The Red Cell by André Gallo (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

he motioned for Ahmed to answer it. As Ahmed walked toward a small desk next to the window, El Khoury looked at Um and said, “My mission is to destroy the Jews and Crusaders, and their allies among us. To do so, we need help from our Iranian brothers, and it is to our benefit to help them help us.”

Ahmed picked up the phone and put it next to his ear. Just then, a small explosion in the phone’s headset blasted Ahmed’s brains across the room in a pulpy jet that colored the rug and the opposite wall with grayish-red matter.

Stunned, Um could only stand transfixed by the horror she had just witnessed.

El Khoury, his hands now still, focused his gaze deeply into Um’s eyes, as though he was staring through her. “As I said, we will destroy the Jews and Crusaders, and their allies. Let us talk more tomorrow.”

With that, he dismissed her, and soon her captors had again blindfolded her, returned her to the floor of the SUV, and after another hour deposited her at the hotel.

During her fitful sleep that night, she dreamed her mother was being prepared to become a suicide bomber.

***

Per El Khoury’s instructions, Um was escorted back to him the next day. This time, however, the two men had not blindfolded her, and she could see the route they traveled, through the city and its outskirts to the northeast, ending up somewhere near Larnaca Bay. She thought briefly it meant she was going to be assassinated, but she eventually decided if El Khoury had wanted her dead he would have killed her already.

They were met at the front of the house by two armed guards. Um walked to the front door by herself. El Khoury’s female assistant let her in with a slight gleam in her eye, and El Khoury again sat in his easy chair, flanked by a new younger man in a black suit and a collarless shirt. His short, severely trimmed black beard and glasses projected intensity and fervor.

“Ahmed’s execution has changed things. Mr. Khazaee has come from his embassy in Nicosia to talk with you.”

The three of them sat around a coffee table, while El Khoury’s assistant continued to stand silently behind him. Um wondered what role she served. Except for the bedroom scene, she had not said a word. Her loose clothing could well hide a weapon. Um turned her gaze toward the new player, pegging him as Iranian intelligence.

“Ahmed did many things for us in the United States and, until he is replaced, you will have to take on some of his tasks,” Khazaee said, following preliminary and traditional polite exchanges. After obtaining Um’s silent assent, he continued.

“We can no longer communicate with our helpers in America through the usual means. We have been warned by reports in the American media that the National Security Agency, the CIA, and other arms of the U.S. intelligence apparatus are spying against their own people,” he said without irony. Therefore, we cannot use telephone or email.”

His eyes fixed on Um just as El Khoury’s had, and she felt as if she could not move. She felt relieved when he lit a cigarette and took a puff while looking at the ceiling. El Khoury took a sip of water.

“Do you think you will be able to make an occasional trip to the rendezvous point without alerting your CIA employers?”

“I do have a full time job and, as I said yesterday, I am beginning to have better access to secret information. My new office will be in the CIA headquarters building. I could certainly make contacts in the evening after work.”

“I have reviewed the communications plan Ahmed gave you yesterday, and I will not change it,” Khazaee said.

He paused for a moment. “Your new access to information and to the CIA headquarters building will be useful for both us and for our Iranian friends. You will be able to give into the house of the apostates.”

9. Bucharest

As the TAROM Airlines flight made its final approach at Henri Coandă International Airport, Kella forced herself to stop thinking about a long list of wedding details to Marshall’s minimal background briefing, which she had received a day before departing.

Ever since she’d become an item with Steve, Marshall had taken a paternal air with her.

“It’s been a while since I was chief in Bucharest, so I don’t know if I could give you much advice,” he said. “You should remember a couple of things, however. First, Romanians are proud they are Latins and not Slavs. Although they certainly were part of the Soviet bloc, they always tried to play an independent role. It was because Romania, that is, Nicolae Ceausescu, was unable to help Henry Kissinger make the connection with Beijing. He eventually gave that role to Pakistan. Which goes to show the Romanians like to think of themselves as global players and, secondly, Ceausescu was all hat and no cattle, as they say in Texas.

“Also, when I was there, you could not find a Romanian who admitted to speaking Russian, although they all had gone through twelve years of schooling in that language. Because it was against the law for Romanians to have any unofficial contacts with foreigners, the only ones I really got to know were my agents. They all were brave individuals and pushed the national trait of being schmecher, that is, clever, to the limit. More than most, like the Arabs, I would say, they like to play every angle.”

The airport surprised Kella, with its modern and large, almost cavernous, terminal, which held passport control, customs, baggage pickup, scores of stores hungering for Western currencies, as well as ATMs and automatic ticket vending machines. Her searching glance, however, did not reveal wedding gowns in the shop windows. The submachine-gun-toting soldiers, which Marshall also had described, were either not there, or