THE SPANISH REVENGE (Craig Page series)

by Allan Topol

  She looked at him wide eyed. “You want to use the call to find out his location.”

  The woman was no dummy.

  “That’s right.”

  “You want me to betray General Zhou?”

  The question hung in the air. Craig waited to see if she would do it. She had to know she was between a rock and a hard place. He felt as if wheels were turning in her amoral mind doing a cost-benefit analysis.

  “OK. Give me my cell phone,” she finally said.

  “It’ll take us a couple of minutes to get this set up,” Jacques said. “I’ll go talk to the techies.” He sprang out of his chair and headed toward the door.

  When they were ready, Jacques handed her the phone. Craig and Jacques were sitting across the table. Craig had a hearing device hooked to his ear which would permit him to listen.

  Her fingers were shaking as she dialed.

  General Zhou answered on the first ring. “Why are you calling, Androshka?”

  “Because I miss you. I want to talk to you,” she said in a soft, sexually enticing voice.

  “I told you not to call.” He hung up the phone.

  She was shattered. She never dreamt it would go that way. She put her head into her hands and down onto the table.

  “I guess he doesn’t love you as much as you thought,” Craig said. “The thing about men is that we’re led around by our dicks only so far. Sorry. You just lost your get-out-of-jail card.”

  She picked her head up. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “OK. Here’s your situation,” Craig said. “For now, we’re not sending you back to Russia. We’ll keep you in jail. A guard will hold your cell phone. If General Zhou calls, you can try to keep him on the line for a minute. If not … Well I guess you’ll be here for a very long time. Till hell freezes over.”

  Once the guard took her away, Jacques said to Craig, “General Zhou is obviously worried that someone’s monitoring her calls.”

  “I was concerned about that. But it was worth a shot.”

  Craig would try anything to locate Elizabeth, regardless of the odds of success. His cell phone rang.

  “Yes, Giuseppe.”

  “We finally got lucky. An unmarked van was involved in a crash with a car on Victor Emmanuelle in Rome. The driver was a Muslim living in Torino. Name is Rachid Nezzar. He was shaken up, but not seriously injured. The police on the scene found a gun in his possession so they got suspicious and opened the back of the van. Found a single box that said Chinese computers on the side. I’ve got the Rome police on alert so the officer on the scene called me.”

  “And?” Craig said impatiently.

  “I had the bomb squad open the box. No computer. Instead a Chinese surface-to-surface missile.”

  “Yes,” Craig said aloud. “Yes.”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “Where’s the driver of the van?”

  “In custody, in the building I share with the carabinieri. He’s in a locked cell being watched. We took his belt and shoelaces so he can’t kill himself.”

  “Good work.”

  “Yeah, I remember what happened after the train explosion. You almost had that guy and he blew himself up. You want me to interrogate Rachid, or you want to be here?”

  Craig was torn. On the one hand, he didn’t want to leave Paris until he located Elizabeth. On the other, the Arab in the Rome prison might lead them to Musa, which would be a way of locating Elizabeth. Also, Jacques was experienced and had all the French police at his disposal. Not much Craig could contribute to their search.

  “Hold on a minute,” he told Giuseppe and explained the situation to Jacques.

  The Frenchman said, “You have to go. With all due respect, you can’t help much here. We’ll have the blond Russian princess under close surveillance. I have police units scouring Paris for Elizabeth.”

  Craig returned to his call with Giuseppe. “I have to stop at the office and pick up something we’ll need. Then I’ll take the first plane to Rome. Together, we’ll squeeze this guy.”

  56

  MADRID

  At seven in the morning, the Parque de Retiro in Madrid was deserted. General Zhou left his car in a parking lot off Calle Alfonso XII and walked along a path crisscrossing through the lush park grounds which had once been a 350-acre royal playground.

  When he called Alvarez last evening to set their meeting next to the lakeside monument to King Alfonso XII, Alvarez had sounded apprehensive, as indeed he should. Negotiations were proceeding for Spain to purchase Chinese aircraft. Alvarez, whom General Zhou learned had already withdrawn funds from the Singapore bank account, no doubt thought he’d seen the last of General Zhou.

  Approaching the monument, General Zhou saw Alvarez seated on a park bench reading a newspaper. Cracks of sunlight were appearing in the eastern sky and reflecting from the lake. General Zhou sat down next to him on the bench.

  Alvarez kept the newspaper raised. “I was surprised to hear from you.”

  “I saw the new red Audi parked in the lot with the license plate ALV-1. Are you enjoying the car?”

  “It rides smoothly,” Alvarez said awkwardly. “And the acceleration is unbelievable.”

  “Don’t drive too fast. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Alvarez put down the paper. “Why’d you call?”

  He doesn’t want to risk being seen with me. He’d like to leave as quickly as possible. And I don’t blame him.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “I’ve already done something for you. My people are negotiating the airplane purchase. Per our arrangement. That’s all. We’re finished.”

  General Zhou pretended he didn’t hear what Alvarez said. “This morning I want you to issue an order moving all your troops out of Southern Spain. Immediately. Sending them to the Basque country in the north.”

  Alvarez picked up his paper and fiddled with it, creasing and uncreasing it. “Why would I do that?”

  “You’ve received secret intelligence that the Basques are planning a military attack on Easter Sunday against government facilities.”

  Alvarez now understood. “You’re working with this terrorist Musa. He’s planning an attack in the South on Easter.”

  “That’s preposterous. Stick with what you know.”

  It was cool in the morning air, but Alvarez was perspiring. “I’m no traitor. Negotiating for airplanes is one thing. This is quite another.”

  “How about taking a bribe of ten million Euros to walk away from a Boeing proposal and begin negotiating with the Chinese? Which side of the line does that fall on?”

  “You can’t prove that.” Alvarez sounded indignant.

  General Zhou reached into his pocket and pulled out a micro cassette. “I recorded our conversation at lunch in the South of France.”

  All of the color drained from Alvarez’s face. “You bastard. You’re trying to blackmail me,” he said weakly.

  “I prefer to think of it as friends helping friends.”

  “What will happen in the South of Spain?”

  “You don’t have to know. An attack by Basques in the north is perfectly credible.”

  “I won’t do it.” Alvarez sounded belligerent.

  General Zhou shrugged. “Your choice. I’m prepared to provide copies of the recording to newspapers and television stations in Madrid.”

  “Why did I ever get mixed up with you? Chinese bastard.”

  The words stung, but General Zhou kept calm. “You wanted the money. And you wanted to fuck Masha. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I could call your bluff.”

  “Not a good move against an adversary who’s holding all the cards.”

  “I could tough it out.”

  “You’ll not only lose your position, but go to jail.” General Zhou shrugged again. “You decide.”

  Alvarez ran his hand through his hair. A desperate man searching in vain for a way out.

  “If I give the order,” Al
varez finally said in a trembling voice, “I’ll be questioned by the Prime Minister and others in the government. They’ll want to know about my intelligence sources with the Basques. What’ll I do then?”

  “Once you give the order, board a plane with your family to Buenos Aires. It’s a long-planned vacation.”

  “You think of everything. Don’t you?”

  “I try.”

  General Zhou wrapped his fingers around the micro cassette and shook his hand holding it. “Well, what’ll it be?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “You don’t.”

  “OK,” he said with resignation. “I’ll do it.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Argentina.”

  Alvarez got up and stormed off. General Zhou remained on the bench, even after he saw the red Audi roar away.

  He should be happy. A large part of his plan with Musa had fallen into place. Without Spanish troops in the south, Musa’s forces, with their sophisticated Chinese arms, would establish a beachhead. Then roll north.

  But General Zhou was miserable. Elizabeth’s involvement confirmed for Zhou that Craig Page was leading the charge to defeat him and Musa. That meant Page was responsible for Androshka’s arrest. Again Craig Page. Always Craig Page. Blocking him, foiling his plans. He pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand. That damned Craig Page. This time, he had to kill Page.

  And he also had to find a way to free Androshka. She wasn’t just another woman. She made him feel things in bed no other woman ever had. Taking her back to Beijing as his mistress was part of his master plan.

  He captured my queen, General Zhou thought. But he had Page’s queen as well. In a few hours, Musa’s men would be bringing Elizabeth Crowder to the villa in Marbella and installing her in the basement cell next to Etienne. She would be helpless. He’d be able to do whatever he wanted with her as a way of getting at Craig Page. But none of that will get Androshka back.

  57

  ROME

  Giuseppe was waiting for Craig in the interrogation center of the concrete carabinieri building that resembled a large block. Against one wall was a hospital bed. Two computers were on a table. Lots of wires and electronic gear hanging from the ceiling. A large wash tub on another wall. A wooden table with four chairs in the center.

  “Anything happen with the prisoner since we spoke?” Craig asked.

  “He’s spent a lot of time on his knees praying to Allah.”

  “He’ll need all the help he can get. One way or another he’s going to tell us where he was taking that missile and what he knows about the overall plan.”

  “We have to assume the threat of a long jail term won’t loosen his tongue.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You want to go with water boarding?”

  “My experience with it hasn’t been great. Often I’ve ended up with unreliable information. Chemicals are much better. On the way to the airport, I stopped at the office and picked up some Sodium Amytal.” Craig reached into his bag and took out a bottle that resembled cough syrup. “This has worked consistently for me, particularly with non professionals, like this guy, the poor stupid dopes who get drawn into terrorist attacks by ideologues like Musa.”

  “How do you inject it?”

  “In his arm. Get me a syringe and a couple of strong officers to hold him down.”

  Ten minutes later, two powerfully built men in khaki uniforms led the prisoner into the interrogation room. He had a scraggly brown beard, bruises around one eye, and freshly dried blood on the side of his face. Must be from the accident, Craig guessed.

  Craig had left the syringe on a table in the corner. Let him see it and know what awaits him. The carabinieri pushed the prisoner into one of the chairs at the table. Craig was across from him. Giuseppe on Craig’s right.

  “Please state your name?” Craig said.

  “Allah Akbar. God is great,” he responded defiantly.

  Craig pointed to the chemical and syringe in the corner. Either you talk to us voluntarily or we have other ways of getting into your brain.”

  He looked wide eyed. “Allah Akbar,” he repeated.

  Without any warning, he flung himself across the table, his arms outstretched, hands going for Craig’s throat. This had happened to Craig on two other occasions, and he was ready. Before the prisoner reached him, Craig rolled his right hand into a fist and smashed it against man’s jaw. Craig heard the crunch of bones breaking. Teeth fell from his mouth. Unconscious, he slipped off the chair on to the floor.

  “Good reflexes,” Giuseppe said.

  “Been there. Done that.”

  “Takes away the need to strap him down while we inject the chemical.”

  “True. But before we inject him, let’s throw ice water on his face. I don’t know if it’ll work if he’s unconscious.”

  One of the carabinieri pulled the prisoner to his feet and held him while the other poured ice water over his head waking him. They tied him down on the bed. Craig injected the chemical. He checked his watch.

  “We have to wait thirty minutes for this stuff to take.”

  Once the time was up, Craig began the questioning. “State your name.”

  “Rachid Nezzar.” The words were mumbled, but clearly understood.

  “Address?”

  “Number twelve Via Albert. Torino, Italy.”

  That coincided with his driver’s license. Craig was pleased. This will work.

  “Why were you driving the van?”

  “I was asked to do it by Omar, an old friend from Clichy.”

  “Did you ever live there?”

  “Until a year ago. Then I moved to Torino, because I found work in a Fiat plant.”

  “Where did you pick up the van?”

  “A warehouse in Torino located at number twenty, Via Sardegna.”

  “What was your destination?”

  “An apartment on the third floor of number seven, Via Paglia in Rome.”

  “What were you carrying in the back of the van?”

  “A Chinese made missile. I was shown how to operate it by a Chinese man in the warehouse.”

  “What’s the name of the Chinese man?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What were you planning to do with the missile?”

  “Fire it at the Pope at ten in the morning on Easter Sunday, when he speaks to the people assembled in St. Peters Square.”

  A gasp went up from the officers.

  Craig wanted to believe they had now foiled the attack, but he knew better. He tried to think like Musa. In Musa’s position, he would have multiple missiles. So he asked, “Are other missiles to be fired at the Vatican?”

  “Yes. Three others. Each of us was given one missile to fire.”

  “What are the locations for firing those other missiles?”

  “I don’t know. Omar told each of us only our own location.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Absolutely. I asked Omar and was told it was none of my business.”

  “Who are the other three people with missiles?”

  “I don’t know. We were all wearing masks.”

  Giuseppe wrote Craig a note. “Do you believe him, or should we try water boarding or something else to get the other locations?”

  Craig wrote back, “I believe him. Under the chemical he couldn’t lie about this. Also, Musa’s too smart to give them all the addresses. Only he and Omar know.”

  Giuseppe nodded. “I don’t have any questions.”

  Craig turned to the carabinieri. “Take this piece of dog shit back to his cell.”

  When they were gone, Craig and Giuseppe sat down across the table.

  Craig took out his cell phone and stared at it, willing it to ring. He desperately wanted to hear Elizabeth’s voice on the other end.

  “What’s wrong?” Giuseppe asked.

  “Elizabeth was abducted in Paris last night by Musa. Also a professor of Medieval history at Univ
ersity of Paris. Elizabeth was planning to expose Professor Khalid’s phony story about the parchment, which Musa no doubt engineered. So I’m a little distracted.”

  “Why don’t you go back to Paris?”

  “Jacques is doing everything possible to locate Elizabeth. I’m hoping to get to her by following the thread for the Vatican attack back to Musa.”

  “You got quite a bit from Rachid’s interrogation.”

  “True, but we’re missing a lot more. Have your military people examined the missile?”

  “I asked them to and email me. Let me check.”

  He took out his Blackberry. “It’s the latest Chinese. Range is twenty kilometers.”

  Craig gave a long low whistle. General Zhou’s buddy, Freddy, must have made the whole Chinese arsenal available. “I can’t even imagine how many potential locations there are in a twenty kilometer radius from St. Peter’s Square.”

  “I can’t either, but I intend to use all the cops and law enforcement agents I can get my hands on. They won’t be able to search every location, but they can ask people if they’ve seen anything suspicious. Vans pulling up and being unloaded. Stuff like that.”

  “You’re right to do it. But trouble is, judging from Rachid, the missiles were delivered around two or three a.m. Not many people up then.”

  “More than you think. This is Rome. We’ll start immediately. Also, monitor all cell communications moving out of Rome toward Spain or Morocco.”

  Another fact was depressing Craig. Musa hadn’t assembled an army of thousands to launch these four missiles. Another attack was coming as well. But where? When?

  Craig’s cell phone rang. He pounced and grabbed it, hoping it was Elizabeth. No. Carlos.

  “Elizabeth didn’t answer her phone. She said to call you if I couldn’t reach you.”

  “What happened?”

  “Alvarez gave an order this morning moving all Spanish troops out of Southern Spain immediately and north into the Basque country. He wants the redeployment concluded by Saturday, eleven p.m. When I asked him why he was doing that, he said he had received intelligence pointing to a Basque attack on San Sebastian and Bilbao on Easter Sunday. He wouldn’t disclose his sources. I called my own agents in the Basque community, who are well connected. They say it’s rubbish.” Carlos was excited, talking so fast that he had to pause and take a breath.