Stu nodded as Spock furrowed his brow and looked down at his little nemesis.
The killer of his adventure hat, the cause of his swollen lugs, the putter of crushed chillies in his underpants, and other mischief that had caused him pain and discomfort looked up at him.
“Good,” said Spock and smiled, “well hurry back, so I can thrash you at more games.”
The little boy looked at the man who played a big part in helping him and Lek come to terms with their loss. He then grinned before wiping out the last of Spock’s army.
Spock gasped. “You little Yorkie cheat,” he said and smirked.
“Right, come on you two, finish the game,” said Stu, turning off the laptop, “the Heads are meeting us at the airport, so we don’t want to keep them waiting, and we have to stop off and see the girls first.”
After stopping at Threpasit market so Dave and Sid could say goodbye to Dao and Moo, Stu drove them to Savarnabhumi airport.
⸺ Chapter Twenty-Six ⸺
Dressed in a smart blue uniform with white and gold braided and conical headgear, the armed soldier looked into the car as the men showed him their ID cards. The soldier snapped to attention, shouldered his rifle, and stared ahead as the soldier in the security box pressed a button and the barrier rose.
Once inside the immense fortress, the passenger looked out of the vehicle’s window.
He smiled as he marvelled at the domes and spires of cathedrals, museums, and spectacular palaces glistening in the morning sun.
They drove along the side of the arsenal and after passing the Tsars bell, they headed toward the regal Senate building.
Colonel Caleb Brezkov’s chauffeur stopped in front of a large door and the Colonel got out and walked up polished granite steps.
Two armed soldiers with crossed axe insignias on their lapels opened the large gold-coloured door. Colonel Brezkov walked inside and along a marble corridor. Brezkov felt ecstatic as he marched the short distance with his footsteps echoing around the grand halls. He never tired of walking the corridors of this majestic building of power with its marble floors and ornately carved golden statues of former leaders of the union. He looked up at the art masterpieces adorning the ceiling, created over many decades by the country’s finest artists. Brezkov loved coming to the Kremlin, more so today, because he felt pleased with his accomplishment and couldn’t wait to move into his new office here and build the future that he’d helped forge for his country.
Two guards, also wearing crisp presidential Kremlin battalion uniforms, opened the large double-doors of the circular hall and Brezkov went inside.
Two men came over and greeted him. One handed him a glass of vodka. The man’s piercing blue eyes glared at the Colonel, but his smile no longer sent a chill through his spine as he smiled at his boss, comrade, and now friend.
“*Za zdorovje, Caleb,” said the man and although speaking Russian, his American twang was still audible as Caleb and the other Russian dressed in a crisp pin-striped suit repeated the toast and they sculled the vodka.
The men went over to a large bay window and sat on comfortable chairs around a coffee table.
A uniformed guard came over and placed three more vodkas on the table, taking care to avoid spilling anything on the three thick manuscripts in front of the three men.
The serious looking man with thinning light brown hair had a superior demeanour and looked at the pair. “Because of your outstanding work, we can now proceed unhindered and take back what is ours, along with what my incompetent predecessors gave away in the past.”
He looked at his watch and smirked. “We now control Kiev, and therefore Ukraine, so now we can concentrate on Latvia. People around the world felt too enraged with the Americans and the atrocity you ingrained to concern themselves with us.” The Prezident leant forward and smiled. “Thanks to you, nobody trusted the Americans or their allies any longer. It is how we predicted; ex-Soviet Union countries that left the Russian Federation are now pleading with us to protect them against the so-called American democracy. They all want to return to Mother Russia. Thank you for making this possible, now we can reclaim our territories, risking none of our soldiers in bloody conflicts with American-backed forces.”
The Prezident took two glasses from the table and handed Colonel Caleb Brezkov, and First Deputy Director, Pavel ‘Chuck’ Snitzkin, of the Counter-Espionage Bureau of the *Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, FSB, another vodka, raised his glass and toasted.
“Za zdorovje, to the heroes of the new Russian Federation,” The three smiled and chugged the vodka.
The Prezident motioned to a guard who snapped to attention and then left the room.
The Prezident smiled and said “Your plan was risky Pavel, and although we covered ourselves. No details of this operation have been recorded so we would have deniability and would blame you for acting alone and punish you should you have failed. However, I am curious, how did you know that no one would suspect Russian involvement?”
Pavel shook his head and smiled, “Having no descendants or Gopetus ever living in Russia, nobody would ever suspect us.”
He rubbed the stubble on his head, “and once we killed the Warlords monk and Caleb… I mean Master Sedgly planted the evidence, it would outrage the Buddhists.”
Pavel nodded at Caleb, who smirked, wai-ed him, and in his American drawl said, “Well, thank you kindly, Prime Master Chuck.”
Pavel and the Prezident chuckled and Pavel continued.
“We knew after our Amanussas attacked Mosques and with our Fahed filmed blaming Buddhists for the atrocities before he was killed by Buddhist’s, it would start a war between the two religions worldwide,” he smirked.
“Until we were ready to disclose our information to the contrary and blamed an American deception.”
“Ah yes,” said the Prezident and looked at Caleb. “The Sanctuary… you were efficient with your attack on that Colonel.”
Caleb smiled and nodded. “The Warlords of Peace’s Monastery was so remote and with no contact with the outside world and freezing temperatures, after my Spetsnaz commando troop slaughtered the monks many months ago; we left the bodies there until we were ready for the FBI and CNN to discover them. The frozen corpses gave them no clues as to their time of death,” said Caleb and grinned.
The Prezident nodded and smirked. “Yes, I saw on CNN news how the American reporter made out the attack on the Buddhists was a Muslim terrorist attack.”
Pavel smirked, “As we planned sir. We knew the stupid American press and their first amendment and freedom of press allowed them to put fear into people. We knew they were more concerned with making up a story about terrorist’s attacks in their country before investigating,” He smirked, “Thanks to their predictability and stupidity our plan went smooth.”
Caleb chuckled, “although we left the Thai Prime Master with many unanswered questions to keep him confused. We may need him again one day.”
The Prezident leant forward. “Apart from the manuscripts and files you brought with you,” he said and pointed at the three thick piles of documents on the coffee table. “I am intrigued Pavel, how did you come up with such an ingenious plan?”
Pavel picked up the top manuscript from the coffee table with the words, ‘Holy Book of Life: Warlord’s of Peace’ written on the front, and said. “It all started with the original of this… and Caleb.”
The guard came over with a pewter tea service on a tray and poured three cups for the men and went back to stand by the door.
The three squeezed lemon into their china cups, took a sip of the hot, sweet, bitter beverage, and Caleb said.
“After spending years in the U.S. putting up with drunken yanks under my guise as a bartender, one night it paid off. A shaven-headed Asian-American man, who introduced himself as Mick, came into the bar where I was tending in Darby town. Although my job was to remain inconspicuous until our spies or handler called upon my troop and I, this man interested me. After
getting drunk, he told me that he was a monk who had ran away from his Monastery after becoming disgruntled with their way of life. He told me he was not from an ordinary order of Buddhists monks and mentioned a book.”
Caleb took a drink of tea and continued.
“Mick told me he wanted to pursue other interests... women,” Caleb chuckled, “I reported my meeting to our controller, who told me to continue to find out more and fixed him up with one of our female operatives. She gathered more facts off him over several nights before he died under mysterious circumstances.” Caleb grinned and continued, “He told her more about the book that gave details about Sanctuaries, invisible assassins, and Buddha’s descendants.”
Caleb pointed to the manuscript copies. “Mick gave our female operative a rough location and the FSB’s satellites found their Monastery. My controller rounded up my sleeper Spetsnaz commandos based in the US and we located the Monastery. We monitored the monks over several days and I realised that the drunken monk’s story was genuine, and he became a perfect scapegoat. The rest was down to my superior,” he said and nodded at Pavel, who saw the Prezident looking enthralled and nodded.
“I heard the story from the controller about how Colonel Brezkov had come across the monk and the isolated Monastery. He seemed convinced and excited about a book containing secrets that could be useful to us. I took over the case from the US controller and had my FSB staff research the story. They came up with nothing, so I knew I must get hold of this book and discover its contents. I hoped that it would contain something we could use to manipulate the world into turning against America and leave us free to go forward with our plans unhindered. I gave the Colonel authorisation to get the book by whatever means necessary while we came up with a plan.”
“Yes Sir, so ten of us walked into the Warlords’ Monastery dressed as Buddhist monks. I told their elderly Prime Master that we were from a Mongolian temple on a pilgrimage to the US, seeking other Sanctuaries. The Asian-American Prime Master looked shocked, but because I mentioned the Sanctuaries, and had found their Monastery, he believed me. The commandos and I could communicate in Russian, which the Prime Master believed was Mongolian. After spending his life in the Monastery, he knew no better. We were welcomed in with open arms. Over several weeks, we mingled amongst the monks and gained their trust, learning about their ancient weapons and the Puravuttanta. We wiped out the Warlords after Pavel came up with a plan and gave us the order.” Caleb grinned. “Although the monks were fearsome Warriors, their swords were no match for Russian Spetsnaz commandos with American Ingram Mac 10 machine pistols.”
“Yes,” said the Prezident, “it looked impressive on the news.”
Caleb smiled. “I took their Puravuttanta’s which they always kept in the temple in full view. There was a copy in Pali and a translated English version, which I gave to Pavel when he came to America.”
A man came into the room and over to the three.
“What is it Yurhi?” asked the Prezident furrowing his brow, “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Sorry sir, but the Latvian Prezident called. He wanted to know when it will be convenient to speak with you.”
“Tell him I will call him back,” said the Prezident and smirked as the Foreign Minister walked away smiling.
The Prezident, enthralled, looked at the pair and said, “Please continue.”
Pavel nodded. “I went into America through Canada under my usual cover as a Canadian businessman and met with Caleb. When I saw the books, I knew it solved our problems and came up with a plan using the book’s information along with our other resources,” he smiled, “although still sceptical, I had our LWIR satellites reprogrammed, and they detected *FIR infrared fields around the world. I therefore knew Tusen existed. I chose isolated fields within the Bitterroot National Forest in Montana, which was the closest source to Caleb. Our research and development boffins made goggles that could see FIR infrared. I sent Russian workers to construct a factory, along with garment workers and farmers who, wearing the goggles, harvested the Tusen and made the body suits.”
The Prezident frowned. “Did the Americans suspect anything?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Pavel, “The location was too remote. We brought our equipment and workers in from Canada with US papers stating that they were from my Canadian gold mining company ferrying mining equipment and miners to our new claim.”
Vladimir knew how flawless his FSB could forge any papers. He nodded over at a guard who took the bottle of vodka from a small gold-coloured table, came over, and poured three more shots, while they drank the tea.
“Go on, Pavel,” said the Prezident sounding curious.
“While the Tusen factory was under construction, my team researched someone who we could use for the next part of my plan. Sheik Mohammed Del Alaz and his activities had been on our radar for many years before he died. We knew of his involvement in the failed attempts to get the Buddha’s tooth relic many years earlier. We also knew that he had a son, Sheik Fahed Del Alaz, who had inherited his father’s title... and debts.
I went to see Fahed with the book translated into Arabic.” Pavel pointed to the Arabic manuscript and continued. “Fahed was easily persuaded. He was penniless, with debts of millions of dollars mounting up.
He blamed the Americans for ordering the Saudi’s to seize his family’s assets. When I bought all his families assets at the Saudi auction under an assumed name. I told Fahed that I was a good friend of his father’s and before he died, his father had told me that he feared that Buddhists would kill him before he could complete his final mission to appease Allah. Then I showed him the book, along with a fake autopsy report showing the Buddhists used Aroona poison to murder his father. With his father cremated, there was nothing to refute my claim. After I gave him back all his father’s assets along with enough money to clear his debts with the opportunity to avenge his father and implicate America he was happy to help.
Persuading militant extremists to help with his cause, he offered their leaders large sums of money to buy weapons. Fahed recruited hard-core guerrillas, taking them to our Indus Valley training facility in Pakistan, where we sent them batches of our Tusen suits for the second phase of the operation.
To give Fahed credibility, I had our FSB undercover operative in the CIA fabricate evidence of a new and dangerous terror cell led by Fahed. After we killed a few Americans and blew up their buildings, the American news channels and intelligence agencies believed it. Their Secretary of State warned the world on their mainstream media channels, as we knew he would.
They blamed every atrocity in the US or on their citizens abroad on this new terrorist group whether it was terror related or not. This made our job of convincing everyone that they lied easier.”
The Prezident furrowed his brow. “I’m confused. You said the second phase. What about the first phase?”
Pavel grinned and said. “That was finding the descendants and killing them, leaving only one child alive with their protector in each area to lead us to the Sanctuaries.”
“Oh yes,” said the Prezident looking puzzled. “How did you do that? The footage on your interview showed the CIA Director telling about how they knew the whereabouts of Buddha’s descendants after getting DNA traces from dental remains years ago.”
Pavel nodded and smiled. “Yes sir, it did, which was what we filmed the scene to say. However, it wasn’t the CIA who knew about them, it was us. We took the Buddha’s DNA from dental remains in Sri Lanka years ago, and when we planned all this, I had our advanced Russian genealogy programmes find DNA matches with our FSB worldwide database. We only found a few descendants, but enough for our scheme to work.”
The President sat back wide-eyed and looked impressed.
“Our elite Spetsnaz commandos and FSB field agents, under the leadership of Colonel Igor Bravich, trained them to use the Tusen suits and carried out the attacks. Igor coordinated the attacks so they’d occur around the world at the same time,”
said Pavel. “They used their Kizlyar daggers dipped in a low concentrate of our VX21 venom agent. Although death was slow, once absorbed into tissues it was undetectable. With it not attacking cell structures, after the Gopetu and surviving descendant fled, our commandos returned and moved the dead descendants bodies before rigamortis set in, so their deaths would appear accidental.”
Pavel finished his tea and said, “They used Aroona poison on the Gopetu who we needed to survive. I knew from the book,” he said and pointed to the manuscript, “it said ancient assassins used this slow acting poison, so the Sanctuaries would know the antidote once they discovered the source.”
The President smiled and handed Pavel and Caleb each another glass of vodka.
“Wonderful, I must congratulate you both on this brilliant plan. The timing could not have been as perfect… Za zdorovje, comrades.”
“Za zdorovje.” Caleb and Pavel repeated and sculled their vodka and as the guard again came over and topped up their glasses, the President looked puzzled and said. “But with no assassins being seen, and the survivors only able to give vague accounts to the Sanctuaries about what had happened, how did they connect that to Fahed Del Alaz?”
Pavel leant forward and said. “That was the most unpredictable part of the plan sir. We needed one caught so the Buddhists’ would go after Fahed. We made our forces that attacked the descendants Tusen suits with a thinner layer across the eyes, which they could see through but not be seen.
The suits of Fahed militants who we sent to follow the survivors to the Sanctuaries had eye slits, so they could be seen. We led Fahed to believe our Spetsnaz battalion at our Pakistani desert training facility belonged to him. He told his assassins once they were at the Sanctuaries, press their ‘Allah’s help and he would send his army.”
Pavel grinned. “However, their key fobs were hypodermic injections filled with a higher concentrate of VX21. They died before realising they had been duped, but thanks to the tracker chips we implanted, we knew where all the Sanctuaries were located so we could choose the one that best suited our purpose for the next part and intended to let the know Fahed was responsible.”
Protector--The Final Adventure Page 26
