Ransom Page 15

  “Makes sense. Have you spoken with the Ramsad?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the terms for your nephew's release. It’s good to know I’m speaking with a newly conscripted mole working for Hezbollah. What about Zara? Any progress?”

  “They tried to kill her. Nearly ran her down on the street. I’m worried about her, but there’s nothing to be done. She’s our best hope to finding out where they’re building the rockets. She claims Mustafa has fallen head over heels for her.”

  “Classic honeypot trap. Older than time itself. A man in heat is an easy mark.”

  Aryeh wiped the rivulets of sweat running down his face. “Believe me two can play that game. I’m not buying she’s holding all the cards. I have no intention of letting her become the sacrificial lamb.”

  “You care about her that much?”

  “Let’s just say we share bonds that I’d rather not discuss.”

  Cyrus nodded. “Reading you loud and clear. Stay the fuck out of my personal life.” He wiped off his cell phone screen, entered a series of codes, and handed the phone to Aryeh. “Does this face ring any bells?”

  “He’s the bastard I negotiated Gideon’s release with, and he anointed me as a mole for Hezbollah. He’s a cold prick. A classic sociopath.”

  “He blew up the bus in Tel Aviv that nearly killed Layla and Cerise. He killed fifty innocents. I’d put him in the serial-killer-sick-mother-fucker category. The forensics team believes he asphyxiated the honeypot he was handling during sex with her. He shot her boyfriend, the Mossad mole, and tried to make it look like a murder-suicide. Take a look at the photo of Nasrallah with him in the background.”

  “He calls himself a general. Bodyguard, advisor, or assassin?"

  “I’d say all three.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. I take it you want this bastard dead?”

  Cyrus frowned at the face on the phone. “I won’t leave here until he is dead.”

  Aryeh smiled. “I’ll bet our beloved angel of death, Ash, asked to be the deliverer of the sword of justice.”

  “He did. I’d like to do it myself, but I’ll take dead anyway I can get it. So what do you want to do with Zara?”

  “She’s seeing Mustafa tonight. I’ll touch base with her tomorrow.”

  “What’s wrong with tonight?”

  The only sign of Aryeh’s displeasure was the force with which he threw his towel to the floor. He grabbed a fresh one from the pile near the door. “Tonight she’ll be indisposed.”

  “Okay.” Cyrus rubbed a towel over his face. “Let’s see how that goes. What do you think about using the mole tracking system on her?”

  “I mentioned it to her, and she’s open. I’m just worried the bastard has memorized every inch of her body by now. I’m sure he’d notice.”

  “We could embed it in her scalp. Hide it under her hair. I doubt he’s studied every inch of her head.”

  Aryeh’s scowl deepened. “It might work. I’ll explain it to her.”

  “It would go a long way in keeping her safe.”

  Aryeh drew his brows together. “I don’t know why I’m so worried? Zara’s a seasoned spy, but my gut tells me something is wrong with her. She’s not behaving rationally. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’s got a thing for this bastard.”

  “I know it’s not my place, but maybe you care for her more than you let on. Maybe you’re a tad jealous.”

  “Maybe, you’re right. But my instincts point to trouble ahead.”

  “Just don’t let it cloud your thoughts or your actions. There is trouble ahead, the destruction of Hezbollah’s missiles.

  »»•««

  Beirut suburb of Dahiya, Lebanon

  Mustafa pulled up to the apartment building in Dahiya, the predominantly Hezbollah controlled neighborhood in Beirut in a Mercedes with black-tinted windows. He jumped out of the car followed by two trusted bodyguards.

  “Wait for me here,” he told his men.

  The buzzer sounded, and he entered through the electronic doors. After leaving Zara, he’d called and requested a meeting with the secretary general.

  He walked into a traditionally appointed living room with thick Persian rugs and a plush overstuffed red sofa. On the coffee table was an elaborately etched silver Persian tea service, with matching silver tea glass holders. A gift from the Ayatollah he was sure. Steam rose from the cups, infusing the room with the fragrance of Jasmine.

  Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah rose from the sofa, his black robe called an aba covering him from head to toe. On his head, he wore a black turban a symbol of his power and holy calling. Like the Ayatollahs of Iran, the secretary-general used every opportunity to reinforce his claim of being a direct descendant of Muhammed.

  “Sayyid,” Mustafa kissed the cleric on both cheeks.

  Nasrallah’s eyes glinted. “Akhi, there is no need for such formality between us. Have you brought me news from the cannabis farm?”

  “Everything is proceeding as planned. There was a delay when some part came in damaged, but its replacement is coming from Tehran.”

  “Good, I’m pleased to hear it. At last, we will have a missile capable of carrying a small nuclear warhead. I’ve spoken with Tehran. With the Iran deal falling apart the Ayatollah has no compunction about striking the Americans at the same time as we strike Israel.” The general secretary leaned forward bursting with enthusiasm. “The mullah’s played the world into believing they’d ceased uranium production. What they did was shift their development of ICBM’s to underground military bases.”

  Nasrallah looked upward. “It’s a pity General Moghaddam didn’t live to see his dream realized. May Allah bless his soul. He died a hero’s death in the service of his people. Of all things, an explosion at a missile facility he secretly built.”

  A few seconds passed in silent memorial to the fallen hero. “The Ayatollah has indicated Iran is prepared to join us in a coordinated EMP attack against the two Satans. Together we could completely disarm them and leave them powerless.”

  “Allah be praised. Will this mean a delay in our timetable?”

  “Maybe a few days, no more. The Iranians have been ready for some time now. They never complied with the agreement. For them, it was business as usual. But what a windfall for us when the Americans delivered a planeload of money. It has financed our activities for years to come.”

  Mustafa blew on his tea. “Yes, the Americans fell hook-line-and-sinker for the so-called peace deal and Iran’s promised moratorium on their nuclear program.” He sipped, a pleasing sweetness enveloping his senses. “Hassan, a strange thing happened today.”

  “And what might that be, my son?”

  Mustafa studied Nasrallah’s face. “I was to have lunch today with Zara Zayani, but something strange occurred.”

  “I’ve warned you she is trouble, Mustafa.” Nasrallah avoided meeting Mustafa’s gaze as he raised his teacup to his lips. “Strange?” His lips delicately enfolded the rim of the cup as he sipped.

  “You did warn me, and I took your warning to heart. However, the trouble did not come from Zara. An assassination attempt nearly ended her life. Had Allah not intervened I too would have died.”

  “That is unfortunate.” Nasrallah met his gaze. “Perhaps you should heed the warning. Sometimes it is dangerous to tempt fate. I will look into it. Perhaps you have enemies unaccounted for among the people. You must take greater care, my son.”

  “I’m capable of enjoying Zara’s company and keeping her ignorant of what we’ve planned. In fact, if anything, I can throw her off the scent of what we are planning. What better way to prevent a too curious journalist from learning too much?”

  “She’s not only a journalist, Mustafa. She’s a spy, an agent for the DGSE. You’re playing with fire.”

  “A spy?”

  “Yes. We’ve suspected for some time she was a French agent. However, she’s written favorably about the organization, and we’ve found her to be useful. That usefulness could be coming to an end.”


  Mustafa showed no reaction to Nasrallah’s revelation. “Perhaps my relationship with her becomes more valuable now.”

  Nasrallah waved his hand dismissively. “Ridiculous.”

  “Who better to manage her than me? If she’s proven valuable in the past, who’s to say she won’t be even more valuable in the future? We’ll need a way to explain our attack on Israel to the rest of the western world. Not that they’ve ever cared much as to the fate of the Jews.”

  Nasrallah stroked his beard. “You pose an interesting proposition. You should know that we’ve managed to recruit a Mossad agent. Someone who’s been a thorn in our foot for some time. Zara brought him to our attention, which means they share close ties. She could be working with him, who knows?”

  Nasrallah’s emphasis was clear. He was insinuating that Zara and the Mossad agent might share a sexual relationship. Mustafa refused to be drawn into Nasrallah’s trap.

  Nasrallah continued. “Turning him will provide immeasurable access to Israel’s secrets. Of course, that presumes Israel continues to exist. We took her photographer, also an agent, into custody. We’ll use him to recruit her and keep her in line.”

  “Allah be praised. A perfect situation and a great credit to you. Then my relationship with her can be useful to us. I can be the guarantee that she doesn’t double-cross us.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but I warn you she can’t be trusted.”

  “I trust only in Allah.”

  The two men sat in silence for a moment. The door to the apartment swung open, and Amir, dressed in military fatigues entered. Mustafa eyed Amir warily. Amir had proven himself to be a man who would do anything to retain his powerful position and Mustafa didn’t trust him. A whispered rumor had circulated that Amir Haddad, who’d been in charge of his uncle’s security in Damascus, had intentionally slipped up allowing the Israeli’s to assassinate his uncle. He felt certain Amir would do whatever it took for his benefit, including eliminating any who got in his way.

  “As-salamu alaykum,” Amir greeted both Nasrallah and Mustafa. “To what do we owe this honor, Mustafa? I understood you were preparing for the apocalypse in the Beqaa Valley.”

  Mustafa smiled. “Things are proceeding to plan, but I am not needed there as of yet. I had things to attend to here in Beirut.”

  “Yes, I imagine you do.”

  Mustafa turned to Nasrallah. “You will consider all we have spoken about?”

  Nasrallah smiled. “All will be taken into consideration.”

  Mustafa rose. “Then I will take my leave. There are security issues I must address.”

  “Let me know if I can be of any help.” Amir stood, towering over Mustafa, and offered his hand.

  Reluctantly, Mustafa shook Amir’s proffered hand. “Yes, you will be foremost on my mind should I need assistance in the days ahead.”

  »»•««

  Mustafa sat in the back seat of his Mercedes, staring out the window. His head was spinning. His reassurances from Nasrallah were non-existent, and Amir’s arrival at the apartment and incendiary remarks only furthered his discomfort. It was impossible to ignore the truth, Zara was in grave danger. Protecting her would bring him in direct opposition to his commander’s wishes. But his feelings for her made it impossible for him not to protect her. He needed to find a way to fulfill his promise to his father to disarm and destroy Israel and keep Zara safe from the monster, Amir. He’d heard about Amir. The man was a misogynist and a sadist. There was ugliness in his eyes and Mustafa didn’t put anything past him. The thought of him anywhere near Zara sent chills down Mustafa’s spine.

  He left the car about a block from Zara’s office.

  Zara buzzed him in and stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “What are you doing here? I thought we weren’t going to meet until this evening. I told you I had work to do.”

  “I’m sorry, but our plans need to change.” He embraced her and held her gaze. “Zara, you are in danger, and I want to keep you safe.”

  She pulled away, putting some distance between them. “What are you—”

  “I met with Nasrallah, and what he said I believe threatens you. I want to take you to a place where you’ll be safe. It’s a vineyard in the Beqaa Valley, not far from where my mission is unfolding. It belonged to my uncle. Only those loyal to my family know about it. You’ll be safe there, and I can see you as much as I want. Don’t say no before seriously considering.”

  “Mustafa, you’re crazy. I can’t just run away and leave my life, my job. I know you probably don’t think much of a woman who works, but I’m a professional, and I’ve worked hard to get this far. Besides, I don’t walk away from danger. I never have and I’m not going to start now.”

  “Habibi, I know you work for the DGSE, Nasrallah told me. I know your job as a journalist is a cover.”

  Disbelief and denial were written on her face, but Mustafa knew better. He knew her first response would be to deny she was a spy. He didn’t care. If anything he admired her for it. He was fascinated by a woman who cast aside her traditional role, yet managed to retain her femininity. “He’s going to blackmail you and force you to become a traitor to France. You’ll end up working as a mole in the service of Hezbollah.”

  “I won’t do it.”

  “You won’t have a choice. It won’t last long because you’re a threat. I think Nasrallah and his henchman, Amir Haddad, will decide to eliminate you. You have to listen to reason. They’ve already made one attempt on your life.”

  She eyed him curiously. “Why don’t you want to eliminate me since you know the truth?”

  “I can’t. I have deep feelings for you. Besides,” he grinned. “I saved your life once. I believe Allah has placed your future in my hands.”

  “I know you believe that now, Mustafa, but you may live to regret this. Your world, for good or bad, worked perfectly well before I came into your life.”

  “It did, but meeting you changed everything. I can never go back to who I was.” He wrapped his arms around her forcing her to meet his gaze. “Come with me.”

  “And what happens once you’ve accomplished your mission?”

  “I will have fulfilled my promises to my father, uncle, and brother. I don’t want to end up as they did. I have bank accounts in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands. There is a plastic surgeon in Switzerland who will alter my face.” He smiled. “Of course, I might not be quite as handsome as I am now, but who knows, maybe I’ll be better looking.”

  “Are you saying you’d give everything up for me and disappear? You’d never return to Lebanon and Hezbollah.”

  “Yes. My family has given enough blood for Hezbollah. Hezbollah and my path have diverged, we are no longer in alignment. I want more from this life than a trail of dead. I want you, Zara. I love you.”

  She broke from his embrace and turned her back to him. He hoped she wasn’t searching for a way out. Turning, she challenged him. “This is crazy. Why not leave now?”

  “I can’t. I must fulfill the promises of the past.”

  Her raised arched brows expressed disbelief. “What could be worth continuing when you know what is coming will put us both in danger?”

  How much could he share with her? He had no intention of letting her out of his sight. Could he afford a mea culpa? “Zara, I told you what I’m working on could change the world as we know it. It will eliminate our enemies. I have to see it through.”

  “I see. And this thing you are planning will mean the death of millions of innocents.”

  He shrugged. “Wars are not won by the meek. It is Allah’s will.”

  She just stared at him, unreadable and began to pace.

  “Think of the children, Zara. The oppression inflicted on them by the Israelis.”

  “By whom, Mustafa? Who oppresses them? Hezbollah and Hamas do. Your Hezbollah use them as human shields. Your Hezbollah teaches them to hate and to dream of an endless war.”

  “Don’t you understand it all stops when
our enemies are gone?” He was weary of the conversation. “We have to leave. We’ll go to your place so you can pack what you need. Every minute we procrastinate puts you in more danger. A week from now you and I will disappear. Your career as a spy is over either way. Do you want to live your life as a tool of Hezbollah? A life they’ll end when your usefulness is over?”

  The look on her face mirrored the fear of an animal caught in a snare. He took hold of her shoulders, stopping her pacing. “Come with me. Trust me.”

  “Okay. I don’t seem to have any other option.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Get your purse. We need to go.”

  »»•««

  Zara looked around the apartment that had served as her home for the last two years. She couldn’t believe she was going to walk out the door and never set foot in it again. She’d told Aryeh that Mustafa had fallen under her spell, but things were moving faster than she’d imagined. She should be reveling in her success. Mustafa had fallen completely into her trap and was taking her with him to the Beqaa valley. If all went to plan she’d be able to figure out where the missiles were being staged. It was so unlike her to harbor any feelings for her target, but for some reason, Mustafa had stirred something inside her. She chided herself on her insanity. He was a terrorist, and she was a compromised spy. Where the hell could this possibly lead? All of his confessions of love are getting to me. Weakening my resolve. She thought of Jacob and gathered her strength.

  Don’t think about it. Stay focused on the mission. This is the breakthrough you’ve been waiting for, you’ve reached the eagle’s next. But what good was it? She couldn’t stop Mustafa or the EMP deployment alone. She needed Aryeh. She needed to let him know what was happening, where she was going. She needed a few minutes alone to text him. “Mon amour, sit and relax while I make us some tea. While you refresh I’ll pack a bag.”

  “We have to hurry, habibi. The sooner we leave Beirut the better.”