‘You have caused the death of millions.’ Steve angrily punched him in the face.
‘It was not meant to be this way.’
‘You hide behind your religion! Spouting nonsense about Allah’s will, while committing savagery.’
‘I understand your anger, but I am not a fundamentalist, and my religion is a personal matter. My beliefs are moderate; my aims were honourable. You know as well as I do that the Palestinians are a subjugated people. I only want to redress the situation. I neither wanted revenge against the Jews nor to push them out into the sea. Before my parents had been killed, I had many Jewish friends. Afterwards, it was the Sheik who helped me through the difficult times. It was he who allowed me to go to America as an Israeli Jew.’
‘Why would he help you?’ Steve asked. ‘He is not a Palestinian.’
‘He was then, I believe, a genuinely good person. I never had any reason to doubt him.’
‘Then why are you both dealing with Rehmani?’
‘Out of desperation. We needed to prove that the virus was controllable. He facilitated the trial. He was a warlord of influence at the time and not hiding up in the mountains. I can only assume he fell into disfavour with his Taliban cohorts at a later date. We were led to believe that the village had offered themselves up for martyrdom, as long as their extended families outside were well-supported. We foolishly believed him. Now I realise that may not have been the truth.’
‘Do you expect us to believe that rubbish?’ shouted Phil, unable to remain quiet. ‘You sacrificed innocent people because you saw them as worthless. To you, they were just ignorant hill people, and you saw the Palestinian people as worthy of their deaths. Why don’t you admit it?’
‘Samir, you will not gain any trust with my colleagues if you lie,’ said Yanny in an attempt to ease the situation. ‘You knew they were not willing volunteers.’
‘I suspected the truth, but in my enthusiasm, I failed to press for confirmation.’
‘You do realise, if we hand you over to Mossad, they will get the truth out of you in a very short time?’ Steve said.
‘Of course, but you will never be able to stop the Sheik and Rehmani if I am locked up in a torture cell.’
‘We know that. That’s why you’re here.’
Habash looked at Steve for a moment before replying. ‘There are some areas in Israel, admittedly not many, where the relationship between the Jews and Muslims is, if not overtly friendly, at least harmonious. I came from Tira, a small city in the Triangle, an area bordering on the West Bank. The city of Kfar Saba, twelve kilometres away, was Jewish, and they would come to our weekly outdoor market.
‘My father, Mahmoud, had come from Gaza when he was just twenty and, although initially resentful of the Jews, he learnt from them. He prospered. His first wife, Fatima, died and, after a suitable period, he married again at the age of fifty to my mother, Najah, a woman who had been deserted by her first husband. I was born within twelve months of their union and named Samir in honour of my paternal grandfather. My father always told us we must learn tolerance and understanding of our Jewish neighbours.’
‘When did you decide to attack the Israelis?’ Steve asked.
‘Attack, I never wanted to attack? I only wanted to redress the situation in my country. It’s only getting worse. It was anger and hatred that I felt at the age of fifteen when my entire family was killed by an Israeli missile in Gaza.’
‘Why did they do that?’ Steve asked.
‘It was a reprisal for the bombing of a synagogue in Jerusalem.’
‘So it was not unexpected that they would react?’
‘Yes, of course. It was understood, but it was my mother and father and my brother and sisters. How would you expect me to feel afterwards? That is was okay because we had started it first?’
‘Of course not. Any of us would be equally angry, bent on revenge. But this has cost hundred of millions of lives.’
‘It was a cousin’s wedding. Fifty people died that day.’
‘How did the Sheik become involved?’ Steve asked.
‘My father used to do business with him, and I had no family left in Israel. He took me under his wing, and I went with him to the Emirates. I changed my name and continued my education there. He knew me as exceptionally bright, and he had always promised my father that he would do whatever he could to ensure I received the best education. It was the promise of two men of poor backgrounds who had both prospered. My father was, by the standards of our community, a wealthy man. However, compared to the Sheik, he was almost a pauper. It was the Sheik who had overseen the subterfuge of my entering America as a Jew. I don’t think it was anything other than him ensuring that I received the best chance in my new country.’
‘And you became preeminent in your field?’
‘I thrived, and I loved everything it had to offer.’
‘Why, then, did you decide to give it all away?’
‘The injustice of my people in Palestine continued to weigh on my mind. It was just that, with the virus, I could see an opportunity to make a difference. I thought the very threat of its potential would have been sufficient, but the Sheik felt we needed to prove its efficacy.’ Samir dropped his head in shame. ‘I, out of great respect for him, agreed with his advice.’
‘Then your only hope of redemption is to stop him causing more deaths,’ Yanny said, fighting back the tears.
‘Yes, and he must now be a desperate man,’ replied Samir. ‘He must be contemplating something significant.’
‘Where and when?’ said Steve. ‘What do you believe?’
‘It can’t be Israel. America is the most logical choice and, as yet, he hasn’t hit their seat of power.’
‘Washington? Is that what you are saying?’
‘He is a walking dead man, and he knows it. He, like me, has destroyed his life, his future. He will be bitter and vengeful and will want to strike out at the one place where he believes Israel’s reluctance is being orchestrated from.’
‘Why Washington?’ said Yanny. ‘Surely that’s from the Knesset, the Israeli parliament?’
‘Yanny you are mistaken. The American Jewish lobby controls the American government as much as it does Israel. You can only become the President of the United States of America if they allow.’
‘If he’s going to target Washington, then how do we understand his plan?’
‘We don’t,’ said Samir. ‘We need to get to Azerbaijan and get those crates. And I need to get out of these clothes and have a shave.’
***
Three hours on the ground in Azerbaijan had been long enough for the Sheik to cement the plan. As Steve and his team landed, the Sheik and Rehmani departed. The Azerbaijan government had missed the opportunity to forestall their departure through procrastination.
‘What do they hope to achieve?’ said Steve. ‘We can always follow.’
It was Ed who told them that their ability to track would be severely curtailed if the Sheik’s jet went further north into Russia. Satellite surveillance would be seen as an act of aggression. There were longstanding agreements that had been in place between America and Russia for some years, and neither was willing to violate.
‘I still don’t get what they hope to achieve from all this,’ Steve said as they sat in the bar at the Four Seasons Hotel in the centre of Baku, no more than two hundred metres from the Caspian Sea. ‘And what are we doing sitting here?’
‘What do you expect us to do?’ replied Harry as he drank his Xirdalan, the local beer. ‘We don’t know where they are. What do you suggest?’
‘I’m not sure what I’m suggesting,’ said Steve, ‘but we should be doing something. And then there’s Habash. I still don’t trust him.’
‘None of us do,’ replied Yanny. ‘He could be spinning us a tale. He’s been doing that since he was fifteen.’
‘All we can do is to wait for some further information from either Ed or Uri,’ said Harry.
It was to be three frustrati
ng days and a few too many beers for Harry. Yanny, still sentimental and emotionally involved, had purchased some clothes for Samir and, with a clean shave and a basic haircut, he quickly regained the appearance he had in Amman.
Mossad’s intelligence network was extensive, and their people had been working overtime to follow up on the Sheik. No longer under any constraints, Uri’s colleagues fully embraced him back into the fold as he sought their assistance. All that remained were the four crates, and the crisis was over. Uri had told them that, although he was not sure.
They were all relying on Habash’s newfound normality and the hope he wasn’t lying. The team’s approach to him was more agreeable, and even Steve had started calling him by his first name. Even Phil, gruff as he could sometimes be and Harry, who was used to surnames in preference to first names as befits an aristocrat started addressing him as Samir.
The phone call from Uri was taken in Steve’s room at the hotel, Ed on the line. ‘We know the plane landed in Poti, a seaport on the Black Sea in Georgia. It’s not easy to obtain landing permission, and there may be no advantage.’
‘What about Al-Rashid?’ Steve asked.
‘His whereabouts are unknown. We think he’s slipped onto one of the many ships plying the Black Sea.’
‘What do we know about the crates?’
‘They’re definitely not on the plane,’ said Uri. ‘We checked it on arrival back into Abu Dhabi.’
‘So that means we don’t have the crates, and we don’t know where either Al-Rashid or Rehmani are,’ said Steve. ‘Correct?’
‘Partially. We know where Rehmani is and at least two of the crates.’
‘And where is that?’
‘He crossed over into Chechnya in the back of a truck twelve hours ago.’
‘How do you know this?’ Steve asked.
‘We’re Mossad. We’re everywhere. Especially when there are Muslims, who are capable of using terrorism to further their aims. The Chechens – or, more precisely, the Chechen Martyrs and the Taliban, along with Al Qaeda and any other terrorist organisation – keep in close contact. He is bound to have some contacts there. He’s probably run weapons between Afghanistan and Chechnya in the past. If he’s in Chechnya, then Russia sounds a possible target. The Chechen Martyrs would not have any qualms about inflicting damage in Moscow.’
‘They will not get the numbers now,’ said Steve. ‘The Russians will be able to control the second generation infections.’
‘You may be right; in which case, they’ll go for maximum effect. You better get some people on the trail. I’ve got some contacts in Moscow, but Chechnya… there’s not a lot I can do to help you on the ground. I may be able to get you some leads. I have people within the various rebel groups that feed me information as necessary. I’ll put out some feelers.’
‘That’s fine,’ replied Steve. ‘We’ve got the team here. We’ll figure the best way to deal with it. What about Al-Rashid?’
‘He will be on one of nine or ten ships that left the port, mainly bound for the Romanian port of Constanta or Varna in Bulgaria. I’ll have some people in both cities, and I’ll see if Ed can help as well. We’ve got a few days. I’ll keep you posted.’
‘What will he do once he gets to either of those places?’ asked Steve.
‘He’ll have to transfer to another boat if he wants to ship the crates to the USA, or he’ll organise a truck and aim to move them overland. That won’t be so easy. It’s unlikely he’ll have the necessary contacts, so we’re favouring a transfer to another ship. We’ll see him, whatever happens. It should be possible to grab the crates then. Once you have the crates, he’s ours. Is that agreed?’
‘It’s agreed. I assume you will want to question him?’
‘That’s a mild term for what we have in mind. We need to know who else he’s been working with.’
‘And then?’
‘He, along with any others, will cease to exist,’ Uri said. ‘That also applies to your new best friend, Habash.’
‘He’s not our friend,’ countered Steve. ‘He’s just someone we’ll work with for the moment. Ultimately he will be yours.’
‘Don’t leave it too long, or we may just come and take him.’
‘We won’t. We just need to find these four crates.’
‘Are there any more that we don’t know about?’ asked Uri.
‘According to Habash, that is the last of the material.’
‘And we believe him?’ Uri said cynically.
‘I don’t trust him at all,’ replied Steve, ‘but right now, he’s our best bet for ending this nightmare.’
‘Agreed, I’ll trust you to keep a good watch on him for us.’
Chapter 26
The hotel was excellent, but the team was used to action. They were bored and ready to be on the move. Phil and Harry had spent their few days enforced idleness drinking too much. Yanny had spent a little too much time out at the airport with Habash. The Azerbaijan government had at least agreed to him being held in a holding cell out there, and whereas those guarding him were fine, neither Phil nor Harry felt comfortable to let Habash out of their sight. One or the other maintained a twenty-four vigil, sufficiently discreet when Yanny was there. Her closeness to the man worried Steve.
He updated them on his conversation with Uri. Yanny and Phil were in the hotel, Harry out at the airport had dialled in. Phil was the worse for wear as he and Harry had set into a routine of twelve hours guarding, twelve hours drinking. It served neither of them well.
‘Sheik Al-Rashid is on a ship somewhere on the Black Sea. Uri and Ed have got Mossad and the CIA out looking for him. They’re pretty sure he’ll be spotted in a few days, so our focus is on Rehmani.’
‘Do we know where he is?’ Phil asked, slurring his speech and taking a gulp of beer.
‘He’s in Chechnya.’
‘Does he have any crates with him?’ Yanny asked.
‘At least two.’
‘We’re going after him?’
‘You and Phil are. I’ll stay here with Harry and our friend. We’ll follow up on Al-Rashid.’
‘At least it’s another stamp in the passport?’ Phil joked.
‘I doubt immigration will have a chance to stamp your passport,’ Steve said.
‘What’s the language?’ Yanny asked. ‘If it’s Russian, then I’m okay.’
‘Where he’s gone, your linguistic skills will not win you a lot of friends.’
‘How are we going to find him?’ asked Phil. ‘With no leads, it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘Uri has people in the country,’ Steve replied.
‘How do they do this?’ Yanny asked.
‘They’re the best intelligence-gathering organisation in the world. They put our people to shame,’ Steve admitted.
***
To be in Chechnya was not what Abdul Rehmani had envisaged. His plans to use the Sheik and his people to make him wealthy had been severely damaged. He realised he should have stayed in the village and found his own way out, but he had not considered that possibility at the time.
It would have been simpler just to hand over the crates, take the money, kill Habash and disappear into Afghanistan for a year or two until the crisis had passed. He cared little for the millions of deaths around the world or for the deluded jihadists who felt the need to martyr themselves. He had purely been instrumental in recruiting them and as for the village of death, it meant nothing to him. There was nothing he could do about the current situation. He just had to make the best of it.
‘Abdul Rehmani, Salamu Alaykum,we meet again. How many years has it been?’ Akhmad Dudayev greeted him warmly.
‘Waalaikum as-salaam.It has been too long, my friend. At least eighteen. You still look as strong as you did then.’
‘You are too kind,’ replied Dudayev. ‘The years have been long, the fight difficult and my bones are weary.’
‘You have many years ahead of you. There will be many more sons.’ Rehmani show
ed the face of a man content with his circumstances. It should have been an apartment in Dubai, and the greeting should have been reserved for a Ukrainian or Russian prostitute, not a tribesman in an isolated valley in a country that he did not comprehend.
‘I wish that was true. Two of my three sons have been killed by the Russians, and the other one is in one of their jails. But we do not complain. We continue the struggle.’
‘I may be able to secure the release of your son,’ replied Rehmani. ‘If that is what you truly desire.’
‘What brings you here, and how can you help my son?’
‘You are aware of the deaths in America?’
‘Yes, we know. It is of little concern to us. It is Russia that continues to persecute us.’
‘Then what has happened in America can occur in Russia. I have brought you the means.’
‘It has killed many of our Muslim brothers in Palestine and Egypt.’
‘They have been martyred.’
‘We are ready for martyrdom if it will allow freedom for our people, but it is of little value if we do not strike a blow at Russia.’
‘We will strike that blow together.’ Rehmani was consoled by the welcome, aware that any hope of a normal life in Dubai was now behind him. He was a marked man. Sheik Al-Rashid had made that clear. His only hope was a quiet and safe life. Abdul Dudayev offered the best opportunity.
‘And what do you want in return?’ asked Dudayev.
‘In time, a place where I can live my life in peace. I ask no more.’
‘That we can grant you once Russia is brought to its knees. Tell me what we can do.’
Akhmad Dudayev and Abdul Rehmani had met initially in Kandahar. It was the time of the rise of the Taliban in Kandahar. Dudayev, a young man barely in his twenties, and Rehmani, close to thirty-five and a seasoned fighter, had formed an easy friendship despite the disparity in ages. Dudayev, bright and articulate, spoke good and fluent English. He had become the unofficial interpreter for the hundreds of Chechens flocking to wherever they could pursue the cause of Islam and Sharia. In time, and with skills learnt with Rehmani, he had secured the leadership of the Chechen Martyrs.
Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set Page 31