Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (29 page)

“That’s very risky, Justin, for everyone involved. Setting up ourselves, our agents, for an ambush and waiting for it to happen,” McClain said. He put an elbow on his desk and rested his chin on his fist.

“I realize it, and that’s why I’m volunteering myself. We’ll reveal general information about our Moscow operation, times and places, and see who shows up.” Justin spread out his hands.

“You make it sound easy,” McClain said.

“No, sir, it’s not easy. But it seems to be our only option,” Justin replied.

McClain looked at Carrie. “What do you think?”

Carrie sat back on her chair and crossed her legs. “The media is all over the events in Somalia and Yemen, so it’s safe to conclude Johnson is fully aware of them, even if she has no ties to al-Shabaab. If she’s truly the traitor, then of course she’ll know more details.”

Justin nodded. “Johnson would have expected our reaction to al-Shabaab attacking me in New York. She would know we’ll put two and two together and go after the militants in their own backyard.”

Carrie turned her body slightly toward Justin. “Right, but Johnson at the least would be suspicious about the timing and the effectiveness of these operations. We strike al-Shabaab hideouts in two different countries in as many days, with full success. People who are supposed to eliminate you are instead being cut down. She’ll realize we’re up to something.”

“We just followed the intel and got lucky here and there. Johnson knows it happens,” Justin said.

“She does. And she has probably figured out her software hasn’t reported much of any accurate intelligence over the last few days. Your plan assumes Johnson would overlook the fact she may have been compromised and would still give information about your next mission to al-Shabaab, even though they constantly have failed to deliver on their targets.”

McClain raised his right hand to scratch his temple. “Actually, a couple of the operations we allowed the software to access were cancelled at the last moment, making them appear real. A few others took place in areas beyond al-Shabaab’s reach and on very short notice. So to whoever is monitoring the results, it would seem the worm is working just fine.”

“We also need to keep in mind Johnson is not thinking straight,” Justin said. “Vengeance and greed have blinded her and have pushed her so far that she’s willing to betray her country to its worst enemies. She blames me for her downfall, and she won’t stop until she has gotten her payback.”

Carrie nodded. “I agree. I’m starting to think Johnson would fall for it. If she does, we’ll have to be faster than her assassins.”

Justin’s eyes met Carrie’s. He noticed her concern. “I don’t have much choice. How close are our techs from determining the location?” he asked McClain.

“As far as these reports say, they’ve made no progress.” McClain picked up a thin folder from his desk. “They’ve explained at length the difficulties, the signal being transmitted over different encrypted servers all over the world, protocols, all the tech lingo. The bottom line is they have no idea.”

“Now they can search internally for Johnson, and see if we can trace the software installation to her station,” Justin said.

McClain shook his head. “She’s not stupid. She probably used someone else’s terminal or a conference room. But it’s worth a try.”

“And the e-mails and phone numbers from Al-Khaiwani? Did they help?” asked Carrie.

“No. The e-mail accounts are either deactivated or empty. The phone numbers are not in service. Dead ends.”

Justin shrugged.

McClain said, “I guess this
is
our only option. We’ll lure Johnson, and see what falls out in Moscow.”

Ottawa, Canada

September 29, 6:20 p.m. local time

Justin had a key to Anna’s small townhouse by Rockcliffe Park, a ten-minute drive from CIS headquarters. Anna was in Vancouver for a series of meetings, so Justin and Carrie were going to crash at her place for the night.

Justin had left a few changes of clothes at Anna’s place. He would stay there when he came to Ottawa. He liked the quietness, the decade-old trees, and the hundred-year old stone and brick houses in the posh neighborhood. He loved running in the morning with Anna along Parkcliffe Parkway stretching for miles alongside the Ottawa River. They would stop to catch their breath and watch ducks, geese and tens of other birds nesting and feeding amidst the pines, maples, and oaks. It was one of their favorite pastimes.

Carrie did not feel right about borrowing Anna’s clothes. They would probably fit her just fine, since they had almost the same body shape, but Carrie was a bit leaner and taller than Anna. She opted to go out shopping and buy something she could wear tonight and also take with her to Moscow for their mission. She drove Anna’s BMW, while Justin slipped into his running gear and hit the trails.

It was a brisk evening, and he was glad he brought a windbreaker. After the African and Arabian heat, he could breathe lungfuls of cool, fresh air. It had rained earlier in the day, and the streets and the driveways were still damp in places.

He ran slowly at first, warming up his muscles, then he broke into a fast jog, jumping over mud pools in the uneven trail, dashing through the trees and using their roots above ground as hurdles. He cut through the forest, ducking often to avoid low hanging branches and swerving around scraggly shrubs scratching at his legs until her reached the river shore.

Justin stopped to catch his breath. The sun was setting, and the twilight had started to envelop everything. The lights from buildings in the Gatineau neighborhood across the river reflected off the smooth water surface. He listened to the silence, broken only by the occasional screech of an unseen coot. His eyes found a small snapping turtle climbing lazily over a large piece of driftwood. He sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. He missed the quietness, the serenity, the peace. He had been to places much more exotic and glamorous than an urban river, but he traveled to those countries to bring death, violence, and destruction. There was hardly any time to enjoy himself when he was dodging bullets and escaping jihadists.

It had been only five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Justin resumed his jogging, heading toward the west and going all the way to the Boathouse, which was Anna’s favorite Saturdays’ breakfast place. He turned around and slowed his pace because of a burning sensation in his lungs. He rubbed the spot where the bullet had hit his vest two days ago. The Saudi doctors had warned him to take it easy and not overexert himself. Obviously, he had not listened to their advice.

When he arrived at the townhouse, he saw Anna’s BMW parked in the driveway. Carrie had returned.
She wasted no time.
He glanced at his wristwatch, realizing he had lost track of time. It was almost seven-thirty.

“Carrie, you’re back already,” he said as he went inside.

He heard no reply, so he walked through the hall and to the kitchen.

“Carrie,” he called again.

The sound of splashing water from the bathroom explained her absence. She was taking a shower.

Justin climbed the stairs to the second floor. He took a long shower in the master bathroom, scrubbing sweat and dirt from his body and the stale odor of recycled air from their long airplane trips. When he came downstairs, Carrie was sitting on the leather sofa by the large bay window overlooking a swath of green space with a few pines and cedars between the rows of townhouses. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air.

“Come here,” Carrie called to him. “Look.”

She pointed out two black squirrels chasing each other among the trees. They were making loud clicking sounds, each seemingly claiming the territory as their own.

“Isn’t that cute?” Carrie said.

“Very cute. Anna likes to sit here and look at the wildlife. All sorts of birds come up here from the river. Geese, ducks.”

“Must be nice.”

She reached for her cup from a coffee table by the couch. “I made some raspberry tea and coffee.”

“Blue Mountain?”

“Yeah. I figured that was your batch.”

“It is. A friend brought over a package from Jamaica. Anna loves it as well. Thanks for making it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Justin walked to the kitchen and poured himself a large cup.

“What did you buy?” he asked. He returned to the window and sat on the couch across from Carrie.

“This.” She flattened her blue blouse. “I also got a sweater and a knitted cardigan. Very stylish. And a black felt coat and two pairs of jeans.”

“And sweatpants,” Justin said.

“Yes, so comfy.” Carrie stretched her legs. “Those tiny airplane seats are so bad for my back. My legs were numb half the time.”

“Enjoy the sofa for now. Tomorrow, we’re back in the air, again crouched in those small seats.”

Carrie sipped from her cup. “Not until the afternoon. I’m planning on having a good night rest and sleeping in tomorrow morning. What about you?”

Before Justin could reply a small Honda pulled into the townhouse driveway. “Lee’s Palace” and a large dragon were stamped on the side. “Our supper?”

“Yeah. I ordered when you were in the shower.”

“Sweet. I was actually thinking of some good spring rolls and Wonton soup.”

Justin paid the delivery man, and they sat at the dining table, across from the living room.

Carrie asked, “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

“I’m going to see my old man.”

“He’s still at Montfort?”

“Yeah. The hospital wants to run more tests, but he . . . dad’s so stubborn.”

Justin found it difficult to use the word “dad” when referring to his father, Carter. Their relationship had been strained since Justin’s mother drove off a bridge when he was eleven years old. Justin blamed his father for his mother’s death and grew up hating him. Things had begun to improve after Carter was been diagnosed with lung cancer and was told he only had a few months to live, a year at the most in the best-case scenario.

Justin said, “He just wants to do the surgery in the States. It’s a new procedure, not yet available here, and quite dangerous.”

“What are his chances?” Carrie stopped eating.

“It depends on whom you ask. Doctors here think the surgery will do little, and his cancer will come back. The hospital in California promises a miracle.”

Carrie nodded. “I know. When my mom was showing the first signs of Alzheimer’s we checked for new drugs and treatments. There are many options in the States. We tried a few, and they seemed to help.”

“That’s good. You mom’s still in Toronto, right?” Justin finished his soup and moved the plastic bowl to the side.

“Yeah, Susan moved her there over the summer, since she got a new job in the city.”

Carrie sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“What is it?”

“Oh, I just wish I could see her more often. With our ever-changing schedules it’s just so difficult to plan. And mom is slipping further and further away. Soon she’ll be just the shell of the strong woman she used to be.”

Justin reached over the table and held her hand. Carrie shrugged, then looked away.

He said, “Yesterday morning, when I woke up in the hospital in Saudi Arabia, I thought about all the dead people around me. Not just in the camp in Yemen, but throughout this mission and other missions. Death seems to come and take away the people around me, like Birgit. You were shot at in Somalia and Yemen. Yuliya was wounded. What if I bring death to Anna as well? Maybe she’ll be better off without me.”

Carrie shook her head. “That’s one way to see it, but you can’t blame yourself for wanting justice and doing justice. Terrorists will seek revenge and wage war against everyone, and just the fact of being an American, a Westerner, or an ‘infidel’ is enough to warrant death. If it’s not you or Anna, it will be someone else and their loved ones.”

“But it’s me, and this is personal.”

“Right, and you’re the one to fix it. We’ll stop Johnson and unmask her for who she truly is: a spy and a traitor. We can’t kill all terrorists, but we’ll sure give it our best try.”

Justin nodded. “Just a moment of weakness, I guess.”

“It’s fine. It’s not weakness to worry about the ones you love. No one’s judging you or concluding you’re weak. You’re human. You’re allowed to have doubts.”

“Yeah, some days more than others.”

Carrie nodded. “Me too, me too. I just tell myself I chose to do this job, and I will damn right do it until I draw my last breath.”

“Terrorists want a ticket to paradise. I’ll be more than happy to give them one.”

“Now take some time to rest and relax. Tomorrow we have a long flight, and Friday it’s time to party.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Sheremetyevo International Airport, Moscow Oblast, Russia

October 1, 1:10 p.m. local time

Justin and Carrie travelled to Moscow under authentic Australian passports they had never used before in any operation. No reason to raise suspicions among Russian custom officials. A clean entry and high hopes for the same kind of exit.

Their Aeroflot flight took them to Terminal D about one o’clock in the afternoon. The terminal—a state-of-the-art facility completed in 2009— had a unique design. Its centerpiece was a majestic dome resembling a swan with its wings stretched, the wings being the two halls of the terminal. Justin had read the architect was inspired by Tchaikovsky’s
Swan Lake
ballet and the Russian culture. Its full beauty was better appreciated during the airplane descent over the terminal.

In their case, the weather decided not to cooperate. A thick curtain of gray clouds and a heavy rain greeted them before they hit the tarmac. The captain noted it was only fifty degrees outside, with wind speeds of over ten miles. Justin could feel the cold as they stepped out of the airplane and into the air bridge.

Inside the airport, another gigantic dome reminding Justin of a large flower with open petals welcomed passengers. The terminal was clean and lacked nothing in terms of passenger services. Open spaces, lots of stores, and short lines at the passport check-in counters.