Текст книги "Eye for an Eye"

Автор книги: Ben Coes

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

8

MINISTRY OF STATE SECURITY

BEIJING

Headquarters for the Ministry of State Security comprised six large buildings in a sprawling rectangular campus on the southern outskirts of Beijing, the buildings connected underground by tunnels and, on the ground floor, by concrete courtyards. Each of the six buildings was indistinguishable from the next: ten stories high, square, built of drab gray concrete and small windows, not so much ugly as boring and bureaucratic. The courtyards were largely empty except for a few people milling about. The occasional low rumble of the underground subway system, which ran in an internal circular loop connecting the six buildings, could be heard above the din of traffic beyond the unexpectedly ornate steel fence that enclosed the campus. The complex was guarded by armed soldiers stationed every few hundred feet.

The black limousine carrying Hasim Aziz, Iran’s highest-ranking intelligence official in China, turned through the main entrance at the northeast corner of the campus, then entered the subterranean parking garage. The vehicle stopped in front of a glass-enclosed lobby with yet more soldiers standing about, submachine guns held aimed at the ground. This was building 6.

Aziz had been to the ministry many times before. To say that Iran relied on the Chinese ministry of intelligence was an understatement. Annually, the ministry provided Iran with more than one billion dollars in covert aid in the form of cash payments. In addition, and more important, the ministry doled out intelligence about Iran’s enemies and allies alike, gleaned from ministry agents spread like flies across the Middle East. In return, China did not ask for anything specifically. Anything, that is, except to be obeyed at those times when they called.

They took the elevator to the tenth floor. Aziz followed one of Bhang’s staffers down a long corridor. At the corner of the building, two men in suits stood in front of a set of imposing steel double doors. As Aziz approached, the man on the right reached for the doorknob and opened the door.

Inside the office, to the left, the wall was covered in an ancient Chinese tapestry, which hung from the ceiling. Two green sofas faced each other across a simple glass coffee table. The other side of the office faced the outer part of the building; both walls had windows looking out on Beijing. Fao Bhang was seated behind a desk in the corner, his fingers interlocked, still. He stared at Aziz as he entered. Two other ministry officials stood to the left, next to the desk. A single chair sat unoccupied in front of Bhang’s desk.

“Minister Bhang,” said Aziz, bowing slightly, out of respect, then stepping toward Bhang, his right hand extended.

“Good evening,” said Bhang, ignoring the Iranian’s hand. He pointed to the chair. “How was your trip, Mr. Aziz?”

“Fine,” said Aziz, sitting down.

“Are you curious as to why you’re here?”

“My assumption is that you’ll tell me at some point, Minister Bhang.”

Bhang nodded his head up and down, then his lips spread in a forced smile.

“Does China ask much of you, Mr. Aziz?”

“What do you mean, sir?’

“Do we ask much of you? The question is self-explanatory.”

“Do you mean Iran?”

“I mean you, Hasim Aziz,” said Bhang.

Aziz shifted in the chair.

“China is very generous. It’s no secret that the ministry helped us acquire weapons-grade uranium. In addition, your financial aid has been very important. As for me, in my five years as station chief, I have always enjoyed my relationship with the ministry.”

Bhang was silent for several moments. Without taking his eyes away from Aziz, he reached with his left hand to the desk drawer, opened it, and pulled an object from the desk. It was a necklace. He tossed it onto the wood top of his desk so Aziz could see it.

Aziz looked at it. Then his eyes moved back to Bhang. He remained silent.

“For more than a decade, Iran has enjoyed the fruits that come from China’s friend inside Israeli intelligence. I pulled this from around his neck this morning. He was the unfortunate recipient of an ax to the skull.”

“This is most disturbing,” said Aziz, looking perplexed. “As you said, Iran benefited greatly from your man.”

“Do you know what his name was, Mr. Aziz?”

“No, sir. I knew of the existence of a man, of course, but his name was always a secret to me. Nor did I ever ask my contact for further information. As you said, his insights were a benefit to our republic.”

“His name was Dillman.”

Aziz was silent. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Two months ago, in a Shanghai restaurant, we provided photographs to you,” continued Bhang.

One of the men placed a pair of photos on the desk in front of Aziz. The first showed a tall Iranian, dressed in a suit, walking with a woman. The other photo showed an American, white shirt, blue blazer, stubble, big, tough-looking.

Aziz looked at the photos, sat back, then looked at Bhang.

“Lon Qassou,” said Aziz. “And the American.”

“Dewey Andreas,” said Bhang. He reached for his pack of cigarettes and lit one.

“Yes.”

“It was Andreas who stole the Iranian nuclear bomb, correct?”

“Yes, he did, Minister.”

“And how did he do that?”

Aziz stared dumbfounded at Bhang. His eyes darted left and right.

“He infiltrated the Turkish border.”

“And replaced the bomb with a replica, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How did he know what it looked like? Its dimensions? Even I did not know, despite the fact that I provided the yellowcake, the trigger, and the money to build it.”

Aziz nodded, then was silent as he considered the question.

“I’m thinking of what I know, sir,” said Aziz.

“I suggest you think faster,” said Bhang, impatience in his voice. “How did he know what it looked like?”

“He had knowledge from someone who had seen it,” said Aziz. “Perhaps Qassou?”

“Qassou was a functionary,” said Bhang.

Aziz looked up.

“I realize you would perhaps like to move on to another subject, Mr. Aziz,” said Bhang. “But you will answer. I know you know the answer to my question, as do I.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“I suppose I would like confirmation.”

“In New York City,” said Aziz, “Andreas kidnapped Iran’s ambassador to the United Nations.”

“Bhutta,” Bhang said, his nostrils flaring.

“Yes,” said Aziz. “Bhutta was involved in the creation—”

“I know who Amit Bhutta is,” said Bhang, his voice rising, staring daggers at Aziz.

“I’m sorry, Minister Bhang,” pleaded Aziz. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Bhang’s eyes darted right, to one of his aides. The man stood and motioned for Aziz to stand.

“Minister,” said the Iranian, his brow furrowing in worry as the aide grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry. I had no control over Amit Bhutta! Please, sir!”

The other aide joined the first, grabbing the Iranian’s other arm and yanking him toward the door.

Bhang’s eyes were black with rage, his pale face flushed red, yet he found a way to control himself. He reached for another cigarette and lit it. As Aziz was dragged to the door, his protestations grew louder, more desperate. Bhang inhaled, then glared at the back of the Iranian’s head.

“Have a safe trip, Mr. Aziz,” said Bhang.

9

LAN AIRLINES

EN ROUTE TO ARGENTINA

Dewey felt a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing it.

“Wake up.”

He registered the soft, dry whisper of Jessica’s voice, then the smell of her perfume, before he opened his eyes or so much as moved. She rubbed his shoulder. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Mile High Club?” he asked her in a whisper.

“Pig,” she said, smiling.

“We could squeeze into one of the restrooms.”

“Don’t you think people would notice?”

“I’ll shut the door.”

“Oh, my God. You’re demented.”

“Probably, but you look so good in that dress.”

“Wait ’til we get to the ranch. We have an entire week.”

“I can’t wait ’til the ranch.”

She glanced around, making sure nobody was looking, then leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Her hand went down to his crotch and pushed against his jeans.

“Buenos días, señor,” she whispered.

“Come on, we can do it right here. Everyone’s either asleep or reading.”

“You know what I really want right now?” she purred.

“What?”

Jessica reached beside her and picked up a catalog.

“For you to help me pick out our wedding china.”

“You’re evil,” he said.

She giggled.

“I’ve got it narrowed down to sixteen patterns.”

“Oh, God,” Dewey said. “I thought this was going to be low-key. Why don’t we elope? Why do we need china? What’s wrong with good old-fashioned paper plates?”

“This is the only time I’m ever getting married, farm boy. Fine, don’t help me.”

“I’ll help you,” he said. “Just promise you won’t tell anyone.”

Jessica giggled, leaned toward him, and kissed his cheek.

“President Dellenbaugh told me you’re a good hockey player. He said you scored three assists.”

“You don’t score assists, Jess. You make assists.”

“Oh, whatever. What is there, some sort of hockey grammar book you guys carry around? Last time I checked, most hockey players can barely form a complete sentence without drooling.”

“Did he say anything else?” Dewey asked.

“Oh, you mean did he mention how you almost decapitated Tom DeGray?”

Dewey grinned.

“He didn’t tell me,” said Jessica. “Tom did. He called me and said he acted like a jerk. He said he wants to apologize to you.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe you dated that guy.”

“Well, you put him in his place, from what I hear.”

Dewey smiled.

Jessica placed her head on Dewey’s shoulder. She held up her left hand, admiring her ring finger. On it was a beautiful diamond ring: an antique setting, three diamonds of equal size set in a row atop a platinum band. She ran her right index finger over the top of the stones.

“I think it’s sort of cute that you were jealous,” Jessica whispered.

Dewey cleared his throat.

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“Oh, really?”

“The guy’s a douche. He tried to chop my foot off. I exacted a little justice, that’s all.”

“I think you were jealous, and I think it’s cute what you did. I guess I don’t blame you. He’s not that bad, though. Do you get jealous? We should probably talk about that. I mean, I definitely get jealous. If you so much as look at one of these South American bombshells walking around Córdoba, I will…”

Her voice trailed off as she looked at Dewey.

“I’d rather talk about china settings, Jess.”

She sat up and laughed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll drop it. By the way, wait until you see Argentina. It’s beautiful.”

“I’ve been,” Dewey said.

“Oh, really?” Jessica asked. “When did you go to Argentina?”

Dewey smiled but said nothing. He put his hand on her left thigh.

“That’s classified, sweetie,” he said.

“You know I can find out, Dewey. Was it Delta or later?”

“It was an operation. A week in Buenos Aires. Interdiction. We were chasing a narco. Colombian, some sort of money guy. Bad dude.”

“Did you get him?”

Dewey nodded.

Jessica took his hand, leaned forward, and kissed his ear, clutching his neck.

“I think I’m starting to like you,” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder, shutting her eyes, pushing away all thoughts except for the simple thought of them.

10

MINISTRY OF STATE SECURITY

INTERNET DIRECTORATE

BEIJING, PRC

By 5:00 A.M., Fao Bhang was seated in the conference room next to his corner office at the ministry, reading Dewey Andreas’s file. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. With him was Ming-húa and Hu’ang Li, head of the ministry’s intelligence-gathering unit, the intelligence bureau.

Several other senior ministry staffers were also present. Cigarette smoke was cantilevered across the air. Through the conference-room windows, Beijing was beginning to turn gray as dawn approached.

On the wall, two large plasma screens were lit up. The first showed three photos, all of Andreas, taken at Odessa International Airport a little over three months ago. The first was taken at a distance, from a side angle. Andreas towered over Ukrainian customs agents as he handed them his passport. The second photo was head-on, from a distance and blurry, as Andreas unwittingly approached a security camera in the main terminal of the airport. A third photograph was clearest. It showed Andreas up close, looking at the same camera. A blank, calm expression was on the American’s face. He wore a blue suit, no tie, and had a few days’ worth of stubble. The camera seemed to capture not only Andreas’s cold suspicion, it also showed a flicker of intelligence and, in some sense, enjoyment.

The second plasma had a file sheet on Andreas: one slide, upon which was highlighted everything that was known about him:

ANDREAS, DEWEY

Citizenship: USA

DOB: unknown

Home: Castine, ME

Boston College: May 93

English B.A., 3.1 GPA

Varsity Football 90–93(captain 92–93)

U.S. Army: enlistment Jun 93

U.S. Army Rangers, Fort Benning, GA

Winter School: Jan–Mar 94

Rank: 1 in class of 188

1st Special Forces Operational Detachment, aka Delta Force: Recruitment Mar 1994, Graduate Dec 96, Fort Bragg, NC, Rank: unavailable

CAREER (known):

• Lisbon, POR: Jan–Mar 96: (mission unknown)

• San Isidro de El General, COS: Oct 96–Jan 97: Anti-narcotic: NIC, COL, VEN

• London, ENG: Apr 97: Assassination (attempted) Subhi al-Tufayli / Hezbollah (mission failure)

• Munich, GER: April 97: Exfiltration Constantine Vargarin (wanted by GUR-RUS) (mission success)

• Buenos Aires, ARG: Sep–Dec 97: Anti-narcotic: ARG, COL, CHI, and BOL

• Montreal, CAN: Jan 98: Assassination Constantine Vargarin (mission success)

• Lisbon, POR: Mar 98: Assassination Frances Vibohr (Siemens VIP suspect in sale of TS info to SAU) (mission success)

• Bali, IND: Aug 98: Assassination of Rumallah Khomeini (mission success)

• Jun 00–Dec 11: (nonmilitary) roles offshore oil & gas industry

Aberdeen, SCO

Edinburgh, SCO

Belfast, IRE

Cardiff, WAL

Valparaiso, CHI

Buenaventura, COL

• East Hampton, NY: Dec 11: Andreas kills Alexander Fortuna (sanction: believed to be unofficial)

• Washington, DC: Jan 12: U.S. Presidential Medal of Freedom and U.S. Congressional Medal of Honor

• Islamabad, PAK: Jun 12: Overthrow of Omar El-Khayab (sanction: assumed to be official JSOC/CIA)

• Broumana, LEB: Jul 12: Assassination of Aswan Fortuna (sanction: believed to be unofficial)

• Mahdishahr, IRA: Oct 12: Infiltration/theft nuclear device (sanction: unknown)

ACTIVE FILE(s):

• VEVAK Tehran, IRA

98–05: (inactive: kill or capture)

12–pres: (active: kill or capture)

• IRG Tehran, IRA: 12–pres: (active: capture)

• AL-MUQAWAMA/Hezbollah

Tehran, IRA: 98–01: (inactive: kill or capture)

Tehran, IRA: 11–pres: (active: kill or capture)

Damascus, SYR: 12–pres: (active: kill or capture)

• HAMAS

Gaza, ISR: 12–pres: (active: objective unknown)

• GRU

Moscow, RUS: 97–04: (inactive: capture)

MISC:

• Fort Bragg, NC: May 99: Wife (Holly) dies: Andreas charged with murder

• Arlington, VA: Jul 99: Discharged from 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment, U.S. Army, and stripped of all honors

• Fort Bragg, NC: Jan 00: Acquittal on all charges

• Nov 12: Engagement to U.S. National Security Advisor Jessica Tanzer Date of marriage: (unknown)

Several photographs were imposed on the right side of the file sheet, including a photo of Dewey taken as former U.S. president Rob Allaire awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom, as well as a photo showing Dewey many years ago, when he was a soldier. The photo showed Dewey in a military uniform, a Ranger tab visible on the right arm. Despite its age, this image was the clearest of the lot. He held an M60 carbine targeted at the sky, his hair was short, he was tan, and beneath his eyes were two black paint stripes.

Bhang walked to the plasma screen and stood in front of the photo, staring, then pointed at the tab.

“That’s a Ranger tab,” said Bhang. “Do you know why it has white thread?”

“I believe they were out of black thread,” replied Ming-húa, laughing. He was joined by the others.

Bhang abruptly slammed his right hand down on the table.

“Does anyone know why the American’s patch has white thread?” Bhang repeated, an edge to his voice.

The men at the conference table grew silent.

“It’s an honor,” continued Bhang. “Soldiers who make it through Ranger school during winter are allowed to sew on their patches with white thread. It’s the hardest time of year to do it. We’re dealing with an unusually talented individual here.”

“I have no doubt he’s a threat, Minister,” said Ming-húa, chastened. “But not to us.”

Bhang glared at his deputy.

“We’re not here to discuss your opinion as to who does or does not constitute a threat to China,” said Bhang, icily. “The loss of Dillman is the single greatest intelligence loss the ministry has incurred in the past decade. This meeting is to determine how we are going to terminate Dewey Andreas. Whether or not he’s a threat is no longer relevant. The decision has been made.”

Ming-húa nodded.

“My apologies, sir.”

“Where is Andreas now?” asked Bhang.

“On a plane, minister,” said Hu’ang Li. “Flying to South America. We are fortunate in that he purchased his tickets using an American Express card.”

“Tickets, plural?” asked Bhang.

“Yes, two tickets to Córdoba, near the Sierras Chicas.”

Bhang’s mind raced.

“What do we have in the theater?” he asked.

“We have a woman in Santiago, Chile,” Ming-húa said, looking at his laptop. “She’s junior. I don’t think she’s the best option. I have a contractor—a sniper—in Lima. Very talented. He could be in Córdoba in a matter of hours.”

“What else?”

Ming-húa typed on his keyboard, and a map suddenly lit up one of the plasmas on the wall. On the map, in different colors, was a manifest of all active MSS agents. Ming-húa pointed a red laser at the map.

“We have a team inside the United States,” said Ming-húa, “a cell we could, theoretically, pull out, but it’s a couple; the woman is inside NSA, a subcontractor. They’ve been in the U.S. for a decade. We’d be foolish to risk the loss of this project.”

“What else?”

Ming-húa scanned the map, then pointed.

“We have a kill team in Caracas. They’re excellent.”

Bhang picked up a photo of Andreas. He stared at it for a few moments.

“I want the sniper on a plane immediately,” he ordered. “Use a charter out of Lima, and make sure he knows he’s responsible for bringing in any weaponry necessary for the operation. Also, get the Caracas team in the air.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bhang quickly rescanned the dossier on Dewey. “Castine, Maine. Find out if he still has any family.”

“And do what?”

“Send them flowers, you imbecile,” said Bhang, seething. “Find out if he has family! Period!”

11

SIMÓN BOLÍVAR INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

MAIQUETÍA, VENEZUELA

Two men moved through the central terminal at Maiquetía. It was early morning and Maiquetía was packed.

“I’m going to duty-free,” said Chang, the younger of the two. He had an easy way about him, unlike Hu-Shao, who, while only two years older, looked and acted like he was from another generation.

“Why?” asked Hu-Shao.

“Cigarettes.”

“You should stop smoking.”

“And you should start,” said Chang.

Chang walked toward a line of retail shops in the central terminal. At duty-free, he spent a few minutes ogling the exotic European vodkas, vodkas he could have purchased any day of the week in Caracas but that somehow looked more tempting here at the airport. Finally, he went and bought a carton of Marlboro reds. On the way back to the gate, he stepped inside a sunglasses boutique and bought the first pair he tried on, a pair of white Guccis that made him look, at least he thought, like a movie star.

At the gate, Hu-Shao did a double take as Chang walked up with his sunglasses on.

“You look like a fool,” said Hu-Shao. “Please. Pretend you don’t know me.”

Chang ignored him. He was sick of his colleague. Any man would be sick of someone they spent day and night together with, months on end, living and working together. In truth, Hu-Shao had taught him much. He’d taught him to be an operative: surveillance, infiltration, weaponry, how to kill. But sometimes his partner’s cold demeanor grew old.

On the LAN Airbus A320, they sat in first class. Bhang believed agents should be comfortable during operations. Once airborne, they took turns studying the fifteen-page briefing sheet on the American, Dewey Andreas. The file contained everything the ministry had pieced together about the former Special Forces soldier they were now going to find and kill.

Had anyone somehow gotten hold of the papers, even if they could read Chinese, what they would have found was illegible. The briefing papers had been sent in one of the three encrypted alphabets every agent was trained to memorize, alphabets that were reconfigured every six months. It was one of the hardest parts of being an agent.

The two men spent several hours reading about Andreas’s background. The summaries of his operations were staccato, devoid of wordy descriptions, in many cases incomplete. Yet even without the sort of descriptive detail that would have made the reading more pleasurable, the document was formidable and sent a wave of anxiety through each man.

Chang read the mission summary four times in a row, each time feeling increasingly sick to his stomach:

PROJECT:

816G

TARGET:

ANDREAS, DEWEY

PRIORITY:

2

  1. Recent activities by Target resulted in the loss of key ministry assets. Target is an enemy of the State.

  2. Target is classified as a level 1 combatant. He should be considered extremely dangerous.

  3. Previous attempts by others to kill Target have failed, and the result has been, in virtually every known instance, the death of those attempting to harm him.

  4. Target has extensive combat experience. He is a gifted face-to-face combatant and received advanced training in various CQB systems, including KAPAP/LOTAR and Eskrima while in Delta.

  5. Target will be proficient with cold weapons, including knives and implements, and will be prepared to improvise with nonlethal objects.

  6. Target is expert in all aspects of firearms and explosives. If Target acquires arms, proximity to Target should be considered an active kill zone.

  7. Team should expect the mission to be highly treacherous and should take precautions, both in terms of settling up affairs at home as well as in-theater tactical design.

  8. Target is traveling with a woman who is a VIP in the United States government. Assume Target will be guarded and/or under surveillance.

  9. Team will rendezvous with Lima-based contractor in Córdoba. Contractor is a level 12 marksman and will have responsibility for the kill. Contractor will have all necessary weapons and materials for mission. The strike should take place at night.

10. Target is classified as a Priority 2 termination so directed by the minister. He should be terminated with prejudice.

11. Mission success will earn team members two level pay and one level rank promotion and two additional weeks of paid annual vacation.

After Chang and Hu-Shao finished reading, Hu-Shao removed a small object from his carry-on. It looked like a set of binoculars but in fact was a secure photo viewer. They took turns studying photos of Andreas as well as photos of some of his victims.

After they finished, Chang looked at Hu-Shao.

“What will the design be?” Chang whispered.

“Read the sheet,” said Hu-Shao. “A distance kill at night. The merc is a mark twelve.”

“Two level pay increase?” said Chang. “We must succeed.”

“Typical. You should be honored that, of all the agents in South America, you and I were selected for this mission.”

“I could live without the honor,” said Chang. “I could, however, live with two more weeks of vacation.”