by James Ward
“What’s going on?” the innkeeper began. “This inn is all I have in the world. If there’s trouble I could lose it all!”
“Don’t worry,” Ajir replied. “My friends will only be there for one or two nights and they have strict orders to keep their weapons out of sight. I have a certain matter to resolve in the mountains. It’s a matter that you would be better off not knowing about. They will go to do their duty and you will never see them again.”
“I hope you are not involving me in anything illegal,” the innkeeper asserted. “I have to live here after your deal is done, whatever it is.”
“Have I not paid you enough?”
“No, please, you have been most generous Ajir. It’s just that….”
“Don’t worry. I will double it. Now please get off the line, it’s expensive to call from Tabriz to Tehran.” Ajir was worried that the ever present Islamic big brothers might be listening.
As Ajir turned off his phone, he smiled. Better the snoops think he is still in Tehran, rather than downtown in Tabriz on his cell phone. He dialed his father’s number and thanked him for transferring the call.
After flying in from Tehran, Ajir had wasted no time confirming that Roche and Kourosh Menzadah were staying at a farm about five miles from the city on the road that led to Khoy. Now that he knew their intended route, he would follow with his men at a distance then close with them at Qotur. He was confident that he would soon recover his property, the property that would provide for his family in luxury the rest of his life.
Ajir went to bed. He had no way of knowing that the MOIS was just arriving at his father’s house. In custody at Evin, the elder Ajir pulled all the rank he could. Finally he was informed by a superior officer who was an acquaintance that his son had offered a certain piece of merchandise to the government. They had been informed that it was no longer in his control and was in fact somewhere in Iran. The government had decided to claim it as their own since it was on Iranian territory. To assure that the item was turned over to them as or if it was regained by Ajir, the elder Ajir would be their guest for a few days.
_________
Toward the end of the workday in Washington, Ryall Morgan received a call from Bob MacFergus.
“I understand that your man Steck has taken one of our agents with him into eastern Turkey.” He began.
“That’s right Bob,” answered Morgan. “Marya was so much help in Ashgabat Steck wanted to have her on board the team that will wrap up this affair once and for all. That way you guys share the glory.”
“I appreciate the opportunity to be of service,” offered MacFergus. He continued, “The reason for this call, Ryall, is that my agents in Toronto picked up some intelligence today that will bear on the success of the mission.”
“What information?” Morgan tensed. What could be important enough to prompt a personal call at this time of day?
“The Iranian government has become aware that the item is in their country,” MacFergus told him. “Apparently Ajir had sought to sell it to them, but the fracas in Ashgabat fouled that up. Now they want to trap it before it leaves Iran and they’re putting a lot of resources into the pursuit.”
“This affair is getting more complicated by the minute,” Morgan observed. “Thanks so much for the heads-up, Bob.”
“Don’t do anything rash, Ryall.” MacFergus sounded concerned. “You’ve got one of my best field agents involved and I can’t afford to lose her.”
“Nothing will be done without full consultation, Bob. You know you can trust me on that.”
“I trust you, Ryall,” said MacFergus. “I don’t trust our governments to avoid stupid moves.”
“I hear you, Bob,” offered Morgan. “I’ll try to steer this toward a positive end result.”
Immediately after hanging up, Morgan called his boss the Director. “We need to brief the President first thing in the morning,” he said.
CHAPTER 41
Greg Liss and Susan Deet worked at a folding table set up in Susan’s living room. They were preparing their part of the presentation that Lindsley and Morgan would make to the President next morning.
An FBI surveillance team from Boston had relieved the Hanover police and was now watching the Wigglesworth residence around the clock. A suspicious late model Ford sedan passed by now and then. The men inside were obviously working for the Saudis. The car neither stopped nor seemed threatening in any way. The FBI decided to let them alone, knowing they could either ask the Hanover police to pick them up or that as federal agents they could move on them anytime.
Missus Wigglesworth stayed in the house most of the time except for her weekly visit to Dartmouth-Hitchcock Hospital a mile or so away from the campus. The doctors there were fascinated by her rare condition and were trying all the known remedies along with a few experimental ones. It wasn’t every day the doctors had the chance to treat conditions so rare that they inspired original study. She looked tired but was in good spirits.
For Doctor Wigglesworth it was back to class and his usual campus routine. He had arranged for an extra helper at the house, a student who waited on his wife while the student housekeeper-cook went about her regular duties.
While Greg compiled all of this information into a few paragraphs, Susan made dinner. She was not much of a cook but managed to turn out sautéed chicken, carrots and rice with a lemon sauce that came as powder in a foil envelope. She opened a bottle of cheap red wine and poured two generous glasses. They sat on her living room couch to eat the meal, watching the evening news on TV.
“Not a great supper,” she said apologetically.
“Hey, it sure beats the pizza and Mcnuggets I usually live on,” Greg replied. “It tastes great to me. What is that wonderful sauce?”
“I wish I could tell you it’s an old family recipe,” Susan smiled. “It’s made from milk and a powder I bought at the superstore.”
After packing the dishes in Susan’s dishwasher they enjoyed a second glass of wine while editing the material Greg had written. They sent it to Mort Lindsley.
At her door, Greg thanked Susan for the dinner and announced he would see her in the morning at the office. After an awkward pause, she kissed him on the cheek. He gave her a hug. It was too long a hug to be ‘just friends.’ As she pulled back, he kissed her. She wanted to punch him and scold him like she had done with other guys but she didn’t move. In fact she returned the kiss eagerly. He started escalating, pulling her body to his.
She broke the kiss and said breathlessly, “Whoa tiger, take it easy. There’s something you should know about me.”
“What’s that?” he said absently while trying to renew the embrace.
“I’m an Orthodox Christian,” she said, stepping back away from him.
“What does that mean?” asked Greg. “Like Greek Orthodox, you mean?”
“Yeah, like Greek Orthodox,” she said.
He gave her a puzzled look. “What does that have to do with us? I mean here, now?”
“What it means is that I like you a lot but I’m a real conservative person and…”
“And what?” He didn’t get this at all.
Susan had regained her composure. She looked him square in the eye. “And…I’m saving myself for my husband.”
Greg seemed totally flustered. “You’re married?” he blurted.
“No, silly,” she giggled, “I’m saving myself for when I have a husband!”
Greg came back into the living room, closing the door behind him. He was having a hard time getting the concept. Perplexed, he said, “Isn’t that a bit old fashioned Susie?”
Susan smiled. “Yeah, I guess these days it seems old-fashioned Greg, but it’s what I am. I’m just an old fashioned girl who believes in traditional values.” She took his hand and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You got a problem with that?”
Greg stepped back, absorbing what he had just heard. He gestured with both hands held out. “But you…you’re an FBI agent, for Gawd’s sake.”
She frowned at him. “Does being an agent mean I have to be…promiscuous?”
“No, no,” he said. “I mean, I guess not.” He was totally thrown.
“I think we should try this conversation some other time,” she said. “Greg, I want to continue this conversation so that… What I’m trying to say is I really want to give to you more than you know.” She was on thin ice here and she knew it. Was this guy really her soul mate? Was she falling in love with him?
After a very awkward silence, Greg spoke. “I think I’m getting the gist of this, Susie. I respect you too greatly to go too fast with this, but I don’t want to give it up. The fact is I’ve been hoping it would move ahead for quite a while now.”
“Me too,” she admitted. “Now I think you’d better go.”
At the door again, they shared a new kind of long and tender kiss. “Good night,” she said dreamily.
“G’nite,” he mumbled.
__________
Mort Lindsley and Ryall Morgan had briefed the President and his top security team three times in the past week. He was familiar with the operation and seemed to take a great interest in it. Today, he had asked the Secretary of State to invite State Department advisors on Iran to the briefing.
Lindsley’s presentation spoke to the Saudi involvement. It was generally agreed that we should keep close tabs on them but not make any overt moves that might embarrass the Kingdom.
After Morgan had finished his presentation and it was clear that the Iranians were in the chase a lively discussion ensued. Some in the room maintained that we should not interfere in any way with the Iranians on their turf, nor should we even get close to their border. Protagonists reminded the group of the incidents in recent years involving military of both the US and Britain who had been taken by the Iranians outside their territorial waters but accused of invasion.
Another group, headed by the military members of the group insisted that possession of The Hand of Mohammed by the Ayatollahs would severely shift the balance of power in the region and the US would be a big loser.
“Well, if we don’t get the thing then who do you think should wind up with it?” asked the President. What’s the least evil here? Do we want to influence the outcome by steering it into the proper hands?
After lots of discussion in which each of the supposedly interested parties became eliminated, the only ones that remained were Saudi Arabia, the Emirates and Qatar. Further discussion left only the Saudis as the best choice for the interests of the United States.
“In the best interests of the United States and Canada,” asserted Morgan. “Remember ladies and gentlemen Canada is our partner in this issue and has been a good one.”
“I certainly acknowledge that your friends in Canada have been a great help, but this is our decision to make, correction: my decision to make as Commander in Chief,” announced the President.
Morgan studied the floor.
Two of the military floated the possibility that US commandoes, such as the Navy Seals should just go in and take the thing then deliver it to the Saudis and proudly publish the result to the world.
The President discarded that idea right away. “That is not going to happen, gentlemen. The possibility of failure is too great.”
In the end, the President ordered that the clandestine operation should continue, that if it went wrong the United States would deny it ever happened and that if successful, we would return the item to secure storage in the United States. “That way, its return to the Saudis could be made at any time we see the opportunity to gain favor and stature in the Islamic world.
_________
The twin Cessna landed at Van in the glow of pre-dawn. The pilot had expended every bit of fuel the small plane could carry during their long flight, even every drop that could be carried in the plane’s extra wing tanks. Beads of sweat ran down his face as he made his final approach. He fully expected a stall but it didn’t happen. The plane set down smoothly on the tarmac. The pilot breathed a long sigh of relief.
Steck and the others deplaned and gathered their gear. His legs seemed made of rubber after the long cramped flight. By the time they reached the big Suburban and were greeted by Brandt, circulation had returned.
The pilot was given orders to re-fuel and wait for a maximum of three days. If no one showed by that time, he was to return to Amman.
Introductions and chatter broke out as Brandt drove sixty miles east towards the Iranian border. He stopped at a place where there was a turnout in the road. Shifting into four-wheel-drive, Brandt slowly ran the vehicle over a creek wash that he referred to as the ‘local freeway.’
Two miles into the scrub, in a dry box canyon that ended at the entrance to a cave, he stopped the vehicle beside some equipment under camouflage. Grundstrom and some others emerged from the cave and greeted the entourage. Within minutes, they had stashed the equipment in two Suburbans and a pickup truck. The pickup was a full size Toyota, not the ordinary vehicle for these parts. Steck saw the barrel of a fifty caliber gun sticking out under a tarp that was draped over the back of the pickup. Gunny had amassed a bit of fire power.
They wasted no time. Gunny and Brandt gave a detailed briefing. For Steck and Marya it was review of stuff they had all studied thoroughly.
The area around Tabriz west to the border was mountainous and largely barren wilderness with just a few farms and ruins here and there. “Consider it like southern Arizona except colder,” Gunny advised. The day time temperature during early winter would be around thirty-five to forty Fahrenheit. The nights would be in the teens or twenties, depending on your altitude. Foot paths through scrub vegetation with big rocky outcroppings and loose boulders were the way to get around.
“The border is eight miles that way,” instructed Gunny pointing into the rising sun. “We have befriended some locals, who will help guide us around. There is a trail due east of here that the locals claim is the only way anyone gets here from Iran except by driving through at the border station on the road. I have two men watching the road and one Turkish border guard in my employ. He is the commander of the station and will screen every vehicle personally over the next four days. Until he sees the vehicle and its contents, his men will detain anyone crossing at the station.” Gunny held up a small walkie-talkie. “He has a radio that can raise us anytime.”
“So, where do we deploy?” asked Steck.
“I think we should deploy in a spot here on the map that I picked after several trips down that mountain trail,” Gunny said, pointing to a spot on his map. “I have a couple of folks at the spot as we speak keeping an eye out for our targets.”
Just to recap the targets, said Steck, “there is one male Iranian, five foot-eight with dark hair, brown eyes, clean-shaven. There is one male American, five-eleven, medium build, bearded or a moustache, reddish hair with gray streaks. The beard is a fake. He may speak with a British accent or in any of the following languages: English, Spanish, Russian, Farsi, German, Arabic or French. His name is Paul Roche but he has recently used the alias Jacob Breen. If you get close enough to this guy to hear him speak, it may be the last words you hear. He is a cold-blooded killer and very crafty. Don’t let him bargain with you. If you can’t be sure of his cooperation, kill him.”
Grundstrom passed out maps to each of the team. “If you get separated from the group, find your way back to this place. If you are a sole survivor, contact the American attaché in Van, which is sixty miles down the road we came in on.”
“Gunny, where will back-up ammo be stashed?” asked Steck.
“When we deploy, which may be at any time, you will armor up and stay that way. Carry all the ammo you can. We will move this pickup truck to the border over sheep paths which will take about two hours. It will be fully loaded with seven and nine millimeter ammo. If you hear a fifty cal, it will be firing from the mount on the back of this truck.” He pointed to the Toyota.
One of the Jordanians raised his hand. Gunny recognized him by a
nod. “Why do we have so much fire power to intercept just two guys?”
Steck answered. “The item we seek to recover is a small figurine shaped like a man’s hand. It has archaeological and religious significance and is being sought after by many factions who may be in conflict with one another but certainly would consider us hostile. We do not know if any of those groups have personnel in this area, but we must assume there may be. If you receive fire, return it.”
“Any more questions?” asked Gunny.
“When do we go?” one of the men asked.
Gunny looked at his watch. “We could go as early as two hours from now. It could be as long as two days before we go. We will get word when our targets enter the area. Get some sleep now and good luck.”
CHAPTER 42
Kourosh Menzadah woke Roche at three am. “It’s going to be a long day,” he declared. “We move out in twenty minutes.”
Roche dressed as warmly as he could by layering all the clothes he had. The hike today would carry them from ridge to gulch to mountainside ending with what Kourosh described as ‘a thousand foot cliff to be scaled’ within a few hundred yards of the border. The temperature would range from just below freezing to warm sun along some of the rocky ridges.
Roche felt fit and ready for a mountain hike. He also felt excited and apprehensive at the possibility of encountering hostility. Kourosh had described the locals as usually very friendly but fiercely Shiite in their world view. He was to keep his head down and use the Muslim greetings Kourosh had rehearsed with him. The locals had been known to kill unbelievers that offended their Shiite sensibilities. The local word for unbeliever was ‘kiafir’ Roche was told. If he heard that word, he should act accordingly. When he asked Kourosh what he meant by ‘accordingly’ Kourosh answered, “Run for your life.”