Discoveries (Mercenaries Book 5)

by Tony Lavely

  He’d also brought Maryam, an up and coming organizer, to this meeting in spite of the fact that she was not Muslim. And she is female. Neither of which she emphasizes today. His lip twisted into a wry smile. Al-Shazar would have had no truck with us while she remained in the room. He swore to himself again, then focused on the man in his white robe.

  “I wish to be certain I understand. A team of scientists, with body guards, have begun to investigate the valley where your man Al-Shazar has secreted our weapons? Is that the gist of it?”

  “Almost. The valley they are apparently interested in is not the valley where the weapons are located; it is the valley adjacent to ours. Our local contact reports activity there. Al⁠-⁠Shazar is certain they will not find the cache.”

  “Hmm.” Boufel contemplated that assertion. “I understand his belief. I feel confident it is largely based on his lack of investment in the weapons, and the difficulty of finding and preparing a new cache, let alone the risk in moving them now that the local traffic, if you will, has increased.”

  “I will convey your concerns to him as quickly as I may.”

  “You may also tell him we will require some advance on the payment front, or I will be forced to recover the weapons. Is that clear?”

  “It is.”

  “Very well. Since you arrived unannounced… While I welcome the opportunity to chat, my calendar is full, and I am now required to attend a meeting.” He allowed his distaste for everything the day had brought to show through, hoping the man would assume it was due to the scheduling conflict rather than his own message. He pushed his chair back.

  “Of course.” The Syrian leaned forward, but didn’t rise. “I have another engagement as well. But first, we could find ourselves in a position to… orchestrate events. However, we may require assistance. Is it possible you would be willing?”

  “I suppose,” Boufel said, making sure his lack of enthusiasm showed. “What would you consider to be our involvement?”

  “Simple. Your network in the United States is more… mature, I think is correct. Your agents in the field might prove the difference. For both of us.”

  Nureddin Al-Shazar pushed a hand through his dark hair, then smoothed his camouflage shirt for the last time. He hoped. El-Asad’s car had finally appeared out of the dust. With his hand caressing the butt of his M1911A1, he waited where the driver would stop.

  He and el-Asad exchanged greetings but Al-Shazar was certain from the other man’s tepid attitude that pleasantries were far from his financier’s⁠—his superior’s⁠—mind. “What word?”

  Along with a gesture that illustrated his malaise, el-Asad shrugged. “Difficult to say, my young novice. I am happy that I was able to combine several tasks in this trip. Any one of them⁠—that blowhard Boufel, for example⁠—would have been a waste of my energy.” The wind rose; he grasped his thobe and indicated the shelter. “We’ll talk inside.”

  Inside, the men were served tea as they reclined. While Al-Shazar had no need of quiet relaxation, the financial man’s grey face and general listlessness indicated that relaxation, sleep even, would soon be welcome. Al-⁠Shazar held his tongue; seeming impertinence here would benefit him not at all.

  Finally, el-Asad placed his cup carefully and said, “I thank you for the briefing on Boufel before I left. I found it most helpful. As I did your assessment of his group. Your prediction proved accurate; he spoke in generalities. He focuses only on the money aspect of our arrangement, ignoring our need to have the rebels permit us entrée in order to move ahead, enlightening people as our leader prophesies.”

  “That’s for sure. He’s always thought of the money first. It shows in the contracts he takes; never clear on how to accomplish the task, he worries only about the value… monetary value.” That should settle him as far as I’m concerned.

  El-Asad didn’t react at first; Al-Shazar feared he might have fallen asleep with his eyes open. Until, “How old are you, Nureddin?”

  That came out of the blue! Trying to disguise the shock he felt, Al-Shazar said, “Twenty-nine. Why?”

  “And how long a Muslim?”

  “In my heart, forever.”

  “Yes, yes, in Allah’s eyes. But in our eyes?”

  Where is this going? ’S he going to call me out? Or what? “Four years when Ramadan begins.”

  “Mmm. So young. So very young.” He sat up on the sofa and sipped from his tea before continuing. “You must always be careful that things may not be as they seem.” He broke into English to emphasize his point. “Boufel may seem a buffoon, but he has built a very successful operation. Do not make the mistake of underestimating him. Besides…” His face slowly formed a grand smile. “… we can make use of his network, thereby protecting ours.”

  “Certainly, nāsih.” He glanced down briefly.

  “Am I your teacher, then?” El-Asad smiled.

  Al-Shazar grinned back. “I think, more like advisor.” He waited until el-Asad nodded again. “Our plans…” Don’t want to say depend, here. “… will run a lot smoother if Boufel’s men are compromised instead of ours.”

  El-Asad smiled once more, then waved in dismissal. “Enough.”

  The next morning, el-Asad summoned Al-Shazar to his breakfast. His smile was large⁠—almost a grin, Al-Shazar thought as he listened. “I know you think of me as your pocketbook… No, no…” Al-Shazar had tried to protest, though he hadn’t been sure he could make his protest plausible. “… hold your tongue. No need to make… whatever.” He laughed, a short bark lacking in humor. “I have some experience in tactics as well, though you may have forgotten it. First, what brought you here from our mission in Baluchistan? And then, the man you were to meet yesterday before I arrived?”

  Al-Shazar took a moment contemplating his answers. He leaned forward a little. “I value your advice, whether financial or tactical. As for the first, I believed… I felt it better to leave for a brief time. I have a contact man there to watch. He will advise if there are any changes, though I expect none.”

  “Good. But why leave? Our schedule is firm, and I’ve seen no offer from the rebels.”

  Al-Shazar sighed. Can’t get outta telling him. “The last meeting didn’t go well. Local war lords argued… vociferously, I fear, and gunplay ensued. Some did not survive. I judged from the others’ reactions that a week or so away would improve our position, allowing them to consider the folly of opposing us, without rubbing their faces in their loss.”

  El-Asad nodded knowingly and just as Al-Shazar felt he could relax, he said, “You lost your temper yet again. You must learn self-control, Nureddin. You will be of no value in the new regime otherwise.” He shook his head and gave his own sigh. “Still, you made an acceptable recovery if you can maintain the illusion of superiority.”

  Illusion! I am… We are superior. “Thanks, nāsih. I hear and obey.” The older man dipped his head. “As for the meeting here, I found it interesting, briefly. Sheikh Abdul-Salam Bakir… Wait. I should begin at the beginning. We know that the mercenary team guarding the archeologists’ site is supplied by Ian Jamse, LLC. The group is commanded by Ian Jamse’s widow, Rebecca Jamse.

  “I suspect, without proof so far, that she is a widow due to Boufel’s activities. It does not affect us, so I ignored it. In any event, Bakir tells me that another team supplied by Ian Jamse is contracted to his group in the protection of a gas pipeline in southwest Syria. The woman was on site late last year, and among other things, managed to enrage the sheikh⁠—”

  “How did she manage that?” El-Asad looked to be having difficulty stifling his amusement.

  “I didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer. What he did volunteer was a willingness to pay a finder’s fee if I happened to run across someone who could arrange⁠— Shit!” he said in English. “He’s willing to pay to get his hands on her. We can collect some of his oil money while we have Boufel do the work. Or most of it, anyway.”

  “What is his intent with this heathen woman? Did he mention i
t?”

  “No. But his eyes told me he wishes to kill her. She embarrassed him.”

  El-Asad rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, it is better… Pfaugh! Enough. We do not concern ourselves with petty annoyances. Allah, His name be blessed, has important work for us.”

  Al-Shazar nodded his veneration.

  “Good. I have a few ideas you may find useful.” Useful, how, exactly? If he’s planning on removing me⁠— “At least, I hope they may help you.”

  “I thank you, nāsih, for your help.”

  “Wait until I am a help. How certain are you that Boufel has complicity in the death of the Jamse woman’s husband?”

  “It’s a lock, as we said in the casinos in Biloxi. Wouldn’t stake my life to it, but money, yeah.”

  “They should have the contacts in place then… And Bakir wants her?” When Al-Shazar agreed emphatically, he continued, “Send him to Boufel. Before that, have Kalil visit Boufel to explain that our efforts to protect the weapons and additionally, to receive payment, will be enhanced if the woman’s team departs.”

  “Kalil?”

  “Yes. He is… innocent enough that Boufel will suspect nothing untoward, as is the case!” He laughed aloud. When he sobered, he said, “Of course, it would not do to allow Kalil to understand that.”

  “I understand. Using Boufel to handle that side of it, and Bakir’s money to motivate him… Why did you move to finance, nāsih?”

  A chuckle answered him, but nothing more. Then, “Set it up, Nureddin. We do not wait for time any more than she waits for us.”

  Boufel sat, quiet in spite of the anger roiling in his mind, in his belly. Kalil el-Asad, across the table from him, had proven once again that he was merely a lackey. Asking me to tell him the situation. However, without the money, I cannot dismiss him. He sighed, reflecting for a moment on the injustice of having to educate Al-Shazar’s flunky.

  He raised his wine glass and sipped, properly, couthly… is raffiné even a word in Arabic? Raised in France, he thought in that language, even as he spoke Arabic. He dragged his train of thought back to the present, to the problem he had to admit. Unless… Al-Shazar may not know either…

  That thought amused him; he lifted the red wine as if to admire its clarity, then took another sip to delay his response. If Al-Shazar doesn’t know… No, he must. Vague. I must be vague.

  “So I do not repeat, boring you⁠—”

  “Have no fear, M. Boufel. I know only that you and my… principal, I think, yes. You and my principal have an agreement.”

  “Very well. Several months ago, my partnership accepted a task from some idiot Americans wishing to demonstrate vulnerabilities of their attempted protections from environmental disasters. The Americans will shortly demand action. As is their right.”

  “But this has nothing to do with us!”

  Boufel shook his head. Can he really be this dense? “It would not had Al-Shazar delivered the weapons so that we would be paid. Since he has not… My cash flow position is precarious.”

  “Ah. I see. Well.” Kalil swigged a mouthful of water from the bottle in front of him. “Al-Shazar has had some difficulty gaining the appropriate covenants. However, he moves to satisfy you on multiple fronts.

  “We know through our local contact that the scientists have established themselves as Al-Shazar predicted. Though the archeologists are near the cache, Al-Shazar is confident that they will not discover any trace.”

  “I understand that this is what he believes. Until he has success with the rebels, however, we are at risk if the weapons come to light. Especially…” Kalil had a grim look about him as he nodded. “I see you understand. Convey our concerns to him as soon as you are able.”

  “Certainly I will. He has directed the local contact to begin with… light harassment.” He paused; Boufel couldn’t make out his expression. “Now, since the meetings in Baluchistan have… have not gone well, Al-Shazar is in Syria briefly. He meets a man… Well, I should not say much more, except that this man may be a source of money, both for you and us.”

  But more for you. Boufel’s cynical nature recoiled at the insincere tone in the man’s voice. “This is news.”

  “Yes. Al-Shazar hoped I could surprise you. Introductions will be forthcoming.” The flunky raised his cup and sipped. “Next, Al-Shazar advises that the mercenaries in charge of security for the archeologists are provided by Ian Jamse, LLC. He thought you may be familiar with them?” He paused. Boufel managed to smother his gasp. “In any event, he suspects, as our emissary last month implied, that we may need an intermediary⁠—”

  “I will require the specific details. Pass them through Achmed.” He waved in the man’s direction. “If it puts none of my operations at risk…”

  “Of course. I will advise Al-Shazar. We believe payment will be likely when the security team has departed.”

  “And I should have a part in that?”

  He nodded. “We will give sufficient warning. Finally, you should understand that the plan you are aware of has been… augmented. After the last discussions forced Al-Shazar to leave Baluchistan, he instructed me to advise you that he is recommending that one of the devices should target Quetta, and if necessary, the second one for Gwadar⁠—”

  “That would be no more than the Chinese deserve,” Boufel said.

  “It would. However, it would also damage our ability to use the port, so he proceeds with great care.”

  “Good. I suppose no one would miss Quetta, but the port… to be honest, the Chinese trade benefits us almost as much as Islamabad. Make no mistake, however, the weapons must be paid for prior to any operation of that type. That is clear, is it not?”

  “Certainly!”

  “When do you expect him to meet with us again?”

  “You will receive notice. A few interesting things have occurred⁠—” Kalil’s phone began a disconcerting noise that brought a surprised expression. “Excuse me,” he said, looking at the display. “I must take this.” He rose and walked several meters away to stand near a pair of old olive trees where he spoke to the phone.

  Boufel sat for a moment staring at the young Arab, then glanced at Achmed. The waiter passing made a quick turn when he waved; they ordered a second round of drinks.

  Several minutes passed. Kalil’s conversation appeared to become heated before he turned resigned. The dip of his head as he finished seemed an obeisance.

  Kalil returned to his seat, acknowledging the fresh bottle of water. “Al-Shazar will arrive to meet you on Wednesday, in the afternoon. He commands me to say no more.” He drank from the water. “Will you meet with him?”

  “Of course. Here will be satisfactory for us. Can you arrange it with him?”

  “Gladly.”

  “No,” Boufel said to Achmed once Kalil had departed, “I can think of no reason for a meeting, unless to deliver a payment.”

  Maryam stifled her laugh with a hand and an apologetic look.

  Headed to the meeting with Al-Shazar, Boufel sat back in his seat. Maryam was, as usual, driving. He wondered briefly if she’d learned from the insane drivers in Italy… or the Middle East. She stopped at a signal, and he contemplated the weather. They’d had rain all morning, along with a chilly on-shore wind, which would make the outdoor cafe problematic. Damp at best, if one of the downpours occurred. Hmpf. It will be as Allah wishes.

  As his watch showed 17:00, Maryam turned into the car park outside the cafe. The sun peeked through the broken clouds, now lighter than the black they’d been earlier.

  “Well done, Maryam. You remain with the car.” With a wave to Achmed, he climbed out.

  He stopped short at the outdoor gate. At the table where he expected Al-Shazar, the waiter was using a bright white towel to wipe the rain from the table and chairs. That’s good. But… Where is Al-Shazar? Who…

  Standing slightly back from the waiter and his wet cloths, a plump, short man waited. His steel knee brace reflected the lights around the tables. He had been watchi
ng the waiter with interest, but now that Boufel had stopped short and was staring, the stranger returned his glare.

  Achmed bumped Boufel, just enough to remind Boufel that he was blocking other patrons. He stepped through the gate. “As-salām ‘alaykum. Good afternoon,” he continued in English.

  “Masā’ al-khayr,” the man replied. “We may continue in Arabic, if you choose.” Boufel nodded, a little surprised. “I see by your reaction that our brother Al-Shazar has not introduced me.”

  “Correct.” Though I hardly need admit it. “A moment. Will you have… anything? Wine? Coffee? Tea?” He stopped himself. I could have brought Maryam if I wanted a waiter!

  The man picked up a menu, apparently the signal the waiter had hoped for. In a few moments, the waiter’s pad filled, Boufel leaned back in his chair and gazed at the newcomer. “Who may I welcome?”

  As he stretched his leg out, the man chuckled, his face a grimace of sardonic amusement. “Actually, I had asked Al-Shazar not to mention me, hoping my reputation would not precede me. Sheikh Abdul-Salam Bakir.” With a grand gesture, Bakir paraded his background and bona fides; Boufel only glanced to be sure Achmed was making notes to check out later, then allowed the words to wash over him.

  Until Bakir said “… Baluchistan by a group headed by a woman⁠—”

  “Sorry. I missed something. A group headed by a woman is in Baluchistan?”

  The Arab made a face that Boufel didn’t like but could hardly object to. “I said, the mercenary group the scientists have hired for security is headed by a woman. I know the group from our experiences in Syria.”

  Boufel leaned against the arm of the chair. “I knew it was Ian Jamse, LLC, who supplied their security, but…” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I would be interested to hear of their work in Syria.”