Chapter Four

 

 

December 16

ECS Vienna Station

Austria

 

“More coffee, anyone?” Justin stood up and glanced at his teammates sitting around the small dining table.

“Sure, I’ll take a cup,” Vale replied without looking up from his laptop.

“I’m okay.” Dolina nodded at him.

“My tea’s still good.” Carrie reached for her cup and brought it to her mouth. “Actually, it’s gone cold. I’ll dump it out and get a fresh cup.”

“I’ll start the kettle then.”

“No, I’ve got it. I have to stretch my legs.”

She walked to the kitchen and filled the kettle. Justin prepared the coffeemaker to brew a fresh cup, then stood with his back against the cupboard. He glanced over Carrie’s shoulder at the window overlooking the red-roofed yellow-painted house across the street. The ECS Vienna Station was located in the Donaustadt District, the northeast part of the city, in a nondescript house that had been upgraded and modified to fit the needs of the teams working out of it. There were two offices downstairs, along with the kitchen and the dining room, with all three bedrooms on the second floor. The house was near an intersection, with plenty of options if the agents needed to make a quick getaway. The neighborhood was safe and quiet, but a ECS patrol team combed the area for suspicious signs or activities every eight hours.

Carrie said, “So, you think we’re going to find him?”

“If the MI6 intel is accurate, then we should. But the security camera pictures are grainy and blurry. Assuming al-Nueimi is the man in the picture, and he’s still in London, we have a starting point.”

“And if MI6 is wrong?”

Justin shrugged. “Then we’ve got nothing, and we’re back to square one.”

“Oh, I think we’re making some progress,” Vale’s strong voice reached the kitchen. “I’m reviewing other camera feeds from London’s security cams. Time stamps indicate it’s the same day. Al-Nueimi appears to have taken the train to Tower Hamlets, East London. There are several shots of him leaving the station.”

“Can we be absolutely sure it’s him?” Justin walked toward Vale.

“Yes, of course. Have a look.” Vale brushed back the short curly hair framing his square-jawed face. His keen brown eyes looked at Justin, then his gaze fell again on the laptop’s screen. “See, that’s al-Nueimi, no doubt about it.”

Justin leaned over the screen. The picture was small but clear. He could make out the rugged full-bearded face of the fifty-five-year-old man. Al-Nueimi was not looking directly at the camera and had turned slightly to the left, so his eyes were hidden. But the beak-like nose and the two-inch scar near the ear left no doubt that the man on the camera was the Austrian asset.

“All right, good job, Vale. So this places al-Nueimi in London on . . . what’s the date?”

“This is from December 14, so two days ago.”

“All right, so in forty-eight hours he could be anywhere. The MI6 report says nothing about his whereabouts after that date, right?”

“That’s correct.” Dolina nodded her head, and her shoulder-length blonde hair swung from side to side around her oval-shaped face.

“How about known associates? Do we know anything more about them?” Carrie asked. She had followed Justin and was standing to Vale’s right.

Dolina said, “Yes. I got a few names by comparing CIA’s and our databases. We don’t have access to most of what MI6 or MI5 know about al-Nueimi, and, of course, FSB files are out of the question.”

Justin nodded. “I’ll talk to Colton at MI6, and see if we can get more on al-Nueimi and his contacts. I’m not sure I can do anything about the FSB.” He frowned and shrugged.

His relationship with FSB, the Russian internal security intelligence service, was as cold as the weather at this time of the year in Moscow. The last time Justin had traveled to Moscow, back in September, he had exchanged blows with an FSB operative, and had been threatened at gunpoint by the operative’s supervisor. No, the FSB won’t even take my call. Justin shook his head.

Carrie said, “I can try my FSB contact, Natalya. She was helpful when I was looking into my dad’s disappearance.”

Carrie’s father, a Canadian Army colonel, had vanished during a covert mission in the late eighties in the Soviet Union, when she was just a little girl. Her father’s disappearance had been the main drive for Carrie to join first the army and then the intelligence service in the hope of finding the truth about her father. Last month, she had finally found the man who had killed her father, and had settled accounts.

Justin held Carrie’s eyes for a moment. “Sure, give her a call. But watch out; the Russians strike a hard bargain.”

“But they have a large team deployed to London,” Vale said in a tone that was more than a suggestion. “They can be of assistance, if we play our cards right.”

“Yes, but let’s look at other options, for the moment. If we get desperate, we’ll consider reaching a deal with the FSB.”

Vale nodded. “Sure, you’re the chief on this one.”

Justin refrained from showing any emotions on his face. There had been some friction between him and Vale upon Justin’s arrival at the ECS. Perhaps Vale was expecting a promotion to Justin’s position as the team leader. Or perhaps it was male rivalry. But Vale had always performed beyond excellence, had kept his emotions mostly in check, and only let his discontent be known by occasional small, subtle comments.

“What about Mossad?” Dolina asked. “Their London station has a few phenomenal agents, Allon being one of them.”

Justin shook his head. “I . . . Mossad has backstabbed me one too many times. They like to take, take, take and give very little, if anything. And they always have their own agenda. Still, if you know someone who can help . . .”

“I do.”

“Then go for it. Needless to say, don’t give out more intel than necessary.”

Dolina smiled. “Yeah, needless to say.”

Justin nodded, then stifled a frown. He had caught himself talking down to his teammates again. He shrugged and sighed. Maybe I’m worrying too much about my dad. And I didn’t sleep well last night. I need a break and that cup of coffee.

He walked to the kitchen, interrupted the coffeemaker’s cycle, and filled his cup. He drew in a deep breath, finding the sharp aroma quite comforting. There was something about coffee that he loved. It went beyond the caffeine jolt. Perhaps it’s the mental association of a break or enjoying the company of friends. He brought the cup to his lips and took a small sip. Yeah, and when the coffee tastes good, that’s a bonus.

He returned to his seat without a word and glanced at the papers strewn about in front of him. His eyes rested on an old file photo of Omar al-Nueimi. You were doing so well; helping us and giving us actionable intel. So, what spooked you so that you disappeared? What are you doing in London? He picked up the photo and gazed at it for a long moment. Whatever you’re doing, we’re going to find out. Sooner or later, but I prefer sooner rather than later.

Justin went back to reviewing the personal file and the operations reports based on intelligence obtained from al-Nueimi. The Iraqi national, who was born in Baghdad and lived in Mosul, had arrived in Austria in late October. The exact date was unknown and so was the route by which he had arrived. Al-Nueimi had explained how he had joined a group of Syrian refugees who were seeking to cross into Europe. Along with them, he had made the exhausting journey to Turkey and then to Greece. After trying for a few days to find a boat to take him to Italy, al-Nueimi had changed his plans and had paid smugglers to take him through Macedonia, Serbia, and Hungary, with the final destination being Austria.

Al-Nueimi had been placed in an emergency shelter run by Caritas Austria, a Catholic charity. The Iraqi had initially wanted to continue to Scandinavia, after learning that Sweden gave Syrian refugees automatic residency and a generous monthly welfare check. Al-Nueimi believed he could easily pass for a Syrian, as both countries spoke Arabic, and there was virtually no difference between the way he looked and the average Syrian man.

However, once again his plans were thwarted. But this time, it was not a combination of outside factors but his own actions. While staying at the Traiskirchen refugee camp outside Vienna, al-Nueimi noticed a man seeking assistance at the mobile medical center. Al-Nueimi recognized the man as an ISIS fighter in Mosul, who had terrorized their neighborhood a few months earlier. The man was also trying to pass for a Syrian and seek refugee asylum in Germany.

Not on al-Nueimi’s watch.

He had first approached a police officer and had asked to talk to a counterterrorism agent about a potential threat. But the officer had not taken al-Nueimi seriously and had shrugged him off. Thankfully for al-Nueimi and for the ECS, a Canadian operative standing nearby had heard the conversation. Claudia was posing as a Red Cross volunteer, mingling with refugees in an effort to discover ISIS operatives rumored to be hiding among the new arrivals. She had casually talked to al-Nueimi and had gained his confidence. He had told her about the ISIS fighter, and Claudia had arranged for the police to apprehend the man. As soon as the interrogation had started, the man had confessed to being exactly who al-Nueimi had suspected him to be.

During the next few days, Claudia had developed a relationship with al-Nueimi, cultivating him as an asset. Al-Nueimi had admitted to being an early ISIS sympathizer, seeing them as liberators when ISIS first took over Mosul in 2014, since the Iraqi army was considered a Shiite occupation of the predominantly Sunni community. However, after seeing ISIS’s brutalities and being forced into their service as an unpaid driver and a car mechanic, al-Nueimi had changed his mind. He had left Mosul along with his family, which was still back in Baghdad, and was planning to be reunited with his family once he had secured residency papers and a stable job in a European country.

Claudia had convinced al-Nueimi to remain at the refugee camp, and to be the ECS’s eyes and ears on the ground. He would be compensated handsomely for all actionable intelligence and would be provided with Canadian residency documents for him and his family at the end of his service, if proven satisfactory. Al-Nueimi had accepted and had kept his side of the deal. He had provided weekly updates on what he had seen or heard in the camp from arriving refugees. His intelligence had resulted in the capture of two more ISIS fighters and the identification of about a dozen or so ISIS sympathizers and supporters. Al-Nueimi had proven to be very resourceful, efficient, and smart.

Then he disappeared.

Al-Nueimi had missed the meeting with Claudia, his handler, on December 1. She had not worried at first, since punctuality was not al-Nueimi’s strongest point. Since he was always worried about his safety, al-Nueimi would often take an alternate route to the meeting, take a taxi or a different bus, to make things difficult if anyone was trailing him. He usually showed up late to their meetings. Claudia had waited until an hour after the meeting time before attempting to contact him. His phone was turned off.

So Claudia informed the ECS station about al-Nueimi’s disappearance. The station sent a team of two agents to look for al-Nueimi at the refugee camp, as well as at a nearby café, a convenience store owned by an old Lebanese man, and a few other places where he liked to hang out. But al-Nueimi had vanished without a trace. Everyone the agents talked to had not seen al-Nueimi that day and had no idea where he might be.

Within twenty-four hours, the trail had gone cold. The station was still searching for al-Nueimi, but his case had been placed on the back burner. Another crisis had emerged that needed the station’s full attention. Only Claudia was actively looking for al-Nueimi, so far without any success.

Justin took a long sip of coffee and made a few notes in the margins of the file. He decided to talk to Claudia again and see if he could learn anything else, something that was not in the file and that could perhaps help him to get closer to al-Nueimi.

“How are things going, Justin?” Carrie asked.

He shrugged. “Eh, they’re going. I’m going to talk to Claudia and see if we have missed something. I mean, al-Nueimi can’t just disappear like he’s Houdini.”

“What if someone forced him to disappear?” Vale asked.

The question had been raised before. Justin had not had an answer at that time and did not have an answer now. “It’s still a possibility,” he said and sighed. “However, until we gather more intel, we’ll work on the assumption that the simplest solution will suffice. Al-Nueimi walked off on his own; that’s our current theory.”

Carrie said, “The London videos show him walking freely. No one seems to be following him or holding him at gunpoint.”

Vale leaned back on his seat. “What if someone threatened him or his family? After all, al-Nueimi was spying against ISIS. Maybe someone at the camp noticed his activities and ratted on him?”

Justin nodded. “You may be right. I’ll explore that angle when I talk to Claudia. Considering she didn’t record it in the file, I doubt she’ll have much to add, though.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Vale asked.

Justin thought about his reply for a moment. This could be a chance for them to improve their relationship, and for Justin to ensure a greater involvement on Vale’s part, which would make him more invested in the operation. And Vale could be useful in reducing the friction between Justin and Claudia. She was still vexed about having this case taken away from her and about being replaced by, in her own words, “some guy who has no idea what’s going on here and who’s coming from the other side of the world.” So Justin said, “Sure, Vale. I’d love your help with this.”

“Great. When are we going?”

Justin glanced at his phone. “Let’s work until 1:00. Then perhaps we can meet her this afternoon.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll give her a call and set up a time.”

He scrolled through the phone’s logbook. But before he could find Claudia’s number, his phone rang. Justin glanced at the local number starting with 713 but did not recognize it. “Yes, who is this?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hall,” said a booming man’s voice with a slight accent that Justin found hard to place. It had an Eastern European flavor. Russia was the first country that came to mind, followed by Ukraine and Poland. “I’m glad I had the right number.”

Justin frowned. He glanced at the number again, but did not recognize it, nor did he recognize the man’s voice. Should I know him? “Who is this?”

“Oh, yes, where are my manners? My name is Sergei Smirnov and I work for the Russian Consulate in Vienna. I’m one of the trade representatives in the country.”

Justin grinned. That means you’re an SVR operative. Agents of the SVR—Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service—operated largely in Europe under the guise of diplomats or officials for trade or cultural missions. Justin glanced across the table and noticed that his teammates were all looking at him. “Okay, and what can I do for you?” he said and stood up. He gestured to them that he was going to step outside to take the call and walked to the hall.

“I would like to meet with you, Mr. Hall, possibly today—as soon as we can, actually. I have some information that you and your colleagues will find very useful.”

“Just give me a moment,” Justin said since he was still within earshot of his teammates.

He slipped on his shoes and looked at the closet. He thought about whether he needed his jacket, then he shook his head. This won’t take long. He opened and closed the main entrance door, then jogged to the sidewalk. It was not very cold outside; maybe around ten degrees Celsius. But the wind gusts were ice-cold. “Mr. Smirnov, why would I have an interest in your trade proposal?”

Smirnov let out a loud laugh. “We both know that I’m no merchant or diplomat. But my proposal is of great value to you. We are both looking for the same thing, or should I say the same person.”

Justin frowned and glanced back at the house. Carrie seemed to be standing behind the window and glancing at him. Justin waved at her, then turned around. “And who might that be?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, since he goes by some many names and aliases. But let’s try Salah al-Joubori or Rafie al-Essawi?”

“None of them ring a bell.”

“What about Omar al-Nueimi? Does that name sound familiar, Mr. Hall?” Smirnov said in a sharp voice with a slight hint of impatience.

Justin’s frown grew deeper. He thought about his answer for a moment. “Who is this person?” he said in a calm noncommittal tone.

He did not want to mention al-Nueimi’s name or give any indication that he knew the vanished asset. Justin’s phone was secure, equipped with a symmetric-key triple encryption package, whose algorithms changed constantly to thwart unauthorized access attempts. However, no cryptography tool was unbreakable, and with the National Security Agency always listening, it was only a matter of time before the Americans would learn about this al-Nueimi. If they did not know about him already.

“Mr. Hall, we don’t have time to waste on games, if you want to find Mr. al-Nueimi before . . . well, how about we meet, and I can tell you what we know about him?” Smirnov’s voice was curt and cold.

“And what do I have to do in return for this favor of yours?”

“Oh, Mr. Hall, did I mention I wanted anything?”

“No, but there has to be an underlying motive for your call.”

“There’s no hidden or secretive reason for my office wanting to help a colleague. We both want the same thing: finding Mr. al-Nueimi as soon as possible, right?”

“Let’s suppose that is true. What is your reason for wanting to find him?”

A moment of pause, then Smirnov said, “I’ll give you the reason along with the information when we meet. Now, do you know Café Moskva on Engerthstrasse? It’s near the Hilton.”

Justin nodded. “I know the place.” Full of Russian spies, diplomats, and businessmen.

“I’ll see you there in thirty minutes,” Smirnov’s voice left no room for discussion.

“I’ll be there.”

“Great.” Smirnov ended the call.

Justin glanced at the phone and pushed the End button. Well, that was strange. It’s not every day I get a call from SVR offering intel in exchange for nothing. He snorted. I know as well as Smirnov that there’s no such thing as free intel.

He pocketed the phone and returned to the house. “Everything okay?” Carrie asked when he walked in the dining room.

“Yes, that was Sergei Smirnov, SVR. He has intel on our man, and Smirnov is willing to share their file with us.”

“When?” Vale asked.

“He wants to meet in thirty minutes.”

“What does he want in exchange?” Carrie asked.

“Nothing.”

“As if,” Dolina said. “Russians always want something, especially when they come bearing gifts.”

Justin nodded. “Yes, that’s what I told him. Smirnov insisted he’s not after anything.”

“But we know he is,” Carrie said.

“Yes, we do. And I’ll see what that is when I meet with him.”

“I can go with you,” Vale said.

Justin shook his head. “It’s better if I go alone. Smirnov may not be that open if I bring in another operative, especially if this is off the record.”

“And what if this is an ambush?” Vale asked. “You need backup.”

“Smirnov may misunderstand your presence. And if he or the SVR are planning an ambush, they wouldn’t be this obvious. Inviting me to a meeting, in a public place, a location frequented mostly by their compatriots.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t feel like an ambush.”

“All right,” Vale said in a disappointed tone. “If you want it that way.”

“Smirnov gave me a couple of aliases al-Nueimi apparently has been using. He’s also known as Salah al-Joubori and Rafie al-Essawi. Let’s expand our search to include these names and see what we can find.”

“We’ll do that,” Dolina said.

“Vale, please give Claudia a call and set up a time to meet with her today as soon as she can. I’m heading out right away, so I can make it on time. We can meet as early as 3:00, since I don’t think my meeting will take too long.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Vale said in an emotionless tone.

Carrie stood up and stepped closer to Justin. “You’re sure you want to go at this alone? Vale has a good point, even if the Russians aren’t luring you into an ambush. Considering what happened this morning, it’s safer if you’re not alone.”

“I appreciate your concern, Carrie, I truly do. But I don’t think it’s necessary for half our team to go to this meeting. Our time is better spent elsewhere. And we can’t always go out in pairs.”

Carrie shrugged and gave Justin a small smile. “As you wish. Just be careful out there. And remember we’ll find al-Nueimi with or without the Russians.”

“That’s true, but we have to race against time,” Justin said. “Let’s see what the Russians can give us and how steep the price is for their intel.”