by R G Ainslee
"Anyway, on our arrival back in Tehran, the Iranian authorities arrested Wilson on the tarmac for another unauthorized flight. Fortunately, the IBEX people intervened and convinced them he flew in for another emergency medical evacuation. In any case, it was a close-call. The Iranians had had enough and ordered Wilson expelled from the country on the next available flight. When he arrived back in the states, it all hit the fan, and that's where we are now."
"Why weren't you expelled too?"
"A lucky circumstance considering the situation, Ruiz and I managed to blend in with the rest of the IBRX crew after we landed. Wilson was the pilot and they didn't seem to pay the rest of us too much mind."
"How'd you find out we were here in Kabul?"
"Captain Barker informed Wilson of your message and he managed to get word to us through IBEX channels. Afterwards, I called the Dumont woman at the French embassy." He hesitated. "She didn't seem to be very happy to take my call. Is there another story here?"
I shrugged and said, "It’s complicated."
John gave me a cold stare and continued, "It took a few days for us to obtain a flight. As you can imagine, outgoing seats are at a premium. Fortunately, only the truly desperate book tickets to Kabul." His eyes bored in on me. "Looks like we arrived not a moment too soon, what were you guys planning … start a war all on your own?"
"It’s a complicated story."
He drew his lips tight in exasperation. "Okay… whatever. Just give me the essentials. Think you can do that?"
I related the events leading up to the incident and detailed the method we used to intercept the signal. Smith, not being a technical guy, seemed unimpressed. Jack recounted our escape including the aircraft and our escapades in Afghanistan.
"Very interesting. That explains one mystery." I must have looked puzzled. "We haven't been able to figure out the reports of a Soviet attack on Mashhad. The Iranians first reported an aerial attack with paratroopers involving a four-hour running gun battle. It was a hot item for a day and then dropped off the radar. Nothing since. We first thought it might have been a diversion related to the assault on the site. Sometimes you can get away with a lot during chaos."
"So, they don't have a clue."
"Seems not."
"What was the Iranian reaction to the T-2 raid?"
"Not a word."
"Hard to believe."
"No. The Iranians won't go out of their way to ruffle the Russian's feathers. The Soviets are too close by and they don't want to give them an excuse to intervene. But both incidents torpedoed a Soviet attempt to gain influence with the new regime. I'd chalk it up as a net gain for our side."
John seemed to relax, leaned back, and spoke to Jack. "You men performed a solid job with your escape and evasion. Demonstrated a lot of skill and innovate thinking. Too bad, nobody'll ever know the real story. You might've got a medal. That's another one that'll never find its way into the textbooks."
Whatever, I thought, the less said about it the better. Just don't ask me to do it again. Hoping to deflect the conversation before he inquired about Lisette's presence, I asked Amadeo, "How'd you evade the Russians?"
"When the Colt flew over the first time, I realized what was happening, contacted you, and dressed up an outfit I found in the kitchen. Managed to convince the Russians I was a cook and they left me alone. After they left to head up to the site, I tried contacting you again, but the jamming was too intense. I laid low until the next morning when they returned."
"Must have been after we flew the coop," said Jack.
"Could be, they had a girl with them."
"A girl. Was she okay?" asked Jack.
"Yeah, she had a shiner and the Russians didn’t seem very happy with her. What’s the deal with her?"
"She was the pilot."
"Okay, I wondered how she fit in. They left after the rest of the team re-joined them from the site. Couple days later, I fixed up the jeep and was able to go up the mountain. Ritter hijacked the jeep that afternoon."
I said, "I think someone at the site sold us out."
"Yeah. Down at the base camp, the first thing Lieutenant Takiri did was sell us out to Suslov, including your attempts at, in his words, a special intercept."
The hairs on my neck bristled at the thought of him ratting us out. "But Takiri didn't know for sure about the intercept. He had already left the day before. Suslov can't be certain we acquired the signal."
"He may know more than you think. Suslov and his bunch applied some brutal pressure to the people at the site. Kelly thinks one of the tech guys may have squealed."
"Who?" My gut tightened.
"Kelly said after Suslov arrived up at the site and found out you took off, he went kind of crazy and worked some of the techs over pretty good. He suspects Greg may have spilled the beans. He was talking to Suslov in Russian. Kelly said he was a Russian linguist. After Wilson arrived Greg seemed nervous and wanted to be evacuated with the wounded, but Wilson refused."
"Don't surprise me none, the guy seemed like a weak link. Did you see Suslov again?"
"Only the morning when he left with the trucks headed north, must have been after he went to the airstrip. They stopped to wait for the rest of the gang. I'm not sure where he ended up."
Jack said, "He was in Herat three days later. That's when they grabbed me. Never trusted Takiri, I'd like to go back and—"
Amadeo replied with a stone-cold tone, "The bastard's shoveling coal in hell while we speak."
Neither Jack, nor John Smith appeared surprised. I remained silent. No good deed goes unpunished. To some people it's just a trite cliché. I know better.
"What now?" I was ready to go home, get this behind me, and return to a normal life.
John said, "We're all scheduled to fly out on an embassy courier flight tomorrow evening. Simmons told me they laid on a special flight to fly in some auto parts from Paris. Not sure what that's all about."
I did and hoped they got the new window and back seat into the French ambassador's Citroën before he found out. We couldn't afford any more trouble.
37 ~ Suslov
Monday Morning, 19 February: Kabul
"…that's about it." John Smith had just completed a sanitized version of the situation, from our perspective. Lara Dumont sat impassively in her living room while John alternated between English and almost flawless French. Monsieur Gosselin's expression remained frozen with furrowed brow and pursed lips.
Gosselin lit up his third Gauloises since arriving. "Très intéressant," he remarked with his funny Peter Lorre accent, followed by a cynical sneer. "We did not realize Américains are so proficient in concocting the… histoire fantaisiste."
John Smith, taken aback, said, "I don't know—"
"Yes, yes, we are not children here. You have told us what you can. Je comprends." He cocked his head to Simmons. "And you can assure us the pièces d'auto, will arrive today."
"They're scheduled on tonight's flight."
"Euh, scheduled, you say. Let us hope it is so." An ash dropped to the floor.
"How's Muller doing?" I asked.
"He will recover from his wounds, but…" He let it hang. He was good at that, a real flair for the dramatic pause. The guy was getting on my nerves.
"Why do you think he was targeted?"
"Unfortunately, he incurred the wrath of the AGSA when the driver was assassiné. It was as you say, représailles, a reprisal."
"Will he be able to continue—"
"Is not your concern." He redirected his attention to John Smith. "Thank you for the histoire d'aventure. We must go. You may continue the visit with Dumont." He snuffed out the cigarette and left in a huff.
John Smith bowed and addressed Lara, "Je suis tellement désolé d'avoir causé vous de la peine." He told her he was sorry, and she was eating it up. It was easy to tell she was fascinated. John was unlucky we were leaving so soon.
One question had bothered me: I asked John, "How'd Suslov know we were in Tehran? He ju
st showed up. Do we have a leak somewhere?" He shot a glance at Lara. "She knows everything, I told her, owed that much to her for putting her life on the line."
John rubbed his chin and glanced at Simmons. We had briefed him on the mission basics and he understood our need to remain low profile. John answered, "Can't imagine a leak from our side, Raven-One's mission was closely held. Most likely, they photographed you in Kathmandu and had you on a watch list. Iran was a logical destination given the nature of the Hungarian woman's information. Chalk it up to effective work on their part. They tend to be pretty good at that sort of thing."
Jack listened, deep in thought. "Okay, I can buy that, but how did Suslov know we were headed for T-2? The flight was a last-minute decision. It had to have taken him some time to organize the raid."
I answered, "Most likely, a leak from the Iranian side. Too much chaos, somebody must have decided to switch sides—"
"Amadeo broke in, "Or someone in IBEX was working for the Soviets all along."
"They always knew when a mission was airborne, could be."
"Perhaps an alternate explanation," said Lara, she paused. John motioned for her to continue. "A deception."
"Like what?"
"I am not familiar with the technical details, but it is a possibility you must consider."
"True…" The thought lingered in my mind. "Marsden's entire enterprise with the Soviets may be a deception. We believed the deployment in Ethiopia might have been just that. However, the intercept had Marsden's fingerprints all over it. Valentina spoke of a third guidance system."
"Could she have been a plant or fed you false information as bait?" asked Simmons.
"A plant is a possibility, but I know for sure, she worked with Marsden and therefore most likely knew the system's technical specifications. If she was a plant, why did they kill her?"
"They had no further use for her. Not unusual for them," answered Simmons.
"Yeah, but her information about the new system panned out. They tested a new system with the time and location just as she predicted. And my intercept at T-2 wasn't a sure thing, it was a fluke dependent on atmospheric conditions. They couldn't have foreseen our preparations. That's too much of a stretch of the imagination. Plus, they never went live when the IBEX aircraft were in the air."
Lara continued, "Perhaps she was killed because of what she knew. Perhaps she knew this Marsden's techniques are not valid and the Soviets wished to make you believe so."
"Possibly, but maybe they wanted to reinforce what they believed we believed."
She furrowed her brow. "I don't understand."
"They assumed we bought their deception in Ethiopia and wanted to make sure. That's a good analysis. Maybe you should come to work for us."
"I may need to. Djibouti can be so very hot in summer."
"So, in fact we don't know," said Amadeo.
"We have the intercept from T-2. It is a simple countermeasures fix. If they deploy the system, we'll be ready for them." I almost believed it.
* * *
Simmons pulled up to the flight line gate at Kabul International Airport. The Afghan guard squinted at his ID and waved us through.
"Not a sight you see every day," said John Smith. Our ride, a chartered Pan-Am 707 sent to evacuate non-essential embassy personnel and dependents, sat on the tarmac alongside a Soviet Antonov An-26 twin-engine turboprop transport.
"Nothing unusual for Kabul," said Simmons. "They do things a little different here."
"Seems the Afghans have a sense of humor," said Amadeo.
Don Pettigrew sitting in the passenger’s seat twisted his head. "Make sure you boys get on the right plane." As usual, he was the only one to laugh at his lame attempt at humor.
The Suburban pulled up next to the aircraft. Simmons said, "Gents, wish I could say it's been a pleasure, but I'm sure you'll understand if we just say good-bye. And please leave the weapons under the seats. I'll have to account for them later."
Jack said, "Sorry, I'm keeping the Makarov. The Russians will have to buy their guy another one."
Simmons gave Jack a nod. "Fine by me, save me the trouble of having to log it in to inventory."
Monsieur Gosselin, positioned beside a truck, supervised an Afghan crew off-loading his precious side window and back seat cushion. The operation didn’t seem to be proceeding smoothly.
Don left us with one last gem. "Ole Gosselin is bent out of shape over this whole thing. His driver dead, two of his people wounded and the ambassador's Citroen shot up."
His words jogged my memory. Lara borrowed Gosselin's car. The Fiat had a few bullet holes, not to mention the shot front suspension. Wonder if he's noticed the duct tape. If I'd known the car was his, I could've used up my extra ammo.
"And to top it all off, the Ruskies managed to pin the blame on the French." Don chuckled. "Bet you a bottle of Johnny Walker he's expelled from the country within a week."
I quipped, "What are faithful allies for anyway?" and wondered what my faithful French ally was doing. Hoped she was on her way home, but you never know.
We climbed out and Simmons drove off. John ascended the boarding ladder looking for someone in charge. Jack, Amadeo, and I wandered over to take a gander at the Soviet aircraft. An all-business-like female crewmember gave us a quick once over from the open hatch. Moments later a uniformed man with an AK-47 appeared and assumed a defensive position outside.
Gosselin shouted to the Afghan cargo handlers, alternating between animated French outbursts and gruff English expletives. I glanced back at the unloading. He was too busy and paid us no attention. I was hoping he'd look my way, wanted to flash him the bras d'honneur, a rude gesture famous in some quarters as the Italian Salute.
Amadeo poked me. "Get a load of this."
A pale green Lada screeched to a halt beside the An-26, not 20 yards away. The driver stepped out, hustled around to the opposite side, and helped a man out of the back seat. The man’s right arm hung limp in a sling. He steadied himself with a cane on the tarmac.
Jack muttered, "Suslov," and slipped a hand under his jacket. Jack was a cool professional, but I couldn’t discount his desire for retribution. Too much had happened between him and Suslov.
I grabbed his arm. "Hold it. This ain’t the OK Corral." He tensed and removed his hand, without the Makarov.
Suslov glanced our way and registered a look of disbelief when our eyes met. He retreated two hesitant steps and leaned against the vehicle. He straightened up and his composure changed to one of deadly defiance.
I stepped out, trying to appear self-assured and in control. The KGB man shuffled along with difficulty and we met ten feet apart between the aircraft, facing each other like two gunslingers in an old cowboy movie.
Suslov drew himself erect. A cool straight smile underlined a shark-like stare. He spoke with a confidence that belied his obvious physical condition, "We meet once again."
"Yeah, you said we would."
"It is over — we are finished, are we not? I am being sent… no, going home. The affair is complete … we both failed." He paused and gave me a dismissive shake of the head. "The Raven-One adventure has been for no reason."
Raven-One — a chill enveloped me. The pit of my stomach tightened and started to churn. He referred to Raven-One once before at the T-2 airfield. I felt naked and exposed.
Suslov’s eyes revealed he knew he had struck home. A serious mien returned. "Unfortunately, we will pay for our failures."
"What makes you—" Held my tongue, didn't want him to realize we succeeded. The tape was on its way to Fort Meade, he didn't need to know. Instead, I popped off, "Hope they send you to Siberia."
A faint ironic expression appeared, and he slumped over his cane. "I was born in Siberia."
Seems I can take trouble or leave it alone. This was one of those times. Dove right in and asked, "Why did you kill Valentina?"
Suslov seemed taken aback and responded with particular fervor, "I have a duty to my party and mo
therland. You are the one who placed her in danger. You must understand. — Do you?"
I had managed to work myself into an advanced state of agitation. "I understand … you’re a cold-blooded murdering bastard."
He paused and rested on the cane, his eyes on me with a blank stare devoid of emotion. "Did your wife enjoy the ski run?"
I gulped involuntarily. For a split second the world around me froze. Lisette was in danger. He knew. My mouth turned dry. He used her as a pawn.
Suslov noticed my discomfort. "You should be thankful she is French." A snakelike expression emerged.
A sharp inhalation, an image of Major Raul Gurrero, Cuban Dirección General de Inteligencia, with an arrow in his neck sped through my mind. Gurrero and Suslov had a lot in common and it occurred to me Gurrero might use some help rowing the River Phlegethon down in the Seventh Level of Hell. A slight flinch, an almost involuntary reaction, my right hand made a move for the knife.
Someone drew up beside me. Amadeo nudged up against my elbow, and whispered, "Don’t even think about it. He’s trying to rattle you. Goad you into saying something you shouldn’t. He’s fishing for information."
He was right. It took all the self-control I could muster to restrain from introducing Suslov to the primitive justice resident in the cold steel blade of a Ballisong knife.
An abrupt call from the Soviet aircraft interrupted our showdown. He gave me one final imperious scowl and shuffled away.
I growled, "What about the girl? The pi—"
Jack grabbed my arm, held it with a tight grip, and spoke quietly, "We don't need to show too much interest in Roksana's fate. If she's still alive, it may raise his suspicions."
Suslov took two more steps, lingered for a moment, and continued on his way. After a few more steps he spoke back over his shoulder, "Salang Pass … I fired my last bullet, you had a chance — but will not get another — Do svidaniya.
Jack’s grip tightened and Amadeo moved in front of Jack. "Cool it — both of you. We need to get outta here alive."
The armed man at the door to the An-26 spoke to Suslov, stepped aside, eyed us suspiciously, and pointed his weapon in our direction. Moments later, the female crewmember helped Suslov up the ramp and he disappeared into the aircraft without looking back. The guard backed up the steps and the hatch closed.