Chapter Fifteen

 

 

Vienna, Austria

August 12, 02:40 p.m.

 

Justin was halfway through reviewing the CIS files on Kaseem Mohamed Al-Assam and Sheikh Abdelwahed Al-Ghalib. Sitting at a small coffeehouse a couple of blocks away from the Israeli embassy, Justin was biding his time until three, when he would go to retrieve the Mossad files. He had changed into a cream-colored polo shirt and a pair of khakis. At the clothing store, he also purchased a navy blue blazer, which he had folded and set on the chair next to him. Justin had ditched his old rucksack as well, replacing it with a stylish brown leather briefcase. He still had Ella’s MP5 submachine gun, which he had stowed in the briefcase’s front pocket.

He was trying to determine which one was the greatest threat and the worse enemy to Canada, Al-Assam or Sheikh Al-Ghalib. The sheikh had delivered speeches, calling on all Muslims to attack and kill Canadian soldiers and civilians, wherever they saw them. He had especially urged Muslims living in Canada to bring the terror to all Canadians, to be like “wolves among sheep, tearing them apart with their sharp teeth.” And if the intelligence about the bombmakers’ hideout turned out to be true, it would prove the sheikh was well on his way to orchestrating the sophisticated and far-reaching plot to bomb a Canadian hockey arena.

On the other hand, Al-Assam had never openly made any threats against Canada, its national security or the safety of its citizens. He kept a low profile and was not a firebrand like the sheikh, so there was not much in the files about Al-Assam’s public speeches. But he was the highest leader and the mastermind of the Islamic Protection Army, which was a powerful jihadi militant group. It had sought the death of Americans, Israelis and infidels who had occupied Muslim lands, like Afghanistan and Iraq, and had often clashed with Western forces. The Islamic Protection Army had also supported other terrorist groups with training, financing and weapons in Yemen and Somalia.

So perhaps the Al-Assam option was the lesser of the two evils, a “lite” version of the sheikh. Still, Justin could not shake off the feeling that he was planning to topple one tyrant only to have him replaced with another. Yes, Al-Assam was being helpful and offering the hand of peace. But it was only for a moment and because he needed something in return. To him, this was a simple business transaction. Quid pro quo. Something in exchange for something. Al-Assam had a problem: the sheikh. And Justin was the solution to that problem. But what would happen when the sheikh was no longer in the picture? How would the future play with a much more powerful Al-Assam?

That version of events did not even start to figure in the fact that the sheikh would be replaced by one of his closest men, as battle-hardened as the dead leader and perhaps even worse than him. And there was still the possibility Justin had not given much thought: his operation might fail, and he might be killed or captured, to be tortured, and then killed.

He sighed at the dilemma and sipped the last of his coffee. Then he powered down his laptop and stretched his arms and his neck. He must have sprained or torn one of his shoulder tendons during the shootout. Or perhaps it was a consequence of the car chase whiplash. He rotated his right arm and heard a popping sound from the shoulder socket. It did not hurt, so he did not pay much attention to it.

His smartphone buzzed with the arrival of a call. Justin glanced at the screen. It was Carrie. “Yes, Carrie. How did the raid go?”

She told him about the operation, how terrorists had blown up the safe house, and how they had lost Matt in the firefight.

Justin bit his lip and tried to contain his anger and his sorrow. He thought about Matt and his wife and two children aged five and nine. He had not had the honor to serve with Matt, but Carrie had only great things to say about him. Then Justin’s mind went to his fiancée, Anna, and how she would be devastated at the news of his death. Although it was a constant factor in their profession, a daily hazard, he just could not get used to death and casualties, especially when it hit so close to home. He would never get used to the death of a fellow agent.

“There have been some new developments in Vienna,” Justin told her in a low voice. “Give me a moment to get to a quiet place and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He walked to the end of the sidewalk until he was confident he was out of anyone’s earshot and gave Carrie a brief account of the events in Vienna, starting with the attempt on Reza’s life at Joseph’s Patisserie and ending with Al-Assam’s offer. Earlier, Justin had relayed to Carrie only the intelligence Reza had shared with him, informing her it had come from a dependable asset.

“You’re not thinking of accepting that monster’s proposal, Justin, are you?”

Justin shrugged. “I haven’t made a decision yet. As the raid showed, Al-Assam’s intel is solid. We’ve been trying to uncover this plot for days. We’ve come at it from all angles. We’ve used our traditional allies—the SIS, Mossad, CIA—and unusual ones—the FSB and the Saudis. And we got nowhere. Al-Assam can help us dismantle the terrorists’ plot.”

A moment of silence. All Justin could hear was the rumble of traffic rushing through the intersection a couple of blocks away.

“That sounds like a decision to me.” Carrie’s tone of voice had a hint of disapproval.

“It’s not. I’m seriously considering it and debating the pros and the cons. If Al-Assam agrees to claim that his people are responsible for the death of the man in the photo, that would resolve our other problem of my compromised identity.”

“I don’t know, Justin. My first gut reaction is to never help a terrorist mastermind take out his competition, so that he can be the sole tyrant in his region. We’ll be worse off than when we started.”

Justin could not deny that Carrie had a valid point. “I know, Carrie, hence the dilemma. But I also don’t want to see terrorists blow up our hockey arenas and kill thousands of innocents.”

Carrie sighed. “Yes, it is a difficult choice, for sure.”

“You’re right about that. I’m going to study the Mossad files and see if we can make progress. Perhaps we’ll find a name, a phone number, something that can connect us to the plotters. According to Al-Assam, there’s a second safe house. I’m assuming we’ll find the rest of the team there.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t be so sure. They may go underground once they realize we took out half of their cell. Or at least move to other locations.”

“Yes, that’s very possible. Giving us the location of the second safe house would be a part of the deal, if we decide to accept Al-Assam’s offer.”

“Have you heard from McClain?”

“No, I haven’t briefed him yet. I’m holding high hopes on the Mossad reports. And as a last resort, I’m counting on the FSB and their detainees.”

“The bloody FSB,” Carrie said in a voice full of scorn.

“I wish we had other options. Ella promised to get us the CIA files, anything they may have heard through their surveillance of jihadists’ communications. I’m not sure if she’ll come through and how valuable that intel will be. But at this point, we’ll take any help we can get, from anywhere.”

Carrie stayed silent for a moment. “All right, Justin. Let me know of McClain’s reply and if you find anything.”

“You’ll be the first to know, Carrie.”

“Be safe.”

“You too.”

He ended the call and headed toward the Israeli embassy. I hope you have some good news for me, Eli.