AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CZECHREPUBLIC
ATtwo in the morning, Prague was at peace. Through the massive arched window, Damian Losa could see the Charles Bridge and the Gothic cathedral beyond. The headlights of occasional cars flashed into existence and then went dark again, leaving nothing in their wake.
The penthouse flat smelled of plaster and paint, and there were still a few wires hanging from the ceiling where chandeliers were to be installed. The web of offshore companies that owned the property, combined with its newness, would make it difficult to trace. Difficult, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible for the enemies he was accumulating.
In Saraqib, the battle that had been sparked by the Syrians’ capture of Mitch Rapp was still raging. Further, it seemed to be spreading to other major cities, creating the possibility that the civil war would be reignited. Hardly Losa’s fault, but his involvement would be noted by the world’s intelligence agencies. Organizations whose blessing he needed to operate.
Mitch Rapp was still missing and was almost certainly aware that he had been betrayed. How would he react to that? A reasonable man would simply see his debt as paid and retreat. A less reasonable man would seek revenge. Which category did he fall into?
A couple of weeks ago, Losa had bet on the former, but now he wasn’t sure. There was no evidence that Rapp had returned to his life in America or even left Syria. Of course, he could have been captured or killed, but those weren’t possibilities that Losa was willing to wager his life on. People who underestimated Rapp eventually became his victims.
Finally, there were the Russians, who seemed less interested in a partnership than stripping Losa of everything he’d built. And with their paramilitary and intelligence capability, the chances of them succeeding in those ambitions were uncomfortably high.
“The connection’s gone through, Damian.”
Julian had several laptops set up on a grand piano centered in the cavernous room. The candelabra among them and the ancient stone wall behind made the scene a bit surreal. As if his old friend were a time traveler making one last attempt to get home.
Julian connected a set of speakers to one of the computers and a dull ring emanated. A moment later, a hushed, accented voice came on.
“Yes? Go ahead.”
Behzad Nafisi was third in line at Iran’s Ministry of Intelligence, a man clever enough to understand that patriotism was nothing more than an illusion created to uphold the power structure. And so, while he maintained a certain allegiance to his country, his primary loyalty was to his Swiss bank account.
“Do you have information for me?” Losa said simply.
“Very useful information, I think.”
Julian’s eyebrows rose at the potential stroke of good luck, but Losa was more cautious. The Iranians had close relations with both Syria and the Russians, but their intelligence was often tainted by politics and religion.
“I don’t recall,” Nafisi continued. “Did we agree on price?”
“How is your daughter enjoying her first year at King’s College?” Losa responded. “What is it she’s studying again? Economics?”
Nafisi would be moderately difficult to get to because of his personal security detail. His daughter, on the other hand, lived a life like any other university student. Blissfully unaware of how precarious it could be.
“Yes, of course we did,” the Iranian said quickly. “My apologies. My life has been rather hectic. Things sometimes slip my mind.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“The man you’re interested in passed from Syria to Israel through the Quneitra gate four days ago.”
“And after that?”
“Our sources within Israel aren’t as good, I’m afraid.”
Unquestionably true. If Nafisi had more, he’d be trying to sell it. “As always, I appreciate your help, Behzad. I’ll make the bank transfer we agreed upon immediately.”
Losa ran a finger across his throat and Julian disconnected the call.
“Contact our people in the Mossad. See if they know anything.”
“Right away, Damian.”
“Still no activity at Rapp’s house in Virginia?”
“Nothing. Accessing the subdivision isn’t practical, but we have people watching from outside. No sign of him or Claudia Gould.”
She and her daughter had vanished just after her return to the US from Paris. A disappearing act so complete that it suggested the involvement of Irene Kennedy.
