by J E Higgins
Valikov had destroyed all the documents she had obtained in Ireland that would have given her a new identity. He had burned them right in front of her making him her sole means of protection. The identities that she operated under in his service were done through forgers he employed, and he always had duplicates made. In the event she tried to run, it wouldn’t be of any use. All the identities she had would be useless once he forwarded the duplicates to the embassies in Ankara of all the countries that sought her arrest or assassination. She had been recruited for the purpose of handling Valikov’s most hazardous business dealings. This meant being sent to the most lawless and dangerous regions of the world where she would have little hope for survival without his protection.
She lived in a dangerous world that allowed few to retire and, even if she did get released from Valikov, she would always have the British and South African governments and God knows who else chasing after her. She let the matter recede to the back of her mind as she changed her thoughts to something else. The light-hearted ex-Jandarma had a plethora of fun stories, and she could listen to him for a long time and not get bored. They circled around and came back to the original street having covered a kilometer and a half. Satisfied that they weren’t being watched by anyone, they made their way back home.
Sauwa was relieved to find nothing. Her precautions might have seemed excessive, if not slightly paranoid. But only a few months earlier, she had caught sight of an out of place vehicle in the area. When she investigated further, she found a couple of cheap cars parked in strategic locations. It didn’t take her long to figure out they were not local security forces. Using a decoy to convince the pursuers that they were chasing their quarry, she arranged to lead them into a run-down part of the city where she and several of Valikov’s security team ambushed them. From the survivors, she discovered they were members of a Palestinian group that was looking to kidnap her employer in hopes of bargaining for weapons they could not afford to buy. It was a stark reminder that despite all his efforts to appear as a prominent businessman, she was still working for a man involved in a very dangerous business.
Returning to the house, Sauwa and Mustafa walked through the front door where Sauwa heard the low commanding voice of her employer, “Sauwa, come to my office now.”
Waving to Mustafa, Sauwa headed toward the office. She walked down the hallway and entered the half-open set of wood-framed glass doors of his office. The office was designed to project power. The large mahogany desk was an antique that had once belonged to one of the Sultan’s most important ministers. Its edges ended with carvings of intimidating, roaring lion’s heads that faced toward visiting guests. Two identical mahogany bookcases from the same collection were set behind the desk. They were both filled with old-style, hard covered books in leather bindings. Expensive artifacts lined the tops of the bookcases and along the sides of the desk. Oil paintings depicting religious themes of the Eastern Orthodox Church covered the office walls.
The office had a semi-circle of dark brown leather chairs neatly arranged around the front of Valikov’s desk with four identical chairs lined up against the wall, two on each side of the door. A tall man wearing a conservative navy-blue suit sat in one of the chairs sitting closest to the desk. His pitch-black hair was neatly cut into a short crop that framed his round head perfectly. He was a black man who looked as if he hailed from a deep part of Africa, possibly her homeland of Rhodesia ─ or Zimbabwe, as it was now called.
Andre Valikov stood directly behind his leather chair looking like a commander overseeing his soldiers. It was the position he most preferred when he was intending to give orders. This led Sauwa to believe that the black man was an employee rather than a potential customer. Not knowing quite what to do, she remained standing with her hands tucked slightly into her pants pockets.
“What happened in Northern Iraq?” Valikov asked. He spoke in English and it sounded clean and educated. His face was stone as he stared intently in Sauwa’s direction. “The Kurds were angered by what they saw as a complete betrayal by me.”
Not knowing what else to say, Sauwa said nothing more. Valikov eyed her up and down for a short time then continued. “Fortunately, while things did not go well for the Kurds ─ I understand most of them perished in the Iranian onslaught. Things did turn out well for us. My plane was saved, I received full payment, and the inventory came in handy to accommodate another buyer. The Grey Wolves have been hungering for weapons to send to their brethren Uighurs in China. I needed to lose the inventory so it wasn’t lingering in Turkey waiting for the police to find it. That would make for some very uncomfortable phone calls. All is well from that aspect.”
Sauwa still said nothing. She looked toward the other man. He was looking casually at the Russian but remained silent. Valikov grabbed the back of his chair and slowly eyed the two people. “While this all came out well for us, I feel it was more luck than proper preparation. In the future, such deals could easily fall apart. That said, I’ve decided to heed the advice of both of you. Normally, I like to keep my operations and organization compartmentalized for security reasons, but I will make this exception. Ghost and Red Wolf, it’s time you met each other. As you have both pointed out, with the particularly dangerous nature of your jobs, you need to be able to interact. In the future, we need to mitigate the possibility of what happened to the Kurds, and that will only happen if you two are talking and planning together.”
Coming out from behind his desk, Valikov moved to the center of the room. The black man rose from his chair and walked over to where Sauwa and the Russian were standing. The black man projected a powerful image. He was tall with an athletic frame that filled out his suit nicely. He could have been a prominent businessman or banker.
Observing one another, they listened as Valikov continued. Looking first at Sauwa, he said, “May I present Tyrone Maxwell, the man you know as Red Wolf. He was in a former American Army Ranger regiment where he served with distinction for several years.”
“How do you do?” Sauwa said softly, a slight smile on her lips.
Valikov continued, “I also think it important that I point out that both Mr. Maxwell’s father and his two uncles were members of the Black Liberation Army. It was a Black Nationalist group in the United States that operated during the tumultuous period of the 1970s into the early eighties. I believe your father acquired quite a reputation for the violent shootouts he had with the police. He was a staunch supporter of the American Marxist revolutionary, Eldridge Cleaver. It was his oldest brother, your uncle, who was convicted of killing two policemen in a pitched gunfight in New Jersey. He later was found dead in his cell ─ suspected police retaliation.”
Sauwa’s eyes widened at the news. Suddenly all the memories of the guerrilla strikes and the black militants burning her family’s farm in Rhodesia went flashing through her mind. No doubt this was the intended result of Valikov’s introduction. She quickly regained her composure and looked at Tyrone Maxwell trying to keep a pleasant look on her face. Reading the discomforting look in the man’s own facial expressions made her realize she had failed.
“Mr. Maxwell,” Valikov’s voice broke the tension, “may I present the one you know as Ghost? Ms. Sauwa Catcher was formerly of the South African Intelligence service where she served in covert operations. I believe she was considered one of the Apartheid’s more vicious and lethal assassins.”
It was now time to exchange awkward glares as Sauwa was uncomfortable being in the room and could see Tyrone Maxwell’s eyes light up and assumed his mind was racing with similar memories to the ones she had. “I saved some white racist!” He tried hard not to shout. Instead, his words came out in a low, animalistic growl.
“No, you saved my property.” Valikov chimed in. “Kindly remember that is what I employ you both to do.”
There was a deafening silence in the room. Sauwa could only imagine the pleasure Valikov was getting out of this. He had gotten the intended results. Red Wolf and Ghost had gotten the
ir wish and finally met each other. Now to ensure some tension remained between the two, he had made sure to share such information.
“I feel I should leave you to get acquainted.” The Russian smiled sinisterly as he started past them. “Oh, and remember, you both work for me, both serve at my pleasure, and are subject to my wrath. So, keep it civil, if you don’t want to feel the repercussions of any blind rage that may be festering.” With that, he led the two out of his office and ushered them through the house until he could leave them alone on the patio outside. He casually walked away, explaining he had some business to attend to as if he were leaving neglected guests.
When the door shut behind them, Sauwa and Tyrone found themselves staring in any direction but at each other. From Maxwell’s look, she didn’t know what to say or what to make of him. He wasn’t some MK fighter from the ANC or one of their communist allies from Zambia or Angola; this was an American. However, she knew next to nothing about him and his initial reaction left her concerned. She decided it was probably best to let him open the dialogue.
“He didn’t tell me who you were or what you were,” Maxwell finally spoke up. “It was probably better that he didn’t. I don’t know that I care for the idea of protecting some white racist.” He turned and, for the first time since they came outside, looked her straight in the eye. His gaze was cold and serious. “I heard about what went on in South Africa. Never thought I’d meet one of you Apartheid types face to face. One of their most elite killers, isn’t that what the boss said?” His gaze hardened. He wanted an answer to his question.
“I really don’t know,” she replied coldly. “It’s not something I really care to keep track of.”
Maxwell continued. “I have to say, you impressed me the way you handled yourself in Northern Iraq. Killing certainly seems to come easily for you.”
“I get by when I have to,” Sauwa replied, not knowing what to say to his comment.
“You do more than get by,” he said. “You were doing serious damage to those guerrillas from what I saw. Now that I know who you are, I have to wonder how much of that is pure instinct?”
“I was a soldier, and the war is over at least for me,” she stated with curt finality. She stared back at him with indifference. Despite his towering over her, she was not intimidated.
“You can say that,” he countered, “but I’m still a black man working with a white supremacist who seems at home killing people. To be frank, it is hard for me to get past that knowing what I’ve dealt with my whole life. My dad and uncles fought people like you on the streets of New York when I was growing up. You fought for a regime that would have people like me as second-class citizens.”
“I don’t see the point of debating the finer points of a government that no longer exists.” Her voice was stark and cold. “We have a job to do. So, I suggest we focus on that.”
“You’d like it to be that easy,” he said as he stepped a few paces in her direction. “Just have the whole thing go away.”
“Actually, I would,” she replied. “If we don't, all that will happen is tempers will get heated, and we will lose sight of our goal. Neither of us is here fighting for a cause. Both of us are here because we’re paid by a man who has no political interests other than what makes him money. Our whole reason for talking right now is because our job for comrade Valikov is to take care of his more contentious deals. Those deals call for us to go to the most dangerous places and handle the transactions with his most violent and unpredictable clients. You could betray me out there and let me get killed horribly and tell yourself it would be justice. I just have to trust that you won’t. But then you’d have to answer to our employer, who would not appreciate you losing his merchandise. As observant and crafty as he is, he would assume personal feelings led to your failure and would take it out on you in the most vicious way. Otherwise, he doesn’t care about either of us.”
“You do have a point,” Maxwell nodded. “But you talk about trusting me. I also have to trust you. I’m a black man working with a professional killer who was trained to hunt and kill people like me. That definitely puts me a little on edge.”
Sighing, Sauwa looked back at him. “I would love to tell you that what I did, I did because I was fighting a war and for no other reason ─ that I bear no malice against your people. It still won’t change what I did. And it won’t do anything to put your mind at ease. Our histories are something we have to get past because our futures are going to be dangerous and uncertain enough without distrust between us.”
Maxwell ruminated for a time, his eyes fixed on Sauwa as if he couldn’t tell whether he wanted to accept her rationale or kill her right here. “You heard what he said about my family.”
“I hate radicals, I won’t lie.” Sauwa stood looking at the view. “And, yes, I’ve fought groups no different than your Black Liberation Army. But, he fought his war, and I fought mine. We both thought we were fighting for the better side. And, perhaps we were both fools who fed the legitimacy and fanaticism of the other’s twisted causes.”
Tyrone Maxwell nodded his head slightly. It was the best answer he was going to get from the South African ─ neither apologetic, which he would have felt disingenuous nor glorifying, which he would have loathed and resented. Accepting the answer, he started back to the house. “I need this job. I’m staying. I’m a professional, and I’ll work with you because I have to. But, I don’t like you, and I want you to know that.”
“I need this job as well. So, on that, we can agree. Your personal opinion of me is inconsequential. I would have thought you dishonest if you had expressed any other feeling.” Sauwa was still looking at the view of the garden. She wasn’t quite sure where they stood. But for the time being, she liked to think they had reached some sort of détente.
7
Sergei Tarkov looked over the glistening coastal waters of the Aegean Sea as he entered the deck at the restaurant. Colonel Carzona followed him maintaining a more humble appearance. To anyone observing them, the small Filipino would have been dismissed as a simple manservant to the larger Russian he was following. Having seen the little man in a far more domineering role, Tarkov assumed the humbler demeanor was intentional.
An affable Andre Valikov promptly rose from his table to meet them as they joined him on the deck. With his arms extended in greeting and his face beaming, he behaved as a man meeting a long-lost brother in arms. The two Russians were locked in a tight embrace as they smiled and laughed with pleasure at the sight of one another. Carzona stepped unobtrusively to the side to allow the men their space. He said nothing and made no attempt to draw attention to himself. Casually, he observed the area around him assessing the location and its practicality for the business they intended to discuss.
The outside dining area was perched above the buildings and trees to allow for an uninterrupted view of the bright sandy beaches and light blue waters beyond. It was also the perfect location for an observation post or a sniper’s perch. The table on the deck was far from the main building and away from other guests. The sunshades on both sides of the table masked them from anyone attempting to take pictures from inside or from another table. Someone wanting to listen to their conversation would need to go to great lengths to do so or risk exposing themselves.
Carzona thought that Mr. Tarkov’s friend had chosen the place for this meeting well. The two Russians had broken their embrace and moved to the table. They took their seats next to each other while Carzona sat across from them. He started to be a little more assertive only when he was sure the hanging curtains covering their flanks had shielded him from anyone’s view. This did not go unnoticed by Valikov who was watching the Asian out of the corner of his eye. He sensed Carzona was more than just a mere tag along.
“This is a most beautiful city,” Tarkov began as he admired the view.
Valikov smiled as he lit a light-colored Toro cigar, exhaling the first puff of bluish-grey smoke, sending a sweet-smelling aroma into the atmosphere. “It’s
one of the reasons I chose this city after I left Russia.” He shifted his eyes to Carzona. “For the benefit of your friend, I imagine we should speak English for the business portion of this meeting,” he said in English.
“Thank you, Andre, it would be preferable.” Tarkov also spoke in English.
A pair of servers in white jackets arrived with glasses and a bottle of wine. Though a Muslim country, Turkey vacillated between embracing modern practices and yielding to religious conservatism. Foreigners treaded lightly making sure they did not flaunt western sinfulness. The servers poured the wine and disappeared.
Taking another pull on his cigar, Valikov glanced over at Carzona then back to Tarkov. “I take it you and I will be discussing the particulars of your business, but it will be your friend who will be making the final decisions.”
“That is correct. I’m working for the people whom he represents,” Tarkov replied not wishing to waste time posturing.
“Then let us get to the purpose of this luncheon,” Valikov drew again on his cigar.
Tarkov began. “I’m working for some people who are trying to thwart the efforts of a rival party in their home country. This rival group is trying to procure arms for their military wing. They have made contact with an arms dealer in Cyprus who can meet their needs. I have been retained by my colleague and his people to counter this effort.”
“I see,” Valikov mused. “So, you’re needing what?”
“The scope of the mission is quite complex and dangerous. I’m being hired to carry out a campaign of covert operations against this rival party both outside of the law and in a wealthy European country without the aid of my government. This requires resources I can’t just get anywhere. Right now, what I need badly is people. I need to recruit a team. I need people who have experience and extensive training dealing in this type of operation. I was hoping you know people who fit our requirements and could put us in touch with them.”