by Barry Becker
He decided to stay and see if she noticed him. After twenty minutes he realized she only looked twice in his direction and he couldn’t take a chance of approaching her yet. He left Starbucks, opened the door to his car, and decided to wait for a few minutes. While seated, he saw two vehicles approach the parking lot. Four men in suits got out and entered the coffee shop. These men look like the last four I saw.
A few minutes later they walked back to their vehicles with their coffee. Again, he noticed concealed guns under their shirts.
Abdullah followed one of the cars at a good safe distance. A short distance later, both vehicles pulled up at the FBI office on Lake Mead Blvd. in Las Vegas. He passed the office and drove back to his Las Vegas motel. After entering his room, he took out his secure smart-
phone. “We’ve been compromised. Either Marwan or Ericksen set us up.”
“Marwan double-crossed us and paid the ultimate price. He is dead. Go to Plan B,” Khalid said. Abdullah took out his pre-paid cell- phone to call.
“Watchmaker, this is Black Stallion. The Sheikh ordered us to go to Plan B. Use only the pre-paid cellphones from this moment forward. Please confirm.”
“Confirmed.”
56
Gstaad, Switzerland
ricksen and Caldwell hiked one thousand meters up a trail to a scenic vista in Les Diablerets in the Bernese Alps. The alpine air smelled fresh and crisp. The flowers were in
bloom as they walked along the hiking trail and came upon a wooden log that overlooked the mountains. He liked Caldwell and wished they could develop a personal relationship but based on the sensitive nature of their operations; he had to maintain a professional one.
“The NSA intercepted a call between Abdullah and Khalid. He told him their operation had been compromised,” she said.
Khalid might make an attempt on my life and Elizabeth could be a target as well he thought.
“Do you think he suspects me?” asked Ericksen.
“I doubt it. They probably believed their spy in DC set them up because someone killed him yesterday.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He glanced at her sparkling eyes. “I’ve never met a woman spook before. Where’s home?”
“You might say I’m a country girl from Idaho.”
“How did the CIA recruit you?”
She looked at him and thought to herself, how much should I tell him? “They recruited me right after I graduated from Stanford. I orig- inally planned to be a high school history teacher. You never know when opportunity will knock on your door.”
“This is none of my business, but are you in a relationship?” She put her head down for a moment, and then looked up at him.
“Mark, in many ways I can empathize with you on your loss. I lost a dear person I loved two years ago. He served in the Idaho National Guard. An IED killed him near Ramadi.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “That’s life.”
“That mess in Iraq has to go down as the biggest American foreign policy disaster in history. For the Administration to lie to the American people about Saddam’s nuclear weapons program and try to link him to Al-Qaeda without proof is criminal.”
“You’re mistaken. The president had no choice but to invade Iraq. Saddam killed so many of his people without blinking an eye. He had designs on invading other Middle Eastern countries.”
“That’s bullshit. They invaded Iraq to get rid of Saddam and cut oil deals with their new puppets.”
Caldwell tensed up. “We had to maintain the stability of the Middle East flow of oil. Both our economic and national security interests were being threatened by this madman…we had no choice but to invade.
“Elizabeth, we’ve paid too high a price for this pre-emptive inva- sion. We’ve lost over four-thousand American soldiers, hundreds of thousands suffered both physical and mental wounds, not to mention the millions of Iraqis who fled their country, nor the thousands of innocent Iraqi lives we wasted. The cost of this war in Iraq alone exceeds one or two trillion dollars. That’s money we could have used in our country to rebuild our infrastructure: bridges, roads, schools, our electric grid and most importantly, generate more jobs,” said Ericksen.
“I suppose you think we made a mistake in going into Afghanistan too?”
“We had the world behind us when we went into Afghanistan. Our mission was to rout Al-Qaeda and the Taliban from power and leave the region. However, once we had Bin Laden cornered at Tora Bora, the administration didn’t want us to capture or kill him because it would have impacted their future agenda, Operation Iraq.”
“Didn’t the Congress approve the pre-emptive invasion of Iraq?” said Elizabeth.
“Those wimps caved. They probably had their palms greased by the lobbyists and defense contractors. After all, isn’t this the way a career politician gets re-elected, exchange promises for campaign contributions?”
“I can’t believe it, but I agree with something you just said.”
“I hope someday we can elect leaders who have the wisdom, integrity, and backbone to stand up and be counted, like a Harry Truman or a Teddy Roosevelt. But I’m not holding my breath,” said Ericksen.
“Right now our challenge is to prevent another terrorist attack.” She stood up, brushed off her shorts and turned to him. “Let’s drop the conversation. It’s apparent you’re a liberal.”
“You’re mistaken. I’m a hawk on defense when it truly is in our national interest.”
“Really!” She retorted.
“Elizabeth, both parties are sucking the life out of America. I’m an independent, and a progressive at heart.” He thought she had been brainwashed by all of the right-wing, neo-con propaganda, but he still respected and liked her a lot.
After a delicious Australian lamb dinner accompanied by superb French wine, the party moved into the cocktail lounge, seated around a table Khalid hosted for his guests, Moritz and his lady friend, Erick- sen, and Caldwell. Khalid and Moritz drank orange juice while he and Caldwell enjoyed margaritas.
A band played soft rock. Moritz signaled to his lady friend to
dance. “Come join us, Mark.” They all stood up and moved to the dance floor.
Kupchenko and Ryzhkov appeared and stood by the bar about seventy feet from Khalid’s table. Delgado entered the bar area and took a seat fifteen feet from them. Khalid spotted both men and walked toward them.
“I’m ready for a good shot of vodka,” Ryzhkov said.
Khalid turned to him and in a softer voice, replied, “You deserve it. We wired the eight million to your Geneva bank and in a few weeks you’ll receive the balance.”
“The nukes were picked up and are in route to Houston as we speak,” Ryzhkov said.
“Good. We’re on schedule.”
Ericksen and Caldwell danced to the Eagles hit song “Desperado. ”He pulled her closer to his body, and she responded to the warmth of his body. His erection brushed against her body as she put her arms around him and closed her eyes. A few moments later she opened her eyes, looked into his eyes, and they kissed.
They returned to the table. “Please excuse us, but we’re going to call it a night. Ciao!”
They walked toward the lobby, and Ryzhkov looked at her from the bar. He turned to Khalid. “I know her. Her name is Betty Nichols.” “You must be mistaken. Her name is Elizabeth Caldwell, and she
is a guest of one of my business partners.”
“It’s Nichols. She worked at the American Embassy in Berlin. They listed her official position as a political attaché, but she took her marching orders from the CIA.”
“CIA!” Khalid said, as his face flushed with rage. Shit, Abdullah had been right; it was Ericksen, not Marwan he thought.
“Ericksen must be a spy too. We have a safe house about eight kilometers south of Zurich,” said Ryzhkov.
“Abduct those CIA pigs and find out what they know. Then kill them!”
“With pleasure.”
Eri
cksen showered and entered the bedroom with a towel draped over his muscular body. Caldwell looked at him, appreciating the view of water droplets cascading down his well-defined abs. Her heart rate sped up. She motioned to him and lifted the covers with her left hand, exposing her well-shaped nude body. “Mark, would you like to join me?” He smiled from ear to ear observing and grin- ning as he strolled over to the bed. “So you’re a redhead.”
After turning off the light on the nightstand, he slid under the sheets, embraced her, and slid his body over hers. He kissed her passionately, and they made love.
57
eltermann and two members of his Charlie Team pulled their vehicles close to the truck stop off Highway 20 in Bran- don, Mississippi. The driver parked the Heimlich Transport
truck. When he finished his dinner, he walked back to the truck. Beltermann walked toward the truck, and as he moved closer to the driver, he pulled out his handgun and slammed the butt of the gun over the driver’s head. The driver dropped to the side of the truck unconscious. One of the Charlie Team operatives took his keys, jumped into the truck, turned on the ignition, and drove back on the highway.
Beltermann and the other two operatives followed in two vehi- cles. As they drew closer to Jackson, they pulled off the road and arrived at the Banger Warehouse Complex. He checked the time. The watch’s hands showed 8:30 pm. Two of the Delta Team operatives opened the chained gates and drove the truck to the bay. They opened the container, and another operative drove a forklift to the ramp, where two men assisted in the removal of twelve ice freezer chests.
Fifty minutes later they opened the ice freezer chests, removing the nuclear suitcases and C-4 explosives. They put the ice freezer
chests back into the container, locked it up, and drove the truck back to Brandon. Beltermann and his team placed the nuclear suitcases and C-4 in the back of the panel truck.
The Charlie Team parked the truck a few blocks from the truck stop. Blindfolded and hurt, the driver regained consciousness as he lay on the back of the cab. Beltermann climbed to the cab, pulled out his Glock, and fired two bullets into the driver’s head. The teams got back on Highway 20 in their panel truck and the SUV, fully loaded with dangerous cargo headed for Houston.
58
t seven in the morning on Sunday, August 30th, Caldwell left the hotel. She ran to the Saanen Airport and jogged back toward Gstaad via Gstaadstrasse. At 8:30 am she
entered Heidi’s Pastry Shop on Promenade Street. Holding her coffee in one hand and a box of pastry in the other, she walked back toward the hotel.
A gray panel truck on the road drove towards her. Two muscular men in their thirties dressed in casual sportswear walked toward her on the same side of the street. The panel truck pulled up to the curb and stopped, while the men grabbed her. They hauled her inside the truck, forcing Caldwell to drop her latte and the box of pastry on the sidewalk, and sped away. Delgado trailed fifty yards behind and charged toward her but couldn’t stop the abduction.
Kupchenko bloodied her nose with his fist. She punched him in the groin and thrust the palm of her hand against the bridge of his nose. He slammed his fist against her jaw knocking her unconscious. A few miles away they pulled off the road, tied her up, and placed her on the floor of the truck.
Ericksen’s smartphone rang. “Gold Eagle.”
“Elizabeth has been abducted by some Russians. Get packed and
check out. I’ll meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes. We’ll be able to track her down.”
“Track her down?”
“She has an implanted RFID GPS chip located on her upper arm, near the shoulder area.”
Ericksen thought I should have gone with her this morning.
At nine-ten in the morning, Delgado removed his secure smart- phone and called the CIA safe house in Bussigny, near Lausanne. The communications center techie answered the call in French.
“Philippe speaking.”
“Tampa here. Venus was abducted! Please activate the satellite tracking system and call me back as soon as you get a reading.”
Ten minutes later his smartphone rang. “Tampa.”
“Philippe again. She’s traveling on Highway A14, just past the town of Reussbuhl on the road toward Zurich.”
“Thanks, keep us updated.” A minute later they checked out of the hotel.
“Late last night I checked out your car and found a GPS tracking device under the fuel tank. The bastards were planning to kill you. Let’s get in my Mercedes.”
“Elizabeth’s life is hanging by a thread. Fico, we must find her.”
At one in the afternoon, they arrived at the CIA safe house in Zug. They went upstairs and picked up three duffel bags filled with weapons, ammo, black stealth clothing, thermo-imaging cameras, night vision goggles, and Kevlar body armor, then turned to an Agency IT guy.
“Where is Venus now?”
“We’ve tracked her to a large house in Kusnacht, about eight kilo- meters south of Zurich. It’s on the lake.”
“What’s the address?”
“The first number is three on Hornweg. It has a Swiss flag and a boat ramp with a 20-foot boat.”
“Take a closer satellite look,” said Delgado.
“The Estate sits on an acre or two. There are two cars and a panel truck in the driveway.”
“We’re on our way.”
Moritz jogged over to Khalid, who rested on a lounge chair at poolside. “Ericksen checked out. He must have support; the Audi is still here.”
“Shit!” Khalid said in Arabic.
Sullivan and Campbell finished their racquetball game and walked past the karate class, catching sight of Hank Lucas practicing karate with the instructor. Lucas had achieved a third-degree black belt in karate. The men were members of the Neptune Athletic Club of Washington.
Sullivan and Campbell showered and went into the sauna room. A few minutes later Lucas joined them. “What is this about, Bill?” asked Lucas.
“Two things. Al-Bustani is in negotiations with a Pakistani nuclear scientist and is in the process of purchasing an eight-kiloton nuclear warhead which at some point will be on a container ship heading for the Port of Los Angeles.”
“Shit! Have you touched base with the Pakistani Intelligence?”
“I have alerted their Director, and they’re investigating the princi- pals right now.” “Let me know ASAP,” said Campbell.
“Number two: the Swiss Federal Police notified me this morning Banque Matthias Reiter in Geneva will be raided Friday, September
4. We’re hopeful the records confiscated will provide us with names of individuals involved in financial terrorism as well as Americans who profited illegally from the Afghan and Iraqi wars.”
“We need to indict these corrupt bastards and put them away for life without parole,” Lucas responded.
“Who is taking the lead role in concert with the Swiss authori- ties?” Campbell asked. “The FBI, Justice, and Treasury are conducting a joint investigation. Their efforts are in sync with the Swiss authorities.”
At two in the afternoon, Campbell picked up his secure smartphone. “Hello,” Reiter said, from his home near Geneva.
“Spotlight here.” He leaned against his bookcase in his study. “Please transfer all of my Palm Financial Holdings’ account first thing Monday morning to my Trilogy Palm Group Holdings at the Wald- mann and Tessier Bank, Grand Caymans. Only my personal account shall remain at your bank.”
“Why the rush?
“The Swiss Federal Police are planning to raid your bank on Friday. Is that urgent enough for you?”
“What! Are you sure?”
“What do you think?” Campbell’s face tensed and shook his head. “I have reliable intel from the highest sources.”
“I’m departing at 21:55 for Singapore this evening. I’m a guest speaker at a function Tuesday afternoon.”
“Is there anyone at your bank who can accomplish this without any problems?”
“I’m the only one
who can do these sensitive transactions. No one in the bank is aware of our secrets.”
“When is the earliest you can get back to Geneva?”
“I can take the 1:00 am flight back on Wednesday and be in my office by one in the afternoon.”
“Fine. Please don’t disappoint us.”
Lucas lifted up his Louis XIII Remy Martin cognac decanter and poured his cognac into a brandy snifter. He walked over to the CD player in his study and placed the Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony CD into the tray. After he had taken a swig of his cognac, he hunkered in his leather recliner and made a call on his secure smartphone.
“Iron Fist here,” Dawkins said, as he recognized Shogun’s Swiss smartphone number.
“The fortress is going to be raided next Friday. I talked with Spot- light a few minutes ago. He has been in contact with our man in Geneva. All of our funds must be transferred by Wednesday after-
noon. Please wish him well for me and put his mind at rest. Do you copy?”
“Yes, sir,” Dawkins said.
White House Situation Room
Campbell, Sullivan, Lucas, Geiger, the National Security Advisor, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, and their key staff were seated around the conference table in the White House Situation Room with President Porterfield at seven in the evening.
The president had come into office in January and by now the honeymoon period was starting to come to an end. He faced an enor- mous financial crisis inherited from the previous administration: the meltdown of Wall Street, high unemployment, the housing crisis, out-of-control defense spending, increased deficits, and being locked into two unpopular wars in Afghanistan and Iraq.