Terms of extraction, p.8
Terms of Extraction, page 8
“Close to everything. Saudi Arabia, Russia. Close to you, wherever your mission to save Agnes is taking you.”
Jack nodded in understanding. Riley was trying to help. While Jack appreciated the offer, he wasn’t sure Riley had counted the full cost. “Riley, if the agency finds out—”
“How will they? And if they do, so what? What I do in my own time is none of their business.”
“Oh, really? If you’re caught in Saudi Arabia or Russia or wherever my mission takes me, your days with the agency will be over. Your entire career, not to mention your life.”
Riley heaved a deep sigh of exasperation. “Jack, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it: You need me.”
Jack blinked in surprise and glanced at the phone. “Riley, I don’t need—”
“That didn’t come out right. I’m sure you can do this without me, but I want to help. You’d do the same for me,” Riley said in a softer tone that still carried his earlier insistence. “That’s what we do for each other…”
Jack didn’t reply right away. He didn’t want his field partner and best friend to risk his life, but also didn’t want to kill his enthusiasm. Jack was working with Friedman, who was a Mossad operative, a very capable man, but whose allegiance was first and foremost with his agency. Even if Tornike could be fully trusted, he was still an SVR asset. Jack would do well to accept Riley’s offer.
So he nodded slowly to himself and said in a slow tone, “We just left Turkey.” He turned around and glanced at the Turkish flag, which was a red field with a white star and crescent. In contrast, the Georgian flag was a white field with a red cross that dividing the flag into quadrants. Each one of the quadrants, in turn, contained a cross.
“You don’t say,” Riley replied with a certain amount of sadness in his voice. “Did I miss the fun?”
“The fun is just getting started.” Jack turned around and looked at Friedman and Tornike. The Mossad operative was typing on his phone, while the Georgian was leaning against the side of the taxi and chatting with a bearded man Jack assumed was Tornike’s friend. “You didn’t miss anything.”
“Where are you now?”
“Just across the border with Georgia. We’ll be in the capital, Tbilisi, tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll see you there. Sooner than you think, my friend,” Riley said in a mischievous tone.
Jack’s face twisted in surprise. “Wait, you’re in Turkey already, aren’t you?”
Riley laughed. “If we’ve learned anything from our Mossad friends, it is that I can neither deny nor confirm such an allegation.”
It was Jack’s turn to laugh out loud. He looked at Friedman, who just happened to look up. Jack nodded at him and gestured that he needed just one more minute. Friedman shrugged and motioned with his hand that it was all right. “Yes, well, they might teach us another thing or two.”
“Are they part of this op?
Jack thought about repeating Riley’s non-committal reply but then thought again. “You’ll see, my friend. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment, but I’ll call you if I hear anything from anyone.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“See you soon.”
“Be careful, Jack.”
“Yeah, you too, Riley.”
He ended the call and wondered about Agnes. He was conflicted about the news he had heard from Riley. How did she escape? How was she involved in the shootout? Where is she now? And did she try to call anyone? I’ve got to find out.
He began to type on his phone a message to Agnes’s mother. After Jack, she’d be the first person that Agnes would call.
Chapter Fifteen
Al Izdihar Neighborhood
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Agnes chewed her lip and bit her fingertips while waiting for Jack to answer his phone. It kept ringing and ringing, and there was no voicemail. She kind of vaguely remembered Jack saying something about secrecy that disallowed the use of a voicemail or any other form of recording. Agnes heaved a deep sigh of frustration and tried again.
No answer, just the deceitful open signal that no one ever picked up.
Agnes shook her head and let out a cry of despair. She thought about calling her mother to let her know she had escaped and inquire about her daughter, whom she hadn’t seen in days. Tears at the thought of not being with her baby girl welled up her eyes. She hurried to dry them with the back of her hands and tried to refocus on the road. The traffic was busy since she was still in the city. How would calling my mom help me? She pondered it, then a terrifying thought crossed her mind and stopped her hand in mid-air, right above the phone. What if they’re monitoring my mom’s phone?
She wondered about the possibility. It wasn’t far-fetched. She remembered watching such scenarios in more than one movie. Family members were always the first to be wiretapped, then the wider circle of relatives, friends, and acquaintances. My husband is a spy, and I was taken by Saudi operatives. Sanctioned or acting on their own, it matters little. She nodded to herself as her eyes flashed with fear. Her brows snapped together, and she tightened her fingers around the steering wheel. No, I’ve got to do this on my own. I can’t get anyone involved and get them, or me, in trouble. More trouble.
She looked at the rearview mirror, then over her shoulder. No one was following her, at least as far as she could tell. She wondered why no one was passing her even though she wasn’t going that fast, cruising at about seventy miles an hour. Then she realized she was in a police sedan. Yes, I’ve got to ditch this car as soon as possible.
She looked through the windshield for the nearest exit. She found one farther up. The large blue sign over the highway said Exit 8GD, then a bright yellow sign with two black arrows indicated the destinations beyond that exit: Airport and Kharj. Agnes knew she couldn’t go to the airport, and she had no idea what the other place was. I’ve got to look it up.
She changed lanes so she wouldn’t miss the exit, then tapped the phone and began to look for a map. She couldn’t understand most of the small icons on the phone’s screen. When she looked up, she saw another sign indicating a couple of hotels were on that side. She looked in the distance and saw that one part of that area was under construction. It appeared that one of the hotels was being expanded. A bunch of heavy machinery, dump trucks, and other construction vehicles were parked to one side.
The dimly-lit area gave her an idea. She slowed down and observed the construction area. It wasn’t fenced, and she saw no guards. Agnes nodded to herself. Yes, that might actually work.
She took the exit and drove around the hotels. She passed a couple of schools and a mosque, then parked behind a couple of two-story houses. The hotels’ bright lights shone in the distance, rising up higher than the mosque’s minaret, perhaps seven or eight blocks away. Agnes searched the car’s glovebox compartment, but found nothing of use. She still had the money she had taken from the woman at the real estate office. Agnes gave the phone a last look of regret, then stepped outside.
She walked at a brisk pace into the warm night. The temperature had fallen considerably, but she still felt hot. It’s these clothes, she thought. I don’t know how these women wear them all the time. Her forehead was moist, and she kept dabbing it with the headdress. She thought about removing it, but worried someone would see her. What time is it now? Agnes had forgotten to check before she left the police car. It doesn’t matter. I’ll stay there until sunrise, or until I see something suspicious.
She made her way to the first hotel’s parking lot, skirting it at a safe distance. She didn’t see anyone, but she knew there had to be guards or at least someone working the third shift that could see her. She used the parked vehicles and the fence to hide in part, and she did the same with the second hotel.
When she came to the construction area, Agnes began to study the parked vehicles. She hoped one or more of them would be unlocked.
It wasn’t meant to be.
The heavy machinery, dump trucks, and all construction vehicles were locked. A black Jeep and a red Porsche were parked farther away, along the paved road leading to the construction area. They were both locked as well.
Agnes sighed and reconsidered her plan. She looked around, wondering whether she should continue looking for a vehicle. She shook her head. She was exhausted and wanted to find a quiet place to rest and think about her next steps.
She walked to the nearest dump truck and climbed over one of the rear wheels. She lifted herself over the tailgate, trying to avoid getting too dirty. A tarp was thrown over one part of the truck bed, near the cab. It’s not the cleanest, but it’s better than going back to the Saudis…
Agnes slid underneath the tarp, hiding herself. She rolled one part of the tarp, making a sort of a pillow. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would stop her neck from getting stiff and sore. Agnes looked around one last time, casting a sweeping glance at the entire construction area and its surroundings. Not one person walking or driving around.
So she closed her eyes and immediately dozed off.
Chapter Sixteen
Batumi, Georgia
“So what are you telling me, Stahl?” Jack tried to contain the frustration building up in his voice. He was getting tired of Stahl’s slippery answers avoiding his direct question. “Do you know where my wife is at this exact moment?”
“I told you, Jack, I don’t have that information,” Stahl replied in a cold, non-committal tone. “My team is in complete control of the situation. As soon as there are new developments—”
Jack cut her off. “Your team should make those developments happen, not wait for them, and—”
“As I was saying before you interrupted me, everyone is in position. Once there’s new intel, I will share that with you. Until then, let’s refocus on the op at hand.”
Jack’s eyes sparkled with anger. He glanced at the phone in his hand, then at Friedman, Tornike, and Lasha Nadiradze, Tornike’s friend who had driven them from Sarpi. The team had arrived in Batumi, the largest Black Sea resort city in Georgia, which was about twelve miles north of the Turkish border, about thirty minutes ago.
Batumi was like nothing Jack had ever imagined. Also known as “Georgia’s Las Vegas,” the city was full of casinos, hotels, and skyscrapers. It was a preferred vacation destination for both locals and foreigners, who were all over the waterfront streets, especially on a warm, clear, sunny day like today. In particular, the Batumi Boulevard—which comprised a four-mile seafront promenade, a bike path, and endless parks with sculptures, mosaics, fountains, a zoo, and even a bamboo grove, with trees that shot twenty-five feet up in the air—was teeming with crowds of tourists.
Jack’s teammates were sitting on the concrete-and-wood benches on the southeast corner of the bamboo grove while Jack was on the phone with Stahl. Friedman was staring intently at Jack, while Tornike and Lasha were chatting with each other in a very animated way. Jack turned his back to Friedman and returned the phone to his ear. He unclenched his teeth and said, “The op at hand is to rescue my wife. That’s my one and only priority.” He tried to remain calm and say the words with as little emotion as possible.
“The two ops are interlinked, Jack. You can’t have one without the other.”
Jack shrugged. He found it useless to argue with Stahl. It was a waste of time and energy. The Mossad’s operatives had lost Agnes, but neither Stahl nor anyone else would ever admit that. The Israelis’ hope was to find her before the Saudis did.
But Jack couldn’t rely on Mossad. They hadn’t informed him of the turn of events and even when faced with the truth were incapable of admitting failure. He shook his head, but he also knew he couldn’t cut the ties with the Israelis. Jack had no trusted assets or contacts in Riyadh, at least none that he could activate at short notice. The Mossad operatives were already in position. Yes, they had made a mistake, or perhaps it was a series of unfortunate events, but there was still hope they could find Agnes.
So Jack let out a bitter sigh and said, “All right, Stahl. Call me when your people find Agnes.”
“You call me when you’ve heard from your contact.”
Jack waved a dismissive hand and ended the call without another word. He thought about calling the Palestinian leader, Khairallah, and demanding answers, but he doubted that putting more pressure on the man would amount to anything. Khairallah knew the stakes. The deadline to give an answer had long passed. He either has nothing, or what he has found is so serious that he needs to reconfirm the intel. Jack nodded to himself, wanting to believe it was the latter.
He put the phone away and walked to his teammates. Friedman was the first one to acknowledge Jack’s presence with a head nod and an annoyed look of impatience. “Can we go now?” He stood up from the bench.
“Sure. Have you heard from the contact?” Jack asked Tornike.
A man was supposed to meet them on the other side of the bamboo grove, across from Café Magnolia, and deliver intelligence about someone who knew something regarding Khachapuridze, the target of Jack’s operation in Georgia. He disliked all these layers of complexity, but the decision wasn’t up to him. The SVR had concocted this operation, and Jack was only the extractor.
Tornike shook his head. “I’ve tried four more times. Left a message on his WhatsApp and phone. Sent an email and a text. Nothing.”
Jack’s forehead furrowed. “Is he like this all the time?”
“I don’t know,” Tornike said. “I’ve never met him.”
Jack shook his head. “Well, let’s go on the other side. Maybe his phone is out of juice, and he’s waiting there for us.”
They had waited at the meeting place for about twenty minutes, before Jack had decided they should move to a new location. If the contact was being followed or had been captured and had given up the meeting place, the team members were at risk of being caught, or worse.
“Out of juice?” Lasha gave Jack a curious look, obviously not understanding the English idiom.
“Maybe the phone is dead,” Jack said, before realizing that explanation wasn’t any clearer.
Tornike said something in loud, rapid Georgian. It sounded like he was yelling at Lasha, or at least arguing with him. Lasha cocked his head to the left, gestured at Jack, and said something to him. Tornike shook his head and replied with a couple of long sentences.
Jack waited for the translation, but nothing came. He heaved a sigh of frustration. Tornike and Lasha would go into these minute-long exchanges and leave both Jack and Friedman in the dark about the content of their conversation. Most of the times, Jack would ask for a translation and get a short, one-word or two-word reply.
This time, he had had enough. “What are you saying?” he demanded from Tornike in a strong voice.
“What?” Tornike gave him a look of confusion.
“The words. What are you and Lasha talking about in Georgian? What are you saying to one another?” He stepped closer to the Georgians.
Tornike blinked rapidly at Jack. “I’m explaining what you said about the phone. Out of juice.”
“And you needed ten sentences to explain it?”
Tornike shrugged. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes. I’m tired of the two of you talking to each other and not telling us what’s going on.”
“Nothing is going on,” Tornike said in a curt, firm voice, with a hint of irritation. “Interpreting English into Georgian.”
“Is that so?” Jack asked Lasha.
“What, you don’t trust me?” Tornike asked in an offended tone.
Jack ignored Tornike’s question, otherwise, he would have replied that he had doubts about Tornike’s straightforwardness. Instead, Jack studied Lasha’s face. The man gave him a sincere look and said, “I speak not good English. Our good friend Tornike is helping understanding,” he said in a calm tone in broken English.
Jack waited, but that was all Lasha seemed to be willing to say. So Jack shrugged and said, “Let’s go.”
Lasha stood up, joining Friedman, who was standing to the side.
Tornike was tapping on his phone. “Sending him another note,” he said, referring to the contact. “Maybe he’ll reply to this one.”
He stood up and headed across the bamboo grove, but in the opposite direction to the meeting place.
“Where are you going?” Friedman asked.
“To the bathroom. Is that okay, or do I need to explain why?” Tornike replied gruffly.
Jack waved a dismissive hand. “Take your time,” he said sarcastically. “We’re not in a rush or anything…”
Tornike either didn’t understand Jack’s expression or chose to ignore it and kept walking toward a washroom stall set about forty meters away near the Batumi Boulevard Fountains. Jack pursed his lips and looked at Friedman. The Mossad operative stepped closer to Jack and said, “I don’t like that man.”
“We can agree on that,” Jack whispered as he kept looking at Tornike. “There’s something fishy about him.”
Jack looked at Lasha to make sure that the Georgian couldn’t hear their words. As Jack turned around, he saw a gray sedan speeding through one of the narrow pathways designated only for foot traffic. People began to scream and scamper out of the way of the vehicle, which was barreling toward them.
Before Jack could say anything, a man slid his body halfway through the front passenger window and aimed a submachine gun at Jack, Friedman, and Lasha.
Chapter Seventeen
Al Izdihar Neighborhood
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Agnes was awakened by a loud rattle, followed by what sounded like an engine roar. She uncovered her head and looked from underneath the tarp—where she had slipped down completely during her fitful sleep—but couldn’t tell the direction of the noise. The first daylight had yet to appear, but the retreating darkness and the light gray skies told Agnes it wouldn’t be long.
