Chapter Three

 

 

CIS Headquarters

Ottawa, Canada

Ten days later

 

Javin parked at the furthermost corner of the massive parking lot. The agency never slept, so he was lucky to get an empty spot. He jogged toward the massive marble building, the CIS Headquarters on Ogilvie Road. He did not want to be late for his eight o’clock meeting with his boss. Javin had ten minutes, plenty of time if the procedure at the main entrance security checkpoint went quick.

When Javin worked at the HQ building, all he needed to do was flash his credentials to the guards, who were familiar with his face and his good-spirited banter, and they would wave him through. Those good old times were gone. Nowadays, he rarely came, maybe once a month, and there always seemed to be different guards staffing the checkpoint. After an attempted attack a few months back, the security protocol was tightened. All personnel underwent a thorough check, including the obligatory pat down.

Javin was slightly annoyed when the fresh-faced intelligence officers put his briefcase through the X-ray scanner and asked him to walk through the metal detector. One of them examined his badge at length, eyeing Javin suspiciously and comparing his face to his photo ID. The process reminded Javin of his early days in the Service. He had done this exact same job for a few weeks as he learned to read faces and trust his instincts, rather than just go by the approved rules.

After getting back his ID, Javin climbed the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. His boss’s office was at the other end of the fourth floor, right by where Javin used to have an office. He slowed down for a moment when passing by that door, where now hung a sign with another man’s name.

He walked down the long hall and slowed down only when he drew near his boss’s door. Hugo Martin, Director of Intelligence for the Europe Division was imprinted on the solid wood door. Javin flattened the front of his black jacket, tightened his tie’s knot, and knocked on the door.

“Yes, Javin, come in,” Martin called in his deep baritone voice.

Javin opened the door. “Morning, boss. How’s your day starting?”

“The sun’s smiling down on me.” Martin stood up from behind his mahogany desk, the centerpiece of his office. Long, tall bookshelves occupied the right side of his office, while a series of black file cabinets were lined up on the opposite wall. Behind Martin’s desk, the floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass window showed magnificent vistas of the Ottawa River and the surrounding park. The city’s skyline rose in the distance, with the tallest skyscrapers reflecting the weak but gorgeous rays of the sun.

Martin shook Javin’s hand, then gestured toward the small rectangular desk by the file cabinets. “Oh, I almost forgot this.” He swung on his heel and grabbed one of the green folders at the edge of the large desk.

Javin was surprised at Martin’s elegant spin. He was in his late fifties, but ran ten kilometers every day and never ate red meat or fried foods. Javin watched his health too, and limited his animal protein consumption. Occasionally, though, he sank his teeth deep into a well-done porterhouse steak of Alberta beef.

“Have a seat,” Martin said.

Javin sat at his usual place, with his back against the file cabinets.

Martin opened the folder on the desk, then swung it around, so Javin could read the report. He leaned back on his swivel chair and said, “Second page. Transcript from the Albanian State Police, confirmed by Interpol on the next couple of pages.”

Javin speed-read through the pages. A large weapons cache had been intercepted two nights ago while heading to the port of Durrës, Albania’s largest seaport. A wide network of fixers, financiers, and intermediaries had ended up behind bars. The number was eighteen, and more arrests were expected. One of the most prominent names was an army colonel, who was killed in an unrelated, accidental shooting ten days ago in the military base from which the weapons cache had originated. According to the report, the investigation could reach the highest levels of Albanian politics, including former members of parliament and the current deputy minister of defence.

Martin brushed back his gray hair and gestured toward the report. “You did an excellent job, Javin. Your name is correctly nowhere in the reports."

Javin nodded slowly. “Thank you, sir. I had great support from Mr. Gogollari and the rest of the team.”

He was referring mainly to his partner, Claudia Aquarone. She had been in constant contact with Javin, providing everything he needed, from logistics to background intelligence, to setting up, and almost real-time cover for his always-evolving operation.

“Yes, the Albanians are quite happy. Catching the shipment goes a long way in improving their image and their reputation as a reliable ally in the global war on terrorism. The commander is recovering very well, and sends you his best wishes.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Now, on the topic of your team, it’s time to bring Claudia back to the field.”

Javin frowned but did not say anything.

Martin studied Javin’s crumpled face. “Say what you think.”

Javin shrugged. “You make the decision if she’s ready or not . . .”

“But you disagree.”

“Yes, I disagree.”

Martin leaned forward. “You know, when you came back after going through . . . issues, many people thought you weren’t ready.”

Javin’s frown deepened. “Yeah, and they were very wrong.’

“The same could be said in this case.”

Javin nodded. He could see Martin’s line of reasoning. Javin shifted uncomfortably in his seat and rubbed his chin. “Yes, but these two cases are quite different. Claudia, well, her op went sideways. Perhaps not directly her fault, but still . . . Me, well, I had no control over what happened to my wife . . .”

Martin gave Javin a warm look. “I don’t mean to re-open old wounds, Javin.” His voice had taken on a soft, fatherly tone. “But both you and Claudia were a mess when you returned to the agency. This life is all about second chances. You got yours, and she will too.”

“Understood, sir. Whom will she be paired with?”

Martin grinned. “Eh, do I need to spell it out?”

Javin shook his head. “I’m not sure this is going to work, sir.”

“What’s the problem, Javin? Claudia has shown she can handle herself quite well under pressure, even much better than before. She has learned from the past.”

“Claudia’s not the problem, Martin. I . . . Maybe I’m the one who’s not ready for a partner, especially a female one.”

Martin folded his hands across his chest. “I’ve read your psych evaluations, Javin. You’re making excellent progress. All assessments are off the charts.”

Javin nodded slowly. “Those . . . eh, those reports can be misleading.”

Martin frowned and cocked his head. “Are you telling me you cheated in these tests?

“No, no, of course not. What I’m saying is that they may not show the full picture of who I am now.”

Martin thought about Javin’s answer for a long moment, then said, “Give this a try, will you? If the arrangement doesn’t work, we’ll see what needs tweaking.”

Javin nodded. “Okay,” he said in a quiet tone.

“Good. So, we can file away the weapons op.” Martin closed the folder and slid it to the side. He returned to his desk and picked up a new one. This one was black, the color of an operation that had not started yet.

Javin pulled out his tablet from his briefcase and set it up in front of him.

Martin handed Javin the black folder and sat down. “Your next mission, yours and Claudia’s, it’s more complicated than the one in Albania. This one will take you to Istanbul. Last night, one of our teams lost a flash drive that you and Claudia need to retrieve.”

“What’s in the drive?”

“Classified intel about Turkish government involvement in the wars in Syria and Iraq. Illegal oil trade deals. Very damning evidence for a lot of politicians and businessmen.”

“Okay.” Javin’s voice remained calm. “Who has it?”

“It’s in a police station vault. They found it after the team was chased out of town. The flash drive is encrypted, and, according to our records, still intact. But it’s only a matter of time before someone in the police or the MIT cracks the encryption.”

Javin nodded. The MIT—Milli Istihbarat Teskilati, or the National Intelligence Organization—was Turkey’s primary intelligence gathering agency. They had the people and the tools to break any security encryption, and eventually decrypt the files. “When are we moving out?”

“A government plane is flying to Sofia, Bulgaria in four hours. You and Claudia will board that one.”

Javin nodded. “Assets on the ground?”

“Two. Not a hundred percent reliable, but that’s all we’ve got.” Martin tipped his head toward the folder. “It’s all in there.”

“Okay.”

“Questions?”

“Not at this time.”

“All right. Retrieve the drive and come home. As always, leave no traces.”

“Will do, sir.”