“Seventy,” the stranger replied slowly and then repeated. “Seventy.”
The stranger stopped briefly and then continued. “We are now in the next phase of our operation and with the guidance of Allah and the wisdom of Osama we—you Abd Al Rahman, in the name of Allah the almighty shall strike again.”
He smiled briefly, conspiratorially and then said, “We only have about an hour and I have a lot to tell you so please listen carefully.”
For the next sixty minutes Abd Al Rahman sat and listened very carefully while his companion spoke clearly and deliberately. What he heard was so extraordinary he found himself in disbelief. He wanted to interrupt, to challenge what he was hearing but he kept his thoughts to himself.
The stranger stopped speaking and sat back on the bench looking at Abd Al Rahman expectantly. “You understand everything I have told you, yes?”
Al Rahman slowly nodded in response.
The stranger withdrew an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and slid it across the park bench to Al Rahman who quickly put it out of sight. “These are the banks and account numbers where the money will be. You will need to memorize them. Don’t carry them around with you.”
“If I need more money, how do I ask for it?” Al Rahman asked.
“Don’t worry,” replied the stranger. “Each account will always have a minimum balance of close to one million dollars. As you withdraw funds, they will be replenished.”
“How much can I spend?”
The stranger shrugged his shoulders. “No more than you have to but as much as you need. Use your best judgment.”
The two men sat silently for a moment.
“And Devskoy?” Al Rahman asked, referring to the Russian.
“This evening you will meet with him to negotiate the terms. He is afraid of you and was very reluctant to work with you but we insisted. It is good he is afraid, but you will need to put him at ease. We have spent almost a million dollars getting these women into position but only he knows exactly where they are and how to contact them. He is suspicious of us, and you can’t blame him, but the money we gave him is all spent now and he wants money, lots of money.”
“What do I offer him?”
“I told you, whatever it takes. Do the deal, get access to the women’s locations and contact information and then when you are certain you have it, get rid of him. He is a drunken fool and will only be a liability.”
“Where will you be?” Al Rahman asked the stranger.
“In a few minutes I will be gone and we shall not meet again.”
“You are not going to work with me?” Al Rahman asked, surprised.
“No, I told you, this is your mission, your task. My role in this is done. If they capture me I can’t even tell them what you will be doing or when because I won’t know and I don’t need to know.”
“When does it begin? When do I start? How do I start?” The questions poured out in quick succession.
The stranger smiled at him. “It has already started. Today you watched Devskoy kill an American General. Tomorrow, it’s up to you.”
CHAPTER 6
ABD AL RAHMAN carefully watched the Russian through the window of the smoky bistro from across the street. He had arrived at their meeting place a few minutes early and had waited in the shadows watching as the Russian arrived late, walking as fast as he could with his heavy swinging gait. He could see the Russian briefly look for him and then take a seat at a small table and quickly order drinks. Abd Al Rahman would keep him waiting for a few more minutes, happy to let the man get more anxious, sweat a little and consume a few glasses of vodka. Finally, Abd Al Rahman stepped into the bistro and took the unoccupied seat at the Russian’s table.
The Russian quickly gulped down the remnants of his glass as he saw Abd Al Rahman and wiped his month with his sleeve.
“Worked perfectly, didn’t it?” he said, the words spilling out quickly, the pitch of his voice exposing his anxiety.
They spoke in Russian, just one of the languages common to both of them but one Abd Al Rahman insisted be their only language.
Abd Al Rahman nodded with a small smile on his lips. “Yes, it worked. It was very impressive.”
“Impressive! It was fucking incredible, you know, fucking incredible.”
The Russian was very excited, loud and slightly inebriated but Al Rahman was not concerned about who might overhear their conversation. The bistro was loud and crowded and they were less likely to get noticed here than at some secluded spot. But right now he needed the Russian to relax, think more clearly so they could negotiate the deal. First the video and now the final live test had confirmed with certainty the plan would work. The participants were ready. Only the details had to be worked out.
“What do you want?” he asked Devskoy directly.
The Russian waved at a nearby waitress and signaled for her to deliver two more drinks. As she set them down, the Russian put one glass to his mouth and downed the alcohol in one gulp and again wiped the residue off his lips with his sleeve. He stared at his companion for moment and then speaking quickly said, “one hundred thousand dollars each.”
When the Arab did not respond, he continued speaking, nervous about asking for the money.
“I have seventy ready to go. You will pay me one hundred thousand for each one, payable before delivery.”
The Arab sat impassively for a moment his face revealing nothing. His demeanor did not reveal his intense discomfort at sitting across from a man he hated and looked forward to killing, but he also felt awkward negotiating the transaction. His time as warrior, prisoner and the recent years of hermetic existence had left him ill prepared to negotiate terms.
“Where are they?” he asked after a moment.
“You mean the women?” Devskoy replied stating the obvious.
“Yes.”
The Russian shrugged. “Here, there, everywhere,” he replied with a smirk.
The two men stared at each other saying nothing. The Arab broke the silence.
“So, I give you seven million dollars and you give me all their names, contact information and locations.”
The Russian shook his head vigorously. “No no no, we exchange them ten at a time. You give me a million dollars and I give you ten names. When you are done with them, I will give you ten more.”
The Arab’s expression changed and showed his displeasure.
“Why play games?” Abd Al Rahman asked. “Give me all the names now and walk away a very rich man. You can go anywhere, do anything…” His voice trailed off.
Devskoy grabbed at the second glass on the table and drained it again in one gulp. The warm liquid hit his stomach quickly and he felt his confidence grow.
“I am not so stupid to think the past is just forgotten,” he said. “What I did to you, what you did to us…” He stared up at the Arab with red eyes, a trace of spittle on his lips. “If I give you what you want right now, I won’t live long enough to enjoy any of it. No,” he said as he pounded on the small table with his fist. “We will do it just like I said. You give me one million dollars and I give you ten names.”
Abd Al Rahman said nothing for a moment wondering if he should bargain, try to negotiate a better deal but he just said, “Very well. We shall do as you say. But,” he continued as he pointed a finger at Devskoy, “you will deploy the women as I instruct you, not just the ten you give me, but all of them. They will move with your instructions, yes?”
The Russian nodded. “Of course, I can send them anywhere you need. It will take time of course, and money, but moving them is no problem.” He smiled showing yellowing teeth and the same malevolence Abd Al Rahman had witnessed many years before. “Where shall we begin? Who would you like your first target to be?”
Abd Al Rahman did not answer for a few moments. All this had happened so quickly he had not had a chance to make a plan or strategy for most effectively using his weapons. The stranger had been very specific about the mission when they spoke in th
e park. Whereas the attack on the World Trade Center in New York was designed to create shock and awe, these new small attacks were to create fear, uncertainty and doubt.
“Do you have any more assets here in Paris?”
Devskoy shook his head. “No, I was told to concentrate them in London and America.”
“How many do you have in London?”
Devskoy paused for a moment and then replied, “Nine more.”
“Where are they?”
“I have them staying in various hotels in London.”
“How quickly can you reach them?”
Devskoy pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped on it a couple of times. “I can reach them right away.”
Abd Al Rahman sat impassive for a moment, oblivious to the sounds of people talking around him trying to think of a good strategy. “Very well,” he said. “We will start in London. You will give me the names and contact information for each of the uh…” he paused looking for the right word, “istishhadiyah”.
The Arabic word for female martyr elicited a coarse laugh from Devskoy. “These women are not istishhadiyah, they’re whores,” he said as he continued to laugh. “They’re a bunch of worthless whores who have been fucking all kinds of American and European pigs for years just so we could steal information from them.” He leaned back in his chair as he continued to laugh, and then stopped suddenly as he saw the angry stare from Al Rahman.
He leaned forward and took another gulp from his drink. “Ok, call them what you want. Do you want me to do it with you?”
“Yes,” Abd Al Rahman answered, his face softening slightly. “At least the first one or two, after that I will work on my own.”
“And the money,” Devskoy asked.
Abd Al Rahman considered for a moment it might be best to offer to pay half the total for nine women but he wanted Devskoy to trust him and so he simply replied, “Where do you wish me to deposit it?”
The Russian licked his lips and looked around anxiously. This was the part he was most worried about. Large transfers of cash would attract attention and he wanted to avoid attracting any to himself. He reached in to his breast pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper.
“On this sheet you will find a list of twenty bank names located throughout Europe. You will transfer an equal amount to each account listed over the next few days, not all at once you understand. That will be dangerous. Do it slowly and no-one will notice.”
“How will I reach you after the transfers are complete?”
Devskoy thought for a moment and then his expression brightened as he said, “The Dorchester Hotel in London. Do you know it?”
Abd Al Rahman shook his head.
“Well, it’s only the best and most expensive hotel in London. You will feel at home there—it is full of Arabs. Meet me there at the tea room next Friday at four o’clock. That should give you enough time to complete the transfer.”
Devskoy stood up, his confidence swelling as the Arab had appeared to accept his terms. “I will start checking the balances in a few days. If the money is there by next Friday, you will see me at the hotel. If not…” his voice tapered off.
CHAPTER 7
MICHAEL DEVSKOY SAT in the bar at The Dorchester Hotel in London feeling very pleased with himself. The Arab had done as he had been instructed: the money had been transferred to all the banks on the list. Devskoy had quickly moved the money again, transferring large and small amounts to banks all over the world. That was the one benefit of being in London. In the City of London, the financial capital of Europe, almost every major international bank in the world maintained an office. Opening accounts in banks in Europe, Asia, America and Australia had been quite straight forward.
He ordered a glass of Vodka and despite his usual habit of drinking the glass in one gulp, slowly nursed the exquisite smooth taste of the best Vodka he had ever drunk. This was Stolichnaya Gold, a premium Russian brand unlike the usual rot gut he normally drank. He licked his lips savoring the flavor and smiled to himself as he slowly rotated the glass in his hand, watching the clear liquid spin in the glass. The bill would probably be ten pounds per glass but he did not care. This was how he intended to live the rest of his life, indulging every pleasure he could think of, denying himself nothing. With millions of dollars in cash, he could go anywhere, become anyone, and do anything. He almost giggled out loud at the thought.
He had two more days before the Arab showed up. He felt a pang of anxiety about something happening to Abd Al Rahman and the entire enterprise collapsing but quickly put the negative thought out of his mind. He glanced around the bar and noticed a tall, well dressed and quite handsome man walk in to the bar. The man paused as he glanced around the room and then selected a spot at the bar a few stools away from Devskoy. The man nodded to the barman and ordered a drink and Devskoy immediately recognized the New York accent. Trying not to be obvious, he watched the American in the mirror behind the bar, envious of his good looks and obvious self confidence. The thought of the American soured his good mood and he tipped the glass to his lips and swallowed the remaining alcohol in one gulp. As he set the glass back down on the counter, out of the corner of his eye he caught the American staring at him with a look of obvious disdain. Devskoy turned to face the American with a hard stare and the man looked away.
Swearing under his breath, Devskoy tossed a twenty pound note on to the counter, stood up and walked out of the bar. He spotted a house phone near the restrooms and walked to it quickly. Picking up the receiver, he heard the operator’s voice on the phone.
“Room 412,” he said quickly.
* * *
Katia Molensk stood before the full length mirror with a large white towel wrapped around her body just above her breasts and another smaller towel wrapped turban-like around her head. She let the towel around her body drop to the lush carpet and stood in the mirror staring at her body. Despite approaching middle age, her body still retained the look of an athlete: legs long and lean, stomach flat and slightly muscled. Her breasts were small, and slightly drooped but still firm for a woman of her age.
As she stared at herself in the mirror her mind wandered, pondering what might have been and the strange circumstances that had brought her to this elegant hotel room. In 1979, at the age of twenty one, she was nationally recognized in the Soviet Union as one of the best volleyball players in the country. A serve and set specialist, her serve had a topspin which made it almost impossible to return and her ability to dig out the hardest slams was almost legendary.
From the age of twelve, her life had been focused around volleyball. A standout player at her local school, her athletic abilities had garnered the notice of the Soviet sports machine intent on finding and grooming outstanding athletes for every Olympic event. She was quickly removed from her school and enrolled at an elite residential school and sports academy where the best young athletes were groomed for success. The new school was not far from her home but in terms of lifestyle and privileges, it was another world. The food was excellent and plentiful. The training facilities were outstanding and the athletes who survived the rigorous training were well rewarded with perks and privileges not afforded to most Soviet citizens. The separation from her family was most difficult for her mother but she had quickly acquiesced, realizing it was probably best for her daughter.
As the Soviet Union geared up for the 1980 Moscow Olympics every effort was made to prove the superiority of the Soviet system by dominating in as many athletic events as possible. Trainers and doctors analyzed every player’s strength and weakness, altering training regimes to maximize each athlete’s performance. Every aspect of their lives was regimented from hours of sleep to weight lifting and cardiovascular workouts to food and performance supplements. Katia’s upper body developed a musculature that would have seemed unusual to most women but to her appeared quite normal compared to her peers. She was a little embarrassed about the facial hair that had suddenly appeared on her chin and was surprise
d on a number of occasions when her mother did not recognize her voice on the phone because, as her mother claimed, it sounded so much deeper than before.
In late 1979 just before the final twenty five women were to be selected for the national Olympic team, she felt a sharp pain in her left hip. As first she tried to ignore the pain and play through it, but as the pain persisted, she could not hide her discomfort from her trainers. They put her on a regime of rest and rehabilitation but after a few weeks it became clear that her situation was not improving. There was obviously something seriously wrong with her hip and just like that, her athletic career and all her dreams and aspirations seemed to evaporate.
For the first time in her life she had to contemplate a life outside of sports. She sunk into a depression when she returned home to her family’s drab and bare apartment, a far cry from the luxurious accommodations she had grown accustomed to at the athlete’s academy. She pondered her future with bleak anticipation until one day soon after coming home she was summoned back to the training academy and told to report to the onsite hospital facility. Her spirits lifted thinking they found the cause of her discomfort and were going to treat her and return her to the team. She was ushered into a small examining room with a doctor she knew and two other men she could not identify. The doctor had her remove her pants and lay on her back on the examining table while he methodically examined her hip joint, testing her flexibility and pain point. After completing a rigorous physical examination, the doctor huddled with the other two men and whispered between them in conversation she could not hear. Then the doctor turned back to her and instructed her to stand up and remove all her clothes. She hesitated for a moment, unwilling to be naked in front of the strangers but the doctor repeated his instructions forcefully.
She did as she was told and stood before the three men as they stared at her naked body. For a moment nobody said a word and then one of the strangers told her to slowly turn around which she did. The men huddled together again for some more hushed comments and then the doctor told her to get dressed and wait in the waiting room.
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