JET - Ops Files (17 page)

“How long have you been here?” she murmured.

“Too long,” he said, his voice tense.

They waited wordlessly from that point. Maya had gotten the message that she was viewed as a nuisance loud and clear, and was about to say something when gunfire erupted from the house, the boom of a shotgun followed by the popping of a pistol, and then the rapid-fire bark of a machine gun. Another shotgun blast exploded from the building, and then silence settled again.

Peter’s eyes were wide, his sneer replaced by an alarmed expression. Maya leapt to her feet. “Whatever just happened wasn’t part of the program. What do you want to do? Leave or go in?”

“Rudi told us to stay here,” Peter stammered.

“That was before World War Three started in there. I’m going in. Watch the road.”

“No. He said–”

Maya cut him off. “Keep an eye out. I’ll be back,” she said and vanished down the drive.

Her breathing sounded like a bellows to her as she moved in a crouch, Beretta gripped two-handed as she approached the house. She heard a noise from the rear and was taking aim when she saw Rudi stagger out, the submachine gun in one hand, the other clutching his abdomen. She rushed to him and saw his shirt was soaked through with blood.

“Anyone else alive?” she whispered.

“Saul’s dead. Let’s get out of here,” Rudi hissed, and coughed – an ugly wet sound.

“What happened?”

“They must have…some kind of motion detector outside. They were…ready for us when we…came through the door.”

“Did you finish everyone?”

He nodded.

“Can you make it to the truck?”

“I…don’t…know.” Rudi took three steps, and his knees buckled. She tried to break his fall, but he crumpled to the ground. “Get…out…” he ordered.

“I’ll be right back.”

She took off at a flat-out run and, when she reached Peter, told him what she was going to do.

He shook his head. “No. We have to leave.”

“Fine. Go. I’m not leaving a wounded man to get picked up by the Jordanian secret police.”

Maya bolted for the Yukon, leaving Peter to battle his demons alone. She slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine and then pointed the big vehicle toward the drive, not caring about stealth any longer. She roared down the gravel and was almost to the house when she saw a man with a rifle move from the rear and crouch down, drawing a bead on her. She slammed on the brakes and twisted the wheel, sending the SUV into a sideways drift before it lurched to a stop.

The first rifle shot punched a hole through the passenger side window with a spray of glass, and she ducked as she reached for her door handle. It swung open, and she threw herself onto the ground as another shot pounded through the passenger door and thumped into the seat. Rudi’s MP5 rattled as he fired and then stopped, presumably empty. She ducked around the hood, using the bulk of the motor as effective cover, and tried to make out the shooter in the darkness.

There. She could just see the glint of gunmetal in the moonlight. At sixty meters it was pushing the effective accuracy range for the pistol, but she emptied the magazine’s fifteen rounds at the shooter, running to Rudi after the first nine shots and continuing to fire as she neared. The rifle blasted but missed her, and she tucked and rolled as she ejected the spent magazine before driving the new one home.

She saw movement by a stack of wood. A man’s head.

Now she was only forty meters from him, and she’d practiced enough on the range to be confident in her abilities. Six flashes from her gun in quick succession lit the night, and she was rewarded by the shooter falling backward, his rifle firing harmlessly into the air as his finger spasmed on the trigger. She didn’t wait but ran directly at him, the Beretta steady in her grip. When she reached his position, the man sprawled amidst chunks of shattered ceramic, obviously dead, his brains leaking out in a pool of black blood. Hearing nothing more from the house, she returned to where Rudi was struggling to sit up.

Maya got her arm around him and heaved him to his feet. She struggled to support him as she led him to the GMC, his feet shuffling like a geriatric. Maya groped for the handle and swung the passenger door open, and he collapsed onto the seat, his hand leaving a red smear on the door. She slammed it closed and rushed to slip behind the wheel, her heart hammering in her chest as she put the vehicle in gear and tromped on the gas.

Lights were switching on in the surrounding farms, and she could see headlights bouncing down the road from town. She swung hard left and juiced the accelerator, leaving any pursuers behind her, knowing she was only minutes from being fully exposed to the inevitable roadblocks the authorities would put into place. The Suzuki was gone, so at least Peter had gotten clear, she thought, risking a glance at Rudi. The blood was everywhere, but he was still breathing, and if she could get him to the safe house alive, she would get a chance to put the battlefield triage techniques she’d learned to use and try her damnedest to save him, orders or no orders.

Chapter 25

Pulau Numbing, Indonesia

Nahir sat by the pool in the shade of an oversized umbrella, speaking into his satellite phone. His gaze absently traced the glistening bronze curves of a young Thai woman lounging nearby, the elaborate snake tattoo on her upper back coming to life when she shifted and her shoulder muscles rippled.

“No, I don’t want a bunch of end-of-life RPGs and some tired assault rifles that the Russians couldn’t give away through their ordinary channels. I appreciate you thinking of me, but my clientele is more discerning,” he said and then listened for a long time, blinking rapidly and holding the handset away from his ear. “Yes, I completely understand what a special price this is. Tell you what. I’ll make a couple of calls and see if there’s anyone in Africa looking for a bargain. No promises, but it sounds like you’re in a bind, and anything to help a friend…”

The discussion went on for another few minutes, and then Nahir stabbed the end call button and sighed as he placed the phone on the table next to him. A frost-covered champagne bucket sat beside it, for which one of the stewards attentively replenished the ice every half hour, and he took another sip of the Perrier Jouët he had flown in by the container load.

His manservant, Utari, padded across the deck, accompanied by a handsome woman in an expensive safari-themed outfit, the reflection of the sun off the diamond rings that studded her fingers nearly blinding. Nahir smiled and rose, extending his arms in welcome.

“Carla, lovely to see you again. Is it already that time?”

“Every year, same day. But it’s not every day that it’s your fiftieth birthday, is it? This one must be special, my dear. And I will do whatever it takes to make it so.”

“You tease me with your promises. Please, have a seat. Champagne?”

“I suppose a little won’t hurt.”

Nahir snapped his fingers and pointed to his crystal flute, and a white-clad servant arrived a few moments later with another, carefully pouring it three-quarters full before disappearing behind the small building that housed the outdoor bar, from which the soft melody of Spanish guitar music drifted.

They toasted, and then Carla withdrew a file folder from her purse and handed it to Nahir.

“These are the very best currently on the international scene. As you requested. Each of them fitting your preference.”

Nahir opened it and studied the color headshot of a beautiful young woman before flipping it over and studying her swimsuit and formalwear photos. He considered her flawless face again with discriminating eyes and moved to the next.

“Ah. This looks interesting. She has an air about her, does she not?” Nahir asked, tapping the second photograph. He continued sorting through the photos and selected seven. “These will do. Make the arrangements.” He took another glance at the top photograph. “I like your taste. You know me well, don’t you? What’s her story?”

“Ah, yes. She’s new. From France. Very exotic, no?” Carla asked.

“Indeed. She has an intriguing aura. A certain fire that comes through the camera, no?”

“I thought the same thing when I saw her. Really remarkable. Especially the eyes.”

“You think those are lenses?”

Carla studied the photo. “No, I think that’s completely natural. Every bit of her, I’d be willing to bet,” she said, taking the photographs back and sliding them into the file. She took a last look at Maya’s headshot and nodded. “Now, dear, let’s discuss the rest of the arrangements. I have spared no expense. This will be the most lavish fête ever held here.”

“That’s quite a promise. Last year’s will be tough to top.”

“I have some surprises in store for you. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but I need approval for the budget.” She gave him a two-minute rundown on the high points of the planned spectacle, and then told him what it would cost.

Nahir’s eyebrows rose when he heard the number. He took another swallow of champagne and smiled. “Good lord. What do you think I have on this island, an oil well?”

“You’re richer than Croesus. And it
is
your birthday.”

“Are you sure you need that much? I don’t want to buy my own country.”

“It depends on whether you want something truly memorable or not. With over a hundred guests, chefs to fly in, delicacies to source, rare wines to acquire, entertainment, technicians…well, love, I won’t bore you with the minutiae. Just say yes, spend the money, and I’ll go away and make all your dreams come true.”

Nahir shrugged. “Put that way, how can I refuse?”

Carla patted his hand and grinned before finishing her champagne. “It’s too bad you’re such an inveterate playboy, because with that attitude you could be my fourth husband.”

“I’m not sure my heart could take it.”

“I don’t require them to be healthy. Just rich and accommodating.”

He closed his eyes as a mild sea breeze ruffled his hair.

“Don’t ever change, Carla.”

Chapter 26

Tel Aviv, Israel

Cars whizzed by the small café near the commercial port in Tel Aviv, where Maya sat at one of the wooden tables, sipping a cup of hot tea as she read the newspaper. She’d gotten back the day prior after forty-eight endless hours in Jordan, waiting for orders following her signal to Lev that they needed a skilled medical team; her primitive efforts had only been sufficient to stabilize Rudi.

Lev entered through the front door and made directly for Maya, a fatigued expression on his face. The barista took his order and returned with it in moments: coffee of the day, black. He took a long taste before addressing her, his voice low.

“Welcome back. You had an eventful trip.”

“It was certainly interesting.”

“Rudi’s in guarded condition, but it looks like he’ll pull through. The doctor said you did a good job.”

“He’s exaggerating. I just did what I could.”

Lev studied her. “Peter indicated that you disobeyed a direct order when you went after Rudi.”

Maya leveled a blank stare at him. “He must have misunderstood.”

“I’m sure Rudi will corroborate your take when he’s in any condition to talk.”

“I didn’t see the wisdom of allowing Rudi to die in the dirt in the middle of nowhere. I can’t understand where that would have been a good call. But all’s well that ends well, right?”

“Not exactly. The mission was a failure.”

Maya took a sip of her tea. “I know. Truthfully, I would have handled it differently. I’d have certainly been sensitive to the presence of motion detectors. These days, even in rural areas, they’re an issue if the target’s technically savvy. You can even buy them online.” She paused. “But nobody asked. I was just a lookout, and I figured the experienced operatives knew what they were doing.”

“From all accounts, you handled yourself well.”

“Thank you. I did what I was trained to do.”

Lev looked at her over the rim of his cup. “Hmm. Well, your training is about to get another test, if you’re up for it. Meet me in the back parking lot. We can talk in my car. I’ll fill you in. Have you paid?”

She shook her head. He rose and went to the counter and gave the barista money and, after getting his change, exited without looking back. After a reasonable delay, Maya finished her tea and followed him out. His black sedan was backed into a spot next to a rusting dumpster. When she slipped into the passenger seat, he wordlessly removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She opened it and gazed at the contents as Lev eyed the empty lot. It took five minutes to read the entire report.

“Indonesia?” she asked.

“Correct. You’ll be one of two female operatives going in.”

“Posing as prostitutes,” Maya said flatly.

“It’s the only way to get you onto the island. We’ve been trying to come up with a way for months, but the security is locked down tight. The de facto owner of the island has his own armed force, and he apparently values his privacy.”

She glanced at the name. “Nahir al Farooq.”

“Correct. He’s an arms dealer. He’ll sell to anyone. Terrorists, cartels, rogue states, it doesn’t matter. But he’s careful, so the evidence is always anecdotal. We’ve never been able to get the Indonesian military to move against him. As far as they’re concerned, he’s a wealthy recluse who prefers a secluded lifestyle and in their eyes has done nothing wrong.”

“Convenient for him.”

“Yes, but if we have anything to do with it, that’s all about to change. Word recently reached us that he’s marketing a chemical weapon – a nerve agent, which is a WMD, as the Americans are fond of saying. But we have no proof other than hearsay. Like I said, he’s smart, so he works through intermediaries.”

“How did you hear about the agent?”

“One of our operatives posed as a potential buyer. During the negotiations, we learned that it’s probably in his possession, which means on the island.”

“Then why don’t you have your operative buy it and hang Mr. al Farooq with the proof?”

Lev shifted uncomfortably. “That won’t be possible. Our operative suffered a hit-and-run accident last month. Killed instantly.”