He asked, “What is your CIA code name?”
Russ did not hesitate. “Violator.”
“And your CIA call sign?”
Whitlock raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I am impressed with your knowledge. My former agency does not give you the respect you deserve.”
“Can you answer my question?”
“My call sign with my SAD unit was Sierra Six.”
“SAD?”
“Special Activities Division.”
“You were a commando.”
“Something like that.”
Ali Hussein nodded thoughtfully before continuing with the questions.
“Your place of birth?”
“Jacksonville, Florida.”
“You have a sister. What is her name?”
“I had a brother. His name was Chase.”
Ali Hussein did not react to this. He only glanced back down to the page in front of him.
Russ was comfortable with the questions because he had read Court’s dossier; he knew it backward and forward. And there was another reason for his comfort. Russ himself had leaked a tiny portion of Gentry’s file to Iranian intelligence months earlier, so that his answers would coincide with their knowledge.
But the next question was not a part of the intel he had leaked.
“You completed an operation in 2004 in the Bekah Valley. A Syrian brother, a member of al Qaeda in Iraq, was kidnapped from his home by you and your colleagues, and he was rendered to a CIA prison in Morocco. What can you tell me about that operation that would prove to me that you were there?”
Russ had read about this mission in Court’s dossier, but he did not know where Iran came by the information. “I apologize,” Russ said. “I am, as you know, no longer a member of the Central Intelligence Agency, but I remain a patriot. I love my country, and I am not here to commit treason by giving classified information to a foreign intelligence agency.”
The Quds man said, “We have ways of obtaining that information from you.”
“If you do anything to mar our new friendship, then you are a fool, Ali Hussein, because what I am here to offer you today is worth one hundred times the intelligence value you could gain from learning details of a decade-old operation.”
“What is it that you are offering us?”
Russ leaned back on the sofa now and crossed his legs. “I want to relieve you of your biggest problem.”
Ali Hussein cocked his head. “What is our biggest problem?”
“Not what. Who.”
“All right… who is our big—”
The Iranian stopped in midsentence, because he had the answer to his question. “Ehud Kalb.”
Russ nodded. “Your government has proposed this to me before. My former handler, Gregor Sidorenko, told me that you extended this contract to me, and only me, over a year ago. At the time I was unable to accept your offer.”
CIA had been reading Sid’s mail for a long time, and through them Russ knew that Iranian cutouts had gone to Sid to extend the offer, unaware that by this time Sid and Court had become mortal enemies.
Ali looked at him, not trusting, not convinced, but intrigued. “You are saying you have reconsidered?”
“Possibly. If the terms are improved.”
“The Gray Man wants to assassinate Ehud Kalb for Iran?”
Now Russ shrugged. “Not for Iran. Sorry, but that is not my objective. I will do it for twenty-five million dollars. Before you tell me you don’t have this kind of money, I know you and the intelligence agencies of the wealthy Gulf States would find it worthwhile, and certainly worth… what? A half hour of crude production to pay to decapitate the nation of Israel.”
“If we offered this to you a year ago, and I am not saying we did. But… How do you know we have not simply arranged for someone else to do this?”
Whitlock leaned forward quickly, shaking his finger dramatically. “You don’t dare; you will give no one else the opportunity, because you know that whether they succeed or fail, it will be revealed, somehow, some way, that Iran was the one who extended the contract. Iran cannot have that happen, because Iran knows it would be attacked, sanctioned, embargoed, blockaded, and otherwise squeezed and punished for attempting to decapitate the Jewish state.”
The Quds Force operator did not disagree with this, but he also looked like he was out of his depth in the conversation. Russ expected this; he knew his plan would have to be kicked upstairs several times in the Iranian government before finding someone who could extend a formal offer.
“Please wait here.” Hussein stood and headed toward the back of the apartment.
“Of course,” Russ said as the man disappeared.
He returned in twenty minutes. “My colleagues would like you to come to Iran to meet with them.”
Russ shook his head. “Out of the question.”
Hussein nodded as if he expected this answer.
“They want to know why the world’s greatest assassin would come, alone, to Beirut. Why did you not have an intermediary reach out to us? That would be standard tradecraft for this type of arrangement.”
“I just killed my last handler on Sunday.” Hussein’s eyes widened as that sank in. Russ added with a shrug, “I’ve decided I will make my own arrangements from now on.”
After a nervous clearing of the throat, Ali said, “They are not convinced you are who you say you are.”
“But?”
“But there is a way you can convince them.”
Russ knew what was coming next, and he also knew it was going to be a problem.
“They want to know about Kiev.”
Ali Hussein was impressed. “Exactly. If you are the Gray Man, then you know that there were Iranians present during the event in Kiev three years ago.”
“Of course I know. And they were not just Iranians. They were Quds Force operatives.” Russ’s eyes narrowed. “Friends of yours, maybe?”
Ali Hussein just shook his head. “No.”
“Well, nevertheless, I saw the Iranians.”
“What else did you see?”
“You are asking me for a complete after-action report of my Kiev operation?”
“It would settle any doubts as to your identity.”
“I never kiss and tell.”
Hussein seemed disappointed. “Then you must allow us time to investigate you and your proposal. I can’t tell some stranger that he has Iran’s blessing to target the prime minister of Israel. You can see how that could ultimately be very harmful for Iran, should something go wrong.”
“I can’t wait for you to perform your due diligence. If I am to take this contract, I must act immediately. The prime minister will be making a trip to Brussels, London, and New York next week, and then he has no more scheduled travel for several months. The time is now.”
“Then prove you were the man at the Vasylkiv Air Base the evening of April 8, two thousand—”
“I will not tell you about Kiev. But I will prove to you I am who I claim to be.”
“How?”
“Go back to your telephone, have your superiors give you a name. One name of one man. Or woman, I do not care.”
“What man? What woman?”
“The person your organization would most like eliminated in the next five days. Someone located in Europe, that is a requirement, simply for geographical expediency. Other than that… I don’t care. They can be behind guarded gates, a public figure with security. It doesn’t matter. I will leave Beirut this afternoon, I will find this person, and I will rid the Iranian government of this problem immediately. Who could make this promise other than the Gray Man?”
Ali Hussein did not hide his surprise at the offer. Twice he began to speak, but twice he stopped himself.
Whitlock added, “No charge. And no comebacks to you. If I succeed, you win. If I fail, you lose nothing. We are not working together.”