Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) by Ethan Jones Page A

here than this cargo. It’s my reputation. I always deliver on my promises,” Romanov said. “Saudi Arabia is a big arms market. They spent over thirty billion dollars in weapons last year, and the Americans, of course, took the lion’s share. We’ve seen our exports cut in half, and we’re losing ground to the French.”
    “So the Saudis don’t know their shipment is missing?”
    “It’s not missing, it’s delayed until you,” he pointed his thick finger at Justin’s chest, “you retrieve it.”
    Justin began to shake his head, but Romanov raised a dismissive hand. “Your interest and the interest of the Western world are for Yemeni insurgents not to get hold of these missiles. I don’t have to explain you the consequences if al-Shabaab or al-Qaeda add these weapons to their arsenal. It may even tip the scales of their ongoing war against the Yemeni government.”
    “My Service will not approve of this operation,” Justin spoke softly, carefully selecting his words. “Even if they do, which is highly unlikely, it will take time to put together a team and execute a well-planned mission. Yemen is a hellhole.”
    “Time is a luxury we don’t have. Take my proposal to McClain and explain its urgency. I have the exact location of the cargo, and I’ll know if and when it’s on the move. If your boss wants me to sweeten the deal, that’s open for negotiation.”
    Romanov did not openly pull the favor string again, and Justin appreciated his subtlety. He wanted to stop Houthis insurgents and other militant groups in Yemen from using those powerful missiles in terrorist attacks. But the more pressing matter of finding the traitor within his own Service was going to take priority.
    “I’ll run this by McClain and give you an answer. But as I said, his approval is unlikely.”
    Romanov nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. He pushed a button on his console. “Sergei, take us back to the theater,” he ordered the driver.
    Justin felt the stretch Mercedes-Benz make a wide turn. His BlackBerry chirped with a familiar tune. It was Anna. “I’ve got to take this.”
    Romanov nodded, then dropped his eyes to his own BlackBerry.
    “Hi, where are you?” Justin said on the phone. He listened for a few seconds. “Yeah, OK, OK. I’m just around the block. I’ll be there right away. Yes, yes, I heard the show was delayed. Great. See you in a bit.”
    “Unfortunately, I will not be able to watch the show tonight.” Romanov pointed at his BlackBerry. “But I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
    “I’ll try,” Justin replied, but he knew there was too much going on. He would not be able to sit back and shut down his mind, even if for just a few hours.
    The Mercedes-Benz slowed down, then eased into a smooth stop. “We’re here, sir,” the driver said.
    Justin looked at the closed partition separating the driver’s seat from the passengers’ compartment. The driver’s voice was clear even though it came over the limousine’s communication system.
    “Take good care of yourself,” Romanov said.
    “Yeah, you too,” Justin replied. “I’ll let you know.”
    Romanov nodded.
    They shook hands, then the back door opened. Justin stepped out and faced the front passenger, the mountain of muscle that had summoned him to this meeting. He closed the door gently, ignored Justin, and strutted back to the front of a car. The driver forced his way into the other lane, amid screeching brakes and honking horns protesting his unsafe moves. Seconds later, the Mercedes-Benz disappeared into traffic, heading toward 8th Avenue.
    Justin looked up at the theater’s blinking lights and the flashing screens of advertisement boards covering almost every inch of available space around him. They gave everything a yellow and red glow, blurry and ever-changing as people rushed by on the sidewalk and cars zoomed passed on the street. He saw Anna waving at him. She was standing near the theater’s main entrance, wearing a knee-length V-neck