by Tom Clancy
“Andrei,” he said, “I demand to know what’s going on. Why are you doing this?”
“Gustav, I don’t have time to explain it to you. You’ll find out soon enough.” Zdrok attempted to push past him, but Gomelsky grabbed him by the arm.
“Are we in some kind of trouble?”
Zdrok stopped and stared at the man. Softly but with menace, he whispered, “Get your hand off of me.”
Gomelsky swallowed and released his boss. He had always been a little afraid of Andrei Zdrok because he knew so little about the man. “Sorry, sir, I was just—”
“I’m leaving this office and relocating,” Zdrok said. “That’s all you need to know for now. I’ll be in touch.” Fat chance, Zdrok thought to himself.
“What about the police investigation?” Gomelsky asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The break-in! The other night. Your safe was blown, remember?”
“Oh, that.” Zdrok had practically forgotten about it.
“The inspector will want to know where you went. The case is still under investigation, you know.”
“Tell him I’m away on business.”
“Don’t you think he’ll be suspicious that you cleaned out your office? Andrei, you’re putting us in a very awkward position.”
Zdrok lost his temper, grabbed the man by his jacket, and got into his face. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!” He released Gomelsky and shoved him away. “Deal with it and leave me alone,” he said.
Zdrok went on past the teller windows into the back and to the remains of his office. It was a shambles. He and Erik had torn out the computer, the files, emptied the desk and the blown-out safe, and the phone. Antipov was doing the same thing in the Zurich branch and Zdrok wished he could be there to oversee it. Antipov was thorough, but Zdrok liked to make sure nothing was missed. If he could clone himself, he would do it.
How long would it be before the authorities arrived? Zdrok was certain that it would be no later than tomorrow.
Those goddamned terrorists. The so-called Shadows, Nasir Tarighian and his band of religious fanatics. Why did they have to be the Shop’s best customers? They had compromised the Shop’s cover, and now Zdrok was faced with having to reorganize under a different, unknown camouflage in another country.
And what was the cost? Zdrok had no idea what it was, but he knew it was going to be in the billions. The loss of the stealth plane was a huge blow, but having to relinquish the two banks was a disaster. The very worst part was leaving his chateau on Lake Zurich. He’d never make it back to his home to retrieve his personal belongings. Zdrok had to abandon the place and everything in it. A fucking eight-million-dollar write-off and there was nothing he could do about it. Christ, the automobiles! He had forgotten all about them. His beloved collection! And his precious yacht! At least he was fairly certain he had left nothing incriminating in the chateau. It was simply the home of an eccentric banker who had expensive tastes.
Zdrok clenched his fists and shook them at the ceiling. Someone would pay for all this. Andrei Zdrok swore, then and there, that once he had reestablished the Shop in a new location and regrouped, he would exact revenge on the parties that set this catastrophe in motion—namely the United States of America.
33
I ’ M not happy.
My daughter is in jeopardy and needs me. I’m up against a mad religious fanatic who finances terrorism and is intent on causing some kind of mass destruction. I’m on a British military base on an island in the Mediterranean, and I have to perform a job I don’t particularly feel like doing. I’ll be the first to admit I’m distracted. For me the first priority is to go find Sarah. For my country the first priority is to stop the mad religious fanatic. The only thing I can hope for is that I finish the country’s assignment in record time so I can tackle the personal one as soon as possible.
Cyprus. It’s a beautiful place, but it’s rife with tension. Back in 1963 some British officer drew a green line across the island’s map when violence broke out between the Greek and Turkish Cypriots. The United Nations tried to keep the peace along what has since been referred to as—surprise—the “Green Line.” Then, in 1974, the Greek government attempted a coup, and the Turks responded by invading and occupying the area north of the Green Line. Today, the United Nations recognizes only the Greek Cypriot side, the Republic of Cyprus. The so-called Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus is not recognized by any nation other than Turkey. It’s a situation that has provoked a great deal of mistrust and conflict ever since.
Britain maintains important military bases in the southern portion of the island. In fact, the British Sovereign Base Areas cover about three percent of the island’s land. The Royal Air Force occupies the Western Sovereign Base Area in the Episkopi Garrison and the Akrotiri airfield. I’m over on the eastern side, in the Dhekelia Garrison. Because Cyprus was once a British crown colony, these areas remained under the UK’s jurisdiction when the Treaty of Establishment created the independent Republic of Cyprus in 1960.
The army presence at Dhekelia consists of sixty-two Cyprus Support Squadron Royal Engineers and sixteen Flight Army Air Corps (equipped with Gazelle helicopters). There are also a variety of supporting arms such as the Royal Logistics Corps, Royal Army Medical Corps, Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, Royal Military Police and others located in both Sovereign Base Areas. Dhekelia, also known as a “cantonment,” is home to a total British population of just over 2,000 people.
It seems to me to be a fairly cushy assignment for the Brit soldiers. Dhekelia is on the northern shore of the wide sweeping Larnaca Bay and is situated some 15km northeast of the important coastal town of Larnaca and 20km west of Ayia Napa, the premier tourist resort for the club music scene in the Eastern Mediterranean. Dhekelia Cantonment has an abundance of sporting and recreational facilities, with the emphasis, naturally, on water sports. When I arrived by military transport, I could see some die-hard skiers in the bay getting in some last-minute thrills before sunset.
Captain Peter Martin, a proper British soldier in his thirties, escorts me to the mess, where I am fed a fine meal of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. A good Western meal would hit the spot and I’m starving. Captain Martin sits and briefs me on his orders and how he plans to proceed in helping me.
“I’m to take you out in a boat after nightfall,” he says. “We’ll sail around Cape Pyle and Cape Gkreko and then turn north up the coast. After three miles or so I’ll stop and let you out. You’ll swim another half-mile or so underwater to the Famagusta harbor, where you’ll go ashore and make your way to the shopping mall site. Once you’re out of the boat, we have no knowledge of your being anywhere near Cyprus. You’ll have to make your way back across the border by sea. I’ll give you my mobile number. When you’re ashore I’ll come and collect you. If I don’t hear from you, then I’ll have to assume that you’ve either found another way off the island or that you’re dead. Is that clear?”
“Clear and very blunt,” I answer.
“We’ll fit you with some SCUBA gear. We can’t give you the best stuff; we need that for our own men. It will be spare equipment, fairly old, but I assure you that it’s in good working condition. If you’re able to bring it back, we would appreciate it. If not, don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you for that,” I say, swallowing my last bite of chicken. “As long as the tanks are full.”
“I guarantee that you’ll have the same quality air that we do,” the captain says, smiling.
“What do you know about the shopping mall? Surely you’ve done some recon on the site?” I ask.
“We have indeed and I can honestly tell you that it looks completely legit. They’ve been working on it for three years, and not once have we seen anything remotely suspicious.”
I have nothing to say to that. I find it difficult to believe that Tarighian is really building a shopping mall for Turkish Cypriots when he devotes the rest of his energy financing the Shadows’ directives to kill and maim a
s many non-Muslims as they can.
After dinner Captain Martin takes me to the army’s diving club, which overlooks gorgeous Larnaca Bay. I ask the captain if Cyprus is good for tourism, and he tells me that it’s a fabulous vacation spot. When the Greek and Turkish Cypriots behave themselves, Cyprus is a fantastic island paradise.
“Actually the Turkish side of the island is even prettier,” he says. “Mostly Turks and people from other Muslim countries visit the north. Everyone else comes to the south.”
Captain Martin gives me a single tank, an MK2Plus regulator, a Glide 500 buoyancy compensator device, a Smart-Pro wrist computer, Twin Speed adjustable fins, a standard weight belt, and a frameless face mask. Everything fits nicely over my uniform, which will keep me warm enough, but I’ll have to fasten the Osprey on my chest. Martin also gives me a small Diver Propulsion Device—a portable hand-held mechanism that propels a diver by dragging him through the water. This saves the diver’s strength. I’m ready to go, but first I need to check in with Lambert.
I try my implant first. “Colonel, are you there?”
“I’m here, Sam. I take it you’re in Cyprus?”
“Roger that. Everything’s proceeding according to plan. They’re treating me well.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What have you found out about Sarah, Colonel?”
“Sam, we’re doing everything we can to find her. Listen to me, now. You’ve got to let us handle this. There’s still a good forty-eight hours or more before they expect you to be in Jerusalem. We have a lead on a suspect, and we’re following up on that.”
This is good news. “Who is it?”
“Sam, it’s a bit premature—”
“Goddamn it, Colonel, this is my daughter we’re talking about.” Needless to say, I’m a little pissed off. “If you want me to keep my mind off her and on this job here, then you’d better tell me everything you know.”
“Right, Sam. I’m sorry. There’s this boyfriend. Do you know about him?”
I have to think to remember his name. “A boy from Israel, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Name of Eli Horowitz.”
“That’s him. Yeah, I remember Sarah mentioning him. What about him? Is he the suspect?”
“She made plans to meet up with him in Jerusalem. We checked him out, and we learned that he was deported from the U.S. last year for an expired student visa. And for being on a terrorist watch list.”
“Oh, shit,” I say. I don’t care who hears me.
“We’re trying to find him as we speak. We’ve got people in Jerusalem hunting him down right now.”
“What about Sarah’s friend? The one she went with to Israel . . . what’s her name? Rivka.”
I hear Lambert sigh. When he does this, I know I’m not going to like what he has to say. “Sam, Rivka Cohen’s dead. She was found in an alley in East Jerusalem, strangled to death.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Colonel!” I’m losing my mind here. I want to pick up something and smash it to pieces. “I can’t be here, Colonel. I’ve got to go to Israel now.”
“Sam, you don’t have the resources that we do. Believe me, we’re in a better position to find Sarah than you are.”
“It’s me they want, Colonel. My daughter is just the bait.”
“That’s exactly why I can’t let you go yet. Please, Sam. You have a job to do there, and we need you to do it. I know this sounds horrible, but you’ve got to forget about her for now.”
I suck in a breath and say, “All right, Colonel. I’ll do your little errand tonight, but come tomorrow morning I’m going to Israel—no matter where I am or what I’m doing. I’m picking up and leaving this fucking island, and I’m going to find my daughter. Do I make myself clear?”
I can’t believe I just spoke to my commanding officer that way. But then again, I don’t hold a military rank. Colonel Lambert is really just my supervisor and I’m his employee. It’s not the same thing.
“I understand, Sam,” Lambert says. “I don’t blame you.”
That calms me down a bit. “Thanks, Colonel. Sorry. I, er, got a little carried away.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just do what you have to do tonight and let us know what you find out.”
We sign off and I look out the window at the bay. The sunset casts a bloodred spill over the choppy surface, and I wonder if that means anything.
At ten o’clock, well after dark, we board what’s called a Rigid Raider—a fast patrol craft with a fiberglass reinforced plastic hull and a single 140-horsepower outboard motor. It’s normally used to patrol harbors and inland waterways. The thing holds about eight or nine guys, and the captain tells me there’s an even larger version of the Rigid Raider that holds up to twenty men. On this particular voyage a pilot and a private join the captain and me. From what I can tell, they know nothing about my mission. I imagine they’re just following the captain’s orders.
The pilot keeps the speed down so as not to attract too much attention. It’s not uncommon to see these patrol boats at all times of the day or night, but I figure they think it’s best that we keep a low profile. The boat moves along past Cape Pyle and then around the easternmost tip, Cape Gkreko. The water seems choppier here, and the captain tells me that there are strong currents on this side of the island. He wants to get me as close as possible to the Green Line because it’s going to be a strenuous swim.
I can see the lights of Famagusta from here. The captain tells me to get ready and he helps me with the BCD and tank. The pilot turns off all the lights on the boat and cuts the engine down to a quiet putter.
“This is your stop,” the captain says. He holds out his hand and I shake it.
“Thanks for everything,” I say.
“Thank me when I pick you up in the morning.” He doesn’t say if he picks me up in the morning.
I put on the fins, lower the face mask, secure the SC- 20K on my back, and I’m good to go. I climb over the side while holding on to the ladder, insert the regulator into my mouth, hold on to the DPD, and dive backward into the cold, dark water.
34
THE captain was right about the strong currents, but the DPD prevents the swim from becoming a struggle. I forge ahead, allowing the device to pull me along at a speed of roughly a knot per hour. I figure I can climb out of the water near the docks and use the moored boats as cover. I seriously doubt there will be much activity there at this time of night.
The DPD’s headlight casts a ghostly glow on the floor, and I can see masses of brightly colored coral shelves and an abundance of fish. Not being much of a fisherman, I can’t identify them, but I know none of them are dangerous. Apparently there are no sharks in the Mediterranean, but barracuda have been known to take bites out of swimmers. Moray eels are also nasty creatures that are a must to avoid. At any rate, what I see here would fit nicely inside a restaurant aquarium.
The computer tells me I swam a distance of three-quarters of a mile when I finally see the wooden posts supporting the Famagusta docks. The water is dirtier here as a result of pollution from the dozens of moored boats. I surface with just my face above the water so I can evaluate the situation.
There are boats of all sizes—catamarans, motorboats, sailboats, several small yachts—and a brightly lit boardwalk. I see a lone night watchman in a shed on the boardwalk. The Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus flag flies on a tall flagpole that’s next to the shed.
This is easy. I swim to the dock and follow the edge to the shore. When I’m able to touch bottom I crawl up, remove my fins, and climb out of the water into the shadows. I avoid the boardwalk altogether and make my way up a concrete slope to level land. This is where I’m most vulnerable to being seen, so I quickly skirt into a grove of trees that abuts the docks. I get lucky and find a water drainage pipe built into the ground where I can store my SCUBA gear. The sky is clear and I don’t expect rain, so the stuff should be safe nestled inside the pipe. I strip off the tank, BCD, and other gear and leave it. I retrieve my h
eadset and goggles from my Osprey and I’m ready.
It’s a three-mile hike to Famagusta Center. Since I’m keeping to the shadows and avoiding streetlights, it takes me nearly an hour to get there. Now it’s nearly three in the morning and I have two, maybe three hours before dawn.
The property is in a clearing outside of Famagusta, just off the main highway. At the moment a wire fence surrounds the grounds. Signs written in Turkish and English read: Keep Out—Construction Hard Hat Area. Other signs proclaim—Famagusta Center, Opening Soon! Vendor Space For Rent! The place is well lit with floodlights, trucks carrying debris periodically leave a loading dock area at the back of the complex, and men in hard hats go in and out of various entrances. That’s a clue right there that something’s afoot—construction employees normally don’t work in the middle of the night. These guys appear to be working feverishly to meet some kind of deadline. Lambert’s probably right—Tarighian means to use his weapon as soon as possible.
I’m unable to see an area of the fence that’s not covered by the bright lights. I’m beginning to wonder how the hell I’m going to get inside when providence intervenes. A pair of headlights appears on the road near where I’m crouched, and they’re headed my way. When it’s close enough I see that it’s a professional electrical company’s van, and there’s a lone driver inside. The van passes me, not traveling very fast, so I jump up and toss a rock at it. As the van slows I run behind it and slap the back doors a couple of times, loud enough for the driver to hear me. He slows even more and stops. When he lowers the window, I’m there with the Five-seveN pointing at his nose.
“You’re going my way,” I say. “Can I have a lift?”
He doesn’t understand the words, but he gets the meaning. I keep the gun trained on him, walk around the front of the vehicle, and get in the passenger side. I tell him to drive on as I crouch on the floorboard, my pistol stuck against his potbelly. He’s obviously frightened and I tell him to calm down. He nods and proceeds.
We get to the gate, where he stops the van and lowers the window. The guard there asks him something in Turkish and the driver replies, reaching for a clipboard on the passenger seat. He shows the guard the front page on the clipboard, and we’re cleared to go through. I take the opportunity to rise and peer through the windshield. I see a parking area where several vendor and construction vehicles are stationed, so I point him over there. As soon as he parks the van and shuts it off, I get in the seat beside him, motion him closer, then conk him on the back of the head.
