Crossfire (Kirk McGarvey 3)

by Hagberg, David

  "I'll come back," he said.

  "when does the city of Tallahassee dock in Bushehr?" the President asked. "Do we still have time to divert her?"

  The events of the past twelve hours were stunning enough, CIA Director Roland Murphy thought, but with the addition of Arkady Kurshin the situation was developing into a full-scale disaster.

  Murphy was meeting with the President, his National Security Adviser Thomas Emerson Haines, and Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Maurice Stans in the Oval Office.

  "She arrives in port within the next two hours," Murphy said. "But since she entered the Persian Gulf she's been under the protection of the Iranian navy. I don't think we'd do anything but exacerbate the situation by trying to divert her."

  "Besides, Mr. President, we don't have the resources in the

  area," Admiral Stans said. He was a heavy-jowled man with a bulldog face and ramrod-straight appearance. "The nearest ship that could do the job is twelve hours to the south."

  "How about a naval air strike? We could put a couple of jet fighters over the ship within two hours, and order her to stand off, couldn't we?" the President asked.

  'Tes, we could do that, sir. But think of the consequences," Haines said.

  The President turned to him coolly. 'Tes, I've thought about the consequences, Tom. But have you thought about what will happen if that gold shipment is hijacked? The entire region will swing violently anti-West. We can't afford that now."

  "I don't believe it will happen at sea," the admiral said. "Our sources show no hostile vessels within striking distance. The gold will reach Bushehr, all right."

  "And once on Iranian soil it's their problem," Haines said. "We will have held up our end of the bargain by delivering it to the port of their choice via the mode of transportation of their choice. What more can we be expected to do?"

  The President turned back to Murphy. "General?"

  "I'm afraid it's not going to be that simple, Mr. President," the DCI said heavily.

  "Give me the bottom line."

  "Arkady Kurshin. We have reason to believe that he is in Iran."

  "Do I know the name?"

  "You may recall, Mr. President, that Kurshin was the Russian who hijacked one of our nuclear submarines and nearly succeeded in firing a missile on that target in Israel."

  "Two years ago," the President said, recalling the incident. "He was killed."

  "We never found his body. It's possible he's back in action, this time working for General Vasili Didenko, the head of the KGB's Department Eight. The dirty tricks people."

  "Baranov's old gang."

  "Some of them, yes, sir."

  "Go on," the President said grimly.

  "Our chief of station in Tehran is missing. He was supposed to bird-dog the shipment overland from Bushehr to Tehran. There have been rumors that an army faction might try to snatch it. Dick was to have blown the whistle."

  "Still don't see that it's our problem—" Haines began, but Murphy interrupted him.

  "Our number two man in Tehran was found shot to death in Dick Abbas's apartment. On his body was found a pistol and a handie-talkie set to one of our satellite frequencies."

  Haines groaned out loud. "Christ. SAVAK has got hold of this? They know that we're active out there with such communications equipment?"

  "Let the general finish with what he was saying, Tom," the President said.

  "To answer your question, Tom, yes, they do know. Which is the crux of the matter. If something were to happen to the gold between Bushehr and Tehran, the United States could be blamed. We'd be in a tough spot."

  "They'd be easily convinced," the President said thoughtfully.

  "You say this Russian may be behind it?" Haines asked.

  "We think it's possible," Murphy replied.

  "We're talking more than a hundred tons of gold, General. That's a big load for one man to cart off." Haines turned to the President. "We know for a fact that the Soviet's Air Force—South Commander Yevgenni Zirkovsky is a moderate. One of Gorbachev's handpicked people. He'd have to be in on such an operation."

  "Assuming such a strike would involve airborne units," the President said.

  "There'd be no time to haul it overland across the Soviet border," Murphy pointed out. "Not without giving themselves away. No, they'll come by air, in aircraft with U.S. markings."

  "Zirkovsky would never go along with such a risky scheme," Haines argued.

  "Didenko has his own air force. Did you know that?" Murphy asked.

  There was a stunned silence.

  "KGB border guard units for the most part. He's been skimming the force for the past year or so. He could pull it off."

  "Has there been any evidence that this 'air force' of his has been moved into place?" Haines asked skeptically. "He can't launch such an operation from Moscow."

  "Azerbaidzhan," Murphy said quietly.

  "Gorbachev's got his hands full there," the President said, understanding exactly what Murphy was getting at. "This time

  he sent in the KGB to quiet things along the border. Including what are supposed to be surveillance aircraft."

  "Exactly," Murphy said.

  "But why take such a risk?" the President asked. "If they failed, the backlash would be horrendous. It could undo everything Gorbachev has tried to do. He'd lose all the way around."

  "It's the KGB," Murphy said. "It needs hard Western currencies in order to operate its foreign stations. It's as simple as that, and Didenko is the man for the job. He's sent Kurshin into Iran to set up the hijacking and blame it on us."

  "What about Abbas?" Haines asked.

  "His body will be proof that the United States was involved in the hijacking. We sent them the gold and now we're taking it back."

  "Then we must warn them," Haines said, but Murphy shook his head.

  "I don't think the Iranian government would believe us. It would just be one more nail in our coffin."

  "We still have resources in the country, don't we?" Haines asked.

  'Tes."

  "Contact them."

  "By handie-talkie?"

  "If there's no other way, yes. The Iranians, even if they have got one of the machines, won't monitor it every minute of the day, will they? Nor will they be able to monitor every single frequency."

  "I don't know. It would be a risk. The situation is explosive at the very least."

  "I agree," the President said. "What do you suggest?"

  "Fight fire with fire, Mr. President," the DCI said. "Send an assassin to stop an assassin. Kirk McGarvey is on his way to Iran now. He knows Kurshin better than anyone and he has a vendetta against the man."

  "God help us if he's caught by the Iranians," Haines said.

  "It doesn't appear as if we have any other choice," the President said. "But I agree with Tom: God help us."

  a dry, dusty wind raked Egypt's capital city of Cairo as the Alitalia Airbus from Rome touched down at Alamaza Airport west of the city. The aircraft taxied ponderously to the main terminal, the setting sun casting long shadows behind it down the apron. A lot of people lined the rail of the observation deck, all of them brown-skinned Arabs.

  A tall, exceedingly thin Egyptian waited on the far side of customs until McGarvey's passport was stamped and his single bag cleared, and then came over.

  "Kirk McGarvey, permit me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Anwar Jaziraf, and I am here to serve you in any way that I can."

  No one streaming past them, or in the crowds that filled the terminal, paid them the slightest attention. But there was no

  reason for the opposition to be here. For the moment, all eyes would be directed toward the east.

  "When does my flight for Tehran leave?" McGarvey asked.

  "In less than three hours, so you can see that we must shake a major leg to have the time to properly brief you," Jaziraf said. "So you will please come with me."

  He turned and headed off in a long, loping stride. McGarvey fell in behind him.


  "I'll need papers."

  "It is being taken care of even as we speak. You will be a Frenchman, naturally. They are expecting you."

  "Where are we going now?"

  "We have secured an apartment very near this airport. It was felt that no time should be wasted in transportation. At times Cairo's traffic can be impossible. At all times, that is," he added, smiling broadly at his own little joke.

  "The apartment is safe?"

  "Oh, yes, very safe indeed. For tonight."

  Jaziraf s car was a noisy, battered, venerable Morris Minor that seemed on the verge of exploding, or at the very least falling apart in the middle of the highway. The Egyptian drove very fast and recklessly with one hand on the wheel, the other gesticulating out the open window at the sights of ancient Egypt that mingled with the slums of modern Cairo. The safe house was in a block of modern apartments directly across the highway from an Egyptian army barracks. As they pulled into the parking lot, a column of canvas-covered trucks, led by three Jeeps, roared out of the compound and headed at high speed into the city.

  "Oh, don't worry about that. It's only the Sadat Brigade. The army's emergency readiness team. Their colonel loves to show off, so they run their little exercises into the city at all hours of the day or night. They're not bad, actually, although in a real fight most of them would probably shoot their own foots ... feet."

  Inside, they took the elevator up to the sixteenth floor. As the door slid open Jaziraf motioned for McGarvey to hold back as he checked the corridor.

  "Clear," he said. McGarvey followed him to one of the apartments.

  Jaziraf was the deputy chief of Cairo station. It was felt that

  McGarvey should be isolated from the COS on the off chance that the station, or McGarvey, had been compromised. Jaziraf, who was very good, was, however, expendable. It was the law of the jungle.

  He knocked on the door to 1607 and it was opened almost instantly by a very large man with well-muscled arms, a thick neck, and a beet-red complexion.

  "Bob Wills," he said, introducing himself. "Langley." He and McGarvey shook hands. "Did you have any trouble getting here?"

  "I can't guarantee Lisbon, but I cleared Rome without a tail."

  "Good," Wills said. Jaziraf had gone to the window.

  "We're clean," the Egyptian said, turning back. "Anyone for a drink?"

  "Coffee," Wills said.

  "Cognac?" McGarvey asked.

  Wills chuckled. "You owe me five bucks," he told Jaziraf.

  "My drinking habits have preceded me," McGarvey said. He put down his bag and took off his jacket.

  "I peeked at your file on the way over. You've done some credible work. But this one is going to be a tough son of a bitch. Problem is, we didn't have enough time to put something together. I'm afraid you're going to have to play it by ear over there."

  "Did Phil Carrara send you?"

  "Actually, no," Wills said. "I work for Mike Oreck. Office of Economic Research."

  "Intelligence."

  "Right," Wills said. "We worked a co-op with Operations on the project. Tehran station was supposed to watch for bad guys, and blow the whistle if and when they showed up."

  "Has there been any further word on Abbas or Naisir?"

  Jaziraf came back with the coffee and cognac. "The number two is dead," he said. "Shot in the head."

  "We just learned that," Wills said. "His body was apparently found in Dick Abbas's apartment. By SAVAK."

  "Which means they'll be watching our front operation in Tehran like hawks."

  "Unfortunately, yes," Wills agreed. He led McGarvey over to a large table that was filled with maps, reports, files, and dozens

  of photographs, some of them from satellites and others ground-surveillance shots.

  He picked up one of a slightly built, dark-skinned man coming out of a Scotland Yard building. "Hussain Peshadi. Trained with the Brits in the late seventies. He's SAVAK's chief investigator in Tehran. A tough bastard. You're going to have to watch out for him. He's rabidly anti-West. Especially anti-American. And he's sharp as nails."

  McGarvey studied several other more recent photographs of Peshadi. "How does he get along with the Russians?"

  Wills shrugged. "Okay, I suppose. Just like most other Iranians. They're neighbors."

  "When does the gold arrive in Bushehr?"

  "Should be there within a few hours, if it's on schedule. It'll take them several hours to load it onto the convoy of trucks. We're assuming the group will leave immediately. I've got the maps for you showing their route. It's fairly straightforward stuff."

  "How about my contact in Tehran?"

  "Bijan Ghfari, the number three. He'll be watching for you. He'll arrange your transportation, communications equipment, and, of course, weapons. But it's essential that you get out of Tehran as quickly as possible. We'd like to salvage what we can of our operation."

  "What about my passport and other papers?"

  "They will be ready within the hour," Jaziraf said.

  "You mentioned my cover would be as a Frenchman?"

  "Anything wrong with that?" Wills asked.

  "Everything," McGarvey said. "SAVAK found a body in Abbas's apartment. It means they're watching Picarde. Which also means they're going to keep a watchful eye on any stray Frenchmen who show up just now."

  "You're right, dammit," Wills said.

  "I want Russian papers," McGarvey said.

  "Sir?" Jaziraf asked.

  "Internal and external passports, lots of visa stamps, lots of entry and exit marks. And I want a KGB identification booklet. Moscow office—" McGarvey had a thought. "Make that KGB out of Baku."

  "Why there?"

  "It's Azerbaidzhan."

  "So?"

  "If the Russians are planning on snatching the gold, it's the nearest border for them to run to."

  "Right, but so what? Why do you want to pose as a KGB officer from Baku?"

  "Kurshin is going to try to steal the gold and blame it on us," McGarvey said. "I think turnabout is fair play, don't you?"

  "What have you got in mind?"

  "Let's see that route map," McGarvey said.

  Wills dug a large map from the pile and spread it out on top of everything else. "We don't expect you to carry anything like this into Iran, of course. Ghfari will have everything you need."

  The convoy's route had been penciled in red. It went directly inland from Bushehr, not turning north until it reached the mountain city of Kazerun.

  "As you can see, they'll be in the mountains and high elevations for ninety-five percent of the distance," Wills said.

  "How far is it from Bushehr to Tehran?" McGarvey asked, studying the map.

  "Nearly five hundred miles as the crow flies. But almost twice that by the route the convoy will be taking."

  "A million places for an ambush to take place."

  "Exactly."

  "But not so many places for their transport planes to set down."

  "Or ours," Wills added.

  McGarvey looked up. "What are you talking about?"

  "We have a Delta Force strike team standing by in Turkey. If the Russians make a move, they will be inserted."

  "Not until I give the signal," McGarvey said.

  Wills just looked at him.

  "If you want me to go in there, I'll have to have your word on it."

  "I could tell you anything you wanted to hear ..." Wills faltered at the look on McGarvey's face.

  "I'd come looking for you afterward if you lied to me. I want your word that the Delta Force will not be called on scene unless or until I give the signal."

  Wills nodded after a moment. McGarvey was left with the

  impression that it had been too easy. That the man had been told to expect the demand and to meet it.

  "Exactly how much gold are we talking about here?" Mc-Garvey asked.

  "Four million ounces," Wills said. "One hundred twenty-five tons."

  "Three heavy transport aircraft,
maybe four, just for the gold. Another one or two for the assault troops. My guess is that Kurshin will set up the ambush spot as near a secluded landing area as possible, and then lay out a beacon or beacons for them to home in on. They'll be coming in at night. Low, to avoid radar detection, and because of the mountains their own onboard radar and navigation equipment will be practically useless."

  "They've got the planes," Wills said.

  "I'm surprised the Soviet air force is getting involved."

  "Not the air force," Wills said. "They'll be KGB aircraft, with American markings, of course."

  "Didenko," McGarvey said.

  "That's right."

  "It means Dick Abbas is still alive, then."

  "That's not very likely, is it?" Jaziraf said.

  "Yes, it is," McGarvey replied, looking up from the map. "The Russians will snatch the gold, and among the casualties, killed by the Iranians, will be Dick Abbas, chief of station for CIA activities in Iran. The proof SAVAK wants."

  "The Delta Force—" Wills started.

  "No," McGarvey said. "I intend to supply SAVAK with Kur-shin's body and Russian identification, along with at least one of their aircraft."

  mcgarvey, traveling under the name of Valeri Vasilevich Bayev, arrived in Iran a few minutes after midnight. His Russian passport had raised a few eyebrows on the Lufthansa flight, but he'd been treated no differently from any of the other passengers, many of whom were French or German.

  Coming into Mehrabad International Airport, he'd gotten a good look at the city. It was mostly in darkness, unlike the old days under the shah when Tehran had been an open, reasonably westernized capital with an active night life.

  Just inside the terminal, everyone holding a French passport was shunted into a separate line where their papers were carefully scrutinized by a team of a half-dozen grim-faced men in civilian clothes. It was an examination McGarvey figured he would not have passed.

  When it was his turn in the normal line, McGarvey handed over his passport to the Iranian official. The man looked up sharply when he realized what nationality McGarvey was.

  "Do you speak Russian?" McGarvey asked in Russian.