Imri, go,” Nicole called into her coms.
“Root,” came the reply.
Mousa’s reaction to the poison should have taken longer. The plan had been for Burhan to slip out and tell the bodyguards that their boss was on an important call and demanded to be left alone until he texted for the masseuse to come back. That would give the Syrian the chance to slip from the warmup room through the welcome area and out the front, where Imri would meet him to skirt him away.
So much for the plan.
The first problem they now faced was that a bodyguard remained outside the front doors, leaning against a wall and looking at his phone. Nicole watched the hotel’s in-house security camera as Imri walked toward the front door.
“Kam assaa’ah?” Imri asked the man.
As the man looked up, Imri punched him hard in the solar plexus, doubling him over. Imri then brought his knee up into the man’s face, putting him out. Grabbing the man under his arms, he dragged him to a bench. He positioned him so he was sitting up, but the man’s busted nose was pouring blood.
“Just let him go. Get Burhan,” Nicole commanded.
“Root,” answered Imri, letting the man fold over and finally drop to the ground.
Turning back to the heavy wooden doors, Imri pulled them open. Nicole switched her view to another camera. A pretty, young Filipino girl began to greet him, but he smiled, said “Excuse me,” and continued onward like he belonged there.
The girl seemed unsure of what to do, which allowed Imri time to get through to the preparation room. Nicole had no cameras there, so she listened intently.
“Should I go help him?” asked Dima, who was extremely antsy at being trapped in the van next to Nicole.
“Wait just a second,” she responded. As she did, her eyes caught sight of Mousa twisting in agony. It was brutal to see.
Remember what he commanded his people to do to the innocent parents and their precious children. He deserves what he’s getting!
Pointing to that screen, she said to Dima, “You watch that and make sure he dies.”
The Russian Jew angled the laptop so that Nicole would have to intentionally lean over to see it.
Suddenly, Imri’s voice spoke English in Nicole’s ears. “Mr. Bakir, I’m so glad I found you. You have an urgent call from the management.”
Someone spoke some angry words that Nicole couldn’t understand.
In his most pleasant voice, Imri replied, “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but this is urgent business.”
There were more angry words, then the sound of a scuffle. Screams sounded from a distance, which Nicole assumed were other patrons awaiting their turns in the hot rooms.
“Let’s go! Now,” shouted Imri.
Imri and Burhan appeared in the welcome area, rushing through to the front doors.
The girl at the front desk quickly picked up the phone. As she did, Nicole pressed three keys on her keyboard. The girl put the phone to her ear. Then she pulled it away and looked at it. She set it down and picked it up again. She listened, shrugged, then put it back down.
Always got to keep a little something up the sleeve.
Shutting down the hotel’s phone system was an emergency plan Nicole had hoped to not use. But, once again, preparation was the greater part of wisdom.
Imri and Burhan had made it far enough up the hall to where they could cut left to the stairs. Two flights down put them on ground level. One more level down put them in the garage, where the van waited.
“The dog is dead,” said Dima. “Do you want to confirm?”
Nicole didn’t want to, but she did anyway. Mousa had fallen off the marble slab and was splayed on the floor in a very uncomfortable-looking angle. His eyes were opened wide in terror and there was no movement in his chest or abdomen.
“Confirmed.”
“Target down and out,” said Dima.
“Confirmed. Target down and out,” replied Dafna.
The side door to the van slid open and Imri and Burhan climbed in.
“What was that? He was dying,” yelled the Syrian.
“He’s not dying,” said Dima. “He’s already dead.” Nicole elbowed the Russian hard in the ribs.
Burhan was near panic. “What? How? I told you that I would not be party to killing anyone.”
“And, as far as you knew, you weren’t,” said Nicole. “Your conscience can remain clear.”
“My conscience! What do you know about my conscience? You just tricked me into killing a man, and now you say that my conscience can still be clear. And now what will you do? I know how you Russians work. Mousa will not be the only dead man today.” The terrified Syrian backed into a corner of the van.
Nicole reached out her hand. “Listen, your work is not done yet. Right now, I need you here next to me.”
Ignoring Nicole’s hand, Burhan remained in the corner.
Undeterred, Nicole stretched her hand out farther. “Please, Burhan, come. I’m going to need your help.”
Anger and bitterness filled the Syrian’s words. “What? Do you have someone else you need to kill?”
“No, I’m going to need you to convince your family that it is okay to go with my friends. I told you before, we are people who keep our word.” Turning a laptop toward Burhan, she gave him a live view outside his family’s temporary shelter in Syria.