“I’ve tried to block the worst of his programs, but there are limits to what I can accomplish.”
The Russian frowned and took another swallow of vodka before capping the flask and slipping it back into his hunting vest.
“I cannot sit by idly while this man dismantles what I’ve built. I understand the direction this is going. I can already see he’s agitating to bring in foreign groups to compete for the new contracts that are coming due next year. That will mean even larger bribes, and there are no guarantees. That’s unacceptable.”
“I know. But what can be done? The man has his own agenda.”
“Now that he’s rich,” Kazamov spat. “From money I, and others like me, paid him. He was all in favor of our patronage when he needed us. But of late, he’s shown his true colors.” The Russian paused. “As to what can be done, there are ways to eliminate those who oppose us. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Nabiyev scowled. “I can’t be involved in anything like that. You shouldn’t even be speaking of it. It’s treason and would be punished by death.”
Kazamov looked around and spread his arms expansively to take in the surrounding mountains, the snowcapped peaks thrusting into the heavens like broken teeth. “There’s nobody out here to hear us, my friend. Not even the damned goats are listening. We can speak freely. The man has to go.”
Nabiyev sighed and chose his words carefully. “You sound like you’ve given this some thought.”
Kazamov nodded. “I have. You have nothing to fear. We will hunt this week, you will enjoy my hospitality, and by the time your stay is over, everything will be resolved.”
Nabiyev’s eyes widened. “You’re actually serious…”
The Russian nodded. “Have you ever known me not to be? This is my livelihood he’s threatening, as well as the income stream for powerful interests in Moscow. They have exerted their power and set a plan in motion. It is a foolish man who confronts the immovable object, believing himself to be capable of besting it. He could have continued to have it all, but now will receive a death sentence as his reward.” Kazamov ran his fingers over his face and winced at the lingering pain from the night’s overindulgence. “Which brings us to you, my friend. You will assume an important position on the world stage. I trust you’ll remember who put you there, and won’t make the same mistakes as Hovel.”
The warning was as clear as a cobra’s hiss, and Nabiyev nodded, the color draining from his face as he considered the Russian’s tone. He extended a trembling hand to Kazamov. “I think I need a little more of that damned potion you drink like water.”
Kazamov laughed and felt for the flask. “You’ll be a better man for it. Drink as much as you want, and then we’ll track down one of these infernal goats for my wall. It’s been two seasons since I bagged one.” He smiled and handed Nabiyev the vodka. “You were with me on that trip, were you not?”
“I remember it well. You arranged for twins,” Nabiyev confirmed.
“Ah, of course. How can I forget? The gymnasts. As I recall, they kept you enthralled for several days. I think you lost several pounds during your stay.”
“You are a corrupting influence, Ygor. I’m ordinarily a virtuous man.”
Both men laughed at the joke. Nabiyev was a profligate womanizer, a sadist whose tastes ran to the bizarre and the vicious. His career had been spent abusing his power to satiate his appetites, and Kazamov had been more than willing to supply him whatever he wanted. It was a relationship that worked well – a reciprocal transaction where each received what he wanted, and both understood where the power resided. Nabiyev continued to occupy the number two position in government, and Kazamov’s oil empire prospered.
The Russian started at movement on one of the nearby peaks and pointed at it as he raised binoculars to his eyes. Nabiyev did the same, and they watched as a splendid example of their quarry climbed a nearly impossible ledge and disappeared over the ridge.
“Damn. We need to keep our voices down,” Kazamov growled. “We spooked him.”
“It wasn’t his time.”
“Very philosophical, but I want another ram for my lodge wall, and I’ll get one this trip if it kills me.”
Nabiyev took in his hunting partner’s red face and the heavy bags beneath his eyes, and held his tongue. Kazamov’s revelations about killing the president had shaken him – not because of the death of a man he despised, but rather at the thought of his sudden ascension to the throne. If the president died, the prime minister automatically became the nation’s leader and, in the case of an assassination, might declare martial law and suspend elections until the guilty party was brought to justice.
Nabiyev could see that taking years.
During which time his own fortunes would grow due to his new position of power. While not poor by any stretch, his Swiss bank account could benefit from another ten or twenty million dollars, and as the decision maker on the awarding of lucrative contracts, he would be eagerly courted, paid off by Kazamov and others so they could continue pillaging the nation for their own enrichment.
“Well, then,” Nabiyev said, “we’d best continue. The damned goats aren’t going to come to us, that’s for sure.”
“No, they won’t. Lead the way, my friend.”
Nabiyev rose unsteadily, dizzy from the altitude and alcohol, and set out up the narrow trail, more than aware that the Russian was behind him with a high-power hunting rifle, and glad that he was useful to the man, lest he follow in his glorious leader’s footsteps to the grave.
Chapter 25
Baku, Azerbaijan
The flight from Frankfurt banked on final approach and Jet checked her seatbelt. A flight attendant roamed the aisle, confirming that everyone was belted in, pushing seatbacks up and tapping on the tray tables of the inattentive before continuing along.
Jet’s new passport identified her as a Russian, twenty-seven, named Katya Vilzak, born in St. Petersburg. The document was flawless, complete with several dated stamps from EU countries since it had supposedly been issued three years before. The level of detail was reassuring to Jet after her experience with the amateurs in Serbia, and she sat back and closed her eyes, recalling her last hours with Matt and Hannah as the plane dropped from the sky toward Heydar Aliyev International Airport.
They’d had a quiet dinner at a neighborhood restaurant, and Jet had filled Matt in on what she’d been ordered to do when Hannah nodded off after dessert. He had more than a few reservations, as did she, but neither of them could see any other way to ensure the safety of the family.
The parting, when Jet had tucked her daughter into bed, had been tearful for Hannah, who’d been on an emotional roller coaster for too long, and she’d still been sobbing when she’d fallen asleep. Jet had spent her remaining time with Matt, choosing to forego rest for most of the night in favor of lovemaking. When the car had shown up for her at dawn, she’d gotten only a few hours of sleep, but would try to slumber on the flights, first to Germany and then, after a three-hour layover, to Azerbaijan.
The flaps whined as they neared the airport and the plane shook. The landing gear dropped into place with a clunk, and then the aircraft was bumping onto the runway and braking hard. The afternoon sky was beige from dust and pollution belching from lines of smokestacks near the Caspian Sea.
The futuristic terminal was a collage of glass and steel with a vaguely Eastern motif, with only a few planes at the gates. Jet filed off the plane and followed the rest of the passengers through immigration, where her passport was swiped and processed without a second glance by a pasty-faced clerk with a mustard stain on his uniform jacket. After clearing that hurdle, she waited in line to retrieve her bag from a carousel that groaned like a tired bear, and then submitted to a cursory search by customs.
She exited the arrivals area and found herself facing an expectant crowd pressed against barricades manned by three armed soldiers. Jet scanned the sea of humanity and spotted a sign with a travel company’s name written in black
felt pen, held by a tall woman in her thirties with auburn hair and a stern countenance.
Jet approached her and nodded a greeting. “ITV travel, right?” she asked.
“That’s right. Are you in from the Rome flight?” the woman responded.
“I don’t think that one’s arrived yet,” Jet answered, completing the verification sequence.
“That’s it?” the woman asked, tilting her head toward Jet’s checked bag. Jet nodded and then accompanied the woman out into the large lot to a decade-old black E-series Mercedes sedan. Jet placed her bag in the trunk and climbed into the passenger seat, and the woman twisted the ignition key and turned to her.
“I’m Leah. I’ll be your handler while you’re in Baku.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“We’ve got a safe house on the outskirts of town. Itai, our station chief, is waiting there. When we arrive, we’ll explain the logistics of your mission.”
“I’m surprised Baku has a station.”
Leah gave her a grim smile. “It’s a strategic area for us, but as you’ll see from the resources he’s been given, not all that important in the scheme of things.”
“Are you permanent?” Jet asked.
“No. I’m like you, just here for the op.”
They drove in silence, Jet taking in the dramatic difference between the Soviet-era architecture and the post-modern structures erected since Azerbaijan obtained its independence. Much of downtown was the latter, all shining panes and glittering steel, but as they ventured from the area, the buildings became heavy-handed drab gray monoliths with all the charm of a canker sore. Likewise, the people seemed to grow increasingly colorless and dull as they drove from the prosperity of the central district. The cars were now rusting and dented, and piles of refuse clogged the gutters.
Leah turned onto a residential street framed by a long row of identical square cinderblock and mortar homes. Corroding rebar jutted from their roofs, and an occasional dog roved the front yards in search of food among children who were amusing themselves by tormenting the hapless beasts. Halfway down the block, Leah pulled the Mercedes into a driveway and switched off the engine.
“Here we are. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s got everything,” she said, and popped the trunk as she slid from behind the wheel.
A man in a green sweater and brown corduroy trousers greeted them at the front door, his tanned face deeply lined but his eyes alert and keen. Jet made him for well over fifty, which was ancient nowadays even for a field supervisor, and wondered what he’d done to drive his career into a ditch where he ran out the clock in an armpit like Azerbaijan.
“Greetings. Come in. I’ll show you your room,” he said in Russian, and Jet responded in kind.
“Thank you. Appreciate the hospitality.”
He smiled and switched to Hebrew when the door closed behind Leah. “Your accent is flawless.”
“Thanks.”
The room was a ten-by-ten square with a bathroom down the hall, bars on the window, and a ceiling fan for ventilation. Jet stowed her bag and turned to face Itai. “I’m anxious to hear the details of the mission.”
“I expect you are. Join me in the living room, and I’ll fill you in.”
Jet had been given a tablet with reams of material on Azerbaijan, so was up to speed on the geopolitical situation and the various factions struggling to dominate the upcoming election. She told Itai as much, and he nodded in approval as he sat with Leah on a sofa facing Jet, who’d taken a seat opposite on an upholstered chair.
“First, let’s get some background out of the way,” he started. “The trade show and conference start tomorrow, but the target isn’t scheduled to deliver his address until the following evening at the close of the show. Leah will be in the field with you as your handler at the convention center. You’ll each have latest generation comm gear that’s virtually undetectable – micro earbuds with high frequency transmitters on private, matched channels. We’ve got sources inside security that have given us their protocols, and we know the number of guards, the placement of the camera systems, and the scanning gear they’ll be using at the entrances.” He continued for five minutes and, when he was done, eyed Jet. “Questions?”
“I want to look the place over,” Jet said.
Leah shook her head. “That’s not on the menu. We don’t want you anywhere near it until it’s game time.”
“Why not?”
“In case they’re using facial recognition software.”
“I thought you said you had their protocols,” Jet fired back. “They either are or they aren’t.”
Leah looked to Itai. “We consider it a possibility.”
Jet frowned. “I don’t walk into a live situation blind. Ever.”
“You won’t be blind. We’ve got photos and a blueprint of the layout,” Itai said.
“It’s not the same as walking the scene, and we both know that,” Jet countered.
“The decision was made at a higher pay grade than ours. They probably know something we don’t,” Leah said. “At any rate, it’s been decided.”
“I wasn’t informed, or I’d never have agreed to it.”
“Take it up with your boss. I’m just following orders,” Leah snapped.
Itai cleared his throat loudly. “Ladies, let’s stick to the script, shall we? Leah, take Katya here through the steps so she understands how this will play out. Katya, save the objections until Leah’s through.”
Leah did as requested and, after thirty minutes of detailed minutiae, finished her briefing. Jet had a number of questions, which she answered without hesitation, and Jet grudgingly admitted to herself that it was a thorough and well-conceived plan.
“It pencils out, at least on paper,” Jet said. “But I still want to snoop around and orient myself.”
“We’ve already noted that, and I’ll pass it up the chain for a response,” Itai said.
Jet clearly wasn’t satisfied with the answer, which sounded to her like a dodge, but she didn’t fight it, preferring to let them think that she was fully on board. Itai fielded a few technical questions, and when it was obvious that he’d exhausted his knowledge of the convention center, he rose and walked with Jet to the door. He handed her a card with a shoe repair shop logo and a phone number on it. “If you have any questions Leah can’t answer, you can call that number and the message will reach me. Ask for Krell, and say you have a delivery request.”
She committed the number to memory and returned it to him. “I don’t need the card.”
He blinked in surprise and then nodded. “Interesting. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I just want to do the job and leave. The rest, you can deal with.”
“Hopefully it will go smoothly.”
Jet didn’t respond. Hope had no place in a wet op, and so far her handler’s reluctance to allow her to visit the site had her doubting the setup, but she’d been told to stand down and saw nothing to be gained by arguing.
Itai opened the door and stepped out into the fading light. “If I don’t see you again, break a leg.”
Jet nodded without enthusiasm. “Will do.”
Jet twisted the lock shut after Itai, and Leah called to her. “I’ll be staying here with you. Let me know when you get hungry. There’s food in the fridge, or I can go out for something.”
Jet retraced her steps to the living room. “Is there Internet?”
“Sure. Although be careful what you search. The state monitors everything.”
Jet smirked. “Not just the Americans, huh?”
“Everyone’s spying on everyone else. The administration’s learned well. It would have made the Soviets dizzy with eavesdropping possibility if there’d been a Web in the ’80s.”
“Whole different world now.”
Leah studied Jet and nodded slowly. “Indeed. I’ll find the code for the Wi-Fi and knock on your door if you want to rest in the meantime.”
“That’s fine. I’ll unpack.”
>
Leah pensively watched Jet make her way down the hall to her room, the assassin unreadable but radiating the self-possession of a seasoned pro. When Jet disappeared into her room, Leah fished a cell phone from her pocket and placed a call to a number in Israel and muttered in Hebrew.
“Ball’s in the air.”
There was a pause with nothing but the background hum of static on the long-distance line. Eventually a man replied before hanging up.
“Good. Keep me informed.”
Chapter 26
The row house was dark at eleven p.m., as were most of the rest in the working-class neighborhood at that hour. A figure dressed head to toe in black darted from behind a shade tree in the tiny front yard and sprinted down the sidewalk toward an intersection where cars still drove by. When the figure reached the corner, it hooked right and slowed, and the blur of dark motion solidified into a woman wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt.
Jet had decided before dinner that she was going to nose around the convention center no matter what her handler preferred – it wasn’t Leah’s life on the line, and Jet probably had more operational experience than the older woman, having packed three lifetimes’ worth in her relatively few years of active duty. So she’d waited until Leah had retired, slipped from the house with a wad of the local currency the Mossad had been thoughtful enough to provide, and made a beeline for freedom.
Now, the challenge was to find her way to the convention center without getting mugged or picked up and questioned by the police. She didn’t expect the latter; but given the neighborhood, had her doubts about the former.
The lights of a small market glowed on the far corner, and she set off toward it, waiting until there were no cars before running across the six lanes. At the store, she waited in front until she spotted a taxi approaching and waved it down. The driver appeared surprised to find a fare in that district, much less an attractive female with an impressive physique, and spent most of the drive ogling her in the rearview mirror.
JET - Forsaken Page 14