The Puppetmasters

  I’ve learned to fire a gun, throw a knife, and fight with my hands and feet, she rationalized. I’m getting the hell out of here as soon as I can … and on my terms!

  Rashid was watching her, trying to decipher the strange expressions that crossed Kendall’s face. He was almost afraid to ask. He could tell she had come to some decision … but about what?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE DAY BEFORE THE PLANNED dinner event passed quickly. Rashid spent the morning reviewing Shazeb’s scattered financial accounts associated with the “business.” He sought out Fields and once again found him alone. That damn, lazy Saaqib, Rashid cursed. Fields helped Rashid set up several alternative international banking accounts using the various aliases Rashid had already carefully created. While these days it was virtually impossible to open a completely anonymous bank account, it would still provide Rashid with a measure of secrecy, because no banking establishment would agree to reveal the account holder’s name unless there was proof of deliberate fraud.

  He wasn’t worried about Fields’ knowing his personal business. Fields would not have access to any of the numbers, and was only too willing to assist if it meant he was closer to getting rescued and saving his head in the process. Fields was ready to get back to the U.S. and home and was therefore quite eager to be a part of whatever plan was proposed. The faith he put in Rashid’s abilities was a bit daunting in the latter’s eyes. Fields asked few questions. He seemed to know that if anyone could make this coup d’état happen, it was Rashid.

  Rashid’s issue with Fields was that for the first time since arriving in Afghanistan, Fields was able to interact technically outside Afghanistan’s computer network. He begged and pleaded for Rashid to let him contact his family or get a message to Orion. But Rashid was resolved that this could not happen. The events needed to play out his way. He strenuously objected to the insistence of a short email message; he sympathized with Fields but held firm that the U.S. intelligence community must not learn of his whereabouts or the upcoming plans. Rashid had worked too hard on the details, and any interference by a third party not already in the works would surely be a disaster. Rashid didn’t need or desire help from the U.S. Fields was angry that his seemingly reasonable request was rebuffed. The continued loss of control was fraying Fields’ nerves. Good God, he ran a multi-billion-dollar company, he thought. He was at the edge of the abyss. He was on board with the plan, but just barely. He was no longer really thinking clearly. The captivity was affecting his reason. The sooner the plan went into action, the better for all.

  Rashid tried to explain to Fields that he didn’t want the U.S. getting their hands on the business’s finances, by physical or technical means. Rashid had already deceived the Mossad about the finances. He figured that the Mossad wasn’t worried about his future, so he had resolved to put most of the money aside, allowing him to disappear and assume one of his other aliases. Yes, the Mossad would get a measly ten million dollars, but nothing compared to what it expected.

  Rashid and Fields had overlapped the alternative financial accounts and created enough confusion that the Mossad would not be able to pin any missing money to anything Rashid did. The Mossad would simply think that some of the money had been moved by Shazeb’s operatives and associates prior to the chaos created by Rashid. The latter had never been completely forthcoming on those associations. In actuality, there were no others than President Shazeb, his sons, and Rashid. The President had trusted no one outside the family except Rashid.

  The Mossad was given to believe there was a network of financial operatives working on behalf of President Shazeb, personally, who continually moved the business money between accounts and countries. This disinformation was what kept Rashid in control.

  He considered himself to be a man without a country. His family had been murdered long ago, his second family was led by a dictator to be feared, who abused his citizens, funded terrorist networks around the Middle East, and was nothing more than a crook. The despot didn’t care about the country of Afghanistan or its people, but only the money flowing into his private accounts. Furthermore, Israel and the Mossad had not shown any personal interest in Rashid or his well being, by virtue of his mother’s having been a kidnapped Israeli. Instead, they milked that facet in order to seek Rashid’s loyalty to further their own interests, stopping the flow of drugs out of Afghanistan and into and through much of the Middle East, drying up the millions of dollars flowing to Middle East terrorists, hand-picking the new Afghan leader, and re-directing and claiming the massive amounts of Shazeb’s personal ill-gotten gains for Israel.

  Rashid was hoping that by the time the Shazeb men were dead, the business had been destroyed, the Orion people were rescued, and the country was in turmoil, there would be no paper trail.

  One of his fortes was explosives. With his background, international associations, and holdover childhood issues, he had no choice but to learn the art of finessing his exit by leaving no trail and ensuring complete destruction in his wake.

  It took him a few hours that last day, but Rashid managed to assemble and hide what he needed to cause mini-explosions in the palace after the Orion people left … if they succeeded. He couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate anything less than full success in the form of the deaths of the president and his sons.

  Rashid was not without sympathy for the Shazeb women and younger children. Some of them had treated him fairly and looked after him soon after his parents died. He hoped and expected they would retreat in a panic, flee the scene, and re-appear well after his group had left the palace. But in his business, things didn’t always turn out as planned. He had learned long ago to keep what little emotions he had left—except anger and rage—at bay. Those intense feelings were excellent primers and offered plenty of encouragement and foolhardiness for the most risky of undertakings and ill-advised schemes. But collateral damage was a distinct possibility. Rashid rationalized that if that happened, it was for the best—fate, if you will—and not something he would spend time regretting.

  Kendall got in a four-hour workout in the afternoon, complete with target practice on the homemade gun range. Rashid was out of Kendall’s way for most of her workout. When he dropped her off earlier in the day, she promised him she would not run back to the base on her own. He, in turn, gave his word that he would return within a few hours. He was back on time and drove her to the palace to meet with the Head Chef, Taheem.

  She and Rashid sat in the large, inviting kitchen at the palace and helped Taheem with the details of tomorrow’s dinner. Two fatted lambs were in a pen outside the back door of the kitchen. They would be slaughtered after this evening’s meal. They would be seasoned with lemon juice, orange juice, balsamic vinegar, olive oil, garlic, oregano, and basil, and the body cavities would be filled with lemons, oranges, onions, garlic, and dry wine. The cavity would then be stitched shut. The lambs would be placed on the spit early in the morning, and would roast for ten hours.

  It was agreed that Kendall would arrive early afternoon and help make the dessert … a favorite recipe of Kendall’s … chocolate cheesecake pie. The Shazebs were particularly fond of chocolate desserts, and this dish would satiate them, lulling the president and his sons into a false sense of contentment.

  Taheem had a great sense of humor. That was the main reason he had stayed in the employ of the Shazeb household for some ten years now. He knew how to make himself scarce and assuage hurt feelings and flared tempers with kind words and mouthwatering dishes. His meals were loved, and his company was delightful. The children were always in good spirits when he was around.

  More than that, Taheem was smart and intuitive. He knew something was in the works. Rashid had never before shown such interest in a particular dinner. Taheem could sense that change was in the wind. He just wasn’t sure which way the wind would blow. So, he resolved to stay quiet and in the background, but watchful.

  Rashid teased Taheem about his dyed red beard that was a custom of older me
n. They, like Taheem, used henna to dye their beards red, because the Prophet Muhammad was believed to have done so. The beloved head chef was also highly superstitious. With a twinkle in his eyes, he stated that the hennaed beard also helped against his constant headaches.

  “But Taheem,” Rashid said with a straight face. “If you’ve had a red beard for years now, then why are you still getting headaches? I thought the henna keeps the headaches from coming back?”

  “Oh, no, Rashid. The headaches are under control so long as my beard is red. If I didn’t dye it, then the headaches would be worse.”

  Rashid and Kendall laughed. Who could argue with logic like that? They enjoyed the bit of levity, even if all too brief. They talked Taheem into fixing them a quick dinner in the kitchen. Kendall could not get enough of the naan. It seemed to always be warm, soft, and fresh. She decided that was the one positive experience she would take away from her time in Afghanistan … if she happened to get out alive. She was introduced to and immediately loved the taste and texture of naan … especially when it was seasoned with fresh garlic. She spread a liberal amount of tangy hummus on the warm bread and licked her fingers.

  When she looked up, Rashid was regarding her with amusement. “I’m so glad you like our food.”

  She nodded and proclaimed, “Absolutely! It’s tasty, I’m sure, because the cooking is excellent!” She winked at Taheem, who was prepared to be shocked and left wondering if he had just been propositioned. But he was wise enough to chalk it up to a cultural moment. He wondered what Kendall’s role was in the coming days, but prudently kept that thought to himself.

  Rashid brought Kendall back to the base an hour later. His manner was serious and all business as he instructed her to go through her things. She would be taking only the one military field bag filled with the items she needed the most. They agreed that her laptop and clothes would stay behind. He brought in Glenn Carson’s bags. She was mortified at having to go through the executive’s personal belongings. But she did her best at packing his bag.

  Rashid agreed to destroy a suitcase full of proprietary documents and electronic devices, including hard drives, thumb drives, and memory chips that would not be going with them. He planned to stop near the workout area and blow the suitcase up. Anything remaining would be set on fire. He exited her room, carrying Carson’s bag. Tomorrow they would carry Kendall and Fields’ bags.

  He left Kendall sitting on the edge of her bed. She was both excited and afraid of what would happen the next day. She just hoped she would be able to get a good night’s sleep. Rashid stopped at Fields’ room and helped him pack a small bag of things. Fields became very angry again, at the affront of having been kidnapped, held against his will with no contact with his family or business, and now being forced to choose what little to take for what he saw likely as tomorrow’s descent into hell … leaving the remaining items to be destroyed. Somebody is going to pay, he thought.

  It had been twenty-four hours since the Mossad had contacted CIA Agent Candace Lawrence, and the U.S. intelligence community was no closer to getting answers about the missing Orion people, Kendall Radcliffe’s role in the events, or Israel’s supposed large-scale drug investigation. In NSA Agent Frank Reynolds’ mind, something was not right. Israel was too quiet. It was almost as if Prophecy had been silenced over the Israeli intelligence networks; that a curtain had come down on Prophecy, preventing its routine cyber-stalking eyes.

  But Reynolds knew that was not feasible. His good friend and fraternity brother, Paul Fields, had assured him that no one else had knowledge of Prophecy. Why then, he surmised, was he hearing only the most inane, routine chatter out of Israel? It felt staged, like the information was being spoon fed to the U.S. That notion both enraged and unnerved him. Thoughts raced through his mind. Had Israel, through its cyber spying expertise, stumbled across Prophecy and now begun using it for its own purposes? Impossible, he thought. His gut was telling him that something big was going down, and that the missing Orion people were smack in the center of it. Reynolds wanted to be a part of it.

  He was so perplexed and intrigued about Israel’s secret investigation that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Telling himself that he was being proactive and tenacious, he picked up his regular office phone and dialed Mossad Director Zimmerman. He was glad Zimmerman’s phone number had been circulated during the debriefing by CIA Agent Candace Lawrence.

  Zimmerman answered on the third ring. He recognized the unique caller ID info as scrambled and from the U.S. He could tell that it was not from the CIA—or more particularly, from Agent Lawrence.

  He hoped these U.S. intelligence department probings into Israel’s current activities were not going to cause a problem. Israel was so close now to its goal. He tried to keep the irritation from his voice.

  “Zimmerman!” he barked into the phone, almost daring the caller to speak.

  “Agent Zimmerman, this is Agent Reynolds in the U.S.” Reynolds was nonplussed.

  “I didn’t catch your agency, Agent Reynolds?”

  “I didn’t say. I’m a consultant working with the CIA.” That statement was true and allowed him to gloss over his NSA affiliation.

  There was a pause while Zimmerman quickly ran the phone number and name through his database. Neither produced an exact hit. Puzzling, but he could discern that the number came from within the U.S. intelligence community. The Mossad director was disgusted that a U.S. intelligence agency would outsource its business to a mere contractor. He figured this was done to keep the full-time employee numbers down and to avoid paying benefits. He shook his head at the thought that the quality of the U.S. intelligence community really was going downhill. He chalked it up to budget cuts and the current U.S. preference towards nonaggression and isolationism. He doubted Reynolds was even an actual agent … probably just some off-duty police officer looking for more interesting work after hours.

  He finally responded cautiously. “What can I do for you, Reynolds?”

  “I’m following up on your phone call with Agent Lawrence. I’m working on an investigation in the U.S. involving Kendall Radcliffe. I would like to share information.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ms. Radcliffe’s whereabouts are currently a mystery. Do you happen to know where she is?” Agent Reynolds’ heart pounded and he held his breath awaiting the response.

  “Not exactly.”

  Reynolds felt deflated. “What exactly do you know, Director?”

  “Not much.”

  Reynolds had had enough. He was done with the small talk. “Director Zimmerman, what kind of game are you playing? This is a real missing person. Her family is very distraught. It is obvious that you have a lot of information. If you don’t tell me, then I have no choice but to deduce that Israel is behind this. If so, why would Israel take her? I want answers now!”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Agent Reynolds half expected the connection to cut off. He could literally hear the wheels turning on the other side of the line. “Zimmerman? Are you there? Say something!”

  Zimmerman was not about to be backed into a corner. If Reynolds wanted answers, then he would provide an explanation of sorts. “Agent Reynolds, I am trying to protect your U.S. citizen. As a matter of fact, you are putting her life at risk. I am not in a position to give you more information at this time. But I am willing to reveal everything in forty-eight hours.”

  Reynolds mind raced ahead. Whatever was going down would happen in the next day. It must be big if Israel didn’t want the U.S. involved. Yet it involved U.S. people, or rather, a U.S. person. The first rule of intelligence gathering was not to reveal anything the other person didn’t already know. Reynolds had therefore conveniently left out the two Orion executives’ names. Likewise, Zimmerman had not referenced any other persons than Kendall Radcliffe. They were at a stalemate. Damn it, Reynolds thought. I need more information. He fell back on the fellow comrade-in-arms approach.

  “Agent Zimmerman, what can I tell
Ms. Radcliffe’s family? Is she being rescued soon, or is she currently in danger?”

  There was an ever-so-subtle intake of breath on the other side of the line, and Reynolds knew he was on to something.

  “To be kind to the family, Agent Reynolds, I would advise them that you are still investigating. I find that false promises of a safe return are futile and will often prove you wrong.”

  Reynolds was horrified. “Are, are you saying she is in imminent danger? And there is nothing you can or will do for her? We can help you. Let us provide some logistics for you. It’s too late to send ships. But as you know, the U.S. has military bases all over the world. We can send in an unmanned aerial vehicle, a bomber, electronic surveillance aircraft, a WASP drone, or even military personnel, if that would help.”

  “I’m sorry, Agent Reynolds, but it’s not that simple. Those things would only add to the existing confusion.” Zimmerman adopted a conciliatory tone. “Please trust me, Agent Reynolds. We have things well under control. If it helps, I promise that you will be the first person notified once we have possession of Ms. Radcliffe.”

  Reynolds was mildly pleased about that but pressed one more time. “Can you at least tell me this, Director Zimmerman: Is Ms. Radcliffe the only U.S. citizen involved?”

  “I won’t know until I see her. But I will, of course, inform you.” Zimmerman adeptly let that line of questioning end. He was not about to open the door for discussion about the missing Orion executives. He continued in a smooth tone, “I will be in touch with you no later than forty-eight hours from now. Is there anything else, Agent Reynolds?”

  “Yes. Is Ms. Radcliffe involved in something illegal?”

  Director Zimmerman sighed. “We don’t yet know, but suspect she may be involved with something criminal. She is certainly in the company of and communicating with known criminal elements.”