Читать книгу Choke Point - Don Pendleton - Страница 12

CHAPTER SIX

Rabat, Morocco

Abbas el Khalidi studied the rocky cliff face off the shores of the capital city of Rabat. While the country of Morocco technically owned all coastal lands, Khalidi had wielded his influence to convince officials to lease this small area for “commercial purposes,” which resulted in some additional revenue for the government. In return, nobody looked too carefully at what he was doing. In fact, the contract allowed for government inspectors to enter the property boundaries at any time and for any purpose, although there wasn’t much to see. From this vantage point of the cliff face, which looked predominantly like sheer rock covered with lichen and coral pits, the remnant of volcanic seas long dead, the area appeared practically untouched.

At the base of those cliff faces, however, a much closer inspection would have revealed the three separate hidden entrances spaced approximately fifty yards apart. This area formed a sort of cove, although uninhabitable given the sharp, rocky outcroppings that met immediately with the waves of the Atlantic crashing against them. They formed a natural, inhospitable barrier, and it was for this very reason Khalidi had selected the site as the entrance to the underwater complex.

Natural underwater inlets had been dug into the cliffs, thousands of years of erosion slowly chipping away at their base, leaving behind the basalt and granophyres that formed natural and massive caves. From this infrastructure, Khalidi had hired some of the finest minds in archaeology and marine construction from points all over the world to design and build the infrastructure that supported the complex. Highly pressured iron and steel formed cross frames meshed by thick plates of Plexiglas eight inches thick and heat-sealed against the massive water pressure. Vents to the surface provided natural air movement, and a pair of twin, water-driven underwater turbines generated all of the electrical power needed by the vast complex.

Only one surface entrance existed, its location a secret to no more than the two dozen controllers and a complement of mercenary teams that resided on-site. From this base of operations, Khalidi moved the drugs, transporting them in specially designed flat-bottom launches capable of high speeds that moved the product from the shores to ships already in transit. A quick load of the hulls and in no time the ships were bound for ports throughout Europe and even a few distribution points in Southeast Asia.

On the other side, similar teams would off-load the drugs while still in international waters and the ships would arrive on schedule, if not ahead of time, carrying only the cargo on their manifests. It was this vast system of smuggling that had built wealth upon Khalidi’s wealth. Every employee underwent a rigorous screening and once in they all knew there was only one way out besides accepting a generous retirement package: attrition in Abbas el Khalidi’s outfit only occurred feetfirst. A few had managed to escape but none had ever been stupid enough to betray Khalidi—such an action would’ve spelled certain death.

Khalidi wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t been extremely fortunate up until now. No operation of this nature lasted forever, so Khalidi proceeded under the guise of covert operations supposedly on behalf of the Moroccan government. Since there were officials within the highest halls of power who regularly consorted with Khalidi, some even on his payroll because public service in such a country didn’t exactly pay well, most never questioned what they were doing or why. It was an arrangement Khalidi knew he couldn’t maintain indefinitely, but to this point he’d operated with considerable autonomy.

When it all fell apart, he would simply pack up operations and move somewhere else.

Whatever happened, Khalidi had arranged things so that nothing could ever come back to him personally. He could continue to be “Prince Story” for his public, a champion and voice of the worldwide Muslim community, while reaping the profits that would keep his empire afloat probably long after he was dead. Khalidi considered that he would soon need to think of siring legitimate offspring, take a wife so that his children could carry on his legacy. The one thing Khalidi wanted more than all else was to secure the freedom of Islam: freedom from the enslavement of those who would use Islam for purely personal gain; freedom from the Westerners and their allies who wanted to destroy them; freedom from the oppression and poverty and hunger they had suffered in such places as Israel and Libya.

This...yes, this was the answer to his goals.

Khalidi took a deep breath and then turned and proceeded back to his Mercedes. He gunned the engine, put it in gear and then proceeded to the shore-top entrance accessible by a private road off the coastal highway just north of the city limits. He drove to the entrance, carved out of the living rock, presented his credentials to the guards with the pass-code of the day and then drove into the cavern that descended sharply to the underground parking area. From this point, it was a fifty-yard walk to a single-access lift that dropped nearly one hundred yards to the main area of the complex. The hiss of bubbles audible in the cavernous chamber dribbled toward the surface outside the main observation viewport, visible in the afternoon sun cutting through blue-green waters.

Occasionally, a shark would swim past, its outline faintly visible from the interior. Dolphins, sea porpoises and dozens of other species of marine life would shimmer along the perimeter of the viewport, occasionally stopping to look through the transparent barrier. They were clearly as curious with regard to the inhabitants within as their human counterparts were fascinated in return. The scene was so peaceful and surreal that Khalidi could not help but let it mesmerize him; this one thing had never really become workaday or routine to him.

The drug trafficker stopped to watch a school of remoras before turning and entering an antechamber that led to control center. Standing at one of the several computer terminals was Ebi Sahaf, Khalidi’s chief adviser and director of operations within the complex. Sahaf had first come into Khalidi’s employ as a technical adviser for Abd-el-Aziz, but Khalidi quickly realized the man’s potential after seeing him in action. Not only had Sahaf demonstrated his technical competence and ability to command men, but he was also a devout Muslim and faithful ally. Sahaf took to his new assignment like a dog to a bone. He’d proved his worth and loyalty more times than Khalidi could recall, and in this regard had become one of his leader’s closest friends and advisers.

“Good day, Abbas,” Sahaf said without even turning from the screen.

Although Sahaf spoke flawless Arabic, the British accent was evident in his voice—a clear sign of his upbringing in New Delhi. It was at university in India where he’d learned his technical skills and demonstrated his uncanny skills as both an information systems and structural engineer. It was a rare and unusual combination of skills and Khalidi had always admired Sahaf for his talent.

“How did you know I was here?”

“The guards called ahead, as they are instructed to do whenever you show for a surprise visit.”

“I would hardly call my visit a surprise,” Khalidi said, raising one eyebrow.

Sahaf turned and smiled. “I merely jest with you, Abbas. Don’t be so serious.”

“I’m a serious man with serious issues on my mind.”

“You speak of the recent incidents in America?”

Khalidi nodded and Sahaf looked around. The staff seemed otherwise preoccupied with their respective duties, but Sahaf, a man with a singularly suspicious nature, gestured for Khalidi to follow him to a location where they could talk privately. They entered a small conference room adjoining the complex and closed the heavy door behind them. They didn’t have to worry about being overheard or eavesdropping. A personal team—handpicked from the mercenary force that oversaw security—swept twice a day for surveillance devices, every door in the complex provided a waterproof and practically soundproof seal.

Khalidi took a seat at the conference table while Sahaf proceeded to a nearby coffeepot and prepared two single-size servings of strong Turkish coffee. Once he’d returned to a seat next to Khalidi and served him the cup filled with the dark liquid, he scratched his eyebrow beneath the lens of his bifocals and groaned inwardly.

“I must admit that the news troubled me, as well, when I heard it,” Sahaf said.

Khalidi took a sip from the cup before asking, “How did you find out?”

“During my regularly scheduled call with Ibn Sayed.”

Khalidi had always found it difficult to understand why Sahaf refused to call Genseric Biinadaz by his given name instead of the more formal Genseric Biinadaz Ibn Sayed. Of course, Sahaf had very traditional views in this regard, but he also saw Biinadaz as somewhat of an outsider given his affiliation with the Taliban party in Afghanistan.

“Were these men he had selected responsible for this debacle?” Khalidi inquired. “The information I’ve been given was not detailed.”

“It took some prodding but he was eventually forthcoming in saying these two men had gone rogue,” Sahaf replied with a shrug. “As far as I know, they were men that he cleared. Whether he knew about their plans to operate outside of protocols could never be proved by mere inquiry alone. Older, more tried methods would be needed to ascertain the truth.”

“It sounds as if you’re inferring some impropriety on Genseric’s part.”

“Not inferring so much as suggesting we not dismiss the possibility,” Sahaf said over his cup.

“Do you have any evidence?”

“I don’t. This is why I’ve not made any direct accusation. You know me better than this, I think.”

“Indeed I do.”

Sahaf took another sip and sighed. He stared at the half-empty cup for a time before saying, “I’ve never made it any secret there is a level of distrust I have for Ibn Sayed.”

“Yes,” Khalidi replied, “and this is not the first time we’ve had a discussion like this. What troubles me is that every time we talk about it you never seem to give me reasons why.”

“It’s because I do not wish to insult you.”

“It would take more than mere candor for me to think you were insulting me, old friend.”

“Honesty, then.”

“I want nothing less,” Khalidi said. “I deserve nothing less. No?”

“No.” Sahaf took a deep breath in an obvious gesture of collecting his thoughts. “To be plain, Abbas, I do not trust him because he has not made his goals known. I don’t trust men who won’t verbalize their personal or political ambitions. It speaks of a double-minded man who wavers when questioned about his past affiliations. Double-minded men can be very dangerous.”

Khalidi didn’t want to laugh but he couldn’t help himself in the moment.

Sahaf glowered. “Why do you laugh at me?”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Khalidi said. “I’m laughing because I seem to recall times when you first worked for me where you held your own ambitions rather close to the heart. I had to practically beat it out of you when looking for someone to oversee the construction of this facility. And now look!”

Khalidi rose and began to pace the small conference room, waving toward the invisible reinforcement beams high above them. “Look at what you’ve accomplished.”

“With your guidance, Abbas.” Sahaf sat back in the chair and folded his arms. “It was your vision that inspired me. I would have never achieved this on my own.”

“Of course not!” Khalidi said. “But that is exactly my point. Don’t you understand, Ebi? Don’t you see what the completion of this facility means? We are on the precipice of a success for Islam unlike anything ever foretold. Others merely eke out a paltry living while they stand along the side of Allah’s path and observe the trail of history. But we—” he slapped the table for emphasis “—we are making history!”

Khalidi took his seat once more. “When we started this project more than three years ago, I know you couldn’t ever see it coming to completion. And yet here you have attained an historical success. And yet you did not start off being plainly ambitious. Is it now so difficult to believe that success cannot be won by Genseric Biinadaz just because he is not forthright with alternative plans?”

“You are right, of course,” Sahaf said immediately. “I ask your forgiveness for not seeing it.”

“Ha! My friend, there is nothing to forgive,” Khalidi protested. “And you must know that I have not completely discounted your concerns. I’ve found you to be insightful and prodigious, single-minded in your goals and utterly ingenious. You are a superb reader of others and I would be an ignorant fool not to heed your advice. Particularly on a matter as important as our operations in America.”

“I appreciate your understanding, Abbas.”

“So exactly what is it you propose should concern us about Genseric?”

“I have received some disturbing information about our trafficking operations,” Sahaf said. “Information that indicates the Americans have agents now investigating the deaths of their officials, and the disappearance of the boy sired by this Congressman Acres.”

“Are you saying that Genseric claims not to know the boy’s whereabouts?”

“Yes.”

“He’s told you as much?”

“No, but one of my spies...” Sahaf’s voice dropped off and he expressed horror at the slip.

Khalidi studied his friend with a cold, hard expression for a long moment and then slowly he smiled broadly. “Ah, my dear Sahaf. Do not look so morose. Do you think I didn’t know you would have spies among the ranks? I wouldn’t doubt you have one or two even among my closest staff at Abd-el-Aziz. It’s quite okay as long as they are not spying on me.”

“Never, Abbas,” Sahaf said, coming out of his chair. “Never would I allow anyone to spy on you. I would tear them apart. I would—”

“Relax, Sahaf,” Khalidi said in a quiet but firm voice. “Please sit down.”

The scientist took his seat, removed his glasses and mopped his upper lip with a pocket towel.

“Go on,” Khalidi prompted.

“There are some indicators that Ibn Sayed has been slowly amassing a private army.”

“Private army of what?”

“Islamic jihad fighters,” Sahaf said, donning the glasses once more. “Most of them are said to be brothers who fought alongside him during Ibn Sayed’s days in Afghanistan, although a few may have already been in America before he arrived.”

“And what purpose is this army to serve?”

“That is not something I can know with any certainty yet. My spy has not yet been able to penetrate the inner circle. However, there are rumors that he is training this army at a secret camp somewhere in America. My concern is that he may try to overthrow our operations there, loosen our foothold and take over for himself.”

“And why would he do this?” Khalidi replied. “We have been more than generous with him.”

“I would completely agree but who knows what motivates the mind of some men. Ibn Sayed is a young man, trained to fight for the Islamic jihad from practically the day he was born. As a young warrior he will think like one. He’s brash and impetuous, and these are not traits that have proved themselves to make for particularly stable representatives in the past. He may see it as duty to Allah, or perhaps even as the only way to prove his commitment to the fatwas.”

“Bah! The days of Osama bin Laden’s reign are now long dead, buried with the old man and his arcane ideas. Surely an intelligent man like Genseric Biinadaz can see there is a new Muslim order worth fighting for. There are too few left who believe in the old ways, and most of them that do are all but impotent.”

“Maybe the old ways are dead but not necessarily in the minds of men like this one. Ibn Sayed is unpredictable, my friend—of this much I am certain. Whatever he plans to do with this army, if he has an army—”

“And you believe he does.”

“Yes...I believe he does.”

“You’ve given me a lot to consider, Sahaf.” Khalidi paused to think about this new turn of developments.

Khalidi had no doubts that someone like Biinadaz, a man with such experience and talents, could build a private army and use it to steal Khalidi’s operations. What didn’t make sense was the motive. An Islamic jihadist swore an oath as a warrior to promote only Islam and the laws of Allah—there had never been room in that oath for personal gain. If Biinadaz had no intention of taking over the human-trafficking ring Khalidi had established in America, that could only mean he had other plans that would ultimately divert his attention from those operations.

In either case, the amassing of such an army would doubtless prove a distraction and put Khalidi to considerable inconvenience, not to mention the effect on their timetable. They were ready to begin peak transshipment operations to all of their locations in Europe. There had never been a higher demand for the product Khalidi produced, neither in quantity nor in frequency of deliveries. With that increase would come more profit and that could only further the cause of the new Islamic regime Khalidi envisioned for the world.

“I must admit, Sahaf, that you have now solicited my complete attention,” Khalidi said. “I would appreciate you looking further into this matter and keeping me informed. If Biinadaz is building his own fighting force then he has done so without my permission. Such an activity could threaten our plans on a number of levels, in spite of whatever his intentions may be.”

“So I am to assume you’re giving me a free hand in this matter?”

Khalidi raised a hand of caution. “Only insofar as acquiring more proof of these allegations. When you’ve provided it, and only then, shall I decide what course of action may be necessary. Nothing can interfere with our plans. Nothing. Do I make myself clear?”

“Of course, Abbas.”

“Excellent.” Khalidi rose from his seat and Sahaf followed suit. “And now, if it is convenient, I’d like to accompany you on a tour of the remainder of the complex, to see the areas that were not fully complete on my last visit. And then, perhaps, a few days’ leave on the surface. Allah knows you have earned that much.”

“With pleasure, Abbas,” Ebi Sahaf replied.