“As you wish.”
“You will report to me in person. I will be in Tehran in a few days. After that, I have to travel again.”
He killed the transmission without waiting for an answer.
22
Base Camp Alpha
Sudan
Two days later
FOR THE WHIPLASH TEAM, LISTENING IN ON WHAT WAS HAPPENING at Uncle Dpap’s headquarters, the hours following Danny’s visit passed slowly. Tilia’s description of her meeting with Colonel Zsar made it clear that he had not made any decision. The colonel had sent a message to his Iranian contact, but because it was sent from a town thirty miles away, the NSA net had failed to pick it up
The evening after Danny’s star turn as an arms dealer, Nuri went to bed thinking he would have to come up with a new idea. But when he woke, a new set of NSA intercepts from Sudan had been translated and forwarded to the team.
The headline on one made him forget how bad the coffee was:
COMMUNICATION INTERCEPTED
WITH IRANIAN CONNECTION
The conversation had taken place in Khartoum, the Sudanese capital. It lasted for barely a minute and was on the surface innocuous. The only reason it had been examined at all was the fact that it had been conducted in Farsi; an NSA computer had pulled it out and queued it for translation and inspection.
[call goes through; Speaker 1 answers]
Speaker 1: Hello?
Speaker 2: Kirk checks out. Proceed.
Speaker 1: Meet with him?
Speaker 2: Then report back.
[end of conversation]
Nuri ran and got Danny.
“They’re talking about me?” Danny asked.
“Has to be. It’s in Farsi. which means—”
“It’s between two Iranians,” said Danny.
“Exactly. The Republican Guard has funneled some money to Colonel Zsar. Caller one must be a contact for Zsar, or somewhere in the chain.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know. There’s no ID here. The call wasn’t specifically targeted. That sat phone will be now, though. Sometimes they’re pretty clever about hiding identities. We may figure out who it is. We may not. He’ll be at the meeting, though.”
“You think this is Colonel Zsar?”
“The backgrounder says he doesn’t speak Farsi.” Nuri took a swig of his coffee. It was always bad, but this morning it was particularly bad. He decided that might be good luck. “Uncle Dpap will call soon. Set up the meeting as soon as you can.”
“Right.”
“While you’re there, I’ll try and get a better look at Colonel Zsar’s operations,” said Nuri. “I’ll put some bugs in, and find out what the Iranians have spent their money on.”
“Can you get into the fortress?”
“We’ll have to be invited in. I’d like to post a blimp nearby, cover the approaches.”
“OK.”
Nuri sat in front of the laptop and began looking at satellite photos of Colonel Zsar’s village. “Why do you think they have a guard on a barn?” he asked.
“Keep people from stealing the cows.”
“They don’t have guards on the other buildings they have in the village.”
“Got me,” said Danny.
“Hmmm,” said Nuri. “Guess I’ll take a look at that, too.”
23
Near Murim Wap, Sudan
BY THE TIME UNCLE DPAP USED THE PHONE DANNY HAD given him, Nuri and Danny knew everything—that they wouldn’t deal with Red Henri, and that Colonel Zsar had suggested they use the arms dealer to try and get a better price from their other dealers and contacts. They were also confident that they weren’t planning an ambush, though that was one thing they couldn’t take for granted.
Nuri made the call back, using an electronic voice box to disguise his voice. He told Uncle Dpap that the meeting would happen at midnight, agreeing to the place Uncle Dpap had selected, an abandoned farm building outside a hamlet that lay between Uncle Dpap and Colonel Zsar’s camps.
The rebels didn’t like the fact that the meeting was being held at night. And they liked it even less when, at five minutes past the appointed time, Nuri called their sat phones, dialing them all into a three-way phone conference.
“The meeting will be held at Murim Wap,” said Nuri. He was sitting back at the base camp, watching the rebels on the laptop thanks to the Owl and the sensors he’d planted that afternoon. Danny and the trucks were already at Murim Wap. “The vehicles will be waiting. You have a half hour to get there.”
“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” said Uncle Dpap.
“Send your scouts, just as you did here,” said Nuri.
“You don’t dictate to us where the meeting is,” protested Colonel Zsar.
But Nuri had already hung up.
The two rebel leaders brought their vehicles together to confer. Both Nuri and Danny heard the entire conversation that followed, thanks to the bugged cell phone, which Tilia had in her pocket.
“He doesn’t trust you,” said a voice they hadn’t heard before. “Of course he’s not going to meet you here. They only agreed to this place so they could watch you come.”
“Is it a trap?” asked Uncle Dpap.
“Too elaborate,” said the man. “It would have been easier to kill you here.”
“I agree,” said Tilia.
“You are sure this man is not working for the government in Sudan?” asked Uncle Dpap.
“That much I am positive of,” said the man. “My spies would know.”
The debate continued for a short while, but it was clear that, having gone to the trouble of arranging to meet themselves, the two rebel leaders were loath to miss the meeting with the arms dealer.
“The person who’s with Colonel Zsar must be the Iranian,” said Nuri. “He’s the one you have to mark when you meet. Make sure you touch him on the skin.”
“I’ll shake his hands like a politician.”
“Break the vial, daub your finger, touch him. That’s all you have to do.”
“Is the Owl online?” Danny asked.
“Are you asking me, or are you asking the Voice?”
“You.”
“You can ask the computer. It’ll tell you.”
“I’m asking you,” snapped Danny.
“Good snarl,” said Nuri, thinking that Danny was just playacting. In fact, he was really annoyed. “It’s online. Have fun.”
“I intend to.”
Though they’d scouted Murim Wap and planted video and listening devices earlier in the day, they hadn’t stayed there, fearing someone would tip off the rebels. Danny waited until the advance scouts Uncle Dpap had sent signaled that the place was clear, then they drove over, Boston driving as if he were racing in the Baja.
“Gotta stay in character,” Boston explained. “Outlaw like you isn’t going to have a wussy driver.”
Murim Wap had once been an important stop on a trade route from the interior into Ethiopia and the sea. But the village’s attractiveness faded when trucks and buses replaced carts and feet. A few families had remained in the area, one to run a gas and diesel station, the others to farm and catch on as best they could. Two years before, a cell tower had been built just off the highway, behind the gas station. A UN project had helped increase yields at the nearby farms, and there was a small store that sold goods to the dozen or so families that lived within walking distance. As a general rule, the village street was deserted after nightfall, with the gas station closing down a half hour after sunset.