10:00 / 10:00 A.M. GST
Nir.” Nicole punched the back of his seat.
He set the pen he’d been tapping against the window on the dashboard. “Sorry.”
Three minutes later he had the pen again, tapping the back of his hand.
“Yaron.” Nicole heaved a sigh.
Yaron snatched the pen out of Nir’s hand, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the center console.
“I lose more pens that way.”
Stakeouts were the worst. You hurry to get to your location, then you sit outside and wait, then you wait, and after that you wait some more.
The team had wanted to know why Nir chose to stake out the home of Ahmad al-Qasimi, but the only response he could give was “Trust me.” No one else was cleared to know this al-Qasimi was actually Mehdi Zahiri, leader of a Dubai-based IRGC cell—a fact the Mossad knew only through the daring intelligence work of a mole who was so far undercover that not even Nir was supposed to know his identity.
Liora’s chipper voice came through the com system connected to everyone’s ears except Filipescu’s. “Let me give you an update on the truck situation. As you know, using a highway camera Nicole found, we identified that moving truck driving away from the area of the Ultra dock at just the right time to fit our time line. Being the middle of the night, it wasn’t hard to spot. We were able to track it for several kilometers, but then we hit a blind zone. So we created a radius and looked for similar trucks. These Emiratis love their moving trucks. We identified 13 possibles. Eight of them stayed in Sharjah, and five drove to Dubai.”
“You have addresses for their destinations?” Nicole asked.
“We do for all the Sharjah trucks and three of the Dubai. Do you want me to send them to you?”
“Sure. Good work.”
“Boss.” Yaron pointed to the gate of the compound. The metal doors slid sideways, and a white Land Rover drove out. Nir snatched an SLR camera from his lap and took the lens to its longest end. He rapid-fired shots until the SUV had driven past.
“Follow him, Yaron, but be careful. We cannot get made.”
The Suburban pulled out, and Nir angled up the screen on the back of the camera.
Nicole leaned forward to look, putting her hand on his arm to let him know she was there.
“South on Al Mustaqbal Street,” Yaron said.
“Got it,” Dafna said from the Tel Aviv workroom.
Nir sped through the photos until he came to one that had a clear view of the Land Rover’s front seat.
“West on Al Safa Street.”
Again, Dafna acknowledged Yaron’s direction.
“Pull up a picture of al-Qasimi,” Nir said to Nicole. A couple of clicks later, she handed her laptop forward. He set the camera next to the screen. “No doubt. That’s him.”
“We’re on the ramp for northbound E11.”
Nir shifted his attention to Yaron. “What’s with all the turns? Has he made us already?”
“Don’t think so. They’re just the fastest route to get to the freeway.”
Nir slapped Yaron on the shoulder. “Good. Be careful.” Then turning around, he said, “Dima, ask Filipescu if he’s picked up anything.”
Dima spoke to the Romanian, who let out an exasperated rant.
“He says nothing but single drones. Low frequency. He’ll tell you if he finds anything.”
“Sounds like he said a few other things.” Nir raised his eyebrows.
“He did, but I edited.”
The SUVs drove on, with Yaron staying eight to ten car lengths behind. After they’d traveled five kilometers, the Land Rover exited the freeway.
Nir sat up straight. Maybe this was it. “He’s getting off onto Tariq bin Zayad Road. Liora, tell me which of the moving trucks is in this area.”
He heard the sound of typing, then Liora’s voice. “I got a blank, boss. It could be one of the trucks we lost, but nothing we’ve identified is around your location.”
Nir started tapping the side of the door with his thumb. This time it was Filipescu who angrily pleaded with him to stop.
On they drove. Sometimes Nir felt like Yaron was getting too close. Other times it felt like he’d fallen back so far that he was bound to lose them. But somehow the agent was always proven to be at just the right distance at just the right time.
They passed the Palace of His Highness Sheikh Ahmed the Emir of Qatar, then crossed over Dubai Creek on the Al Maktoum bridge. Finally, when they reached the Deira Clocktower roundabout, they followed the white SUV to the east. This led them back onto the E11 freeway at the airport and north.
“What’s with the tradecraft? Yaron, you’re sure you’re not made?”
Yaron shrugged. “How can I be sure of anything except the rising of the sun and my love for my children? But I would bet against it.”
Nir laughed. “Truly a philosopher.”
It looked as if they’d end up in Sharjah after all. Another ten minutes had passed when the Land Rover exited the freeway. “Liora, he just got off on D95. Do we have anything there? I don’t think we’re in Sharjah yet.”
“Wait…” More typing. For a tiny girl, she’s got some powerful fingers, Nir thought randomly. “I got one. It’s right on the mushy line between Dubai and Sharjah. Let me know if he turns on 204th. If so, we’ve hit jackpot.”
Two minutes later, the SUV made a left onto 204th Road.
“Keep going straight. No need to follow from here. We’ve got him pegged. Liora, give me an address.”
She fed him the location of a warehouse on nearby 11th Street.
Nir lifted his phone from the console and dialed Efraim.
“What’s up, Nir?”
“We’ve got the location.” He filled him in on the details. “I’m requesting permission to take a look.”
“Nice work! Hold on.”
“You guys ready to roll?” Nir called back to his team.
“Say the word,” Avi said.
A minute turned into two, which turned into five. The activity in the Suburban slowed, then stopped. This was not a good sign.
Finally, Efraim came back on. “Hold your position. Remain on watch.” He sounded angry.
Nir couldn’t believe his ears. “What? Are you serious? We’re right here. We can stop this thing now.”
“If it’s the right location.”
“What do you mean if it’s the right location? You heard what we’ve got, Efraim. The sooner we go in, the better chance we have to stop this before it starts.”
When Efraim spoke again, Nir recognized by his tone this was definitely not his call. “The brass is worried that we’ll burn our asset if this isn’t the right place.”
“But…I mean, come on…” But arguing with his friend was arguing with the wrong person.
“Understood,” he said, then disconnected the call and turned to the team. “Stand down.”
Angry cries sounded throughout the SUV.
“I said stand down! Yaron, get us within view of the warehouse. We’ll watch it until we’re given a reason to move. But if we do get that reason, we’re going in hot.”