Chapter Eleven

 

 

December 17

ECS Stockholm Station

Sweden

 

Justin reached for his coffee cup, but found it empty. He leaned back in his chair and massaged his forehead. A splitting headache was building, the pain rattling through his brain. He needed some painkillers, but he wanted to stay sharp and alert, focused on the tasks at hand. So he opted for another caffeine jolt. May do nothing for the pain, but will keep me awake.

He glanced at his watch. It was ten after one. Justin had finished his briefing with Carrie and Vale and had assigned them the task of finding out what exactly had happened to al-Nueimi’s family. He had admitted that his wife and son had been killed, but other details were unclear, mainly where, when, and by whom this massacre had been carried out. Al-Nueimi was suspected to have left his family in Baghdad. At least that was what Claudia had noted in his file. However, considering the major gaps in Claudia’s intelligence report, Justin had decided to start from scratch, checking and double-checking every bit of information.

As he filled the coffeemaker’s pot with water, he thought about the conversation he was going to have with Arkady. It was not going to be easy or pleasant. Justin suspected from the start that the Russians were hiding something, that they had an angle they were exploiting. He doubted Arkady would come clean during their conversation. But Justin had to try, even if it turned out to be a gigantic waste of time.

He sighed and pressed the coffeemaker’s On button. Then he dialed Arkady’s number to set up their appointment. Justin was hesitant to bring Arkady to the ECS’s Stockholm field station. While its location was not exactly a secret, it was unusual for operatives of another country’s intelligence service to visit the station. And in this particular case, Arkady might view the summons to the station along with its overall atmosphere as hostile. He might feel more comfortable talking in a safe, familiar environment, like the Embassy of the Russian Federation in the Kingdom of Sweden.

According to the head of SAPO, over one-third of all Russian diplomatic staff in Sweden were in fact active field operatives working for a host of intelligence services. The Russians did not mind the revelation. They had no problem flexing their muscles in the small Scandinavian country; they dwarfed it in comparison. Sweden had a little under ten million people, compared to the over one hundred and forty-seven million in the Russian Federation.

Arkady answered after the first ring and agreed to meet in thirty minutes. That gave Justin barely enough time to enjoy his coffee, but he did not want to rush, so he poured it into a travel mug and headed out.

As was his habit, Justin checked to see if anyone was following him. He was not anticipating a tail, but he had learned that things often happened when least expected.

A couple of blocks to the south, he noticed a gray Nissan was on his tail. Justin slowed down, then made a right turn.

The Nissan followed suit.

He turned again to the right.

This time the Nissan went straight.

Justin stopped and observed the area. No pedestrian surveillance, but he could not be sure about a small van parked a block away, behind his Volkswagen. He thought about turning around to observe the van, but that maneuver would tell his surveillants that he was onto them. Justin shook his head and pulled out his phone. He pretended to talk to someone on the phone for a few moments, then put the car in gear and drove away.

He kept an eye on the rearview mirror at all times as he drove in the general direction of the Russian Embassy at Gjörwellsgatan 31. No suspicious vehicles this time. Justin nodded to himself. Perhaps he was being more paranoid than necessary, but considering the course of events, he deemed it necessary.

It was a quiet, easy drive to his destination. He gave Arkady a call to inform him when he was about two minutes away. Then he parked on Fyrverkarbacken, a couple of blocks from his destination, and hastened to the embassy’s left side entrance.

Three men in gray suits were already waiting for him outside the black wrought-iron fence. It was obvious that they were carrying large weapons, possibly submachine guns, underneath their suit jackets, but they did not seem to care. And they were all better built and taller than Justin. He shook his head. Ah, Russians. Always overkill.

“Spread out your arms and legs,” one of the suits ordered Justin in a gruff voice with a thick Russian accent.

Justin nodded. “I’ve got my gun on me.”

One of the other suits began a thorough pat down. He removed Justin’s Sig Sauer P229 pistol, uncocked it, and tossed the magazine to the other suit, the one who had not said a word. “You won’t need this.”

“All right.”

Once the suit was satisfied that Justin carried no weapons, he reached for Justin’s arm. Justin swung his body to the side. “I know how to follow,” he said in a cold voice.

The suit gave Justin a menacing glare, but the man who had spoken first said, “Then you’ll follow me this way.” He pushed open the small fence door.

Justin walked behind him, followed by the other two men. The group crossed through the small snow-covered yard and reached the grayish building. The front suit flashed a card in front of a magnetic reader fastened near a small black door, then pushed the door open. Justin noticed the camera above the door, a constant reminder that everything he was doing or saying while in the Russian Embassy would be recorded and reviewed.

They entered a narrow hall and the front suit led them to the right. They passed a series of steel-paneled doors, all with similar magnetic card readers next to them. The SVR section. Or maybe this was GRU’s den, Russia’s military intelligence directorate. Cameras covered and monitored every inch of the hall.

The group came to a fork, and the man leading the group said, “This way,” and turned to the left. He knocked on the third door on the right and waited for an answer.

“Come in,” a strong male voice said from inside.

Justin recognized Arkady’s voice.

The suit in front opened the door, then gestured for Justin to enter. “We’re outside the door if you need anything,” the man said to Arkady.

“I will need nothing,” Arkady replied and dismissed the man with a hand gesture. “Go back to your post. I will call you when this is over.”

The man nodded, then closed the door without another word.

Justin looked around the small conference room. A huge monitor was mounted on the wall, near the head of a large dark mahogany table. The screen was black, with the SVR’s emblem—a double-headed eagle with two swords—on it, the only visible sign that this room belonged to the Russian foreign intelligence agency.

Arkady stood up. “Justin, how are you?” He pointed at Justin’s bandaged arm.

“I’m okay. Should heal well.”

“You want some coffee?”

“Sure, why not?”

Arkady walked to the corner of the room, where a table was set with a silver carafe and a tray of coffee mugs. He filled a cup for Justin, then another one for himself.

Justin took a sip. “Good strong coffee. I like it.”

“Glad you do.”

“Listen, I never got the chance to say ‘thank you’ at the center. You know, when Carrie and I were outside the fence and—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’d have done the same for me, right?”

“Well, yeah, of course.”

“So, we’re good. Now what’s the update?”

The update was the reason Justin had given to meet with Arkady, to brief him on the operation’s next steps.

“Let’s sit down.”

“Sure, Smirnov will join us too, but first you and I will chat.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

They sat across from each other at the head of the table by the screen.

Justin took another sip from his coffee, then placed it on the coaster in front of him. “Al-Nueimi said a few interesting things, which we can exploit to find, if not him, then what might be going on in his sick mind. First, for al-Nueimi, this is personal. Not just because America, Canada or European countries have occupied Syria or Iraq or other Muslim countries. No, it’s very personal. His family was killed during an operation.”

Arkady nodded. “So, al-Nueimi joined ISIS out of revenge?”

“Yes, it seems that way. Carrie and Vale are checking about what operations were carried out in Baghdad by foreign troops that resulted in civilian deaths. We don’t have a timeline, but we suspect it happened recently, which triggered al-Nueimi’s behavior.”

“Yes. I’ll have a look at our files, give the team a hand.”

“Good. Now, the next piece of intel is more sensitive.” Justin lowered his voice instinctively, then realized it was not necessary, since the conversation most likely was being recorded. “Al-Nueimi mentioned your name.”

Arkady flinched and leaned back on his seat, surprise clear on his face. “What did that snake say?”

“He said to give you a message. Al-Nueimi said he defeated you once, and he’ll do it again.”

“So . . . you’re the terrorist’s messenger, now?”

Justin shrugged. “I can’t ignore what he said. What did he mean about defeating you?”

“Oh, and you trust him now?”

“No, I don’t trust him, Arkady. But I need to know what happened. Why don’t you tell me: How does al-Nueimi know you?”

Arkady shrugged. “Like other terrorists who know me, they do because I’ve put them in my crosshairs. I’ve killed many, but a few, like al-Nueimi, are still around. Not for long, if I can help it.”

“So you operated in Syria?”

“Yes, but on a separate mission unrelated to this one.”

“And that’s where you met him?”

“I didn’t meet him. My bullets met some of his companions, whom I sent to their paradise, to meet those seventy or seventy-two virgins.”

“Okay, and how come he knows your name?”

Arkady shifted in his seat. He cocked his head to the left and sipped his cup. Then he folded his hands across his chest and said, “This . . . uh, this isn’t easy to admit. But . . . but we had a mole. One of the interpreters, he turned out to be working for the terrorists, since one of his cousins was a higher-up militant. The mole was able to steal some secrets, nothing major, but a few names, travel routes, and some timelines.”

“And the mole is gone?”

“Yes, he’s dead. And not much that he stole is relevant any more. Well, besides the names.”

“Okay, all right,” Justin said in a hesitant tone. He was not convinced by Arkady’s reply. It sounded fake and rehearsed. Justin was not sure why he felt that way. He wondered if the bias against Russians was clouding his judgment. He shrugged and said, “You told me how al-Nueimi knows your name. Now, what did he mean by ‘defeating’ you?”

Arkady let out a deep sigh. “Jihadist propaganda to mess with our minds, Justin. He didn’t defeat anyone. When I was in Syria, we almost nabbed him and the group under his command. It was northwest of Raqqah, after an ISIS counterattack wiped out the Kurdish forces securing the area of Jabar. But he was able to escape, barely, by the skin of his teeth, as you say.” Arkady shook his head. “So it wasn’t a defeat, as much as a lucky escape through the intense firefight. But we’ll get him this time.”

Justin nodded.

Arkady leaned forward. “You don’t seem very convinced. You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you, Arkady. I’m just . . . frustrated and disappointed. We were so close to al-Nueimi, and he slipped through our fingers. Again.”

“Did SAPO find out how he penetrated their perimeter?”

“No. It seemed someone let their guard down after the end of the firefight. But it doesn’t really matter. Al-Nueimi is gone, and we’re back to square one.”

“We’re much closer to him than when we left Vienna. We’ll grab him soon.”

Justin nodded and said nothing.

Arkady asked, “Anything else al-Nueimi tell you?”

“He said that his son bled to death. Perhaps that’s a clue as to who killed his family.”

“Yes, I’ll keep that detail in mind when going through our files.”

“And al-Nueimi hinted at something big in the works. That too could help us identify their plot, since it didn’t seem to be a lone wolf op.”

“Yes, that’s a good catch.”

Justin sighed and sipped his coffee. “What else can you tell me about al-Nueimi?”

Arkady thought about his answer for a moment. “Nothing that can really help us find him.”

“Okay. Now, let’s talk to Smirnov.”

Arkady connected them to the SVR Vienna station, and they updated Arkady’s boss about the Stockholm operation. Smirnov did not seem troubled by the lack of progress, and came across as almost certain the team would accomplish its mission. His composure gave Justin an unsettled feeling. He could not place a finger on what exactly was bothering him about Smirnov’s relaxed attitude, but, again, he suspected the Russians were hiding something. While it was normal for agencies to keep their cards close to their chest, in joint operations there was an expectation of cooperation and teamwork. The Russians had pulled their weight, no doubt about it, but Justin could not shake the feeling that they were keeping crucial intelligence to themselves.

He wondered if he should ask Carrie to look into Arkady’s and the SVR’s involvement in Syria. She had an FSB contact, Natalya, who in the past had proven to be very instrumental. The age-old rivalry between the Russian security intelligence services might come in handy. Yes, why don’t we have a look in the closet, Arkady, and see what skeletons you are hiding? If this fight is personal for al-Nueimi, who knows, maybe it’s personal for you as well.