Finally, Nadia spoke in an uncommonly shrill voice, “tell us what has happened to him Mr. Connelly?”
Charlie coughed. He was still having difficulty finding his voice. He paused to better collect his thoughts, then briefly told them how he found the body before describing in considerable detail the shocking manner in which Henry had died. He felt it increasingly important they fully realize the danger each of them faced.
Following Andre’s death, they had all begun to suspect that they were in danger, but each had chosen to believe all the deaths related only to the mine, and might not place them at risk. Now that illusion was over, and a more distinct reality set in for them all .
“Who do you think will be next?” Dave asked, not expecting an answer.
“How do we protect ourselves now?” Nadia asked. “We already stay close together in the hotel in the daytime, and lock our doors at night.”
Elaina had stopped crying. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Why didn’t Henry lock his door? He was always so careful about everything.”
It was a good question. Charlie had wondered about that himself. The door was certainly unlocked when he went in. There were no signs of break-in, or he would have noticed it when he entered and when he left. Henry must have forgotten to lock it when he returned from dinner. It was the only explanation.
“He shrugged, “it was not locked when I entered,” was all he could say.
The group had lost their appetite, and decided to meet in the lounge in an hour. If anyone had any ideas, they would discuss them then.
Charlie rushed down the hallway. Once inside the room he took the phone and dialed Trevor Gunn. The line sounded dead. He hung up and tried again. He could hear it ringing. Thank God. On the third ring a female voice replied. “Mr. Trevor Gunn’s office, Lorisa Grankovskayo speaking.”
Charlie hesitated a moment, taken aback by the secretary’s name. “This is Charlie Connelly. I need to speak to him immediately.”
“I am sorry Mr. Gunn is in a meeting. He will have to call you back.”
“No, no, I need to speak to him now,” Charlie shouted. “I mean right now!” he tried to be as emphatic as possible without sounding rude. He recalled Trevor’s description of his well-built secretary being dumb as a rock, and she sounded as if she had no idea who he was.
“He told me he didn’t want to be disturbed, Mr. Connelly. I am sure he will get back to you soon,” she told him, her voice seeping with indolence.
To hell with not being rude he decided, ready to abandon any semblance of civility. “Listen woman, you had better get off your ass and get him on the phone immediately, or your days at Global Bank are definitely numbered.”
“Well it better be important,” she conceded placing him on hold. This only made Charlie angrier.
“What is it Charlie? I have been trying to call you, but couldn’t get through,” Trevor’s voice came over the line.
“I found Henry’s body this morning, He had been murdered in his sleep,” Charlie blurted, still infuriated from his conversation with the secretary.
The bluntness of Charlie’s answer got Trevor’s attention. “MY God old man, tell me all about it.”
And Charlie did, uninterrupted for the next several minutes. He described in considerable detail how Henry died and the seeming connection to the dead miners. He also described how Andre died, and the presumed linkage to all of the deaths.
“There is someone here who doesn’t want the mine to be taken over right now,” he told Trevor. “I have no idea who, or exactly why, but there is a definite connection to these deaths and our project. We need to get out of here as soon as possible or your damn project will be washed up, and incidentally your hired consultants as well.” As his words rushed out, they helped to clarify his own thinking.
Trevor listened sympathetically, his normal British resolve fading with each sentence. “I understand old man, and fully agree with you, but do you have any suggestions. I know you are snowed in up there. I don’t think the Land Rovers can navigate the roads. I have been trying to figure out how to get you out, but nothing comes immediately to mind.”
Charlie couldn’t fault him. He had to admit he had been thinking about this as well, and had been unable to come-up with a workable solution.
“Look Trevor, you know Roger Pembroke. Call him. Maybe the yanks can come up with something. They have better resources here in Kazakhstan than the Bank. See what they can do and get back to me.”
He knew, but did not say, that the CIA had planned and executed extractions from more hazardous and remote locations than Tekeli. When he was in Ukraine and the KGB was hunting him the local agency people helped him secretly get out of Kiev.
After his conversation finished, Charlie took out the one-time pad Roger gave him, and encoded a message to Emmett. When in doubt stir the pot. That had always been his motto, and it could not hurt here.
24
Almaty
At the American Embassy in Almaty, there was an air of anticipation rippling through the many offices assigned to the staff. A group of traveling congressional representatives was coming to visit. The U.S. Congress was in recess. During such periods, many government officials consider it their responsibility—even their duty--to travel to distant lands in order to acquaint themselves with the prevailing conditions of the area. They believe that only in this manner would they be able to adequately represent their constituents in Idaho, Nebraska or Florida for example. In order to do this, it is often necessary for them to have their wives accompany them to obtain, according to theory, a woman’s insight into the cultural aspects of the country.
Such junkets were not common in Almaty. Most congressmen have little idea where the country is located—if indeed they know such a country even exists. Typically, these information gathering excursions prefer to center their investigations on more desirable locations such as Paris, Vienna, or Hong Kong where the shopping and accommodations are superior.
Occasionally, however, some of the more adventuresome, and perhaps dedicated representatives, venture to lesser-known locals, such as Kazakhstan, for legitimate fact-finding missions.
The purpose of this particular visit, as they had stated to the Congressional Budget Office, was to acquaint themselves with the new petro-power that was rising from the ashes of the former Soviet Empire. Their hope was to cement their country’s relations with influential representatives of the Kazakh government and, as a result, promote the efforts of American oil companies operating in the area.
The American Ambassador in Almaty was looking forward to the visit with considerable relish, hopeful that it would provide an opportunity to thrust his name in front of some the more influential members of the Foreign Relations Caucus. As a result, he had directed all hands on deck at the Embassy; particularly within the offices of the Cultural Attaché Michael Pearlman.
Unlike the ambassador, Michael viewed the upcoming visit as a major pain in the ass, and a consummate distraction from his more important responsibilities as CIA Station Chief; such as gathering confidential information and running Joes.
He had called Roger Pembroke to his office in order to make sure that his new assistant was picking up his cultural duties. The two of them were going over the points of interest in Almaty that the congressmen, and their wives, might like to visit, and the arrangements required to transport them to the Caspian Basin in the manner they had come to expect.
The congressional representatives had expressed an interest in viewing the expanding activity taking place in the Tengiz oil fields that was driving the economic metamorphosis of this emerging country. Afterwards, they planned to meet with Kazakh officials and possibly persuade them to ease up on the pressure they had been placing on American business interests.
Pearlman already had a discussion with the embassy’s military advisor regarding the logistics of transporting the delegation across country.
Kazakhstan is roughly four times the size of Texas, and loc
al air transportation is as slim as the country is wide. A local commercial airline would be unable to provide the necessary security for such an important delegation. On the other hand, the specially equipped C-130 the group employed to travel to the country was, because of its huge size, not able to land anywhere near the oil fields.
Between the two men, it was decided that the only plausible solution was to cajole or coerce the use of a couple of military helicopters to ferry the congressmen across country. Unfortunately, the nearest ones that might be available were stationed at the Manas Air Base outside of Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. While the two of them had agreed on the solution neither had come up with a workable plan to obtain the necessary aircraft.
The Manas base is an important transportation hub for the United States. It provides for the supply of much of the manpower and materials needed for deployment to Afghanistan. As a result, the base is extremely critical to the successful conduct of the war. It is also increasingly sensitive since the Kyrgyz Government was overthrown in the recent tulip revolution.
The new administration was proving less receptive to the previous lease agreement. Russia had rushed to establish a better relationship with the new government than the Americans had, and appeared to be working behind the scenes to get the Americans expelled.
In spite of this, considerable strings were being pulled in Washington, in the proper place with the proper people, to persuade the American military to provide local transportation for the congressional delegation in Kazakhstan.
Once Pearlman was satisfied they were assured of the cooperation of the Air Force at Manus, he was willing to discuss the more mundane plans for the visiting dignitaries.
Roger had prepared a brochure containing a list of economic statistics and demographic facts he copied from an online CIA directory of the country. He handed it to his boss to review.
The station chief briefly glanced at the brochure before yawning, and handing it back. Roger had just got to the points of local cultural interest when Mei Lyn interrupted.
“Sorry to bother you, but there is a call from Mr. Gunn at GBC who wants to speak with Mr. Pembroke. He says it’s important.”
Pearlman nodded his agreement, and Roger told her to “put him through please.” He winked at her as he picked up the line. She smiled in return, and closed the door behind her.
Pearlman pretended that he had not noticed the exchange between the two. Their association had become the gossip of the Embassy, but he had been young once himself and she was one damn good looking woman.
Trevor began talking immediately, once he knew that Roger was on the line. “I just got a call from Charlie Connelly up at Tekeli. One of our consultants there—an Englishman named Henry Butt--was murdered in his sleep last night. That now makes two of our people, in addition to the five Russians that were found in the mine.”
The usually unflappable Brit was obviously excited, and very concerned over his conversation with Connelly. “Charlie thinks that whoever is doing the killing might very likely strike again, and wants to be taken out of there before that happens.”
“So why don’t you have them drive out. Surely finishing the project is not as important as their lives,” Roger told him.
“I entirely agree with you old man about the project, but they are snowed in. We can’t get up there, and they can’t get out.”
“How many are there?”
“Left you mean? Two American advisors and two Kazakh interpreters.”
“So…” Roger replied hesitantly, not sure exactly why they were calling him.
“So,” Trevor picked up the thread. “Charlie thought that you people at the Embassy might have some means of extracting them that we do not.”
Roger had been holding the receiver so Michael could hear the conversation, and his boss shrugged a maybe.
“Let me see what we can do. If we figure out something I will get back to you,” Roger assured him.
Trevor would have preferred a more definite reply, but decided, under the circumstances, it was probably the best he could expect.
After the conversation ended, both Roger and his boss looked blankly at each other, each one expecting the other to say something.
After a long pause, Pearlman said. “I may have an idea. Let’s see if we can get hold of the Old Man.”
The American Embassy in Almaty, like many around the world is equipped with a highly classified and secure communications room. It was there that Michael Pearlman took Roger Pembroke. Crossing the hall, he unlocked the door to a small closet filled with brooms, pails, and assorted housekeeping equipment.
“You also do clean-up?” Roger asked.
“I guess you could say that,” Michael replied, jerking on a dangling light cord above their heads. He paused briefly before giving the cord two more quick jerks. The back wall of the closet slid open and almost immediately began to close again.
Pearlman quickly wedged his body between the wall and the silently sliding door to allow Roger to slip past him into the darkened room.
“This is our DOS—Dome of Silence,” Michael said proudly. “I bet you thought they only existed in the Maxwell Smart movies.”
Once inside, Pearlman quickly flipped a concealed light switch before sliding a plastic card through a small reader on the wall next to him. “I had just 20 seconds to do that before an alarm goes off and the damned broom closet fills up with Marines.
“After we moved into the embassy we brought over a bunch of Navy Seabees under the cover of being a college glee club from the University of Iowa. We told everyone on the outside they were on a cultural exchange program. Some of them would tour the area while the others worked to set this place up so that we could communicate without being overheard by some creep like WikiLeaks.
“Fortunately, no one ever asked any of them to sing, or I don’t know what they would have done. After a month, they went back to their regular duty with the fleet.”
Pearlman sat in a chair in the center of the tiny room, beside a large communications switchboard. Motioning Roger to sit in the only other chair, he flipped a switch on the console and checked his watch.
Roger looked around him. The walls were constructed of heavy steel sheeting, and were painted a dull battleship gray. Suddenly, he looked down as he felt jets of air going up his pants leg.
“Oxygen,” Pearlman explained as a large transparent plastic dome slowly descended from the ceiling covering the two men. “All of our equipment is cushioned and covered to mute any noise that might emanate from them. The geeks refer to it as a white sound system because it masks both the outgoing and incoming voices.”
A muffled ring startled both men. “It’s only our call coming through, Pearlman explained. He quickly flipped another switch on the softly glowing console. Almost immediately, Roger heard the familiar voice of his mentor above the barely perceptible purr of the ubiquitous scrambler.
“Ah Roger how do you like Central Asia?” Emmett asked.
“He likes it fine,” Pearlman replied, but we seem to be having a little problem here that you might be able to help us with.”
“All right let’s hear it, and I will see what I can do.”
The sounds of Emmett Valentine’s ever present music floated over the air, muffling some of his words.
“What is that music we hear Mr. Valentine?” Roger asked gently, hoping to get him to turn down the volume. He sometimes wondered if the old spymaster’s hearing might be failing him.
“Do you like my selection? I didn’t think that you could hear it. Perhaps I should lower the volume a bit. It is Shostakovich’s Symphony No.5. He is one of my favorite composers. Partly because old Joe Stalin hated him. Anyone that Stalin disliked has to be good. Pravda described the Symphony as sly decadence,” he chuckled, turning the dial.
Pearlman spoke quickly while he had the opportunity. “We just got a call from Trevor Gunn over at GBC. He just heard from Charlie Connelly up at Tekeli. Connelly told him that someone murdered the se
cond one of the consultants up there in his sleep. I think Henry Butts was his name. Whoever did it used a garrote to strangle him.”
“Yes I know,” Emmett broke in. “Charlie sent me a brief message about the death. It seems they are having an epidemic of killings at Tekeli. Who do you think is the perpetrator?”
“Connelly doesn’t know,” Roger answered, “but he thinks that it is someone who wants to stop their project and get control of the mine.”
“Apparently, it appears there may be rare-earth up there,” Emmett offered. “Our experts analyzed the sample Roger sent out, and they believe that chances are very good it is beryllium. Do you know any other place in Kazakhstan that has beryllium?”
Death on the Silk Road Page 21
