“I’ve got new information,” he informed them on his return, “that puts a whole new light on this. Talanov may have a secondary motive for kidnapping Jake. I think the scheming bastard is out for revenge on you, David, clear and simple. I doubt he has any intention of letting the boy live.”
“Revenge! Revenge for what?”
Omar reminded David of last summer’s deadly business with the rogue Egyptian general and the chest of ancient pearls known as the Porus Legacy. Not that any of them needed reminding, for the cost in lives had been substantial—including Lana’s father.
“Before he was killed,” Omar continued, “he was in the final stage of concluding the sale to that Belgian middleman within the European black-market. In fact, only moments earlier the man had electronically transfered millions of euros into the general’s numbered Swiss bank account—an enormous sum the buyer was never able to retrieve. Since then our people have attempted to not only claim those millions from this account for the Egyptian government, but also to identify who exactly put it there. Now we know. It came from the same Zurich banking entity Deker/Schmidt, Talanov’s glorified ‘piggybank’. It’s my opinion he believes you’re solely responsible for him losing that fortune. Knowing him as we now do, I believe he’s more than capable of seeking his sick revenge on you through Jake.
Tears glistened in Elizabeth’s eyes.
“David, we can’t let him—”
“We’re not going to, darling. Trust me.”
Brave and assuring words, he thought, but where to begin?
A plan needed to be formulated. And damn rapidly!
Logically, there was only one beginning point. Somehow or other, they must deduce the precise location of Jake’s imprisonment. Not an easy task, he knew, yet not totally impossible. Only when this was determined could a plan of any workable form even begin to take shape.
“I need each of you to do something for me,” David said as he uploaded a copy of the video from his phone to his laptop for better viewing. “I want you to look through this one at a time. Omar, you go first. Take as long as you wish. And please, no comments until all are finished.”
“What exactly am I—we—looking for?”
“I want your individual impressions after studying the entire scene; from the general configuration of the room—the background—the cot he’s lying on—the section of table partially visible—literally any overlooked details that might be even minutely telling of Jake’s location.’’
Only after all three were done did they compare notes.
Though David had already drawn his own conclusion, he wanted affirmation that his judgment was sound. In his mind, this was far too critical a decision to leave anyone out of the process. Everything from this point forward would hinge on a complete consensus if they were to get it right. There was simply no time to get it wrong.
Their individual observations proved uniformly similar.
All agreed the room where Jake was held had the shabby appearance of a little-used storage or utility space, it’s few remaining objects decidedly old and barely functional. The exposed metal cot was low to the floor, slightly bowed in the middle and looking decidedly flimsy with the thinnest possible mattress. Likewise, the partially visible section of the table was constructed of unpainted wood, darkly stained with age and apparently having seen rough use.
“Which tells us what?” asked Elizabeth. “We’re no closer now than—”
“But we are hon. We’ve effectively cut the possibilities in half. We now know for a certainty that Jake is being held aboard the Varna—not the Corrina. Think about it. Can anyone picture even for a moment that Talanov’s super-yacht would contain such a room anywhere aboard his prized vessel? For myself, I don’t see it.”
“So the Varna is our starting point,” said Omar. “No matter what, know that Lana and I are both down for whatever you decide. Any preliminary ideas?”
“Not yet, my friend—but with your much-appreciated help and others, I’m confident we’re going to work it out.” David picked up the phone. “For starters, we need to immediately fill in Ted and Nick as to what’s happened. The more people we get involved in brainstorming the possibilities, the better.”
“Including Nick?” asked Elizabeth. “He’ll want to drop everything and fly here straightaway.”
“I’m counting on it, hon. Can you imagine how he’d feel if we didn’t include him? Jake is like his second son.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Twenty-Four Hours Later.
Deep in thought, David mentally reviewed what was fast becoming a major blur of intense activity undertaken over the past day. His lack of measurable sleep only added to his growing difficulty; not as yet an insurmountable problem, he knew, but one that might partially inhibit the full focus of his concentration. It was a subtle and annoying diminishment, one he couldn’t allow to gain the better of him. There was simply no allowance for exhaustion in his schedule.
Under his direction, things were happening at a frenzied pace. He sat alone aboard a rented executive jet, one hardly comparable in comfort, size or capacity to the DeCaylus Corp plane, but one nonetheless piloted by his trusted senior pilot for this particular mission. Due to time constraints and other critical considerations, the much larger jet was currently hard pressed in other critical tasks, all equally vital to achieving Jake’s eventual rescue.
It was already nightfall far below, while up here at 22,000 feet the visible remnants of a dying sunset still lingered in the sky. But this was about to change, for David felt an ever-so-slight alteration in the background hum of the twin jet engines as their power was slowly cut back. A glance at his wristwatch confirmed the timing. It appeared the craft was on schedule as it began its descent toward Guvercinlik Airbase, just northwest of Ankara, Turkey.
This was confirmed via intercom.
“Estimating roughly ten minutes to touchdown, sir.”
David pressed and held the button on his console.
“Thanks, Don. Any last minute changes on their part?”
“Not so far. But things could change. I’m not sure what to expect. This is primarily an army airbase, supposedly only open to civil domestic flights by strict military permission. As previously instructed, we’re being directed to the farthest eastern runway, the one closest to their specified hanger number twelve.”
“Then it looks like a go.”
“I hope so, sir.”
David again glanced at his wristwatch.
“When this is concluded—for good or ill—what will be our flying time to Canakkale on Turkey’s Troad Peninsula?”
“Less than an hour.”
David had little confidence in his prearranged clandestine meeting with the President of Turkey, Adman Deniz, would produce anything along the results he sought. What they knew of the president’s somewhat convoluted relationship with Russia and the west was often a puzzle, a man whose motives and goals were undefined outside his own political machinations. Yet everyone from Ted, Omar, Nick, et al, agreed it must be attempted as a first step. How could it not? The Corrina and Varna were already passing into Turkish territorial waters and soon to be heading for the Black Sea. If nothing else, regardless of the results, this meeting would at least buy them the necessary time to continue putting in place the details of David’s alternate plan. At least this was his sincere hope. On the other hand, the worst possible outcome from this one-on-one was something he feared to even contemplate. Was President Deniz deeper in bed with Russia than anyone fully realized? If so, might he purposely block their chances of rescuing Jake?
In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder.
“Two minutes to touchdown, sir.”
He buckled his seatbelt as the jet lined up its approach, then felt the craft slip smoothly onto the long runway with scarcely a jar. Three minutes later, Don taxied up to within twenty feet of the designated hangar and shut down the twin engines.
Five suited men, only one in military u
niform, awaited David outside the open hanger, gesturing him inside as the huge door began to lower. Well lit, the interior was empty save for two closely parked limousines with heavily tinted windows. A seated driver was partially visible within each. It made David wonder if this indicated his meeting was intended to be extremely brief.
Now led through an office door by the uniformed man, he saw the room’s sole occupant was President Deniz, a recognizable figure to anyone who followed current events in the Middle East. Standing up from behind an unimpressive metal desk, he shook David’s hand, gesturing his guest to a single opposing chair. In front of him was a closed folder. In his early sixties, he was of medium height and build, his black hair trimmed short and brushed close to his scalp. However, it was the hardness of his lidded eyes that caught David’s immediate attention, reminding him that here was a man who had survived two major coup attempts in just the past three years.
“Leave us,” Deniz abruptly told the uniformed man. “And close the door behind you. My conversation with Prof. Manning will be in private.”
This done, both men sat facing each other in their respective chairs.
“I appreciate your taking time to meet with me, sir,” said David. “Especially under such short notice.”
Deniz surprised David with a faint smile as he now opened his folder, extracting the contents. “Professor, for reasons I’ll soon explain, it wasn’t my initial intention to do so. However, I would be less than candid if I said I wasn’t swayed considerably by this.”
He took a moment to peruse the sheets.
“All of these came in over just the past ten hours,” he continued. “A rather impressive collection, I must admit. You appear to have a cadre of high-placed advocates holding you in great esteem—all of whom identify you as someone quite deserving of my time and respect. It isn’t every day one receives such glowing communications from the likes of the sitting president of Egypt, two former presidents of the Republic of Mongolia, the Head of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities . . .” He stopped and shook his head as he restacked the pages. “Well, I could go on from a list of other notables, but I think my point is made. Thus we find ourselves sitting here today.”
His eyes now fully focused on David.
“Your original request to meet with me, Professor, centered on your belief that a Russian freighter—a ship owned and under the direct control of a Russian billionaire named Alexei Talanov—is not only loaded with a vast number of contraband marble artifacts looted from the Ionian Sea, but is headed toward the straits of the Bosporus and the Black Sea.”
“More than just a belief, sir. It’s a fact. I’ve seen inside its hull.”
“And you wish me to do what exactly?”
“Intercept and board it before they can reach Russian home waters in the Black Sea.”
A silent President Deniz pursed his lips as he leaned back in his chair, clearly selecting what he would say next very carefully.
For David, it wasn’t a good sign.
“I’m afraid I cannot oblige you, Professor,” he finally said. At least not in the manner you wish. And before you respond, let me explain.” He lifted his hands, indicating the essentially empty office with the closed door. “Doubtless you’ve wondered why I chose here and not the more public Presidential Palace to speak with you. My reason is basically simple. For all intent and purpose, this meeting never happened.”
Now it was David who shook his head.
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“What I’m about to tell you is probably more than I should say. If it wasn’t for these recommendations,” and he paused to tap the folder, “I would end this right here. But I feel I owe you as someone deserving of an explanation—one that I’ll later completely deny, of course, on the grounds that this conversation never took place.”
Deniz leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on the desk.
“Firstly, Professor—and no offense intended, I assure you—unlike you, I’ve no interest in matters of art, statuary, or any other sundry antiquities, no matter what their potential value to the cultural world at large. Pure and simple, I’m a dedicated political pragmatist. As you’ve probably discerned, my sole goal over the past few years has been in gradually improving our relationship with Russia for the ultimate benefit of Turkey. Many believe I’ve set the wrong course for my country, but I disagree. Which now brings me to the reason I must deny your request for an interdiction on that freighter. As it presently stands, Russia enjoys unencumbered commercial and military passage through our Bosphorus, free of all delaying inspections and the like. As you can imagine, it took time to properly set this up—and I’m not prepared to place this arrangement in any sort of jeopardy. I know this isn’t what you wished to hear, but my decision is firm.”
David nodded. Disappointing as this was, it could’ve played out far worse.
“I’ve been pondering something, Professor, and my curiosity has gotten the better of me. Do you mind?”
“Ask away.”
“Since we’re being totally honest here in a meeting that technically doesn’t exist, I have to believe something very key is going unsaid on your part. Just why, for example, would you hope to have me authorize an interdiction of that freighter when you and your many high-placed advocates have had the opportunity of taking this to the world press days ago—even back when the ship was still in Greek territorial waters? That makes little sense to me.”
David saw no reason to deny Deniz the details of Jake’s abduction and took the next few minutes to outline the grim details as they occurred, leaving nothing out. As he did so, the effect on the silent Deniz was evident in a slight softening of his otherwise stern and inflexible face.
But the effect was only momentary.
“You have my sincere sympathy, Professor. Yet as troubling as I find this, I cannot let it influence my decision. I sincerely hope you can appreciate my position.” As both men now stood, he shook David’s. “I pray your son is eventually returned to you unharmed. I genuinely wish it so.”
* * * *
Eighteen minutes later, after returning to his private office within Ankara’s Presidential Palace, Deniz found himself still contemplating his clandestine meeting with Professor Manning. It was unlike him to do so for there was no question that his resolution to not interdict the freighter was the right one. How could it not be? Any continued benefit to Turkey was absolutely vital in his long-term plans and must not be altered—and this despite a lingering empathy for Manning’s potentially tragic problem regarding his son. It normally wasn’t part of Deniz’s pragmatic nature to second-guess himself after making rational decisions. Yet he couldn’t deny the man’s dilemma had struck a personal chord, stirring up unbidden images of his own grandson, a lad close to the age of the kidnapped boy. Making matters worse, if Manning was correct in all he said, then this Russian, Talanov, wasn’t the type to release young Jake alive once his looted treasure was safely into the eastern Black Sea. So what if anything could be done? he wondered. Was it possible to maintain the integrity of his decision, yet still be of some aid to Manning?
The answer came to him.
Perhaps there was . . .
Deniz gathered his thoughts as he pulled the folder from his briefcase. Though he had no knowledge saying otherwise, he felt reasonably confident that Manning’s assessment was probably accurate. What he did have, however, was his own rather favorable appraisal of President Voronin acquired through the past few years of one-on-one negotiations. Mentally comparing the two men, he suspected Voronin probably knew little, possibly even nothing, of what one of his oligarchs was attempting to accomplish.
Interesting, he mused. If this was the case, perhaps it was time he learned!
After extracting a fresh pad from his desk drawer, he composed a carefully worded cover letter and clipped it to the folder. He then buzzed in his senior assistant, instructing, “Transmit this in its entirety to Moscow as soon as possible using President Voronin’s privat
e channel. I want the full original back on my desk before I leave. No copies. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Satisfied nothing more could be done, Deniz shifted his mind to other matters. Despite the long day, his normal work schedule allowed him a few more hours. As for the Manning situation, it was now out of his hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Same Evening. Two Hours After Sunset.
Seated on the private upper deck atop his 342-foot yacht, Alexei Talanov relaxed as best he was presently able with his trusted aide, Pavel Bedev. The first of several hurdles was now safely behind them, the Corrina and the following Varna finally within Turkish territorial waters and no longer susceptible to Greek interference. Not far ahead of them lay the opening to the Dardanelles, known in classical antiquity as the Hellespont, an internationally significant waterway in northern Turkey separating Asian Turkey and European Turkey. Only forty miles long and one of the world’s narrowest straits for navigation, the Dardanelles would take them to the small Sea of Marmara and the Bosphorus at its farther end.
It was evident to Bedev by the soft drumming of the oligarch’s fingers on the armrest that he was increasingly eager to get this business concluded. On the plus side were yesterday’s emails informing them everything was in readiness to unload the Varna once it crossed the Black Sea to Novorossiysk on the Russian coast. From there the contents of their remarkable cargo could be leisurely transferred and placed within his newly constructed mansion, an event Alexei looked forward to with high anticipation. On the minus side, however, was the much-reduced speed the yacht was forced to maintain in order to keep just ahead of the slower freighter. This was an ever-growing frustration.
Bedev also knew there was another matter—a decision, actually—yet to be resolved involving the eventual fate of young Jake Manning. Knowing the bitter depths of Talanov’s desire for revenge, he accepted that it could end in only one way. So be it. He understood the need too well to expect otherwise. By itself, a victory even on this scale over this troublesome adversary wouldn’t be near enough to satisfy the need for retribution . . . certainly not after the costly debacle inflicted one year before in Egypt. The permanent loss of Manning’s son would be deemed a just and satisfying payback for all the difficulties the American had caused.
The Ionian Paradigm Page 11