by James Ward
Too angry to sleep, Ajir spent the rest of the night on the telephone calling everyone he knew that might be able to help retrieve his property.
_________
Chris Taylor called a friend and colleague in Mashhad, Iran. They talked in generalities, since the Iranians often eavesdropped telephone conversations. After exchanging innocent small talk that signaled the need to communicate, they hung up. A few minutes later, secure links opened and they spoke freely.
When they were through, Chris’s friend Irad went to his car and started the fifty kilometer trip to the border.
Taylor called Mister Al Kafajy in Paris. “The item is no longer in the hands of our enemy,” he announced.
“Do you have it?” Al Kafajy asked.
“N-not yet, sir, it’s in transit. Our people will have it within a day.”
“Very good, Christian,” he declared. “Stay in touch.”
Taylor then called Roche and told him that a man named Irad would find him at the Turkmen side of the border station.
Roche was half way to the border, high in the mountains. As he drove the winding road, only an occasional big truck passed by. He fought to stay awake, exhausted from the night’s activity and weak from loss of blood. His wrist felt like it was going to explode. He checked the transit case. It was riding comfortably in the seat beside him.
Suddenly the car made a loud scraping noise. Realizing that he had just dozed off and the car was riding on the shoulder of the road next to a sheer drop of thousands of feet, he jerked the vehicle back onto the road and stopped. He got out and sucked in the cold night mountain air trying to force his senses to wake. Back in the car, he spied a turnout a few hundred meters ahead. He decided to pull off for a twenty minute nap.
________
Mohammed Al Kafajy summoned Ahmed. The mysterious man appeared at the door of the boss’s study.
“Christian’s men have recovered our prize from those who took it from us,” the boss announced.
Ahmed extended his palms upward and rolled his eyes. “Allah willed it.” He said.
“Perhaps we can cancel the small operation you have under way,” Al Kafajy declared.
“I believe we should keep it in place for the moment,” Ahmed replied. “When you hold the prize in your hand we can re-consider.”
“I suppose you’re right, Ahmed.” Al Kafajy looked pensive.
“I am right, sir.” Ahmed said simply. “We must always have a back up plan, in case of future lapses.”
_________
Back at the Yurta in the desert Steck and the others caught some sleep. They would be extracted back to Masr E Sharif in the morning. While the others slept, Steck couldn’t help mulling where Roche might have gone with the item. More than ever he wanted the chance to take out his adversary.
Steck decided he would go back to Amman and start again. He would have The Hand of Mohammed and would put Roche away once and for all or blow his career trying.
CHAPTER 36
Bob MacFergus and three of his agents spent the morning at the FBI in New York. They briefed Susan Deet, Greg Liss, Ryall Morgan and Mort Lindsley about the state of their relations in the Muslim community and ways that American agencies could carry out the generation-long job of penetration.
The Muslim community in Toronto is the largest and most dynamic in North America. Visitors to parts of the city would think they were in the Middle East if it were not for the obvious prosperity of the community as part of democratic Canada.
In Toronto Muslims, Christians and Jews work side by side and over time have become more mutually tolerant, even to the point of cautious friendship.
The rate of growth in Toronto’s Muslim population is much greater than the other ethnic groups that make up this great melting pot of a city.
After 911 many Muslims actually emigrated from the United States to Canada. It offered them prosperity without the shameful persecution that ignorant Americans seem so ready to embrace.
Against this backdrop of Muslims as happy and prosperous ordinary citizens, those who would destroy the very freedom that feeds the Toronto community find it easy to fit in. Hundreds, if not thousands of wannabe or ex-terrorists live in the midst of the larger law-abiding community. They blend in if you look in from the outside, but they stick out like a sore thumb to those inside the community.
Robert MacFergus had wisely courted and mined the Toronto Muslim community for a generation. His organization boasted more Arabic speaking agents than any in the western world. Within his ranks Pakistanis held positions on the same team with Muslim Indians, Shiites with Sunnis, Yazeris with Uighers.
Ryall Morgan and Mort Lindsley envied their Canadian colleague MacFergus for these connections. They wished they could boast that same kind of structure, especially in the large Muslim communities of America like Detroit, Los Angeles, Chicago and New York.
Susan and Greg drank in all the CSIS people had to say. They had learned much today but the day was not over. They were scheduled to fly from New York up to Manchester later in the day. They had an appointment next morning with Doctor Wigglesworth and members of his staff to dig deeper into the history of The Hand of Mohammed.
It was noon before Morgan received the call from Steck. The four American agents huddled around the speaker phone in a small conference room. MacFergus joined them a few moments after the call began. By the time he joined them, Steck was just giving the bad news. MacFergus asked to speak with his agent, Marya Lukianov. She gave a terse account of the action ending with apologies for losing a partner.
Steck broke in. “I want you all to know that Marya was a hero last night. She took out one of the three enemy combatants we encountered and showed skill, cooperation and valor under fire.”
“Thank you for that Bob,” MacFergus responded. “I’ll see that she gets full recognition at CSIS.”
Morgan stepped in. “Bob, you are sure the guy that has the item is Paul Roche?”
“As sure as the sunrise,” Replied Steck. “Our guys at the embassy in Ashgabat confirmed a few minutes ago that a certain Mister Jacob Breen has gone missing from the Sheraton. Jacob Breen is the alias that Roche was using in Amman. I’m certain he’s our man.”
“Where do you think he’s headed, Mister Bob?” It was Lindsley.
“I wish I knew, Mort.” Steck had no clue. “He could go west across the Caspian to Azerbaijan, East to Uzbekistan, even south to Iran for all I know.”
“Do we have any contacts or any pull with the Turkmen border patrol?” asked MacFergus.
“I’ll check with the embassy in Ashgabat on that,” Morgan replied.
“They should feel a stake in this, since we got two of their agents shot last night, one of them killed. On top of that, the guy who did it stole one of their cars,” said Steck.
“Roger that Bob,” Morgan replied. “Let’s talk again as soon as you get to Afghanistan. By the way, Randy Pullin has asked to meet me. I’m going to see him at Langley late this afternoon.”
“Tell him that his men have been a great help, Ryall. I’m interested in why he wants to parley.” Steck wondered what that rascal was up to.
“I’ll let you know, Bob.” Morgan clicked off.
_________
Roche woke with a start as a big truck loaded with bleating sheep lumbered past. The wind wake of the speeding truck shook the small sedan. He checked his watch. He was alarmed to see he had slept for nearly two hours.
The dim light of pre-dawn cast an aura of grayish pink along the edges of the mountaintops to the east. Roche knew he was now late. He started the car to warm up the engine, set the brake and got out to pee before hitting the road. As he tried to reach across himself to pull the door latch open with his right hand the pain in his left wrist caused an involuntary scream. He wanted to look at the wound, but did not want to waste time trying to dress it again.
Soon Roche was racing toward the border. He had no idea how far he still had to drive. He hoped he would get there before Taylor’s frie
nd became sick of waiting. It startled him when he rounded a bend in the road to see the border station just a few hundred yards away.
The station was set up with two identical buildings separated by a parking area. The sign on the first building proclaimed it was “Government of Turkmenistan Passage Control,” and the other “Islamic Republic of Iran.”
The entire area was empty except for several government vehicles and one large truck with tape sealing the doors apparently confiscated by one government or the other.
In front of the Turkmen building sat a Volvo sedan with the engine running. A tall slim man stood in front of the Volvo smoking a cigarette. Roche slowed his car and initiated a turn toward the parking lot. The man stomped out his cigarette and waved, signaling Roche to pull up. Roche winced as he reached across to let down the passenger window.
“Are you Mister Breen?” the tall man asked.
“Yes, I am Jacob Breen,” Roche replied.
The man squatted to bring his eyes to the level of the window. “I am pleased to meet you, Mister Breen. My name is Irad Arbani. Please take the car to the back of these buildings and park it. I will park next to you. We will transfer everything from your car.
Roche did as he was told. Irad opened the trunk of the Volvo and packed Roche’s stuff including the ABS case.
“That’s a bad looking wound you have there,” he commented closing the trunk lid.
“Yes, I think the wrist may be smashed,” Roche said truthfully, “it hurts like blazes.”
“We will get some medical attention for you soon,” Irad said almost absently. “Give me the keys for your car.”
“How are we going to get through this place?” Roche asked as he handed them over.
“Just wait here.” Irad went around to the front of the Turkmen building. Roche watched for him to re-appear. He was startled to see Irad emerge ten minutes later from the Iranian building. He carried a slip of yellow paper.
Irad came across the lot and got in the driver’s side of the Volvo. He said softly, “Now we go.”
Irad drove the Volvo around the building and back onto the road. As they passed the Iranian building, he waved. Roche could not see anyone behind the big front window but assumed Irad was waving to a border guard inside the building.
They drove in silence for ten minutes. Curiosity finally forced Roche to ask what had just happened back at the border station.
Irad showed the very slightest smile. “I traded the car for Turkmen silence. I traded money for Iranian silence. Mister Jacob Breen is unknown to the Islamic Republic of Iran. He was never here. Mister Jacob Breen never left Turkmenistan, at least not through this border crossing.”
“Very impressive,” said Roche sincerely.
“Do not worry about anything, Mister Breen. You are Mister Taylor’s guest in Iran. That means you are also my guest in Iran. First, we will get medical attention for your arm. Then we will transport you safely to Turkey. There, you will be on your own.”
Roche spent the time it took to drive to Mashhad thinking of what to do once he was in Turkey, if he ever got to Turkey. “One step at a time,” he told himself.
________
Colonel Randy and Saleem arrived in Washington on a commercial flight from Denver. Pullin was out of uniform, his tall frame dressed in a western style suit that would blend-in around Denver but looked out of place in the east. The gray cloth was cut with wide lapels outlined in darker gray piping. The shirt boasted pearl snaps for buttons and white-on-white embroidered designs crowning dual vest pockets with big flaps. The pants accommodated a wide western belt and oversize silver buckle with a big piece of garnet in the middle. Tooled leather western boots rounded out the garb. He had discreetly left the Stetson at home. Saleem wore brown polyester, blue shirt and tie and his customary turban. They did not go unnoticed, even in Dulles International Airport.
They drove to Langley in a taxi via the parkway. At the main gate, they were detained while the guards performed their customary duties. At length, Steck’s secretary, Mary appeared. She signed for them as their escort and led them through corridors with polished floors to a conference room. Mary then called Ryall Morgan’s office.
“Hi Rachel, honey, please let Mister Morgan know that his guests are in Conference room three.”
Mary stayed, making small talk with the two men until Ryall Morgan arrived. She signed the passes that the two visitors carried then Morgan signed as receiving them. Handing the passes back to them, Morgan quipped, “I am now your escort, gentlemen. Do not leave my sight please.”
Morgan offered his hand which was vigorously shaken by each of the men. They all sat, while Morgan shuffled some files. The folder on top was titled ‘Free Nation File / Morgan / Unclassified.’ Pullin wondered what would be in such a file. He wondered even more what might be in the file marked ‘Classified’ if there was one.
Morgan began, “I spoke with Bob Steck this morning. He asked me to let you know how much he appreciates all your help.”
“Thank you,” answered Pullin. “I had a chat with my man Grundstrom this morning as well. He wants to see this thing through. He feels a personal stake in it since he and his guys took a lot of fire last night.”
Morgan acknowledged Pullin with a nod. “So, Gentlemen, why have you come so far today to speak with me?” Morgan wanted them to lead.
Pullin sat up. “I came today to introduce you to my friend Saleem. He is an expert on the Muslim countries and has been of great service to me and to my organization in the present operation. I thought you might like to hear his take on the whole mess.”
“Why sure I would,” Morgan replied, “any information we can gather is appreciated.”
Saleem gave a one hour dissertation on The Hand of Mohammed, its influence on Muslim thought through the ages, a history of the four groups that should be keenest to gain control of it and the reasons why. Morgan took notes. Pullin stayed quiet.
When the briefing was complete, Morgan summed up. “So, Saleem, you believe that the candidates to buy the item are the Kurds, the Saudis, the Iranians and the Taliban.”
“That’s correct, Mister Morgan. I believe you should concentrate on those organizations if you want to get The Hand of Mohammed back.” Saleem was very confident of his conclusions.
“I want to thank you for coming here today and for the thoughtful information. I assure you we will act on it.” Morgan was genuinely impressed.
“And now, I would like to present a theory as to where Paul Roche is right now and where he’s heading,” said Randy Pullin.
“Go ahead, Mister Pullin.” Morgan shuffled the files again.
Pullin noticed that there was another file that was titled ‘Muhammed Saleem Rafiq.’ Pullin paused. He was amazed that Morgan had a file on Saleem. He recovered his composure after a moment. “I believe that Roche went to Iran. He didn’t have any knowledge of the geography on the ground. He had a stolen car that had limited range without risking discovery. The shortest route out of Turkmenistan is straight to the Iranian border. His accomplices have offices in Iran and could arrange for his safe conduct.”
Saleem nodded agreement with Pullin’s theory as he spoke.
“That’s an interesting theory,” said Morgan, “we’ll give it some thought.”
Pullin was not used to anyone questioning his judgment. “Well where else would he go?” he asked.
Morgan was not going to share any theories with someone from outside the agency. “That’s a good question,” he said simply.
Pullin had hoped he could join the bandwagon and be allowed to participate. The reason for this trip was to test that. He was failing and he didn’t like it. “That’s the problem with you guys,” he said, trying to smile. “You always suck information and never give any.”
Morgan stood up. He elected not to respond to Pullin’s complaint. He was not the one trying to gain influence. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “it’s time to call it a day. I’m grateful for your input and I will
not forget where it came from.” As he spoke he gestured toward the door.
_________
Susan and Greg caught a flight to Manchester after the briefing with MacFergus in New York. On the drive from Manchester to Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire Susan asked Greg how “things” were going.
Greg wanted to appear okay. “Everything’s okay Susie,” he lied. Then he added, “I’m glad you’re with me though. Carole and I were lovers on the Dartmouth campus. The place brings back a flood of memories that are painful.”
At least he was being honest with himself she thought.
They rode in silence for a while. Susan sensed he could wallow in self-pity for the rest of the day. Better he should get it out now so tomorrow’s meeting could be more productive. He’s being maudlin, she thought, like a typical little boy. Still, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to mother him.
Susan saw a turnout in the road ahead. She slowed the car, pulled off and stopped. Turning to Greg, she said softly, “I’m here for you Greg.” Looking into his eyes, she added, “Whatever it takes, I’m here to help you through this.”
He kissed her. It was not just a peck on the cheek. She started to resist, then reminded herself what she had just said, so she decided to let it happen. Inside she felt a mixture of panic and satisfaction. The panic she understood. The satisfaction took her totally by surprise. She returned the kiss then after a moment broke it off.
After an awkward silence, they both spoke at once. “Whoa,” she said. “Sorry,” he said.
They finished the drive to Hanover in silence. They checked in at the Holiday Inn. About midnight, Susan’s room phone rang. “Can we talk?” Greg asked.
“At breakfast,” she mumbled through half-sleep. Greg hung up. Thirty minutes later, Susan sat sipping coffee and trying to sift her feelings. She wished the operation had remained just a domestic one to find Grayson’s killer and track down a rogue agent.
CHAPTER 37
Irad took Roche to a public clinic in Mashhad in broad daylight. Roche felt very uneasy about this exposure and told him so.