Dead Ringer Read online

  He had one chance, and it was slim.

  When they opened the trunk, he had to be ready. He’d be outmanned and outgunned. A quick death was preferable to a slow, public one. Despite the cramped quarters and pain, he flexed the muscles in his arms and legs. Mind over matter.

  Heat waves from the car’s exterior permeated the trunk. His throat felt like sandpaper. Sweat soaked his clothes—his shirt was stuck like a second skin on his back.

  A sudden jolt slammed him against the un-padded seat back and announced they’d reached their destination.

  Thomas braced for the attack. Opening the trunk would bring immediate brightness. He would be temporarily blinded. No way to prepare for that. They didn’t want to kill him now. Not yet. Otherwise, they would have done so in the airport corridor.

  Men would die, and he was OK with that.

  God made allowances for self-defense.

  He twisted in the tight quarters, drew his knees to his chest, and placed them towards the opening. If things went as he hoped, he could brace himself against the back of the seat, giving him the momentum he needed to land on his feet. Silently he thanked Paul Redford for the training he’d insisted on. It just might save his life.

  Arabic chatter sounded outside, and the trunk popped open.

  He squinted against the glare but forced himself to focus.

  Four men stood around the trunk, weapons drawn, the closest about two feet to his right.

  He sprang forward and landed on his feet, unsteady for a brief moment. He whipped right and caught the man closest to him with a lethal kick to the neck. The terrorist went down without a sound.

  Someone grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms to his side. Thomas smashed his head backwards into the terrorist’s face. The man howled and his grip loosened. Thomas sent a fierce blow to the side of the man’s skull, snapping his neck.

  Two down, two to go.

  Arabic curses filled the air, and the remaining two men advanced, forgetting any instructions not to kill him.

  The shorter, thinner one rushed him, knife drawn.

  Thomas sidestepped but the blade sliced into his left arm.

  The terrorist grinned and plunged forward again.

  Thomas was ready. He pivoted and swept the man off his feet, and then rushed to the prone form. He stomped his chest, stopping his heart.

  The last man took a step forward and raised the AK-47 in his hand.

  An almost inaudible pop sounded and the man dropped to his knees, and then fell face first into the dust.

  Shock registered in Thomas’s brain, and he glanced up, searching for the angel of mercy.

  Two big men, the two who tailed him in Riyadh, rushed forward, silenced weapons drawn.

  The man who reached him first, said in English, “Wallace, stop! Heim Rosen sent us.”

  Thomas shook his head to clear the cobwebs. The adrenalin rush had numbed his arm, but now the pain seared towards his shoulder and blood saturated his shirtsleeve. “You’re Mossad?”

  “Yes.” The agent stuck out his hand. “Moshe Baum. We let you see us following you, so you’d know you had backup.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I didn’t read it that way. I thought you were just amateurs.”

  The Israeli grinned. “I’m offended. Amateurs, indeed.” He inclined his head towards his partner. “Shaul Lobel.”

  Moshe had the look of a warrior, thick shoulders and a taut frame, a man one wouldn’t want to tangle with if it was avoidable. Strength and stubbornness was chiseled into a firm chin. He moved with quick, purposeful strides, his gaze taking in everything at once.

  His partner, Shaul, was tall, rugged, and sleek as a panther, with movie-star good looks and the same dark, brooding eyes.

  Thomas lowered his voice and shook hands with both men. “I’ve never been happier to see anyone. You guys have been watching me since I arrived in Riyadh?”

  Moshe nodded.

  “Why didn’t you stop the kidnapping, just let me get on the plane?”

  “They had Aref. We needed them to lead us to him. We couldn’t leave him in their hands. He knows too much about Mossad agents. About your agents.”

  The sun hung high, baking the earth as the small group stood in a narrow alley between two dust-covered cement-block buildings in the middle of a date palm grove. An ancient British vehicle sat beside the old sedan Thomas had arrived in. The arid soil swallowed the blood spilled beside the dusty car, leaving only reddish-brown stains in the sand.

  Thomas reached down and snatched the Russian-made assault rifle, three magazines, and a knife from the dead men’s bodies.

  Moshe waved him forward. “No time for a discussion. We don’t know how many more are inside the buildings.”

  Shaul moved closer to Thomas and handed him a handkerchief. “Tie this above the wound. We have medical supplies in the van.”

  “It’s just a scratch. The knife only grazed me.”

  Moshe pointed towards the building on the right.

  Shaul took the house on the left.

  Thomas and Moshe moved to the entrance. It was an arched opening, no door.

  Moshe stuck his head around the corner, scanning the premises and then waved Thomas forward. The structure had three levels. Moshe took the ground floor and the roof. Thomas darted to the basement.

  The assault rifle wasn’t his first choice. The noise would rouse everyone in the place. He’d have to use the knife or his bare hands.

  On quiet feet, he moved to the bottom of the stairs. The stench of open sewage and other smells he didn’t want to put a name to almost made him gag. He moved down the wide corridor and checked the first room on the right.

  Empty.

  The unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke made him stop and step into an alcove. A door closed, and footsteps headed towards him. As the man passed, Thomas pulled him close with a right-handed chokehold, tightening the grip until the terrorist blacked out. Using the butt of the rifle, he delivered a sharp blow to the man’s head to keep him unconscious a little longer.

  Mossad would have killed him, but Thomas had other plans. If Aref wasn’t here, this man could tell them where to find him. Moving quickly to the door the terrorist just left, Thomas eased it open. No one was in the room except Aref.

  His friend sat naked, bound to a chair with duct tape, his chin resting on his chest.

  Thomas pressed his fingers to Aref’s carotid artery. He was alive, but the pulse was weak. Thomas shook him. “Aref, it’s Thomas. Can you hear me?”

  The man lifted his head and opened his eyes. He gave a slight nod before his head slumped back to his chest.

  A noise behind him made Thomas whirl and raise his weapon.

  Moshe and Shaul slipped into the room.

  “The building next door and the other floors are cleared,” Moshe said. “Is Aref all right?”

  Thomas began to cut the tape from Aref’s hands and feet. “In a manner of speaking. He’s alive. You and Shaul check the other rooms down here while I untie him.”

  The two agents left.

  Thomas lowered Aref to the floor. He dragged the dead terrorist from the hallway and stripped his clothes. The man had a bullet through his heart. One of the Mossad agents’ handiwork.

  He quickly dressed Aref and hoisted him to his shoulder. In the hallway, he met the two Israelis with two more victims. These were on their feet, wounded, but able to walk.

  Shaul handed the men a set of keys and said in Arabic. “Get out of here as fast as you can. Take the Land Rover outside.”

  The men helped each other up the stairs and disappeared.

  A grim expression passed over Moshe’s face, and he nodded towards Aref. “What are you going to do with him?”

  “I’m taking him out of here.”

  “He will be a major handicap. He’s wounded. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

  “You came here to find him. Now you want to do what? Put a bullet in his brain and leave him behind?”

/>   “I thought we could get him out alive. He probably has a treasure trove of information in his head about Iran’s nukes, but we have to get out of here with what we have. He could get us all captured.”

  Thomas headed towards the stairs. “I’m not leaving him. Period.”

  Moshe threw his hands up. He waved his gun at Shaul. “Gather all the extra ammunition you can find.”

  Moshe wheeled back to Thomas. ”OK, but if we run into trouble, I’m leaving you both behind.” He paused. “And I want the money clip.”

  Thomas nodded. “I can live with that.”

  As they moved outside, the distant roar of approaching vehicles sounded in the quiet desert air.

  Moshe cast a see-what-I-mean look at Thomas and motioned them back inside. “Sounds like the rats are returning to the sewer.”

  “What now?” Shaul asked.

  “We hope for the element of surprise and shoot as soon as they come into range.”

  “We don’t know how many of them there are,” Shaul said.

  Moshe leaned forward, almost in Shaul’s face. “Thanks for stating the obvious. You have a better idea?”

  Shaul’s brow creased, and he shook his head.

  Thomas gently dropped Aref onto the floor. “Give me the rifle. I’ll cover you from the roof.”

  Moshe threw Thomas the rifle.

  He caught it in mid-air and raced for the stairs. He popped the door that led to the roof and scurried behind a low wall, about two and a half feet high, that surrounded the roof. On hands and knees, he crawled to the rampart and peered over the wall.

  In the distance, two vehicles approached from the south. He didn’t take time to count, but guessed there were ten, maybe twelve, bad guys.

  He braced the rifle against his shoulder. As the vehicles drew closer, he sighted on the two drivers, taking them out with a single shot each.

  The passengers jumped from the vehicles and scattered into the date groves, raining gunfire around him, pinging against the cement balustrade. Men in the second vehicle peppered the ground floor when the two Mossad agents returned fire.

  Thomas waited for a pause in the gunfire, darted a glance towards the shooter, and fired two shots. The barraged of bullets stopped and he was able to keep the targets pinned down while Moshe and Shaul split up and moved to get behind them.

  Realizing what was happening, the terrorists tried to change positions, but each time they showed themselves, Thomas picked them off.

  Once the two Israelis were in place, the firefight was over. They quickly dispatched the remainder of the group.

  Thomas met the men downstairs. He picked up his Iranian friend and placed him over his shoulder.

  “Nice shooting.” Moshe slapped him on the arm. “We’ve better get out of here before the rest of the family comes home.”

  

  Thomas made Aref as comfortable as possible in the back of the Mossad van. He opened Aref’s shirt and examined his chest. Thomas winced at the fierce burns at the contact points, apparently from electrical shocks received during his interrogation. He opened the well-stocked first-aid kit and cleaned the wounds with alcohol wipes, glad the man was still unconscious. Then he applied an antibiotic ointment. When finished, he dressed the wounds with gauze and tape. He would have to repeat this process daily until the wounds healed. Infection could kill Aref.

  When Aref awakened, he’d give him an antibiotic capsules and pain reliever. Perhaps some of the morphine, if the pain was too intense. The Iranian was in good physical condition and depending on the severity of the burn, he should heal quickly.

  Thomas threw a couple of blankets over Aref to help prevent shock. He turned his attention to his own injury. He cleaned and dressed the cut and downed two of the antibiotic capsules. “Where are we headed?”

  “To a Kurd camp about fifty kilometers down the road. They’re Iraqi refugees, reverting to the nomadic life of their Bedouin ancestors.”

  “Can they be trusted?” Thomas asked.

  “We’ve used them in the past. They hate everybody after Bloody Friday. Saddam dropped cluster bombs filled with gas on Halabja back in the eighties. Killed thousands of Kurds, mostly women and children. We give them food, medicine, and firearms, so they’re willing to help occasionally.”

  Shaul turned around in the front seat. “There’s native garb in the back. You and Aref need to put those on before we reach the camp. Your dark coloring should help you pass as a Kurd, and Aref will have no trouble.”

  “Then what?”

  “We make our way with these nomads to Jordan and from there, to Israel. Once we reach Jordan, we should be able to contact Heim to bring us out.”

  “You guys have a Sat-phone?”

  Moshe nodded. “Yeah. Heim knows where we are. He won’t risk sending in help unless the situation is critical. You?”

  Thomas shook his head. “Lost it at the airport. Can you get him to contact Paul Redford?”

  “He already has. Paul agreed we should work our way out. They don’t want to risk ticking off the Saudis. They wouldn’t like us running a covert operation on their turf without letting them know.”

  Thomas didn’t like it, but he knew that was the right course of action. The perfect outcome would be for Heim or Paul to send in a chopper now, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  The Saudis were American allies, but they had no love for Israel, or for that matter, Americans. They wouldn’t give diplomatic clearance for such an undertaking, and any covert team would run the risk of being shot down as soon as they crossed the border.

  Thomas changed into one of the thobes and a white ghutra. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Should work. Unless another group of our terrorist friends put in an appearance.” Moshe added.

  Thomas was under no illusions about Mossad’s goal in this operation. If they got into a losing firefight with terrorists, the Israelis would shoot Aref and perhaps him, as well. It wouldn’t be their first choice. But their objective was to get the information back to Israel.

  He could appreciate their dilemma. He certainly didn’t agree with it. He’d cross that quagmire when the time came.

  The thumb drive data was already at Langley. He’d forwarded it before erasing his computer’s hard drive at the hotel. The extra drives were just backup.

  19

  Saudi Arabia near the Jordanian Border

  Sunday, June 25

  The Rekani family were hospitable, but kept their distance. Distinguished in his tribal robes, the patriarch, Abdul, and his two sons, instructed them in the care and feeding of goats, sheep, and camels, finally leaving them to their jobs. Three silent females and four children moved about the camp. The women brought food twice a day and then disappeared like silent ghosts.

  Thomas’s aspirations never included herding goats in the desert, but like it or not, he had led the smelly animals to grass and water for the past two days. That, and praying five times a day. He prayed not to Allah, but to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

  For the first time since his life blew up in his face, Thomas found himself seeking God in the quiet solitude of the sand, and the simple life around him. Near here, Moses found the burning bush, walked on holy ground, and surrendered to God’s will.

  In the darkness, with an unbelievable canopy of stars above him, Thomas had come to understand he had blamed God for all the evil he encountered in his personal life and on black ops missions. He’d blamed God for Traci’s infidelity, and the pain it caused him and Daniel.

  The awareness was humbling.

  Thomas wandered back to the tent he shared with Aref and the two Mossad agents. The three of them were responsible for taking down their dwelling and resurrecting it as the camp inched its way to the Jordanian border.

  When he entered their tent, Aref was alert for the first time.

  Thomas handed him a bowl of goat meat and rice. “Think you can eat this?”

  Hands shaking, Aref accepted the bowl. “Where are we?�
��

  “Enjoying the hospitality of a Kurd family, the Rekanis. Trying to work our way into Jordan.”

  Aref took a bite of the food. “Rekani is probably the name of their tribe. Kurds inherit their surnames from the tribes of which their families are members. How long have we been here?”

  “Three days. I don’t know how close we are to Jordan. We have a couple of Mossad agents guiding the way.”

  The sound of approaching voices made Thomas look up.

  Moshe and Shaul entered. They grabbed the bowls of food left for them.

  “I see our man is awake,” Moshe said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Drained,” Aref replied. “But it’s been worse. Much worse.”

  “How far are we from Jordan?” Thomas asked.

  Moshe scooped the food into his mouth like a seasoned Kurd. “Two, three days, if all goes well.” He cast a glance at Aref. “Do you think you’ll be on your feet by then?”

  Aref nodded and took a few more bites. He sat the bowl down and pushed it away. “Thank you for finding me, Thomas. I thought I’d bought the farm.”

  Laughter exploded from Thomas’s throat. “Where did you pick up that expression?”

  Aref grinned and leaned back on the cushions behind him. “From some of your countrymen.”

  Thomas nodded at the two Israelis. “These are the men you need to thank. They saved both our lives.”

  Aref reached out and shook their hands.

  “How did they get on to you? Someone in your group see you pass the money clip?” Thomas asked.

  Aref shook his head. “No, someone tipped them off. They’d been acting strange ever since we left Tehran. When I returned to the hotel after we met, they were waiting for me.”

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Sunday, June 25

  Recovery was taking longer than Mercy liked.

  Katy bustled in with a breakfast tray, set it down on the bed, and put her hands on her hips. “It isn’t fair that a woman can look like you do in the morning after a near death experience.” She fluffed Mercy’s pillows and gave her a stern look. “Now eat every last bite or I’ll have to put a stronger dose of arsenic in it tomorrow.”