His family wouldn’t go to the King George. Adbullahi had rented a small apartment on the outskirts of Athens for them.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said to his wife as she hurried inside the SUV. “Take care of the children.”
He grabbed the elbow of Tarapore, a trustworthy member of his detail, and whispered, “You know what to do, Sayed.”
The bodyguard nodded and closed the door of the vehicle. Adbullahi watched his family drive off and wondered if he’d ever see them again. He had never loved his wife the way she deserved to be loved, but he’d always been nice to her, showed her the proper amount of affection while keeping his extra-conjugal affairs to himself. She knew, of course, but he never talked about it, thus, in his mind, respecting her. He hadn’t shared with his wife the reason behind their sudden departure, but she had been with him long enough to know something was wrong. Her demeanor showed him she was uncomfortable. But she was a good woman and would do what he asked of her. He wished he could spare them the dangers coming their way but he couldn’t. The fighter jets that had pursued them out of Iranian airspace were proof he had to hurry. His original plan had given him twenty-four to thirty-six hours to make contact with someone from a Western intelligence agency, but he doubted that was still the case.
Adbullahi didn’t see himself as a traitor. On the contrary, he was a patriot who deeply loved his country and its people. When General Kharazi had shared with him the supreme leader’s plan, it had shaken him to his core. How could Kharazi not see how potentially hazardous this could be for Iran? Of course, if successful it would allow Iran to once again control its own destiny, free of the sanctions that had crumbled its economy, but was it worth the risk? Adbullahi’s knees had weakened when he learned the high-ranking positions achieved by some of the sleeper cells inserted by the former supreme leader. PERIWINKLE’s first and second phases worked perfectly, but if the United States were to figure out the end game, its response would be swift and deadly. When he had voiced his concerns, Kharazi had assured him that Russia would stand by Iran, effectively limiting the Americans’ military options to a long, expensive and bloody war no one wanted. It was a big risk, with huge upsides, yes, but, in Adbullahi’s mind, the pitfalls were even greater. The ayatollah and General Kharazi had bet everything on this, forcing Adbullahi to wonder if Iran wasn’t even closer to the brink of economic collapse than he had thought.
But even if that was the case, PERIWINKLE was too much of a gamble. He couldn’t in good conscience move ahead with the operation.
So here he was; in a race against time to save his country.
He trusted his protective detail but, like everything else in Iran, nothing was what it seemed. He had to be careful. The clock was ticking. His protective detail didn’t know the real reason they were in Greece. Loyal to him or not, Adbullahi didn’t think they would hesitate to shoot him in the head if they had any idea what he planned to do.
He climbed into the lead SUV and told his driver to take them to the hotel. He had chosen the King George because of its proximity to the Greek parliament. A kill-team would have to be much more careful there than anywhere else in Athens. It also gave him a semblance of legitimacy to anyone who’d meet him at the hotel. How long the façade would last was another story.
In the plane, he had used a secured SAT phone to reach the American embassy, hoping to talk to the CIA station chief or at least an intelligence officer who’d be bright enough to recognize the urgency of the situation. No such luck. The only person who would take his call was the consular officer on duty. Clearly, the man had had no idea who he was but had nevertheless promised to pass along the info to someone else who’d be in a position to help. If Adbullahi didn’t hear from him by the time he arrived at the King George, he would call the Israelis directly. They would know who he was. The question was: Would they let him talk or send someone to kill him?
CHAPTER 26
Athens, Greece
Colonel Davari was the first out of the airplane. The vans were waiting for them on the tarmac and Davari figured the customs agents had already been bribed to stay away. One of the two van drivers exited his vehicle and trotted to Davari.
“We have the equipment secured in the van, sir. Where would you like to go?”
Davari powered up his phone and clicked on the application that would allow him to follow the bodyguard carrying the tracker. He was surprised to see the dot outside the city limits. He gestured Captain Yavari to join him while the other soldiers transferred the luggage from the plane to the vans.
“Colonel?”
Davari showed him his phone. “Looks like the general isn’t going to the King George after all,” he said.
“If I may, sir?” the driver said.
“Please. Anything you can tell us is welcome.”
“We were ordered not to intervene and to wait for you, but my colleague and I were already in position when General Adbullahi’s two-vehicle motorcade left the airport. The vehicles were SUVs that didn’t belong to the embassy.”
“Did you see anything else?” Captain Yavari asked.
“Not much, sir, but I know General Adbullahi was in the lead vehicle.”
“You didn’t follow them?” Davari asked.
The driver scratched his head. “We were told to hold our position, sir. I’m sorry.”
“What are you thinking, sir?” Captain Yavari asked the colonel.
“I’m wondering if we should split our force. If we’re wrong and end up in the wrong spot, we’ll miss our opportunity to catch him. Am I forgetting something?” he asked his second-in-command.
Captain Yavari took a moment to think and then shook his head.
“Then it’s settled. You’ll take two men with you and you’ll head over there,” Davari said, his finger on the flashing green dot on his screen. “We stay on comms and I want a SITREP every fifteen minutes. I’ll head to the King George.”
The men shook hands. “Good luck, Captain.”
CHAPTER 27
Athens, Greece
Eitan found a bench with good views of the King George’s front entrance. The traffic had dramatically improved since the police had reopened Vasilissis Sofias to circulation. He wasn’t close enough to the entrance to identify who was entering the lobby but he had no difficulty assessing the vehicles that stopped in front of the hotel.
“Mike from Eitan,” he said over their comms system.
“Go for Mike.”
“A black SUV with tinted windows just stopped. Three men are getting out and are heading your way. They’re all wearing dark suits. They’ll be in the lobby in thirty seconds.”
“Roger. Stand by,” Mike replied.
........
Mike was impressed with the King George’s spacious lobby. It was magnificent, just like the rest of the hotel. The eye-catching period furniture and chandeliers, offset by remarkable modern art, gave the lobby an attractive look that made it a great place to sit or converse. Built in 1930 and located within walking distance of the Acropolis, the King George represented the best Athens had to offer. Mike had also heard about the Tudor Hall Restaurant on the hotel’s seventh floor. It supposedly had the best Greek cuisine in town, while offering gorgeous views of the Parthenon atop the Acropolis to the diners lucky enough to get a table at the upscale breakfast buffet in the morning or a candlelit dinner at night.
Mike wasn’t the only one in the lobby. Four people waited in line at the check-in desk and another six were seated in various locations across the lobby. They looked like tourists, but he would keep an eye on them to gauge their reaction to General Adbullahi’s arrival.
“Five seconds, Mike,” Eitan said through his earpiece.
Mike scanned the lobby but nobody else seemed interested in the three men dressed in dark suits who had just entered. The three men were laughing and appeared too relaxed to be anything els
e than businessmen on a sales trip.
“None of them are who we’re looking for, Eitan,” Mike whispered in his mic.
“Could they be part of his protective detail?”
Mike took another look at the three men. They had stopped next to a coffee table where chocolate truffles were offered in a bowl. They were pigging out by stuffing the expensive chocolate in their mouths two at a time.
“No chance of—” Mike started but was interrupted by Eitan.
“Stand by, stand by,” the Israeli said. “I have a possible match for Adbullahi.”
Mike unconsciously sat straighter. Eitan’s tone suggested this might be the real deal.
“Two Persian-looking men exited an SUV. They’re scanning their surroundings. Driver is still in the vehicle.”
“Copy,” Mike replied, scanning the lobby once more. He spotted a man and a woman getting up from the seat they had occupied since his arrival and watched them moved toward the entrance. The man carried a backpack that seemed heavier than usual while the woman only had a map in her right hand. She was wearing a windbreaker that made it difficult for Mike to assess whether she was carrying a weapon.
“It’s him, Mike,” Eitan said. “Adbullahi is climbing the steps to the lobby. He has one bodyguard in front of him and two behind. Adbullahi is wearing a gray suit and his protective detail are wearing navy-blue suits.”
“Got it.”
The front bodyguard entered the lobby the same moment the couple was leaving. He smoothly placed himself between them and his charge and deflected their trajectory with his right arm. The bodyguard positioned behind and to the right of Adbullahi stepped forward and caught up to the general until the couple was behind them and out of the lobby. The other bodyguard, the one still behind Adbullahi, scanned behind him twice to ensure the couple didn’t represent a threat.
The whole sequence was lost to everyone but Mike who was an expert in protective operations.
“They’re in the lobby,” Mike confirmed. He took the time to observe all the other people in the lobby, but nobody else seemed interested in the four men.
“Copy,” Eitan replied.
“I copy too,” came in Zima. “For your information, I found a parking spot thirty seconds out.”
“Mike copy your last, Zima,” Mike said before adding, “One of the bodyguards is now at the check-in counter”.
It was evident Adbullahi was stressed. His eyes were shooting toward the entrance every second or so and he was speaking rapidly in Farsi to the tallest of his bodyguards. A couple of minutes later, the bodyguard who had taken care of the check-in process walked back to the general and handed him a white keycard. The men spoke together for a few more seconds before calling the elevator. Adbullahi let one member of his protection detail enter the elevator first before following him. The two other bodyguards stayed in the lobby. One of them sat in the chair next to Mike and the other took position next to the entrance.
“Status check, Mike,” Eitan asked over the air.
When Mike didn’t reply, Eitan tried again, “Mike, what’s your status?”
Mike didn’t dare to look at Adbullahi’s bodyguard. Even though he knew he was the only one able to hear Eitan, it felt as if the sound coming from his earpiece was being broadcast to everyone inside the lobby.
“I’m coming in, Mike,” Eitan said.
Mike got up and mumbled an apology in French. He casually walked toward the bathroom.
“Negative, Eitan, negative,” Mike said the moment he was out of earshot. “Stay in your position.”
“Copy,” immediately replied Eitan. “Staying put.”
Mike entered the bathroom and listened for any noise that would tell him he wasn’t alone. When he didn’t hear anything, he peeked under the stalls just to make sure.
“Two bodyguards remain in the lobby,” Mike said. “One stands next to the elevator and the other sits in the lobby.”
“What about the general?” Zima asked.
“Adbullahi went to his room with one bodyguard. I’ll ask headquarters to find out the room number. In the meantime, stay in your positions and advise me if you see anything remotely suspicious.”
Once Eitan and Zima confirmed they had understood his directive, Mike used the sat phone to call Lisa at the IMSI headquarters.
“Good to hear your voice,” his wife said. “I have Charles and Jonathan next to me. What can we do to help?”
“I need to know the general’s room number.”
“How long ago did he check in?”
“Between four and five minutes.”
“We’re on it. It shouldn’t take long. Is there anything else?”
“Any way of knowing if there are any other exits than the front entrance? I didn’t see any that were easily accessible.”
“Call us back in ten minutes,” Charles Mapother replied. “We’ll have the info you need.”
CHAPTER 28
IMSI Headquarters
New York, New York
Lisa Walton sat in the control room looking at a blown-up map of Athens on which she could see the three blue dots representing the three IMSI assets in the field. The wall to her right was covered entirely with flat screens showing the latest closed-caption news from the United States and around the world. The IMSI had three direct-action missions running at present and had at least two analysts attached to each asset in the field. Four rows of desks accommodated the team of analysts, with state-of-the-art computers that had direct access to most of the intelligence available to the United States government. When she had joined the IMSI following the tragedy that had altered the course of her life forever, Mapother had explained to her that President Robert Muller had authorized the IMSI to gain access to such a wealth of intelligence. Very few people within the federal government were aware of this, and she knew Mapother was afraid the IMSI could be shut down the moment this became public knowledge. It was no secret that there was friction between Mapother and the Director of National Intelligence Richard Phillips over this issue.
Being in the control room wasn’t as exciting as being in the field, but she felt the pressure nonetheless. Her husband’s team needed info and they needed it quick.
“You want a hand?” Jonathan Sanchez asked.
“You bet,” she said. He pulled over a chair and sat in front of the computer next to her.
“An analyst has already found the general’s room number,” Sanchez said. “He’s on the second floor. His room is facing the square.”
“That was fast.”
“It wasn’t difficult. The room was booked through an outside travel agency over a network armed with a weak encryption code. Once he was able to hack the hotel’s network, he used the reservation number to find the room that had been assigned to the general.”
“What about alternate exits?”
“It doesn’t look promising,” the former Delta operator confessed. “The other exits are used by the staff and lead either to a courtyard at the back of the hotel or to another smaller entrance just off the lobby.”
That wasn’t good. Even if the team was able to snatch General Adbullahi from his room on the second floor, it would be next to impossible to bring him outside the hotel without being seeing by the two bodyguards in the lobby.
The phone on her desk rang. It was Charles Mapother.
“Yes?”
“General Adbullahi contacted our embassy. He wanted to speak to the CIA station chief.”
“Did he?”
“No, they needed to vet him before doing so. I called DNI Phillips the moment we caught this. I briefed him on our intentions and why we were there in the first place. We have his support.”
“That’s good news. I’ll let Mike know.”
“I doubt his protective detail know about his plan. They might not welcome Mike with open arms.”
“He’ll find a way, Charles. Mike always does.”
CHAPTER 29
Athens, Greece
“We’re two minutes out, Colonel,” Captain Yavari said over their secured communication system.
“Good. Let me know what you see before moving in,” replied Colonel Davari. “We’re still a good ten to fifteen minutes from the King George.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Yavari looked at his smartphone. They were half a mile away from the green dot. They weren’t in the countryside per se, but they weren’t in the city either. Houses weren’t as close together as those you would see in downtown Athens, but the yards remained small or nonexistent. Most buildings were two to four stories high and their white paint had started peeling long ago. Detritus was everywhere, and graffiti adorned the doors of the few businesses that were open. Cars with tires or whole axles missing had been left on the side of the road. Their broken windows were proof that thieves had already taken anything of value left behind by their owners.
Yavari adjusted the sling of his C8 carbine so that the weapon couldn’t be seen by someone walking on the street. The Sig Sauer was in a shoulder hostler with two extra magazines.
“We’re not in the best part of town,” the driver said, hitting the brakes to avoid killing a stray dog.
“Obviously,” Yavari replied, glancing at his screen once more. They were getting close. “We’ll drive once by the house. Don’t slow down.”
Why would General Adbullahi come here? It didn’t make sense to him, but who cared? The general was a traitor and would be treated as such.
“We’re here,” Yavari said to his men. “If I’m to trust the application, they’re in one of the buildings on the left side of the road.”
A Thick Crimson Line (Mike Walton Book 3) Page 7