‘The program is part of the Expert Management Unit of the General Staff, whose task it is to examine unusual phenomena outside the experience of other departments. The main project of the unit is a state program on the discovery of intellectual human resources. The goal of the program is to identify ways to make the human brain work in a special regime. The Scientific Council of the program was led by the academician and neurophysiologist Natalya Bekhtereva, who until her death served as a scientific director of the Institute of Human Brain of RAS.’
Mishkin peered at Akhmed curiously. ‘What the hell are you doing to these girls?’
‘The work is an extension of projects carried out in the 1980s,’ Akhmed replied anxiously. ‘Hundreds of Soviet scientists worked on programs which concluded that a human being was in some respects an energy and information system that receives information from the outside, rather in the same way that a television aerial receives signals from a satellite. If you tune a human brain correctly, it acts just like an antenna and receives information in a way that most people would consider paranormal.’
Mishkin turned and looked again at the girl in the room nearby, still whispering to her captors about whatever she had seen, perhaps Mishkin threatening Akhmed. Suddenly self–conscious of his actions, Mishkin backed away from the scientist and forced himself to relax. His father’s words, uttered long ago, echoed through his mind: When everything we know and believe in falls apart, so does the honor of those who claim to lead us.
Mishkin took a deep breath, and then spoke quietly.
‘How many of these girls are there?’
‘We have seven with confirmed telepathic abilities,’ Akhmed replied.
‘Out of how many potential subjects?’
Akhmed swallowed. ‘We’ve captured around ten thousand girls over five years, ever since the country’s civil war began. Most of the girls showed no innate abilities whatsoever and were released, but those who were blind showed amazing telepathic skills…, for a while.’
‘Go on,’ Mishkin snapped, sensing more.
‘Some girls demonstrated these considerable abilities, but then lost them.’
‘Lost them?’ Mishkin echoed.
Akhmed nodded, his eyes wobbling in their sockets with fear. ‘When the girls lose their virginity, they lose their skills. They can no longer see.’
Mishkin felt the rage return. ‘And how did they lose their virginity inside a secure Russian facility?’
Akhmed swallowed thickly. ‘The guards, they traded the girls. I didn’t know anything about it and…’
Mishkin stepped toward Akhmed again and pressed one boot down on the scientist’s chest as he reached out and flipped a switch on the console, reactivating the radio connection to the room in which the girl lay.
‘Ask her who violated the other girls,’ he rumbled.
Akhmed’s face collapsed in fear and he shook his head feverishly. ‘They cannot always be trusted. We have to be sure of what they’re actually saying and…’
‘Doctor Akhmed sold the girls to the guards or used them himself,’ the girl said softly, her voice overpowering Akhmed’s through the speakers in the room. ‘When the raped girls lost their powers, they were thrown out into the streets or shot.’
Akhmed shrieked in horror as Mishkin lifted him physically out of his seat by his shirt and hurled him across the room. He pulled his pistol from its holster and slammed the butt down across Akhmed’s skull, the loud cracks amplified by the room’s close walls and Akmed’s screams of terror and pain soaring until he fell silent, blood streaming from his battered skull.
Mishkin stood upright again, his chest heaving as he holstered his pistol. Behind him the door to the room flew open and two soldiers burst in. They took one look at the colonel and the motionless, bleeding body at his feet and immediately froze in position.
Mishkin turned to them, his grim expression and physical size brooking no opposition.
‘Have the girls rounded up ready for extraction,’ he snapped, and then pointed at the girl in the next room. ‘Does over–use of those devices cause any kind of brain damage?’
One of the guards nodded.
‘Too many hours inside it and the girls’ seizures become uncontrollable. If they don’t stop, they die.’
Mishkin’s jaw ached as he held his fury inside.
‘Put Akhmed in the trucks with the girls. We will keep the most capable and sell the rest to traffickers. The rest of the machines are to be packaged ready for transport out of Syria, understood?!’
‘Yes colonel!’
The two guards scrambled over each other to lift Akhmed’s unconscious body and escape the room as quickly as they could. Mishkin turned and looked once more at the young girl strapped to the bed in the adjoining room, and once again the fine hairs on his neck bristled with a superstitious awe. He could not explain how she had known about the words his father had spoken to him so many years before, words that resonated with him even now, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that all of the girls needed to be smuggled out of Syria as soon as possible for they were now more valuable than the most powerful weapons in any country’s nuclear arsenal.
Mishkin shook himself out of his torpor and made for the exit as he reached for his cell phone and dialed a number. He knew that they could not travel east due to the fighting outside the city, therefore the best option was to head west into Lebanon and from there to the Mediterranean where a Russian ship could take them north across the Black Sea to the Russian coast and safety.’
‘Yes, Colonel?’
Gregorie’s voice sounded even more monotone than usual down the line.
‘You have the tablets?’
‘I have images of them which we can decipher, and I have just landed in Homs.’
‘Get the convoy ready,’ Mishkin ordered. ‘Bring the gunship and our troops also. We leave in an hour.’
***
XXVI
Beirut, Lebanon
The Le Royal Hotels & Resorts, Dbayeh in the west of the city looked as though it would have been equally at home in Las Vegas as Ethan and Nicola walked toward it alongside the coast. The sun was setting to the west on their right, the Mediterranean glittering like a stream of molten gold and the sky above turning a deep blue.
‘It’s almost romantic,’ Lopez said as she slipped an arm through Ethan’s. ‘Best we look the part, right?’
Ethan smiled as they walked. ‘You’re not making a move on me are you?’
‘We’re off to see a man about smuggling children for sale in Europe,’ Lopez cautioned him. ‘That doesn’t exactly inspire the romantic in me.’
‘Me either,’ Ethan agreed, ‘but you’re right, it’s best to blend in.’
The city was filled with tourists, many of them Europeans but also a few Americans and even Russians milling about. Not for the first time it crossed Ethan’s mind that despite the conflicts and political disputes that raged every day across the globe, the ordinary people of all nations happily got along without any issues whatsoever and even without the same languages. Russians waited for Americans to pass by on busy pathways, the Americans smiling in gratitude as they passed. Muslims bowed respectfully to Christians and Jews, their manners rewarded with equal gestures of friendship.
‘Seems crazy, doesn’t it,’ Lopez said.
‘What’s that?’
‘People,’ she replied, seeming to read his mind. ‘We get along just fine without politicians and governments. If only they knew, then we wouldn’t have wars and people like you and me would be out of a job.’
Ethan nodded but said nothing as they turned into the immense tiered hotel, which was built it seemed into the cliffs themselves and overlooked gardens of palm trees and immaculate lawns. They walked together through a foyer bustling with tourists heading out for dinner or into the hotel’s restaurant, and Ethan searched for the man they had come to meet.
From the crowds emerged a portly, dark skinned man with thick black hair and a gold
chain about his neck that looked almost like a dog’s collar. He wore a dark gray suit and a white shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal a dense bush of curly black hair on his chest, and Ethan spotted rings on his fat fingers that were almost certainly solid gold.
‘Mister Warner,’ he breathed, the scent of alcohol and cigars brushing Ethan’s face as he shook the man’s hand, damp and limp. ‘Welcome to Beirut, I am Muhammar Hussein.’
‘This is Nicola Lopez,’ Ethan introduced Lopez.
Hussein’s black eyes settled on her and Ethan thought that he heard a moist sigh rattle from somewhere deep in the man’s chest as he bowed and kissed the back of Lopez’s hand. She did not withdraw the hand, but Ethan felt her grip on his arm tighten slightly.
Lopez smiled and looked at Ethan as she feigned delight. ‘Isn’t he a cutie?’
‘This way my friends,’ Hussein gestured for them to follow him.
The hotel’s sprawling complex offered many locations for people to enjoy their evening undisturbed, and Hussein led them to the elevators. They travelled in silence up to the top floor of the hotel, Ethan instinctively understanding that no business would be discussed until they were in the safety of Hussein’s apartment.
Hussein led them to a room and opened the door, gestured for them to enter. Ethan walked in and immediately caught sight of the four armed guards inside, all of them wearing suits that barely concealed the side arms in shoulder holsters. Hussein closed the door behind them and made a show of locking it before he strolled in and gestured to the expansive leather sofas.
‘Please, be seated so that we can talk. We have much to discuss.’
Hussein poured two tumblers of dark liqor that he handed to them before he sat down opposite. Ethan had a few moments to survey the apartment, which was one of the hotel’s penthouse suites. A broad balcony overlooked the glittering Mediterranean and the sunset beyond, and Ethan knew that each of the rooms below had similar balconies.
Muhammar’s bodyguards were all muscle men with shaved or short hair, standing silently, their shirts white and immaculately pressed. Typically, trained bodyguards in the Middle East were not a patch compared to their western counterparts, but that did not make Ethan four times better than they were. If the meeting went south both he and Lopez would have to work hard to get out of the suite alive.
‘Don’t mind my companions,’ Hussein said as he sat down. ‘In this part of the world, hired guards are a necessity. You never know when the next revolution will begin.’
Ethan let a small grin spread on his face. ‘The more confusion there is, the better business will be.’
Hussein chuckled heartily. ‘You are a man of my cut, Mister Warner. Now, what is your business here? I was told that you have purchases you would like to make?’
Ethan leaned forward, his untouched drink on the table between them.
‘We have clients across the globe, who would like to take advantage of the instability in Syria to obtain, how can I put it? Personal assistants.’
Hussein’s dark eyes glittered. ‘How personal?’
‘As personal as it gets,’ Ethan replied, ‘and we’re not looking for any bodies over twenty–five years of age.’
Ethan used the term “bodies” deliberately, trying to convey some sense of a man who cared little for the lives of those whom he was intending to sell. If Hussein noticed, he didn’t show it.
‘Boys or girls?’ Hussein asked.
‘Girls,’ Ethan replied, ‘young, orphans and unblemished, if you know what I mean?’
Hussein’s cruel smile grew broader. ‘I do, but what you are asking is difficult. It will cost more than other human traffic.’
‘We have resources,’ Ethan said. ‘Our clients wish only to ensure a speedy delivery and absolute discretion, which is why we act for them.’
Hussein peered at Lopez. ‘And what is your role in this, my lovely?’
Lopez’s smile didn’t flicker as she replied. ‘Humanitarian.’
Hussein raised an eyebrow. ‘How so?’
‘Sleeping with a fat rich idiot for a few years is far better than being bombed, gang–raped and tortured, which is what most of these girls will face if they’re left where they are in Syria. We’re doing them a favor and we earn money from it as a result. Everybody wins.’
Hussein’s eyes flicked back to Ethan. ‘Why orphans?’
‘Less people likely to be looking for them,’ Ethan replied without hesitation. ‘We did a good trade for years in China with young girls until the Chinese government relaxed their one–child policy. The policy had meant that families favored sons over daughters, who were rejected, sold or even murdered at birth by their own families. We saved hundreds of them, paid virtually nothing to the families to take the girls off their hands, and then took tens of thousands of dollars per baby from sterile parents in Singapore, Malaysia, America, you name it. Nobody ever came looking for them.’
Hussein raised an eyebrow and inclined his head. ‘So you have done well from this business.’
‘Well enough,’ Lopez replied, ‘until the trade slowed. Now, we’re looking at war zones like Syria for fresh product. Orphans, or at worst children who have been lost by their families, represent the safest product. We can get them across borders quickly and without attracting attention, provided you can get them out of Syria.’
Ethan gestured to Hussein’s gold necklace chain and rings. ‘A trade that’s seen you profit well too, I notice.’
Hussein set his glass down. ‘There is money to be made in people, if you know where to go and who to ask.’ His expression hardened. ‘Fifty per cent in advance, fifty on delivery. Where should the girls be delivered?’
‘Arkhoum,’ Ethan replied, ‘just across the border. We will transport them from there to Beirut where they will be despatched on private aircraft to their new owners. How will you get the girls?’
Hussein shrugged his shoulders. ‘Most are in refugee camps across Syria, fleeing either the civil war there or internal conflict in Iraq. We get about ten to twenty viable bodies a day. Demand is high, especially for eleven to thirteen year olds.’ Hussein smiled. ‘Like your clients, mine prefer them young.’
Ethan smiled tightly. ‘We want them fresh, not battered or sullied by other users. What guarantees do we have that these girls will be in prime condition?’
Hussein’s affable demeanor vanished like a desert wind and he leaned forward and glared at Ethan.
‘My reputation is built on quality,’ he growled. ‘That’s how you found me. In contrast I know nothing about you, you haven’t said how many bodies you want and I have only your word that you will pay if I supply them. In my experience, words are cheap. The money now, or this conversation is over.’
Ethan glanced at Lopez and grinned.
‘You’re right, I like him too.’
Ethan reached slowly into his jacket pocket, watching the guards and keeping his other hand in sight for them as he retrieved a small velvet pouch. He opened it and let the contents spill out onto the table between them.
‘Still the best and most untraceable currency there is,’ he said as the cluster of pristine diamonds glittered in the light from the sunset streaming through the apartment. ‘These stones are valued at a quarter million US dollars, sufficient for at least a hundred bodies.’
Hussein rubbed his thick stubble as he looked at the stones. ‘I’ll have to get them checked out.’
‘Feel free,’ Lopez said as she placed a business card on the table alongside the diamonds, ‘but you’ll find them to be perfect stones. Once you’re satisfied, you can reach us at this number. We’ll be ready to do the exchange as soon as you are.’
Ethan stood with Lopez and shook Hussein’s hand.
‘I will be in touch,’ he said, his eyes still drawn to the sparkling jewels.
Ethan turned with Lopez and they walked together to the door. A guard let them out and they walked slowly down the corridor outside, Ethan aware that the apartment door behind them
had not yet closed.
‘As soon as the merchandise is ready and Hussein calls, I’ll contact our clients in South Africa,’ Ethan said. ‘You handle Brazil.’
‘Will do,’ Lopez replied softly. ‘This could work out really well – Syria is like a gift that keeps on giving.’
The door behind them closed, but Ethan and Lopez did not speak again until they were out of the hotel and on the hot, busy streets.
‘You think he’ll go for it?’ she asked.
‘No telling,’ Ethan replied, ‘but most likely he’ll agree to the sale, set up a meeting, then try to kill us and keep the girls and the money.’
‘Sounds about right,’ Lopez nodded. ‘I almost puked when he touched me.’
‘He’ll get what’s coming to him,’ Ethan replied as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.
‘Did you do it?’ Hellerman asked as soon as he picked up the line.
‘Hussein’s apartment is bugged,’ Ethan confirmed, ‘one under the table in the hotel apartment, another tucked into the sofa. Let us know what you find out.’
‘Will do,’ Hellerman replied and the line went dead.
*
Gregorie stood near a row of palm trees and listened to the hum of the traffic and the buzz of conversations in a dozen tongues as he watched the hotel and the couple who had just walked out of it, the Latino woman with her arm slipped through that of the tall American. Just another pair of tourists enjoying the heady atmosphere and aroma of a Cairo evening.
Gregorie looked down at his cell phone and dialed a number.
As soon as the line picked up, he spoke a simple sentence.
‘I have found Warner and Lopez, they are in Beirut.’
Gregorie shut off the line and stepped out into the street, following a discreet distance behind his targets and already inventing new and unusual ways to dispose of them.
***
XXVII
Washington DC
General Nellis stepped into the interior of the White House as soon as he had been scanned and checked by the Secret Service detail manning the main entrance on the north side of the West Wing.
The Genesis Cypher (Warner & Lopez Book 6) Page 18
