Tripoli's Target (Justin Hall # 2) (11 page)

“I will take you safely to the Egyptian border—” Nassir said.

Justin interrupted him with a stern glance and a strong headshake.

“Carrie, kill this man.” Justin pointed with his hand to the silent young man.

She nodded and swung her rifle away from Nassir, who blinked rapidly in shock. The young man kept staring at Justin, then asked in Arabic the other man, who was slowly backing away from the Land Rover, “What is he saying? What are they doing?”

“Don’t talk to him,” Justin shouted. “Carrie, kill this man,” he repeated his order.

She moved closer to the young man with her gun pointing down. The young man, still oblivious to the threat against his life, eyed her curiously. It seemed he was wondering about the agents’ sudden interest in him.

Justin was using a CIS trick to find out if the man really understood their language. If he remained calm in the face of mounting danger, the man either knew no English or knew no fear. In both cases, these were qualities Justin was looking for at this moment.

“What do you want?” the man asked finally, again in Arabic, as Carrie stood right in front of him.

“Do you know the roads to northern Chad?” Justin asked him in Arabic.

The man nodded. “I can get you to Agoza by sunset,” he replied with confidence.

“That’s in the Ennedi region, right?” Justin asked, to check if the man was telling the truth and knew how to get them to Sudan’s western neighbor.

“Right,” the man replied. “Very secluded and remote.”

Justin smiled.
He is telling the truth.
“Yes, it’s a great hiding place.”

He could not care less whether Agoza was secluded or whether it was a safe place. They were not going west to Agoza. Cairo, their destination, was northeast. But if the Mossad, the Alliance or anyone else asked about the agents, Justin wanted to lead them after false trails in the deserts of northern Chad.

“Fantastic,” Justin said. “We’ve got a deal. What’s your name?”

“Mus’ad”

“Well, Mus’ad, today’s your lucky day,” Justin said, emphasizing the young man’s name, which in Arabic meant favored by fortune. He pulled out a wad of American dollars from his knapsack. “Five thousand.” He waved the money in the air. “If we’re in Agoza by sunset.”

Mus’ad’s eyebrows jumped up at the lucrative proposal. The amount was a remarkable payoff even among gunrunners. Justin could see the man was already thinking how he was going to spend the promised cash.

“I’ll get you there in plenty of time for dinner and drinks,” Mus’ad said.

Nassir was observing their exchange in silence.

“We part ways here,” Justin said, turning toward Nassir and stretching out his hand.

Nassir hesitated for a moment. He holstered his pistol inside his belt and gave Justin’s hand a firm grip.

“Watch out for rebels,” he whispered, “the road to Chad is full of traps. Starving refugees, militia, bandits, kidnappers . . . Without proper protection, you’re in grave danger.”

“I appreciate your concern, but we’re going to be just fine,” Justin replied. “So long.”

Carrie followed him as Justin approached the other gunman. He was still standing at a distance from Nassir and the Land Rover.

“We need a favor,” Justin whispered and shoved a few hundred dollar bills in the man’s left hand, “give Ali and Khalid a proper burial. They died fighting and they deserve to leave his world in an honorable way.”

The gunman nodded and quickly hid his money underneath his robe.

“Thank you and so long,” Justin said, loud enough for Nassir to hear, if he was eavesdropping. “Mus’ad, it’s time to go.”

Chapter Eight

Forty-five miles south of the Egyptian border

Great Sand Sea, Sudan

May 14, 12:35 p.m. local time

Ten minutes later, Justin ordered Mus’ad, the driver, to stop the sheikh’s BMW by the burning helicopter’s wreckage. Carrie stood guard to ensure Mus’ad did not steal a glance at their precious package. The four-seater had only two rows, and Justin and Carrie debated whether their package should be stowed away in the trunk or should stay in the backseat.

At the end, they decided the first option provided more discretion. Justin led the suspected Israeli agent inside the BMW’s trunk. He made sure the captive had sufficient oxygen and the air circulation inside the car kept a reasonably cool temperature in the trunk. Justin left the lid of the trunk inside the BMW slightly open, to provide for a greater visibility when checking the package’s conditions. Wounded, tied, and gagged, the Israeli agent presented no real threat of escape. At least in theory. But Justin had witnessed numerous cases of incredible disappearances. He was leaving nothing to chance, convinced that everything was possible for a man of Mossad.

Half an hour into the drive, Justin took out his satellite phone from his knapsack.

“You ready for this call?” Carrie asked.

“Not really. But I’ve got to do it.”

“She’s not gonna like it.”

“I know,” Justin replied with a deep sigh.

The satellite phone grew heavy in his hand as Justin considered his options. Realizing he had none, he forced his fingers to dial Anna’s number.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said softly after hearing Anna’s voice, “how are things there?”

“Great. You’re OK?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine.”

“You didn’t call me yesterday. I waited by the phone for an hour.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Justin replied with a wince as Carrie shook her head. “I just didn’t have a chance.”

“I understand. Now tell me you’re calling from the airport.”

“Hmmm . . . No, I’m not at the airport. There has been a change of plans.”

Dead silence followed. Justin thought the connection was interrupted, but a second later he heard Anna’s weak breath.

“So you’re not flying home tonight?” she asked.

“No, not tonight.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Sweetie, I don’t know when I’ll come home.”

Another few dead moments.

“Should I cancel our trip?”

“Yes, please.”

“Will you at least make it for my birthday, and . . . and our anniversary?”

It was now Justin’s turn to hold his tongue.

“I take that as a no, Justin.”

“Sorry, it doesn’t always depend on me.”

“Where is Johnson sending you now?”

Justin hesitated before answering. “I can’t . . . can’t really explain that . . . I’m not alone at the moment.”

Although they had sealed the Israeli’s ears with rough and ready earplugs, and Mus’ad understood no English, Justin was not willing to take any unnecessary risks. Besides, agents were expected not to reveal the nature or the location of their missions. Justin preferred to give Anna any another explanation than the standard reference to the agency’s operatives manual.

“So what can you tell me?” Anna asked.

“That I love you,” Justin replied.

“Are you going to be safe? Promise me you’re going to be safe.”

“You know I don’t like making promises I can’t keep.”

“Exactly. So make it and keep it.”

“I’ll do my best to be safe. And I want you to take care of yourself as well.”

“Oh, what will happen to me? A legal briefing will fall on my lap?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. I just don’t like it when we’re apart. Actually, I hate it.”

“I don’t like being away either, but . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced at the trunk, catching the gaze of the Israeli’s bloodshot eyes. Justin’s eyes inspected the double overhand knots in the rope securing the man’s wrists and ankles. The knots were tight and in their original place.
Maybe he won’t even attempt an escape.

“Justin? You’re still there?” Anna’s voice echoed in his ear.

“Yes, yes, I’m here. I was just checking something. Listen, I’ll explain everything when I get home,” he said quickly. “OK?”

Anna sighed. “I just want to be with you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Come home safe, will you?”

“I’ll try.”

“OK. When will you call me?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I hope.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

“OK. I’ll let you go now.”

“I love you,” Justin said under breath.

“I love you, too,” Anna replied.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” Carrie said as soon as Justin dropped the satellite phone back into his knapsack. “She took it very well.”

“Thanks for the privacy.”

“Hey, we could have stopped the car.”

“No, I don’t want to waste any time. The terrorists already have a head start.”

Justin had instructed Mus’ad to change the direction of their course from west to north and drive toward the Egyptian border. The driver’s face had suddenly lost its color, turning white, as if they had given him a death sentence. He made every effort to change their minds, at one point threatening to quit altogether. Justin did not know if Mus’ad reluctance was intended to be an extortion tactic, in order to press the agents into increasing his payment, or the man was truly afraid of crossing into the land of the Pharaohs.

“Remember to stay off the common routes, Mus’ad,” Justin said to the driver.

“Yes. We are. We’re driving parallel to the trails set by the Tuaregs but making our own path. Unless the terrain is too difficult for that.”

Justin glanced at the sand dunes. They were taller and wider than when they were closer to the valley of the ambush. The landscape resembled a stormy sea with angry waves ripping and peeling in an endless struggle. Lone acacia trees appeared occasionally among hill slopes. Their umbrella-shaped branches were a constant reminder that life was possible even in the deepest, driest parts of the Sahara. Further north, a brownish mountain range was slowly beginning to take shape on the horizon. Its purple round ridges arched from behind a glowing curtain of simmering air.

“That’s Jebel Uweinat.” Mus’ad pointed to where Justin had fixed his gaze.

Justin nodded, still staring at the high mountain rising up right at the border between Egypt, Libya, and Sudan. Jebel Uweinat was the most famous attraction in this part of the desert.

“Yes, and let’s stay away from trails leading there,” Justin said. “The place is crawling with tourists.”

Mus’ad nodded. “And bandits,” he said. “Last week, bandits kidnapped ten Germans while they were touring Gilf al-Kebir in Egypt to visit its prehistoric cave paintings. They were taken across the Libyan border.” Mus’ad gestured to his left toward a shallow valley cutting through the sea of dunes. “Bandits released them only after their families paid a fat ransom.”

“Watch out that
we
don’t end up in Libya,” Justin said. “I don’t want trouble with their rebels or police, secret or not.”

“Not yet,” Carrie added in English.

Justin nodded at her.

“The borders are not very clear,” Mus’ad complained. “Most of the time, there are no checkpoints, no border guards, no signs at all.”

“Just keep your eyes open and avoid everything that moves,” Justin said in an abrupt tone intended to end the discussion.

Mus’ad got the hint and kept silent, driving upward as they climbed around a steep dune. Black rocky humps the size of camels dotted the surface of the slope.

“You will not have to worry about Libya’s mukhabarat,” Justin whispered as he leaned closer to Carrie. “In Cairo, we part ways.”

“Uh-uh,” Carrie replied in a low voice. “I’m going with you to Tripoli.”

“No, you’re not. One of us has to handle the agent’s transfer. Just be careful with Mossad.”

“I can take care of myself and it can’t be worse than this. At least in Libya we know who the enemy is.”

“Eh, I thought so and see where we are. We sit down for talks with Islamic terrorists and we fight alongside with them and Sudanese gunrunners. And who are we up against? Our greatest friend and ally in the Middle East.”

“We didn’t know some of the attackers were . . . from that country,” Carrie said. She avoided mentioning the name “Israel,” fearing the driver may pick up the word.

“I’m sure Johnson will come up with a more elaborate official explanation,” Justin said. “Are you confident in handling the transfer?”

“Alone?” Her eyebrows arched and a frown formed on her face.

“With assistance from the Cairo station.” Justin pointed to the north.

“It will depend on who George will give me.”

“Johnson will make him give you whoever you want.” His voice was strong, decisive.

“So this deal, this will be
quid pro quo
?”

“Yes, something for something. If this man is a field agent, which I’m absolutely sure he is, then they’ll send a team to retrieve him. After they give you the intel about their mission in Sudan, you give them his location.”

“Simple enough,” Carrie said sarcastically.

“Manageable,” Justin replied. “We’ll set it up together as fail-safe as we can. Then you’ll take over.”

“I’m already thinking of places where we can have this exchange meeting.”

“We’ll have to wait for Johnson and for that country’s reply.”

“I’m sure that country won’t like it. We kidnapped and threw their agent in the trunk,” Carrie said in a warning tone.

“Well, I didn’t like it when this man was firing missiles at my head. Everything is fair in war. And what we did saved his life.”

“I just hope they come in peace.”

“So do I,” Justin muttered thoughtfully, “so do I.”

Chapter Nine

Tripoli International Airport, Libya

May 14, 6:00 p.m. local time

Aboard EgyptAir Flight 831 landing at Tripoli International Airport that evening was one Australian citizen. At least, that is how the dark-haired man was identified by his biometric passport, an authentic document issued by the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade of Australia. The CIS did not risk any unnecessary exposure by counterfeiting travel documents for their agents. Instead, they secured foreign passports by applying for them through entirely legal ways. Interventions by senior political officials ensured a smooth process through the government offices dealing with such applications.