A Thick Crimson Line (Mike Walton Book 3)

by Simon Gervais

  “I’ve prepared a small meal for you, sir,” Musa said.

  Davari followed his subordinate to the kitchen where a plate of miniature pita breads, humus and fresh vegetables was waiting for him on the counter with a bottle of water.

  “Thanks, Musa,” Davari said, tapping the younger man on the shoulder. He drank half the bottle of water in one gulp.

  “Do we have comms with headquarters?” Davari asked between two bites of bread.

  “Yes, I was able to send an email out. But I’m not sure how secure it is.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We needed to give General Kharazi a situation report.”

  “Give me your phone, sir,” Musa said.

  Davari did and Musa plugged it into a laptop.

  “The risk of electronic eavesdropping is lower if we go through the computer’s secure network.”

  Musa handed the phone back to Davari with the USB cord still attached to the laptop.

  “Any way we can use the laptop to send photographs to headquarters?”

  “That’s easy. Do you have a memory card?”

  Davari fetched it from his pocket and showed it to Musa.

  “I need to know who the man in these pictures is,” Davari said.

  “They’ll have the pictures within two minutes, sir,” Musa replied. “You’re on speaker and patched through to headquarters.”

  ........

  Davari spent the next four minutes explaining to General Kharazi what had happened.

  “I’m sorry for the loss of your men, Colonel,” Kharazi said. “But they didn’t die in vain. Mission accomplished.”

  “That is only true if the general didn’t transmit the intelligence to whoever helped him.”

  “Right. Who do you think helped Adbullahi?”

  “If I had to guess, sir, I’d say the Israelis.”

  Kharazi cursed. Then the general said, “I had a feeling it was them. These damn Jews need to be taught a lesson, and I think I know how to do it.”

  Davari was curious but Kharazi wouldn’t share anything with him until he was back in Tehran, so he said, “I’d like to be part of any mission against Israeli interests.”

  When Kharazi didn’t reply, Davari asked, “Sir?”

  “Stand by one second,” Kharazi said.

  Davari looked in Musa’s direction. He shrugged. He didn’t know what was going on with the general either.

  “It was the Israelis.”

  “Sir?” Davari repeated.

  “It didn’t take long. We’ve identified the man on the pictures you forwarded to us as an Israeli agent. We don’t know his name, but he works for Meir Yatom.”

  Davari clenched his fists. He knew who Meir Yatom was. He was head of the Special Operations Division of the MOSSAD. He was a legend within his organization. The Quds Force had tried numerous times to assassinate him using Hezbollah thugs but to no avail.

  “We need to find out what Adbullahi told him,” Kharazi said.

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “I’ve instructed our ambassador to facilitate your transport out of Greece, Colonel. Your services are needed elsewhere.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Mossad Headquarters, Israel

  Meir Yatom drummed his fingers on his desk. He had been in this business for more than thirty years but the anxiety remained. Every time he had agents in the field, he couldn’t sleep. That meant he didn’t sleep much. His wife had left him a long time ago and he hadn’t talked to his daughter since she had called him two years ago to announce the birth of his first grandchild. He had promised her he’d visit soon but never did. He devoted his life to the security of Israel. It had cost him dearly. His health, his mood and his family had suffered too. But he believed in his work, and in his team. That’s why he was eager to hear back from Eitan.

  Mapother had told him his team and Eitan were still in Greece. Yatom didn’t like this at all. He wouldn’t close an eye until Eitan was back safely in Israel.

  Ari Friedman walked through the open door of Yatom’s office. Yatom loved Ari like his own son. Ari used to be his most trusted team leader but had been injured helping Charles Mapother’s outfit in the attempt to rescue Mike Walton’s father in Mykonos earlier that year. A bullet had destroyed his right bicep but surgery had repaired most of the damage. Ari had wanted to go back in the field but, unknown to him, his wife had called Yatom to beg him to give her husband a desk job. She loved her husband, and his last injury had scared her. In his early forties, Ari could have been deployed for a few more years but at what cost? Yatom didn’t want him to end up alone too.

  When he told Ari his days in the field were over, Ari threatened to quit. Yatom didn’t miss a beat and told him to go ahead. It never crossed his mind to tell Ari that it was his wife’s phone call that had convinced him to end his career as a field operator. It would have ruined his marriage. Instead, Yatom accepted the onslaught of foul language Ari directed at him. Once Ari was done with his tantrum, Yatom gave him the choice to either leave the building, or serve as his bodyguard and personal assistant. Ari had stayed.

  “What is it, Ari?”

  “We recovered this in one of your emergency dead drops.” Ari held a piece of paper in his hand.

  Yatom sat straighter in his seat. He had set up a dozen emergency dead drops in Jerusalem and in areas controlled by the Palestinian Authority when he left the field ten years ago. He had made sure agents were still monitoring the dead drops. All of them were in easily accessible public spaces where the person accessing the drop could be momentarily shielded from view. They were all coupled with another site where agents left signals telling the other party that material had been left or picked up. The risk of being compromised was small since each dead drop was to be used only once.

  “Can I see it?”

  Ari handed it to him.

  The message was coded. Yatom had been out of touch for too long to remember the significance of each letter and number but he recognized the message for what it was. An emergency.

  Yatom got up from behind his desk and opened a hidden safe concealed behind a map of Israel. He retrieved a small booklet. It took him less than a minute to find exactly what he was looking for. He compared the series of letters and numbers with the codes he had in his booklet. The message came from an asset codenamed KORZEN. Yatom had recruited him a dozen years ago. Because of the intelligence provided by KORZEN, the security services of Israel had been able to stop countless terror attacks and save hundreds of innocent lives.

  KORZEN wanted a meeting at Site Sixteen. He said he had intelligence vital to the security of the Israeli prime minister. That was it. Yatom wished KORZEN had included more info and wondered why he didn’t. Site Sixteen was a restaurant in Bethlehem. Meetings at Site Sixteen were always on Mondays at five thirty in the afternoon. Yatom looked at his watch.

  That’s three hours from now. That’s not enough time. Yatom felt he was being forced to do something he didn’t want to. Plus, all his field teams were out on missions or on leave. But what if the PM was really in danger? Could he afford to miss a meeting with KORZEN, an asset that had served him well in the past? With the assassination of the Canadian prime minister by a member of his close protection detail, he couldn’t. What if the Israeli prime minister was next on the list?

  “I need to talk to the prime minister,” Yatom said to Ari. “You and I might go on a little op, my friend. What do you say?”

  Ari flashed him a smile. “I’m ready.”

  Yatom nodded, and then picked up his phone and dialed the private number of the Israeli prime minister.

  CHAPTER 42

  Bethlehem, Palestine

  The Ewaan Restaurant was a thing of beauty. The cobbled white-stone walls with elegant arches accompanied by a rich and ornate interior décor made the Ewaan a remarkable place to enjoy dinner. The c
ool Bethlehem evening convinced Meir Yatom to eat inside instead of enjoying the garden area. Also, an attempt on his life would be much harder if he was inside than outside, where a sniper could take a shot from a quarter mile away.

  Ari was seated at another table not far from him, keeping a watchful eye on the door and on the other patrons. His call to the prime minister had been short. With the Canadian prime minister dead, most heads of state were in panic mode, unsure if they could trust they own security service. The prime minister’s tone of voice told Yatom he wasn’t ecstatic about the idea of sending his most senior intelligence officer to Bethlehem, but he’d allow it if a proper security detail could be organized in time. Yatom had assured him it wouldn’t be a problem and had tasked Ari to prepare for immediate deployment.

  What made this operation challenging was the fact that Israelis weren’t allowed into areas controlled by the Palestinian Authority unless they had received prior approval from the Israeli Civil Administration. That wasn’t an issue for Yatom and his security team, but it would have been counterproductive for them to enter with their real names. Instead, they used MOSSAD-issued Canadian passports and went through “Rachel’s Crossing” as tourists by hiring two taxis with Arab drivers equipped with yellow license plates. They paid an extra two hundred shekels to each driver to linger in the area while they dined. Yatom had brought an extra Canadian passport in case KORZEN needed to be extracted.

  They arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes in advance. With Ari close by and three other MOSSAD agents outside the restaurant, Yatom was conscious this wasn’t the “security” the prime minister had agreed to, but it was the best they could do at such short notice. They were all carrying pistols, but that was it.

  “Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

  “I’m waiting for someone.” Yatom looked at his watch. KORZEN was now ten minutes late. “But I’d like a tall bottle of sparkling water if you have some.”

  “Right away, sir,” the waiter said.

  Yatom would wait another twenty minutes. There was no point staying longer. But something told him he wouldn’t have to wait that long.

  CHAPTER 43

  Bethlehem, Palestine

  Colonel Davari looked at the ten Hamas fighters around the table. They were all dressed in civilian clothes. It wouldn’t do them any good to wear tactical gear. Bethlehem was to some extent a safe city with a mix of Christians and Muslims cohabiting in relative peace. They needed this operation to go down quietly.

  “Any questions so far?” Davari asked.

  “What if he doesn’t come?” asked one of the Hamas fighters. His name was Nazmi Salama and he was the leader of the group. He was clean-shaven, which was rare for someone belonging to Hamas, and over six feet tall. He had previously been one of Yasser Arafat’s bodyguards.

  Before Davari could respond, Sergeant Musa Mariwala whispered in his ear, “It’s been confirmed, sir. Yatom and a small security team have been spotted.”

  Davari thanked him.

  “My friends,” he said to the Hamas fighters, “Meir Yatom is on location.”

  The men clapped each other on the back, and there were a few “Allahu Akbars” thrown in.

  To get a man like Meir Yatom at a known location at a specific time was a great accomplishment. They had to thank General Kharazi for this. The traitor known as KORZEN, a mid-level Iranian agent from the Ministry of Intelligence and Security—MOIS—had been caught selling classified intelligence to the French Secret Service five years ago. In retaliation for his treachery, General Kharazi had killed his wife and had the rest of his family imprisoned with a promise that every two months, one of his child would die of torture. KORZEN, whose real name was Arash Nekoo, pleaded with Kharazi to spare the lives of his children. In exchange, he’d give up the names of his French and Israeli handlers.

  Within months, Kharazi had orchestrated a counter-intelligence operation that disrupted the French’s intelligence gathering capabilities within Iran so much that they were forced to withdraw the two other agents they had within the MOIS. They never made it. The two traitors and the six French DGSE—Directorate-General for External Security—agents trying to help them cross the Iraqi border were killed in an ambush.

  As for the Israelis, Kharazi decided to reinstate KORZEN and to continue feeding him mid-grade intelligence to take back to his former masters in Tel-Aviv. Kharazi sacrificed a few Hezbollah and Hamas fighters in the process but didn’t mind doing so. He was playing the long game.

  “KORZEN must suspect we’re about to move. His usefulness has come to an end and he’s to be considered an enemy combatant,” Davari said, giving each man a piece of paper on which were printed the faces of their targets. “Memorize what he and Meir Yatom look like.”

  “What about the other customers?” asked Salama.

  “Acceptable collateral damage,” Davari said. “We need Meir Yatom alive, whatever the cost. It would be nice to capture his security team too, but I doubt that will be possible.”

  Salama nodded gravely. Davari knew they wouldn’t kill fellow Muslims intentionally, but they would do what was necessary to complete their mission.

  “We have to expect that Meir Yatom will be wearing some kind of tracker,” Davari said. “The moment we have him in custody, and before we bring him back here to be interrogated, he’ll need to be stripped of all his clothes. We can’t take any chances.

  “And one more thing,” he added. “Do not underestimate the Israelis, because that will be the last thing you do.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Bethlehem, Palestine

  Meir Yatom got up from his table. He had waited long enough. KORZEN not showing up was bad news. Either it had been a trap all along or KORZEN had been picked up and was about to spill the beans. One way or the other, Yatom and his team needed to get out of Bethlehem. He was about to signal Ari to join him when a heavyset man entered the dining room. Yatom recognized him right away.

  KORZEN.

  He was dressed in a cheap black suit over a white shirt. His longish, dark-gray hair was combed back with the help of too much pomade. He saw Yatom and made a beeline to his table. The two men shook hands.

  “I was about to leave,” Yatom said, pouring a glass of sparkling water for his asset.

  “I wish you had.”

  Alarm bells started ringing in Yatom’s head. “You called this—”

  “That’s all the time I could buy. I’ve been made years ago.”

  What? Yatom stiffened and his heart rate jumped. All his senses were now on alert. How much false intel did he provide? And why call this meeting?

  “So there’s no threat against our prime minister?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but I could be wrong.”

  At least that’s that.

  “What about the Canadian prime minister? Did you hear anything?”

  But KORZEN wasn’t listening anymore; his head was swiveling left and right. “This is a trap. I’m sure of it!”

  Yatom’s heart sank. “Why did you tell me?”

  Tears ran freely down KORZEN’s eyes. “They murdered my wife, and I’ve lost contact with my children. A cousin working in the prison system told me they were slaughtered earlier this week.”

  This is on me. Yatom knew the risks but did KORZEN really understand them when he signed up?

  “How long do I have?” Yatom asked.

  “Two minutes, maybe less.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Kill as many as I can,” KORZEN replied, opening his jacket. He had a pistol in a shoulder holster. “Then I’ll join my wife.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Bethlehem, Palestine

  Colonel Davari and half the assault force were in two separate vans one block away from the restaurant while the remaining Hamas soldiers under the command of Sergeant Musa Mariwala were on f
oot, keeping an eye on the restaurant and Yatom’s protective detail.

  “Alpha-two from Alpha-niner,” Davari said over the two-way radio the Hamas had provided.

  “Go ahead for Alpha-two,” Mariwala replied.

  “SITREP, over.”

  “We have eyes on four men we believe are with the target’s protective detail. No exit vehicles in sight. Over.”

  Davari guessed they had hired taxis to enter the city. It was the only way to get in incognito. He knew the local police wouldn’t give them any trouble. Hamas had paid them handsomely to remain in their station. The foot traffic was heavy but it would clear away rapidly once the shooting started.

  It always did.

  CHAPTER 46

  Bethlehem, Palestine

  “Come with us,” Yatom said to his asset. “I have a passport for you.”

  “I don’t want to go with you, but thanks anyway.”

  Ari’s chair scraped against the floor.

  “We need to get out, sir,” Ari told him. “The men are getting anxious.”

  Yatom looked at KORZEN. The poor man had lost everything he cared about. And for what? His treachery had saved many Israeli lives, but Yatom would have no choice but to comb through everything KORZEN had given him. But first, they needed to get out of this jam alive.

  “I can’t reach our men,” Ari said, his voice higher than usual. Yatom felt Ari’s powerful grip on his arm.

  “Follow me.”

  Yatom had no time to get out before the metallic clunks of stun grenades hitting the tile floor resonated throughout the dining room. Ari reacted immediately and threw Yatom on the ground, covering him with his body. Yatom closed his eyes but the force of the successive explosions disoriented him. Flashes of red had him wondering if his eyes were really closed.

  Then Ari opened fire. Yatom got to his knees and Ari pushed him back to the floor, shielding him once again with his body. “Stay down. They’re coming in.”