The Lost Codex (21 page)

32

G
ideon?” Uzi asked. “How the hell does a retired family physician know the director general of Mossad?”

Uzi struggled to put it together. Then he thought of what his father had said: things were not what they appeared to be.

“You were a Mossad agent,” Vail said. “Just like your father. Just like your son. Am I right?”

Uzi’s head swung to Vail—and back to his father—so fast that he heard the joints crack in his neck.

“Dad?”

Roey lifted his mug. Uzi grabbed his wrist. “Dad, answer her.”

“He doesn’t have to, Boychick. Knox knows your dad, your dad knows Aksel. Your grandpops and father were Mossad. For you …” He shrugged. “Seems preordained.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Roey said.

Uzi let go of his arm. “It had nothing to do with my father, Santa. I applied, they rejected me. It was Rafi Eitan who—”

“No.” Roey leaned back in his seat. “I was the one who killed your application. I didn’t want my son having the type of life I lived, the type of life my father lived. It wasn’t good for a family. Your mother—well, she was the one who made me see it. She asked me to make it so they wouldn’t take you.”

Uzi had applied but never got a response—which meant they were not interested. It wasn’t until Rafi Eitan, a legendary Mossad operative, pulled strings. That’s when Uzi got the call that started his career in spy work. Or so he thought.

Roey grabbed another slice of jerky and tossed it to Benny. “You were exceptionally bright, Aaron, and loved technology. Your mother and I wanted you to pursue that. But if we’d come out and told you that, you never would’ve listened. This way, you made the decision for yourself.”

“With some ‘help’ from you and Mom. You manipulated me.”

“All parents manipulate their children—to eat healthy, to do their homework, to be kind to others—”

“This is different. I was an adult.”

Roey nodded slowly. “I know. I told your mother it was wrong. You were happy at Intel, but I knew you still had that burning desire, the same burning desire I had so many years before. Unless I removed that hold I’d placed on your name, you wouldn’t get anywhere, and I knew it wasn’t something you could accept. So I called Gideon.”

“You knew Gideon?”

“I worked under him early in his career. We’ve stayed in touch.”

“Are you still working for them?”

“You know I can’t answer that.”

As Uzi sat there, a horrible thought occurred to him: if his father had not paved his way into Mossad, Dena and Maya would still be alive.

He rose from his chair and clasped the back of his neck.

Uzi willed himself to stop thinking like that. He had an important case. People were depending on him. He had to focus, push it aside.

“Boychick, you okay?”

“He’s wondering, Hector, if he should disown me,” Roey said. “If I’d left well enough alone, if I hadn’t removed that barrier, he never would’ve gotten into Mossad and his wife and daughter wouldn’t have been murdered.”

“Uzi,” Vail said.

“He’ll be fine,” Roey said. “He just needs a minute.”

Uzi turned to Roey, a hollow, emotionless look on his face, and said, “We’ve got a case to work.” He stood up and pushed in his chair. “Thanks for your help. And the coffee.”

Vail and DeSantos glanced at one another, then followed Uzi toward the front door.

“Thank you,” Vail said.

“Aaron, wait. When will I see you again?”

Uzi stopped, his hand gripping the knob. He did not turn around—and did not answer. He pulled the door open and walked out.

33

O
utside, they walked to their car in silence. DeSantos was on the phone, following a dozen feet behind them.

Walking by Uzi’s side, Vail looked over at him and saw that his brow was hard, his jaw set. He was either angry or concentrating—she could not tell which.

“You can’t blame your father.”

“I know,” he said, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“Hey, hang on a second.” She took hold of his leather jacket and gave a tug. He stopped and reluctantly turned to face her.

“Life is full of these ‘what if’ alternate realities, Uzi. If only I’d taken the earlier train. If only I’d caught that killer a day sooner, if only I’d seen the car run the red light, if only I’d fired my Glock a millisecond sooner. There’s no end to these scenarios. You can go nuts—literally—trying to live life like that. What happened, happened. Your father did what he thought was right for you at the time, trying to make you happy. He had no way of knowing the consequences.”

“I know. It’s just—I thought I was over it, you know? I thought I’d come to terms with it. Then something like this happens—” He held up a hand. “I’ll get past it. It’ll scab over again. Meantime, we’ve got a job to do.”

DeSantos came up from behind them. “That was Knox. He knew Gideon paid Roey a visit. And obviously he knew the scroll existed—but he didn’t know who had it until he found out the codex was being held hostage.” DeSantos glanced at each of them, then said, “Everything okay?”

“He’s working through what Roey told him about Dena and Maya.”

“I’m good,” Uzi said. “Reopened an old wound is all. Did Knox give us anything useful?”

“Just an order: find the documents.”

Uzi’s phone rang. He glanced at the display and backed away. “Gotta take this.” He tossed DeSantos the car keys. “Be right there.”

UZI ANSWERED THE CALL when he was comfortably out of range of Vail and DeSantos. He felt bad not including them in his fishing expedition on Mahmoud El-Fahad. But until he had more concrete information one way or the other, he felt it best not to accuse their missing team member of anything improper.

“Hot Rod, talk to me.”

“So you’re right, Amer Madari has a suspicious history of travel to terror hotbeds. But I couldn’t find anything indicating he’s been radicalized. No bank transfers, no questionable business dealings, no known associates who have terror backgrounds, no trips to terror camps, no Facebook posts showing a tendency toward extremist thinking.”

“So you’ve got zip.”

“Basically, he looks clean as far as I can see. That doesn’t mean he is, it just means I can’t see anything that would raise a red flag.”

“Is he too clean?”

Rodman paused a moment. “Interesting question. I’ll keep that in mind as I poke around.”

“Anything turns up, let me know.”

“What’s up with this guy? What are you looking for?”

Uzi nearly shared his concerns with Rodman but held back. “He’s working with someone I’m keeping an eye on. If he’s bad, the guy I’m watching could be a problem too.”

He thanked Rodman and rejoined Vail and DeSantos in the car.

“All good?” DeSantos asked.

All good—maybe that was the problem. “Yeah, let’s get going.”

Vail turned over the engine. “Got some good news and some bad news. Which you want first?”

“Give me the good.”

“Heard from Mo.”

“Really,” Uzi said. “Where’s he been?”

“Didn’t say. But he’s on his way to meet us.”

“And that happens to be the bad news,” DeSantos said. “We’re meeting him at Maguire Air Force Base.”

“Why is that bad news?”

“Because we’re going to London.”

Uzi turned to Vail. “But we’re banned from England. We can’t go to London.”

Vail yanked the gear shift into drive. “That, Uzi, is why it’s the bad news.”

34

T
hey arrived at New Jersey’s McGuire Air Force Base, also known as “Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst” an hour and twenty minutes later, using lights and siren and riding the shoulder of the turnpike when possible.

Vail and Uzi stood outside the PX, a Walmart-size store that sold everything a soldier and his family would need. They went on a quick shopping spree, buying three days’ worth of toiletry essentials, underwear and socks, 5.11 tactical pants and belts, locking plastic ties, and canvas duffels to carry it all in. DeSantos used his Department of Defense credentials to make the purchase.

He joined them outside and tossed them their khaki-colored bags. An extra one sat on the ground at their feet in preparation for Fahad’s arrival.

They turned in unison at the chopping noise of helicopter rotors off to their left. An FBI Black Hawk hovered, then dropped in place to a gentle landing in a field a couple hundred yards in the distance.

Moments later, Douglas Knox joined them at the periphery of the parking lot.

“You obviously can’t fly a commercial jet into Heathrow,” Knox said as he used his right hand to brush his hair back into place. “A C-17 Globemaster III is fueled and ready to go.”

“Going back to London,” Uzi said with a shake of his head. “That a good idea?”

“Since it came from me, Agent Uziel, yes, I do think it’s a good idea.”

“With all due respect,” Vail said, “Given our history, I didn’t think any of us would be setting foot in the UK any time in the near future.”
More like never.

“We were operating under the same assumption. But circumstances demanded that we reexamine that.” Knox glanced around. “Where’s Fahad?”

“Supposedly en route,” Vail said. “Should’ve been here already.”

DeSantos checked his watch. “You were saying that circumstances demanded our involvement.”

“Qadir Yaseen, al Humat’s master engineer, the one likely responsible for all the bombings so far, is in London. Tahir Aziz, one of the men who escaped from the safe house, is with him.”

“Why not alert MI5?” Vail asked.

Knox frowned. “Aden Buck and I are not exactly on good terms. He took a great deal of heat when I had to clean up the mess you three created. He resisted calls for his resignation, so he came out whole—but not without a considerable loss of political capital, which left him vulnerable and open to criticism by those in the government who smell blood. They know he’s down so they think they can push him around. Bottom line, I did tell Buck we had intel indicating that Yaseen and Aziz had entered the UK.”

“Then what’s the problem?” DeSantos asked.

“He said they could not verify that our intel is accurate. In fact, he virtually denied either man is on UK soil. And we know he’s wrong. We’ve got strong confirmation. CIA is backing us up, as is the NSA.”

“But MI5 isn’t acting on the intel.”

“No. And here’s the problem: Yaseen is too important an asset for us to lose. If he were somewhere in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen, we’d locate him and take him out with a drone and a Hellfire. Can’t do that in the UK.”

“Which might be why he’s there,” Vail said.

Knox tilted his chin back. “We think he’s there to oversee another attack.”

“I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Isn’t that England’s problem?” DeSantos asked. “If they’re not going to act on confirmed intel, that’s their choice.”

Knox swung both arms behind his back. “Theoretically, yes. But England’s our closest ally and a strike against the UK is a strike against us. So we’re going to help them—even if they don’t want it. And in spite of the animosity their MI5 director general harbors against us.”

“Why us?” Vail asked. “The risk of us being seen—and ID’d—is very high.”

“Because we have contacts there,” DeSantos said.

Knox nodded. “I assume that’s still the situation?” He made eye contact with each of them. “Or is that a poor assumption?”

“To my knowledge,” Vail said, “nothing’s changed. But if Buck doesn’t want his agents cooperating with us, our sources may not want to risk their careers.”
Like we’d be doing.

“Then let’s make sure Aden Buck doesn’t know you’re in country. That’s a good idea, anyway.”

“So no contact with Buck whatsoever,” Uzi said.

“None. You have a problem, you’re on your own. You can’t call me. You can’t call Buck. You can’t call the embassy. This is a deniable op. Your presence on UK soil can’t come back at the US.”

Uh, wait a minute. When exactly did I sign up for this?

“Agent Vail?” Knox was looking directly at her. “You have a problem?”

Vail glanced at DeSantos, whose expression said, “Keep your mouth shut.” “Honestly, sir, if I’ve got a choice, I’d rather not—”

“You don’t have a choice. Simply put, Agent Vail, when you got your asses in hot water and I risked everything to clear your names—or at least to the extent possible—you signed an unofficial contract with me. This is an assignment you cannot refuse.”

Before Vail could object—and she was thinking about it—DeSantos intervened. He lifted Vail’s hand and gestured toward the engagement ring.

“You can’t take that with you.”

Knox extended a hand.

She looked at Knox and hesitated.
Well, shit, if I can’t trust the director of the FBI
… She stood there a moment, her right hand grasping the ring.
C’mon, Karen, you think about it any longer, it’s gonna look weird
. She finally pulled it off and handed it to Knox. She suddenly felt naked.

“What’s our objective?” Uzi asked. “Assuming we locate Yaseen, how are we going to get him out of the UK?”

“In a body bag. Your orders are to eliminate him. We’ve had enough of his handiwork. After you make a positive ID, leave his rotting corpse in the UK—or even better, drop it on Buck’s doorstep.” He shook his head. “Asshole.”

“Why not go above his head?” Vail asked, massaging her bare finger.

“That’d have to be handled diplomatically. Secretary McNamara did not feel that going directly to the interior minister was the right move. He’d be more inclined to trust Buck’s assessment than ours. And if we want to have any hope of cooperating with MI5 in the future, going over the director general’s head is a sure way to put a deep frost on our relationship for years to come. Even if Yaseen never set off a bomb in the UK, if he succeeded in screwing up relations between the FBI and MI5, he’d have hit the jackpot.”

An alarm beeped on Knox’s phone. He silenced it then said, “Are we clear? Any questions?”

Yeah. How do I unenlist?

It was DeSantos who replied that they were good.

Speak for yourself, Hector.

“When you’ve completed your mission, proceed to the Royal Air Base, where the C-17 will be fueled and ready to go.”

“No Osprey this time, eh?” Uzi asked.

Knox’s face broadened slightly. “That’s funny.”

No, it’s not.

Knox handed DeSantos a small satchel, then turned and headed back toward the Black Hawk.

“A word of advice,” DeSantos said as he watched Knox walk off. “The C-17’s an impressive plane, an engineering marvel and a jewel on the battlefield in terms of moving heavy machinery and troops around. But not so much for creature comforts when nature calls.”

Vail cricked her neck. “Come again?”

“You urinate out a little chute along the fuselage. No privacy. Go now or forever hold your pee.” He winked, then bent down and gathered up his duffel as a Humvee pulled up in front of the PX.

Vail decided to take DeSantos’s advice and started back toward the PX to use the facilities when the Humvee’s door opened. Out stepped Mahmoud El-Fahad.

AT THE SIGHT OF FAHAD HEADING IN THEIR DIRECTION, Uzi was conflicted. He desperately wanted more information before confronting the man on his whereabouts and his meet with Amer Madari. But they were about to embark on a dangerous mission, one that required complete trust in your team members. It was now or never.

They met halfway and Uzi handed Fahad his duffel. As they walked back to the Humvee, DeSantos gave him a rundown of their mission based on the information Knox had provided.

By the time he finished, they arrived at the flight line, where the Boeing C-17 Globemaster III was waiting, engines hot. The exterior was painted a matte gray, with the tail call sign emblazoned with “McGuire” in yellow letters on a blue background. The cargo plane was massive, with four jet engines and several sets of wheels beneath the fuselage.

They climbed up the rear ramp and took a look around. The cargo hold was a no-frills shell with wires snaking along the ceiling, levers and coiled cargo straps in open cubbies along the cabin wall, and a nonskid metal floor. While it had a utilitarian look, this plane was relatively new and well maintained.

They pulled down the nylon sidewall seats that lined the periphery of the cabin. Uzi and Vail sat next to each other, while DeSantos and Fahad took positions opposite them on the other side of the fuselage. A tank sat strapped down in the middle, forward of their location, with pallets of crates secured in the center of the hold.

“I booked business class,” Vail said. “Where the hell’s my cheese plate?”

“Ring the call button,” DeSantos said.

“Mo,” Uzi shouted across the hold, “you owe us an explanation.”

“An explanation. For what?”

Uzi snorted. “For going off the grid. We tried reaching you throughout the day. You didn’t reply.”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

DeSantos twisted in his seat to face Fahad. “How would you know?”

Uzi tilted his head. “Where were you?”

“In the city, following up on some things.”

They waited, but Fahad busied himself with tightening his harness and did not elaborate.

“Secure yourselves,” the loadmaster yelled in from the open tail. “Closing up shop. Oh—the parachutes are in those kit bags up against the bulkhead. We’ll be dropping you thirty miles due east of London.”

“Wait,” Vail said. “What?”

The man laughed. “Relax, just givin’ you shit. The disposable earplugs are in that box by your feet. See you across the pond.”

DeSantos waved acknowledgment and the large ramp started rising, the exterior light disappearing as the metal door closed with a low groan that sounded like a garbage truck picking up a trash bin.

“How do you know Amer Madari?” Uzi asked above the din.

Vail turned to Uzi. “Who’s Amer Madari?”

“Yeah,” Fahad said. “Who’s Amer—Madari, you said?”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Uzi said firmly. “I know you met with him this morning.” He was talking to be heard over the ambient noise, but his demeanor, and perhaps his tone, made it sound as if he was angry and shouting.

“And how would you know that?”

“Amer Madari,” Uzi said, turning to Vail but speaking so that DeSantos could hear him, “has been to Pakistan, Syria, and Gaza the past couple of years.”

DeSantos was staring at Uzi, but Uzi could not make out his expression: He could tell he was not pleased. But was he angry that Uzi had been spying on his team member or was he angry that Uzi had not mentioned it earlier? Or both?

“Why were you meeting with him?”

“I’m CIA, Uzi. Sometimes we go dark to follow up on leads. I’m on this team because I’m Palestinian, because I’m trusted in the Arab community, because I have
contacts
in the community. Some of those are going to be suspect, some are going to have records, some may even have a history in terrorism. It’s no different than you meeting with a confidential informant who uses drugs or who’s committed a felony or who’s—”

“Blown stuff up?”

“Yeah. Even someone who’s blown stuff up.”

“And what about your nephew?”

Fahad’s face blanched. The rattle and the rocking motion of the fuselage, as the plane gained speed and rolled along the runway, made his head bob left and right.

“Your nephew,” Uzi said, “the suicide bomber who blew up a school bus full of innocent children in Haifa in 2003.”

DeSantos leaned forward, his chest straining against the seat restraint. “What the hell are you talking about?” He pulled his gaze away from Uzi and faced Fahad. “What’s he talking about?”

Fahad bit his bottom lip. He closed his eyes but did not answer DeSantos’s question.

“Answer me, or so help me God, I will have this plane turned around—”

“It’s true,” Fahad said. “I don’t know how you found out about it, but it’s true.”

DeSantos, Uzi, and Vail shared a concerned look.

“You didn’t think this was important for us to know?” Vail asked.

“Yeah,” Fahad said, “I could imagine how well that would go over. The Palestinian, the guy you don’t trust to begin with, had a nephew who was a suicide bomber, a radical. You really don’t understand why I didn’t say anything?”

“How the hell did you get into the CIA?” DeSantos asked.

Uzi chuckled. “I know the answer to that. Tasset gave you the chance to prove yourself. And he had something on you, so when the shit hits the fan, you owe him. Big. You’ll support him, do whatever he needs you to do, because you have no choice. He’s got a secret on you. Am I right?”

Fahad nodded.

“After we texted you to meet us at the crime scene, did you tip the sniper that I’d be at city hall this afternoon?”

“No—why would I do that?”

“Did you or anyone else you know, or anyone you’re affiliated with, plant the bomb in my car?”

“What bomb?”

“Answer the question.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No,” Uzi said. “I’m lucky to be alive. So forgive me for asking tough questions you don’t want to hear.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Nothing.” He shook his head. “Look, I understand this doesn’t look good. But when I saw my nephew get on that bus and blow himself up, something snapped inside me. I knew he had these crazy ideas but I never thought he’d do something so stupid. But for me, it had the opposite effect. I didn’t channel his anger. I realized it was a stupid, ill-advised idea. That’s when I came to the US and started a new life, got into the CIA.”

“Tasset knew who you were.”