Twelve Days (A John Wells Novel)
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New York Times–bestselling author Alex Berenson is back with another gripping tale.
John Wells, with his former CIA bosses Ellis Shafer and Vinny Duto, have uncovered a staggering plot, a false-flag operation to drive the United States and Iran into war. But they have no proof and only twelve days to find a way to stop the headlong momentum. They fan out, from Switzerland to Saudi Arabia, Israel to Russia, desperately trying to tease out the clues in their possession. And meanwhile, the forces gather.
your own. Safe journeys. Ma-a salaama.” — Gabir didn’t speak during the two-hour flight. Salome and Duberman didn’t, either. It seemed safe to assume he was a mukhabarat officer who spoke Hebrew and English. But when they landed, he disappeared and the Jordanians treated them like ordinary passengers. Now they were back in the world. It was just past 6 p.m. A day had passed since Wells kidnapped them, eighteen hours since he dumped them in Riyadh. If he and Duto had flown to Johannesburg
scrubby land, low hills flecked with scattered shrubs and bushes. “I thought the Cape was supposed to be beautiful,” Duto said. “This the Karoo,” Jacob said. “Did you sneeze?” “Something else. Witwans off the N1.” “When?” “Just now.” Wells reached back for the phone. Sure enough, the Mercedes had turned south off the highway about twenty kilometers east of central Cape Town. The giant slum called Khayelitsha lay a few kilometers south, as did the Cape Town airport. Wells feared Frankel
plates. They were big, a thousand ccs or more. Black. Sportbike fairings. I think they were identical, both the same model. Beyond that, I can’t say. I’m sorry.” “What about the bomb vehicle?” “White, a minivan.” “And you didn’t see the driver.” “No. I can’t identify the men on the bikes either. They wore helmets with mirrored face shields. One dropped a pistol at the scene. I’m sure you’ve recovered that.” “A Makarov, yes. We’re trying to trace it, but as you know they’re very common. I
Sorry you had to run in Volgograd, but now that I know how to find you I look forward to seeing you soon. Maybe I’ll even drop by. He’d sent it about three hours before. Bad luck she’d slept so long. She read it a dozen times. But the only word that mattered was the first. Adina. He had found her real name. Disaster. Now that Wells knew who she was, he could easily link her to Duberman. She hadn’t advertised the connection, but she hadn’t buried it either. And if Wells knew, Shafer did, too.
for her phone. “Smile.” He raised both middle fingers. “Perfect. Everyone will know it’s you.” The phone clicked. “I think you left your lipstick at home, Lucy. Better get it.” Meaning: leave Langley and store the photo somewhere safe. “That bad?” Shafer turned for the door, blew a kiss over his shoulder at Joyner. “Later, my love.” “I’m not even your like, Ellis—” — His mood swung between grim and weirdly jaunty as he made his way back to his office. Whatever Carcetti had planned would