At first, their relationship would have remained professional. Eva, Hoffmann, and Blitz made sure that the shipments arrived without incident. It was critical to establish Jinn’s credentials with his superiors. By all accounts, it had been a meteoric rise. In six months, Parvez Jinn was minister of technology. As minister, he was able to travel more freely. No doubt he visited ZIAG’s operations in Switzerland. Visits that coincided with Emma’s “lightning safaris,” her unannounced trips to points unknown to gather supplies. It was during one of these factory visits that Eva Kruger sank in her hooks. Perhaps she’d suggested an onward journey to Bern to continue their discussions in a more private setting. Discussions that involved a visit to her apartment, chilled glasses of Polish vodka, and whatever came next. It was the oldest trick in the book. Once they had pictures, they added bribes to the mix. Transfers to the account in Zurich. Even the ayatollahs might understand falling for a woman like Eva. They would not, however, countenance the taking of kickbacks.
Jinn was toast.
Jonathan looked at the Iranian official seated next to him, feverishly counting his cash. You poor sonuvabitch, he thought, with renewed hatred for the man. You were no match for my wife.
“Is that all?” Jonathan asked, fingering the flash drive.
“The blueprint of my country’s nuclear program. I should think it’s enough.”
“You’re not holding back? We can stop to check. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“There is one more thing,” said Jinn. “A year ago we came into possession of four Russian-made Kh-55 cruise missiles. The missiles are being kept at Karshun Air Base on the gulf. Each has a ten-kiloton warhead. If our enrichment facilities are attacked, we will not hesitate to use them. The plan is to take out Jerusalem and the oil fields at Ghawar. Our president plans on making an announcement next week. I’m here to set the stage. Tell your masters to think twice before they act.”
“I’ll pass along the news.”
“And so?” said Jinn. “Where are the pictures? Where’s my passport? I need to know that I can get out. I’m done being your lackey. Eva promised to turn over everything.”
Jonathan handed him the French passport. “You’ll have to wait for the photographs. Eva had them. You don’t have to worry. This is the end of the operation. No one’s going to bother you anymore.”
It was then that he noticed the commotion ahead of them. A squad of soldiers moved into the center of the road, setting down riot-control barriers to block both lanes of the traffic. Policemen swarmed the sidewalk, barking instructions to pedestrians. Some ran in the other direction. Others cowered against the wall in a pantomime of panic. A few even fell to the ground and covered their heads with their hands.
Jinn’s phone rang. He answered with a grunt. His eyes swept to Jonathan. After ten agonizing seconds, he hung up.
“The police have surrounded the hotel,” said Parvez Jinn. “They are looking for the man who delivered the Mercedes. It appears, my friend, that you have killed me.”
68
Jonathan kept his eyes straight ahead. A squad of policemen advanced down the center of the road, guns drawn and aimed at the Mercedes. A glance in the rearview revealed more of the same, approaching from the rear. He heard the thrum of a helicopter’s rotor overhead. A compact, determined man dressed in a suit and overcoat emerged from the pack in front of him. He had bags beneath his eyes, but there was no mistaking the energy in his step, or the barely veiled anger. It was the same policeman who’d led the charge up the Villa Principessa’s drive two days earlier.
“Who do you work for?” asked Jinn. “CIA? MI6? Mossad? A man has a right to know who he’s dying for.”
“I don’t work for any of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m her husband.”
“Whose husband?”
Jonathan shot Jinn a sidelong glance. “Eva Kruger’s.”
“But…” A curtain fell over Jinn’s features. “Give it to me,” he demanded. “Give me the flash.”
“Sorry,” said Jonathan. “That’s nonnegotiable.”
“But the police will find it…everyone will know that I gave it to you. I must have it back.”
“I’m afraid not.”
Jonathan looked at the phalanx of police and soldiers converging on him. All along, he’d planned on turning himself in once he had proof. Now, though, he had the flash with a record of Iran’s entire nuclear program, as well as the spy who could corroborate his every claim about the events of the past days, and he realized that he still didn’t have enough. The police would confiscate the flash drive. Jinn would be returned to his delegation and whisked out of the country. And Jonathan? He’d be hung out to dry, doing twenty to life.
There was only one way clear. He had to get out of the city. He had to give the flash drive to the only people who would know what to do with it.
Shifting into reverse, he began backing up, swerving in and out of the line of cars. After twenty meters, he braked, threw the transmission into drive, spun the wheel, and accelerated up a side road. Moments later, sirens began to wail. He caught sight of several soldiers taking a knee on the road behind him, machine guns set against their shoulders. It was an easy shot: thirty meters, unobstructed, and straight as an arrow. But no one fired. There was no need. The city was a locked cage.
Jonathan punched the gas and the Mercedes devoured the steep slope. He turned left at the top of the hill. He was driving parallel to the Promenade, past chalets and apartments. It was only a matter of time until they stopped him. Still, time was what he needed. Time to think. To plan. To scheme. He was one of them now. A member of Emma’s team. A professional.
“Stop!” cried Jinn. “You’ll get us both killed!”
Jonathan looked at him from the corner of his eye. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”
A police car turned onto the road behind them. It kept its distance, content to hem in one side of the trap. Jonathan turned at the next corner. The road narrowed until it was hardly more than a single lane. Pines grew overhead. He was no longer in the official Forum area. Snow had not been cleared from this part of the village. Ice crusted the road as it curved uphill into a shady forest before ending abruptly. A wall of snow blocked the path. Jonathan slammed on the brakes and the car fishtailed before stopping.
Jinn fumbled with the door in an effort to escape. Jonathan punched the central lock and slammed the Iranian into his seat with his right arm. “Stay put!”
He reversed down the road in time to see a police car blocking his retreat. A pasture lay to his right. A hiking path on his left. Jonathan yanked the wheel to the left and accelerated onto the trail. Wooden fences lined either side. The path dipped, flattened, then plunged downhill. The car caromed left and right, battering the fences. Remarkably, his breath was calm, his heartbeat hardly elevated. The snow was his element. Instead of panicking, he gave in to a steely control. He held the steering wheel lightly, nudging the nose left and right, not daring to oversteer.
“Watch out!” shouted Jinn.
Directly ahead, a mother and father dragged their young children on a pair of sleds down the path. Jonathan touched the brakes, causing the car to slide left, but not to slow in the least. He slammed his palm against the horn. The couple stared back in horror and began to run. One of the children looked over her shoulder, smiled and waved.
Jonathan tapped the brakes again, which only amplified his lack of control. There was no way to slow the car.
The Mercedes rapidly ate up the distance between them. Twenty meters separated the car from the family. Fifteen. Ten. The mother slipped and fell. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.