by K. D. Lamb
The families of Paul Fields and Glenn Carson were in a continued state of shock. Their lives were in limbo as they awaited the critical information on the whereabouts of their loved ones. The wives were convinced their husbands had died and were steeling themselves for the ultimate news. They were already planning the funeral services and memorials, all while assuring their children that their fathers would be home soon.
No one, however, worried about Kendall Radcliffe, except her friend at work, Gwen Albertson, and her neighbor, Heather Jacobs. The company investigators had learned that the elder Mrs. Radcliffe had unexpectedly died of a heart attack and didn’t know what to think.
Kendall’s two bank accounts and her cell phone were being monitored. Nothing was seemingly amiss. Nothing stood out except for the $10,000 that the Mossad had wire transferred into her account. The local FBI picked up Kendall’s mail daily and read everything. Eric “Mickey” McDougall personally opened Kendall’s work mail and emails every day. His team also monitored all business-related correspondence and communications to Paul Fields and Glenn Carson. Security patrols had been stepped up the last couple weeks, and additional surveillance had been set up.
They were also no closer to finding the author of the mysterious note that had been delivered to the Orion offices.
Jeremy had been re-interviewed several times and stuck to the same story that he had broken up with Kendall just days before she went missing. On second thought, he decided that she had indeed been acting strangely the weeks leading up to the breakup. He was effectively throwing her under the bus. Although nothing was amiss or irregular with her bank accounts or cell phone records in the weeks or months leading up to her disappearance, the authorities could not rule out an international bank account. If one was smart enough and flashed enough money, it was fairly easy to get around the international banking laws. The authorities surmised that she could have created different aliases and opened international accounts under those names. But there was nothing of an incriminating nature pointing to that on her home laptop. The hard drive had been thoroughly searched, and it was clean.
Both her friends, Gwen and Heather, strenuously objected to the inferences that were being made about Kendall. But Gwen was beginning to falter. She admitted that Kendall was very upset the day she traveled to DC, and Gwen never inquired why. She was beginning to think that Kendall was not the person she thought she was. Maybe there was this hidden side to her. Either way, in the event Kendall was implicated in the disappearances, Gwen needed to dump her fast. She had her career to think about. She now downplayed the friendship label and defined it more as a business association that sometimes extended after hours. And even then, any socializations were due to an office function or celebration of some sort.
Law enforcement had mixed feelings about Gwen. She was obviously looking out for her own interests at the expense of any so-called friendship. Gwen told herself that in the event Kendall came back and was found not to have been involved in the disappearance, then Gwen would make it up to her and become the best friend she could. After all, Gwen reasoned, it’s possible that if Kendall was a victim in this mystery and survived, she could end up being a hero. Gwen would want to share in the limelight with Kendall and help her through the difficult transition back to a normal life.
The NSA and CIA offices were busy and focused but not making any headway. There was much discussion and theorizing about the missing plane and its important passengers. International chatter spoke of shipments of high-valued heroin that were currently in transit both at the manufacturing stage and ultimately to their unknown destination. The most crucial pieces of information missing related to the farms, manufacturing facilities, and transshipment points.
Frank, Alex, and Ping were monitoring the international law enforcement communications using Prophecy. They had already ruled out South America, and specifically Columbia, as being the source of the much-anticipated shipment. That left Asia. They started with the obvious culprit, Burma. But Burma had never produced as much as the mysterious massive shipment that the Mossad had implied was currently in process.
While nothing out of the ordinary appeared to be occurring in Burma, Frank caught a thread of a heated discussion regarding Afghanistan. A known major drug manufacturer in Burma was complaining that Afghanistan had cornered the heroin market and was driving the prices higher because of the high-quality end product. Frank took a quick gulp of coffee and allowed himself to get that familiar fluttering in his gut. He knew he had stumbled on the answer. But what exactly was it? He was sorely lacking in details, and it was driving him nuts.
He directed Ping and Alex to focus strictly on Afghanistan but to program Prophecy to kick out any communications anywhere in the world that referenced heroin. He found it puzzling that strings were trickling in from everywhere except Israel, where it was strangely and noticeably silent. Those bastards, he thought. They must have discovered Prophecy and figured out how to shut it out. He made a mental note to discuss this with Paul, when or if he returned.
In the meantime, Frank rose from his desk and began pacing his office. He absentmindedly scratched the two-day growth of beard on his chin. He wondered how high the knowledge of the heroin production, manufacture, and distribution went in the Afghanistan government. Was it even possible that President Shazeb himself, or one of his sons, had knowledge of the criminal enterprise? Frank intended to find out. But that meant the missing Orion people were probably in Afghanistan. But where? In some remote military outpost? And why would they have been taken to Afghanistan? Even if Kendall Radcliffe was involved somehow in the heroin distribution, why would she have involved the Orion executives? And what was her link, if any, to Afghanistan?
These unanswered questions got the better of Frank. He was desperate to find the answers, both for Orion and for the international community that would soon feel the effects of tons of premium heroin or “H” working its insidious evil way through the frail, hungry humanity all over the world that barely kept it together as it was.
He even wondered if Israel was behind the whole thing, having commissioned the “H” for its own use in purposely affecting the terrorist countries and basically turning them into drug-addled, barely functioning humans. Frank surmised that wasn’t such a bad idea, but it really didn’t make sense. He shook the cobwebs from his head and set that theory aside. Israel didn’t have the contacts or land to set up such an operation. It would take someone with a tremendous amount of resources. Someone who easily moved about the international arena using the many contacts they had all over the world.
Oh my God, Frank thought. That’s it! The person behind the entire drug operation had to be President Shazeb. He kept to himself these days and seemed content to run his country and lie low. Exactly! Because he was busy running his drug business.
The international community had been praising Shazeb and Afghanistan for years now, because it seemed to be on a course of expansion and growth. While a democratic system of government was still elusive to the country, thanks to President Shazeb’s iron fist and dictatorial tendencies, the country’s oil and gas enterprises were profitable and expanding. The country no longer requested financial assistance from the international community and in no uncertain terms had politely escorted the foreign business interests to the border, shutting the proverbial door behind them.
Frank highly doubted that Afghanistan didn’t need financial assistance or an investment of international resources. It desperately needed an infusion of scientific resources and brilliant, educated, creative minds to bring the socially struggling country into the modern era. But Shazeb and much of the Afghan populace didn’t want these “outsiders” to interfere with their hundreds of years of culture and tradition that they would know nothing of or respect.
Afghanistan, or primarily Shazeb, had chosen to go it alone for several years. Now, it totally made sense to Frank. The upshot was that the natural resources were being exploited and turned into personal profits for P
resident Shazeb. Frank could only imagine how much money Shazeb had stashed or funneled into personal accounts all over the world.
But how was Frank going to prove this? He imagined what a hero he would be if he could crack this whole enterprise, save the Orion people, and take down Shazeb and his illicit enterprise. The coup de gras would be for the U.S. to get its hands on Shazeb’s drug money.
Amidst the plausible musings, he suddenly got a chill. The Mossad!, he thought. It must know this too. If that’s the case, then they know exactly where the Orion people are. And they know their relevance or connection, if any, to the drug operation. If so, then why had the Mossad been so coy during communications with U.S. intelligence? In fact, the Mossad did everything it could to point them to the Middle East and the Mediterranean Sea.
Frank got his large worldwide map out, tacked it to the wall, and zeroed in on Afghanistan, and specifically, the closest ports of trade. He surmised that manufacturing would be done close to the poppy farms. The logical route then for getting the heroin out of Afghanistan would be via the long-established Silk Road black market network through Khyber Pass, using trucks traveling into Pakistan. Numerous people would need to be paid off along the way, but only if the trucks were stopped. Frank figured that Shazeb probably owned a melon farm somewhere in northern Afghanistan as well. Since the best time to harvest the hard-seeded melons was summer, the shipments of heroin were probably loaded with stacks of melons as they made their way into Pakistan. Afghanistan shipped melons into Pakistan daily during the summer. It made complete sense that Shazeb would use melons as a cover for the heroin, once it left the refinery.
He was not sure of the route the trucks would take once they entered Pakistan. But since Karachi was the largest city in Pakistan, and the Port of Pakistan was the country’s busiest seaport and in close proximity to the major shipping routes like the Strait of Hormuz, Frank theorized this was the final destination for the Afghanistan trucks.
The NSA agent directed Ping and Alex to look for communications in Pakistan and Karachi to or from Shazeb or Afghanistan for shipments leaving in the next week. All they had to do was plug in key words—as many as they wanted—and wait for the information from Prophecy to return the data almost immediately.
In the meantime, Frank picked up the phone and called his friend, Secretary of Defense Quinn Pendleton. The latter’s office administrator answered the phone in an efficient, clipped tone and, upon informing Secretary Pendleton who the caller was, put him through at once.
“Frank, you old dog, how are you?”
“I’m doing great, Secretary Pendleton. Thank you for asking. How is your family?”
“Couldn’t be better, Frank. We need to go to lunch soon, eh?”
“I agree. When all this Orion mess is figured out, I’ll schedule it.”
“Good idea. Speaking of Orion, what’s the word? Is that why you’re calling?”
“Well, obviously you’re getting all the updates and monitoring the situation.”
The Secretary of Defense could not tell if Frank was stating that as a fact or a question. But he straightened in his chair and anticipated something newsworthy. “Absolutely! Are you on to something?”
There was a slight pause as Frank decided on the best approach for the delicate manipulation he was about to wangle. “I’m only hearing rumors and the usual chatter. I believe something is about to happen around the Arabian Sea. I can’t tell yet if it’s Pakistan, Iran, Afghanistan, or just who the players are. I was wondering about the location of U.S. warships there?”
“There is a warship patrolling off Somalia in the Indian Ocean and another one patrolling just off Oman and Yemen. What exactly do you know, Frank?”
Frank frowned. God this is hard, he thought. “Mr. Secretary, Sir, it’s better that you don’t know the specifics of these rumors just yet. I’m strongly urging or recommending that one of the warships be moved closer to Pakistan to enable the rendering of quick assistance or targeted precise strikes if needed.”
“Frank, I can’t just order the Navy to move ships based on a rumor. That’s madness. I need more information so I can adequately inform the Cabinet, National Security Council, SECNAV, and everyone else in the Chain of Command. Tell me exactly what you have.”
The NSA agent quickly reminded himself to reveal only the facts that could be substantiated through the usual covert channels. He didn’t want any slip-ups causing Prophecy or its abilities to accidentally be exposed. “I—uh—I’m hearing chatter from Asia—specifically, Burma—that large amounts of heroin are about to be distributed via ports in the Arabian Sea. What’s interesting is that the Burmese are angry about this. Apparently, they are not the source.”
The Secretary was frustrated. “So, who is, and what does all this have to do with the Orion people disappearing? Quickly, Frank! I’m a busy man.” He was running out of patience.
Frank was beginning to sweat. This was not going as smoothly as he intended. “Mr. Secretary, the Mossad told the U.S. intelligence community that Kendall Radcliffe, from Orion, provided information about a heroin distribution that is believed to be considerable, possibly the largest distribution ever. If that’s true, and we know it’s going to occur in the Arabian Sea, then why don’t we try to intercept the shipments by simply being at the right place at the right time? Let’s be opportunistic and place a ship in a strategic location that will surely cross paths with any outbound ships. My suggestion would be off the coast of Pakistan. It’s central to the other possible parties involved. If this Kendall Radcliffe is indeed involved, then the Orion people are somewhere in that area. The U.S. will be able to insert itself very quickly.”
The Secretary slowly nodded. “I get it. That makes sense. Let me talk to my people. Thanks for laying it out for me, Frank. If you hear anything else or things change, please let me know.”
They spoke for a few more minutes while Secretary Pendleton scribbled on his note pad. The latter finished with, “It was good talking to you, Frank. We’ll get together for lunch in a few weeks.” The Secretary of Defense studied his notes and then rose and went to his door. He popped his head out of his office and barked at his executive admin to round up the Cabinet members for an emergency meeting and to invite the Secretary of the Navy.
NSA Agent Frank Reynolds sat at his desk, sweating profusely. He replayed the phone conversation in his head, making sure he had not said too much. If the Orion employees are rescued, then he will be a hero—at least to Secretary Pendleton. He did feel a little guilty at directly implicating the Radcliffe woman as being involved, but it was the Mossad who first mentioned that angle. And $10,000 was wire-transferred into her account. So the not-so-subtle inference didn’t seem to be a stretch. Frank just didn’t want to be involved in perpetuating a rumor, particularly if it ended up being pure fabrication. Blame it on the Mossad, he told himself. I’m just passing on factual leads, and that’s what this is.
The U.S. was several steps behind the current happenings in Afghanistan. President Shazeb and his sons were dead, and the world did not yet know. Even the Afghanistan people, not to mention the military, had no knowledge of the horrific events of the evening. It would all spiral out of control within hours. Those who acted first and had the most knowledge would benefit the most. But only those who survived and were proclaimed as heroes would make their mark. Time and circumstances would ultimately reveal the fate of the missing Orion people and Rashid Sharif.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KENDALL RADCLIFFE HURRIED INTO THE sitting room through the open doors and stood in stunned silence at the carnage that lay before her. She wasn’t sure who had shot whom, but looked over at a grim-faced Rashid. Fields looked as if he was about to lose it. His eyes were wide and his mouth was agape with horror. Rashid quickly grabbed Fields’ arm and squeezed it, causing the latter to grimace and come to his senses. Rashid ran over to the three men and checked each for a pulse. He looked at Kendall and shook his head.
The sound of r
ushing, thumping, footsteps brought the president’s security with guns drawn. The head of Palace Security, Waleed, looked at the bloody scene before him and then at Rashid. He shook his head. “I knew those boys would kill each other one day. I just didn’t realize they’d take their father with them. What do we do now?”
Rashid took charge. He instructed Security to take photos and notify the Afghanistan military police at the base. As the photos were being taken, he instructed the other members of the security detail to gather clean white sheets to place over the bodies, according to Afghanistan custom. Five officers were dispatched to the living quarters to notify the wives. Officers were posted all around the perimeter of the house, guarding against God knows what, since the only threats to the Shazeb family had just massacred each other.
Once the women had been allowed to begin their traditional mourning and the general overseeing the military police released the scene, the bodies were to be removed to the nearby military hospital for customary cleansing.
As everyone scurried around with their assigned tasks, Rashid pointed over to Kendall and Fields. He said in a loud, efficient voice, “Come; I will take you back to the base. Waleed, don’t move anything until the general gets here.”
Waleed nodded and stepped aside to let the small group pass. He then redirected his attention back to the bodies. As the group made its way to the front doors, they could hear shrieking and wailing coming from the grand staircase in the back. The wives had been told and were on their way down the stairs to view the scene of destruction for themselves. As the intense caterwauling came nearer, Rashid rushed the group out the door. “Come quickly.” His voice was full of tension, and he was completely focused.
He nodded and saluted several young officers standing post as the jeep casually but directly made its way down the driveway. At the main road, he turned left to go to Kabul instead of right to head back to the base. At a distance, in his rearview mirror, he saw the general’s caravan approaching the road to the palace. He sped off into the dark night.