“I don’t recall …” Mana stammered. “Oh yes, I put it in my coat pocket. But I was taken ill and rushed to a lavatory. It must have fallen on the floor there.”
Derhally stared at Mana. After a short pause that seemed hours long, he shook his head no. “Ahh, then I can’t imagine …” Mana’s desperation was obvious. “It must still be in the pocket of the suit I wore. Perhaps one of my servants found it. They all steal me blind, you know.” Derhally stood up and fear shot through Mana. He felt dizzy.
“Come,” Derhally said. “Let’s talk to your servants and end this matter.” He paused and smiled for the first time. “If it’s not there, perhaps your Miss Temple can assist us. I assume she’s at her hotel.”
“She never leaves without my permission,” Mana said, trying to show he was in control of his private affairs.
“Really? I doubt that,” Derhally replied, destroying the last of Mana’s self-confidence.
The missing combo pen was not at Mana’s home and the eagerness of his servants to answer questions left no doubt as to where to look next. The servants thrilled when they heard Derhally order Mana to take him to his mistress — their master was finally being humiliated. Then worry replaced any sense of elation they felt at Mana’s misfortune. They knew how deep Al Mukhabaret could cut.
Shoshana was in the gift shop of the hotel when she saw three men escort Mana through the lobby to the elevator. She recognized Derhally immediately from the description Habish had given her. She had learned to do her homework. The dark suits and sunglasses the other two men wore were ample proof of their profession — government security. Are we that obvious? she thought.
She fought down the panic that wanted to consume her and turned her back to the lobby, forcing her mind to work the problem. Obviously, the Iraqis were on to her. But how? What had she done wrong? That’s the wrong problem to work on now, she berated herself, focus on the objective. And the objective was in the bottom of her purse — the small tube that contained a double hypodermic needle that automatically injected the antidote to the new nerve gas into a victim’s body. She had wrapped a brightly colored aluminum candy wrapper around it, making it look like a popular candy.
Gently, she stroked a potted flower and then slipped the tube into the branches. It was very obvious. Then she carried the pot to the shopgirl and scribbled a happy birthday note and tucked it next to the tube. She paid for the flower and gave the clerk an address. “Please deliver this sometime today,” she instructed.
Shoshana strolled out the main entrance of the hotel and turned down Sa’adan Street, giving no hint of the turmoil boiling through her. Twenty minutes later she was at the dress boutique Nadya Mana had taken her to the first day they met. After looking through a dress rack, she asked to use the phone. She dialed a number and let it ring four times before hanging up. Then she immediately redialed and let it ring once. It was the emergency signal for one of the team to meet her.
After leaving the shop, she walked to Rashid Street, where she shifted her handbag to her left shoulder — the signal for a pickup. A car pulled to the curb and the rear door swung open. “Miss Temple?” She did not recognize the voice but a surge of relief to be in contact with her team propelled her into the car.
The two men in the front turned to look at her. For the second time that day, Hassan Derhally smiled.
Gad Habish and Zeev Avidar sat in their car, watching Derhally drive away with Shoshana. “Where do you think he’ll take her?” Avidar asked.
Habish only shrugged and fell in three cars behind Derhally. “At the first stop, get out and start drying the operation up. I want everyone moving. Use your safe house for a point of contact. Be there when I call you. If we can’t get the girl out by tonight, we go.” He didn’t tell Avidar that he would leave a two-man watch team behind to try to rescue Shoshana. If the Iraqis could not break her and used torture… Well, he didn’t think about the options open then. Habish hoped she could hold out long enough for him to get the team out of Iraq and then spill enough information to save her own life. Perhaps a prisoner exchange in a few years …
At a stop light, Avidar hopped out of the car and moved through the traffic to the sidewalk. He disappeared into the crowd. Habish scanned the traffic to see if Derhally had a backup car in trail. He found the other car almost immediately. A single agent was sitting in a gray Lada directly behind him. “Sandwiched,” Habish grumbled to himself. But it was obvious that the Iraqi was not aware that Habish was trailing the lead car. He knew the danger signals only too well. His problem was to follow Derhally and not be observed by the backup car. All his training and experience, and every gut feeling he possessed, told him to rescue the girl now, before the Iraqis got their act together.
The problem solved itself when Habish saw the single agent behind him talking on a radio as Derhally pulled to the curb in front of the dress boutique. “Retracing her route,” Habish said to himself. He pulled around the corner and slowed, anxious to see what the backup car would do. The gray Lada also turned but pulled to the curb and stopped. Habish almost smiled as he turned into a dusty alley and parked. He got out of his car and walked back to the gray Lada. The Iraqi was surprised when Habish opened the door and slipped in beside him. “Derhally said to stay with you.” Habish’s Arabic was faultless and the agent had a confused look on his face when Habish shot him.
Without any sign of haste, Habish got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and pushed the body into the passenger’s seat. He got in and drove into the alley behind his parked car. There, he stuffed the body into the trunk of the Lada, left the ignition key on the front seat in case anyone wanted to steal the car, and threw the trunk key on a roof. Some enterprising Iraqi car thief would dispose of the body for him.
Habish returned to his car, slipped on sunglasses and the dark coat of his suit. He combed his hair back and decided he looked close enough to an Iraqi goon from the secret police. He drove around to the boutique and parked directly behind Derhally’s car.
The two women who ran the shop glanced at him nervously when he walked in. He gave them a hard stare — a man in charge — and swept the room with a practiced look. They were alone. If Derhally had been in the shop, he would have been an innocent customer who would beat a hasty retreat. But now, he was another agent. “Is Inspector Derhally here?” he asked in a low voice, nodding to the rooms behind the shop. The women blabbered an answer. “Good. Please close the shop and leave. Do not tell anyone we are here. Do you understand?” They understood perfectly and were out the door in less than a minute.
Habish drew his pistol and pulled the slide back, charging the chamber. He slipped into the hall and waited. He could hear a man’s voice coming from the rear office.
“Miss Temple, please. No more games.” It was Derhally talking.
“Call the Canadian embassy,” Shoshana demanded.
“In time, in time,” Derhally said. “And how will you prove you’re a Canadian citizen? You don’t have your passport.”
“You know the hotel holds the passports of all foreigners until they get an exit permit. I am a Canadian citizen.” Shoshana was sticking to her cover.
Habish waited until he had an idea of where the three people were seated inside the office. Then he holstered his pistol and pulled out the fake Canadian passport he carried. He knocked on the door and entered. “I’m from the Canadian embassy,” he announced. “I’ve been told a Canadian citizen, Miss Rose Temple, is here and needs assistance.”