JET V - Legacy (31 page)

Maybe he had another operative who was going to smuggle it offshore from there? Bahrain was just across the Gulf, twenty-five miles away. Perhaps the Mossad had more assets on that small island, or it would be easier to put it on a jet from there than Qatar?

Her back spasmed and she briefly stopped to rest, thinking through the logistics of her odd instructions.

The director wanted the bomb transported to Al Zubara. He’d seemed adamant, so that was where she would go. She knew from the map she’d studied during her briefing that there was a major highway that ran north – Highway One. From there she was sure she could find it.

Jet shifted the strap, trying to ease the pressure on her lower spine, and then, her face intent on her task, continued her descent, the stairwell silent except for the soft impact of her boots on the concrete steps.

Chapter 39

When Jet arrived at the lobby it was empty, Aaron nowhere to be seen. She inched to the reception desk and her worst fears were confirmed – Aaron had been shot in the head with a small caliber pistol and was lying on the floor behind the counter in a pool of coagulating blood.

A noise sounded from the stairwell doors at the far end of the lobby, and Jet took that as her cue to get out of there. She sped to the front entrance, then pushed through the doors and took measured steps to where Isaac was waiting with the van.

She scowled at him through the window. “Take me to my car. Come on, let’s get out of here. Now.”

Jet swung into the passenger seat and hauled the case onto her lap, and Isaac jammed the transmission into gear and lead-footed the gas, spinning the wheels as he made a long U-turn before speeding toward the main artery.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Aaron and Eric are dead. Just drive,” she said, ignoring his request. Isaac had been kept out of the loop by the director – he wasn’t at a high enough level to know much more than he already did, and there was probably a good reason for that.

The van pulled alongside her car and stopped. Jet opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, and after scanning the street for threats, turned to face him.

“Your part in this is over. You don’t want to know anything more, believe me. I’ll swing by the safe house later today to get my things. Wait for me there.” She moved several feet away, then stopped. “Thank you, Isaac. You did well.”

“I wish I knew what it was I did well
at
, but never mind. Mine is not to reason why. I’ll see you when I see you. You need anything?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m good. Just keep your head down.”

His eyes drifted to the drying blood on the front of her abaya – traces of Eric’s last stand. “You don’t need to tell me twice,” he said with a grim half smile.

She watched as he disappeared around the corner at the end of the block, then opened the doors and placed the case on the back seat, securing it in place with the safety belt.

Jet withdrew the headdress from her pocket and donned it again, then inched the little car onto the quiet street, keeping her speed down so as not to attract any undue attention, an anonymous woman who wouldn’t warrant a second glance.

She made good time on the eight-lane highway, the traffic sparse, with only a few large ore trucks and tankers heading north, and then found herself the only car on the road when she pulled onto the smaller thoroughfare headed towards the coast, a blue sign announcing Al Zubara pointing the way.

As she drew nearer she saw a lone vulture, looking forlorn and miserable, perched alongside a road hazard sign featuring a black outline of a camel against a white reflective backdrop. The sight gave her pause and she nearly burst out into giddy laughter, the natural delayed response to the stress in the elevator hitting her like a summer storm.

The fort was plainly marked, a sign in English and Arabic announcing it as closed propped against the empty parking lot gate, the two temporary offices next to it unoccupied. Jet eased the car behind the buildings so it would be shielded from the road and took stock of her surroundings – empty, no other humans in sight. She stepped from the air-conditioned vehicle interior and was immediately assaulted by a harsh, dry wind blowing from the south, carrying with it dust and not much more, the low moan as it passed through the structure’s four turrets a mournful lament. The sun blazed down on her as she strode past a ceremonial cannon to the building’s sole entrance and pushed against the ornate wooden doors, verifying they were locked before trying the smaller portal cut into the one on her right. To her surprise it opened easily, and she drew her weapon before swinging it wide, cautiously eyeing the interior courtyard before returning to the car.

Jet lugged the bomb to the entry and pushed her way into the fort, then closed the door behind her and bolted it shut. A small dust devil spiraled into the air in the center of the hard-packed dirt yard, and she watched it absently before carrying the case to the nearest doorway and setting it inside the barren room. Shaking off the vague sense of unease that she’d been struggling with since she’d pulled off the road, she took a fast tour of the lower level barracks, confirming that they were empty, and then climbed the stairs to the second level, which was also deserted. She was preparing to enter the nearest turret when she heard the rumble of heavy vehicles in the distance, and then four military Humvees with .50 caliber machine guns mounted behind the cabs came trundling down the road, headed straight for the parking lot and her lone car.

Jet pressed herself against the rampart and watched through one of the gun slits as the vehicles pulled onto the barren track leading to the parking lot before taking up position at the four corners of the fort grounds. Camouflage-clad soldiers dropped from the beds brandishing assault rifles, their bronzed faces somber even from a distance. She felt beneath her robes and withdrew her 9mm pistol and eyed it with grim pessimism. Even in her skilled hands the weapon was no match for a squad of trained soldiers with enough firepower to wage a war.

The diesel engines idled noisily as the gunmen established a perimeter, and then another sound intruded – the thumping of large rotor blades overhead. Jet raced down the stairs and took cover under a heavy stone overhang, wary of an assault from above, and then crept to the fort’s wooden gateway and peered through a narrow gap. A Sikorsky Black Hawk helicopter sporting Qatar army markings dropped from the sky and hovered over the parking lot before settling down in the center of the baking asphalt.

The powerful turbine slowed as the side door opened and a figure stepped out, wearing khaki civilian trousers and shirt, a tribal headdress shielding his face from the sand and dust being thrown up by the downdraft. He moved away from the aircraft and marched to the fort entry, then tried the doors, as she had.

Jet heard the rattle of the bolt fighting to hold, and she called out in Arabic, “I have a gun and a bomb. I’ll detonate it rather than be taken alive. I don’t know what this is, but leave now, or I’ll take you all with me.”

The figure backed away from the door and responded in Arabic. “Sounds serious. But before you blow us all to kingdom come, perhaps you could take the time to field a call?”

Her brow creased as she moved closer to the gap in entryway and squinted at the figure standing outside, a satellite phone in one hand, his posture relaxed, apparently unarmed. No obvious threat in evidence, she slipped the bolt open and stepped away, her pistol aimed at the doorway.

“It’s open. Just you, come in. Nobody else,” she instructed.

The wooden slab swung slowly inward and the man stepped through the door.

“Close it behind you and bolt it,” she ordered, the gun unwavering in her steady hand.

He turned, slowly, and locked the door, then faced her, holding the phone out. “It’s for you.”

“Set it down and back away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and placed the phone on the dirt between them. “How far?” he asked, edging backwards.

“That’s good,” she replied, kneeling, the Beretta trained on his head, eyes never leaving his face. Her fingers groped in the hot dirt until they found the handset. She lifted the unwieldy phone to her ear.

The director’s voice boomed from the speaker. “I trust you met our associate, Tom,” he said, more statement than question.

“Tom?”

“An American. I think your phone died before you heard my entire message.”

“Which was?”

“To go to the fort, wait for the military to show up, and surrender the case to them.”

“Hand the device to an American working with an Arab country’s military…,” she said unbelievingly.

“Correct.”

Tom unwrapped his headdress, revealing piercing blue eyes set in a tanned, forty-something face.

“I should give him the bomb.”

“Yes. There’s more to the story, but I don’t have time to explain it all now. Suffice to say it will be well taken care of. Give it to him and get back to Doha. I’ll have a jet waiting to pick you up. It’s over.”

“Fine,” she said softly, then stepped toward Tom and offered the phone.

“Where is it?” Tom asked, clear eyes scouting the interior of the fort.

“Behind you. First room.”

“You can lower your weapon now,” he said with a trace of a smile, and then turned and ducked into the darkened barracks. A few moments later he emerged with the case, the strap over his shoulder, the handle gripped tightly in his hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, his Arabic flawless.

“Likewise,” she replied as she slipped the pistol back into her robes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. I leave in the big bird, the bully boys get back into their trucks and take off, and you’re free to do whatever you like. Although my advice would be to avoid staying in Qatar for any extended vacations.”

“Put like that, how can I resist?”

Tom gave her a two fingered salute, slid the bolt to the side, and opened the door.

“Nice outfit, by the way,” he said in Hebrew.

And then he was gone.

The Humvees rolled out of the parking lot and onto the road once the helicopter was out of sight, and Jet watched from the fort as they disappeared into the horizon’s distorted heat. Several minutes later she returned to the car, and after thoroughly checking it to ensure that no bomb had been planted to end her part in the mission while she’d been occupied with the American, she cranked the air conditioner, relieved that the ordeal was finally over, but also feeling somehow incomplete. It was surreal – all that, the world on the brink of chaos, only to hand over the nuke to an unknown foreigner.

Eyeing herself in the rearview mirror, she removed the bourga and allowed the cold air to blow on her face, taking a moment to savor the icy draft before putting the vehicle into gear and coaxing it onto the lonely strip of asphalt. The tires murmured to her as she passed the vulture again on her way back to civilization, leaving it to its solitary duty in the uninhabited wasteland.

Chapter 40

Jet rolled to a stop on a dusty street on the outskirts of town, a few miles from the safe house, where a weathered sign proclaimed internet access and air conditioning. She stepped out of the car and took care to lock it, and then strolled into the café. After a brief discussion, the proprietor pointed to a phone in a corner of the main room, and she took a seat. A few moments went by and then the man gave her a thumbs-up sign. She closed her eyes, thinking, then dialed the director’s number from memory.

“I’m back in town, on the way to the safe house to get my gear. I’m starving, so I’m going to stop for lunch. I presume I’ll be safe for that long?”

“The danger’s past. Take your time.” The director chuckled. “I heard that you made quite an impression on our friend.”

“He must not get out much.”

“Perhaps. Anyway, it was a job well done.”

“Not that well done. Two men dead, and the bombers – one of them escaped.”

The director hesitated. “The danger was neutralized. I’m not worried about the last of the traitorous scum – we’ll catch up to him eventually.” The director cleared his throat. “The jet should be in Qatar in two hours. I’ll alert the crew to be ready for takeoff in…how long?”

“I’ve got to go retrieve my papers and eat, so figure around three to four hours, depending on traffic – it’s snarled all over town because of the meeting. I could probably walk across car roofs faster than I’m going to be able to drive there.”

“I’ll let them know. Safe travels, and again, congratulations,” the director said, then hung up. She hadn’t expected anything more, and wasn’t disappointed. At least he was consistent – she’d saved the world, and all she’d gotten in return were a few grudging words of praise. But now her obligation was fulfilled and she could be rid of his meddling in her life once and for all. The only remaining item was her debriefing, and she was finally free.

The thought cheered her, but then a tickle of anxiety roiled in her stomach. The decisions that had been made had put everyone in the region in jeopardy, and it was only because of a last minute bit of luck that Doha wasn’t a smoking crater. As much as she wanted to trust that the same men who had weighed those odds and decided to favor their own interests would honor their commitment to leave her in peace, Jet didn’t really believe it.

She knew too much, and there would always be another emergency that they absolutely needed someone to help them with.

Only one solution would be foolproof. She would need to disappear. This time for good, leaving no trace. She knew that it wouldn’t be that simple once she was in Israel, so she moved to one of the computers and checked on flights from Doha. She had another ID with her, and once she was on the ground in another country she could become someone else and find her own way home, leaving the whole ugly mess behind her.

A flight bound for New Delhi departed in two hours. She would call right before takeoff and warn the director that she was running late, buying herself another couple of hours, and by the time anyone realized that she wasn’t going to show up, she’d be gone, permanently off the radar. The director wouldn’t be happy, but he would understand – he’d practically invented the game, and she was just following her operational instincts, trusting no one.