December 16
10th District of Favoriten
Southeast Vienna, Austria
Justin Hall glanced through the silver Audi SUV’s windshield at the back entrance of the small mosque across the street. The last of his team’s targets, Sheikh Abu al-Ahmed al-Jadid, had just arrived for a long-scheduled meeting with a group of ten or so jihadists and militants operating in the capital. Two of the sheikh’s guards were standing outside the green steel door. The driver was turning the sheikh’s car around in the narrow alley in front of a small Turkish restaurant and a Syrian bakery and sweet shop.
Justin shifted his body in the front passenger seat, so he could better face the young man sitting in the back. “It’s time. You’re ready?”
The young man returned a look of hesitation. His eyes blinked rapidly as he searched Justin’s face. The young man offered a small shrug, as his head dropped down to the suicide vest he was wearing underneath his oversized black coat. “I’m . . . I’m not sure I can go through with this.”
Justin looked at Carrie O’Connor, his partner in the Canadian Intelligence Service, who was sitting behind the wheel. She gave him a small nod and a smile. Then Justin’s eyes went to Lukas, the operative of Einsatzkommando Cobra—better known as EKO Cobra—the elite counter-terrorism unit of the Austrian police. Lukas’s freckled face was blank, void of any emotion. He straightened the front of his gray jacket and peered at Justin for a response.
The Canadian agent sighed, then said in a low, warm voice, “Hadad, the man who ordered your mother and your father killed, to be slaughtered like animals, just waltzed into that mosque.” Justin pointed with his hand. “And you are going to sit here and do nothing about it?” His voice rose abruptly in a way he had not intended.
Hadad glanced at his folded hands. “I just . . . I can’t move. I’m . . . I’m very afraid.”
Justin nodded. He was familiar with that feeling of being paralyzed with fear. His mind raced to some of the early operations, when he was still a rookie. Oh, how long has it been? Twelve, no, thirteen years. Justin had been fully trained and his operation had gone through a couple of dry runs. Hadad was a teacher from Aleppo, once Syria’s largest city. He had never held a gun and had never seen a suicide vest, until he had come to Austria along with a flood of refugees escaping the horrors of their country’s endless civil war. Justin leaned closer to Hadad and said, “Fear is normal; it’s to be expected. You would be crazy not to have fear. But what are you going to do with it? Let it stop you from avenging your family? Why not let fear give rise to courage?”
Hadad shook his head and did not look up. He exhaled a long wheezing breath, then said, “I’ve thought about it. I have to worry about my wife and my son. If . . . if something happened to me, they’ll have no one to care for them.”
Justin sighed and opened his mouth. But before he could speak another word, Carrie placed her hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her, and she gestured at him to let her speak. Justin nodded and sat back.
Carrie said, “Hadad, you’re worried about your wife and your son, and that’s good. How old is your son?”
Carrie and Justin were familiar with Hadad’s file, and they knew his son’s age, along with everything else about his son, wife, and relatives. But Carrie was attempting to renew the rapport of trust they thought they had established with Hadad by creating a more personal connection.
He did not answer right away. He drew in a deep breath, then said, “He’s five, just turned five a week ago.”
“Wow, five, eh?” Carrie said. “They’re so curious at that age, aren’t they?”
Hadad nodded. “Yes, he has questions about everything. Why this and why that.”
“Yeah, they want to know; they want to learn. They look up to their parents to teach them about the world; about what’s right and what’s wrong. So, Hadad, what are you going to tell your son when he asks about his grandparents?”
Hadad raised his head. His face was twisted into a dark frown. In silence, he peered at Carrie for a long moment. Then he gave her a small, almost imperceptible shrug.
Carrie said, “When your son grows up—and, God forbid, someone harms you and his mother—would you want him to be a man and fight back, or sit in a corner like a coward?”
Hadad’s eye glinted with rage. He tightened his fists. “I’m not a coward. I’m not a coward.”
Carrie nodded. She had not said Hadad was a coward, but the implication was clear. “Of course you’re not. Now go out there, avenge your parents, and show your son the actions of a brave man.”
Hadad nodded back. He looked at Lukas, then at Justin. “I will; I’m going to do this.”
“Great,” Justin said. “Remember not to rush. It’s okay to feel anxious. The sheikh is expecting that. He knows delivering the explosives is your first mission; it’s your test.”
Hadad looked attentively at Justin. “I got it,” he said in a firm voice.
Justin continued, “The explosives are set. All you need to do is get in, make sure the vest is within six feet of the sheikh, then get out.”
They had gone over this twice before: the first time at the safehouse, when they had explained to Hadad the plan to assassinate the sheikh, and the second time about fifteen minutes ago, when the bomb expert had shown Hadad how to operate the vest. But a bit of reassurance was in order, to ensure everything went without a glitch.
“How long do I have?” Hadad asked.
“Take your time. But the longer you stay inside, the greater the chances of their becoming suspicious. Or the sheikh may move away from the vest.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll come out as soon as I can, of course, without rushing and without making it seem as if I’m trying to escape.”
Justin nodded. “Good. If it’s more than two minutes, we’ll give you a call. It’s your excuse to step out and answer your phone.”
“I understand. Anything else?”
Justin shook his head. “No, nothing. Now, may God help you.”
“Inch’allah, inch’allah,” Hadad whispered more to himself than anyone else.
Justin shook Hadad’s hand, then Hadad zipped up his coat. He opened the door and stepped outside, dashing into the narrow alley behind the car. Hadad was going to circle the block and come up from the left of the mosque.
“You’re sure he’s gonna do this right?” Lukas said in a voice full of uncertainty.
Justin glanced at Lukas’s face and exhaled. “Yes, he’ll do fine.”
Justin sank back in his seat and tried to dismiss the Austrian agent’s doubts. Ever since Justin’s transfer to the Europe Clandestine Section ten days ago, Lukas had been the most vocal opponent of Justin’s tactics. Other operatives in the ECS had also expressed some concerns about the “new guy” and the way he ran his operations, but they had mostly kept to themselves. Justin had still heard the rumors through the grapevine.
“Hadad has no training and is very likely to—”
“Lukas, we’ve heard you before, and your captain dismissed your objections and gave the go-ahead to this operation. Now, can we please focus on the task at hand?” Justin shifted his body toward Lukas, then gestured at the guards pacing in front of the mosque’s back entrance.
Lukas shrugged. “Well, the captain made a mistake. And we’re continuing that mistake here.”
Justin shook his head. “No, that’s not the case. Hadad came to us; we didn’t cultivate him as an asset. He has a great motivation to carry this through: avenging his murdered family.”
“That’s true. I’m not doubting his motives, but his abilities.”
Justin brushed back his wavy, raven hair, which had grown to shoulder length. He thought about his answer for an instant. “We’re not asking Hadad for a miracle. This is a simple mission: deliver the package. He was our best option, and we couldn’t let this chance to get to the sheikh slip through our fingers.”
Lukas’s unimpressed gaze met Justin’s big black eyes. Both men stared at each other for a long moment, then Lukas broke off the gaze. He said, “I hope so, Justin, for everyone’s sake.”
Justin nodded, then glanced at Carrie. “Can you check with Team A, make sure everything is in order?”
“Right away.”
Carrie radioed Team A, which was stationed to the right, overlooking the front entrance to the mosque. Vale and Dolina from the ECS, Max from the EKO Cobra, and Tobias from the Federal Office for State Protection and Counter-terrorism (BVT) were sitting in an armored Audi SUV identical to that of Team B.
Justin listened in silence and scratched the side of his bushy beard. He had not shaved for over three weeks, as he was trying to sport a full-beard look. Some of the whiskers had grown unruly, and he had noticed many of them were gray. He shrugged and looked closely at the left side of the street. Hadad had just rounded the corner and was walking briskly toward the mosque.
“We’ve got movement,” Carrie said and placed the radio back on the dashboard.
“Roger,” came Vale’s reply in his typical loud and firm voice.
Justin sat up straight. His hand went to the Sig Sauer P229 pistol in his waistband holster. He was not expecting a firefight this early in the operation, but he wanted to make sure he was ready when and if the fight came. Justin glanced at Lukas, who had already pulled out his Steyr TMP 9mm machine pistol. It was fitted with a sound suppressor and Lukas had attached a 30-round magazine.
“Already expecting trouble?” Justin asked in a cold voice.
“Always,” Lukas replied in the same icy tone.
Justin looked at Carrie, who was also following Hadad’s movements. Her right-hand fingers were drumming on the steering wheel. Justin could not see her left hand, which had disappeared to the side. He imagined she was also ready to reach for her pistol, the same make and model as Justin’s, at a moment’s notice.
Justin returned his eyes to Hadad. He was a few steps away from the nearest guard, who seemed to gesture for Hadad to stop. He did so, then unzipped the top of his coat, again at the guard’s signals. The guard stepped back, and his face twisted into a frightened frown at the sight of the suicide vest that Hadad was wearing. The second guard also withdrew in fear. Hadad raised his hands and made reassuring moves, trying to calm down the alarmed guard. It took a few laborious seconds, but the two guards finally drew near Hadad. They still stayed a few feet away, and one of them reluctantly opened the mosque’s back door and ushered Hadad inside. The second guard followed behind.
“He’s in.” Carrie heaved a sigh of relief.
Justin drew in a deep breath. “Step one complete. Now we have no visuals.”
“We just hope and pray,” Carrie said.
“And get ready for the coming fight,” Lukas said.
“Roger,” Vale said on the radio.
Justin glanced at his wristwatch. It was ten thirteen. He found his cellphone inside his pants pocket and held it in his hand. Hadad’s phone number was programmed, and all Justin needed to do was dial 4. He glanced again at the watch.
“Relax, he just got in,” Carrie said in a calm, reassuring tone. “He’ll get this done.”
Justin nodded. “Two minutes and I’m calling him.”
“Of course,” Carrie said.
Justin rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants. He hated waiting, sitting there and doing nothing. He felt the adrenaline rush through his body, the call of the fight echoing in his ears. His heart began to race, his jugular vein pulsing rapidly. Justin’s senses were heightened: his vision grew clearer along with his hearing. And his body felt fully pumped because of the adrenaline boost, ready to jump out of the car and face the action.
But he had to wait. Wait until Hadad returned to the street on his own or after he had received Justin’s phone call.
Another sixty seconds.
He drew in deep breaths through his nose and mopped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
Carrie had stopped drumming her fingers.
Lukas had leaned forward in his seat, glancing very intently through the side window.
“I’m calling him,” Justin said.
He speed-dialed Hadad. First came the open signal tone, then the line went dead.
Justin re-dialed. The call was connected, but he heard a busy tone. Did someone take away his phone?
“Not answering.” He waved the phone at Carrie and Lukas.
Justin tried again, this time typing each number carefully.
Again, the phone rang busy.
Justin frowned. “Something’s wrong.”