Betrayal, p.12
Betrayal, page 12
He dragged the man toward the dump truck, ignoring the crowd’s shouts and curses. As Javin drew near the truck, a sharp siren echoed in the distance. “Police,” he said to Claudia in English. “Let’s get out of here.”
The man gave Javin a puzzled glance, then looked at Claudia as if he had seen a ghost. “You’re not Saudi intelligence. You’re CIA, Americans.”
Javin nodded. “If you don’t tell us what you know, you’ll end up in Jordan.”
The man’s face froze in a frown. “Jordan? Why?”
“You’re familiar with the ‘snakepit,’ right?” Javin said, referring to one of the worst prisons ran by Jordan’s General Intelligence Department or GID, better known as the mukhabarat, secret police, just outside Amman, Jordan’s capital. The CIA had a long history of transferring terrorist suspects for “enhanced interrogations,” or torture, to the Jordanian mukhabarat. None of these suspects were ever seen or heard from again. “And you know what ‘shabeh’ is, right?”
A shiver ran through the man’s frail body. He seemed to be familiar with the Jordanian prison guards’ torture tactic, consisting of suspending the suspect from the cell’s ceiling for several hours by his handcuffed wrists and then beating him until he lost consciousness. The man shook his head. “No, no Jordan, no shabeh. Don’t—”
“Then tell us who you are and what you know,” Javin shoved the man toward the dump truck’s cab.
“Everything you know,” Claudia said.
The man nodded as Javin helped him up into the truck. “I will, I will. My name is Mehrab Kabiri.”
“You’re Iranian?” Javin asked.
“Yes, yes. I am—well, was working with Mojtaba Shirazi.”
Javin frowned. “You’re the asset, Shirazi’s asset.”
“The one who disappeared?” Claudia said.
Kabiri nodded slowly.
Javin shook his head. “And now you’re working with Al-Qaeda.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Thirteen miles south of King Khalid International Airport
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
As Javin drove around the wreckage, he cast a glance at the angry, shouting crowds. A few of the men shook their fists and made hand gestures, but Javin did not stop. A couple of men ran for a few yards behind the dump truck, then gave up when Javin left them in the dust.
As he returned to the road and headed toward Riyadh, Claudia asked, “Now what?”
Javin glanced at Kabiri sitting in between them. “He understands English.”
Kabiri shook his head. “I will tell no one, I swear.”
“Yes, like you swore allegiance to Shirazi and the Quds Force,” Javin said.
“What happened that you betrayed them?” Claudia asked.
Kabiri shrugged. “I had to do that, in order to save my life. Al-Qaeda associates, they caught me. So it was either die or give up Shirazi.”
“Easy choice,” Javin said. “And I’m sure you’d do it again, given the option.”
“No, no, I won’t betray you.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“We’ll need a new car,” Claudia said.
Javin glanced through the gap left by the missing windshield. The first northern neighborhoods of Riyadh were coming up to their left. “Yes, that shouldn’t take long,” he said to Claudia, then glanced at Kabiri. “Don’t do anything stupid if you want to live.”
“Yes, yes, I want to live.”
“Good, and start thinking about why we should keep you alive.”
“Because I know about Al-Qaeda and their plans.”
Javin nodded. “And you’ll tell us everything.”
Kabiri hesitated for just a split second.
“If you hide something, you’ll get to see what Jordan’s prisons are like.”
“No, no, I’ll tell you all I know, all I know.”
“Take this,” Claudia handed Javin her pistol. “I’ll wait for you behind that mosque.” She began to fasten her black headdress around her head.
Javin looked at Kabiri. His clothes were torn, and blood was still trickling from his shoulder wound and the scrapes on his right arm. “Clean yourself and keep a low profile.”
“Yes, yes, I will do that.”
Javin stopped the dump truck on the side of Airport Road, then put the pistol in his waistband. He glanced at Claudia, then said, “Be safe, okay?”
“Yeah, you too. See you in a bit.”
“Fifteen at the most.”
He darted toward the left, heading in the direction of Ath Humamath Road. He tried to scrub away as much sand and dirt as possible from his black suit and wiped his face and beard. His hair was slightly disheveled, but it would do.
When he drew near to a gas station, he slowed down and began to study the vehicles lined up along the pumps. The last one was a red Toyota Camry sedan. The driver—a young man perhaps in his twenties—was the only one in the car, which seemed to be positioned quite far away from the nearest security cameras mounted on one of the street lights.
Javin walked along the road, keeping his face away from the camera and avoiding a couple of men who were smoking a few feet away from the fuel pumps. When he came to the rear of the Toyota, he quickened his pace and knocked on the driver’s door.
The young man rolled down the glass, gave Javin a look of contempt, then said, “I’ve got nothing; go find a job.”
Javin returned a sideways glance. Do I really look like a beggar? “I like your car.”
“Get out of my sight or—”
Javin reached inside the car and struck the young man on the side of his neck, a swift blow to the exposed vagus nerve that carried much of the information from the body to the brain. The light blow was sufficient to disorient the young man, and he dropped to the side, over the front passenger seat.
Javin glanced around. The smokers had missed the exchange, and he hoped none of the security cameras had recorded it either. He had a few seconds before the young man would regain consciousness.
Javin slipped into the Toyota and pushed the young man’s limp body to the next seat. Once behind the steering wheel, Javin put the car in reverse and drove out of the gas station’s parking lot.
He was back on Ath Humamath Road before the young man started to mumble indistinct words, then opened his eyes. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just need your car. Go back to sleep.”
The young man sat up. “What are you—”
Javin struck him again. This time the young man collapsed against the door. I should stop doing that, or he won’t wake up again.
He drove another block, then turned into the nearest back alley. Javin found a secluded spot and stopped the car. He dragged the young man’s still unconscious body and laid him against one of the house’s walls. When he woke up in a matter of seconds, Javin would be gone.
He steered toward the mosque, the rendezvous point with Claudia and Kabiri, and found them the second time he drove through one of the back alleys. Kabiri was bleeding from a fresh wound on the left side of his face. “What happened?” Javin asked as Claudia shoved Kabiri in the front seat of the Toyota.
“He tried to escape.” Claudia slipped into the backseat, then pulled the rifle from underneath her robe.
Javin shook his head. “Can’t leave you two alone for a moment.” He turned to Kabiri, “What did I say about doing something stupid?”
Kabiri looked away.
Javin put the car in gear and drove out of the back alley. “You won’t last long if you don’t cooperate,” he said to Kabiri in a firm voice.
“I . . . I wasn’t trying to—”
“Yes, you were,” Javin cut him off. “If Claudia said that’s what happened, then that’s what happened.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear any more about that. But I’m all ears about the Al-Qaeda operative. Where is he?”
Kabiri did not reply right away.
Javin turned toward the right, heading again onto Ath Humamath Road. He had seen a couple of hotels beyond the gas station, Riyadh Chalet being one of them. They were going to find a room in a hotel where the staff would not ask too many questions. For the right price, everyone was ready to bend the rules, even in Riyadh. And Javin still had his wallet, along with his Iranian passports, in one of his jacket pockets.
Kabiri still had not said a word, so Javin said, “I hate to repeat myself.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“You’re sure about that?” Claudia said.
“Yes, I’m not lying to you. I’m not.”
Javin nodded. “Okay, say we believe you don’t know. But you can find out, right?”
“I . . . I’m not sure.”
“If you’re not useful, well, we won’t need you. But other people may think you’re lying. And they’ll torture you to see if you’re telling the truth.”
Kabiri shrugged. “I truly don’t know. I mean, I’m captured, and a lot of our friends, brothers are dead.”
“Some are still alive. Call them,” Claudia said.
“I . . . I’ll try to do that.”
“No, no trying. You’ll do that as soon as we get a phone.”
Javin glanced up ahead, then to his right. A McDonald’s came into view. “Burgers and fries, anyone?”
Claudia gave him a frown. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m kidding, but we do need to find a cellphone store for Kabiri and a couple for us.”
Claudia nodded.
Javin said, “You don’t know where the other operative is, but you should know what Al-Qaeda came to do in Riyadh. What is their task?”
“Eh, I . . . if I tell you, then you’ll spare my life?”
“Yes, you have my word, but you’ll still have to find the second operative.”
A look of uncertainty lingered on Kabiri’s face
Javin could see the asset’s mind gears spinning.
“All right, all right, since I have your word. The Al-Qaeda team was dispatched to Riyadh to assassinate one of the Saudi princes.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Al Remal Palace Inn
Three blocks away from Al Jenadriyah Road
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Javin quickly turned the key, and the apartment door opened with a creak. He waited until Claudia and Kabiri made their way inside, then he glanced along the small hall and down the stairs. The front desk clerk was paying no attention to them and had returned to the newspaper on the counter. Javin had been able to convince the clerk to skip checking their identities and registration, which would end up in the hands of the local police. In exchange for a couple of hundred dollars, the clerk had decided to turn a blind eye.
Al Remal Palace Inn was a small establishment with clean apartments. Javin followed Claudia and Kabiri into the living room. He walked to the window and closed the heavy beige curtains, then sat on one of the couches, next to Claudia.
Kabiri took the next seat to his left, then said, “Are we safe here?”
Javin shrugged. “For now, but we’ll keep our eyes open. The clerk pocketed the money, but that doesn’t mean much. So let’s not waste time. Tell me about the Saudi prince assassination plan. Who is he?”
“I don’t know that.”
Javin frowned. “You don’t?”
“No. No one ever mentioned the name. They always referred to him as ‘the prince.’”
“No nickname? Special references? Anything to help us identify him?”
Kabiri shook his head. “No, nothing.”
“Well, that narrows it down to a few thousand,” Claudia said with a sigh.
The Saudi royal family founded by King Abdulaziz Ibn Saud had increased to hundreds of sons, brothers, uncles, and cousins, and thousands of Ibn Saud’s grandsons and great grandsons. Any one of them could be a target for Al-Qaeda, considering the continuous Saudi fight against Al-Qaeda members inside and outside the Kingdom.
Javin said, “It will have to be one of the most prominent royals, close to the King and the Crown Prince. Al-Qaeda wouldn’t go after a low-level prince no one has ever heard of, and who has no authority.”
“That’s true,” Claudia said.
Kabiri shrugged. “I don’t know much more, but I’ll tell you what I know. The plan of the Al-Qaeda leaders, ever since they were released, was to assassinate the prince.”
Javin leaned forward. “Really?”
“Yes, from what I know, they were making plans in Yemen, trying to determine if it was possible and what was needed to carry it out.”
“A large team and trusted contacts, especially among the prince’s security detail.”
“Do they have those contacts?” Claudia asked.
Kabiri nodded. “They do. I heard them talk, being very confident that the prince’s security wasn’t going to be a problem.”
“This is a good start, but we need specifics, names of these contacts. Locations, and above all, the name of the prince.”
“That would be close to impossible,” Kabiri said.
“Try it and tell me what you find.” Javin showed him one of the three pre-paid cellphones they had bought before arriving at the hotel. “I just need to activate and load this up.” He opened the package from Zain, one of the largest cellphone service providers in Saudi Arabia, and began to look at the manual in both English and Arabic. “Yes, pretty easy, but I’ve got to charge it first.”
He found a plug next to the large-screen television mounted on the wall and did the same with the other two cellphones. Those were from Mobility and Saudi Telecom Company, two other major mobile companies in the kingdom. Javin skimmed through their manuals, then found other plugs in the living room to charge them.
When he returned to his seat, he asked Kabiri, “What else can you tell us about the Al-Qaeda team?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Start telling me who they worked with, who are their local assets. The people you’ve met, the ones who were involved in the ambush on Airport Road.”
Kabiri nodded and began to talk.
* * *
An hour later, Javin had a clearer picture of the plot targeting one of the Saudi princes. Kabiri had given up the names of at least half a dozen Al-Qaeda associates or supporters, along with the location of two safehouses. One of them was in southern Riyadh, but because of the turn of events, everyone was probably long gone.
It was evident, though, that the plan was to attack the prince during a public appearance somewhere in Riyadh. While Javin had not established the location, the time, and the day of the assassination attempt, it had to be in a matter of days, considering the Al-Qaeda team had been gathering in Riyadh over the last three days, with the remaining members expected to arrive in the same amount of time. At this point, Javin felt he had enough to place a call to his chief and to report on the evolving situation.
He picked up one of the phones and walked to the kitchen. It was fully furnished, like the rest of the apartment. Javin began to prepare a pot of coffee, then decided to log onto the Internet. He used the inn’s free, unsecured Wi-Fi connection to link to the agency’s server. Once he typed his password, the server would validate, then double encrypt the connection, so Javin could log on securely.
It took a couple of tries and over a minute, but he was able to establish a secure connection. He wondered if the location presented a problem, or at least a suspicion. Not many CIS operatives would try to log onto the agency’s server from the kingdom.
Javin checked his work email account. No new emails from their chief. Javin was not expecting any, since neither he nor Claudia had contacted Martin to update him on their operation’s progress.
There were no briefings on the events that had taken place in Yemen or the UAE. Their absence did not relax Javin. While no news generally meant good news, once in a while silence meant something sinister was taking place in the background, under the radar. It could happen that when he and Claudia learned about it, it would be too late.
He shrugged and tried to shake away the troubling thoughts. Then he switched to his personal account. Maybe my buddy has come through with an update.
Javin drummed his fingers on the back of the Samsung S7 phone while waiting for the Gmail account to load. He logged in and glanced at the inbox. One new email from his friend in the CIS cyber security team.
Javin clicked on the email and did a double take. The short one-line email said: Explosive. Call me.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Al Remal Palace Inn
Three blocks away from Al Jenadriyah Road
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Javin did not know what to make of the email. He glanced at the time stamp. It was sent two hours ago. What does he mean “explosive”? Javin shrugged and dialed Paul, the cyber analyst, or “Wiz” as everyone called him.
Wiz replied after the fourth ring. “Yo, who’s this?”
“This is Javin. Got your note.”
“Yeah, well, about that. Just give me a moment . . . No, can I call you back?”
Javin heard hushed voices and muted background noises of people tapping on keyboards. Is Wiz still in the office? He thought of the cubicle farm in one of the basement floors of the CIS headquarters. “When?”
“In ten or so.”
“In ten.”
“Okay. I’ve got to . . .” Wiz’s voice trailed off for a moment, then he whispered, “I’ve got to step off campus.”
So he is at work. “All right. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t.”
Javin ended his call and glanced at the email. He had asked Wiz to look at both matters troubling his mind: the ghost-like figure, MiC, who had appeared after Javin’s wife’s accidental death, and Bakhtiar, the Quds Force commander, and his relationship to Martin, Javin’s boss. It has to be the latter. Javin nodded to himself. Yeah, I think so.
He poured coffee into a mug and took a sip. He pondered whether he should call Martin for a briefing. Then he shook his head. I’ve got to talk to Wiz first. See what is so “explosive.”
