by J E Higgins
The final piece of her preparation was tying her hair up into a loose pile and slipping a black knit balaclava over her head. She did not wish to be recognized by anyone, especially the clients they were about to meet. Kurdish guerrillas, even those who belonged to fringe splinter factions, tended to be well connected throughout the region. This included various intelligence services from the surrounding countries, not to mention the state of Israel who shared a deep alliance with the Kurdish world against their mutual enemy, the dominating Arabs. Besides, the mask, along with the field jacket, combat trousers, and military boots fit this part for the region and the people they were dealing with ─ something that would help them be taken seriously. Guerrillas tended to work better with people who looked like their own as opposed to those that were obvious aliens.
She stood up and quickly surveyed her area to see if there was anything else she could do to improve her position. She caught Gorev’s shocked look as he gazed at her. She was a completely different person than the one he had been flying with. Decked out in her black combat boots and tactical trousers, Russian field jacket, tactical webbing, and mask, she probably looked every bit like the Chechen guerrillas he had seen on the news when he was in Moscow.
The plane landed roughly on the weathered stretch of dirt that served as a runway. The experience was especially taxing for the travelers in the back who were balanced awkwardly and trying not to fall over. Thankfully, the crates of weapons and ammo remained in place despite not being properly strapped down. The plane taxied to its final destination. Sauwa turned to face Gorev who was leaning over and breathing hard.
“Let’s clarify some things. Listen carefully to everything I’m about to tell you because we don’t have much time,” Sauwa said. The diplomat perked up a little and focused on her as if he was a child being spoken to by his mother. “When this hatch opens, we’ll be face to face with our buyers. If you’ve never done this before, let me tell you how this will go. These guerrillas are unpredictable. They will either play fair or if they turn out not to have the money, they may decide to try and rob us. So, don’t go far from the plane. Stay on the ramp. If they want you to come down and meet them, assume something is wrong. There is absolutely no need for you to leave this plane. If I say drop, you fall to the ground and try to crawl back inside the plane or wait for my instructions, because at that point, a gunfight is about to happen. Do you understand?”
Gorev started to sweat. The reality of what was about to happen and the dangers were becoming too real for the former diplomat. The plane came to a full stop. Sauwa moved from behind the sandbags and retrieved her rifle. She didn’t like the awkwardness of the long shoulder stock and would have preferred not to use it in such close quarters, but the AKSM fired 7.62 rounds and, being a woman with a smaller frame, she would have found it hard to control without the stability of it at her shoulder.
She took up a position at the far corner next to the plane’s back hatch. Gorev rose slowly to his feet and began smoothing his clothes trying to look more dignified and professional. The ramp began to descend slowly. Sauwa dialed her sat phone.
Seconds later the voice of Red Wolf answered. “We have a visual on you,” he said instantly.
“This is Ghost, remain on standby with your phone,” Sauwa responded. “I’ll have my phone in my ear, so report if you see anything.”
“Copy. Will do,” Red Wolf replied curtly.
“Are you ready?” Sauwa shouted to Gorev who was holding his stomach and breathing hard.
He looked up and caught her glare through the slit in her balaclava. She asked again, “Are you ready!” He nodded hesitantly as he made one last effort to straighten his clothes. The ramp lowered to the ground revealing a picture of rocky, barren terrain surrounded by jagged hills and mountains. The image seemed more like the Mojave Desert in the American Southwest than the wastelands of the Middle-East.
Outside they were confronted with exactly what Red Wolf had described ─ four Toyota Hiluxes parked several meters from the rear of the plane. They were loaded with armed men dressed in olive green military fatigues. Positioned in a rough semi-circle just outside of the plane, they faced outward overseeing the surrounding hills.
Sauwa thought this was a good sign. In her experience, a party intent on a double-cross usually took steps ahead of time to put the situation in their favor like placing their gunmen with more emphasis on the other party than the external perimeter ready for alien threats. Another concern would be having their people close the distance as quickly as possible to more easily take control. In this case, none of the guerrillas had moved or seemed eager to get on board the plane ─ this was also a good sign.
Of the four Toyotas, two of them had machine-guns mounted over the hood of the cabs. Similar to her own, they were Soviet model, general purpose machine-guns, 7.62 caliber just as she had anticipated. The weapons were poorly rigged with wires and a few poles for stabilizers. But they would be no less effective in a fight.
Looking at the guerrillas posted at the trucks, they were an assorted collection of men and women. By their behavior, they appeared to be a mixture of seasoned professionals who manned their positions properly plus some fresh novices who seemed aloof and were only half-heartedly attending to their responsibilities.
Racking back the bolt on her rifle, Sauwa chambered a round as she slid up to the door of the plane where she had a full view of everything. She tucked the shoulder stock snuggly into the pit under her arm and took a firm grasp of the hand grip and upper receiver. The muzzle of the weapon remained pointed toward the ramp of the plane ready to be brought into action at the first sign of trouble. She had set the sat phone on a bar just inches from her head where she could hear it easily and shout into it if needed.
Directly behind the pickups was a line of about ten large military hauling trucks ─ no doubt spoils lifted from incursions with the Iraqi army. They were in relatively good condition, which was a rarity for that part of the world. They remained about two hundred meters away. Her understanding was the whole place had been an airstrip at one point and had been used decades ago when Iraq was a British colony. Since then, it was nothing more than a ghost town and only used by people conducting business such as theirs.
Gorev started down the ramp. Still slightly shaken, he tried to maintain a professional demeanor. As he descended, he was met by a woman who appeared to be in command of the guerrilla force. She was a stunning woman in her late thirties and carried herself in a confident and commanding manner as she marched up to the plane. She had the body of a toned athlete and fit nicely into her olive fatigues. Her focus was on the Russian, but she was watching Sauwa out of the corner of her eye as she scanned the area. Clearly, she was no amateur.
Gorev met the woman and extended a hand in a respectful greeting. Remaining statuesque the woman extended her own arm. She spoke first not giving Gorev the chance to voice his usual diplomatic spiel. Surprisingly, she spoke in Russian, and it was nearly flawless. Though Sauwa could only make out a few words and phrases, she could tell the woman was educated and in command of the language. She sounded just like the Russian businessmen who constantly visited her employer. They were men who had come from the echelons of the Soviet’s elite society and were the products of the old empire’s finest academic institutions.
After a few minutes of dialogue, the woman made motions that suggested she wished to come aboard. To Sauwa’s dismay, Gorev obliged and motioned for the guerrilla leader to come inside. The ordeal was made worse when the woman turned and waved back to her troops. At that point, two men wearing headscarves wrapped around their faces started toward her. By their movements, Sauwa could tell both men were professionals. They carried their weapons, AKM assault rifles, at the tactical ready. As they moved, they separated themselves making it difficult for Sauwa to take them both if hostilities should arise. Catching sight of the masked figure inside the plane, the man walking closest to her transitioned his rifle so that it was now pointing in he
r direction.
The woman came aboard and immediately turned to face Sauwa eyeing her masked figure with a glance that felt like it took an eternity. She then turned her attention back to Gorev who was waving his hand toward the stacks of crates as if she couldn’t see them. She looked the crates over sliding her hand gently over the closest stack. She seemed to be carefully studying the writing. At the same time, Gorev continued to speak as if he were trying to close some unsettled deal.
The two guards stepped to the foot of the ramp. They stopped and eyed Sauwa trying to figure out who they were dealing with. She raised her rifle slightly indicating they were not to come aboard. They held their positions at both sides of the ramp. Seeing the tension, the Kurdish woman raised her hand signaling her men to remain where they were. Sauwa was not oblivious to the fact that the guerrilla leader carried a sidearm and that the flap on her holster had been unsecured to make for easy access to her own weapon. This made three different potential hostiles in three different areas who were a potential threat. The situation had already become ungovernable.
Gorev was trying to play the diplomat and be accommodating to a potential ally. His training and experience had taught him to do this. And, it was normal that clients would want to inspect the merchandise before buying it. However, the safe procedure would have been to keep the Kurds off the plane. The Kurds would point to a random crate, and it would be brought down to them for inspection outside. Now they had a Kurd on the plane, and she was too close for Sauwa to react. With the two men near the base of the ramp, the Kurds could overwhelm them easily, if that was their intentions.
The Kurd commander settled on a crate from the second stack. Obligingly, Gorev moved to bring it down. Unprepared for the weight and completely out of shape, he embarrassingly strained himself trying to move it. After the first attempt, he gave what Sauwa guessed was an apology to the Kurdish woman, who dismissed the Russian. His next move was to beckon Sauwa to come and assist him. Not wanting to leave her post or argue with him in front of the client, she ignored him and kept her attention on the two Kurds standing below.
After a few failed attempts to get her attention, Gorev made another attempt to get the crate down. This time he began a slow and laborious exercise and gradually pulled the chosen crate off the stack setting it carefully on the floor. He was aided by the guerrilla commander, who took one side of the box and helped steady it.
When Sauwa had to do these jobs herself, she used a ladder that was kept in the back of the plane. She would have also had the aid of Mikael, a former Russian paratrooper. Valikov had hired him at the same time he hired Sauwa and for the same reason. Sadly, Mikael had been killed when the last operation took a bad turn. The result was a hellacious gunfight with some anti-government Shia rebels operating in Yemen who tried to hijack the cargo. The decision was made then to employ the Red Wolf team.
Gorev was tired and sweaty after bringing down the crate. He gave the impression he was about to have a heart attack. Taking a crowbar, he slipped between the crate and the guerrilla commander and proceeded to work the top open. Seconds later he cracked the front half open revealing a row of pristine Kalashnikov rifles. The Kurd commander stayed stoic and gave Gorev no more than a slight nod as she eyed the weapons.
Pointing to another smaller box in one of the first stacks, she and Gorev went back to the rear of the plane and came close to Sauwa. The Kurd commander caught sight of the PKM resting against the bags, ready to deploy if a fight should occur. At that moment the Kurd woman showed the first hint of emotion when she looked at the weapon and turned to face Sauwa cracking a slight smile. At that moment it seemed as if the sight of the fortified position and the machine gun had brought the gun runners up in the guerrilla’s respect. She certainly hadn’t been impressed with the clumsy display from Gorev. The more prepared and professional manner displayed by the security agent was a different picture altogether.
Gorev slipped the chosen crate off the stack, this time with more ease. He laid it on the ground and cracked it open with the crowbar. The top came off revealing several bundles of 7.62 caliber gleaming metal ammunition. The guerrilla knelt down to have a closer look. Again, she gave only a slight nod displaying her approval. The exercise continued with two more random boxes. This was a common practice among the more experienced gun buyers. They understood the tricks of more dubious black-market merchants. One such trick was for a merchant to line the top of all their stacks with top-notch merchandise to give assurance to the buyer. The crates below contained either second-rate junk or were filled with sand or garbage. This was a ploy the Kurdish commander seemed familiar with as she chose the next two crates from the third row down in the stacks. A demand the out-of-shape diplomat loathed immensely.
Satisfied with her inspection, the guerrilla commander exited the plane in a parade-like march. Her two guards remained at their posts keeping watch on the weapons as she exited the plane. The two recognized the strategic advantage of limiting the distance and keeping close to a potential threat. They wouldn’t have wanted to charge back across open ground knowing a machine-gun was inside ready to mow them down if it came to a gun battle. Sauwa recognized the strategy. It was another reminder that she was not dealing with amateurs. The woman walked back to one of the pickups. Pushing away one of the men, who was standing lazily against the door, the commander reached through the open window. She came back out holding her own satellite phone. She was soon speaking into it.
After several minutes Sauwa’s phone was ringing from her coat pocket. Releasing her hand from the front grip, she reached into her pocket for her phone.
“Send it,” she said.
“The customer is satisfied; the money has been paid. Go ahead with the delivery.” It was the polished, accented voice of Andre Valikov.
“Roger, we’ll begin the transfer,” she replied.”
“Good, operate at your discretion,” he responded. With that, Sauwa heard a click on the other end, and he was gone. When it came to business, her employer wasted few words.
3
Unlike what was seen in movies, illicit deals were never done in a fashion where money was passed in some black suitcase at the same site where the merchandise was delivered. While the weapons transfer was being carried out at some remote site in Northern Iraq, the money transfer was taking place half a world away at a casino in Macau, China. There, Valikov sat across from the Kurdish representatives in some high-end casino waiting for confirmation that the guns had been approved. When a call was received from their side, the Kurdish reps casually walked across a large room, shook hands with the weapons merchant who was sitting leisurely at the bar. After a quick drink and some exchanged pleasantries, the Kurdish reps would allow the merchant to make his own call to his people telling them to transfer the merchandise. When that happened, the Kurds would excuse themselves from the table leaving behind a case of casino chips equaling the agreed upon payment. The chips were color-coded to indicate their value. The merchant could see the chips being bought from the casino and could keep his eyes on them the entire time. He would only need to casually count the number of chips in each stack to ensure full payment.
This practice was done to allow for protection on all sides. Casinos offered the perfect place to conduct criminal business. They were heavily guarded by top security that had loyalty to neither side. Because the casinos had to honor the chips and money circulating their floors, they had a vested interest in purging counterfeit currency and did it better than most governments. This meant the chips being used for business transactions were more reliable than actual money. It also raised fewer questions because winning large at a casino happened frequently and would be the answer given to anyone showing up at the cashier cage with a large pile of chips.
This procedure protected the parties involved with the weapons exchange. Buyers carrying bags of money to a meeting with dubious characters stood a good chance of being robbed and murdered by the sellers. Likewise, merchants went into such deal
s concerned they would have their goods hijacked from buyers who turned out not to have the money and never had any intention of paying. The priority was on ensuring the protection of the cargo until payment was assured.
Criminal deals were not so simple as to pass over a satchel full of money with both sides thanking each other and walking away observing some honor system. Receiving cash in such a fashion meant having to count it and study the bills at the site to ensure they weren’t counterfeit. Having to take these steps in some remote location with threats all around you caused serious problems. This issue was compounded by the fact that such business was not always conducted using U.S. dollars as the currency of choice. Sometimes the payment was in the form of diamonds, gold, silver, or occasionally platinum ─ the preferred methods of payment for guerrillas and warlords operating in remote parts of the world.
In the illicit world, criminals and their clients tended to have limited options for accessible currency. This meant black-market business moguls had to be flexible with what they’d accept as payment. It also meant that the agents they sent to manage such transactions were forced to work with money and currency they knew nothing about or how to ensure its authenticity or how to count it.
Sauwa looked at Gorev. The diplomat had his fingers pressed to his lips in nervous anticipation. He shuddered to think what would happen if the message came back that the deal was off.
She raised her fist with her thumb extended indicating all was well. He nearly fell over, sighing in relief, but walked out onto the ramp and shouted to the woman commander in Russian. The woman raised her hand in acknowledgment. Gorev wiped the thick beads of sweat from his forehead and started moving down the ramp.