by J A Heaton
Daniel was sure she was the reason Billy whistled under his breath. Daniel overheard their conversation, and he could tell it was in Russian. The woman was displeased with something, but her complaint didn’t appear personal. She wasn’t bickering with a boyfriend; she was arguing with a coworker.
Patrick ignored the newly arrived Russians and continued with Edwards.
“Who cares about codenames?” Patrick asked bitterly. “The man is dead, and the codename was from fifteen years ago. And don’t lecture me about being careful, because I handled Agent Bishop perfectly.”
The waiter arrived with the beers for Edwards and Billy. Daniel and Rex asked for bubbly water with lemon, explaining they didn’t want to drink while getting over jet lag.
Edwards took a sip and smiled as if surrendering to Patrick. “Okay. I’m not going to lecture you like Fitzpatrick. He’s the stickler for protocol who would be throwing a fit about using codenames, even if it is dated.”
“Quit the arguing. I need to drink,” Billy said before taking a long swallow of his beer.
“How can you be certain this man was you-know-who?” Edwards asked Patrick.
“Who else could be an old friend named Dmitri who wanted to play chess?” Patrick answered.
“Rex and I spoke with his widow earlier today,” Daniel said. “His arrival to Uzbekistan perfectly matches the timeline of his disappearance from Moscow.”
“And what else did he write in the note?” Edwards asked.
“What note? The duty officer told me the message. He didn’t say anything about a written note.”
“He probably assumed you would find it on your desk. I did, just before coming here.”
Patrick’s mouth hung partially open.
“You read the note on my desk? What did it say?” Patrick demanded.
Before Edwards could answer, the lights dimmed to nearly complete darkness, and rhythmic music began blaring in the restaurant.
As promised, the entertainment had begun.
Horns blared as the drums and tambourines pounded out the rhythms through the speakers.
A new entrant into the restaurant drew everybody’s eyes. A belly dancer wearing a black veil stood at the front, slowly undulating her hips while swirling her hands in the air.
“Woohoo!” Billy called out while clapping. Others in the restaurant were enjoying the entertainment, but none cheered like Billy. Patrick was agitated, desperate to hear what was written in the note left by Dmitri.
The belly dancer worked her way down the center of the restaurant. Soon, she was between the table of Americans and the table of Russians. Billy no longer yelled. Instead, he watched in silence, as if hypnotized by the veiled woman’s secrets. With her back to them, she approached the table of Russians. Her hips shook faster now.
The bald man turned slightly at his table to enjoy the entertainment as the belly dancer drew closer to him. Daniel caught him reach into his pocket for something. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he might have passed something to her.
Probably money, Daniel guessed.
Just as he noticed the brunette watching on with a bored scowl, Edwards jabbed Daniel in the ribs and began yelling into his ear, the only way to communicate with the loud music. Daniel felt Edwards press something into his hand under the table. It was a metal key.
“The key to Dmitri’s apartment,” Edwards explained. “Use it for a thorough search.”
Daniel gave Edwards a look as if to say, “Where did you get this?”
“From the morgue, but Fitzpatrick would throw a fit. Protocol, and all,” Edwards responded. Daniel gave a nod of understanding.
Most people in the restaurant impatiently waited for the belly dancer’s interruption to end.
But first, she came to the table of Americans. All but Billy looked away in embarrassment. Billy rose, clapping his hands, and approached her to dance along. Her hips now moved so rapidly, they appeared to be vibrating.
“Didn’t he just start drinking?” Rex yelled to Daniel.
The belly dancer didn’t allow Billy close, and she slinked out of reach. Her gyrations slowed as she went farther away, and finally out of the restaurant. When she was gone, the music faded, and the lights slowly came up.
Daniel looked over to the Russians and thought he noticed the bald man looking away after giving him an icy glare. Daniel guessed tattoos would have revealed he and his entourage were part of the Russian mafia. Daniel noticed that the brunette was gone. She must have left during Billy’s attempted co-belly dancing.
“What was in the note?” Patrick hissed, leaning forward across the table towards Edwards.
Billy slumped back down into his seat, disappointed.
“I quote: ‘I learned how to beat the French Defense,’” Edwards answered. “Whatever that means. If you ask me, anybody can beat the defenses of France.”
“My God,” Patrick said as he unsteadily placed his beer on the table, hardly managing to prevent it from spilling. “He learned the identity of the Wolf. The French Defense is from chess, and it was a code we set up. I had been pushing him, more than anything else, to obtain the identification of Russian agents. That was the hardest and riskiest. He passed mountains of other excellent intelligence, and yet I continued to push for the identities of Soviet spies. He finally uncovered the identity of the Wolf.”
Patrick rose to leave and said they would talk later. Billy followed after finishing the last sip of his beer, stumbling slightly on his way out.
Once they were gone, Edwards took Billy’s seat so that he sat across from Daniel and Rex.
“Who the hell is the Wolf, anyway?” Rex asked impatiently.
“The Wolf was what all intelligence services fear most,” Edwards explained to Daniel and Rex.
“The office had been plagued by a leak for years,” Edwards continued. “A mole. But the mole never gave away information specific enough to nail down his identity. Or, at least, the Soviets never took action on enough specific information. We always feared it was somebody high up because they had enough flexibility and discretion to get varied and high-level intelligence.”
“And you’re here to catch a mole, aren’t you?” Daniel asked. “And that’s the Wolf.”
“Over the years, we have had three people who could identify the Wolf,” Edwards said. “The problem is, they all ended up dead before they could tell us anything. That told us that the Wolf had to be high up. If they knew somebody was about to defect, they could make sure the KGB got rid of them before they did so. The last one was found dead in an unused subway station in Berlin, days before the Wall came down. If he had waited a few days, he could’ve walked right into our embassy and told us who the Wolf was.”
Both Daniel and Rex shook their heads in disbelief.
What a difference a few days could’ve made? Daniel thought to himself.
“But there’s no way anybody could have known the Wall was going to come down, could they?” Edwards continued. “After it was clear to us that the Soviet Union was falling apart, we realized we had to make sure that this collapsing behemoth didn’t cause even worse problems throughout the world. We stopped focusing on the Wolf and intelligence operations against the Russians. We had to prevent their top scientists from becoming mercenaries. The Soviet Union surely had weapons all over the world that had to be secured. If the Soviet Union completely collapsed, would there be millions upon millions of people starving to death, willing to do anything to eat?”
Daniel didn’t say anything, but he wondered about the failure to secure weapons, having recovered a lost Soviet nuke just months before. The remaining Russians at the nearby table were getting up to leave. Daniel watched the confident gait of the bald man leaving while he listened to Edwards continue the tale.
“I thought we were going to get the Wolf after the Cold War ended,” Edwards said. “A lot of very powerful people from the former Soviet Union were going to need our help. I met with Krushkov, who wound up being the last head of
the KGB. I told him the Cold War was over. We would even let the Wolf go if they would only tell us his identity. And, of course, we would continue to help Russia survive, hoping to prevent all the previously mentioned problems that we both agreed would be catastrophic for the world.”
“But that didn’t work out?” Daniel asked.
“Krushkov called my bluff,” Edwards said. “He agreed that the Cold War was over, but for him, it was really just a setback. Of course, Krushkov was a hardliner, and he later led the coup against Gorbachev that failed.”
“And after that?” Daniel asked.
“I tried the same thing with the new KGB, which they so cleverly named the FSB,” Edwards said. “Eventually, Putin became director of the FSB. I told him the same thing I told Krushkov. Russia was going to have some serious cleanup to do, and the US would help, but we wanted to know the Wolf’s identity.”
“And apparently, that didn’t work,” Daniel said.
“Not in the least,” Edwards said. “Those Russians knew I was bluffing. They always seemed one step ahead, making the most out of everything, even if the world seemed to be falling apart around them. They were not going to give up the Wolf’s identity. Of course, we always feared that the Wolf would uncover Agent Bishop, but it seems like he may not have until recently. Heck, not even I knew who Agent Bishop was until today. It seems that Agent Bishop disappeared years ago for entirely different reasons. And just when he claims to know the Wolf’s identity, he dies? Surely Dmitri didn’t take the Wolf’s identity with him to the grave. He survived in the game too long to do that.”
“And you think I might find something in Dmitri’s apartment in Shahrisabz while his widow is up here tomorrow?” Daniel asked, referring to the key.
“I hope so,” Edwards said. “Anything that can point me towards one of my three suspects.”
“Who are…?” Daniel asked.
Edwards looked down at the table they sat at.
Patrick and Billy, Daniel thought to himself while giving a slight nod of understanding.
“And the ambassador,” Edwards whispered.
Fitzpatrick, Daniel thought. Damn. They all had long-standing careers dating back to Moscow and the Cold War.
“Daniel can fill in my gaps of understanding,” Rex said, “but we’ve got to pay somebody a visit tonight.”
“Certainly,” Edwards responded.
“I’ll let you know if we find anything tomorrow,” Daniel told Edwards.
Daniel and Rex left Edwards alone in the restaurant as they went to make a courtesy call to a tea house elsewhere in Tashkent.
“You sure this is a good idea?” Rex asked Daniel as they got out of the taxi near the tea house. It was still before midnight. “She gave you a stiff warning last time you saw her here.”
“I need all the help I can get,” Daniel answered, not mentioning he wasn’t sure this was a horrible idea. Part of Daniel wondered if he wanted to see her again to prove to himself he no longer loved her. That was, if she was still alive. Maybe the Russian mob had chewed her up and spit her out, but Daniel suspected she was too cunning for that.
Daniel and Rex entered the teahouse and passed two stocky men with bulges in their jackets. Guns. They headed towards the back room and its beaded door as they glanced at the patrons eating local meat shish-ka-bobs, shashlik, and drinking tea.
Two more men with bulges in their jackets moved in front of the beaded door as Daniel and Rex approached. They didn’t say anything. Their body language said enough. You had to be somebody to get into that room, and they were nobody.
“Hey buddy, we just want to party,” Rex said, acting like he was just another Westerner looking for a little bit more oq choi, tea mixed with vodka. But the two men didn’t flinch. Others were drawing closer.
Daniel took a business-like approach.
“Tell Nigora that a good friend of her brother, Oybek, is here,” Daniel said in fluent Uzbek to the man in front of him. The man looked at Daniel from head to toe. He tried to stare Daniel down, but Daniel didn’t budge.
After what felt like a long silence, the man turned and went back into the room through the beaded door. Daniel and Rex exchanged a relieved look. The man returned moments later and allowed Daniel and Rex to enter.
The room was full of acrid cigarette smoke, and two younger men, about twenty, sat at the table. Directly across from Daniel sat Nigora, the woman who had almost outsmarted Daniel in Afghanistan, and had definitely outsmarted one of the most dangerous Taliban terrorists. Her hair and dress were as for a formal occasion. Her hair was pinned up with pearl accents that matched her dress. Beside her sat an Uzbek man who, Daniel guessed, was her husband. Daniel wondered if she had used her one million dollars from Afghanistan plus her marriage to cement her place in the game for power in the former Soviet Union. But did her husband know that Nigora’s cunning and wits were her most valuable assets?
Daniel extended his greetings to each person sitting around the table in turn, continuing his perfect Uzbek. Rex stood back to keep an eye on the bodyguards in the room. Once the greetings were finished, Nigora’s husband continued studying paperwork before him, ignoring the conversation in the room. Daniel wondered how much his massive gold watch cost, and how he had obtained it.
“I told you what would happen if you interfered in my business,” Nigora said. She wore a smile, but her words were full of hatred.
“I am not here to interfere,” Daniel responded.
“I can’t imagine any other reason that you would be here.”
Daniel hesitated a few moments as he recalled his history with her. He had lived with her family in Northern Afghanistan while he conducted linguistic research. Her brother had been his best friend before the Taliban killed him. Her father had been like a father to him, and Daniel had visited him in his last days. Her father gave up his life to kill several Taliban and saved Rex’s life. Daniel wanted to plead with her and remind her of her gentle and kind father. He wanted to remind her of all the fun they had had with her brother, Oybek. He wanted to go back to the way she was.
“I think we can help each other,” Daniel said.
“If you tried to help, you would be interfering,” Nigora replied.
“You might not realize it,” Daniel continued, “but you owe a lot to me.”
“It’s because of you that my family is dead,” Nigora said. Her smile had disappeared.
“Do you remember when you left Afghanistan?” Daniel asked.
Nigora sat silently.
“As you drove north,” Daniel explained, “to eventually come here, an American jet flew overhead. Your car was in its bombsight.”
“And you told them not to bomb me?” Nigora guessed.
“You’re welcome,” Daniel said. “I felt a duty to your father and your brother to let you live. But more than that, I know that you are a victim of the war and the Taliban.”
“I’m nobody’s victim,” Nigora asserted. “Look around. I have everything I want.”
Of course, Daniel thought to himself, you’ve lost your father, brother, your conscience, and your soul. But what is that to somebody who’s been ruined by war?
“I need to ask a favor of you,” Daniel said.
“What makes you think I would extend a favor?” Nigora asked.
“I assure you that it would be in your best interest to help me,” Daniel answered. “Rex and I have power now, and we can use that to help you in a tight spot. But, for now, I just want to know something small and insignificant.”
“And what would you like to know?” Nigora asked.
“A man was murdered the other day,” Daniel said. “I want to know who did it.”
“That is no small piece of information,” Nigora warned. “It’s not my normal line of business. Besides, the police here are most excellent at finding murderers.”
“I wouldn’t ask unless the circumstances were unique,” Daniel assured her. “If you find anything, let me know.”
“If I l
earn anything,” Nigora said, and then paused before continuing, “and if the price is right, I might tell you.”
“His name was Dmitri Petrov,” Daniel said. “He was over seventy years old. He was stabbed and then blown up in the bomb blast I’m sure you’ve heard about.”
Nigora shrugged as if she didn’t care and then stated, “Your interference is over now.”
“And don’t you interfere with me,” Daniel warned with a calm voice. “I’m fighting the War on Terror for the United States, and if you interfere with me, you make yourself an enemy of the US.”
“Go well,” Nigora said, ignoring Daniel’s threat. Her husband also looked up and muttered a farewell wish.
Daniel and Rex turned to leave, and they walked warily out of the back room. Daniel wondered to himself if he truly was fighting the War on Terror, or if he was hunting for the Wolf.
It seems, Daniel thought to himself, that Dmitri connects the two.
As they exited the tea house, a woman brushed past them, heading towards the beaded door in the rear. The men with bulges in their jackets didn’t hinder her.
“Hey, wasn’t she…?” Rex whispered to Daniel after they were outside.
“She looked exactly like the woman at the Intercontinental Hotel with the Russians,” Daniel agreed.
“But this woman was blond, not brunette,” Rex said.
“You noticed?” Daniel asked. “I won’t tell Jenny.”
“Ha-ha,” Rex joked as they waited for a ride to their hotel.
8
“Yes, that’s him,” Dmitri’s widow, Zuhro, said before her knees went limp and she nearly collapsed.
“I’m sorry you have to see him like this,” Detective Jahongir Barakatulla told her. He replaced the sheet over Dmitri’s partially charred and mangled corpse.
“Who would do such a thing?” she said in shock.
Daniel and Patrick Riley were also at the morgue the next morning for the identification. Rex was waiting in the car in the parking lot.