“Right,” Court said. “Scratch that.”
Rima added, “To the north is Turkey, and the border is easy to cross, but that’s a long way away from Damascus. Plus, ISIS owns five times the territory the Americans, Kurds, and Free Syrians do, and it’s a fluid battlefield.”
“I’ll pass.”
Tarek said, “To the east is Iraq, three hundred kilometers distant, inhospitable terrain, and the war is being fought there, as well. Eastern Syria is populated with ISIS fighters, and then, if you did make it into Iraq, it’s another five hundred kilometers of desert to civilization.”
“Where I would find more people who probably wouldn’t mind killing me.”
“It’s very possible.”
“Yeah. No.”
Voland said, “That’s why south is your best option. It’s a five-hour drive to the Jordanian border from Damascus. There will be checkpoints along the way, which you’ll have to avoid on your own, but once at the border, I have contacts in the Jordanian intelligence services who can get all three of you across.”
Court asked, “Why would they do that?”
“They don’t know who you are, and they don’t know who Bianca is. But they know who I am, and they trust me. When they learn that getting three people over the border is the way to cause a split in the relationship between Russia, Syria, and Iran, they will be willing to help without question.”
Court nodded. “Jordan it is.”
Tarek stood up now, put his arm on Court’s shoulder. Court wished people would just stop touching him. The Syrian said, “If I were younger, stronger, faster. If I were trained.” He gave Court a little smile. “If I were you. If I were you I’d go in there, and I wouldn’t return until I was dead, or until Azzam himself was dead.”
“Let’s not get carried away. I go in for the baby and the nanny. I get them, find a way south down to the Jordanian border, and get out of the country. That’s it.”
Tarek reached a hand out now. “We thank you for what you are going to do.”
Court shook Tarek’s hand and said, “Save your gratitude for when I get back. I might get popped at the border, at a roadside checkpoint. My cover might get compromised and I could get tortured to death in a prison before I get within twenty klicks of that kid.”
Rima stood and put her hand on Court’s face, looking up at him with warm eyes. “Most people just don’t care. The fact that you care enough to try makes you someone worthy of my respect. My nation needs your help, monsieur. I’ve seen so many people die in my hands in the past seven years.”
Me, too, Court thought, but while she was thinking about those she’d lost on the operating table, he was thinking about those he’d killed.
* * *
? ? ?
In the car on the way back to Paris, Vincent Voland drove in silence. Court could tell something was on his mind.
“What is it?” he asked.
The Frenchman said, “The Halabys might not be battle-worn resistance leaders, but they do have contacts in Damascus, and you are making a mistake by not using them to get into the country and get around.”
Court said, “You think I’m going to trust a network of theirs? No . . . if I go in, I go in with my own resources.”
“Again . . . I must ask. What resources do you have in Damascus?”
Court didn’t answer. There was no need to tell Voland anything else about his plan to get in. Instead he pivoted. “You need to help them with Bianca and the safe house. With guys and guns, yes, but they also need training. Their tradecraft is nonexistent, and you can be damn sure that if Sebastian Drexler comes here, he’ll be ready for a bloody fight.”
Voland said, “We will be prepared for him if he finds us here. I have four men joining us. All ex–Foreign Legion, masters in weapons and tactics. These four, along with the six armed Syrians here on the property, mean we will be ready for anything.”
Court hadn’t liked the layout of the property at all from a defensive standpoint. The woods all around would make it easy for infiltrators to get close to the farmhouse, and he had only noticed the one way into Bianca’s room in the basement; this made retreat impossible. But all he could do was hope the men Voland said he was bringing in would take steps to minimize the problems with the location.
Something else was bothering Court, so he changed gears. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?” asked Voland.
“There are parts of your story I’m not buying. The handler in Monte Carlo, for instance. You went to him to find someone to grab Bianca, and he told you he just happened to have access to the Gray Man?”
Voland shrugged his shoulders. “Not exactly. When you first contacted him and established your bona fides, he came to French intelligence. They notified me.”
“French intelligence again,” Court said. “They seem to be more involved in all this than even the Halabys.”
Voland simply said, “As I have told you many times, I am not directly affiliated with any agency of any nation. But my contacts have been very helpful in my work with the Halabys. Remember, if Sebastian Drexler comes up here looking for Bianca, a lot of agencies around the world will be happy.”
“They’ll be happy only if you kill him,” Court corrected.
Voland made a face of displeasure. “We do not have the death penalty here, like you do in America. If he comes up here, our intelligence services will pass the information on to the Police Nationale, who will simply try to arrest him.”
Court said, “From what I know of the guy, he won’t go down without a fight.”
“D’accord.” Agreed, said Voland.
“Too bad I’ll be out of town.”
To this Voland smiled gravely. “Yes . . . too bad, indeed.” After a few seconds Voland added, “Maybe you should stay here. Not go to Syria.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can pressure Bianca to work with us. We can tell her you have gone, and are working on getting her son back. We can salvage something out of the Medina operation, and you can help us with Drexler.”
“You sound concerned suddenly about how much trouble Drexler can cause here.”
“It’s not that. I am concerned about your chances in Syria. I know your reputation, but still . . . you are going into a war with many sides, and you have no side of your own.”
Court said, “I have to see this through. For all their failures in this operation, the Halabys are good people, and their cause is honorable. And from what I can tell, I’m the only good guy in the Halabys’ corner.”
Voland made an annoyed face. “Present company excluded?”
“Hardly.”
The Frenchman sighed. “Then let me talk to my former counterparts at DGSE, foreign intelligence. If you don’t trust the Free Syria Exile Union to support your operation, perhaps you will let someone with more experience provide you with assistance while you are down there.”
Court just stared out the window. “You’re forgetting one thing.”
“What is that?”
“I don’t like you, Voland. You’re the asshole who sent me in on top of an ISIS operation. And I don’t even trust people I do like, so there is no way I’m going to have you, or the DGSE, working as my handler on my operation down in Syria.”
“So you are just going to Syria on your own?”
“I’ll be on my own, no matter what anyone promises me. Better for me if I go in with that knowledge than thinking you’re up here holding on to my lifeline.”
“Mon ami, it is clear that you do, in fact, have serious trust issues.”
“Yeah. I wonder why.”
CHAPTER 23
Police Judiciaire Captain Henri Sauvage had gotten cold feet about all this shit. He hadn’t said anything to his partner yet, but he had decided to walk away from all the money he’d been promised, to settle for the money he’d already been paid, and to get the fuck out of Paris.