Scent of Danger

by Judith Rochelle

  They were all focused on that shipment, scheduled to leavein five days for Baghdad. The large and small arms and the specially outfittedHumvees were almost ready to go. Trucks would pick them up from the companyPhoenix did business with and deliver them to the private airport where thechartered C-130J would be ready and waiting. Ed and Mike had recently completedtheir check rides to make sure their skills in the behemoth weren’t rusty. Butthey were insisting the two of them could handle it.

  “Listen.” Frustrated, Rick threw his jeans on the floor.“It’s pretty obvious someone doesn’t want me to go on this trip. I want to knowwhy. And I’m not letting any of you take my place in the firing zone.” Helooked at Mike. “You guys will have my back. I’ll be just fine. If you reallywant to help me, give me a hand getting into these clothes.”

  Mike gave him a look of mixed disgust and resignation andpicked up the jeans. “I’ll bet you’d rather have Kelly Monroe pulling these onyour body.”

  Rick grunted as Mike helped him pull the jeans all the wayup, then zipped and snapped them. He left his t-shirt hanging out,finger-combed his hair and shoved his feet into his loafers, doing his best toignore the heat he felt at the mention of Kelly’s name.

  “Got those discharge papers?” he asked Dan. “I want to goback to the office and brainstorm about who could be behind this. And if GregJordan has anything to do with it or if my radar’s just vibrating in the wrongdirection.”

  Mike’s face was an expressionless mask. “If he does, I thinkmy own radar needs adjusting. We spent a year together when we trained with theBritish SAS. There was plenty of opportunity for him to pull some funky stuffif he was inclined that way.”

  Dan held up his hand. “No blaming ourselves yet, okay? Youcan live with someone and still not know them. Happens every day.”

  Rick nodded in agreement. “Okay. Someone got myget-out-of-jail-free papers? I’m ready to get out of here.”

  He wasn’t quite as macho two hours later. Sitting in thechair in the conference room hadn’t helped his ribs and a dull ache stillthrobbed at the back of his head. Aspirin had barely dulled the pain but herefused the medication the doctor had prescribed. He needed a clear head more thanpain relief.

  “So what do we have?” he asked, looking at his scribblednotes.

  Mike drained his coffee mug and stood up to refill it fromthe pot on the credenza. “Greg and I served together in the first Gulf War.Desert Shield. We trained with the SAS, then spent a year together in theMiddle East. We’ve kept in touch a lot since then. If I didn’t trust him, Iwouldn’t have recommended him. And I knew he was completely familiar with thearea.”

  “What was he like?” This from Dan. “What kind of person?”

  “Full of piss and vinegar. We all were.”

  “Do you think he made contacts over there that he’smaintained?” Dan probed. “That he has ties to the insurgents?”

  Mike looked as if he’d swallowed something unpleasant. “If Imissed that you can shoot me. Right after I skin him alive.”

  Rick rubbed the stubble on his jaw. Shaving hadn’t seemedimportant when he bugged out of the hospital. “This isn’t getting us very far.That’s why I want to go over there with the shipment. I know who he’s hired,who I’ve trained. What the routine is. If anything’s out of whack I can spotit.”

  “Then go home, soak in a tub and take your meds,” Danordered. “Otherwise I’m chaining you to your bed until this is over.”

  “We have work to do before this delivery,” Rick snapped.

  “And you can do it from your house,” Mike answered. “Comeon. I’m driving you home. I’ll drop you off, pick up some food and come backfor a planning session.”

  Rick grumbled but he knew it was the best he was going toget. They had all lived through much worse than this without any cosseting andhe didn’t want to start now but he knew better than to argue. At least he wasstill going to babysit the shipment, which at the moment was his biggestconcern.

  This was the largest shipment yet. Everything else had beensent via ship in locked and sealed containers. Rick had flown to Iraq when theyarrived, matched the code number he had with the one on the seal and takendelivery.

  “You know,” he told Mike, as they maneuvered throughtraffic, “all the other transfers were so easy I think I just felt too secure.”

  Mike honked at a car trying to cut in front of him. “Howso?”

  “Greg always showed up with the trucks to convoy the stuff.I unlocked the seal on the container, we off-loaded into the trucks, checkingthem off on both my copy and his off the manifest and off we went.” He shifteduncomfortably in the seat. “When we got to the warehouse we checked them allagain. And with the guard situation, I’d have thought stealing from thewarehouse would be impossible.”

  “So now you’re saying you think Greg is in on it?”

  Rick shrugged, the slight movement tugging at his achingmuscles. “I wouldn’t like to think so. I’d rather believe some of the localshave figured out a way to get around him.”

  He was silent for a long moment.

  “But?” Mike prodded. “I can tell there’s a ‘but’.”

  “I just have this gut feeling. Call it uneasiness. Somethingbig is in the wind and it’s gonna mean trouble for us. And I can’t get a handleon where Greg stands in all of it.”

  Mike wheeled the truck around a corner and slowed down asthey came to Rick’s house. “We can’t call off the shipment. Grainger Caldwellwill hang our asses out to dry if we do.”

  “That’s why I want to make sure I hand carry it myself. Andwith you and Ed along, we should be able to get a sense of what’s going on. Geta good read on Greg Jordan.”

  “Let’s hope so.” He pulled into the driveway and put thetruck in gear. “Let me help you get inside.”

  “I’m fine,” Rick snapped, fumbling with his seat belt. “Imade it to the LZ in Afghanistan with a broken arm and a bullet graze on mycollarbone.”

  Mike had come around to open the door. “You also were tenyears younger. Now shut up and behave.”

  Rick grumbled all the way up the steps and into the housebut he sank onto the big couch in the living room with a grateful sigh.

  “Don’t try anything stupid while I get us some food.”

  Rick gave his head a tiny shake. It was about all themovement the headache would allow. “I think I might just take your advice afterall and hang out on this couch while you’re gone.”

  “Thank God. Just stay put until I get back. After you’ve gotsome food in your stomach you should take your pain pills. Try to catch a fewwinks while I’m gone.”

  “We’ll see.”

  But his eyes were already closing when Mike let himself outthe door.

  Neither of them had paid much attention to the gardenerbusily clipping the hedges at the house across the street.

  * * * * *

  Zarife al-Dulami had spent ten years building an identityfor himself in the United States. Long before the invasion of Iraq and the fallof Saddam Hussein he had his marching orders. Once upon a time his family hadbeen in power, ruling their section of Iraq with an iron hand. They had power,wealth, stature. Control.

  But the devil Saddam, who only supported his own people,coveted what they had and stripped them of everything. Zarife’s father,however, was smarter than them all. Slowly he began to accumulate resourcesagain, hiding his wealth and hoarding it until the day his family could returnto honor and glory.

  He sent his son to America with very definite, explicitorders.

  “In the United States,” he told Zarife, “you will be able tomake contact with the right people. Find your sources. Gather your resources.Listen carefully as you move among these idiots. Arms and money can be yoursfor the taking when the time is right. We will have more than enough money topay. We only have to find someone who will sell them to us secretly.”

  Zarife followed his father’s orders well, basing himself inWashington, D.C., “the seat of America’s power,” as his father described
it.Additionally, he was an engineer who wanted to follow his trained profession.His father agreed. In that climate Zarife would begin to make the rightcontacts.

  But most of the companies where he applied at first wouldnot hire an Iraqi national. Even one who swore he was applying for U.S.citizenship. Then he stumbled across a small company that needed his expertiseand decided to take a chance on him. Slowly and carefully he worked his wayinto the confidence of his fellow engineers. They invited him to social events.To business functions. And one person at a time he began to build his network.

  When Saddam fell, the changes in Iraq over the next fewyears allowed Zarife and his family to make plans and take advantage of the newopportunities open to them. When the bidding for reconstruction contractsopened and Americans began flooding the country with men, equipment andprojects, their need to protect themselves opened a door wide for the al-Dulamifamily.

  Although he poked and prodded very much under the radar tolearn information about arms shipments, he discovered that people were veryclosed-mouthed. Too much had gone wrong already. No one was taking any chances.And approaching known arms dealers would be suicide. The word would leak outand the al-Dulamis would be dead before they were out of the gate.

  Then, one day out of the blue, when he was sitting at lunch,his cell phone rang. An American voice spoke to him.

  “I understand you’re looking for something. I think you andI could do each other a great deal of good.”

  Zarife frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “I think you heard me. I’ve had you checked out thoroughly,believe me, or I wouldn’t be calling you. I think you should listen to what Ihave to offer.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Not over the phone. Pay your check, leave the restaurantand walk left down the block. Halfway down is the entrance to a shoe store. Goinside and ask for the manager.”

  While Zarife was still trying to formulate an answer, thecall disconnected. His pulse racing, he tried to decide what to do. Was thisthe connection he’d been seeking? Did he have time to call his father?

  Knowing he had to make a decision quickly, he signaled forhis check, dropped enough cash on the table to cover it and walked quickly fromthe restaurant. Six doors down, he found the shoe store. When he walked insidea tall, dark man came hurrying toward him. In his hand he held a photo which helooked at, comparing it to Zarife.

  “How did you get a picture of me?” Zarife asked.

  “That’s unimportant.” He glanced at the other customers andgrabbed Zarife’s arm. “Come with me, quickly.”

  In seconds Zarife found himself hustled out the rear door toan alley where a Ford Expedition with its windows blacked out was idling. Theback door opened and a hand reached out for him.

  “Come in,” the voice said.

  The next thing Zarife knew he was dragged into the SUV andblindfolded before he could see who was inside. Hands helped him to acomfortable position on the seat.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Who are you? Why am Iblindfolded?”

  “I can’t afford to have you see my face,” the voice toldhim.

  “Then how do I know I can trust you?”

  The man laughed. “I don’t think you have a choice. Myresearch has been thorough. I have something you want. Or I will shortly. Youhave the money to pay for the merchandise. We’re going to do business, Mr.al-Dulami, because I’m your only option.”

  His proposition was simple. Shortly a very large shipment ofarms and other materials would arrive in Baghdad. He planned to take possessionof it but he couldn’t unload them on the open market. There could be no hint ofhis participation in this at all. According to his sources, the al-Dulamifamily was seeking just such a windfall and had more than enough capital to payfor it. And they too, required total secrecy.

  “What I need from you is to have your people ready to takedelivery and to have the cash ready to pay for it.”

  Zarife frowned at him. “You think anyone will be crazyenough to carry that much cash around in Iraq? If you do, you’re insane.”

  “Not at all. You will be ready when I tell you to transferthe money to a numbered account. My people will be waiting in Iraq. When themoney is in my bank account, the weapons will be turned over.”

  Zarife smiled slyly. “What’s to prevent us from just takingthe shipment ourselves and keeping it?”

  “First, you have no details about it, nor can you find outeverything you need. Not and do the job right. Second, I would hunt down youand every member of your family and slaughter you like pigs. Besides, I haveinformation and resources that you don’t have. Even assuming you could stealeverything you wanted, which I highly doubt, there are other aspects to thisyou can’t possibly know.”

  “Why not just steal the shipment yourself and sell it to thehighest bidder?”

  “As I told you, I can’t have any connection to thiswhatsoever. Again, there are factors of which you’re unaware that demandcomplete privacy. Plus, I understand your family is willing to pay anything aslong as the deal is concluded in secret.” He paused. “There’s one other factor.Once back in power, your family can be a valuable ally to me. If we make thisdeal, your continued cooperation and support of my projects would beunderstood.”

  Zarife thought for a long moment. “And if I agree?”

  “I’ll move forward on my end and call you when it’s time totransfer the money. You need to tell your people in Iraq to be ready to takedelivery. No one will ever know about the deal. No one must ever knowabout it.”

  Zarife was thinking furiously. “How do you know about anyplans I might have? What makes you even think I have any?”

  The man laughed, an unpleasant sound. “Would I be talking toyou if I didn’t?”

  Zarife felt something tucked into one of his hands.

  “The number on this card will be good for twenty-four hours.After that the deal is off.”

  The car stopped, Zarife heard the door open and hands helpedhim out of the vehicle.

  “Count to twenty-five before you remove the blindfold,” thevoice told him.

  Zarife stood there, shaking, listening to the vehicle driveoff and counting to himself. When he yanked off the blindfold, he discovered hewas back in the alley behind the shoe store. It took him a full five minutesbefore he could gather himself enough to walk down the alley to the street andanother ten before he could draw a deep breath.

  Hailing a taxi, he gave the driver his home address. He’dcall his office and let them know he’d be delayed returning to work. This waseither an unexpected windfall or a plot to eliminate him and his family. Hecouldn’t make this decision by himself.

  Zarife had managed to smuggle a secure radio to his fathersome time ago. At home he retrieved his own radio from the locked drawer wherehe kept it and called the elder al-Dulami.

  “That is all he told me,” Zarife repeated. “I don’t know whohe is or why he chose me. I swear to you.”

  “Did you get a sense he was laying a trap?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I only got a feeling of…of…”

  “Of what?” his father prodded.

  “Of greed. That was it. Of greed.”

  They discussed the situation in detail, examining it fromall sides, knowing they might be falling into a trap. But in the end theydecided Zarife should call the man and make arrangements.

  “If at any time we’re suspicious,” the father said, “we willfind a way to pull out. I will not leave you in danger. You have my word.”

  The best part, they agreed, was the fact that Zarife hadmade himself so much a part of the community in D.C. that no matter whathappened, he would be left unscathed. If this all fell apart, no one would eversuspect that he had a hand in it. No matter who else his father had tosacrifice, Zarife would be safe, ready to wait out the fallout and plan for thenext time. They had waited this long. A few more years wouldn’t be that big adeal.

  And so the plan had been set in motion. The stage set. Smallthefts at the warehouse of Grain
ger Caldwell. Nothing much. The kind of thingthat would throw suspicion on the boys in the neighborhood. And a contact wholooked the other way. But now the big shipment was scheduled and they had a problem.Rick Latrobe was sticking his nose in too many places where it didn’t belong.Asking too many questions. He hadn’t proven as easy to handle as others they’dworked with. And he was escorting the shipment himself.

  He should have known the job of getting rid of Latrobe wastoo big for Gabir. Especially with the idiots the man hired. They’d not onlyfailed miserably in their attempt to get rid of him in what was supposed tolook like an accident. They’d put Latrobe and his partners on the alert. Nowthe shipment was in jeopardy.

  The man who had set this all up had been very specific. Itwas imperative that he find a way to get rid of Latrobe before the shipmentleft.

  “None of the others at the agency will have the intuitivesense of what’s happening that he will,” the man insisted. “The knowledge, thecontacts and relationships over there that he has. They will not be as great adanger. We can deal with whoever they decide should take his place.”

  But now he was in a very bad place. Not only was RickLatrobe alive, if Zarife’s information about him was correct, he still plannedto be aboard the Hercules C-130J with the merchandise that the al-Dulamisdesperately needed for their return to glory. Zarife needed another accident,one that wouldn’t raise any questions. But with the last one such a disaster,the investigation still ongoing, how in the name of Allah was he going to pullit off?

  He felt squeezed on the one hand by his father and on theother by the mysterious man they were doing business with. And all he had tohelp him out were Gabir and his idiots.

  Zarife leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He toldGabir to keep an eye on the Latrobe man while he figured out what to do next.

  Think, he told himself. Use what passes for your brain. Theanswer is in there somewhere.

  * * * * *

  Kelly left the campground early in an effort to get a goodstart on the last leg of the trip. She had slept fitfully, partially because ofher own state of unrest and partially due to Xena’s. Usually the dog curled upnext to her sleeping bag, providing extra warmth during the chilly night. Theway they’d started out. But then she’d been up and down, whining, pushing atKelly’s face with her nose. For the first time in as long as she could remembershe slept with her handgun under her pillow, constantly waking from herunwanted dreams of Rick Latrobe to check for danger in the area. Xena’sedginess affected her but they passed the night without incident.