“Is he safe at least?”
“Yes, for the moment. But deserts of Sudan are not the safest place on the planet even for well-trained Mossad agents. The man has a shoulder wound, which we treated, and which will not cause his death. Dehydration, on the other hand…”
“All right, ensure his safety until I get a reply from the Israelis.”
“I will, but my first priority is to ensure the safety of my team as we complete our mission.”
“I expect nothing less,” Johnson said dryly. “Now back to the late sheikh’s demands. You told me about the promise you made him. I’ll talk to our minister about that. How certain are we the intelligence obtained from the sheikh is reliable?”
Carrie coughed and Justin moved the satellite phone handset closer to her. She said, “At first glance, the documents seem legit. The photos look undoctored, the signatures authentic. The assassination plan against the US president is very real.”
“OK, I’ll talk to the CIA and the Secret Service. They have advance ground teams already in Libya, since their president’s visit to Tripoli takes place in three days.”
“Great, so they can handle this situation and return us the favor later,” Justin said.
“Not so quick,” Johnson said, “I want you to deliver this intelligence to the Americans and assist them in investigating this plot.”
Justin took a deep breath before replying to his boss, “This is not part of our mission and was not—”
“Now it is part of your mission, Justin. I expect your fully cooperation with the Americans. You will get to Tripoli tonight.”
Justin’s right hand tightened into a fist. His fingers crackled and his jaws clamped shut as he began grinding his teeth. Two years ago, a botched rescue operation in Libya had landed Justin and Abdul — one of the CIS local contacts — in one of Libya’s worst torture chambers. Their nightmare ended with a prison escape as they fought their way out of hell, leaving behind a long trail of dead demons. The torture slashes on Justin’s back healed well in a matter of months; the grave marks carved in his memory took much longer. Some never healed.
Carrie leaned closer to the phone. “Ms. Johnson, with all due respect, our relationship with the Secret Service has not been the greatest. After yesterday’s explosions Tripoli will be extremely hostile. Our presence will only complicate the situation.”
“I understand your concerns, Carrie, and I’m fully aware of recent developments in Tripoli. Our Cairo station is providing us hourly updates and they’ll give you any support you need, serving as your backup.”
Justin cleared his throat. “Can’t the rest of the Cairo station handle this?” he asked with caution, avoiding a direct confrontation with his boss.
“Yes, they can, but not as efficiently as you and Carrie. You’ve already been briefed and are familiar with all details. Besides, you have experience working in Libya and a considerable network of contacts. And this is a matter of national security for Canada too. Our prime minister will attend the G-20 Summit in Tripoli along with the US president and dignitaries of other countries.”
“Oh, really?” Justin asked.
“Well, schedule permitting.” Johnson seemed to take a step back from her previous assertion. “In any case,” she added hastily, “an assassination attempt would throw Libya and the entire North Africa back into chaos. After the civil wars, the car bombings and the events in Tunisia and Egypt, we need to do everything to maintain stability in this region.”
Justin mulled over Johnson’s last words. She was right, in part. It was a very sensitive situation and he was already at the center of the storm. Anna will never forgive me for missing both her birthday and our anniversary. More than the revenge of his sworn enemies in Libya’s mukhabarat, Justin feared shattering Anna’s hopes of a peaceful and memorable getaway.
“I’ll arrange for a chopper to meet you at the Egyptian border. It’s too hot to have them fly into Sudan as originally planned because of this attack,” Johnson said. “I’ll ask them, but I’m sure they’ll not do it. Once you’re back in Cairo, secure the intel from the sheikh and the alleged Israeli agent at two separate, safe locations. I’ll update you on the Mossad and the US Secret Service responses. Then, make plans to get to Tripoli and meet with the Secret Service advance team.”
“We’ve taken pictures of the Israeli agent and of some of the documents from the sheikh’s briefcase,” Carrie said. “I’ll send them to you right away.”
“Perfect.”
“The sooner we return the agent to the Mossad, the more time we’ll have to unravel this plot,” Justin said without much conviction. He was not sure if he preferred staying in Cairo while chained to an Israeli agent, waiting for a Mossad rescue team to shoot him in the face, or sneaking into Tripoli and risk being chained to a torture pole, waiting for Libyan henchmen to cut his throat.
“Cairo is not their most preferred place to do business. Although, if this man is really theirs, they’ll send a team in no time,” Johnson said.
“This man is not my responsibility,” Justin said, “I hope the Israelis don’t delay. And I hope they come in peace.”
“Saving the life of their field agent is sufficient reason to come in peace. Mazel tov, Justin.”
Justin sighed, not appreciating Johnson’s attempt at humor. He mumbled, “Let’s wait for congratulations until the exchange is over.”
“Call me in an hour. I should have some instructions by then about your transport and this man.”
“We’ll do.”
“Good luck to both of you.”
“Thanks,” Justin and Carrie replied almost in a single voice.
They stared at each other in deep silence for a few long moments.
“What are the chances we’ll still be alive at the end of this?” Carrie asked.
“Do you have a will?” Justin replied.
Before she could say anything, loud noises erupted in the gunmen camp. Two men were exchanging blows. Justin recognized Nassir and Khalid as the fighters while two other men were cheering them on. At one point, Nassir produced a pistol. He pressed it against Khalid’s chest, who threw his arms up in complete surrender.
“Hey, knock it off! Stop! Stop!” Justin charged toward the grim spectacle. “What’s the reason for—”
His words were cut off by a loud gunshot. Justin’s hands instinctively went to his carbine. Khalid collapsed to the ground two steps away from Nassir’s feet.
“What the hell did he do to you?” Justin shouted at Nassir as he leaned over Khalid’s body. Blood was gushing from a large wound and the man had no pulse. At point blank, Nassir’s shot had proven fatal. Carrie held up her rifle inches away from Nassir’s head.
“He… he was a traitor,” Nassir replied, a small GSh-18 Russian-made pistol still in his left hand. “And, you saw, it was an accident… I mean self-defense.”
Justin gazed at Nassir. There was a glow of self-contentment on the man’s grin. The killer’s face showed no hint of guilt or remorse. Not even the slightest concern about the young man, whose life he ended with a single, cold-blooded gesture. A natural killer. But I’ve got more important issues on my plate.
“Time to go,” he said to Carrie, who was still holding her rifle pointed at Nassir.
“What about Khalid?” she asked.
Justin gave the dead body another glance. Then his eyes rested on the two gunmen. They were standing at the side of the Land Rover, dazzled by the deadly turn of events.