A Thick Crimson Line (Mike Walton Book 3)

by Simon Gervais

  ........

  Corporal Sebastian Joanis crouched behind the engine of S-1. He signaled the driver to stay low. What the hell was going on? Al-Fadhi had lost his mind. The odds were that he had killed the prime minister and his wife, but Joanis couldn’t do nothing. He had to get to the prime minister. It was his job.

  He tried to call for backup using the radio but couldn’t get through. Al-Fadhi had kept his mike open, making it impossible for everyone else to cut through. Joanis’s cellphone was plugged in the car.

  Damn it!

  Loud cracks told him al-Fadhi had opened up on S-1. Windows shattered and S-1’s driver yelled in pain. Joanis angled his body so he could look. Al-Fadhi was reloading. He didn’t hesitate. He sprinted and fired his pistol at al-Fadhi.

  ........

  Al-Fadhi fired rapidly into S-1. The driver’s head popped up and he adjusted his aim. He fired until he emptied his magazine. He ejected the spent magazine and was inserting a new one when he saw Joanis running toward him firing his pistol.

  He’s nuts. Al-Fadhi didn’t panic. He made himself a small target by hiding most of his body behind the armored door. Round after round smashed into the window. Spiderweb cracks appeared.

  How many shots had Joanis fired? Al-Fadhi looked through the window. Joanis had changed course when he realized he wouldn’t make it to al-Fadhi in time. He was now running perpendicular to the armored limousine. In another second, Joanis would have a clear shot at him.

  ........

  Eight, nine, ten . . . Joanis was getting low on ammo but he couldn’t afford to slow his rate of fire. He needed al-Fadhi pinned down in order to move to a position where he’d have a clear shot. Just a few more feet . . . Eleven, twelve, thirteen . . . He was almost there when he saw the barrel of al-Fadhi’s MP5 creeps past the armored door. A bullet grazed his right leg. Fourteen. Joanis dove as the next round pierced his right bicep and lodge in the side of his vest. He hit the ground hard and dropped his pistol on impact. He rolled to a stop and tried to locate his firearm. It was five feet behind him.

  He knew it was all over when al-Fadhi came out from behind the limo’s door with his MP5 pointed directly at him.

  Damn it! He’d been so close.

  ........

  Al-Fadhi admired Joanis’s courage. The prime minister didn’t deserve men like Joanis on his protective detail. Al-Fadhi smoothly squeezed the trigger at the same time he was hit from behind. His shot missed and al-Fadhi tried to spin around, but his left leg buckled the moment he shifted his weight. The excruciating pain came right after. Al-Fadhi fell on his bum just as he was hit again. This time the bullet shattered his right hand and he dropped the MP5.

  Villadelgado. The bitch. She wasn’t dead after all. Squatted next to her open door, she fired at him with her pistol. Her next round hit him high on the left shoulder. Al-Fadhi crawled back to the armored limo, looking for the Glock, but stopped when he remembered his service pistol on his hip. With his right hand ruined and his left shoulder on fire, he had difficulty drawing his issued Smith & Wesson. His lack of speed cost him another round in the chest. Even though his vest stopped it, it knocked the wind out of him. He still managed to return fire but it wasn’t accurate. Nevertheless, it was enough to send Villadelgado back into her vehicle to seek cover.

  Then Joanis reappeared, his pistol pointed at al-Fadhi’s head.

  His main objective completed, al-Fadhi saw no point in surrendering. He tried to bring his gun around but never really had a chance. Joanis was too quick and didn’t hesitate. Al-Fadhi didn’t feel a thing when the 9-mm round entered his mouth.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tehran, Iran

  Major General Jalal Kharazi eyed the man standing at attention in front of him. Colonel Asad Davari was a tall man who wouldn’t look out of place in GQ magazine. But as handsome as the colonel was, he wasn’t to be underestimated. Davari had proven himself many times over in Iran’s secret wars. He had served his country with distinction and had risen through the ranks, not because of whom he knew, but because of his accomplishments on the battlefield. Still, perspiration appeared on the colonel’s forehead. This pleased him very much. Colonel Davari hadn’t yet said a word as Kharazi pondered whom he should blame for the debacle that threatened years of work and planning. As the commanding officer of the Quds Force, Kharazi was one of the most powerful men in Iran and answered only to the supreme leader. His organization was responsible for all the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps’—IRGC—extra-territorial covert operations, with its two main focuses on the training of Islamic fundamentalist terrorist groups and the implementation of companies and institutions that acted on behalf of the Iranian government. These activities included providing cover for intelligence operations and support to terrorist and insurgent groups in the West. Kharazi was known as a man who rewarded success but had a low tolerance for failure. Colonel Davari had never disappointed him. His promotion to brigadier general was only a matter of time.

  “Congratulations, Colonel Davari. You are my new deputy,” Kharazi said once he had made his decision about what to do with the man.

  “Sir?”

  “General Adbullahi is gone. You are now the second-in-command of the entire Quds Force.”

  Davari met his gaze, a rare look of confusion on his face. “There are officers who are much more senior than me—”

  “I trust you, Asad. Which is more important than seniority, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  It was clear to Kharazi that the colonel didn’t want the position. Which was exactly why Kharazi wanted him. Davari would be a good leader, but without the ambition needed to ascend any higher than Kharazi was willing to let him go. General Adbullahi—the cause of the problem—had been his previous deputy. He was the only other man in the Quds Force to know the entire operational plan for PERIWINKLE, a plan Ayatollah Khomeini had spent decades building and that the current supreme leader, Ayatollah Bhansali, had continued to support. With the second phase of PERIWINKLE initiated, General Adbullahi’s treachery could have dire consequences. Quds Force leader or not, Kharazi’s position didn’t preclude a bullet in the back of the head. Fortunately, he was high enough on the food chain that he’d hear about it before it actually happened and would probably have time to escape before it was too late. Was that what had happened with General Adbullahi? Did he fear for his life? The timing of his treason—less than a week after he had learned of the ayatollah’s plan—made that a possibility. He had made a grave mistake entrusting Adbullahi with the ayatollah’s secret. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. Leaving the country because he feared for his life was one thing, but seeking exodus because he was a full-fledged traitor was another. Did General Adbullahi have another master? Just the consideration was enough to send Kharazi into full panic mode.

  Two of the five combative cells had already been activated. They’d do what was expected of them. The Canadian component of the operation had produced results far exceeding the predictions. It had been a complete success, and the American and Canadian media weren’t talking about anything else. Surprisingly, the stock markets were holding on, and Kharazi wondered if the assassination of the Canadian prime minister—a known socialist—had some investors cheering in secret. The problem was with the American side of the operation. There was a strict schedule to follow, one that required finesse and patience. General Adbullahi’s treachery was forcing Kharazi to move faster than he wanted to.

  But Allah was merciful. Kharazi had the most capable and lethal man of the entire armed forces of the Islamic Republic of Iran in front of him, and he would use him as such.

  “Please, Colonel Davari, have a seat,” Kharazi said. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on General Adbullahi.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Tehran, Iran

  Colonel Asad Davari felt awkward sitting in front of the Quds
Force commanding officer. He enjoyed being in the field with his men but hated every minute he spent in the company of people like Major General Kharazi. In combat, you usually knew who were your enemies. Inside headquarters, you could only guess. Everybody had an angle, and Davari would have to learn how to play the game. And he’d have to be a quick learner. His ascension inside the elite Quds Force hadn’t been spectacular. His whole career had been spent fighting Iran’s many clandestine wars. Every promotion he had ever taken was so he could be a better advocate for his men to the higher echelons. Truth was, he had never expected to become a colonel. He never wanted it. He was very good at what he did but he didn’t belong behind a desk. Outside the Quds Force, he was no one. But within it, he was already a legend at thirty-five. The question Major General Kharazi had asked him was dangerous. Rumor had it that the deputy commander of the Quds Force had done something to piss Kharazi off. Nevertheless, he remained Davari’s superior officer, and Davari didn’t find talking about another officer while he wasn’t present appealing.

  Colonel Davari shifted in his seat. “What do you want to know, sir?”

  “Let’s start with this,” Kharazi said. “Did you know that General Adbullahi had deserted?”

  Davari felt as if he had just been punched in the stomach. His expression must have answered Kharazi’s questions because he said, “Good. You didn’t know.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “He took one of the SJ30s and headed to Greece with his family and his security detail.”

  “Sir, I have to ask,” Colonel Davari said. “Are we one hundred percent sure he actually defected?”

  “Yes, Asad, we are.” Kharazi replied. “His plane took off from the VIP terminal at the Tehran-Mehrabad airport. By the time we realized this was an unauthorized flight and sent a pair of MiG-29s after it, it was too late. Secrets documents were downloaded from his office. His assistant is presently being interrogated, but I’m told she didn’t know anything.”

  Colonel Davari was shocked. The defection of such a powerful man within the Quds Force couldn’t be tolerated. The reason General Kharazi had asked for him was now apparent.

  “You want me and my men to go after him,” Davari stated.

  “General Adbullahi knows certain things that could bring down the entire regime. An important operation is presently underway. An operation conceived by our supreme leader that will reshape the entire Middle East and bring prosperity to our nation. Adbullahi needs to be taken out immediately.”

  Davari stood up. “I will personally travel to Greece and bring him back here so he can face the wrath of the ayatollah.”

  “As much as I’d like to make an example of him, we can’t allow this treason to be public. You’ll take care of him and his family in Greece.”

  “As per your wishes, sir,” Davari said. In his mind, he was already putting his team together. He’d traveled to Greece only once before so he’d have to pick his team carefully as he didn’t speak the language. “Do we have any assets already in the country?”

  Kharazi smiled. “No operators per se, I’m afraid, but there are two mid-level intelligence officers operating from the embassy who will be in position to help you. But, more importantly, one of Adbullahi’s bodyguards is my son-in-law, and, like all members of my family, he wears a tracker.”

  Davari had to be cautious about how to ask his next question. “General Kharazi, is your son-in-law aware of General Adbullahi’s treason?”

  Kharazi nodded. “I suppose he is, and this is why he activated his tracker. He wants us to find him.”

  “Very well, sir,” Davari said. “We’ll bring him back safely.”

  “I appreciate the gesture, Colonel, but you won’t. He will die in Athens. His death will help to convince the rest of the world that this attack was perpetrated by a foreign nation with hostile intentions toward Iran. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” Davari didn’t care one way or the other. He had his marching orders.

  CHAPTER 21

  Athens, Greece

  Mike Walton had been waiting at the agreed location for more than fifteen minutes when Zima finally parked the small black Audi A3 hatchback seventy-five feet away. She waved at him and he headed in her direction with his backpack and carry-on. The police had responded even quicker than anticipated and closed many of the downtown streets.

  “Sorry, traffic is a bitch. Anything from Eitan?” she asked as he placed his luggage in the trunk.

  Zima did a good job hiding her concern, but Mike sensed she was worried.

  “Nothing yet,” Mike said. There was no point lying. “Headquarters is trying to reach him.”

  “So we’re going to the airport?”

  “We have to, Zima,” Mike said. “We can’t stay here. Eitan knows what to do if he misses the plane.”

  Charles Mapother couldn’t have been clearer during the initial briefing. If the hit was successful, they would have to leave Greece within the hour. The Hellenic police might not have the same resources as the FBI but they weren’t clueless. With the assassination being so close to their parliament, they wouldn’t take any chances. Each of them had a protocol to follow in case the initial exfiltration plan didn’t work.

  The traffic continued to be an issue but at least they were moving. But Mike was getting anxious. There was a lot of incriminating evidence in the car. If they were stopped, it could turn ugly fast. They couldn’t reach the airport fast enough. In the back of his mind, he wondered what had happened to Eitan. The Israeli agent could take care of himself, but memories of his recent mission in Russia with his wife Lisa were reminders that there were no guarantees in the field.

  The secure satellite phone rang.

  “It’s in the glove box,” Zima told him.

  Mike extended the antenna of the Iridium phone before accepting the call. Only the IMSI headquarters and the members of his team had the number.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Any news from Eitan? We still can’t reach him.”

  “Nothing. We’re halfway to the airport. Maybe he’ll join us there.”

  “You’re not going to the airport anymore, Mike,” his wife said.

  “How come?” His tone of voice caused Zima to look at him.

  “Not sure yet. Mapother just texted me to tell you to stay put. I’m sure he’ll contact you shortly.”

  Mike shook his head. “That’s crazy, Lisa. There’s no way we’re staying in Athens. We don’t even know where Eitan is or if he’s been compromised. The Greeks might decide to close the airport or strengthen its security at least.”

  “Trust me, Mike, I don’t like it any more than you do. I’m just relaying Charles’s message.”

  Damn it! Charles Mapother wasn’t stupid. He knew the risks of he and Zima staying in Athens. What could force him to make such a decision? He prayed that it wasn’t because of Eitan. If that was the case, and Eitan had indeed been taken, Mike would do anything to get him back. And so would Zima.

  “It’s Eitan, isn’t it?” Zima asked, her knuckles turning white from holding the steering wheel too tightly.

  “You don’t know that,” Mike said. “Charles has ordered us to stay put for now.”

  “Should I head to the safe house?”

  Mike thought about it. Their support team had set up a safe house in case of an emergency. Unfortunately it was located northwest of the city while the airport was southeast. Going back meant driving through the city again. Mike wasn’t ready to take the chance. He was about to suggest they find a quiet place to eat when the satellite phone came alive.

  It was Charles Mapother.

  “Let me first tell you that we haven’t heard from Eitan directly but the police channels have lit up in the last half hour or so.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “There was an exchange of gunfire in the par
king garage where one of our escape vehicles was parked.”

  “Shit,” Mike murmured. That was enough for Zima to glance at him, her eyes tight and worried.

  “We all know how resourceful he is, so unless we hear something to the contrary, let’s assume he’s fine and following his secondary exit protocol.”

  “You’re monitoring—” Mike started, but Mapother cut him short.

  “Trust me when I say we’re doing everything we can to locate him.”

  “We’re headed back,” Mike said to Zima. “Eitan needs us.”

  “You’ll indeed head back to the city, Mike, but it isn’t to render assistance to Eitan,” Mapother said.

  “Then for what?”

  “Put me on speaker so Zima can hear me too.”

  Mike pressed the button and told Mapother he could speak.

  “For yet unknown reasons, the deputy commander of the Iranian Quds Force and his close family fled Tehran earlier today—”

  “That’s General Zamyad Adbullahi,” Zima said. “I know who he is.”

  “That’s correct, Zima,” Mapother said. “You’ve actually met him before?”

  “He came to Ottawa years ago before their embassy was closed. He wasn’t the deputy commander of the Quds Force then but he was high enough to warrant around-the-clock surveillance while he was in Canada. I was one of the agents on the detail.”

  “Can I assume you’ll recognize him right away if you see him?” Mapother asked.

  “Unless he’s changed his appearance drastically, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Good to know,” Mapother said. “Anyway, the general allegedly used one of the Quds Force SJ30s for an unsanctioned flight to Athens. He landed half an hour ago. And before you ask, yes, the intelligence is good. It came from Meir Yatom’s office.”

  It was no secret that the MOSSAD kept a close eye on the Iranians. After all, Iran’s supreme leader had publicly vowed to destroy their country. General Adbullahi was a prime target. He might have been safe and protected in Iran, but not so much anywhere else. “Who knows about this?” Mike asked.