Chapter Nine

 

 

December 17

Southwest Stockholm, Sweden

 

Justin rubbed his gloved hands together and glared across the street at the small two-story Bredäng Islamic Center in the southwest suburb of Stockholm. Then he reached for his coffee cup and took a sip. “Nothing yet,” he said softly into his throat mike concealed by the black-and-white scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Roger that,” replied Arkady, who was covering the opposite side of the center, which was connected to a madrassa, an Islamic religious school. He was paired with Vale, and they were stationed inside a small restaurant. Carrie, the other member of the team, was sitting on a bar stool next to Justin, in the half-empty café. “We have no movement either.”

“Will he be a no-show?” Carrie whispered.

“I hope not. We’ve wasted a lot of time already.”

The team had arrived in Stockholm shortly after midnight. Arkady’s contact had informed them that neither al-Nueimi nor his two associates had shown up at the three known safehouses. The trail seemed to have gotten colder than the Stockholm night.

The team spent a couple of hours reviewing updated intelligence reports from different agencies, canvassing for any new piece of information or anything they might have missed, anything that could connect them to al-Nueimi or to any extremists with close ties to him. They hit a lucky break when a name showed up: a local cleric who served as an imam at the Islamic center. The man had returned from Syria about three months ago, where he, according to his own confession, “had been pressed into service by ISIS thugs.” Initially, the cleric had gone to offer his religious knowledge to the budding caliphate. But once he had experienced the butchery of bloodthirsty ISIS fighters, the cleric had a change of heart. He had been able to escape the ISIS reign of terror and had returned to Sweden, sworn to reintegrate into the polite and peaceful Scandinavian society.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Initially Carrie, and then Arkady, had been able to link the cleric to al-Nueimi’s associates in Syria and Iraq. While it could not be confirmed that the cleric had met with al-Nueimi, there was no doubt the cleric had returned to Sweden carrying al-Nueimi’s message for his associates: Be ready, as something big is in the works. The details of this big plot were still sketchy, but the team already had enough evidence to pay a visit to the cleric’s residence.

The Swedish Security Service, known as SAPO, at first was reluctant to authorize the operation, especially because of the SVR’s involvement. However, when presented with the facts about the cleric and the plot boiling right under their noses, the SAPO were more than happy to cooperate with the Canadians and the Russian agent.

After the London snub, Justin let Arkady take the lead. Along with another SVR operative in the country, they knocked on the cleric’s door at around three in the morning. It took a little over an hour for the pair to convince the cleric to tell them everything he knew about al-Nueimi and his whereabouts in Stockholm. Justin and Vale stayed outside the house, preferring to be in the dark about the details of the interrogation. Arkady had promised not to use physical violence. In his own words, “hurting the mind is much more powerful than hurting the body.” Besides, any bruising or injuries on the cleric would be clear signs that he might have compromised the terrorists’ plot and thus sound the alarm bells as soon as his associates laid eyes on him. Frankly, Justin did not want to know.

Armed with the new intelligence, the team came up with a plan. The cleric called a meeting with al-Nueimi, who agreed to meet the next day at the Islamic center. And the team was in place, ready to nab al-Nueimi at the right moment. The SAPO was providing cover by securing a wider perimeter around the center.

Justin sighed again and sipped his coffee. The street in front of the center was quiet, with only the occasional car driving through. They had seen only a handful of pedestrians during the thirty-five minutes they had been keeping surveillance of the center. “Where is he?”

Carrie shrugged. “You think he smelled a rat?”

“No, the cleric was very convincing. You were there and saw it all.”

“Yeah, but I don’t speak Arabic.”

“Still, you could tell by his voice that he was calm, and he didn’t hesitate or drag his words.”

“To me, it sounded like he was yelling at al-Nueimi.”

Justin smiled. “Yeah, Arabic may give one that impression. It’s a loud language, especially when spoken fast and with emotion.”

“Could the cleric have given al-Nueimi a coded message?”

“Like mention a word or phrase to warn him?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“I don’t think so. I listened to the recording three times. It all sounded normal, natural. And Al-Nueimi agreed to the meeting.”

“But he didn’t set a time.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“And we have no idea of his security detail?”

Justin shook his head. “No, but I suspect al-Nueimi will want to keep a low profile. It’s broad daylight.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “A little after ten. He won’t be rolling in with a convoy of RPG-wielding jihadists.”

“I hope not.”

“But we can expect three to five people with him. Lightly armed.”

Carrie nodded. She shifted in her seat to face Justin better. She nodded at him, and clicked off her throat mike.

Justin did the same with his mike, so the rest of the team would not be privy to their conversation. Justin and Carrie could still hear everything the rest of the team said. “What is it?”

“How did it go with Karolin?”

“It went.”

“What does that mean?”

“Is it my words or my tone that you don’t understand?”

“Justin, don’t be like that. I know you. We have a history together. This . . . this relationship is weighing heavily on you.”

“I’m level-headed, Carrie. Whatever’s going on with Karolin won’t affect this op.”

“I’m not worried about that. I know you can focus. And that’s what I’m afraid of. You’re focusing all your attention on work, forgetting your personal life.”

“I . . . I can’t control what happens around me.”

“Right, but you can control what you do about it.” Carrie sighed. “Look, Justin, I don’t want to be a pain, but I also don’t want you to lose Karolin. She’s a great girl, and frankly, she has put up with so much already.” She smiled. “What happened with us shouldn’t happen with you and Karolin.”

“It won’t.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Justin shrugged. “All I’ve got for now. Maybe once this op is done I can take a few days off, just me and Karolin.”

“That would be really nice. Take her some place warm. And rekindle the love flame.”

“Yes, Dr. Love, will do. Now, can we focus on the task at hand?”

“By all means.” Carrie picked up her teacup and took a long sip.

Justin turned on his throat mike. “Status update?” he said in a terse voice.

“Nothing,” Arkady said.

Justin sipped the last of his coffee and thought about ordering another one. He liked the strong bitter taste and could use a second cup, considering he had slept less than five hours. Even during that time, his sleep had been broken and shallow. He had dreamt of Karolin and had woken up in a cold sweat from a nightmare in which she was gunned down in front of his eyes. He shook his head and along with it the troubling image. “I’m gonna get another cup. You want more tea?”

“No, I’m good.”

Justin had stepped off his stool when his earpiece crackled with static. “Yes, what’s going on?” he whispered.

“We have company,” Arkady said.

“Our target?”

“Stand by.”

Justin leaned over the counter and peered at the center. “We have nothing. No movement.”

“We’ve got eyes on the targets, but not our guy,” Arkady said. “Known associates. Just got out of a white Toyota sedan, followed by a silver Renault. Two large men with them. Security detail. Possibly armed. Walking toward the center. Drivers staying with the cars.”

“All right, stay there.”

“What if they’re here for the cleric?”

Justin frowned. “He sent his men to take him out? At the Islamic center?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe they’re bringing a message,” Carrie said.

“Whatever it is, we need to know,” Arkady said. “The cleric’s our only link to al-Nueimi.”

Justin thought about it for a quick moment. “All right, move in but don’t fire, unless absolutely necessary. There are children in the madrassa.”

“Copy that,” Vale said.

“Got it,” Arkady said.

Justin looked at Carrie. “It’s going to get messy.”

“Good thing I wore proper clothes.”

Justin smiled. “Let’s go.”

He drew in a deep breath, feeling the holster against his heaving chest. He zipped up his brown leather jacket and dashed across the street. It was not time to pull out the pistol. This was still a reconnaissance operation.

Carrie followed closely, glancing left and right, covering all angles.

Justin reached the chain-link fence separating the center’s yard from the sidewalk. He glanced at the back door. It was left open a crack, so he suspected someone might come out shortly. He put his hands in his pockets and casually walked along the fence and toward the door.

He had barely taken four steps when the door burst open, and a stream of children poured into the back yard. They were all young boys, with the oldest about ten. A couple of them sat on one of the benches and began to play on what looked like an iPad. Others ran around the yard, which was mostly clear of snow.

Justin frowned. It was an unexpected and unwelcome development. He looked beyond the noisy boys, his eyes glued to the door. Then he noticed someone staring through one of the small windows of the center. A man with a scowl on his face and deep-set dark eyes.

Justin stopped, then pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a couple of times, then brought the phone up to his ear, pretending he was calling someone. This was the signal for Carrie to come and meet him, as he had been made. Justin turned slightly and glanced down the street, so that it would not be obvious what he was looking at. But he kept the center’s window and back door in his peripheral vision.

Then he turned around and saw Carrie coming toward him. She waved at Justin, and he waved back. They hugged and she whispered, “Watcher at two o’clock.”

“Yeah, the one who spotted me.”

“Arkady, what do you have?”

No answer.

“Arkady, do you read me?”

Again, no answer.

“The yard is quiet,” Carrie said, since she was facing the center, while Justin had his back against the fence. “Well, other than the shouting kids.”

“Back door still open?”

“Yes, wide.”

“Vale, what’s going on?”

“Arkady’s inside. He just got in.”

“How?”

“Uh, not sure. Talked to whoever opened the door, and they let him in.”

“Where are you?”

“Holding position by the Toyota.”

“All right, stay there.”

“Copy that.”

Justin glanced at Carrie. She nodded at him. “Smart decision. Two people going in right after the associates would have drawn suspicion.”

“Yes, and he had to remove the com gear. Still, I don’t like this.”

“We’re blind.”

“Yeah, we are.”

He shifted around and caressed Carrie’s face, to give the impression they were lovers enjoying their time together, fully focused on one another. He thought he felt something strange as his fingers ran down her cheek. Memories of the time when they were dating, when this was common, normal, enjoyable. Then came Anna, and now Karolin. The thought of Karolin puzzled him. Justin flinched, and his hand trembled.

“What’s going on?” Carrie asked.

“Uh? Nothing.”

He glanced through the fence and saw two of the boys peering at them. One of them smiled, while the other said something in what Justin supposed was Swedish. “I . . . we don’t speak your language,” he said slowly in English.

The boy cocked his head then seemed to think about his next step. He looked at Carrie, then said, “She your girlfriend?”

“Uh, no, well, yes,” Justin said.

“Where you from?” asked the other boy.

“UK, England,” Carrie replied, giving her voice a British accent.

The boys frowned. “England bad. They kill Muslims,” said the first one.

“Oh, that’s what they teach you there?” Justin tipped his head toward the center.

“Not true?” asked the second boy.

“No, it’s not true,” Carrie said. “There are bad people and good people everywhere, in England, Sweden, Syria, everywhere.”

“England much bad people. Syria all good people,” said the first boy.

“You bad, you bad.” The second boy waved his finger at Justin.

He shook his head, but was not about to argue with a child. He glanced at the door just as a man strode outside. He stared straight at Justin, who did not look away. That would have been a clear sign that something was going on. Instead, Justin brought Carrie closer to himself. “Man at the door has eyes on us.”

“Got it.” Carrie laid her head on Justin’s chest.

Justin moved his eyes slowly and naturally to the boys, who were still a couple of steps away, on the other side of the fence. They were giving Justin a suspicious glare. Then he looked around the yard.

Carrie’s eyes were focused on the man, as she held Justin tight. “He’s still gawking at us. I think our cover’s blown.”

“How?”

“Arkady. Who knows what he’s saying or doing inside?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Justin saw the man walk through the yard. He seemed to wander aimlessly, then he shouted at the two boys. One of them replied in a low voice and a meek tone, then both boys looked away and began to move away from the fence.

Carrie said, “You see this?”

“I do. Bad news.”

“Get ready.”

Justin began to unzip his jacket.

Carrie loosened the embrace and moved her hand toward the pistol at the small of her back.

The man walked toward the fence. His eyes were dark and deep-set. Justin thought he looked like the scowling man who had been staring at them from behind the center’s windows. The man stopped when he was about ten steps away from the fence. He shouted at Justin in Swedish and made an unmistakable gesture for them to leave.

Justin nodded. “Let’s go.”

He started to turn, but a volley of gunshots erupted from behind the man. Unfazed by the volley, which told Justin the man had expected the barrage, he did not look back. He did not even flinch, but quickly reached for a pistol in his waistband. His trained hand aimed it at Justin’s head.

Justin was not exactly caught off guard, but the man had been lightning fast in his draw. All Justin could do now was to raise his hands. He shifted his body, so he could protect Carrie and give her a chance to pull out her weapon and fire at the man. “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

“Down! Right,” Carrie shouted and pushed Justin.

Justin rolled to that side.

Before Carrie or the man could fire, a short gunfire burst echoed through the back yard. The man fell to his knees, as blood gushed from a couple of large chest wounds. His twitching fingers tried to pull the trigger, but he could not do it, and the man dropped to the snow.

The boys scrambled in all directions through the yard, screaming and crying.

Arkady appeared at the back door holding a PP-19 Bizon submachine gun in his hands. “Everybody okay?”

Justin climbed up to one knee. “Yes, what’s going on?”

“Complications. Get in.” Arkady disappeared inside the center.

Justin scaled the fence. In three seconds, both he and Carrie were inside the yard. He pulled out his pistol and checked the gunman. He was no longer breathing. Justin took the gunman’s weapon and ran toward the back door.

He peeked inside the well-lit wide hall, then walked through the doorway. He checked left and right, expecting gunmen to pop up at any moment, pouring forth a torrent of bullets. Or worse: throwing a grenade at him.

But nothing happened.

All was quiet, eerily quiet.

Justin glanced back at Carrie, following closely behind him. She gave him a thumbs-up gesture, her pistol ready in the other hand.

He reached the end of the hall, which forked into two directions. While he thought about which way to go, heavy shuffling came from the left, followed by a scraping noise, as if someone was dragging something heavy across the floor. Then Arkady’s voice rang out, “Justin, where are you?”

“Back here,” Justin replied.

“Hurry up, we’re in the kitchen.”

Justin zipped to the left, toward the direction of Arkady’s voice, and found him in the kitchen, three doors down. Two men were sprawled unnaturally near the entrance of the kitchen. Their bullet-ridden bodies told Justin they were dead. A third man was handcuffed and lying on his stomach near the other end of the kitchen, by the stove. Blood was oozing from a wound in his lower back. He looked like one of al-Nueimi’s associates, but Justin could not be certain, because he could see only a small part of the man’s bearded face.

“Give me a hand,” Arkady said.

“Where’s Vale?” Carrie asked.

“Waiting outside. Let’s take Aziz out of here before he expires or before the area is crawling with his friends.”

So he is one of the associates, Justin thought.

“What happened here? Where’s the cleric and al-Nueimi’s other man?”

Arkady shrugged as he picked up the man by his arms. “A mess. The cleric panicked. Aziz here became suspicious. The rest . . . you can see.”

Justin helped Arkady lift Aziz to his feet. “So the cleric is dead?”

“Caught in the crossfire. Sorry, I got carried away.” Arkady’s tone of voice displayed anything but regret.

“You should have called us,” Justin said in a firm voice.

“Maybe. But they would have been clued in.”

“Yeah, but maybe we could have taken them alive.”

Arkady shook his head. “We don’t need them. Aziz will give us al-Nueimi.”

“He will?”

“Yes. Ask him.”

Justin looked at Aziz, who could barely stand. His face had started to turn pale and his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. Aziz was probably dizzy, because of the blood loss, and his blood pressure must have fallen. “You know where al-Nueimi is?”

Aziz nodded. “Yes.” His voice was low and raspy.

“And you’ll tell us?”

“Yes, yes . . . please don’t hurt my children.”

Justin looked at Arkady, who leaned toward Aziz. “If you lie to us, I will behead them before your very eyes, after I’ve raped your mother and your wife.” He delivered his words in such a calm and ice-cold voice that Justin was glad Arkady was on their side.

Aziz closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, no, please . . . I’ll take you to his house.”

Arkady grinned at Justin. “Let’s go.”

Justin glanced at Carrie and gestured toward the bodies. “Search them.”

“Already done,” Arkady said. “Take care of the cleric and the other man.”

Carrie nodded and stepped out of the kitchen.

“Vale, we’re coming out,” Justin said into his mike.

“Copy that. All’s quiet out here.”

“Drivers?”

“One dead. The other cuffed.”

“And our hosts?”

“Heard the gunshots, but holding the perimeter.”

“Roger.”

Arkady gave Aziz a good shove. “Move it.”

Justin helped Aziz through the narrow kitchen door. His right arm almost got caught on a sharp doorframe splinter, caused by a bullet that was still lodged in the small hole. “You think we can get him out unnoticed?”

“No, but they won’t complain too much once they learn what we know.”

They met Carrie near the other exit. “Found a couple of phones and took their wallets. Vale’s ready for our exit.”

“Roger that,” Vale said.

Arkady and Justin brought Aziz out, while Carrie covered them. The team had almost made it to the Toyota—where Vale was sitting in the driver’s seat—when a Land Rover rocketed through the intersection across from the Islamic center, heading in the team’s direction.

“Who’s that?” Justin asked.

Arkady shook his head. He shoved Aziz toward the Toyota’s back door, then pointed his Bizon at the Rover.

“Hold fire, maybe it’s the Swedes,” Justin said. “Carrie, check.”

Carrie nodded.

Justin gestured at Vale. “Get on the radio. Find out who’s in that car.”

The Rover kept zooming toward the team.

Arkady kept his Bizon aimed at the Rover.

“Don’t shoot,” Justin said. “They’re not hostile.”

“Not yet,” Arkady replied. “But who are they?”

Justin shook his head. He opened the back door and slid Aziz in. “Keep an eye on him,” he said to Carrie, then drew his pistol. He held it to the side and stepped toward the front of the Toyota, on Arkady’s left side. Justin peered at the Rover, but could not make out the driver’s facial features, other than he had sunglasses and a full beard. Someone seemed to be in the passenger’s seat, but Justin was not sure. The way the sun was hitting the windshield gave it an almost blinding glow.

The Rover stopped when it was about fifty yards away from the Toyota. The front passenger door and the back door behind the driver opened at the same time. A gunman wearing a black jacket and pants stepped out from the back door. He had a dark-skinned complexion and was wearing a black cap. The gunman held a large assault rifle with the muzzle pointed down.

“Hold fire,” Justin shouted at Arkady, who slowly raised his gun. “Hold fire!”

“They’re not SAPO,” Arkady replied.

“Whoever it is, don’t fire!”

“They’re not coming in peace.”

“Just hold fire, hold fire!”

“All right, got it, copy.” Arkady’s voice took on a scornful tone, and he shook his head.

A short-statured man stepped out of the front passenger side.

Justin peered even harder. He recognized al-Nueimi’s face even as the man stood behind the opened door.

“That’s our man, our target,” Arkady said.

He took a step to the side, realigning his gun with al-Nueimi’s head for a clean shot.

Justin grabbed Arkady’s wrist and pushed his hands down. “Put it away! They’re not here to fight.”

“How did they get through the perimeter?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s our enemy. We’ve got to—”

“No, they’re here to talk.”

“It’s an ambush, Justin. That Rover is loaded with explosives.”

“It could be. But he’s not here to blow us all up. That’s not how he operates.”

“He’s right,” Carrie said. “Al-Nueimi has others do his dirty work.”

Arkady shook his head. “Look at his men. They’re fully armed, waiting to mow us down.”

“No, they’re protecting their chief,” Justin said. “So put your gun down.”

Arkady did not say a word.

“Arkady, you’re disobeying my—”

He cursed in Russian. Then he clenched his teeth, and slowly lowered his submachine gun. “This will go bad, very bad.”

“Wait in the Toyota, go.”

Arkady hesitated for a moment, then cursed again. He slammed the Toyota’s door with the butt of his weapon, then pulled open the back door and got in.

Justin drew in a deep breath and glanced at al-Nueimi. He had taken a few steps away from the Rover. A second gunman was standing behind al-Nueimi, holding his assault rifle muzzle down, like the other gunman.

Al-Nueimi walked toward the front of the Rover, then he gestured at Justin. “You’ve been looking for me,” he shouted in Arabic. “We can talk, if you want.”

“Justin, you don’t have to do this,” Carrie said.

“Why would he choose this way to kill me, to kill us?” Justin shrugged. “It makes no sense.”

“Does anything make sense about terrorists?”

“He wants to talk. I want to listen.”

Carrie shook her head. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Watch my back.”

“Always,” she said in a low voice full of concern. “I just . . . I hope this isn’t a big mistake.”

Justin nodded. He raised his pistol so that al-Nueimi and his guards could see it, then he handed it to Carrie. “I come as a guest, under your honor and your protection, Sheikh Omar al-Nueimi,” he spoke in a loud firm voice in Arabic.

“If you come in peace, you will leave in peace,” al-Nueimi replied.

Justin glanced at Carrie. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Please don’t do this. You can’t trust him.”

“He gave his word. As an Arab, he’d rather die than live in shame.”

Carrie nodded slowly. “Okay, if you say so. Don’t get too close to the Rover, just in case. And try to stay in the middle, if we need to open fire.”

Justin tried to smile. “I . . . I hope it won’t come to that.”

“You never know.”

“You’re right.”

He gave her a last glance, tapped his throat mike to turn it off, then began to walk toward al-Nueimi, the terrorist mastermind.