Dark Waters (23 page)

G
anani turned back toward the stakeout and knew immediately that something had happened while she’d been talking to Brodsky. Haddid stood at the window, his nose pressed close to the glass.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Zuabi’s man was in the car behind them. He drove past. Now the main problem is there.” Haddid pointed toward the guest residency.

Ganani traced his line of sight. She was too far away for any shot accuracy. If this was a normal operation, she would be shutting things down.

“Agent Jordan should have called,” Haddid said.

“She may be busy.” Ganani checked her phone. Two calls, both while she was dealing with the colonel. She reached for her gun bag. The GPS tracking in her phone was disabled, but she was sure Brodsky would have traced their call. “We need to move from here.”

“Why?” asked Haddid.

“By now, they know where we are. The enemy seems always to be one step ahead. We cannot take the chance anyone finds us here. Besides, we missed our opportunity.”

Haddid looked at her, incredulous. “Only a handful of you know where we are, and yet you want to run. You don’t trust your own team?”

Ganani’s hand stroked the stock of her gun. She picked it up and shoved it into its bag. “I don’t trust anyone.”

*

Jordan entered the hallway first. Following the jihadist proved easy. A blood smear on the beige carpet led to the right. One of her shots had hit its mark.

She tried remembering the apartment layout. The bedroom suite was to the right. The office was to the left. A row of floor-to-ceiling columns separated the living room, dining area, and kitchen from a walkway that stretched the length of the apartment. Somewhere inside was the secretary of state.

“Federal agents!” she yelled. Daugherty followed her through the doorway. Walker came on his heels.

Jordan pointed to the blood trail on the carpet and gestured that she would take the bedroom. Daugherty moved forward into the large main area and signaled Walker to move left.

Moving quickly along the backside of the columns, Jordan made her way toward the bedroom. The door stood ajar.

A woman screamed. A man shouted. Jordan sprinted down the hallway.

A shot exploded.

Reaching the door, Jordan could see an agent down. Pressing her back to the doorframe, she stepped over his legs and swiveled to find the secretary of state staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Stop or I kill her,” said the man from Sheikh Sa’ad.

Jordan stopped.

The Palestinian stared at her through the mirror over the dresser. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he looked pasty beneath the natural dark of his skin. Blood soaked his shirt near his abdomen.

Terror contorted the secretary’s face.

“Put your gun down,” the Palestinian ordered.

“That’s not going to happen,” Jordan said. “Not while you have a weapon pointed at the secretary. Why don’t you put your gun down and let me get you some help?”

“I will kill her.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Jordan didn’t hesitate. She pulled the trigger.

A surprised look crossed the man’s face. A red spot bloomed on the back of his head. Blood and brains spattered the secretary’s travel suit, the ornate mirror, and the cherrywood dresser. The Palestinian stumbled and fell. The secretary dropped to the floor.

Jordan stepped forward and kicked his gun away. The man was dead. Quickly, she moved to the secretary, who cowered beside the bed. “Are you okay?”

The secretary’s hand was on her heart, and she sagged against the wall.

“Madam secretary?” Daugherty pushed past Jordan, followed by a crowd of agents. “Someone get a medic.”

Jordan allowed the chaos to surge past and then backed toward the door. Stepping over the dead Palestinian, she froze. All the training in the world could not have prepared her for the wave of guilt that washed over her. He was the second man she had killed in the past twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter that he considered himself a soldier or that he acted the part of the enemy. He was a husband, a father.

She felt a hand on her arm.

“We need to go,” Walker said.

Jordan turned away, stuffing the feelings deep. She knew they would resurface, but for now she needed to stay in control. She backtracked toward the residence entrance. Walker fell in behind.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Anywhere off the embassy grounds.” If they stayed, it wouldn’t take long for the Secret Service to isolate them and lock down personnel. They would be debriefed and the rest of their impromptu operation terminated.

At the entrance to the residence apartment, they found Taylor watching two medics crouching over Posner.

“How’s he doing?” Jordan asked.

Taylor shrugged. “Badly. He’s got a hole in his chest.”

She heard Posner wheeze, saw the bubbling blood, and knew his lung had collapsed.

“Jordan.” Daugherty’s voice boomed through the doorway behind her. “What the hell is going on?”

She quashed the desire to flee. “There isn’t time to explain, sir.”

“Make time.” Daugherty stepped around the medics, and they moved into the back hallway. While Taylor and Walker listened, she gave him the condensed version. She told the truth, omitting only a few of the details. She let him believe Haddid had escaped and didn’t tell him what she knew about Brodsky’s past. She did tell him about Brodsky’s connection to GG&B.

Daugherty worked his jaw muscle. “If you’re right, something big is about to happen.”

Jordan nodded.

“If you’re wrong—”

“I’m not.”

“They’re going to want to talk with you.” Daugherty jerked his head at the Secret Service agents gathering on the other side of Taylor and the medics. “If you’re going to walk out of here, you need to do it now.”

Jordan stared at her boss. “I have your permission to go?”

“I can’t protect you. And I don’t want to know anything about what you’re planning or where you’re going.”

Jordan knew he was hedging his bets. If she was right and able to stop whatever was about to go down, he would come out the hero. If she screwed up, he could make her the scapegoat.

“It’s called ‘plausible deniability.’”

Jordan looked back at the medics working on Posner. “I hope he makes it, sir.”

“You and me both.”

Taylor gripped her shoulders. “We need to go.”

They took the back stairs to the parking lot. The agents in sight were clustered near the front entrance. Walker had beaten them to the car.

“Get in.” Walker fired up the engine. “We’ll go out the back gate. There’ll be less traffic and fewer guards. With luck, the Secret Service hasn’t locked down the grounds.”

Jordan slid into the passenger seat, stared down at the blood on her hands, and struggled to get her emotions in check.

Walker threw the car into gear. “Where to?”

“Let’s take Taylor back to the Dizengoff Apartments. Maybe he and Lucy can get away before someone’s dispatched to pick them up. I’m sure Daugherty will try to hold them off.”

They were approaching the back gate, and Walker slowed the car. “Right now, we may have bigger fish to fry.”

Jordan watched a guard walk toward the car, his gun drawn, and realized she was covered in blood. Tucking her hands up into her sleeves, she crossed her arms over the front of her shirt.

“I need you to turn around and park the car,” the guard ordered. “We’re on lockdown. No one is being allowed on or off embassy grounds.”

“She’s the ARSO,” Walker said.

“I don’t care if she’s the secretary herself. My orders are to stop everyone.”

“I’m on it.” Walker tossed a salute before stepping on the gas.

The sedan shot forward, knocking the Marine guard off balance. The soldier scrambled to his feet and shouldered his rifle, a bullet striking the back fender.

“Give me your phones,” Walker said, careening around the next corner.

Jordan pulled hers from her pocket and handed it over. Taylor refused. “I have to make a call first.”

Walker pitched his phone and Jordan’s out the window, while Taylor dialed. With sirens echoing in the street behind him, Walker took one side street, then another, until it was clear they had lost the tail. Jordan could hear Taylor murmuring in the background, leaving a message, telling Lucy that he’d be home soon and not to worry.

“Dizengoff’s out,” Walker said. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”

“Why isn’t Lucy answering her phone?” The stress in Taylor’s voice jarred Jordan into action.

“Let me borrow your phone. I’ll send Ganani over there.”

*

Ganani knocked on the door of the Taylors’ apartment. No one answered. She knocked a second time and then forced the door. Entering with caution, she and Haddid went room to room, looking for signs of disturbance, finding none. Lucy’s computer sat on her desk, and her pink Coach handbag hung on the spoke of her chair. The TV was in its hutch. The apartment was empty, but more so than if someone had stepped out for a walk. It seemed deserted, as if no one had been there for hours. There was no lingering heat from the stove, the faucets were at room temperature, and the sink was dry.

“There are no signs of a break in,” Haddid said. “It looks like they went out.”

Ganani agreed. It didn’t make her feel any better. Her gut told her something was wrong. She signaled for Haddid to take a seat on the couch. Keeping him in her line of sight, she stepped out on the stair landing and called the colonel. He answered on the third ring.

“Where have you been,
krolik
?”

“I’ve been tracking the Palestinian, as you requested.” It was not the first time she had lied. She wondered how much information he had and who was feeding it to him. Right now, her bet was on Gidon Lotner.

“Did you find him?”

If she was correct, Lotner would have told him that the prisoner was with Jordan.

“No,” she said. “He is with the DSS agent, and she is missing.”

She could sense his satisfaction with her answer.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

Ganani was sure he knew that, too.

“At the Taylors’ apartment. The girl and Lotner are missing. I’m worried that something may have happened to them.”

“What makes you so sure anything has happened?”

“The girl’s pink purse is here. She never goes anywhere without it.”

The silence stretched. Finally, he spoke, his tone stern. “They are not your concern.”

“Someone needs to wait and verify that they return. That or notify the Americans and the Israeli police.”

“That’s not your job, Batya. Your job is to follow orders. It is time you come in. I’ll expect to see you within the hour.”

Knowing it would do no good to argue, she acquiesced. Then, hanging up, she walked to the kitchen and set her phone on the counter. “We must go, Haddid. He will send agents for me, for us. Perhaps he already has.”

Haddid pushed up from his seat. “What do we do now?”

“First? We need to buy a new phone.”

Ten minutes later, as the fountain kicked to life, raining down fire and water behind her, Ganani dialed Taylor’s phone number from a burner phone and got Jordan on the line.

“Lucy’s gone. There’s no sign of her or Lotner. No note, no indication of where they might be. I think Brodsky knew.”

“Do you have another phone?” Jordan asked.

“Yes.”

“Give me the number,” said Jordan.

Ganani rattled off the digits. “What now?”

“Ditch the phone,” said Jordan, “And meet us in Caesarea at two o’clock.”

T
aylor’s fingers dug into Jordan’s shoulder. “What’s going on? Where is Lucy?”

Jordan turned to face him, trying to stay positive. “She’s not at the apartment, but according to Ganani, nothing’s been disturbed. There’s no reason to believe that she and Lotner didn’t just go out for a bit. Maybe they went to a movie. Or maybe he had to go into his office and he took her with him.”

She watched as he struggled to keep his emotions in check, and then she told Walker to head north.

They stopped to get gas on the outskirts of Tel Aviv. She and Taylor stayed in the car while Walker disconnected the DSS radio. He disposed of it in the store dumpster and then went inside, coming back with five burner phones, three bottles of water, and three granola bars. Within the hour, they were pulling into the parking lot near the Roman ruins, the same ruins that had prompted her discussion with Weizman about Eretz Yisrael, the biblical land of Israel. Jordan was convinced it was this idea that drove Brodsky. The question was whether Lotner believed in it strongly enough to be acting as Brodsky’s mole.

Ganani was leaning against the fender of a beat-up sedan when they pulled up. Haddid sat captive in the backseat.

Ganani pointed to the blood on Jordan’s hands. “What happened?”

While Taylor and Walker gave her the lowdown, Jordan walked down to the Mediterranean and rinsed her hands. Posner’s blood liquefied, swirling in the tide, making purple ripples in the blue water. When the last remnants ebbed away, she stood and wiped her hands dry on her pant legs.

The ruins stretched in front of her, a reminder of all the battles fought for this land, of all the blood spilled. To what end? This country had never known peace. She doubted it ever would. The differences and resentments among its people ran deep. Their lives became a commodity of war. Today, one agent had paid the ultimate price, while Posner hovered on the brink.

She had shot the perpetrator, a man manipulated into seeking revenge for the death of someone he didn’t know in order to stand for a cause. She thought of her father and wondered how she was any different. She had made this about Brodsky—about her questions about her father and his killer and her desire to see the person she believed murdered him burn in hell. But this was about more than that. This was about stopping a power-hungry man from derailing a chance at peace. To do that, they needed to figure out exactly what he had planned.

Jordan turned away from the water. When she reached the cars, Ganani pushed to her feet.

“We move to plan B,” Jordan said. “But first, what the hell happened back there? Why didn’t Haddid raise the alarm when the Palestinian came through the gate?”

Ganani looked away. “He didn’t see the man drive up.”

“Why not? He was watching the guard shack, wasn’t he?”

“He was watching.”

From the expression on Ganani’s face, Jordan knew something had gone wrong. “Tell us what happened.”

“The colonel kept calling, and I had to answer.” Ganani’s tone was defensive. “I told Haddid to be silent when I picked up. He was distracted for a moment.”

“Distracted?” Walker stepped forward. “Your moment cost one agent his life and may have cost Posner’s his.”

Jordan had heard enough. Stepping forward, she opened the back door of the sedan and motioned for Haddid to get out.

Ganani moved to block her. “That man is a prisoner.”

Jordan waved her off. “He saved our lives in Jabel Mukaber. We need him as part of this team.”

Everyone looked skeptical, even Haddid. He climbed out into the desert sun and eyed her warily.

“You told me that Najm Tibi was to supply information for a major terrorist attack,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“What else do you know?”

“I have told you everything I know. I have no knowledge of who is planning the attack. I don’t know where it will happen or how. I only know that it will set Israel and Palestine back for many years in the future.” He kept his eyes on the ground, his hands jammed into his pockets.

Jordan gestured at his body. “Your posture says you’re lying. What aren’t you telling us? Now is not the time to be stupid.”

He shifted and looked away, as though weighing his options. When he looked back, his eyes held a conviction she hadn’t seen there before. “In my things, the ones you took at the police station, there is an ID.”

The police guards had searched him and bagged his possessions. Jordan turned to Ganani. “Do you have the envelope with his effects in the car?”

The Shin Bet agent leaned inside the front seat and produced a manila envelope from the glove box. Jordan rummaged through the contents and pulled out a white plastic card.

“That belonged to Najm,” Haddid said. “I grabbed it when I left the apartment, along with a USB drive with the information he had to trade.”

Ganani stepped toward him. “What happened to the USB drive?”

Haddid stepped back until he bumped up against the fender. “I gave it to Zuabi in order to save myself and my family. I could do nothing else.”

Jordan figured they had all been in his situation sometime in the past.

“We all have to answer to someone,” she said, studying the card. Tibi’s picture adorned a corner on one side. The other side had “GG&B” inscribed in raised letters in the same color as the plastic. A thrill of excitement coursed through her. It was a key card, like the one Ester Cohen had used for access at GG&B. It was their ticket into the building.