Chapter Eighteen

 

 

Frankfurt, Germany

September 14, 9:15 p.m.

 

Zaeem glanced again at the laptop’s screen set on the small business desk. The police had released the pictures of the three shooters involved in the gunfire with BND and were looking for assistance from the public with their identification. Zaeem, too, wanted to know about this new team who had moved into their territory.

He stood up and walked to the window under the watchful eyes of Adeel—who was sitting cross-legged at the edge of his bed deep in thought—and the other two men of their team—who were sitting at the oval table opposite the bed and were reading newspapers. Zaeem’s junior suite at the Hotel Kaiser was spacious but felt quite small and closing in on him. Sighing, he pulled the lever and opened the window halfway. A gust of cool air rushed in and Zaeem drew in a few refreshing deep breaths.

Feeling much better already, he swung on his heels and looked at Adeel. “So, any thoughts about who these men are?” He pointed at the laptop.

Adeel offered a reluctant shrug. “Hall and O’Connor have made thousands of enemies, powerful people who want them dead. These gunmen were fearless and very professional. According to the news, they killed at least three agents and wounded a few others.”

Zaeem shook his head and waved his hands. “Yes, but who are they? Are you’re telling me they can be anyone?” He looked at the men around the table, but they offered only shrugs and headshakes.

“Well, we’re in deep trouble. We have nothing, and the prince is furious.” Zaeem walked to the table and picked up his cellphone. “I just talked to him ten minutes ago, when you were all out. He wants answers, meaning he wants O’Connor dead. And he wants it done right away.” Zaeem snapped his fingers and dropped into his swivel chair.

“Our hands are tied, boss,” said one of the men at the table, the older one, who had a thick bushy moustache and a balding head. “O’Connor and her BND protectors could be anywhere in Frankfurt or in Germany. She could have even left the country.”

Zaeem slammed his right fist into his left hand. “I want none of that defeatist talk. We can’t do what we think we can’t do. O’Connor is still here. Until we have proof to the contrary, we’ll keep looking for her.”

The old man nodded, but the doubtful look remained on his face.

Zaeem’s eyes went to the other man, the younger one with a buzz cut and a very thin moustache that looked like it had been painted on his peach-fuzzed face.

“Why don’t we grab one of the BND officers and make him tell us the location of Ms. Prettyface?” He spat out his words with clear disgust mixed with pure wrath. “Or even better, we snatch an officer’s wife or child, to make sure they’ll break and tell us the truth.”

Zaeem grinned. “I like that. Yes, Tariq, I’m glad I brought you into our team. We need thinkers, people with great ideas who can also follow up on them. Get on the web and find me the addresses of two officers who live in the city.”

“Right away, boss.” Tariq cast a prideful glance at the old man and Adeel and walked over to the laptop.

Zaeem had just stood up when his phone vibrated in his front jeans pocket. He bit his lip when he checked the ID and saw it was one of the prince’s aides. “Yes, this is Zaeem,” he said tersely.

“We have some information that might be useful to your operation.” The prince’s aide’s voice was cold and even-toned. “It’s from our man inside the CIS.”

“I’m listening,” Zaeem said and pressed his phone tighter against his ear, so he would not miss a single word.

“O’Connor has been communicating with McClain through a new line our man cannot access. However, he has confirmed that she’s still in Frankfurt. And she’s following up on a new operation with a local agent of Mossad.”

“Mossad?” Zaeem frowned. “Why are those Zionist dogs involved in this affair?”

“It’s not clear, and the prince doesn’t care to find out the reason. But this information gives you and your team a starting point.” The aide’s voice had become firm, now that he was relaying the prince’s orders. “Keep under surveillance the Israeli consular office and any of their known safehouses in Frankfurt. Sooner or later, O’Connor will contact the Mossad operative, and you’ll be there to intercept her.”

“I understand,” Zaeem said without making any effort to hide the disappointment in his voice. “We have a different plan in the works. Perhaps we can extract the information about O’Connor’s whereabouts from a captured BND officer.”

A pause that lasted for two, maybe three seconds, then the aide asked, “Have you already snatched the officer?”

“Negative,” Zaeem replied. “But we are in the process of—”

“Refocus all your efforts on the Mossad operative angle. The prince wants it done this way.”

Zaeem clenched his fingers around his phone. “Is the prince aware that it will take much longer and it will require more resources if we went with this ‘Mossad operative angle’?” His voice did not hide the disdain when he repeated the aide’s words.

“I’ll communicate your concerns to His Highness and relay back to you his reply and any new instructions. Until that time, proceed as ordered. The prince doesn’t want any more exposure, which will certainly follow the disappearance of a German secret agent. The prince wants it done as I explained. Do you understand?” The aide’s voice had resumed the initial cold tone. He had also added a certain measure of contempt, as if Zaeem was stupid and could not follow simple instructions.

Zaeem bit his lip again. “Yes, I understand. But I want to repeat that the first option, the one I came up with, is guaranteed to yield the results the prince wants. Nothing is certain about the second option. Do you understand that?”

The aide did not reply right away, but Zaeem knew the line still connected him to Riyadh. A few torturous moments passed, then the aide said, “Your concerns will be brought to the prince’s attention. Anything else?”

“Yes, who are these gunmen who attacked the BND?”

A moment of silence, then the aide said, “I don’t have any information on that matter. I’ll let you know if and when we get a new report.” His curt voice ended the call.

Zaeem cursed the aide in a loud angry voice that drew the attention of everyone in the room. He ignored their stares and cursed again, this time the mission and the fact that O’Connor was not in the car when it was shot up and went off the bridge. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he felt he had calmed down sufficiently, he opened his eyes and in a strong loud voice said to all of them, “Change of plans. We have new orders from the prince.”