The Puppetmasters

  He almost hummed to himself. Things were going his way, and he was certain he would find out what happened to Kendall. He always felt better, more centered, when he was calling the shots.

  Mickey was allowed to attend the conference that afternoon. True to his word, Fields marched into the conference room after everyone was seated and took command of the meeting. He got right to the point and laid out his plans. At first, the official from the State Department was taken aback. He explained that the Afghanistan doctor did not possess the proper papers and that she would need to be thoroughly checked out both to ascertain her motives and to ensure she had no ill intent toward U.S. citizens.

  The Israeli operatives jumped in and said they were also conducting a background search on Dr. Siddra, and for the time being would be hosting her stay in Israel.

  Fields allowed himself to get angry. He looked around at the group of men in their comfortable business suits appearing relaxed and satisfied with their respective lives. He stood up and barked, “Do I need to remind you what my colleague and I have been through?” He began to walk around the large conference table. “This woman, Dr. Siddra, helped take care of Glenn Carson when he was in a critical state. She was instrumental in keeping him alive! She agreed to put her life on the line, walk away from the comfortable world she had in Afghanistan, in order to help us. I don’t think there’s much dirt you will discover about Dr. Siddra. She’s a professional woman who cares about this world and knows she can do better in the West, particularly because she’s a woman. It’s as simple as that!”

  One of the U.S. State Department men spoke up. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Sir?”

  “How so?”

  “Your loyalty is admirable, but we have—all of us around this table—have an obligation to our citizens to keep them safe.”

  The State Department official jumped in, “Another thing is, you don’t even know if she wants to go to the U.S., or to Seattle, for that matter.”

  Ever the CEO, Fields with hands on hips responded with, “As a matter of fact, I do. She told me on the rescue flight from Kabul how proud she was to help us, and that she hoped to go to America someday, where she had relatives living in Fremont, California. So, there you are. That’s her motive. And I say she deserves it. Let’s make it happen.”

  Mickey cut in smoothly as planned. “Mr. Fields, doesn’t Fremont have the largest Afghan community in the U.S.?”

  “Yes, Mickey, as a matter of fact it does. After ‘hosting’ her in Seattle while the State Department and Immigration and Customs Enforcement complete their comprehensive investigation, she could resettle in Fremont and live the life she desires.”

  He was on a roll and his enthusiasm was bubbling. “Here’s my plan, gentlemen. I will personally vouch for her character, and will pay all of her living expenses to put her up in Seattle, complete with a full-time guard or companion to help her assimilate into the Western culture. Mickey will help me set this all up. I’ll also pay all of her tuition to bring her education current to allow her to practice as a physician in the U.S. or whatever else she wants to do.”

  Fields had slowly circled the table while he was speaking and was now back at his chair. He stood with feet wide apart and proclaimed, “I will assume the responsibility for and guarantee the assimilation of this young woman into her new life. That is my commitment to you.” He sat down.

  No one said anything for a moment. Finally, the gentleman from the State Department said, “Well, you sure are going out on a limb for her. I know that you have money, but this would be a long-term project of sorts. It’s not something you could simply throw money at from time to time. You run a multinational Fortune 500 Company. For you to take on something of this nature doesn’t make sense. I’m wondering what your motive is, Mr. Fields.”

  Paul Fields tried to sound as sincere as possible. “To be honest, I wondered that myself at first. I couldn’t believe I was even entertaining this seemingly harebrained scheme. But I’m not the same selfish, ruthless, greedy bastard that I was two months ago. I have several billion dollars in personal assets, and I am determined to do something decent with it before I die. This would be a great start at that pledge. Don’t you all agree?”

  He looked around the room, making eye contact with every person at the table, and heads were nodding. Mickey tried to suppress the smile on his face. He admired his boss at that moment and had never been prouder.

  The U.S. State Department official turned to his Israeli counterpart. “I don’t see why we couldn’t speed things along. What can I do to help make this happen?”

  Fields clapped his hands together and stood up. “Gentlemen, why don’t you meet separately and work out the red tape. I need to make some phone calls.”

  A sour-faced U.S. official who hadn’t uttered a word so far, suddenly held his hands up. “Hold it. Hold it, everybody.” He turned to Paul Fields and pointed accusingly at him. “We are not going to simply grant asylum and release this woman into your custody at your say-so.”

  Fields was nonplussed, “And I don’t expect you to. Your Immigration people—or whoever you so designate—can accompany us back to the U.S. and work out the particulars with Washington, DC and the local office in Seattle. Once they are satisfied with the plans to monitor her activities and conduct a full investigation, then and only then should they release her to me or Mickey, my head of security.” He put his hand on Mickey’s broad shoulder, and the young man nodded in agreement.

  “Fine. But I’ll be one of those on the plane back. I want to see for myself that everything’s on the up and up.” He seemed very put out.

  Fields was growing tired of these paranoid government types who saw conspiracies and plots behind every good deed. Never mind that Fields had his own plans for Dr. Maysah Siddra.

  The group split up, with the Israeli and U.S. State officials heading off to the nearby military base where Dr. Siddra was being temporarily housed under tight security. The plan had been to move her to the newly modernized, fortified refugee detention center for those seeking asylum, at the sand dunes complex in the Negev Desert. That facility had been built about eight years ago at the Ketziot Prison facility. Dr. Siddra’s status was currently an “Administrative Detainee.”

  Israel would need to wrap up its debriefing of Maysah Siddra and assure itself that she knew next to nothing about the politics of Afghanistan, the government—or Shazeb—or any plans and schemes involving Israel. She had been speaking openly since arriving the day before, and had shown no guile or pretense. She did not appear to be sophisticated or worldly and seemed to be nothing more than a pawn.

  The only people remaining in the hotel conference room were Fields, Mickey, and two U.S. intelligence officials. They requested their own debriefing of the Orion CEO. He agreed and patiently answered their questions for hours. There was not much more he could tell them they didn’t already know, except about Rashid. They were curious about him and wondered about his role and his background. Fields knew little of Rashid’s personal life or background. They asked for his opinion on whether Rashid was a good guy or bad guy. Fields’ instinct was that Rashid was good, that he had no interest in overthrowing the government or taking over. He seemed to have had a personal grudge against the Shazebs, and was only too willing to help the Orion people escape. Fields voiced the thought that their rescue had answered that question.

  The questions then moved to Kendall. The men were clearly frustrated that Fields couldn’t shed any more light on her status. They seemed to understand how she got left behind, but Fields knew he was the last person they would confide in. He gladly filled them in on the limited background he knew and her role at Orion.

  Fields wasn’t interested in asking them any questions or seeking their help. He had his own sources. Not only did he have his contact at the NSA—Frank Reynolds—he also had a wide circle of influential mover-and-shaker-type friends starting with Senator Robinsford from Washington State. The senior senator chaired the prest
igious Armed Services Committee, which included the Subcommittees on Strategic Forces and Readiness and Management Support. The Senator could be pressed into pushing for more resources in the Arabian Sea, if need be.

  The men finally ran out of questions—or sapient answers from the Orion CEO—and headed to the hospital to speak with Carson. As they rose to make their exit, Fields warned them that Carson had been in the hospital almost the entire time while in Afghanistan, much of that time sedated and out of it. He suggested they would be wasting their time. They agreed in theory, but declared that protocol dictated they at least run through the usual questions.

  Only Fields and Mickey were left in the conference room. As they walked back to their hotel rooms, Fields sent Mickey on to his room to begin dealing with the personal living arrangements of Dr. Siddra. Mickey already had a two-bedroom condominium in mind. It was in his brand new complex on Lake Union. Only one-third of the complex remained for sale. The two-bedroom was next to his on the sixth floor and had a breathtaking view of Lake Union. While Dr. Siddra may not appreciate the large bodies of water in and around the Seattle area, having lived her entire life in a landlocked country and being used to a dry, arid climate, Mickey felt she would soon acclimate out of sheer relief at getting away from Afghanistan, if nothing else. He and his staff would be there to help. He had to admit he was intensely curious about this mysterious woman who was the cause of much of the discussion and activity of the day.

  Mickey fired up his computer and dispatched an email to his real estate agent to prepare to make an offer on the available unit.

  Paul Fields sat at his desk alone in the spacious hotel room and ordered dinner. He looked at his watch and silently cursed. He realized his family was still sleeping, as was Daniel. Damn time zone, he thought. His meal arrived hot and sumptuous. He had eaten cold and decidedly utilitarian meals for weeks while at the Afghan military base. He didn’t know what bothered him more, the lack of choice or the unfamiliarity of the flavors and spices. Before Afghanistan, he had everything, he thought. But he had been brought to his knees. He’d lost his freedom and the basic comforts of life.

  He sat before the large window at his hotel room desk and enjoyed the sparkling water below. Before he powered up his computer, he reveled in the quiet and peaceful feeling that came over him. He searched for the reason for his sudden contentment, and realized he had gotten used to a solitary existence while in Afghanistan. This day had been filled with confusion, chaos, and many different moods and personalities, just like back at the office. It was a lot to process. The newfound freedom to move about and make even the smallest of decisions had not been lost on him. He liked this sudden spirituality that allowed him to slow down and reflect on every aspect of the day, his participation, and how he could make the greatest difference the next day. He could either decide to be an asshole—as he’d been in the past, running over people and getting his way at all cost—or use his money for good.

  His mind wandered to the obscene amount of money he made. He’d been a co-founder of Orion Premier Net Services and therefore owned the bulk of the shares. When the company went public, it was such a huge financial success that he had doubled his portfolio in six months. His annual salary was eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and he was usually awarded a six million dollar bonus plus at least ten million dollars’ worth of stock options. He shook his head at the outrageous benefits package he had and could find no justification for it.

  He was intrigued by this sudden crisis of conscience, and made a personal vow to make things more equitable at the company. He reasoned that he and Glenn should make far less, and the employees should make a lot more.

  He wasn’t sure what to do about the shareholders. Those self-serving wannabes that hitched their wagon to his and constantly clamored for action, answers, and money, was something he would deal with, but not today. That would require a lot of thought to arrive at the best way to handle them. But one thing he did know was that they would no longer make his life miserable. He would not bow to them or run his company based on how they’d react. He would be honest with the public, and if people didn’t want to invest in Orion, then fine. The company’s success and fast-track to Fortune 500 had been meteoric. Its product line was solid, contemporary, and high tech. The future was golden.

  The one thing the CEO drew the line at, though, was Prophecy, his baby. He would not give it up. It was too valuable to let it die. Instead, he would continue to use it to monitor his competitors, giving Orion the business edge. But he would also begin using Prophecy to do good things all around the world. He would use it for his new, personal “projects.” In the past, he might not have cared what people thought of him, though he was always mindful of his reputation. The new Paul Fields pledged to alter his standing in the world.

  Fields ate his dinner, appreciating the fine wine that accompanied it, and then sat back with a satisfied smile. It was now late enough that his family should be awake and eating their breakfast. He picked up his phone and turned on the computer.

  The next day saw more red tape and stalling from both the U.S. and Israeli governments. It was clear the Orion plane would not be leaving this day. That was just as well, since Glenn Carson was not quite ready for a lengthy airplane ride. He was allowed to check out of the hospital shortly after Noon, with strict orders to remain in his hotel room to rest and recuperate. Fields visited him once in the late afternoon and was struck by his normalcy, except for the obvious medical condition.

  Of the two of them, the whole kidnapping incident from beginning to end had obviously affected Fields more than Carson. it was almost like Carson had experienced nothing more than a medical event. Yes, he had seen the flight attendant murdered in his presence. But the CFO had not heard those nightly screams and lived the drama of daily uncertainty and unending boring days and nights alone, locked in a room that was nothing more than a hovel.

  Glenn Carson noticed the change in Paul Fields. The latter was more thoughtful and less self-centered and, frankly, less self-serving. Carson was glad of the change, but wondered how it would affect the business. Had Fields lost his edge? Was the ruthless businessman who outmaneuvered his competitors in business gone? The CFO was particularly concerned when Fields commented that he was a changed person and planned to conduct his life and business under the new-and-improved version of Paul Fields. Carson wondered if Fields had either gone off the deep end or was suffering some type of temporary post-traumatic-stress event.

  At one point during their discussion, Carson sent his wife out with a security person in tow to do a little shopping. He and Fields continued their discussion about the future. Carson realized everything would be fine once he heard that Fields would never give up Prophecy. He breathed a sigh of relief and almost chuckled out loud. If Fields really wanted to turn over a new leaf, he should begin by ridding himself of Prophecy. But the temptation was too strong, and the results too evident. Prophecy was secure and here to stay—for the time being.

  Dr. Maysah Siddra had been put through the ringer at the Israeli military complex. She was delighted at the opportunity to travel to the U.S. and was willing to have Paul Fields sponsor her once she was investigated and released by U.S. Immigration.

  Israeli officials finally tired of the interrogation, and the Mossad, too, signaled its lack of interest in questioning her further. She was promptly turned over to the U.S., where government officials put her up at a hotel a short distance from where the Orion executives and staff were staying. Protocol mandated that she stay at the U.S. embassy under guard until her paperwork had been completed. But since the U.S. embassy was in Jerusalem, that wasn’t possible.

  Dr. Siddra was checked into a room with two beds and an adjoining room. A female FBI agent was posted to her room and would be staying with her for the duration.

  The sour-faced U.S. official turned out to be very efficient, and he managed to secure replacement passports and the necessary paperwork for Dr. Siddra to travel the next day.


  While U.S. intelligence operatives interrogated her basically all day, it soon became apparent that she had no secrets to reveal. Her background was nothing short of boring. The government—needing female doctors to treat female patients—paid for her medical education in France. Her only relatives were a band of Kuchi nomads who had left her behind at a hospital in Kabul when she became very ill. They needed to get out of town fast, because of involvement by one of their members in a particularly gruesome car bombing. Maysah Siddra had been fifteen at the time. She barely remembered those wild, fiery people, other than her two little sisters who had died when they ventured out of their camp and into a mine field.

  With striking long black, sleek hair and piercing brown eyes, she had been noticed right away by a government official’s wife, who saw the intelligence and independent spirit of a strong-willed female. The wife had recommended the government sponsor Siddra for the remainder of her education and subsequent travel to France for medical studies. As soon as Siddra had recovered from her illness, she was immediately sent to a boarding school, where the rigorous education process began. She quickly learned French and English. She knew that without hard work, her life was sunk. In order to make something of herself and to help other Afghan females, she had promised herself to study hard and excel. She did just that, and finished at the top of her class. When she was released back to Afghanistan, President Shazeb’s wife met her, reviewed her credentials, and promptly snapped her up to be the children’s physician. From time to time, the palace women had availed themselves of her services as well.

  Dr. Siddra was appalled that after immersing herself in the educational process for so many years, she was forced to work for the one man she despised: Mujtaba Shazeb, the Afghan dictator. Everyone knew he was corrupt and personally responsible for so much suffering in Afghanistan. The whole time she was in France, the locals had shown nothing but contempt for Shazeb. The French government knew he was evil but kowtowed to him because of the parallel business interests. Shazeb had no end of Afghanistan money to spend on military weapons and the latest, most high-tech fighter jets. The French were only too happy to oblige and asked few questions.