The Caspian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  Ronni placed her hand on the door handle. "I will follow him inside. You stay, he will recognize you." She slipped out the door and strode towards the terminal.

  Ten minutes later, Ronni emerged arm-in-arm with Peter. He carried the box under his right arm. She was putting on the charm and he was buying it, hook line and sinker. He couldn't take his eyes off her. His situational awareness succumbed to his libido.

  Amadeo held up the newspaper he had been pretending to read. They halted beside the passenger door, Peter listening to the delights awaiting him in Ronni's apartment. The door opened, he stuck his head inside and froze when he recognized the driver.

  "Get in and shut-up." Ronni had the Berretta stuck under his right armpit.

  Peter flinched, but a sharp shove with the barrel made up his mind. He plopped into the passenger seat with the box in his lap.

  Ronni opened the back door and slid in behind Peter. She pressed the gun against his neck. "Sit quietly and do not move. — Do you understand?"

  He nodded, eyes straight ahead. His breathing was shallow, and his hand tightened around the box.

  She said, "Go back two blocks to that wide street and drive south. We will leave the city and drive into the desert."

  Amadeo complied without speaking. He knew the less said to Peter would only serve to heighten his anxiety and make the next step easier.

  Peter started to turn his head and say something, but Ronni slapped him hard on the side of the head. "Do that again and we will have to find a place to bury you."

  Amadeo grinned and said to himself: Now this is my kind of woman.

  Wednesday, 9 November 1979: Tehran

  Suslov hobbled into the office of Captain Rezaei. His request to see the Minister of the Interior had been turned down. He was seething at being shunted off to a mere captain.

  Rezaei offered a curious smile and motioned to a chair. "Please have a seat, Major. How may I be of service to you this morning." He couldn't believe his luck. Now he didn't have to track the man down.

  Suslov grimaced as he sat on the hard chair. He leaned forward on his cane and pointed a finger at the Iranian. "This morning I was informed one of my most valuable comrades was murdered on the Tabriz highway. This man was a peaceful agricultural expert striving to help the humble peasants of Iran better their agricultural methodology. This is an outrage." He stamped his cane on the floor for emphasis.

  "What project was this man going to? I have no record of any joint ventures in the area."

  "That is not the question. Who killed this man? Was it bandits, counter-revolutionaries? I demand an answer."

  "This unfortunate incident happened in a rural area, we are just now sending officers from Tehran to the scene."

  "Have you made any arrests? Any suspects?"

  Rezaei barely concealed a smile. "We are rounding up the usual suspects."

  "I demand to be included in the investigation. The victim was a heroic Soviet citizen."

  The captain flipped open his file. "And it seems, the second victim was an Iranian citizen." He leaned back in his chair. "A member of a banned Marxist faction — a counter-revolutionary. What may I ask, was he doing with this … so called agricultural expert, an Azeri, Samir Kazimov?"

  "A coincidence to be sure. We employ many Iranians as drivers and such."

  "And such. Yes. I can imagine." Rezaei's facade of cool composure started to crumble. "Witnesses on the scene tell my men that this Kazimov confronted a foreigner in a yellow van and was shot dead when he drew his weapon…" He glanced at the file. "a Makarov 6P9 with a silencer. Did you know this Kazimov was KGB?"

  "This foreigner, who is he? Is he in custody? I demand to see him at once."

  Rezaei carefully considered his answer, he wanted to elicit a reaction from Suslov. "The man was an Austrian accompanied by two Danish citizens, a man and a woman."

  "Danish? No one else? Are you sure?"

  "Yes, we have witnesses. You are surprised? Did you expect someone else? Tell me again, why was a KGB operative attacking foreign visitors to Iran?"

  Suslov rose to his feet and steadied himself on his cane. "This is an outrage. The ambassador will file a formal complaint with your Foreign Ministry."

  Rezaei spread his hands. "You are most welcome to do so. If I can be of further service, please do not hesitate to call."

  Wednesday, 9 November 1979: South of Tabriz

  The Gaz-69 sat a kilometer off the road in what appeared to be an unused gravel pit. Peter had stayed silent, except for his troubled breathing, for the entire trip. Neither Ronni or Amadeo had spoken since the terminal.

  "Search him," said Ronni.

  Amadeo walked around and opened the passenger door. He spoke his first words to Peter, "Keep both hands on the box and move to the front of the vehicle."

  Peter obeyed, almost stumbling when he got out. Ronni followed and stood a few yards away with the pistol aimed at his knees. "Search him." Her tone was authoritative and unambiguous.

  Amadeo found the pistol in Peter's jacket pocket. He checked to see if it was loaded. "Magazine's empty," he said to Ronni. "Must have used it up on the Russian." He slipped the weapon in his waistband.

  "Russian?" Peter was startled.

  "You didn't know you killed two KGB agents back there?"

  Peter's knees started to tremble.

  "You're in a heap of trouble, boy. You got the Iranians, Russians, Americans, and the Israelis after you."

  "Israelis?" He looked at Ronni.

  "And don't forget the Italians," she said.

  "So, what's in the box?"

  Peter's shoulders slumped.

  Amadeo grabbed the package and unwrapped the cloth. A cardboard box was inside. He opened the flap and pulled out an electronic module. Peter's shocked expression betrayed his surprise.

  "And what do we have here?" He held the module in front of Peter's face. "Who were you taking this to?"

  Peter pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. Ronni shot him in the foot.

  The crack of a twenty-two startled Amadeo. Peter crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain.

  She kneeled beside him. "Answer the question or the next on is higher up on your anatomy."

  "Turkish border." He gasped for air. "Someone was to meet me there and take the package."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know."

  She slammed the barrel against his wound.

  "I don't know — it's the truth."

  "Which border crossing?"

  "Esendere."

  "How do you know who to give the package to?"

  His eyes betrayed him. She shot him in the kneecap. Amadeo looked on in fascination

  Peter started to cry. Between sobs he blurted out, "A Syrian… with a South American…"

  "His name Carlos," said Amadeo.

  "Yes…"

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow"

  "Time."

  "Afternoon…" He passed out.

  "Is that all the information we need?" asked Ronni.

  "Think so. Now we got to figure out what to do next."

  She pressed the end of the barrel to Peter's left temple and pulled the trigger.

  "Next, we return to my house and prepare to drive to Esendere."

  Wednesday, 9 November 1979: Ankara, Turkey

  John Smith held the phone tight to his ear. Colonel Wilson was on the other end. The connection was scratchy and had a harsh quality. He had just completed giving Wilson the full story.

  Wilson's voice had that edge, the one you didn't want to hear. "Let me get this straight. Ruiz in still in Iran, wanted for killing a Soviet agent, and you are in Ankara wanting — How much did you say? — ten thousand dollars."

  "At least ten, probably more like twenty or twenty-five when it's all over."

  "How are you going to find Ruiz? What's he going to do call you and tell you when to pick him up?"

  "We won't know until we get there."

  "Why didn't you call me sooner
— before you went off to Ankara."

  "Like you told us, sometimes it's better to—"

  "Go ahead and do it and ask for forgiveness later. I know the drill."

  "Yes sir, that's good advice."

  "It wasn't meant to be SOP." Standard operating procedure. Wilson expelled a breath of exasperation. "Oh hell, what do you need me to do?"

  "The Turks picked up on news of the shooting. Can you see if any of our people did the same?"

  "Will do."

  "The money. Will the embassy be able to advance us the funds … in cash?"

  "Not likely. This is the government you're dealing with. By the time you get all the paperwork filled out, in triplicate, it will be too late. The CIA station chief may be able to get you enough to get to the border, but that's all."

  "We can't just sit here and do nothing."

  "Ruiz is an experienced operator, he's gone to ground in Iran before. What do think his chances are?"

  "If anyone can do it, he can. But I'd feel a whole lot better if we could get in there and give him some help."

  "Agreed. You think he has the tape?"

  "Not sure, but he probably does." John paused. "One other thing. Jack spotted Carl Walker in Tehran … at the Ministry of Defense."

  "Carl Walker… name sounds vaguely familiar."

  "He works with Lukas Penwell?"

  "Penwell. You sure?"

  "Jack saw him, knows him by sight. Walker was there bigger than Dallas. Jack thinks he was doing some sort of a deal with the Iranians."

  "I'll run it by Langley, maybe they already have a handle on his whereabouts."

  "What do you want us to do?"

  "You're the one on the ground. Play it by ear and use your best judgment. I'll call you back later."

  "What'd he say?" said Jack, expecting the worst.

  "If I read him correctly, he said — go for it."

  23 ~ The Plan

  Wednesday PM, 9 November 1979: Tabriz

  The ride back to Tabriz was tense. Ronni's cold-blooded execution of Peter had stunned Amadeo. She had insisted leaving his body in the gravel pit with his empty pistol in hand. The weapon could be connected with the highway shooting and further confuse the police.

  "You disapprove of my actions?" said Ronni. They hadn't spoken since leaving the scene.

  Amadeo hesitated. "If you really want to know … yes."

  "We didn't have time to waste, the information was vital."

  "We got the electronics board."

  "Yes, and that alone made him a dead man. They would have killed him in any case. And besides, he led us to the real enemy. The bastards who wanted to buy it and use it against Israel."

  "You going to inform your people about the meet."

  Her voice took an even colder tone, "No, we are going to meet them at the border. There is not enough time, we must do it ourselves."

  "We? Do what?"

  "Kill them."

  Amadeo didn't respond, keeping his eye on the road. They were entering Tabriz on a side road.

  "You are not coming with me?"

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

  Wednesday PM, 9 November 1979: Tehran

  Suslov returned to the Soviet Embassy after his meeting with Rezaei. His somber mood concealed a smoldering rage. His injuries precluded any direct action on his part, but he had one last card to play. Comrade Naheed and two of his cronies stood before him, listening to a stinging account of the disaster on the road to Tabriz.

  "Two comrades are dead, and one has deserted in the face of the enemy. I expect an example be made of this man. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Comrade Major, it will be done, but he is missing. As soon as we find him—"

  "That can wait. First you will find this Fernandez and eliminate him at any cost. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, Comrade Major. Where do we find him?"

  "Find a car and drive to Tabriz at once, do not delay, do not stop to eat, drink, or…" Suslov stopped to catch his breath, his heartrate was racing. "He must have taken a bus or the train. Look in both places. If you cannot find him, go to the border crossing with Turkey and wait for him there."

  "There are three crossings, one for the train at Kotur, the main crossing at Bazargan, and a little used one at Esendere. Which one do we choose?"

  Suslov exploded, "Take enough men to cover them all." Suslov opened a drawer and dumped a pile of Iranian Rials on the desk. "Take this and buy what you need. Drive all night if you must, and do not fail."

  Outside the embassy Naheed told his men, "I will go now and find a car. We will meet at my house at sunrise."

  "But Comrade, he said—"

  "What the Russian dog said is of no concern. He does not tell us what to do, we are not his lackeys. We leave in the morning."

  * * *

  Captain Rezaei hung up the phone. A police inspector in Tabriz had given a report on their efforts to find Felix Fernandez. Lieutenant Abbasi sat in front of the desk.

  Abbasi said, "Good news?"

  "No. They checked the train station and the bus terminal. They could find no one matching the description."

  "But they had the photograph."

  "They are donkeys, what can you expect."

  "What do we do now?"

  "Wait. We must be patient. He will make a mistake and they will catch him."

  "And if they do not?"

  Rezaei shrugged. "He leaves the country and we no longer have to worry about him." He glanced down at the photograph on the front page of the newspaper depicting the takeover of the American Embassy. "In any case, we must concentrate our efforts on finding any missing agents from the so-called den of spies." He flipped the paper aside. "The students tell us that there are several people missing."

  "I thought we were not allowed to intervene in their activities."

  "That was yesterday's orders. Tomorrow … who knows?"

  Wednesday PM, 9 November 1979: Van, Turkey

  Smith and Richards sat in the back seat of a Mercedes sedan on the tarmac at Van airport in eastern Turkey. They had arrived on a private aircraft arranged by Colonel Çelik. He had also supplied them with Romanian made Tokarev pistols. Selim Ibrahim, the colonel's Kurdish contact sat in the front with his driver, a rough-looking man with a heavy mustache.

  Ibrahim said, without looking back, "Kamal did not tell me your business. What do you want from me?"

  John spoke, "We need to get to the Esendere border crossing as soon as possible."

  "That is all?"

  "We may need to cross the border."

  The Kurd shook his head. "That is not possible at this time for Americans."

  "I don't mean officially."

  "I can get you to the crossing, but that is all."

  "We can pay. How much to get us across and supply a vehicle on the other side?"

  "I will sell you a car. You may do with it as you wish."

  John exchanged glances with Jack. "That's the best you can do?"

  With an air of finality, he said, "That is all I can do. As you Americans like to say, take it or leave it."

  "Okay, what kind of car? We could use a four-by-four if you got one."

  "No, all I can sell you is an Anadol sedan. The price is five-thousand US dollars."

  "Anadol?" said Jack.

  "A Turkish made automobile that will not be traced back to me if you have trouble."

  "All we have is three-thousand," said John. That was the best the CIA chief could come up with on short notice.

  "Four-thousand."

  John held the bundle of cash over the seat-back. "This is all we have."

  Ibrahim took the bundle and spoke to the driver in Kurdish.

  "How far is it to Esendere?"

  "Driving at night … maybe four or five hours, less in the daytime."

  "You got a map?"

  "No, but my son will go with you and show the way. No charge."

  A half-hour later they pulled into a compound on the outskirts of Van
. A collection of older vehicles was parked against the wall.

  "There is your car." He pointed to a pale blue two door sedan. Even in the dark, it looked like a jalopy.

  Jack pointed to an old American army jeep. "That's what we need."

  The Kurd said, "You cannot afford it."

  A young man in his late teens walked over and stood beside Ibrahim.

  "This is my son. He will go with you."

  Jack took another look at the car. "Hope he's a mechanic as well."

  Wednesday PM, 9 November 1979: Tabriz

  Ronni folded the road map. She had penciled in a route from Tabriz to the Esendere border crossing. They would leave early in the morning.

  "You're familiar with those roads? That looks like a long way around that lake."

  "Lake Urmia. That is why we must leave early. I know the roads well. It is the route I take when I drive to Beirut."

  "Beirut?"

  "From there a flight to Cyprus, then…"

  "Got it. So, we know how to get there. How do you plan to bump-off these guys with a twenty-two? You know, they should be armed and ready for trouble."

  She gave him a coy smile. "I must confess, I have not been fully truthful with you."

  "So, what else is new?" Amadeo braced for the worst.

  She walked over to the desk, opened the large drawer, and took out a canvas bag. She placed it on the table in front of Amadeo. He unlatched the cover and withdrew a 7.65 mm Škorpion vz. 61 machine-pistol with a folding metal stock.

  "Looks like you didn't trust me."

  She ignored his remark. "Are you familiar with this weapon?"

  He picked it up, opened the slide, and peeked down the barrel. "Yeah, got a couple of them in my locker back home." He reached in the bag and produced three loaded twenty-round magazines and a suppressor. "This all the ammo you got?"

  "It's all you need if you hit your target."

  "Unless Murphy intervenes."

  "Who is this Murphy?"

  "Murphy's law. — Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. — I like to have extra just in case."

  She looked back to the desk. "I have one box of twenty rounds."

  "Any other surprises? Is this all your weapons?"

  "Yes. Do you think it will be enough?"

  "Guess it'll have to do. Tell me, how do you plan to do this? You can't just cross the border and start spraying nine-mil."