Guardian (15 page)

“I only know him by reputation,” Abu said. “He is a torturer, even at his level of authority. Bloodthirsty, I have heard. Enjoys the work.”

“Nassir has been advisor to the president of Syria for many years,” Kitra said. “In all that time, his chief goal has been limiting Israeli influence in the region. When direct confrontation failed, he helped establish proxies like Hezbollah to fight the battles with us. He is their main contact in the Syrian government. Lately he has worked very hard to undermine the government in Lebanon. Nassir wants Lebanon. He wants the Shebaa Farms. He wants all of the Golan Heights. Yet to get them, he has to do one thing.”

“Hurt Israel,” Mike said.
But I doubt it's for political reasons.
“At least enough so that Israel could not retaliate. But I thought Syria had changed its tune and was playing nice with Lebanon.”

“All a ploy, based on our intelligence. Syria has gained a larger foothold in the Lebanese government than it ever had before. Meanwhile, it is ramping up support to Hezbollah in the south while moving troops to the eastern border. All while playing the long-­lost brother who just wants to extend the olive branch.

“You see,” Kitra continued, “it all goes back to the old game. When it comes down to it, there is no great conspiracy. The simple explanation is the most likely. Nassir wants to cripple Israel.”

“Rather than conventional means, though, he wants to use the supernatural,” Mike said, shaking his head.
Because he wants to see a lot of human blood flow. Apparently, Jewish blood. Great. An anti-­Semitic demon of some kind.

“So it would seem,” Kitra said. “Do you still think you are the only one who can stop this? That you are meant to be here? All because of Nassir Fahd?”

Mike turned to Abu, ignoring the questions.
Time to play up the act some more.
“You're sure you have no idea where Kharija might be?”

“If I did, he would be dead,” Abu said.

Mike decided not to make a snide comment about how Abu already had his shot and failed. “Well, any other ideas? Want to start searching hotels from top to bottom across the country?”

“If he is even in a hotel,” Kitra said. “Could have a safe house this time, not want to repeat the same mistake twice. And where would we start? Haifa? Here?”

True. A needle in a haystack, even in Tel Aviv. Where to start, then?

The hospital room door opened and one of Joseph's men poked his head in. The one named Isaac, if he remembered correctly.

“What is it?” Kitra asked.

“Sir, something strange.”

“Yes.”

“Kharija just checked into the Ophir Hotel.”

Kitra turned to Mike. “Looks like our boy is in Tel Aviv.”

Shit.
Mike gnawed on the inside of his cheeks.

 

Chapter Twenty-­Three

G
lenn walked into the CIA Ops Center chewing a Tums and chasing it with black coffee from a plastic foam cup. The place buzzed with ­people, all focused on the big screen as a UAV relayed live imagery of a scorched target in northern Pakistan.

“Count three bodies, all hostiles,” someone said.

Glenn saw the bodies as the UAV revolved around the site. Yep, three. And a dead dog, but no one mentioned that. He'd read the brief for the operation yesterday on the plane ride back from Phoenix. Didn't seem like too big a deal. The targets were a ­couple of Taliban higher-­ups, but no one famous. Then Glenn noticed the faces of the ­people watching. All young, probably relatively new to the operations side of the house. More than likely their first real-­time op. Whatever.

He stopped ­people-­gazing and found the person he came to see. Terry Kolchak sat at his computer, not looking at the big screen, but monitoring his UAV over southeastern Iraq. Glenn walked over to him and gripped his shoulder.

“Hey, Terry, how's it going?”

Terry looked up and nodded. “Deputy.”

“Any more luck on that cell phone I gave you?” He'd given him the number from Mayyat's phone. It was a long shot but worth a try.

“No, still dark.”

“Thanks. Keep trying.”

“Will do, Deputy.”

Glenn walked away, ready to head back to his office, when his cell phone rang. “Deputy Cheatum.”

“It's Mike. We've got a location.”

“That was fast.”

“The fucker checked in under his own name at the Ophir Hotel in downtown.”

Glenn stopped. “That's pretty damn obvious.”

“Yeah, you think?”

“I don't like it.”

“Neither does anyone here. Kitra isn't taking any chances.”

“Good.”

“But she's also kicking me out of the country.”

“What?”

“She's going to send me home while she goes and grabs Kharija.”

“Bullshit. Put her on.”

A moment passed before Kitra said, “No arm-­twisting, Glenn. I want him far away. You never told me he was crazy.”

“This is a crazy world and this is crazy shit. He should be there to see Kharija taken down.”

“He is too dangerous. If what he says is true, we cannot risk him falling into the wrong hands.”

“He's under your power there, Kitra. Are you saying you can't keep him protected?”

“That is not what I am saying.” Kitra's voice rose with each word. “What I am saying is he should never have come here in the first place.”

“Well, he's there and he's in this shit up to his eyes. Let him see Kharija finished. We've all been through a ton of hell over this asshole, Mike especially. Give him this much. Just keep him at your side.”

Another few seconds of silence. “You are lucky you are a friend, Glenn.”

“I know. Now be careful. This sounds like a lot of bullshit.”

“We will, and yes, it does.”

Mike came back on the phone. “You really pissed her off.”

“She'll get over it. But she also has a point. Stay close to Mossad. If this shit goes down wrong, I don't want you on an island.”

“You got it.”

“Stay safe.” Glenn hung up and fished the Tums out of his pocket again.

“W
e already have ­people en route to the hotel,” Kitra said. “They will talk to the manager and front desk clerk and find what room Kharija's in and secure the entire floor. They will not move in on him, though, without my orders.”

The Mercedes slowed down, rounded a corner and sped back up. Mike turned to Kitra. “What about EOD?”

“En route, but I doubt Kharija would go through all this trouble just to blow you up. Not exactly the outcome Nassir is looking for.”

“True. You're going to try and take him alive, right?”

“If he allows us to. But I am not going to screw around and get some of my ­people killed. He proved he is skilled at close-­quarter combat in Haifa. If he does not surrender quietly, he dies.”

Mike couldn't argue against it but hoped Kharija could be taken alive. He had some questions to ask about Nassir. Kitra did as well.

“What about Kharija's family?” Mike asked.

“What about them?”

“I don't know. I just wish there was a way we could do this and ensure they don't end up dead as a result.”

“Kharija has a lot of blood on his hands. Whatever his reasons, he has had ­people murdered, including seven of your countrymen. Doing so to save his family does not excuse those acts.”

Mike nodded as the Mercedes turned left sharply, the wheels squealing. “I'm not excusing his actions. I'm lamenting the fact we can't do anything to save his wife and daughter. I'd like less blood on my hands.”

“Their blood is not on your hands. It is on Kharija's and Nassir's.”

Maybe,
Mike thought. But it didn't make him feel any better. Probably because he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same thing if he were in Kharija's shoes.

Get over it. There's nothing you can do for them. Focus on ensuring millions more don't die because of Kharija and Nassir's actions.

Mike wished he had a flask of Johnnie Walker with him and rubbed his lips.

Kitra pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Isaac, it's me. Meet me at the Ophir and bring a track kit with you. Thanks.”

Kitra hung up.

“Track kit?” Mike said.

“You will see.”

“Not even a hint?”

Kitra smirked. “It involves a handheld GPS and your rectum, but I cannot say any more.”

Mike laughed. “Can't wait.”

I
saac was already at the Ophir, waiting in the lobby. He carried a small briefcase. Mike eyed it and wondered if Kitra was serious about a handheld GPS up the old backside.

“Isaac,” Kitra said. “We will do this over here.”

Mike followed Kitra through the lobby into the men's room. Isaac trailed behind.

“Hey, you know this is a Men's room, right?” Mike asked.

“We are not here to compare sizes.”

Inside, Joseph walked to the sinks. Isaac set the briefcase on the counter and opened it. Mike watched, a little nervous to see what lay inside.

“We are going to insert a GPS microchip under your skin,” Kitra said, and pulled what looked like a small gun from the case. “Just like a pet you do not want to lose.”

It took a few moments for Mike to realize it was an injector gun, small, similar to the ones used for inoculations. Instead of a spot for a vial, there was a slit in the top for the microchip.

“Why?” Mike asked.

“We will protect you,” Kitra said. “And there is no way any of Kharija or Nassir's men will walk out of here with you in their custody. But I also am a woman who likes to take precautions. If you are to be here for this evolution, then I insist you be made capable of tracking.”

Mike eyed the injector again. “Just in case, huh?”

“That is correct, now come here and turn around.”

“Not in the ass.”

“Do not worry.” Kitra put a hand on top of Mike's head.

Mike felt the tip of the gun press against the back of his neck, underneath the hairline. “Will it hurt?”

“It might.”

He heard the hiss of compressed air releasing but felt nothing. “That's it?”

“Yes.”

Mike turned and found Isaac putting the injector back in the case. He grabbed a small handheld GPS, switched it on and handed it to Kitra. He held it at arm's length.

“You are up and running.” Kitra slipped the GPS in her pocket. “What room is he in?”

“Room 310,”Isaac said. “All of the other rooms have been evacuated on that floor and the floor directly above and below. Teams have been stationed at all exits. EOD is standing by in the lobby. No way in or out without going through us.”

“We are ready to go in, then.” Kitra turned to Mike. “Wait down here.”

“Come on, Kitra. I'm here and even have a GPS chip in me. I'll stay in your back pocket.”

Kitra shook her head and sighed. “Against my better judgment . . . very well.”

“Let's finish this.”

They walked out of the bathroom and across the lobby to the elevator. Kitra pressed the button for the third floor. Mike stood behind her and stared at the doors. He tapped his Beretta with his right hand. A lifetime seemed to pass before the bell dinged and the doors slid open. The elevator was empty, waiting for them with open arms.

 

Chapter Twenty-­Four

M
ike stood at the end of the hall with Kitra. Isaac, Simon, and Ehud along with three other guys, positioned themselves on both sides of Kharija's door. They all carried Tavor TAR-­21 assault rifles except Simon, who carried a twelve-­gauge shotgun.

“Flash-­bangs?” Mike said.

Kitra nodded and lifted a radio to her mouth. “Go.”

Isaac gave a hand signal. Simon approached the door and raised the shotgun until the barrel was six inches from the side of the door where the highest hinge would be. A moment later he fired a slug shot.

The concussion reverberated off the walls. Splinters flew and the top half of the door popped a few inches free of the frame.

Simon didn't pause. He lowered the shotgun and pointed it where the lower hinge should be. He fired a second slug shot.

As soon as he did, Ehud stepped forward and kicked in the door. The hinge side flew in and snapped out of sight. He threw in a flash-­bang stun grenade and stepped back.

First an intense white flash of the magnesium-­based charge, then
bang!

Mike pulled his fingers from his ears as Isaac moved into the room, followed by Ehud and Simon and the other three.

For a few seconds the hallway was silent. Mike watched and listened, expecting to hear shouts or even gunfire. Instead, the resonance from the flash-­bangs faded, replaced with stillness.

Static burst from Kitra's radio. “Director, you need to come take a look at this.”

Kitra's eyebrows dipped and three wrinkles creased her forehead. “Is the room secure?”

“Yes.”

“Is Kharija in custody?”

A pause. “Most of him.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Mike said.

Kitra stared at him a moment before saying, “On my way.” She headed for the room. “Stay behind me.”

Mike followed. “I think it's okay. They said it was secure.”

“Humor me.”

They moved through the busted doorway. Mike noticed the smell right away. Foul. Mold mixed with metal. No doubt about what it was. Blood.

The room had a separate living area. Couch. Table. Reading chair. Through another doorway was the bedroom. Isaac and Ehud stood facing the bed, blocking their view. Simon walked out to intercept them, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Did you get sick?” Kitra said.

Simon shrugged. “Not much.”

“What is it?”

“You need to see for yourself.” Simon left the room.

Kitra glanced at Mike. Her eyes were unsettled. Probably not used to seeing her men this disturbed.

The idea caused a small bubble of nervousness to form in Mike's stomach. He'd seen plenty of horrible things. When ­people reacted the way Simon had, ­people who had also seen horrible things, Mike knew he was in for a new experience. And he didn't enjoy these kinds of new experiences.

Kitra ordered Ehud and Isaac to step aside as she walked into the bedroom. Mike crept in behind her. The two Mossad agents hung their heads and parted. The surface of the bed filled the void they left.

Mike stared, dumbfounded. It was Kharija. But it was not the same man who had kidnapped him in Iraq. Gone were the expensive clothes and well-­kept beard. Gone were the fancy shoes. Gone was his flesh.

The man who lay before him was a heap of Kharija. The skin of his arms and torso and legs had been sliced away. The hands, severed. The wounds, stitched. Kharija had also been castrated. Like his hands, the stitch work was neat and fresh. Eyes sewn shut.

More amazing than any of the mutilations, though, was the shallow rising and falling of Kharija's chest.
Good God, he was alive.

“I want a helicopter on the roof in five minutes for an emergency medical evacuation,” Kitra said. “We need to keep him alive if we can.”

Ehud pulled a radio from his pocket and placed the order for the helo.

Mike listened but didn't shift his gaze. His attention remained firmly fixed on the exposed muscles and naked sternum of Kharija's chest moving up and down. How anyone could survive such bodily destruction was beyond his comprehension.

At least I won't have to kill him,
he thought. He'd probably be dead in a few hours on his own.

Mike's thoughts drifted to Uriel. He'd been wrong. God didn't need him for this. Nassir had taken care of Kharija for him. But Nassir would no doubt send someone else after him. Someone just as desperate as Kharija.

“What kind of game is Nassir playing?” Kitra said.

Mike blinked a few times and had to force himself to tear his gaze away from Kharija's body. “Excuse me?”

Kitra pointed at the wall behind the bed. On it, scrawled in blood, was the same phrase in three different languages. And not three modern languages. No, whoever had written it had gone ancient on them. Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. Cute.

“ ‘See you soon',” Mike read.

“If he is using Kharija as bait here,” Kitra said, “then what is the trap?”

“I don't follow.”

“Kharija ends up here, skinned alive and mutilated beyond repair, in a hotel room registered in his own name. Unless you think he checked in and did this to himself, I believe it is safe to say Nassir had him brought here.”

Mike nodded. “And Abu mentioned Nassir's reputation for butchering for sport.”

Kitra turned away. “There is very little blood on the sheets.”

Mike looked. Sure enough, no lakes of blood. “Carefully preserved and moved. Probably had some of Kharija's blood stored in a jar so he could write this bullshit on the wall.”

“Nassir did not write it. He may be crazy but he is not stupid enough to venture this far into Israel. The borderlands maybe, but not here.”

“He employed a team, then. Maybe that's who he's going to send to grab me.”

“Nassir wanted us to come here. Wanted us to find Kharija in this state. And wanted us to know you would see him soon. This is the trap, Mike.”

Mike smirked. “Well, then, it's a stupid plan. He had to know the building would be secured before coming in here. There's no way he could get a team in here now.”

“That is what worries me.” Kitra rubbed her jaw. “Like I said, Nassir is not stupid. He would have thought through our response and planned for it.”

Mike shrugged. “Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact you have the numbers and the firepower. And I'm in your back pocket. So let's worry about getting Kharija out of here alive for right now.”

“Yes.” Kitra turned to Mike. Her eyes seemed weary and far away. “You are correct. Stay close to me.”

“Hey, I'm not going anywhere.”

Kitra's radio crackled. A broken voice came over the circuit. “ . . . something moving . . .”

More static.

Joseph grabbed the radio. “Who is reporting movement?”

Another burst of static. “ . . . by the south elevator. Third floor . . . like a cloud.”

“Did he say something about a cloud?” Mike asked.

Kitra started to key the radio again but the sound of automatic gunfire cut her off. Mike's hand flashed to his shoulder holster. His Beretta was drawn a moment later. He took a defensive stance, gun held in a police grip.

In front of him, Kitra had her Jericho 941 in his right hand and moved to the edge of the door frame. She waved Mike to his side and tried to key the radio again. Once more she was interrupted by the burst of automatic gunfire. This time just outside the hotel room. Several rifles.

Mike couldn't see anything. When he attempted to lean past Kitra and take a peek, the older woman grabbed his shoulder with the strength of a gorilla and pushed him back. “I should never have brought you here.”

“What is it?”

More bursts followed by shouting in Hebrew. Mike could only pick out pieces of words, none of them making sense.

His question was soon answered when a vaporous black cloud swirled into the bedroom. It charged past them and hovered over Kharija. In it, Mike heard insects buzzing and humming.

Oh, shit.
He remembered the nightmare he'd had on Kharija's slab. The swirling darkness filled with flies and locusts. The darkness that swallowed him, the insects chewing on his flesh from within.

Kitra raised her gun and fired but the bullets had no effect. The cloud swirled and changed shape as the rounds passed harmlessly through it.

Only they didn't pass through it. Mike noticed no holes forming in the wall behind the cloud. It was as if the thing consumed them.

“Get out of here!” Kitra yelled, and pushed Mike toward the doorway.

The cloud seemed to pivot, to face them. If it had eyes, Mike would swear it was staring at them. At
him
.

All he could think was:
The mark's a curse
.

The cloud surged at them. One moment Kitra stepped in front of Mike as if to shield him, the next she was flying into the wall on the other side of the room.

Mike lunged toward the door but the cloud gripped him somehow and pulled him back. Then it spun him around so he faced the billowing opaque thing. Rather than shoot it, he swung his arm as he spun, raking it with a backhand. The cloud contorted and retreated back a few feet as if hurt.

They faced each other, neither moving for a ­couple of seconds. The cloud seemed frozen. No longer swirling or flexing its shape. Even the flies and locusts had stilled, their wings no longer beating the air.

What the fuck?

Before he could gather another thought, the cloud broke its seeming trance. It plunged toward him and wrapped around him like a python. Then all was darkness. The flies and locusts pounced upon him, chewing and gnawing. Pain echoed through his body. He screamed and prayed for help but none came.

Then he was floating. Or drifting, in a sea of black. The pain subsided. The bugs grew distant. All was calm in the darkness. And in the distance Mike saw a small solitary light before losing consciousness.

“C
aldwell,” Kitra muttered, and rolled onto her chest. She lifted her head and scanned the room. Her vision blurry, she blinked until it sharpened.

Simon ran in and dropped to his side. “Are you okay, Director?”

“Yes. Help me sit up.” She moaned as Simon pulled her left arm until she was upright. “Where is Caldwell?”

“Gone.”

“Where?”

“We do not know.”

“How can you not know what direction they left?”

“Because they did not leave.”

“What?”

“They disappeared.”

Kitra closed her eyes. “How?”

“The cloud swallowed him.”

“It what?”

“It surrounded him until we could not see him. Then it shrank into that corner there.” Simon pointed to a corner where a closet door cast a shadow. “It grew smaller and smaller until we could not discern it from the shadow. Then it was gone.”

“Impossible.”

“It is true. Just as true as a black swarming cloud.”

Kitra nodded. She could not argue considering what she had just witnessed. Apparently Caldwell had not been lying to her, although he never mentioned a living cloud of darkness.

“The GPS,” Kitra said.

“Isaac already tried. No luck.”

“Keep monitoring it. Whatever that thing was came here for him. If he is being taken to Nassir, we should know soon enough.”

Simon's eyes widened. “Nassir Fahd sent that thing?”

“We can only assume so.”

“What is going on, Director?”

Kitra pushed up to her feet. “I do not know but it is beyond our comprehension, whatever it is. Which means this must stay here with us.”

Simon nodded. “Understood.”

Kitra turned to the bed. Kharija still lay there, breathing his shallow breaths. “The helicopter.”

“ETA two minutes.”

“Prep him for transport. You and Isaac will ride with him. Ehud and I will meet you at the hospital.”

Simon turned and left to retrieve Isaac. Kitra rubbed the knot forming on the back of her skull. She breathed deep. Pain swelled from her side into her back. Broken ribs. Probably three or four.

Live,
Kitra thought as she watched Kharija.
At least long enough to point us in the right direction.