Cyprus Rage

by J E Higgins

  “I’m curious,” Valikov said. “These people you are working for, they’re not Russian? They did not pick you up by chance. I would wager they found you through a broker. Russia is full of mercenaries these days. There are all types of people in the military and intelligence service who have side jobs brokering people for your type of client. Why not go through the broker who found you?”

  “True,” Tarkov agreed. “The market is awash with soldiers coming out of Russia or some other former Soviet country. I’ve seen what’s being offered ─ a bunch of phonies and action junkies fresh out of Chechnya. Most of them putting themselves on the market claiming to be ‘Spetsnaz operators’ are typically former conscripts with only two years of service under their belt. As elite as they claim to be, most of their training is entry-level commando tactics. Their experience consists of a single combat tour lasting a few months and done in a war-torn country. They would not have the skill set I need. I don’t have time to sift through all the undesirables. I need people who have operated in Western European cities and have experience working outside the support of government intelligence agencies.

  “That said, I am not a fool. I know such people in this murky business can easily take your money and betray you. That means I need people who can be trusted to earn their money. If anybody knows those kinds of people, it’s you. I need the type of people you would recruit for your own business.”

  Rolling his cigar between his fingers, Valikov sat studying it for a time. He acted as if he were alone at the table. Then looking up, he laid his elbows on the table and gazed into the eyes of his old friend. “You and I have a lot of history. We go back a long time serving our former master. Now we are the capitalists when we spent our lives fighting them.” The reminiscing was cut short by a cough generated from the other side of the table where Carzona sat watching them both. Though subtle in its nature, it had its intended effect.

  “I know a few people who might meet your requirements. How many do you think you’ll need?”

  Tarkov folded his arms as he considered the question. “For now, I need a small team, four at the most. The less recognizable faces for this mission the better. I need skilled people who can think on their feet and be flexible with mission requirements.”

  Scratching his chin gently with his thumb, Valikov scrutinized the short Asian still sitting expressionless. It was clear Tarkov was his voice at this meeting. “Perhaps I know a few people who meet these requirements.” Valikov’s eyes shifted back to his old friend. “It will take a certain commission for brokering this transaction.”

  “I expected it would,” Tarkov replied. “How much?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars, American.” Valikov diverted his eyes once again to Carzona, knowing he would be the one to decide.

  Tarkov also glanced in the Filipino’s direction.

  With all the attention focused on him, Carzona bowed his head slightly to acknowledge the price was acceptable.

  Valikov didn’t wait for Tarkov to confirm the obvious. “Good, then I can set you up with some people who have worked for me in the past. I know them and what they can do. I can assure you they will earn their pay.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Tarkov cracked a smile. “I trust that you will choose these people wisely. However, my colleague and I would like to make our own assessments.”

  “Naturally,” Valikov smiled as he waved his hand in the air trying not to imply any offense. “I would fully expect you to make your own evaluations. I will set up a meeting at a small place I have where you can assess your recruits discretely.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Carzona spoke for the first time. “We will establish the meeting location. We need you to arrange for your people to meet us in a designated place and ensure we have the means to identify each other worked out ahead of time. Then, the rest will be our responsibility once we have all the recruits.”

  Valikov slipped his cigar into his mouth as he studied the Filipino. Carzona’s face was like stone as he looked back at the Russian. It was the expression of someone that was not going to negotiate this point. Conceding to the demand, Valikov nodded. “Of course, perfectly understandable. I will do as you wish.”

  “How long will it take for you to arrange this?” Tarkov asked.

  Valikov sighed. “Most of these people are in the country. A few others are in places just over the border. I should have the people ready to meet you within four days.”

  Tarkov looked over at Carzona who nodded.

  “Good,” Valikov said, rubbing his hands together. “I will begin making arrangements today. Will you be needing anything else?”

  “We will need resources for this operation ─ weapons and other equipment. We were hoping to retain your services for providing these materials as well,” Tarkov added.

  Valikov’s eyes widened, “Of course, I can handle that.”

  “We may need to be clients of yours for a considerable amount of time,” Carzona interjected. “Can you furnish a steady supply for such things? We can afford to pay quite handsomely.”

  “Oh, definitely,” Valikov grinned, sensing a lucrative business opportunity. The Russians exchanged a few more comments about the old days, and the two guests departed.

  After the two men left, the servers entered with Valikov’s lunch. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head as he puffed on his cigar. The waiters served his meal and were leaving when Sauwa emerged through the doors of the main building and came to join her employer.

  She sat down in the chair Tarkov had occupied. Valikov stared off thoughtfully, not paying her the slightest notice. “Report,” he said suddenly.

  “I observed them coming into the lobby and waited a few more minutes to see who would follow them. The only other people who came in were some businessmen who requested one of the staterooms and a young couple who didn’t try to change their seating when they were sent to a table at the far end of the club. I passed by the area where someone could look out, but no one was interested in you at all. When your friends left, I followed them to the parking lot and watched them leave. No cars followed them out either. It doesn’t look like they’re being tailed by anyone.”

  “What type of car were they driving?” he asked.

  “A navy blue Audi,” she answered. “They chose their vehicle well. It was a common model for the city and did not attract attention.”

  “Then they’re not idiots. They know what they’re doing,” Valikov said. “I guess I can assist them.” It was his strict policy to vet clients before working with anyone. He had stayed successful and alive by ensuring that the people he did business with were seasoned professionals who knew how to protect their operation from scrutiny and not draw attention to themselves.

  Radical groups and criminal gangs were forming all the time with young hotheads who acted foolishly. They were not long for the business or for this world. Unfortunately, those greedy enough to supply such people often incurred the same enemies and wound up following them to prison or the morgue. If his old friend and his Asian employer had brought a tail with them, it would mean they were either too hot, had too much attention from all the wrong people, or they were amateurs who didn’t know enough to take the proper precautions before coming to such an important and sensitive meeting. In either case, it would have been too risky to get involved with them.

  “I was able to make peace with the Kurds,” he continued. “They paid for weapons that they never received. I hate betraying clients. I intend to make good on the deal and get them what they paid for. Right now though, things are hot in Northern Iraq. Saddam has been aggressive in his war with Kurdish insurgents there. The Iranians have been just as bad; they have been conducting regular artillery fire in areas of Kurdish training camps. They’ve also been flying regular patrols. This means for the next few months my Kurdish business will be off the table.” He suddenly shifted his head to where he was looking at her in a haphazard way. “I had forgotten to ask how everything
went with my old friend Ivan. Did he enjoy his little outing with you?” He was referring to Ivan Gorev, the former Russian diplomat he sent with her on the last trip to Northern Iraq. Sauwa looked at the toothy grin that was emerging on the Valikov’s face.

  “Terrible,” Sauwa replied, almost angrily. “That guy’s not made for fieldwork. Why did you have him come on such a trip?”

  “I wanted to give him a reality check,” Valikov replied with a feigned look of innocence. “He was having a hard time understanding that he wasn’t working in an embassy hosting formal dinners. I felt a trip with you to gain some first-hand experience with our operation would be good for him.”

  “More like it shot the poor man’s nerves to hell,” she countered, glaring at her boss. Ivan Gorev had been employed by the Russian Foreign Service. He had been brought on to work with Turkish officials and politicians to help maintain a decent working relationship and develop much-needed allies in high government positions. Sauwa was aware that her boss hated the little diplomat. Gorev was neither a soldier nor an intelligence operative. He was a diplomat. A member of the old Soviet elite, who lived a privileged life while never getting his hands dirty with more dangerous or arduous work. For Andre Valikov, sending Gorev on such a dangerous mission was nothing more than some deeply seeded revenge.

  “Really Sauwa, you can’t tell me you feel for that little pissant. He’s not a soldier like you who carried out the orders handed to you by men sitting comfortably in the safety of their offices back in South Africa while you were on the front lines risking yourself in a dirty war with no rules.” She didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say and kept her hard gaze on him though she could feel it slip as his words began to sink in.

  Valikov decided to press the issue. “Have you ever wondered, my dear, how many times you were out on some cold night on a dark London street corner freezing as you waited to execute a risky and dangerous mission and could easily have gotten captured or killed? And, all the while, the ones who sent you on the missions were back in your homeland enjoying cocktails at some fancy party bragging about how they were the ones keeping their country safe, speaking endlessly of their jobs as if they were freezing in some horrible spot carrying out the same mission with the same risks.” He looked at Sauwa and could see from her cold glance that he had struck a nerve. Taking a strange pleasure in stoking her anger, he continued. “Gorev is from the same circle of elite society as those who happily sent you to do their bidding and then just denounced you when it was convenient.”

  She lowered her eyes. What he had said did stoke some deep-rooted anger she had hoped to suppress. Gorev had been part of the Soviet upper class. He was from the same world as those who led the security services of the Apartheid. Those who directed her efforts and missions ─ the Dark Chamber and the Civil Cooperation Bureau. Then they just denounced her and her comrades for the actions they had carried out pretending they had had nothing to do with the very monsters they had created and presided over.

  “Will there be anything further?” she asked, in a low, bitter tone.

  “My old friend has some business, and he’s asked for my assistance.” He snuffed out the remainder of his cigar and turned to address his meal. “I don’t have the particulars, but it involves a lot of activity that falls along the lines of covert operations. They need people who know this kind of business and are good at it. He’s a good friend, and I want to help him with his first freelance job.

  What’s more, the man he was working for knew what he was doing. He knows this business better than he lets on. I have the impression that what they’re involved in could materialize into a long, continuous affair and last for years. I like to give good service to those who can potentially be long-term clients. I happen to have a few good people who would be perfect for their needs close at hand. And you, my dear, are at the top of that list. I figured I didn’t have a need for you in the next few months, but I’m cutting your vacation short and loaning you to him for this mission.”

  Sauwa’s eyes widened in disbelief. She opened her mouth to say something, but she was promptly cut off by her employer. He continued talking, paying not the slightest attention to her obvious anger.

  “It’s your world, your environment. I figure they can get some use out of you, and I can show them my ability to deliver quality merchandise.” His use of the word merchandise when referring to her only added to her growing rage. It was bad enough he was renting her out like a pimp touting a prostitute. Worse, he was hiring her out to some shady group of strangers to go God knows where, and do God knows what! She wanted to protest but it was pointless to argue, she had no options.

  8

  When they left the meeting, Tarkov and Carzona headed straight for their car. It was a nice looking German model that didn’t attract attention. Tarkov drove and Carzona sat in the front passenger seat, silent and stoic.

  “I was under the impression I was to be handling the negotiations at this meeting,” Tarkov said as he looked over at the Filipino. He was concerned that Carzona’s reason for interjecting himself into the conversation was a sign of disapproval at how he was handling the negotiations.

  “You were,” Carzona replied in a low and serious tone. “Your friend was offering too much hospitality. That concerns me. I appreciate that he may be able to find us viable recruits if he can deliver the quality of people he promised. However, I do not want your friend, who we know nothing about his own dealings, to be any more involved in our affairs than necessary. This is our operation and one that is challenging. I do not wish to entrust our security to this man by allowing him to arrange the meeting where we intend to discuss sensitive business. We will meet these people in a place we choose and do so in a manner that suits our security needs. And, I think you realized that.”

  Tarkov felt both relieved and shocked. Relieved that the Colonel had not lost faith in him to run the operation and had spared him some possible unpleasantness. What shocked him was that the Colonel was far more adept at the business of intrigue than he was letting on. He was entirely too comfortable and professional. He had been involved in this business before.

  “What if the people he gets us are not up for the task? What is our next option?” Tarkov looked over at the Filipino.

  “I believe they will be,” the Colonel replied. “Inevitably, we will work with the best of what we can get. That is the nature of these types of operations.”

  “If we are not taking his offer to provide a location for the meeting, we need to set up our own safe house. It would be best if we chose a location in a more transient area. It will make it easier to move about without drawing attention,” Tarkov said.

  Carzona shook his head. “We’ve already rented a small house for this meeting. What we need to find is a place we can gather the recruits beforehand. Then we’ll move them to the meeting.”

  “You’ve already done this?” Tarkov asked, feeling usurped as he looked at the Colonel.

  “Of course,” the Colonel replied indifferently. “I don’t know what relationship you have with your friend Valikov. By the way, you two acted at the meeting, I was worried about what you feel you owe him if he should start pressing you for information. So, forgive me if I choose to act cautiously while we are here in Turkey dealing with your friend.”

  Tarkov couldn’t argue with Carzona’s logic. As a Special Forces operator himself, he understood all too well the importance of keeping information protected and being very selective to whom it was given. He had operated the same way when working in Africa with local contacts whose loyalties were dubious. Tarkov had seen how quickly information could get back to the enemy in Chechnya and Dagestan when you trusted people who had family loyalties in the enemy camp. He remembered he was a hired gun to these Asians and one who was putting them in contact with a shadowy black-market merchant who would most likely want to insert himself into their client’s business. “You don’t trust me right now, and I can understand that. But, if you hired me to run this o
peration, I need to stop being treated as some hired gun who only gets small pieces of the picture.”

  “I understand your concerns,” the Colonel replied “and, I can understand why you have them. Make no mistake comrade Tarkov. You will be running this operation just as soon as we are in Cyprus and your expertise as a commando becomes essential. While we’re here in Turkey dealing with your friend, I wish to retain operational control. Kindly understand, if your friend indicates he knows more about our operation than he should, I can only assume it was because you told him and that you are a security risk.”

  The Russian nodded. As insulted as he felt, he agreed with everything Carzona said and would have done the same if the roles had been reversed. “So, you said we will establish a rendezvous location where our recruits can gather. What then?”

  Carzona replied, “We will give each of them a code that allows us to identify them when they enter. We won’t make contact until everybody has a chance to arrive. Then we discretely take them to an awaiting vehicle and drive them to the safe house.”

  The plan made sense to Tarkov. “How do we vet a bunch of strangers under these circumstances?”

  “While we’re at the rendezvous point, we take our time assessing the recruits to get an initial feel.” Carzona remained watching his side view mirror. “People hanging out in a public place not knowing what to expect can elicit several tells about what type of person they are and what we should expect, especially if they don’t know they’re being watched or who's watching them.

  “Are they braggarts who love to talk and pay little attention to what comes out of their mouths? Do they draw needless attention to themselves in other ways that a professional would not do? Do they have a taste for alcohol and consume too much right before heading out to a job? None of these people are going to come with a resume or any means to verify their background. We have to make our own assessments based on our own expertise in this business. If we don’t like what we see, we call off the meeting and leave without making contact. Then, we try a different approach. But, I don’t think it will come to that.”