but no one was paying any attention to her. The clerk behind the reception desk offered Claudia a wide smile, but she looked away and glanced at her wristwatch, to give the impression that she was waiting for someone.

  She took the phone she had retrieved from the young man and scrolled through the logs. The last three numbers were local ones. She dialed one of them and listened.

  Almost right away, a male voice said something in Arabic that she did not understand. “Pass me to Javin,” Claudia said in a low but firm voice.

  “Who is that, and who are you?” The man switched to heavily-accented English.

  “Javin. Pierce. Tell him ‘Claudia wants to talk to him.’ Right now.”

  “Claudia who?”

  “Just Claudia. Hurry. And tell Javin that I’m in Geneva.”

  The man hung up without a word.

  Claudia shook her head and glanced at the phone. Did I call the wrong person? she wondered, but only for a moment. She paced back and forth, counting the seconds. Then, the phone vibrated. “Claudia here,” she said in a low whisper.

  “Claudia,” Javin’s voice rang in her ear. “So glad to hear from you.”

  “Javin, yes, same here. How are you?”

  “All right. But I hear you got into some trouble.”