The Puppetmasters (31 page)

Menard could hear sudden shuffling going on in Director Zimmerman’s office next door, followed by a thud, papers falling onto the floor, and some choice expletives. Finally, the sound of a news broadcast and a man’s voice filled the room and hallway in stereo. Both men sat in their respective offices, amazed at what was being said and shown on the screen.

General Omar was telling the Afghan people for the first time that an assassination of President Shazeb had taken place at the palace; that, in fact, the entire Shazeb family was dead, and the palace bombed. He also explained that the Afghanistan computer network controlling the critical infrastructure had been sabotaged and severely damaged through the bombing of the government offices in the AIDC building in Kabul.

Mossad Agent Zimmerman shook his head in astonishment as General Omar went on to cast the entire blame on a diabolical plot by President Shazeb’s beloved adopted son, Rashid Sharif. He implied that initial signs pointed to
a well-thought-out and long-planned conspiracy that included American operatives … most likely the CIA.

He conveniently altered the reality of the strategic bombing of drug labs and distribution sites, and instead referenced those destroyed locations as “government facilities and vehicles.” In truth, he had no idea what had been bombed or why. He had not been privy to President Shazeb’s drug empire, though he had heard rumors. The day’s events were a mystery to him, but he wasn’t about to admit that. He reckoned that if he spoke with assurance and authority and acted like a leader, the people would fall in line, like the willing sheep they had always been.

The general assured the Afghanistan people that he was now in charge, and that the significant damage had been contained. Their lives would continue as before, and that he would protect them and seek vengeance on Rashid Sharif and his co-conspirators. He promised that the government systems and electrical blackouts would only be a minor inconvenience for a few days, that Afghanistan would come back stronger, and that he would work for the people to build a safer and better fortified nation.

As for the rest of the world, he implied that he knew exactly who was involved. Once the investigation was through, he was confident that it would reveal the full extent of the scheme, and that the parties who plotted with Rashid Sharif would not get away with it. The mighty Afghanistan military would exact its revenge at a date, hour, and place of its own choosing. General Omar looked directly into the camera and with a voice full of confidence bordering on bravado, issued a proclamation of war against its as-yet-unnamed enemies.

General Omar had convinced himself that the Orion people were actually CIA operatives working with Rashid. The kidnapping had been staged, and they had planned all along to kill the president and his family. Rashid’s engineering their escape confirmed in Omar’s mind that the young man was working with the CIA.

Mossad Director Zimmerman paced around his office and pondered General Omar’s speech. The former had certainly not anticipated this reaction. He was trying to decide if this was good or bad. Since there was no mention of Israel, and any witnesses to the touchdown of the obviously Israeli-owned helicopter on the AIDC building rooftop were dead, it was not hard to imagine now that Israel had somehow escaped the notice of the Afghanistan military … starting with General Omar. Zimmerman wondered if Omar knew the truth but was choosing to blame Rashid until it could act against Israel.

This war of words complicated matters and put Zimmerman and the Israeli leaders on edge. The problem was that once Fields and Carson’s whereabouts were revealed, the facts and ultimate truth of the involved parties would follow. But Israel had not done anything wrong.

The conundrum they were faced with was that no one now could seemingly prove how President Shazeb and his boys died. Because the Israelis bombed the presidential palace, any evidence of the original murders was reduced to bits of bones and tissue. The heat of the blaze and violence of the blast resulted in the destruction of the guns and spent cartridges—basically the necessary evidence. Metal subjected to a high degree of heat resulted in the alteration of its form. The structure of the metal would undergo thermal expansion, an increase in volume. The best detective in the world would not be able to reconstruct the scene of the crime.

For the first time, Director Zimmerman had to concede that the bombing of the presidential palace had not had its intended consequence. Yes, the Israelis had escaped detection, the Americans who counted had been rescued and Israel would be the hero, and the drug labs and distribution network were destroyed. But what was Israel getting out of this debacle now? The much anticipated hundreds of millions of dollars didn’t seem to exist. Zimmerman entertained the idea that someone had gotten to it first. If that were true, he knew who that someone was.

He frowned as he sought a way out for them. It may be that Israel would have to serve up Rashid Sharif and Kendall Radcliffe as the instigator and partner. Because being a member of the Mossad was not exactly publicized, the agency would need to categorically denounce or debunk any notion of Rashid’s association with the agency … if it ever came up.

Zimmerman perked up when he realized that he might be on to something. The world would never believe that a man of Afghanistan descent would in actuality be a Mossad agent. No one knew Rashid’s past … or his mother’s, for that matter. So long as Rashid and Kendall died in Afghanistan, the truth would die with them. And when Rashid contacted the Mossad in the next few days, Zimmerman would discreetly inquire as to the meager coffers that were discovered by the Israelis following the rescue. He hoped that Rashid would shed some light on the whereabouts of the bulk of President Shazeb’s financial fortune derived from his heroin business. He would even suggest that perhaps Rashid was trying to help liquidate the money, and that now they needed to consolidate it.

It troubled the Mossad leader that he had heard nothing from Rashid in twenty-four hours. Unless he was dead—which was highly unlikely—he should have been in contact with the Israelis by now. Why would he not contact them? They would be the ones to look to for another extraction … if needed. Yes, Rashid was perfectly capable of looking after himself … but why not contact the Mossad?

Zimmerman was letting his imagination get the better of him. If Rashid had diverted that much money, why would he ever contact the Mossad? He certainly would be the winner in all of this and could quietly disappear.
The Mossad director contemplated the consequences of voicing this scenario and decided against it. He was the one who had vouched for Rashid’s loyalty and gone out on a limb for him when he was still at the University in London. Most of the high-ranking Mossad agents had been against Rashid’s joining their ranks; they didn’t trust him.

Zimmerman suddenly felt ill. At the very least, he had a blinding headache. If it turned out to be true that Rashid couldn’t be trusted, then Zimmerman’s stellar career would be destroyed. Especially if it came out how much money Rashid had siphoned off … if he had indeed diverted monies.

The elder Mossad director decided he must do everything he could to contact Rashid. He would act on his own. Once he determined if Rashid had profited from any diversion of money and was not going to turn any of it over to Israel, then he was immediately expendable. Thank God for drones, he thought. In the “fog of war,” no one would know who actually killed Rashid. He would use a massive weapon that would reduce Rashid to dust.

Director Zimmerman felt somewhat better. He shut down his computer and headed for the door. It had been a long and trying day with several ups and downs.

He was glad he didn’t need to worry about the communication to the world about the rescue. He had been in charge of the strategic thinking and planning of the bombing and rescue. Everything he was tasked to do had been done. As far as everyone knew and the results showed, he had pulled off a perfect plan. Rashid had done what he was supposed to—deliver the hostages, plan the Shazeb dinner and instigate a vicious fight, provide accurate info on the heroin manufacturing status and location, and lastly, communicate the personal financial account numbers and location of Shazeb’s ill-gotten gains. Zimmerman had been in charge of Rashid. A successful mission had been accomplished.

As he hit the light switch in his office, he felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach and a sour taste in his mouth. Mutinously, he ignored the feelings and decided to stop at the nearest bar for a quick
beera shchorah
—or black sweet beer. That always relaxed him and made him feel better … or at least pushed away the nagging doubts and worries.

Commander Tzuk Reichenfeld, onboard the Israeli warship currently anchored in the Arabian Sea and to which American hostages Paul Fields and Glenn Carson had been brought, was on the phone with his superiors back in Israel. They had watched General Omar’s address to the Afghanistan people and the world, and were now scrambling to provide a response. It was time to communicate the rescue of Fields and Carson. But it would be a delicate balance as to how much information to reveal and what to blame on others.

After much discussion, it was agreed that a press conference would begin in three hours. That would give Fields plenty of time to clean up, be debriefed, and then be paraded in front of the cameras. The commander requested that Fields be brought to him within forty-five minutes. He was to have received a shower and be provided with a clean set of clothes.

Orion Premier Net Services CEO Paul Fields was groggy when he was unceremoniously commanded to awaken, take a shower, and follow the accompanying Israeli officer to the captain’s quarters for a meeting. He frowned at the ridiculous pajama-like outfit and robe he was given. He had been left alone all day, and aside from the regular meals that were brought, he had slept most of the time.

His dreams had been bizarre and littered with a regular staccato of blasts from the vertical takeoffs by the fighter jets on the deck of the carrier all day, and then returning at the end of their missions. He felt grumpy and out of sorts, but he kept telling himself that he was alive and had been rescued. He reasoned that maybe it was finally time for the Israelis to reveal his whereabouts. He missed his children terribly and was hoping he would be allowed to contact his wife soon.

Paul Fields was seated at a small round conference table when Commander Reichenfeld, accompanied by two of his officers, strode in. His entrance was anything but quiet. He threw the door open and immediately made eye contact with Fields. The commander barked for refreshments and then sat down opposite Fields. “Well, Mr. Fields, you look somewhat rested. How are you?”

“I’m alive. How is Glenn Carson?”

Reichenfeld cleared his throat. “He’s improving and will recover. The Afghanistan doctor who accompanied you is competent and is being allowed to assist in Mr. Carson’s care.”

“What will happen to her?”

“She is seeking asylum and wishes to relocate to the West. She will be detained pending the outcome of our investigation.”

Fields’ gaze shifted back and forth from the commander to the officers, “What’s the news on Kendall Radcliffe? Where is she? Did she survive the bombing?”

The commander held up his hands from the barrage of questions. “We don’t know. We’ve heard nothing from her and unfortunately seriously doubt she survived. In fact, we’d like to ask you a few questions about her.”

They discussed Kendall’s background, length of employment, and any other information Fields had about her … like how she came to be kidnapped with the Orion executives. Fields was not helpful at all. He was as much in the dark as anyone else. He had not worked with Kendall and knew nothing about her background. He went on to explain that he had not seen her during his stay in Afghanistan, except at two dinners. He didn’t know what she was doing during the day.

“Why were you kidnapped?”

Fields frowned and tried to keep his impatience in check. “I have no idea. We weren’t allowed to communicate with our families or business.”

“Where were you kept?”

“It looked like a military base. It was several miles from the presidential palace.”

“What did you do all day while in captivity?”

There was a long pause as Fields searched for the appropriate answer. He wasn’t about to reveal
Prophecy
or President Shazeb’s not-so-paranoid concerns about his computer network.

The commander of the Israeli aircraft carrier wasn’t stupid. He knew when he was about to be lied to. He raised his eyebrows, “Was that a difficult question, Mr. Fields?”

Paul Fields had had enough. He decided to go on the offensive. He raised his voice and spoke in the caustic tone of voice usually reserved for co-workers who raised idiotic ideas. His eyes blazed as he stabbed his finger into the air, “I was a prisoner, Commander Reichenfeld. I was not there on vacation. I am the victim here. As far as I could tell, my being there served no purpose. You will need to ask President Shazeb.”

The commander’s eyes twinkled, and Fields couldn’t tell if he was about to explode in anger or laughter. He held his breath. Reichenfeld slowly spat out, “That would be a little hard now, wouldn’t it?”