The Hand of The Prophet (Adventures of a spymaster Book 4)

by James Ward

  Inside the car, Roche and the men were going over their plan one last time. They had two small military-looking ABS cases to carry. One contained burglary tools, an electronic box of the type Steck had just seen and four fist sized plastique charges. The other was empty, except for the type of soft packing material normally used to protect sensitive electronic instruments for shipment. Each man carried a compact H&K assault rifle and a Beretta. Each man had pockets stuffed with extra clips for the weapons. Each man had a small arms protective vest.

  When Roche was satisfied that their presence had not aroused any suspicion, he and Urgabat got out while Gronakat drove the car clear of the entry gate and parked it along the west side of the building in a spot that would allow for a quick exit if necessary. By the time Gronakat rejoined the others, they had already gained access to the building and found to Roche’s amazement and delight that it was empty. There were no guards and apparently no secondary alarms to deal with.

  Roche led them to the elevator. At level B2 Urgabat jimmied the lock and the elevator kept going, stopping at B3. Roche felt better now that he saw Urgabat’s expertise in action.

  As the elevator door opened, Urgabat put out a hand to stop his companions. There was a group of photo cells casting laser beams across the short hallway leading to the vault. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke to show the beams more clearly. Digging in his case, he produced a small box and began pushing buttons in sequence. One by one, the laser beams disappeared.

  Stepping into the hallway, Roche spied a staircase that he had not noticed during his recent tour of the facility. He reckoned it was an emergency escape in case of power failure. He cursed himself for not calculating that one would logically be there. He motioned Gronakat to check it out, go to the top and wait on the ground floor by the elevator, keeping an eye out to cover them.

  Gronakat opened the door to the staircase, slipped inside using the small light strapped to his headband to illumine the stairs then gave a thumbs-up. He disappeared up the staircase.

  Urgabat had already gone to work on the final obstacle. There was a keypad beside the big vault door. In seconds, he had set his box, triggered the tone pattern and smiled as they both heard the click from the relay in the lock.

  Roche tried the handle. It moved easily and they were in!

  Outside, the guard had clicked his transmit button three times just as the three men entered the building. Gunny recognized the signal, clicked back twice then called Steck.

  “Somebody’s inside the building,” he said.

  Steck’s eyes widened. Turning to the others he asked, “You folks got a car?”

  “Yes, the American agents nodded,” looking puzzled.

  Raising the phone to his ear, Steck shouted “Go, Gunny, we’ll be right behind you!”

  The Canadians were already hustling to their room down the hall. By the time Steck had grabbed the Beretta and clips from his flight bag and hustled out to the elevator with the two Americans, the Canadians came running down the hallway, loading and locking their P226 SIGs.

  The elevator car indicator was still showing it to be at floor three. “Go down the stairs!” Steck shouted. The five agents hustled down eight flights of stairs, dashed out to the car and stuffed themselves in. Steck hated that he was the only one puffing short breaths.

  The ungainly bus had only traveled half way to the industrial estate by the time Steck and the others caught up. He figured they were about ten minutes away. “Pass them,” he ordered. The car sped around the bus and careened around a right turn accelerating down a boulevard that led straight to the site.

  Gunny raised Steck on the radio. “We will come in from the east side.”

  “Good. We’ll try to block the entrance gate,” Steck replied.

  “Negative,” squawked the sentry. They parked on the west side of the building.”

  The American agent driving nodded understanding to Steck. “Gunny, fan your men to the North and south sides of the building. Leave three guys on the east with the sentry. Take cover and watch out for cross-fire! Maybe we can drive them to the east and trap them there.”

  “Got it,” answered Gunny. He nodded to Brandt, who counted off the men and assigned them positions.

  Inside, Roche had just finished packing The Hand of Mohammed into the transit case. He signaled to Urgabat, who started for the elevator.

  Gronakat suddenly appeared in the doorway of the stairs. “Company coming!” he whispered, pointing up to the ground floor.

  Deciding not to wait for the elevator the three bounded up the stairs, bursting into the office area at the front of the building. Roche called “West door!” He pointed to the exit closest to their car. Gronakat burst through the west door and took up a defensive position. Urgabat edged toward the doorway. Roche went towards the front door, trying to get a look out the widows to the parking lot.

  Steck and the agents arrived, parking with their rear bumper snug against the government vehicle. Noting that it was an official vehicle, one of the American agents signaled Steck, who had taken up a position of cover behind it. “It’s the Turkmen military police,” he said in a stage-whisper.

  Steck didn’t trust that. “It could be stolen,” he replied. Spying a figure on one knee near the west door, the Canadian female raised her SIG. “I’ve got a clear shot,” she whispered.

  “He’s armored,” called her friend.

  “I see it,” she signaled by pointing to her eyes.

  “Take the shot,” whispered Steck.

  The SIG barked and the man went down immediately, blood gushing from his forehead.

  “Impressive, thought Steck as suddenly fire broke out from the downed man’s position and from the north door simultaneously. The two American agents skulked along the edge of the parking lot to get position on the north door. Steck signaled the driver to break off and return to the car. He circled back and lay on the ground near the cars. Steck and the Canadian girl stayed with the cars while the other Canadian headed toward the south door.

  On the east side of the building were the loading doors. Urgabat saw that his companion was down. He fired twice toward the cars then hustled to the east side of the warehouse. He ran south to north pushing the electric openers of all the loading doors. The sentry on the east side panicked and began firing at the imaginary army that lay behind those doors. For effect, Urgabat set the charges from his kit, one at the south door and three at the loading doors. Roche saw it and they signaled. The bomb at the south door would provide cover for a run to the car.

  Steck kept looking up the boulevard wondering where the bus was. It should be here by now, he thought as he saw the girl leave cover and race toward the west door. She dove behind a trash container about half way to the building. Shots were coming from the east and the north areas. Then two shots came from the south. Steck saw the Canadian guy fall into the light cast by a parking lot lamp post.

  Steck figured there could be as many as half-a-dozen enemy inside the building, certainly no more men than could fit in the car he was using for cover. He had no way of knowing that it was just two, running from place to place setting up fire as deception.

  Two shots rang out from the north doorway. There was no answering shot from the American agent. Steck feared the worst. He moved toward the man’s position, keeping low. Automatic gunfire emanated from the whole east side of the building, but Steck could not tell whether it was his own guys.

  A big explosion ripped off a piece of the east side of the building. Another explosion came from the south end then two more at the east side.

  Suddenly a figure came running from the south side, down range of the girl. Steck tried to get a bead on him but was blocked by the cars. Two shots pinged to his right, coming from the north area. He hunkered down waiting for the chance to get the girl’s attention. Her weapon and her gaze were fixed on the guy she had shot, waiting for the next one to try that doorway. The enemy that had come from the south side was now at the cars. Steck was aware o
f the agent that had stayed with the cars, but he could not let the enemy get either vehicle. He aimed for the gas tank of the government car and pulled off two shots.

  The bus pulled in. As the men hustled out, automatic fire came from the north corner pinning them down momentarily.

  Simultaneously, the car burst into flames. Out of the far side of the fireball the Americans’ car sped up the street, turned right and then right again.

  A figure came running out of the north door carrying a case of some sort. He ran towards the east side of the building in an effort to meet the speeding car. He went down in a hail of bullets fired from and all around the bus. Two shots thudded into the car as it sped out onto the entrance road and took off down the boulevard.

  Steck made his way to the south side of the burning car. The American agent lay bleeding at the curb. “I’m okay,” he said, “just a shoulder wound. The bugger got me with a knife. I’m sorry I lost the car.”

  After several minutes with no activity, Brandt and three men entered the building. They quickly returned signaling it was clear. In the distance sirens could be heard. Steck figured it would be the fire brigade and a lot of local police.

  “Get our wounded. Everybody into the bus,” He barked. Spying Grundstrom standing over the guy who had run with the case, he shouted, “Hey Gunny is he alive?”

  “Affirmative, Gunny replied.”

  “Get the case and the guy into the bus,” Steck shouted back to him. “I need two guys over here,” Steck hollered standing over the dead guy by the west door. Two men hustled toward him.

  “Get this body into the bus.” Steck jogged to the spot where the Canadian guy went down. He was dead. He summoned men to load him and the other American agent into the bus.

  The sirens sounded louder now. As they turned up the boulevard, the bus disappeared down the south road and left the industrial estate. The driver turned onto a highway and circled back to the President Hotel, stopping again in the military lot. Steck and the Canadian girl got their stuff, loaded it and re-boarded the bus, which hustled everyone out of town.

  On the way, they stopped at the American embassy, where one dead American, one dead Canadian, one wounded American and the two thieves were dropped off. Steck left word that the live thief would need to be interrogated if he survived and to contact Ryall Morgan at Langley for instructions.

  The bus slipped out of town, taking the M37 highway back toward the desert.

  As they rode along, Gunny, Brandt and Steck tried to piece together a report about the night’s activity. It certainly hadn’t gone well. The thief that escaped with the embassy car must have The Hand, they figured. Brandt and Gunny had searched the vault and found nothing. The ABS case they had captured was just full of tools of the trade. The guy that got away must have The Hand. Steck knew in his heart it was Roche.

  As they rode along the Canadian girl whose name was Marya sat alone, her head in her hands. Brandt came and sat beside her. “It’s tough to lose a partner,” he said, trying to make conversation. He was impressed with her. She was very physically fit, a well-trained agent and apparently a crack shot with a sidearm. She looked tough as nails but strangely feminine and petite. She was certainly the kind of girl that a guy like Brandt would find extremely attractive. “The skipper says you made a real good kill back there.”

  She looked up, catching his steel blue eyes and scarred face. The man seemed somehow attractive to her. Rubbing the back of her neck she said “It’s the second friend I’ve lost in this operation.”

  “Second?” He asked.

  She sighed. “One of my best friends was shot dead during the early part of this mess.”

  “Geez, that’s tough,” he responded. Where did it happen?

  “In Idaho, she replied.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Paul Roche was in desperate straits. He was driving a hot car in a part of the world he knew nothing about. He had been shot in the left wrist during his getaway. He had wrapped the wound with part of his shirt. It throbbed and hurt like blazes. He felt it was broken because he couldn’t seem to move his hand.

  Pulling in at the rear of the Sheraton, he covered his left side with a jacket and slipped in to get his stuff. He washed the wound and dressed it with some clean underwear and antibiotic cream from his travel kit. He could see bone and it looked shattered. With fresh clothes, his passports, credit cards and money, he slipped back to the car and sped away. A city road map of Ashgabat taken from his room was all he had to navigate.

  Outside the city to the west, he pulled over and studied the map. He recalled that three hundred miles to the west was the Caspian Sea, four hundred miles to the east was Afghanistan and fifty miles to the south was Iran. He couldn’t remember what was to the north but thought it might be Uzbekistan.

  Roche knew that he would have only the rest of the night before ditching the car. Driving in an American embassy car in daylight would be suicide. Buying gas would probably lead to arrest also. The car had a full tank of gas, so he figured he would not run out before having to ditch the car. The question was which way to go? He had no idea how to make contact with the airplane that his former partners had arranged or its exact location. He did not know the way to drive to Krasnovdsk and had no idea where the helicopter would be waiting.

  Roche wanted to call Taylor on his satphone, but was now wary of contact with Chris. Who were the guys that jumped him and more important who were they working for? If it was Taylor a call would only lead his henchmen to the prize and would be his death warrant. Were they Ajir’s men? He would like to think they were Ajir’s. Was it Steck and the CIA? Probably not, since Roche knew they had few or no assets in this backwater place. What he had just faced was a small army.

  Roche drove another ten minutes, where he spotted a place to pull over shielded from the road by shrubs and bushes. He took a minute to open the case. By the glow of the interior lights he opened the gold mesh sack and studied the figurine. It was delicate, exquisitely cast and colored with layers of vibrant but semi-opaque color. “So,” he thought, “this is what all the fuss is about.” It didn’t look too special to him and certainly had no weird aura or anything like that. Just a nice piece of ceramic kitsch, like the stuff they sell in Mexican bazaars. He carefully placed it back in the sack, then the transit case.

  At that point he realized indecision would kill him just as surely as running in the wrong direction. He called Taylor.

  “Taylor,” a sleepy voice answered.

  “It’s Roche,” the voice on the line declared.

  Chris sat up in bed, trying to rub sleep from his eyes and clear his brain. “Roche is that you? Where are you?”

  “Near Ashgabat,” Roche replied. “I have the prize.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Taylor sounded sincere. “Are you following the path we set up?”

  “Negative,” he answered. “The others are dead. I’ve been shot. I’m just west of the city in a hot car and I have no idea how to get out of this place.”

  Instantly awake, Taylor tried to take it all in. After a moment, he said, “Go south on Highway L34. It’s a tough mountain road but it leads to the Iranian border station. I’ll have someone meet you there.”

  Roche shivered. “Iran? Are you nuts?”

  “No, Roche, I’m not nuts,” declared Taylor. “We have a branch office in Teheran and one in Mashhad. My guys can get you through Iran to Turkey. It’s the only way without traveling with someone who has Russian ties. That’s why you were traveling with the two guys I sent you, right? You would not make it through Azerbaijan alone.”

  “Who the hell jumped me?” Roche asked.

  “How should I know,” replied Taylor, puzzled by the question. “Ajir has security people.”

  “There was a pretty big crowd of them. I don’t know whether to trust you, friend.”

  “The way I see it Roche you have no choice. Now stop this hallucinating and get going south. Call me in three hours.” Taylor clicked off.


  _________

  Ajir woke to the telephone ringing. The clock by his bed said it was midnight. “This is the National Police in Ashgabat, the voice announced. Please come to your office right away.”

  Ajir tensed. “Is there a problem, sir?” he said.

  “There has been a fire. Please come at once.”

  “Yes of course,” Ajir said, holding the phone with one hand and reaching for his clothes with the other. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  As Ajir raced toward his office thoughts ran wild through his head. If it was just a fire, the vault was most likely safe. Insurance would cover the loss of merchandise and repairs to the building. But what if it was more than that?

  When he swung the Mercedes coupe into the lot at Ajir International Trading Company, he was horrified. The majority of the building was gone. Police tape cordoned off several areas in the lot with pools of blood evident. It looked like a war zone.

  His first thought was the security force he had brought in from Yemen. Had they double-crossed him? He was shaking as he went through the usual questions from the police. At one point in what seemed an unending array of bureaucratic fumbling by the police examiner, he slipped away and made his way down to level B3.

  The color drained completely from Ajir’s face. The vault door was open. The prize was gone.

  It took an hour to feign patience and out-wait the leader of police. Finally Ajir was allowed to go home with the provision that they would continue in the morning at police headquarters.

  Ajir raced to the hotel where his militia was housed. They were sound asleep and obviously had not left the place that night. He drove home slowly, running scenarios through his mind. He decided it was either Al Kafajy or the Americans but could not figure out which of them could have done it.