Sandstorm (25 page)

Five minutes after entering Janko’s suite, Sara let Duncan in. Nora was in the hotel lobby, catching up on her reading while keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, like Mr. Janko suddenly reappearing. It took Sara and Duncan roughly fifteen minutes of searching before they discovered Janko’s hiding place. His stash was taped to the back of a curtain, above the hem inside the lining. The contents of the oversized manila envelope were laid out on a table. There were several passports and driver’s licenses: British, Czech, and Danish. Each contained the name Victor Janko, so that much was probably true. Sara took pictures of the documents with her camera phone and e-mailed them directly to Langley. There was also three thousand dollars in euros. Duncan took interest in a memo pad.

“Janko must have a sketchy memory.”

“What do you have?”

Duncan tapped the memo pad with a finger. “Maybe he only remembers the passwords but I’m sure these are routing and bank account numbers.” He handed them to Sara, who once again sent copies to Langley. They put the contents back in the envelope and returned it exactly the way they’d found it in the curtain. They double-checked the suite to make sure everything was in its proper place. Satisfied, they quietly left.

CHAPTER
45

He didn’t bother to silence the vibrating hum emanating from his phone as it danced on the night table. It would stop soon enough. Yadin remained motionless in bed, his eyes staring into the darkness.

He tossed the sheet aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. He checked the text message, which confirmed what he’d suspected. He sent a short text of his own and set the phone back on the nightstand. Thirty minutes later, he was refreshed from a shower, shaved and dressed in slacks, a polo shirt, and comfortable shoes. He grabbed an already packed suitcase and vacated the room. The hotel lobby was quiet this early in the a.m. A weary doorman was surprised to see a guest checking out at this hour. He was about to ask if the man needed a taxi when one pulled up in a hurry. All that was left for the doorman to do was open the door. His gesture was met with a tired, “Danke.”

Yadin handed the driver his desired destination written on a piece of paper in Arabic and English. The Kuwaiti taxi driver, who was getting paid good money to be here at this hour, took a peek in the rearview mirror for confirmation and shrugged his shoulders. He had been cautioned the trip might be unusual, but if that was where the man wanted to go at this hour, that was where he’d take him. A couple of years ago, the taxi driver would never have made the trip, but the coalition forces and subsequent handover to trained Iraqi soldiers made the trip less of a life gamble. Still, one made the journey with caution. Providing the necessary paperwork, they passed through the border crossing with no problem.

In the distance, even in the darkness of night, Yadin could make out the Rumaila oil fields as they stretched for miles. Acts of sabotage on the various pipelines and wells were a rare occurrence now. The message had been ruthlessly sent: you don’t halt the pursuit of serious money. Oil was a major income producer.

Yadin was thankful for the night air blowing through the open windows. It certainly helped to drown out the heavy cigarette smell and whatever other foul ways of life the driver preferred. Yadin passed the time going over what he’d already committed to memory. It was not unlike being an actor, prepping for a part, waiting for the cameras to start rolling. When a mistake could mean your life, going over the details again and again was not a problem. They rode in silence for most of the way, the driver recognizing his passenger was not the talkative kind. Yadin rebuffed the feeble attempts at conversation by pretending his English was not very good and Arabic was a lost cause. “Businessman” was all he gave the driver in shaky English. The driver formed a disapproving, sour look out of view. He considered his backseat occupant just another foreigner trying to rob the poor in a region rich with opportunity. But as long as his pockets were lucratively getting filled for trips such as this, the taxi driver gladly put up with such behavior. He had to put food on the table for his family. Still, there was something about his passenger that made him feel uneasy.

Relieved, the driver rolled the taxi to a stop. Looking around at the eerie isolation, he shook his head slightly before speaking slowly in English. “We are here.” A handsome amount of money was handed over. The sound of the door shutting was akin to a drum banging in a cavernous, empty concert hall. Yadin watched as the taxi spun around and hurried away. He took a deep breath and walked toward the large, locked iron gate, the centerpiece of a fence line that ran for miles. On the other side, two men watched with interest. One was leaning against a Mercedes sedan, having a smoke. The other, behind the wheel, had awakened after the smoker tapped the hood a couple of times. The smoker barked orders for the uniformed guards on duty to open the gate. The second man shook off the last remnants of sleep and got out to join his partner. Both looked at each other as the stranger casually strode through the gate. His arrival was certainly low profile for one who was to be treated so royally. If he was that important, why not fly into Tehran and receive a dignitary’s welcome instead of sneaking into the country under the cover of darkness just outside of Basra? The answer to that, of course, was beyond their need to know, and they dared not ask. Their orders had come from their superior, who’d received them from his boss, and ultimately, it was rumored, the directive came from none other than the secretary general of the Supreme National Security Council himself. They were directed to speak only when spoken to and to treat the visitor with the utmost respect. If there was anything he wanted, they were to get it for him.

The smoker flicked his cigarette away and stiffened as he closed the distance hesitantly.

“Dr. Mueller?”

In perfect Farsi, Yadin said, “You expecting someone else?” He flashed a wry smile and pushed past the pair. Not waiting to be invited, he opened the rear door on the driver’s side of the luxury vehicle and threw his bag inside. His escorts didn’t move.

Yadin was leaning against the open door.

“Again, unless you’re waiting for someone else…”

CHAPTER
46

The engine of the compact reminded Alex it wasn’t built for speed, but he pressed anyway, his mind on autopilot.

The names and faces of past associations once again nightmarishly ran through his mind. He knew why they were there, pointing a finger at him, their blank stares accusing him. The man who’d ordered their deaths had long ago been dealt with, but the executioner, with all his brutality, was unjustly still among the living. Dmitri Nevsky deserved to die, and Alex could have ended his life. He was that close. With his martial arts training and the element of surprise on his side, it could have been done in a matter of seconds. Clearly, though, he would have also been committing suicide. Nevsky had plenty of firepower around him. Survival wouldn’t have been an option, and despite his guilt-ridden feelings, Alex had no plans to die on this day. He wanted to be back at his ocean-side house on St. Thomas, rum and Coke in hand, trade winds soothing his spirit, and music from Bob James or Coltrane playing in the background. That symbolized a relaxing day, and it was the kind of day he’d been having until Nora came back into his life. Now the departed were back as well.

“Hey, damn it, are you listening to me?” Mr. Green questioned impatiently. Alex snapped out of his daze.

“What the hell is it?”

Mr. Green displayed and aimed the small-caliber handgun Alex suspected was there all along. “Don’t forget who’s in control here.”

Alex thought about violently veering off the road for a second, taking the gun from Mr. Green and then rewardingly smacking the barrel over his head. He let the thought pass. Besides, he couldn’t afford to stop, because he was sure they were being followed. It had to be Nevsky’s people, and they were good, keeping their distance. Alex wondered if a tracking device had been attached to the car, and then he remembered the briefcase in the backseat. Both the car and briefcase had been out of their sight, so either could easily have been tagged. The headlights appeared sporadically, but they were back there. Alex didn’t want to let Mr. Green know what he suspected just yet.

“Yeah, you’re in control. You’re the guy with the gun.”

Mr. Green was awfully glad he had the gun, because the big man was intimidating. “Now that my end of the deal is complete, you need to pay me the balance of what you owe me.”

“Well, I can’t very well do that right at this moment.”

“You can wire transfer the money, yes?”

“I’ll have to make a call, but yes.”

“Good, I have a computer where I’m staying. We can conclude our business there.”

“Speaking of making a call, I’d like my phone back.”

Mr. Green reached inside his pocket and placed the phone on the dashboard. Alex put it away.

“Clever of you to lock the phone with a password. I should tell you someone has been texting you for quite a while. Perhaps you’re in trouble.”

Alex let the observation pass without comment, but he fully intended to see who’d been texting Davis Lipton’s phone. His attention shifted to a more pressing problem. Alex noticed that the headlights were more prominent now, beginning to close the distance. He wondered about one thing in particular. Their business had concluded and they were allowed to leave, so why the tracking?

It was obvious Nevsky hadn’t been pleased to see Mr. Green with a partner. Or had Nevsky’s memory finally connected the dots?

CHAPTER
47

“What the hell are you doing?”

Alex didn’t bother responding. Instead, he floored the accelerator and gripped the steering wheel tighter. In the rearview mirror he could see headlights gaining ground fast. They were less than two miles away.

“Slow down, damn it! Are you trying to get us killed?” Mr. Green once again brought his gun out for show. “I said, slow it down.”

Alex gave him a no-nonsense look before returning his attention to the road. “I sure hope you know how to use that thing.”

“I do. Why?”

“We’ve been followed since we left the airfield. I would suspect they’re Nevsky’s men. At first, it was a loose tail, but I don’t think they’re catching up to say we forgot something.”

Mr. Green nearly pulled a muscle turning to glance out the back window.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Alex looked at him sarcastically. “Oh, Mr. I’m-in-charge, what would you have us do? Get out of the car, flag them down, and threaten them with your gun?”

“Shit!” Mr. Green screamed, staring at his prized briefcase in the backseat. “I knew it was a mistake to bring you along.”

Alex understood that this car wasn’t going to outperform the superior engineering behind them, so he had to come up with a plan of action now.

“If you value what’s in that briefcase, I suggest you grab it now.”

Mr. Green didn’t quite understand the urgency, but he did as suggested. His hand was barely around the handle when instinct forced him to use his right hand to brace himself as the car veered off the road and screeched to a stop. The seatbelt did its job of holding him in place, and when his head snapped back hard against the headrest, he saw that McBride was already exiting the vehicle. He also heard him shout, “You don’t have time to think! Get out of the car and start running into the woods!”

He wanted to protest this crazy maneuver, but as the trailing car’s headlights began to illuminate his position, Mr. Green pushed himself free. Twenty seconds later, the sound of tires screeching and doors slamming shut echoed in the night. Agitated voices barking in Russian followed. Alex looked over his shoulder as he ran. As best he could tell, there were three of them. His question of how heavily they were armed was answered almost immediately, as two of them sprayed the area with machine gun fire. Alex crouched behind a huge tree and told Mr. Green, who was behind him, to do the same. From the muzzle flashes, Alex could tell the two men were advancing as they fired. They weren’t seeking targets as much as they were attempting to provide cover fire for the third man to move ahead much faster in an attempt to locate their position.

The rapid fire was now concentrating to their right, so Alex instructed Mr. Green to move fast. Even over the crescendo of gunfire, Alex could hear the man’s accelerated breathing. It was a clear sign Mr. Green wasn’t cut out for this, but the adrenaline would serve him well, force him to keep moving. They continued to run at a good clip when Alex suddenly stopped and held out his arm to halt Mr. Green’s movement. The gunfire had ceased. When Mr. Green was about to ask a question, Alex placed an index finger to his lips—the man’s breathing was already making enough noise. At this juncture in the woods, all they could hear was nature. Leaves and tree branches rattled in the wind, and the native calls of insects surrounded them. Alex figured the Russians had stopped, attempting to get a fix on them by listening for footfalls.

Alex slowly dropped down and searched for a rock. The lead Russian was close. Mr. Green’s hand was trembling badly as it snugly held onto the handgun he assumed gave him so much authority. Alex just hoped he wouldn’t give their position away or stupidly dislodge a round.

It took a couple of stealthy passes, but Alex found a baseball-sized rock. He scanned as best he could the land and obstacles to his left. There was an opening suitable for his intentions, but in order to not alert the man canvassing from his right, he resigned himself to achieving a less-than-desired result. If he tried to throw the rock with too much force, he ran the risk of his clothing making too much noise or of exhaling air with a sound that would betray his position. A huge tree trunk gave him ample concealment. He slowly wound up his arm and let the rock fly high in the air. It landed about twenty-five yards away, and the aftereffects provided the symphony he’d hoped for. Once the rock disturbed a bit of brush, rolling a bit as well, to indicate movement, a flock of birds got spooked and noisily flew away. What followed was rapid automatic gunfire in the direction of the noise. The man to Alex’s right took off in a sprint, firing into the darkness too. He passed Alex just a few feet away. The firing continued, and Alex took off in the man’s wake, careful to establish a position on a line directly behind him. Alex quickly closed the distance, and he accelerated more once he saw his perfect opportunity. Alex was close enough now to hear the man’s breathing, and at the same time, the man slowly began to realize someone was on his heels. Still running, he turned his head to see if his suspicion was correct. It was more than Alex could have hoped for. The man’s direction gave Alex leverage. He reached out with his left hand and firmly grabbed the side of the Russian’s face. The next move was more a credit to football than to his survival training. He kept driving with his legs for optimum force, and with all his weight, he slammed the man’s head into the trunk of a tree. If not for the automatic fire, the sickening sound of a pumpkin being dropped from high up would have given him away.