Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (27 page)

“What’s with ‘she doesn’t like the cold,’ eh?”

“You would rather me tell them you hate Russia?”

Carrie shrugged. “I don’t hate Yuliya. She risked her life for you. She’s
the exception.
And Daniel too.”

Justin seemed taken aback by her words. “You’re changing.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I shouldn’t judge people for the sins of their fathers. But they will surely pay for their own.”

* * *

Yuliya and Daniel left in one of the jeeps from the warehouse. Justin drove with them to retrieve his knapsack from the truck at the top of the hill. He checked the tribesmen’s convoy and found only charred vehicles. Two trucks were gone, along with whoever had survived Mossad’s airstrike. They had taken with them the wounded and the dead. Justin walked back to the camp.

Eliakim told Justin he was entrusting him with the unconscious pilot and one of his crewmen. The others were confident their wounds could wait until they boarded their warship. The Israelis rigged the entire camp and their downed helicopter with explosives, after cleaning anything of potential intelligence value from these areas. They handed over Justin the remote controls for the explosions. Before taking off, Eliakim went to the back of the warehouse and put Hamidi out of his misery.

Over the next few minutes, Justin told Carrie and Nathan about last night’s events and what has taken place earlier that day. They exchanged their stories of preparing for this mission and how they had overcome each and every obstacle in their path. Then they waited, along with Al-Khaiwani, for the Black Hawk helicopters of the Saudi Arabian Army.

Chapter Nineteen

Najran Armed Forces Hospital, Saudi Arabia

September 27, 9:00 p.m. local time

The medical team rushed out of the Saudi helicopter landing next to the warehouse. They loaded the wounded Mossad agent into the Black Hawk, while the second helicopter hovered over the hills, keeping guard. The crew was instructed not to ask any questions about the identity of the men they were picking up from this location. Justin noticed curious glares and a few thoughtful nods among the medical team. They knew what had gone down at the camp. The Apache wreckage, the destroyed camp, dead bodies strewn about everywhere; they all spoke louder than any of Justin’s words.

The medical staff of Najran Armed Forces Hospital also was very discreet. They registered Justin and the pilot without asking for any identification. Justin was assigned his own private suite and around-the-clock medical care. The hospital was very clean, the equipment modern, the staff friendly and welcoming. Justin wondered about the green and yellow signs in the halls giving directions in both Arabic and English.
Maybe they get American or foreign soldiers who need medical care,
he thought.

The ER staff performed a series of operations on the Mossad pilot, which saved his life. A surgeon explained to Justin in layman’s terms the delicate procedures of broken bones realignment and steps taken to control the pilot’s internal bleeding from his injured organs. The surgeon noted the first twenty-four hours were critical, but they hoped the pilot’s recovery would be steady and without relapses. Depending on his progress, he could leave the hospital within a week.

Al-Khaiwani was not admitted to the hospital. He continued to an undisclosed location, waiting for Justin to complete the paperwork for his extradition to Canada. Unknown to Al-Khaiwani, he was going to be subjected to intense Saudi interrogations before he would be allowed to leave the country. It was the price Justin had to pay in exchange for Saudis holding Al-Khaiwani for an undetermined period of time. And they had promised to spare his life.

Justin’s bulletproof vest had borne the brunt of the bullet, leaving him with bruised lung tissue doctors called a pulmonary contusion. The chest radiography and ultrasound detected no fractured or broken ribs. The doctors gave him high-flow oxygen and a nurse came every hour to check on him. A surgeon stitched up the wounds in his arm. Unless he suffered a setback overnight, Justin would be good to go the next morning.

After the nurse left, Justin removed the airflow device from his face, struggling with one of the prongs stuck to his nose.

Carrie began to say, “You shouldn’t—”

“Eh, I’m fine, just having some difficulties breathing, that’s all. They’re being extra careful.”

“Exactly. And so should you.”

Justin shrugged. “A few minutes, so we can talk.”

He pushed the mask tubes aside and groped for the levers and the buttons to arrange his bed. Carrie stood up from her stool next to Justin’s bed and fixed the pillow behind his back. Justin rested in a half-sitting position.

“Where’s Nathan?” he asked as Carrie returned to her stool.

“In the room across the hall.”

Justin glanced at the television screen mounted on the wall. It was tuned to Fox News, and images changed to international breaking news. “Can you turn that up, please?”

Carrie reached for the remote on the nightstand.

“. . . on the death of three American citizens in eastern Somalia killed in a gunfire between alleged foreign intelligence agents and al-Shabaab militants. Sources from the Dagadera Refugee Camp confirmed that two agents—a man and a woman—were participating in a rescue operation under the guise of journalists. Unnamed CIA officials denied their involvement in operations on the ground in Somalia, while Israel neither confirmed nor denied their participation in this secret mission. More details are coming in, and we’ll keep you updated about this developing situation.

“In other international stories—”

Carrie tapped the mute button on her remote.

“Well, at least they haven’t figured out our identities,” Justin said.

“Yet.
The New York Times
journalist is very nosy, and I’m sure our friends at CIA will give us up real soon.”

Justin frowned, then sighed. “I’m getting tired, Carrie.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “Of course, you are. It has been a crazy week and—”

“No, I’m tired of this backstabbing, this treachery and deceit.”

Carrie shrugged and a grin began to form on her face. “It’s part of our job.”

“Yes, I get it, from the enemy side. Al-Shabaab, the Yemeni insurgents. I expect it from them. And to a certain extent from Romanov as well. But Johnson? Screwing her own people? And CIA misleading us into an operation where the target is a US citizen. It’s pissing me off.” He shook his head and tightened his hands into fists.

Carrie nodded. “I hear you. They’re not going to get away with it. You and I aren’t going to allow that.”

Justin spat out a loud cough that turned into a wheeze.

“Put the mask back on. You’re whistling like a train.” Carrie offered him a tissue from a box on the nightstand.

Justin wiped his lips. “I’m fine, just air some went down the wrong pipe.”

“The nurse will come in and yell at you.”

“No, he won’t.” He took a few shallow breaths, the wheezing slowly disappearing. “Carrie, I can’t drag you into my battles.”

She leaned closer to him. “I’m already involved, Justin. CIA tricked me as well, giving us false intel.”

“Has McClain found anything?”

“Last time I checked was yesterday morning, back in Nairobi. Some of the gunmen killed in Somalia were al-Shabaab. The information gleaned from the cellphone and the IDs showed the majority of those people had close ties to al-Shabaab. McClain’s report noted CIA wasn’t aware Yusuf—a senior leader of al-Shabaab terrorist group—was a US citizen. There was no word on the M16s and how they got to al-Shabaab.”

Justin spent a moment thinking about her words. He rubbed his chin, then winced as a sharp pain went through his wounded arm. “Could Adams be telling the truth?”

“That CIA didn’t know about Yusuf’s citizenship? I don’t think so. I mean, they know he’s a terrorist mastermind. They have a whole file on him. They’ve been following this man and his militants for the last few months. They know where he is and where he’s going, albeit the reason doesn’t match up. And no one thought to check about his citizenship?”

“We didn’t.”

“And we shouldn’t have to. We received this intel from our boss, McClain. If we can’t trust him, then who can we trust? McClain is the one the Americans really duped.”

Justin nodded. “It would be great to have him see it that way. Perhaps a further investigation into those weapons will give us some answers.” He began to smile. “I know the man who may help us solve this puzzle.”

Carrie tilted her head to the side, crossing her hands over her chest. “I don’t know, Justin. You’re not sure you can trust that man. He hasn’t been upfront with you.”

Justin shrugged. “Who has?”

“Romanov may be trying to cover his ass and give you what you want just to get you off his back.”

“No, he’s not like that. Romanov doesn’t respond to threats or pressure. He prefers exchanges of favors. He’s a businessman.”

Carrie raised her hands up. “All right, give it a shot.”

“Romanov botched up our deal when he didn’t tell me who Hamidi was. I’m sure he would want to fix the damage.” Justin took a deep breath, then raised his right hand to his chest.

“What is it?”

“Uh, nothing, indigestion probably.” He gestured at the food tray on the nightstand. “The chicken didn’t sit well.” He tapped his chest, then swallowed hard.

“Should I call the nurse?”

“No, no. I’m OK.” He coughed again, louder than before.

“What about Johnson?” Carrie asked when Justin had finished his coughing fit.

Justin gritted his teeth. “If we find she’s really the traitor . . .”

There was a knock on the door, then Nathan walked in. “How’re you feeling, chief?”

“Nathan, you scared me. I thought it was the nurse.”

“Oh, he’s right here,” Nathan said as the nurse stepped in through the open door.

“Why did you remove the mask?” the nurse asked. “If your lungs collapse, you will die.”

Justin avoided the nurse’s hard eyes, as he marched over to the head of the bed and picked up the mask. He placed it over Justin’s face without any other words, then pressed a couple of buttons on the oxygen’s flowmeter mounted on the wall. “Breathe,” he ordered Justin. “And keep it on.”

“That’s what I told him, but he doesn’t listen,” Carrie said.

Justin glanced in her direction and noticed her small grin. He gestured to the nurse, then spoke through the mask, “When can I take it off?”

The nurse shook his head. “Not right away. When you get better. Maybe tomorrow. You should get some sleep now.”

He looked over at Carrie and Nathan.

“We were just leaving,” Carrie said. “Justin, relax. We’ll talk tomorrow about you know who.”

Justin’s eyes sparked with rage.

“Relax,” Carrie said, “we’ll figure things out.”

“We will,” he said through the mask, his voice throaty and coarse. “We sure will.”

Najran Armed Forces Hospital, Saudi Arabia

September 28, 10:30 a.m. local time

Justin woke up feeling refreshed and ready to take on the world. He remembered vaguely being awakened during the night by a nurse or someone from the medical staff, but not much else.
They probably fed me a bunch of sleeping pills.

He removed his oxygen mask slowly to find out he could breathe with ease. His chest pain was gone, and the stabbing from his arm wounds had dissipated into a throbbing sting. He felt his throat parched and looked at the nightstand.
A glass half-filled with water. Interesting, I thought of the glass as half-full, not half-empty. Like this situation, which is half won, not half lost. We have a name, Johnson. And a folder full of evidence, still to be confirmed, but we’re almost there. And Yusuf, the terrorist and the American citizen. If only we can tie his weapons for sure to CIA . . .

Justin lifted his covers and stood up. His legs felt a bit numb, so he walked a few slow steps around the room. He took a sip of the warm water, then sat at the edge of the bed. The TV was turned off, so he rummaged the nightstand drawers, but did not find the remote.
Maybe one of the nurses took it, to make sure I would sleep. Or maybe Carrie took it.

His mind went to the news report about their operation in Somalia and to the three dead Americans. Birgit’s security guards knew that clashing with militants was a real possibility, although probably it was not mentioned in their job description. But Birgit never saw it coming. One could assume she knew the risks when she was posted to Somalia and was no stranger to gunfire battles during her ten years in the country.
Still, I dragged her into my mission. Tricked her. She would still be alive if it weren’t for me.

The thoughts weighed heavy on him. He frowned, then bit his lip. He had already killed the men responsible for Birgit’s death, but he could still not shake the feeling of emptiness in his stomach. His hands trembled, and he steadied them. He swallowed, sighed, and reached for another sip of water.

Most people around me are fully aware of the operational risks. Yuliya. Carrie. They’re trained. Able. Willing. Birgit, she wasn’t.

His frown deepened and his eyes narrowed. Anna!
What if Johnson goes after Anna? What if al-Shabaab goes after her?
He remembered the bomb explosion in New York and how he had shouted for Anna to seek cover.
What if I’m not around the next time? Will she be able to take care of herself? Am I just bringing death and pain to everyone close to me?

A light rap on the door brought him out of his stewing. “Come in,” Justin said.

Carrie walked in with a small porcelain cup in her hand. “Black coffee.”

“It smells so good.” Justin held the cup under his nose, sniffing the hot aroma. He blew gently, then tasted the thick froth. “Mhhh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. How’re you feeling today?”

“Better. Much better.”

“Ready to pack?”