by Tony Lavely
Before they made it out the door, she stopped and faced the three. “A question I forgot til now: If Leonid and Fedor bring female operatives, do you see that as a problem?”
Brody paused a minute, pursing his lips and then stroking his chin. Doesn’t seem like that hard a question. Is he trying to let me down easy? Or—
“If they are operatives in uniform, it should be no problem. We have several female scientists either working the site or scheduled to.” He gave them all a wry smile. “I am sure you understand the issues; as long as no one flaunts—”
“Got it,” she said. “No bikinis, mini-skirts or human behavior, like kissing in public. Cool. We can do that. Thanks.”
Out on the beach south of the house, Beckie walked, flanked by her advisors. “So, what opinions have you formed? Beth, you first, since Willie knows Brody from our meetings in Paris.”
“Not much. He took longer to answer your last question, and I had the impression that he really hopes you won’t push that.”
Willie signaled his agreement.
“Would you like to be one of the team?” Beckie said to Beth.
“Not long term. But for six or eight months, while Leonid’s setting it up. That’d be fun, and from what I’ve heard, educational, too.”
“I’ll talk to them about it, then.”
“Who would take over her training duties?” Willie asked.
“Always the good questions, Willie! I don’t suppose Amy’d be ready quite yet…”
“We don’t want to send everyone to New York when they need a refresher, and Amy’s got two more years at Columbia, right?”
“Yeah,” Beckie said. “And I’m not going to screw that up for her. Think about it, Beth, see if there’s someone you can recommend.”
Willie stopped them. “Let’s sit down here. I have a list from Leonid of the guys who came back with him. Rou’s got more info on all of them, and on Leonid, too, but…”
They formed a loose circle on the sand under a palm about fifteen feet from the water. Willie took a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Four guys plus Leonid and Fedor. All about the same age: early thirties. Excellent shape physically. English is a second language for all but Tarquin, who’s a Brit. He’s the spook, or was. Handles the electronics and comm gear, and loves him some undercover work. Speaks British English, some Russian from his years with Leonid, some French and Arabic.
“Anatoly came from the Spetsnaz with Leonid and Fedor. Speaks Russian, English and Arabic along with a little Polish… You’ll understand in a second. He’s over six feet and a hand-to-hand combat specialist. A qualified marksman with handgun and rifle. Sam really liked him when they worked together before Leonid took him to Nigeria.
“Fabien is almost as tall as Anatoly. French. Friends with Fedor, with whom he shares many personality traits. Sniper. When he’s not shooting, Millie’s trained him as a medic. He’s not as good as Sue, but good.
“When you meet them, Juri will stand out as a miniature, kinda like Kerry. Five-four and thin. He’s their armorer and weapons guy. He also works out; seems like every ounce of him is muscle. Lost a pinky finger several years before joining us; claims it made him learn how to take care of guns. He’s Polish, which is why Anatoly has a little Polish. They work out together.”
“Wow,” Beth said.
“Yeah,” Beckie agreed. “I assume that Leonid and Fedor both speak Russian as their first language?”
“They do. Arabic, too, and Leonid speaks a little Chinese. He can get by in a… in a brothel, he said.”
“Kind of specialized terms, I’d think,” Beckie said.
“Lots of mime, maybe,” Beth said as she giggled.
Willie laughed out loud. When he recovered, he said, “Don’t forget, he’s gay. That might affect communication, too.”
“I guess it would.” Beckie twisted around, stretching her back.
“Anyway, leaving Leonid’s Chinese vocabulary aside… Fedor also speaks Hindi, Urdu and pieces of a couple more of India’s scheduled languages. From his family.”
“And Arabic, you said?” When he nodded, Beth said, “Makes me odd man out, I guess, with only English.”
“So to speak,” Beckie said with a chuckle. “If I ask Beth to go, would Anatoly be a candidate to fill the training slot?” She sat up straight. “Never mind that. At least two of us have never met them, in person at least. Let’s fix that now.”
Beth and Willie agreed and they headed back to the house. Beckie stood in the slider and knocked on its frame. When the men reacted, she said, “Leonid, we’re going to talk with your team. Where’d you leave them?”
“They were headed to see Go Rou, but that was when we arrived here. I don’t know, now.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll track them down.”
Beckie and Beth competed at getting the inter-island boat ready to go as Willie used his phone. “They’ve moved over to Sud, the large house that’s been empty for a while. Rou offered it because it has enough rooms for all of them.” He returned to the phone.
“You calling them?” Beckie said.
He nodded and began speaking to the phone. Beckie went back to the outboard, but Beth had the engine running smoothly and the lines free.
Willie touched her shoulder. “They’re all there and happy to meet you.”
“How about you and Beth? I trust we’re all welcome.”
“Well, as much as anyone they don’t know, coming to visit with their boss, I guess.”
“Yeah, there is that. Oh, well. Smack me upside the head if I begin to get all ‘boss-like,’ okay?”
He grinned. “You know I can’t hit a pregnant lady—”
“No problem.” Beth said. “I can! And will, needs be.”
Beckie didn’t laugh as heartily at Beth’s pronouncement as Willie; she’d dealt with Beth before.
As Beth brought the skiff alongside Sud’s dock; Beckie climbed up and tied off the painter to the cleat on the dock. A second boat had its line draped at the nearby cleat, but not tied.
“Good job. I’ll fix the other boat,” Willie said.
Beckie glanced over at it. “Yeah. Pieter doesn’t like it when he has to chase one down. I guess they didn’t do much sailing in Nigeria.”
“Or knot tying, at least.”
Willie stepped behind Beckie and offered Beth a hand up to the dock. Beckie continued past the supply depot adjacent to the deep-water berth where the freighters docked with cargo that kept the Nest running: food, clothes, parts and some fuel, though most of the fuel was off-loaded directly at Port Cay, at the airport.
The large house was about halfway down the island, and sited twenty or so feet from the north-west facing beach, looking out over… water. A tall man was standing in the doorway; Beckie guessed he was watching them approach. She waved, and he waved back.
In a couple more minutes, she and the others were on the deck off the second floor living room. The man who’d waved turned out to be Anatoly, based on his height. Willie’d been correct, Juri was completely recognizable, barely a handspan taller than Beckie and the same amount shorter than Beth. At six feet even, Willie towered over him. The other two, Fabien and Tarquin, were closer, though Tark, as he asked to be called, wasn’t but a couple of inches taller than Juri.
After introductions in both directions, Beckie sat on the arm of her chair—gaining a little more altitude—and said, “I wanted to meet all four of you before you disappear again, on another job. Also, to find out what you’d like to be assigned to do, so if I can, we do that. To start with, Leonid gave us a brief description…” She reached toward Willie, who handed the paper to her. “… of all you guys. I’d like you to read it over; tell us what he left off, what he should have left off and anything else we need to know.” She handed the paper to Fabien and sat back.
When all four finished, Tarquin handed it back. “Nothing surprising there,” he said, his accent much the same as Derek Hamilton’s, but did he drop his h’s? Too soon to tell. “I ha
ve nothing to add, yet, at least.” He looked at his compatriots, who shook their heads.
“Very well, Mrs. Jamse,” Anatoly said. “We are here at your… request, I suppose. I for one am hoping not to be hanging around here, as nice as it is.” He swept the other’s faces with a quick gaze. “I think we all are wondering what you are talking to Lyeka about, and whether it has room for us.”
“I’m pretty sure it does,” Beckie replied. “I’d not force staffing on Lyeka, or anyone, so it would be his decision.” She chuckled. “I guess you’re pretty well set in that regard. I’m not going…” She patted her pregnant belly. “… because some of my friends and team members think that might be pushing my luck too far.” She dropped into her chair and stretched again. “That being the case, I’ll just say that Leonid and Fedor will need help, the job’s in southwest Pakistan, and we believe some of the locals may have designs on our client.” She paused. “Using a variety of arms, likely ‘liberated’ from the many invasion forces that have swept through there in the past fifty years.
“So, Leonid will talk with all of you later on, once he finishes with the client. Probably after dinner. While you’re waiting for that, I may have a requirement here.”
“Interesting?” Juri said.
“All my jobs are interesting, for some value of interesting,” Beckie replied with a grin. “This one… No. Let’s take a different approach. Beth, tomorrow morning good?”
“Yeah. I have nothing planned that can’t wait.” She turned to the four men. “I hear good things about you guys, but as they say over there…” She pointed approximately to the west. “… I’m from Missouri. Actually, I’m not, but it means I want to see for myself.”
“That’s a funny accent you have,” Tarquin said.
Beth shook her honey-blonde hair before she said, “Pretoria. RSA.” He nodded and she continued, “I hope you’re all free in the morning, because I’ve just been tasked with evaluating all of you. Everyone available?”
“Unless Leonid needs us,” Anatoly said.
“Of course. Actually, I’ve got to get him, too.” Beckie leaned forward, but changed her mind about interrupting. She smiled. She’s doing fine so far. “And Fedor, of course,” Beth finished.
“What time?”
“I’ll stop at the dock about six. It’ll be light enough by the time we get to Tiny. First we’ll do hand-to-hand. The shooting range is on Port; after the hand-to-hand, we’ll get Pieter Nijs and deplete the ammo stores. If there’s something specific you want to work on, let me know in the morning.”
“Will do,” Anatoly said. “Sounds like fun.”
“We do our best,” Beckie said. “Beth didn’t mention, but the forecast is for rain the next few days. That usually means morning showers and cloudy.” She patted Willie’s arm. “Willie’s been quiet because he’s still trying to guess how much Leonid’s job is going to cost. I expect he’ll spend some time with most of you before we send you off.”
They spent the remaining time before returning for dinner talking about the work they’d been doing in Nigeria. Beckie listened carefully; she’d not had the chance to visit there, since Ian had done so on his way to Riyadh.
Before dinner, Beckie rapped again on the slider to the lanai where Brody, Leonid and Fedor were still talking. “Unless you have a great desire to spend the night in Nassau, I invite you to have dinner with us, and then Maurice has a choice of rooms for overnight. My pilot can fly you over in the morning.”
Brody thought for a moment, then leaned back and smiled. “I would enjoy that. I believe my flight is scheduled for the early afternoon from Nassau, so that would fit perfectly. Thank you for the offer.”
“That’s settled, then. I trust you are satisfied?”
“I am indeed. I am confident that your team will be able to keep our scientists and workers safe. Thank you.” He paused; Beckie cringed internally at his awkward posturing; even Leonid reacted with bewilderment. “I wonder… There is a possibility that the civil authorities in Karachi, or perhaps Quetta or Gwadar, would, if not welcome, at least permit some level of support by your team…”
So that’s what that look leads up to. “I am inclined to refuse to make that offer. Certainly, my primary requirement is for Leonid and Fedor…” She nodded in their direction. “… and their team to focus solely on protecting your group and assets. Later, I might be willing to reconsider, though I think it unlikely. If we had time to act as civil policemen, you would not require our assistance, I think.”
“It was merely a thought, gone with the breeze. I look forward to our association.” He smiled as he leaned forward, then stood. “Jones and I agreed; we should discard these aliases. Jones is better known as Herbert Smythe, and I, Kumar Sher.” When Beckie’s eyes widened, he grinned and said, “My parents mixed our Indian and Pashto heritages.”
“Okay, then. Thank you for your trust. We’ll take care of the names as well as your team.”
“I believe you will.” He paused. Beckie smirked internally as she waited. That’s a pregnant pause. Finally, more serious, he continued, “We have word from our on-site principal, Dr. Chouj Khalid… He believes that the Syrian Daesh group is making headway with some of the tribal leaders in our area. As we already discussed…” He glanced at Leonid and Fedor. “The Syrians are attempting to… inveigle? Perhaps lure is more accurate. In any event, Daesh wishes a closer connection with the Baluchistan Libration Army—or one of its offshoots like Lashkar-e-Balochistan might be even better for their purposes—“
“What do you mean, a ‘closer connection’?”
“Well, Mrs. Jamse, we semi-insiders don’t often speak of it… What Daesh intend is to rule Baluchistan as they do large portions of Syria and Iraq. They hope to convince the BLA that they are the best opportunity to throw off the shackles that the rebels attribute to Islamabad and the formal Pakistani government. It is an interesting situation, to be sure.” He chuckled. “And to think, before the discovery, Smythe and I were headed to investigate rumored caches of semi-precious jewels in Baltistan. One never knows, does one?”
Beckie had no answer to that beyond the obvious, and Leonid only grinned briefly.
“So,” she said, “their goal is to make Baluchistan… or regions of it, part of the caliphate? Leaving aside the government in Islamabad, any clue as to how they plan to convince the rebels?”
“Chouj heard that stocks of weapons may be available, but I stress, that is only speculation. Attacks on Quetta, the district capital, and the port of Gwadar have been threatened but without consequence, to date at least.”
“Was that behind your thought that we might… ‘assist’ in controlling those areas?”
He laughed. “No. I thought to share some of the financial burden.” His brow furrowed and he pursed his lips. “I can understand your connecting the two, however. No. As I said, there has been nothing beyond the threats. I hope they are, how do you say? Toothless?” Beckie nodded. “I believe they will come to nothing, at least while you are fulfilling our contract. In future years… Who can say?”
Boynton chose that moment to invite them to dinner.
Sher regaled them with stories of his early years in Quetta, where he’d lived until moving to England with his parents.
“How large a city is Quetta?” Beckie asked.
Leonid answered, “Between one and two million people. It is fairly compact, sited as it is between four hills, making it easy to defend, relatively. It’s about 200 kilometers north of Doctor Sher’s site, along the N25.”
Sher nodded as Leonid described the city, then added, “I have only visited for short periods since leaving… twenty years ago, now, I guess.”
“So, given all that—and lots of earthquakes, too—how would Daesh attack it without having troops on the ground?” Beckie caught her breath and held her hand up. “No, don’t answer that. They lead the world in suicide bombers, I guess.” Her mind went back to Rose Creek. And I guess I know what kind of bomb the suicide bomb
ers would use. “Silly question.” She glanced at Willie, to find him staring at her with a quizzical look. Figuring a new rate? “I think Leonid and his team would not be directly concerned with Quetta…” She focused on him. “Which is not to say ignore goings on there. Two hundred klicks isn’t much of a buffer, these days.”
The next morning, while Patrice ferried Sher to Nassau for his flight to Marseilles, Beth took Leonid and his team for her routine evaluation. Then, on Tuesday, Leonid’s crew including Beth left for Karachi. Beth considered the ten hour time difference and waited until Beckie would be awake to report that they were in and all of them had made the first trip to the site. “Lots of attention from the locals as we drove by,” she said.
“Weapons?” Beckie had asked.
“None yet. Gotta go, Tark needs some help.”
“Keep in touch.”
Part II: Monaco Group
“KAREM REZAEI IS USELESS! WE need information!” Soufiane Boufel struggled to keep his voice at an acceptable level. Shouting, even in this outdoor café near the Aéroport Nice Côte d’Azur, would be unseemly, especially for one of his reputation. He had agreed to this meeting with the Syrian Jamil Asad in an attempt to recover the weapons his Monaco based firm had delivered but not yet received payment for.
Asad became even more unctuous. “He told us that archeological work has begun, and near where Al-Shazar located our cache of weapons. What more—”
He is Al-Shazar’s flunky. Always protecting the heathen… the heathen supposedly converted to follow Allah. “And what of Al-Shazar? Where are… When are the rebels to receive the arms?” Boufel sat back. “You know that we cannot claim payment without delivery.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
Boufel gritted his teeth. He’s patronizing me.
“Speaking of that…” Asad continued without pause, “the project to damage the United States environmental factions? Have you had success?”
