JET - Ops Files Page 5

  And he was involved in a plot that would cause maximum destruction to “the cockroaches.” Her imagination hadn’t invented that.

  When the first rays of dawn marbled the eastern sky with purple and fuchsia veins, she was pacing, nervous energy causing her to grind her teeth, frustrated with her predicament. If her superior wasn’t a pig, she might have had a chance, but as it was, she was sure that any confession would be used to grind her into the dirt. Traffic began arriving, as it had that fateful morning Sarah had lost her life, and she busied herself with routine checks, praying for her final hour to draw to a close so she could try to get some sleep. She couldn’t think clearly running on empty, and she was hoping some rest would afford her the breakthrough that had eluded her during the night.

  When her shift was over, she made her way to the women’s barracks, which now felt more like a prison than a refuge. She was sure that Kevod had something to do with her being the only female at the checkpoint, a sort of solitary confinement to punish her for rejecting him. She stripped off her uniform and hung it in her locker, her robe and hijab safely hidden away in one of the bathroom cabinets, and within minutes was lying on her cot, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to embrace her.

  Maya’s slumber was restless. She tossed and turned to the distracting lullaby of muffled motors revving and gears grinding out in the line. When she cracked her eyes open five hours after lying down, she felt more fatigued than ever. A headache had started while she dozed that now threatened to blossom into an incapacitating throb.

  A tepid shower and three cups of black coffee revived her, and by the time Samuel was back on duty, she felt jittery but alert. The heat of the day was intense when she met him by the rear gate. She still wore her uniform, but kept her disguise rolled up under one arm.

  “I’ve got a situation, Samuel,” she said in greeting, worry written across her face.

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  She told him about her suspicions.

  He emitted a low whistle and shook his head. “I’d go to Kevod, or above him. These are people’s lives you’re playing with.”

  “I know. But I need more than just a few overheard snatches of conversation. It’s not enough to get anyone to act.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “Yes, I can. Anyone I report it to will call Kevod right after I finish, and he’ll tell them I’m a problem case. That’ll ensure the warning goes nowhere.”

  “Maybe you can invent a story – you overheard two men talking while working the line?”

  She frowned. “How believable does that sound? Two guys discussing their next terrorist strike while within earshot of the IDF?”

  He shrugged. “I see your point. Hey, you could leave an anonymous note where Kevod could find it. Or send one to the command center.”

  “Which might or might not generate any interest. That’s about as good as a coin toss, and you know it.”

  “They treat this sort of thing very seriously.”

  “Perhaps. But if this is going down in the next couple of days, we can’t afford any blundering around. And as of right now I have no idea where the bomb is located.”

  “I thought you said it was at the house.”

  “No, that’s part of the problem. The guy I think killed Sarah lives there, but he was telling the other one he’d be getting ball bearings for him. So it sounds like it’s the other man who’s actually building the bomb, and it didn’t sound like he was doing it at the house.”

  Samuel paused. “What are you going to do?”

  “See if I can tail him when he leaves after picking up the bearings.”

  Samuel blinked in disbelief. “Are you insane?”

  “Maybe. But do you have a better idea?”

  He stared off into the distance before answering. “Not really. What a crappy situation.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Look, do me a favor. If you need help or anything happens, text or call me. Seriously. If there’s trouble, I’ll make sure the entire IDF shows up.”

  Her expression softened. “Thanks, Samuel. You’re a true friend.”

  “No, I’m just as crazy as you are. But it would be better if you made it back tonight and filed a formal report. Just come up with a story about how you’ve been sneaking out – I don’t want to get my ass handed to me for helping you.”

  “You just offered to lead the cavalry over the hills.”

  “That was as a last resort, and it’s deniable – you called me, remember? But I don’t need it memorialized in writing that I assisted you in your little missions.”

  Maya glanced around the empty area and nodded before pulling her robe over her head and donning the hijab. She stepped close to him, placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “What’s with the long face? I’ll be back in no time.”

  Samuel watched her disappear around a dusty corner, the constant wind blowing long threads of sand over the rough pavement, and muttered under his breath.

  “Girl’s lost it. Completely lost it.”

  Chapter 10

  Prague, Czech Republic

  Max strode down the boulevard, streetlamps illuminating his way, his black overcoat and briefcase identifying him as a mid-level businessman returning home after a long day at the office. He paused at an intersection and checked his watch, then turned and walked down the smaller, quiet street, taking his time as he fiddled with his cell phone. Two blocks further he hesitated in front of a large residence whose austere façade served as a memorial to glory days past. After glancing around, he mounted the three steps to the front stoop, clutching the iron railing for support, and depressed the doorbell.

  He stood like a penitent before the enameled door for twenty seconds, and then a female voice called from inside.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m here for my piano class.”

  The door swung open, and a tall woman wearing dress slacks and a crème silk blouse studied him for a moment.

  “Ah. Just so. Come in,” she said.

  He entered the foyer, which was lit by two low-wattage bulbs in antique sconces above a wall decorated with forgettable oil paintings, and his hostess closed the door behind him.

  “Was there something special you had in mind?”

  “I made an appointment with Esther.”

  “I see. Would you be kind enough to open your briefcase? Strictly routine, I assure you.”

  Max looked uncomfortable, but nodded. He placed the case on a small side table and thumbed the latches open with a snap. The woman looked inside, her face impassive. She took in the diaper and pacifier without comment and nodded. He closed the case, blushing slightly.

  “Very well. This way. Would you like a cocktail? Some other sort of refreshment?” she asked, leading him down the wood-paneled hall. To the right, through a double-width doorway, was a palatial living room with heavy antique furniture and baroque décor. Obviously wealthy men of all persuasions were lounging about, drinking with scantily clad young women, some in lingerie. A swarthy fellow with olive skin cupped his companion’s breast with a playful grin; the fact that he was easily triple her age was apparently not a deterrent in matters of the heart. Two men in their forties wearing silk suits chatted in hushed but distinctively Russian tones at a small round table near the entry. Several lithe hostesses hovered silently near them, swaying slightly to the ambient music. A polished mahogany bar occupied the far end of the room, and a breathtakingly beautiful platinum blonde wearing a bow tie and gold sequined halter top mixed drinks behind it.

  “No, thanks. I think I’d just like to visit with Esther.”

  “Of course. Right this way,” she said, escorting him up a wide staircase whose beige marble steps were perfectly complemented by the rich dark hardwood banister. He followed quietly, admiring the framed photographs of nineteenth-century Prague, before arriving at the landing. A long corridor with doors on either side stretched to the rear of the house. The woman approached the t
hird on the right and rapped softly. “Esther, dear?” she cooed. “You have a visitor.”

  She turned and gave Max a warm smile and then made her way back down the hallway, leaving him to his fate. The door opened, and a stunning brunette in a black silk robe eyed him, a knowing smile on her flawless face. She nodded and stepped back, allowing him to enter the room, which could have been from another planet, so differently from the rest of the house was it appointed. The walls were covered in black latex, the lighting muted red, with the center of attention a king-sized bed that featured a shiny crimson rubber sheet. Above it an elaborate harness fashioned from leather with four chrome rings connecting what looked like stirrups hung from the ceiling, and next to the bed a dizzying array of whips, clamps, sex toys, handcuffs, and bindings were displayed in an open armoire.

  “Darling. It’s good to see you,” Esther cooed, pushing the door closed behind her before moving across the room. “I hope you’ve been taking your vitamins.”

  “I have. And I’ve been looking forward to this all month. I like the new place,” Max said, studying the accessories on the shelves.

  “Yes, well, it’s very discreet. Perfect for our little rendezvous, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Esther opened her robe and shrugged it off, revealing a leather corset and black thigh boots with five-inch spiked heels. “Are you ready for your session? Have you been a bad boy?”

  “Very, very bad. Offensively so,” Max assured her.

  She moved an antique coat rack over a few feet and hung the robe on it, and then approached Max, who was sitting on the bed, his expression neutral. Esther mouthed the word “camera” and winked. Max nodded.

  “Open the briefcase, and let’s see what you brought, shall we?” she suggested.

  “I told you I’ve been bad.”

  “No more talking until I give you permission. You will obey me now, or you’ll pay for your disobedience.”

  Max opened the case and twisted two hidden levers with practiced fingers, revealing a hidden compartment. He removed two sheets of paper and several black-and-white photographs and handed them to Esther. She took them and read the documents carefully and then studied the photos for a few moments before handing them back.

  “Perhaps some music…” she murmured, her voice smooth as velvet.

  “I’d like that.”

  “I told you not to talk unless I permit it. You haven’t learned, have you? It looks like you’ll need to be punished, you bad, horrible thing. Now keep your mouth shut, or it will go harder on you,” Esther said, steel in her tone.

  Max rolled his eyes and shook his head. She gave him a little shrug, and then went to the stereo and turned it on. A techno beat pulsed from the speakers as she neared him. Her lips hovered over his ear like a lover, and he could barely make out her whisper.

  “Nice to see you again. When do you think this will all go down?”

  “We hear he’s looking for new girls, but it could be a few months,” Max replied softly.

  “Two more months of this and I’ll want to kill myself. You have no idea what kinds of sick bastards come in here.”

  Max studied the harness. “I’m sorry. I have no say in it.”

  “I know. I’m just complaining. It’s not so bad. Almost all my clientele are middle-aged men who want to be spanked or flogged. It could be worse.”

  “Your country is grateful for your service.”

  “Sure it is. Now get your pants off. If they don’t hear some spanking within a few minutes, they’re going to think I found the camera and blocked it deliberately.”

  “Can’t you fake it?” Max complained.

  “Remember how grateful your country will be. No, there’s no sound quite like a paunchy ass being smacked.”

  “I resent that. I work out.”

  “Sure you do. Come on. We don’t have all night.”

  Max sighed and shook his head. “At least I don’t have to get into that thing,” he said, eyeing the hanging restraint system.

  She gave him a small smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Not yet, anyway. But the night’s young. You better leave a hell of a tip.”

  Chapter 11

  Ramallah, West Bank

  After glancing around to confirm nobody was in sight, Maya broke into an old car parked in front of a crumbling apartment complex three blocks from the checkpoint, used the skills she’d acquired in juvenile lockup to hotwire it, and then left it in an alley that ran along the back of the lots across the street from the house.

  She took up a position behind a half-collapsed wall where she could see the front entrance. As nightfall came and went, she plotted her move once the mystery bomb maker arrived to collect his materials.

  Anxious for the rendezvous to take place, Maya peered at her watch in the gloom, fighting to control her impatience. As she’d told Samuel, her only real option was to follow the bomb maker, identify the factory, and then notify the authorities. She had no doubt that the IDF would move decisively against a specific location; her plan was to confirm the spot, return to the house, have a chat with the young terrorist about the whereabouts of his partner, and then either drag him to justice or shoot him.

  How that played out was almost irrelevant to her, and she saw no moral quandary in the concept of an eye for an eye – just as the terrorists had had no problem executing her friend and likely scores of others if their plan came to fruition. Regardless of how the media spun things, this was a war – the terrorists were enemy combatants who would cheerfully kill innocents, and deserved no pity.

  Maya’s thumb unconsciously played along her pistol grip as a battered seventies-era Peugeot sedan rolled to a stop in front of the house. Her breath quickened when two men got out – one an older, bearded figure, and the other the ambulance driver, at least as far as she could make out from that distance. The front door opened, and the younger man from the prior night beckoned them inside. His gaze swept the street, and for a moment Maya felt like he was staring directly at her even though she knew it was impossible – there wasn’t enough light on her side of the street to make out anything.

  Seconds ticked by, dragging into minutes, and after half an hour the door opened and the young man emerged, heaving a heavy burlap sack. The ambulance driver followed behind with its twin. The bearded man came last and trailed them to the car, where they deposited their loads in the trunk before opening the doors and climbing in.

  Maya’s breath caught when she saw a child backlit in the doorway, no more than four or five, waving to the car before he pushed the door shut. The sputter of the car’s engine broke Maya out of her trance, and she bolted for her vehicle, black robe billowing around her as she ran.

  Getting the motor started took three tries with the bare wires, and by the time she got it into gear and pulled out of the alley, the Peugeot’s brake lights were rounding a corner two blocks away. She floored the accelerator, keeping her headlights off, and prayed that there were no stray dogs or children in the road because the first she’d know of them would be a wet bump. When she reached the intersection, she cranked the wheel left and flipped on the lights. Her quarry was a hundred meters in front of her, moving at a moderate pace. She closed the distance a few more car lengths and then settled at a sane speed.

  The drive took her across town to another mosque, smaller and less ornate than the main one in the city center. The Peugeot pulled to the curb near the entrance, and Maya rolled past it, watching in her rearview mirror as the three terrorists spilled from the vehicle and moved with the bags into a doorway at the side of the main building. She parked at the end of the block and made her way back to the mosque, which was dark and appeared closed.

  Seeing nobody on the sidewalk as she brushed past the door, and hearing nothing in the vicinity, she turned and retraced her steps until she stood in front of it. She winced as the lever squeaked when she twisted it and waited a long second before pushing it open and stepping inside, free hand gripping her
pistol beneath her billowing folds.

  She found herself in a large walled courtyard, the main mosque on the right and four outbuildings barely visible in the darkness next to it. Light seeped from beneath the far doorway, and Maya crept toward it, suddenly not nearly so sure of the evening’s outcome. She was in the heart of enemy territory with one gun, up against God only knew what, with no backup and no escape plan. Maya swallowed hard and bit back the fear that threatened to sap her resolve. She continued to the door and pressed her ear against it in an effort to hear. The bomb maker’s distinctive rasp was recognizable even through the thick wood.

  “We are not far from success, my friends. Now that we have the required material, we can mold the device into the truck’s tank. When the C-4 detonates, it will have a kill radius of at least fifty meters. Nothing will survive.”

  “Can we use it by tomorrow evening? When traffic at the settlement entry is the heaviest?”

  “It should be done in time if we work all night. Which we are prepared to do.”

  “We have a martyr to drive the truck,” a new speaker said. “Congratulations, Abreeq. You are indeed a master. Nobody would suspect an electrical company truck to be a rolling bomb. They will allow it at least up to the gates, no question.”

  “I expect so, Ammar. And we’ll use a cell phone trigger, so there are no mistakes the driver could make that will affect the detonation. You’ll be in control of when to set it off, from a safe distance,” Abreeq said.

  “And you’re confident that if the truck is searched before arriving at the gates, the device will evade detection?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Maya pulled her cell phone from her robe and entered the mosque address along with a brief message to Samuel about the bomb. She was preparing to send it when the courtyard door behind her opened.

  “Hey. What are you doing there?” a man’s voice demanded loudly.