“He was an engineer,” Mason continued. “He worked on the hardware we pulled out of those fire control radars. He thought they were headed for the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Forces, and when he found out Takagi was selling them to Saddam, he couldn’t stomach it.”
“That’s it?” asked Dutcher. “A good conscience?”
“Yep. His product was stellar, Leland. And now that he’s been murdered…”
“His bona fides are all the more solid,” Dutcher finished.
“Right.”
“How was the network set up?”
“No cutouts, no controller,” replied Mason. “Ohira ran the whole thing. It was a tough choice, but given the territory, that’s the call we made. The cultural barrier alone was hard enough, but Takagi’s physical security and information protection is top notch. With Ohira, we had the perfect conduit, and his job gave him almost unlimited access.”
Dutcher considered this. “What do you want from us?”
“Just a circuit check. We just want to know if the network is viable. If so, we’ll start figuring out how to restart it.”
Dutcher nodded; it seemed straightforward enough. “Usual terms?”
“Yes.”
For Tanner, that meant he was on his own. He would be disavowed if caught and ignored if imprisoned, a private citizen breaking Japanese law.
“Support?” asked Dutcher.
“We can give you equipment and information, but you’ll have to work out the logistics.”
“When?”
“As soon as George signs off. Give me a couple days.” Mason looked hard at Dutcher. “This is big for us, Dutch. I’d consider it a personal favor.”
Dutcher had discretion over which projects Holystone undertook. He weighed the pros and cons and decided Mason was right: This was big. If Takagi Industries was dabbling in the underground weapons market, the U.S. would have to deal with it sooner or later. Sooner would be better.
“Let me see the file,” said Dutcher.
Six thousand miles away, Abu Azhar and General Issam al-Khatib stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Syrian desert. Every few seconds, the horizon bloomed with bursts of orange; even at this distance al-Khatib could feel the accompanying explosions in his belly.
Azhar raised his binoculars. “Artillery?” he asked.
“And tanks. Integrated warfare: armor, infantry, artillery, and aircraft working together.”
“It is impressive, but is such a large force necessary?”
“We must not only get their attention but keep it as well.” General al-Khatib smiled. “Abu, yours is the difficult job. Your men are ready?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I know how you feel about this, but I think you should consider—”
“We’ve already discussed this. The answer is—”
“You’ve chosen your target well, but we gain more leverage if—”
“No! No children! That was my only condition. You knew that from the start.”
General al-Khatib nodded and clapped Azhar on the shoulder. “Yes, of course. We won’t discuss it again. So, what was so urgent you needed to see me?”
“We have captured a spy.”
“What? When?”
“Last week. He’s working for the Americans, that much he has already admitted. Otherwise, he is resisting well.”
“Give him to me,” General al-Khatib said. “I will—”
“No, we will keep him. My concern is the operation. This close to the final phase, I am worried the Americans may know something.”
“Impossible.”
“Improbable, but not impossible. We need to be sure before we’re committed.”
“What do you propose?”
Azhar explained. “Mustafa has already contacted the Jordanian. We have the funds and the target, and the logistics are fairly simple once we’re in-country. What we need is a man who has experience in this area.”
“For participation?”
“No. Consultation,” said Azhar. “Mustafa tells me you know a man, a former KGB officer.”
General al-Khatib hesitated. The operation Azhar was proposing was one of unprecedented daring. His first instinct was to forbid it, but al-Khatib heard the resolve in Azhar’s voice. He’d heard it many times before.
In the years after the loss of Azhar’s child, he’d provided Azhar with refuge and friendship. He’d also grown to love him like a brother, all the while seeing the hidden potential. Azhar was a brilliant planner, a fierce soldier, and a charismatic leader.
Were Azhar’s worries justified? al-Khatib wondered. Could this tangent of his jeopardize the operation? No, he decided, compromise was unlikely; they were well insulated. The most important part of that insulation was Azhar himself. In fact, without him the heart of the plan would collapse. Perhaps appeasement was the wisest course. Besides, this new venture might provide necessary distraction.
“Very well,” al-Khatib said. “I’ll send him. Where?”
“Khartoum.”
“His price will be high.”
“We will pay it,” Azhar said. “The price of failure for us is even higher.”
The pool patio was nearly deserted. Their table was lit by a hurricane lantern. Candle rafts drifted on the surface of the pool. The dinner Tanner had arranged was simple but delicious. They started with fresh shrimp cocktail and fruit salad, followed by braised albacore fillets and baby asparagus with hollandaise sauce.
“So,” Camille said, sipping her wine. “You were telling me about the Navy.”
“Was I?”
“Yes.”
“I seem to be doing all the talking.”
“Not so,” she said. “You know I am Ukrainian, you’ve heard the woes of my childhood: strict, religious parents, our small backward village….” Camille smiled suddenly. “Would you like to hear about my first lover? I was nineteen,” she said. “He was a sailor… like you.”
Tanner laughed. “Like me because he was a sailor, or like me because we’re alike?”
“You are nothing like him. You are genuine and warm and have a wonderful heart, though you try to hide it sometimes.”
Be careful with this one, Tanner thought. “You’re very insightful, Ms. Sereva.”
“Yes, but am I very correct?”
“So, this sailor…”
“I loved him, and he loved sleeping with me. I was a naive little girl.”
“Gender has little to do with naïveté.”
“So you’ve been in love and made a fool of yourself?”
“More times than I care to admit.”
She leaned forward. “I want to hear about it.”
“You’ve steered the conversation away from yourself again.”
“Have I?” Camille said. “By what miracle are you not married?”
Tanner paused and took a sip of coffee. “I was.”
“Was?”
“It was a long time ago. She died in an avalanche in Colorado. We were skiing. Some teenagers had stolen the boundary markers as a prank, and we ended up where we shouldn’t have been.”
After the avalanche he’d tried to get to her, but he couldn’t. The snow was so dense, so heavy; it was nearly impossible to dig. For a while he thought he heard her voice, and he called to her but heard nothing. With two ribs cracked and his collarbone shattered, he clawed at the snow, every move agony, his mind slipping in and out of consciousness, everything white and cold and dank.
After twelve hours, the rescuers found him. He was within four feet of where they eventually found Elle’s body. As they’d loaded him on the stretcher, he stared at her still lying in the snow, her face blue, eyes open….