Читать книгу War Drums - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

Stony Man Farm, Virginia

Two days later Hal Brognola, director of the Sensitive Operations Group, based at Stony Man Farm, received an urgent summons that took him directly to the White House where he was ushered in to see the President of the United States. The big Fed was sequestered with the Man for almost two hours. When he left, with a briefcase holding a “need to know” file, he returned to Stony Man. During the helicopter flight, he sent an e-mail directive requesting an immediate mission briefing. On touchdown he went directly to the office he used while at the farm and made four copies of the file, then headed to the War Room.

Those in attendance were Barbara Price, mission controller, and Aaron Kurtzman, the facility’s cybernetics chief. The third person he had requested was missing.

“Where is he?” Brognola growled as he sat, opened his briefcase and slapped the presidential files on the conference table.

“He’s on his way,” Price said. Concentrating on her own paperwork, she maintained a calm manner, hoping that her emotions didn’t betray her.

Brognola sorted the files, muttering to himself, and failed to hear the door open and close behind him.

“Time on this is scarce,” Brognola said sharply.

“I’m all ears, Hal.”

Brognola glanced up to see Mack Bolan facing him across the table, a slight smile on his face. The big Fed loosened his crumpled tie and opened the top button on his shirt. He noticed that Bolan looked cool and relaxed in clean, casual clothing, his hair still holding the damp shine from a recent shower.

“By the look of you, I’m being too easy. Not interrupting your free time am I?”

Bolan sat. “Not right now. R and R is over.”

If he hadn’t been so immersed in his paperwork Brognola might have noticed the sudden rush of color that invaded Price’s cheeks. It was only Kurtzman who picked up on it and chose to ignore it, sliding out a computer keyboard from the table, busying himself logging on. For the briefest moment Price’s eyes caught Bolan’s and they exchanged a fleeting smile. Then the soldier turned his steady gaze on Brognola.

“So what have you got, Hal?”

Brognola slid a copy of the file to each person in the room and sat back while they read and digested the data inside. He allowed them the time they needed before clearing his throat to open the discussion.

“Comments?”

“Why us?” Price asked. “I mean, the President has lifted the case from the CIA and pushed it our way.”

“Plain and simple. The President wants Stony Man to handle this. He had a visit from the CIA special ops director, and from what he told me the U.S. is in a fix over this Iranian deal. Intel has Iran’s hard-liners pushing for their own nuclear capability in defiance of UN rulings. They’re doing their damnedest to refine weapon’s grade plutonium and intelligence sources say they have some underground development work on the technical side.”

“Hardly a threat in the short term,” Price said.

“No one is expecting them to suddenly have fleets of ICBMs targeting New York,” Brognola replied. “But the very thought of Iran having any kind of nuke is sending shivers all across the Middle East, especially in the direction of Israel.”

“Those hard-liners have been laying it down pretty fierce,” Aaron Kurtzman pointed out. “They blame Israel for every problem in the region. I understand the rhetoric involved in politics. It’s all to do with psyching out the enemy, but in an area like the Middle East it’s very easy to start the fires.”

“If Israel gets pushed too far it might use one of its own surgical strikes against Iran,” Bolan said. “Preemptive. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Exactly. If that happens, we could end up with one hell of a conflict. But there’s more to it. The President has intel that points to Chinese involvement, behind-the-scenes courting of Ayatollah Muhar Razihra. He’s the man behind the belligerent criticism of Israel and the West. The Chinese are promoting themselves as the emerging political and market successor to the U.S. They have their eye on the future and Iran’s oil reserves. Iran as a superpower, wielding the strength of nuclear capability in the region means they’ll have clout. Beijing hasn’t been slow at seeing the benefits of wooing the Iranians. The country is oil rich. And oil is as important to China as it is to us. The Chinese are willing to work at this over the long term.”

“What about the rest of the region?” Bolan asked.

“Unrest. Negative feelings where it comes to Iran becoming nuclear. That’s another of the President’s concerns. We all understand the uncertainty in the region in general. All it needs is one country suddenly having a big stick they can use to intimidate other countries.”

“What about Iran’s moderates?” Price asked. “Isn’t there a calming influence?”

Kurtzman nodded. “Sure. There are government members who want to stay out of the nuclear club. They see the problems on the horizon. Right now they seem to be shouted down at every turn and the problem is they don’t have enough backing from the military or the religious community, which Razihra does.”

“Aaron, put up those images I sent you,” Brognola said.

Kurtzman tapped his keyboard and one of the wall screens lit up.

“The guy on the right in the black robes is Ayatollah Razihra. He’s the big gun in the pro-nuke debate. His direct opponent is Nuri Masood, a government minister who argues against the program. That’s him in the middle. On the left is Dr. Shahan Baresh. He works under Masood, and he’s a skilled negotiator who does all the Iranian dealings with the UN and other groups trying to ease the tension. He spends a great deal of his time out of the country in meetings, seminars, doing his best to promote a better image for Iran.”

“I’ve heard about Razihra,” Price said. “He’s not the kind of man you’d want standing against you.”

“I imagine this is only part of the picture, Hal,” Bolan said.

“Oh, yes.” Brognola tapped the file in front of him. “The CIA had a man infiltrated into a group that has been supplying the Iran Secret Service with conventional weapons and technical data on the construction and deployment of nuclear weaponry. This sweet bunch has even been negotiating with them to purchase this information and hardware. If the Iranians get their hands on this data, it gives them a jump-start on their development program. If they aren’t already up and running.

“The CIA director had initiated the covert operation himself, choosing his own agent and keeping it close to his chest after getting the go from the Man. It appeared to be running pretty smoothly until a few days ago when the undercover agent was assassinated in London. Professional hit. Two shots to the back of the head. The agent was working under the name Harry Vincent. When Scotland Yard put the name through their system it went all the way to Langley and was red-flagged in the director’s office. The numbers clicked in and Vincent’s body was appropriated by the CIA’s London field office and flown back to CIA headquarters. The director did his best to keep the details under wraps, but the killing made him suspicious and he went straight to the President. He suspected he had a leak within the Agency. The President took over the covert operation and told the director he’d take care of it.”

“He didn’t mention us?” Price asked.

“How could he?” Kurtzman asked. “We don’t exist.”

“Exactly,” Brognola agreed. “The President hinted the military would look into the matter and told the director it would be dealt with. I guess the director would have been relieved to have it taken off his hands. He’s going to have enough explaining to do over the Agency leak.”

“So we pick up the slack again,” Price commented.

“It’s what we do best,” Brognola said. “The director handed over all the intel his agent had gathered. His real name, by the way, was Carl Marchesse. Thirty-four years old. Native New Yorker. Joined the Agency when he was twenty-two and worked his way up through the ranks. Seems he showed a flair for undercover work early on. Worked a number of assignments that gained him a lot of brownie points. Five years ago he was recruited into a special ops section, specializing in the really down and dirty covert operations. He did well. When the Iranian operation was set up around five months ago, Marchesse was the man the director chose. He disappeared for a couple of months and when he resurfaced he was Harry Vincent. According to the director, he infiltrated the group suspected of providing the Iranians with weapons and data on nuclear weapons. The group’s headed by a Russian named Anatoly Nevski.”

“If a double agent in the CIA ordered his murder,” Bolan said, “all that intel is most likely in his hands, as well.”

“Unfortunately that’s probably true. Aaron, second file, please.”

“The gaunt-looking guy is Dr. Gregori Malinski, a Russian nuclear physicist. After the Soviet Union collapsed he was more or less out of a job. He moved around and started to sell his knowledge on the open market to whoever would pay. Marchesse’s intel told us the Iranians had him working big-time on their nuke development. But he dropped out of sight some days ago. Nevski had brokered Malinski’s contract with Razihra and his military backers. From what Marchesse managed to pick up the Iranians are less than pleased about Gregori’s jumping ship. It could be he left them at a critical stage in the development. If the Iranians had people clever enough to develop their own nuclear weapons they wouldn’t have needed to buy Malinski.”

“This is an old photo,” Kurtzman said. “The girl is Malinski’s estranged daughter, Sashia. She’s management in an international travel agency. Hops around all over the place. Right now she’s based in Paris. It might be that Malinski got in touch. It’s a long shot, but it could happen. It would be helpful for us if he did. But not so much for Razihra.”

“And this is because…?” Bolan asked.

“Malinski knows the location of the Iranian base where the nuclear development is taking place,” Brognola said. “Also, he’s just one of the equations in the picture.”

“I get the feeling you’re about to tell me what I’m about to let myself in for.”

“That’s my guy.”

Kurtzman brought up more pictures. “This next batch show the members of the Russian syndicate Marchesse infiltrated. I mentioned Anatoly Nevski. He’s the lean guy with the blond crew cut. He might look like a California basketball player but don’t be fooled by his good looks. He’s the top man. Not exactly Russian mafiya, but no Mother Theresa, either. It isn’t difficult to categorize him,” Kurtzman said. He pushed at a thick file across the table for Bolan to scan. “Courtesy of your buddy Commander Valentine Seminov, Moscow OCD. His attached note says he would be most appreciative if you could ‘take the piece of scum down.’ Do that and he will forever be in your debt. Nevski is no more than a connected street thug. Background is pure Moscow underworld. Worked his way through the ranks. From street hustler, pimp, pusher to present-day global arms dealer.

“When the Soviet regime collapsed, Nevski was in the front of local crime. Anything is fair game for the man. Stolen cars. Drugs. He was, and still is, one of Russia’s promoters of the white-slave trade, snatching young women off the streets to put them into prostitution and porn. He trades them across Europe, the Middle East and here in the States.”

“Sounds like a sweet guy,” Price said.

“Nevski has a unique business procedure,” Kurtzman went on. “If he takes a liking to your business, he makes a single, time-limited offer. If you say no he sends in his people and you get a bullet to the back of the head. Deal settled. No sentiment. No reasoning.”

Bolan was leafing through the file. “How did he segue into the arms business?”

“He saw the opportunities when the Soviet military machine started to fall apart. He nurtured contacts, wiped out a couple of smaller dealers and took their place. No hassle. He surrounded himself with plenty of muscle and firepower, and within twelve months he was one of the major players. He added industrial espionage and technical expertise to his catalog.”

“Which brings us back to the good Dr. Malinski,” Brognola said.

“Nevski looks for what the client wants, makes them a good offer because money is never a problem in this market,” Kurtzman said. “He sets up the whole package and delivers.”

“A nuclear physicist to jump-start your missile program,” Bolan added.

“Exactly.”

“But Malinski going AWOL has spoiled his customer satisfaction record.”

Kurtzman nodded. “Damn right. It isn’t going to make him popular with Ayatollah Razihra. Nevski will do anything to stay on Razihra’s good side. The word is Nevski is in very deep with the Ayatollah. This is more than just a one-off contract. Nevski is with Razihra for the long term. He’s realized the profit margin that staying with the guy will bring. So he’s in there pitching. Anything Razihra wants Razihra gets.”

“So he quickly gets rid of the CIA mole as soon as he’s been exposed,” Brognola said. “We were right it being a professional hit.”

Kurtzman tapped in another image. “The scowly guy is Nevski’s second in command. Lem Kirov, all round bad guy. Unstable and very violent. Next up is Claude Stratton. British. He’s a fixer, paymaster, dealer, for any number of dissident groups floating around Europe and the UK. He does a lot of transactions for ex–Saddam Hussein loyalists, like these three charmers—Ahmer Musak, Omar Jafir, Ibrahim Hassan. They appear to have access to some of the money Hussein stashed away. They’re using it to help Razihra and keep things hot in the region. They were all colonels in the Iraqi military. Now they’re being feted by militant Jordanians. They’re holed up in the desert at some training camp, along with some of Razihra’s hard-liners, led by Yamir Kerim. Marchesse knew that a consignment of weapons was shipped out to this camp. He never got the chance to find out what it was for.”

“Educated guess?” Bolan asked and answered the question himself. “Israel?”

“Borders Jordan. And we know Razihra is anti-Israel. It’s one of his main political rants,” Kurtzman said. “And why would weapons be delivered to Jordan if they were intended for Iran? Too far to risk transporting all that way. Could be part of Razihra’s aim. He doesn’t hide the fact he wants Israel destabilized. To be frank, his ideal would be Israel up in smoke.”

“If Razihra’s group has its way, it will boost its standing within the radicals across Iran,” Brognola said “It would strengthen their cause. A victory over the current administration isn’t what Iran needs. It could make for an isolationist condition that would back them up against the wall. It could happen if Razihra plays to fundamentalist emotions. The man in the street already sees the West and Israel as the brokers of everything going wrong in the region. If Razihra gets his hands on the reins we can kiss goodbye to any negotiations. And that feeling could spread beyond Iran’s borders.”

“According to the intelligence progress reports, Iranian nuclear development is still on a low learning curve,” Bolan stated.

“For now. Getting his hands on U.S. data and hardware is going help Razihra make a big jump in nuclear development,” Brognola said.

“It won’t get him a warehouse full of nukes. Having the instructions isn’t the end of the R and D. His teams will still have to build the devices,” Bolan said.

“That’s why Razihra is buying the components. Nevski has been orchestrating the search. It was Marchesse’s job to find out who was in the running and stop them,” the big fed told them.

“Any leads?”

“Thin. Mainly what we have already gone over. He managed to pass along a few pointers to the director. You have his last one in your file.”

“London?” Bolan queried.

“Yes. Activity appears to be fairly strong right now, according to security readouts. London’s at the crossroads for international dealing, the jumping-off place for Europe and the Middle East. It’s a financial hub, as well. You’ve been there before. You know the situation. Wide-ranging cultural mix. Large urban sprawl. Easy place to hide. And Claude Stratton is based in London.”

“I’ll make it my starting point.”

“There’s an Air Force plane on standby,” Brognola informed him. “I’ll make the arrangements. Tell Barb what you need and it’ll make the flight with you.”

“Backup data to be forwarded?”

“As long as we can maintain contact, you’ll receive it ASAP. Aaron will check out your communication gear before you leave.”

“Fine.”

“You need any local backup?” Brognola asked.

“I’ll call if I do.”

“Any local interference, just dial the number.”

“Time to move out.”

“Striker, stay sharp. Don’t trust anyone. We don’t know how deep this CIA connection to the opposition goes.”

“Trust is for little children and old ladies,” Bolan said. “I’m not expecting to meet many of either in the field.”

“This could turn into one hell of a mess, Striker,” Brognola said. “We don’t want to be caught with our pants down if it blows up. Too much is at stake—future relations with less aggressive Middle East countries. Then there’s Afghanistan watching what’s going on. India and Pakistan edging around each other. If it comes out that U.S. technology has been assisting the Iranians, denying our complicity is going to be one hell of a job. And don’t forget the Israelis. If they suffer any damage, they’ll hit back hard and fast. Do what you have to. Find the players. Shut down the supply of U.S. data being fed to the Iranians. Take down Nevski’s organization. See who and what’s behind this Jordanian connection. You won’t have any interference from U.S. security agencies. If you do, refer them to me and I’ll field them to the Man. He’s told me you have absolute authority to get what you want.”

“Knowing that is going to make it so much easier out there,” Bolan said dryly.

“Sad to see such blatant cynicism,” Kurtzman said.

Bolan pushed to his feet. “I’ll see you in thirty, Aaron. Just make sure my cell phone is fully charged.”

“Give me your details and I’ll make sure your flight is on standby,” Price said. She knew Bolan would be moving out within a short time. Going back into the hell grounds to take on yet more faceless enemies in his continuing struggle.

As he stepped by her, the soldier briefly laid a big hand on her shoulder, then he was crossing the War Room, going out through the door and she knew the mission had started.