Flynn nodded grimly. The men who’d killed the Iranian would not have wanted to trigger a police inquiry, not while they were still hunting him. “Has there been any official word on his death yet?”
“Tehran is blaming the Israeli Mossad for what it calls ‘the cold-blooded murder of a patriotic Iranian government official,’” Fox replied. “The Austrians aren’t saying anything at all, except that the matter is under investigation. And that they remain confident of eventually making an arrest in the case.”
Flynn heard the skepticism in the older man’s voice. “Which you think is bullshit?”
Fox nodded again. “Quite probably.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “Even if the Austrian government suspects the truth — that Khavari was killed because he had turned against the regime — it won’t want to risk provoking a diplomatic firestorm by interfering in what could be considered Iran’s own domestic affairs… however messy they might be. It might be a different matter if any of its own citizens had been hurt or killed, but, as it is—” His shoulders rose and fell expressively.
“Khavari’s murder will be swept under the rug for the sake of political convenience,” Flynn finished bitterly.
Fox eyed him closely. “Yes.” He cleared his throat gently. “Which leaves us with the challenge of making sure his death has meaning. Something in those fragments of intelligence he was able to pass to you before being shot must explain why Tehran or its allies were so desperate to silence him. Otherwise, if they simply believed he had turned his coat, why not wait to arrest and interrogate him once he flew back to Iran?”
“Makes sense,” Flynn acknowledged. He took a moment to organize his thoughts, and then gave the other man a precise account of the strange story Arif Khavari had relayed. Nothing about it seemed to yield an obvious explanation. Why was Tehran so determined to make so many extensive and odd-sounding modifications to a single oil tanker? And why cloak the project in such tight secrecy and over-the-top security?
When Flynn finished, Fox sat back with his eyes half-closed, obviously thinking through what he’d just been told. “Is it possible the Iranians plan to use this ship, the Gulf Venture, for large-scale smuggling operations?” he speculated after a moment, leaning forward again. “As it is, the Revolutionary Guards already run huge quantities of weapons, missiles, and other contraband to various terrorist groups and their other allies, like Syria and Venezuela. But the addition of a hundred-thousand-ton vessel would enormously expand their capabilities. You could cram a lot of lethal cargo aboard a ship that size, enough to supply any number of bad actors around the world with up to a year’s worth of munitions, explosives, and arms in a single smuggling voyage.”
Flynn considered that. Looked at one way, the older man’s theory was plausible. But, at the same time, something about it just didn’t ring true to him. Finally, he shook his head. “That oil tanker the Iranians are fixing up is damned big all right,” he said. “But that’s exactly the problem I see with using her simply to run guns.”
“The Gulf Venture would be too conspicuous, you mean?” Fox suggested quietly.
Flynn nodded. “Yep.” Before reporting to Avalon House, he’d done some quick internet research. “Between its own merchant marine and ships operating under false flags, Iran’s got dozens, maybe hundreds, of other cargo vessels and tramp freighters at its disposal. Sure, they’re all significantly smaller, but by the same token, they’re also a hell of a lot less likely to draw attention than would an eight-hundred-foot-long tanker. Maybe the Gulf Venture could slip past the various navies still enforcing some sanctions on Iran, but why take the risk? It’s a bad option.”
“Because it would involve putting too many eggs into just one basket,” Fox realized.
“Bingo,” Flynn agreed. “I can’t see the Iranians being dumb enough to risk shipping so much valuable contraband in a single hull. Smuggling ops work best using multiple ships. Sure, our Navy guys or the Israelis can stop and board a dhow here and a tramp freighter there, but there’s no way they can possibly catch them all. Trusting to luck to sneak a single huge oil tanker through a blockade without being intercepted? That’s amateur hour stuff… and those murderous sons of bitches in Tehran don’t strike me as amateurs.”
“Our lives would be much easier if they were,” Fox said dryly. “Anything else?”
Flynn nodded again. “Yeah. For example, some of the changes they’re making to the Gulf Venture don’t square at all with the idea of using her for smuggling runs. Concealed centerline compartments and extra hydraulic cranes? I get why you’d need those on a ship converted to carry contraband. But then why retrofit those special stabilizer fins and extra high-speed oil pumps Khavari’s naval architect friend made such a big deal out of?”
The older man looked closely at him. “Why indeed?”
“I don’t have a doggone clue,” Flynn told him wryly. “I was an English major in college, remember? The closest I ever came to taking an engineering class was first-year calculus. That’s sort of like comparing flying a kite to launching a Saturn V rocket to the moon.”
“Point taken, Nick,” Fox said with the faint hint of a smile of his own. “I’ll pass the problem on to those with more in-depth knowledge of ship design and construction. Though very discreetly, of course.”
“Which raises another point,” Flynn continued. “Why put all these extreme security measures in place around the Bandar Abbas shipyard in the first place? Units of special Quds Force commandos? Locking down the whole workforce? Even bringing in armed foreigners as additional guards? For what? Just to hide the fact that Iran wants to smuggle even more weapons to bad guys around the globe? Hell, that’s not exactly a secret to anyone who reads the news. And it sure doesn’t explain why someone sent in a whole assassination squad just to shut Khavari’s mouth.” He frowned. “No, whatever these guys are planning, it’s got to be something much bigger and nastier.”
“No doubt,” Fox said. He tapped at his chin reflectively. “You’re confident the men you spotted watching the Kitzbühel train station were Russians?”
“Pretty sure, yes. And while the biker Laura shot spoke reasonably fluent German, I still picked up a faint Russian accent.”
Fox’s mouth tightened. “That certainly fits. The tactics you’ve described match those used by Spetsnaz assassination squads in the past.”
“You think the Kremlin ordered the hit on Khavari?” Flynn asked curiously. “Not the mullahs in Tehran?”
Fox sighed. “It’s certainly a disquieting possibility we need to consider. The obvious alternative is that the killers are somehow connected to those so-called foreign mercenaries working inside Iran.” His frown deepened. “All of which suggests that either the Russian government is working hand-in-glove with Tehran on this mysterious oil tanker project… or that Iran’s leaders see whatever they’re planning as so important that they’re even willing to rely on outsiders to handle crucial elements.” He pinched his nose, looking suddenly tired. “One thing’s absolutely clear: learning more about their real intentions is now our highest-priority task.”
“That may mean putting an agent, or even a small team of agents, on the ground inside Iran,” Flynn said carefully. He never slept very well on planes, so he’d spent a number of hours over the darkened Atlantic last night exploring different ways to bypass the information roadblock created by Khavari’s murder.
Fox looked skeptical. “Just getting into Iran safely is a highly risky endeavor. The whole country is the very definition of a hostile environment. But even assuming that proves possible, what are our people supposed to do next? Sneak inside the Bandar Abbas shipyard and take a closer look at the Gulf Venture?”