“Very well, sir. I’ll be leaving Russia tomorrow. I can’t accomplish much more here. Just out of curiosity, though, does anyone else know I’m alive, or that I’m here?” Alan framed the question almost nonchalantly.
“What? Why would you ask that? Isn’t the whole idea to keep you dead?”
Alan noticed that he hadn’t answered the direct question, and considered asking it again, but then decided against it. If Hershod was the leak, he wasn’t going to admit it. Perhaps the indirect answering with a question was as definitive an answer as he would ever get.
“That was the plan.”
“So there’s your answer. Why? What happened?”
“I was mounting a surveillance operation on the suspected arms dealer, and it went sideways on me. I’m trying to figure out why.”
The pause lasted one second, then two.
“I presume you’re all right since you’re calling.”
“Yes.”
“Any fallout from the surveillance being blown?”
“Not long term. But it couldn’t have happened at a worse time, given the stakes.” Alan thought he would toss that onto the fire. Perhaps, if the director had leaked information, he hadn’t realized Grigenko’s role in the larger scheme of things, or he’d been asked by the KGB and it had seemed unrelated or trivial. Alan hadn’t ever identified the suspected Russian, so it was a possibility. His mind worked furiously as they wound down the conversation. Was it true? Could it be? He couldn’t believe it, but the discussion wasn’t going in a reassuring direction.
“Sorry to hear that. But do whatever you need to do to make this go away. You have complete authority to do anything. Anything at all. Whatever resources you need, whatever action you must take, consider me to have already approved it. Don’t pull any punches. Is that clear?”
“Crystal, sir, crystal.”
When Alan hung up the phone, he was more disturbed than when he had begun the call. He was left with a feeling of distinct unease, and noticed that he was sweating in spite of the cool early morning chill. He hadn’t gotten the reassurance that he had wanted, and there was a subtext to the discussion that he didn’t like at all; namely that pause and dodging of the million-dollar question, no matter how skillfully the director had done it.
He walked back to his new hotel, having made the call from a bank of phones at a nearby Metro station, and asked himself whether the director’s possible involvement with the KGB or Grigenko was even important in the larger matter of the terrorists, and decided that it wasn’t – although if there was some sort of clandestine cooperation between the two agencies that he wasn’t aware of, it hinted that he wasn’t aware of other possibly critical details as well. Details that could ultimately cost him his life.
Once back in his room, he used his laptop to check on flights. First he would get to Europe, and then he’d figure out the cleanest way into Yemen, the source of his current misery. All roads led back to that country, and to the harsh northern desert that this Saif al-Diin called home.
It was at times like these that he most missed his brother’s acumen. David had been peerless in his ability to plan, to think ten moves ahead. Alan had never seen anything like it – he could have easily been a world class chess player if he had so desired. Alan was very smart, but not in the same league. That knowledge didn’t embitter him. It was fact.
He saw that there was a flight out at one p.m. to Frankfurt. He didn’t dare book anything earlier – Jet would need time to get in touch with him and discuss her next move.
Which brought him up short.
Jet.
That he was attracted to her was a given. She was beautiful, exotic, intelligent, and independent – all qualities that were at the top of his list. And she seemed to be warming up to him.
But she was his dead brother’s girlfriend.
Sort of, he reminded himself. His secret girlfriend...and the mother to his child.
An image of her flashing green eyes and a dazzlingly white smile flittered across his consciousness unbidden, and it was with difficulty that he banished it, recalling her last words. He wasn’t to worry. Everything would take care of itself.
He lay on the still-made bed and exhaled noisily, tired to the bone.
Everything would sort itself out.
Easy for her to say.
Chapter 25
The following morning Jet and Alan met for breakfast at the Hilton and he took her through the latest developments. She listened attentively, taking it all in as they waited for their food to arrive. The waiter set their plates down in front of them, and after pouring more coffee for Alan, scurried away to attend to other diners.
Jet forked egg into her mouth and nodded as he finished. “I’m coming with you.”
This wasn’t going as Alan had hoped. “That’s not a good idea. Besides which, you need to contend with Grigenko.” His eyes darted to the other diners. Nobody cared about his discussion, although three businessmen two tables over were having a hard time keeping their eyes off Jet.
“I can deal with him once we’ve saved the free world from Islamic fundamentalist terrorists. That shouldn’t take too long, will it?” She smiled sweetly, then took a sip of her orange juice. “This tastes terrible. Why can’t they get decent orange juice here?” She turned her attention back to him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl, Alan. I can take care of myself, and I don’t need a big strong shadow to fight my battles for me. And also don’t forget that I was the best the team had.”
“I thought I was.”
“They just told you that so you wouldn’t get your feelings hurt. Look, can we agree that together, we pose more of a threat than we do separately? Just give me that,” she insisted.
Alan took another gulp of coffee. “The coffee isn’t a lot better than the OJ.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. So given that you have the biggest threat to national security of our lifetime, wouldn’t it make sense for you, as the man chartered with running this railroad, to enlist the most potent talent you can to bring these A-holes down? Or am I missing some part of this movie?”
He had to concede that she made a compelling argument, but he was unwilling to expose her to any more danger. “That’s not the issue. This is simple – you have Grigenko. I have the terrorists. That’s how this plays out.”
“Sure, but you forget that there’s overlap. Grigenko is also involved with the terrorists, up to his neck, if you’re right. So he’s your problem too. My suggestion is that we work together and deal with both heads of this hydra, but in a reasoned manner. The priority has to be stopping the terrorists, because if I take out Grigenko, they’ll just disappear and then pop up again in a few months or years, having gotten a weapon from someone else. Come on. You know I’m right. The sequence has to be, take down the terrorists and then Grigenko, not the other way around.” She caught Alan glaring at the businessmen and glanced over, then returned her gaze to him and smiled. “Besides which, even though I’m not with the Mossad anymore, I still believe, Alan, and this affects me as much as it does you. This is a threat to a country I gave everything to, for years. If there’s something I can do to stop it, I will.”
“What are you proposing?” She was wearing him down.
“I meet up with you in Yemen. We figure out where these scumbags are and then eradicate them. Once that’s done, we return to Moscow and you help me put an end to Grigenko. From there...we’ll figure it out.”
He nodded. “I have to say there’s a certain appeal to that.”
“What, the kill ’em all part, or the figuring it out bit?”
“Honestly? Both.”
She reached across the linen table cloth and took his hand, tracing the laugh and life lines with the fingers of her other hand.
“According to this, you’re going to live forever and have a wonderful life.”
“Really. Did it say anything about the next few days?”
“Not so much. But I think I’ve made my
position clear.” She set his hand down and returned to her breakfast. “So what flights did you book for yourself? I want to ensure I’m on different planes.”
Just like that, it was settled, without as much as a whimper from Alan. He’d been outgunned by a hundred and ten pounds of female ingenuity.
It didn’t feel all that bad.
~ ~ ~
The Russian allowed himself to be blindfolded after being picked up at the agreed-upon rendezvous point, and now bounced along in the rear seat of the Chevrolet Suburban, men on either side of him, their pungent body odor sour enough to make him gag. The ride went on seemingly endlessly before they lurched to a stop and he was guided out of the vehicle and into a building. He heard a door close behind him and then hands fumbled with the blindfold. When it was removed he was facing Saif al-Diin, who was, in his fashion, sitting on an ornate carpet on the floor.
“Come. Sit,” he beckoned. Hamid, his second-in-command, was standing in a corner of the room, staring holes through the Russian with the burning zeal of the believer, an oversized wad of qat leaves stuffed in his cheek in the Yemeni fashion, masticating the plant. Qat was a drug with mild stimulant qualities that was in widespread use in Yemen, to the point where it was the largest crop in the country. The custom was to chew the leaves and suck on them, like chewing tobacco, to draw out as much of the drug in the leaves as possible.
“Thank you,” the Russian said and then took a seat on the floor across from the terrorist.
“We have run our own trials on the agent, and it is as you said. We would like to place our order, and need to finalize the price and delivery terms,” al-Diin began, shifting to get more comfortable.
“I have good news and bad news, then. First, the bad. We cannot make it contagious. It would require far too much time and resources.”
Saif al-Diin nodded, having expected the response. “And the good?”
“We can have the agent, as provided in the sample, available for you within a week, possibly sooner, in sufficient quantity to kill ten thousand people, assuming that it is introduced into an indoor area’s ventilation system. The effectiveness will vary depending upon the size of the area, of course.”
“Of course. I am assuming that we could deploy it with relative ease?”
“Yes. I will provide instructions once we have an agreement and have received half the purchase price in advance.”
“That is fair. How much will it cost?”
“Five hundred.”
Saif al-Diin’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Is this some sort of Russian humor?”
“No, it is not. That is the price.”
Saif al-Diin closed his eyes, his face betraying no emotion. When he opened them after several long beats, his anger was obvious. “That is considerably more than we ever discussed. More than double the two hundred you felt would be the number.”
“Yes, I know. Apparently when you went onto the web and announced to the world that you were going to use it on a high-profile target, it increased the risk to my master. Risk for which he requires compensation. Frankly, you’re lucky he is still doing the deal – we warned you about leaking the bio-agent’s existence prior to delivery,” the Russian explained reasonably.
“So now that he knows I intend to use it, and require it soon, he has decided to stick it to me, as you say in the West.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I simply was instructed to tell you the price if you wish to purchase the product. If you do not, that is also acceptable, and we will wish you every success and hope that you think of us for anything else you need.”
Saif al-Diin regarded him with a frown. “Perhaps I should send you back to your master in pieces. Small, bloody pieces. I have a mind to do that, then negotiate with your replacement.”
The Russian’s gaze was impassive. “I can assure you that would eliminate any willingness to assist you in your endeavor,” he said.
The terrorist leader nodded. “I suspect you are right. But then again, I could easily obtain a different agent from one of my other sources. There are still stockpiles of nerve gas that I have located. It would be far less expensive.”
“A nerve agent, assuming it wasn’t past its expiration point, might serve your purposes; however, I think you are underestimating the level of difficulty involved in handling and effectively deploying it. With our agent, we’ll supply a foolproof mechanism for transport and dissemination. It can be remotely triggered with a simple cell phone call or a programmable timer. I think you should consider the value of a guaranteed deployment versus an aborted attempt with an inferior substance.”
Saif al-Diin sighed. “This is worth something,” he conceded.
“If you would like to think about it, take a day or two. We’re in no particular hurry. The price is fixed for forty-eight hours. That is all I have been authorized to guarantee.”
Hamid watched the exchange with interest, jittery from the effects of the qat, and fidgeted with the AK-47 assault rifle dangling from his shoulder by a leather strap, unsure of whether he would soon be using it or the dagger tucked into his belt.
Al-Diin sighed again. “I am anxious to put my plans into motion, so today is your lucky day. I accept your terms and your price. Now tell me about delivery, as well as about the best form of deployment.”
The discussion lasted another half hour, the terrorist chieftain taking mental notes and asking detailed questions, his second-in-command listening, occasionally exchanging thoughts in rapid-fire Arabic. By the time the conversation was concluded, Saif al-Diin felt that he had a working understanding of what would be required, as well as how to select a target where the biological weapon would have maximum effect.
“I wish you could make it contagious,” he finished ruefully.
“Yes, well, that is not possible. I’m sorry. But we can probably create a larger quantity if you’re willing to wait.”
“No. Time is not on my side in this, and I have waited long enough. I will transfer funds tomorrow to the same account. And I expect to see you within five business days, as agreed.”
The Russian rose. “Where would you like to take delivery? Remember that it will only be effective for one week from when you receive it. Every day afterwards it will lose fifty percent of its potency – an unfortunate byproduct of its creation.”
Saif al-Diin told him, and the Russian’s eyes flicked to the side before he nodded.
“Very well, then. We should be able to accommodate you. Will you require any blueprints, identification, or other related items for the target?”
“Can you get those?”
“Of course. Tell me what you need and I shall make it so. On the house.” The Russian could afford to be generous at this point.
They talked for another few minutes, and then the Russian strode to the door. “I shall see you within one week.”
The terrorist motioned to Hamid, and he approached the Russian with the blindfold again.
An hour later, the Russian was packing his travel bag, ready for the long series of flights that would return him to Moscow. He weighed a satellite phone in his right hand, and walked to the balcony of his hotel room and opened the two glass doors, watching the unit’s display until it locked onto a signal.
“They agreed. Money will be sent tomorrow. I’m returning on the first flight out.”
Grigenko’s voice on the other end sounded gleeful. This was the easiest half a billion he’d ever made.
The Russian terminated the call and returned the phone to his bag, then withdrew a small leather satchel that he placed carefully on the rustic wooden table near the window before taking a seat. He unzipped it and withdrew a syringe and a small vial of white powder. Next to these, he lined up a spoon, a lighter, and a tiny bottle of distilled water. A contact in Sweden got him all the pharmaceutical-grade heroin he wanted by diverting prescriptions – heroin was regularly prescribed in many countries in Europe in order to control disease and crime, and the purity was always constant, elimina
ting the fear of overdosing due to varying degrees of quality.
The last item he removed was a small votive candle. The veins in his arms had long since collapsed from years of using, so now he injected into the femoral artery in his leg – a practice that carried some risk, but then again, so did facing off violent psychopaths sourcing doomsday weapons. It was all about risk and reward, and he had discovered during his tour of duty in Afghanistan that the magic poppy made danger more manageable without impairing his cognitive function.
He lit the candle and then precisely tapped powder into the spoon, stopping when he had what he knew was two hundred milligrams, more or less. He next poured in a small amount of water and held the mixture over the candle. Once the powder liquefied, he carefully sucked it into the syringe and then injected it with a satisfied groan.
He barely made it from the chair to the bed, and when he collapsed in a state of euphoria his last thought as he listened to the evening call to prayer in the street below was that indeed, Allahu akbar – God was most great.
Chapter 26
Alan followed the coverage on the terrorist video with near feverish devotion, right up until he had to leave the hotel. Hysteria in the U.S. had built as more of the population had time to consider the ramifications; whereas in Israel, where the population routinely dealt with the reality of being surrounded by hostile forces intent on harming it, the news was greeted more calmly.
The television networks all featured the story as their primary lead, devoting non-stop coverage to an endless stream of talking heads – from highly qualified public health physicians to authors of sensationalistic novels featuring bio-threats. Everyone, it seemed, had something to add to the discussion, and the media feeding frenzy that ensued was stunning to behold. An entire nation held its breath, and communities from the Canadian border all the way to Mexico considered steps to reduce the public’s risk, including closing schools, increased airport security, and work stoppages. Bouts of hate crime flared up throughout the nation as Muslims, or those that looked foreign or Middle Eastern, were attacked by the ignorant and the fearful.
Jet 03: Vengeance Page 16