Maksym had come to detest the old general and his ‘people’, the Russians. Praise from him made Maksym feel dirty, like he needed to bathe. “Getting back to your former subordinate Federov, what is it you wish me to do about him now?”
“As you were careless enough to let him betray us, you must go after him and kill him. That’s the only way we can mend the situation with the ayatollahs.”
“So you want me to simply wander into the midst of this Arab caliphate and kill one of their valued advisors.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m a huge man who would stand out in a crowd of fellow Caucasians, let alone an army of scrawny Arabs. Consider this a rhetorical question, but how I am to do that and survive?”
The sneer was evident in Vasilyev’s voice. “Over the years, I’ve found you to be a very resourceful man, Maksym, and a dangerous one, too. You will figure out a way. Notify me when it’s done.”
The line went dead and Maksym laid the phone on the bed he was sitting on. He’d just been given a suicide mission. He was many things, but suicidal wasn’t one of them. Clearly, it was time for a change; time for him to move in a new direction. He laid his massive body back on the bed and stared at the dirty, stained ceiling above him while he considered his options.
The Mossad undoubtedly could use a man of his talents. But he wasn’t a Jew; therefore, he always would be expendable, sacrificed at the first sign of trouble. Then he remembered another player in the game of international intrigue. A memory bubbled up from a long time ago.
A shadowy figure had tried to recruit him, but the timing hadn’t been right. The man had been a high-ranking official in the Chinese Ministry of State Security, their external espionage organ. Today, the circumstances were different. Now, it was the right time. A rare smile flickered across his sinister features.
Chapter 33—Western Montana
Harland Fairchilde leaned his hips against the rough-hewn log rail that enclosed the balcony and gazed out over the rugged flank of Black Bear Peak. Behind him, the sliding doors to the master bedroom of the luxurious log cabin were closed against the early morning chill. He savored a sip of coffee, his second cup, and thought about the meeting that would begin in less than an hour.
The guests were a smaller, more powerful group within AGU. Primarily they were international bankers and financiers from Wall Street and other major global financial markets, as well as the finance ministers or their counterparts from a number of countries. Most had attended the Jackson Hole Economic Symposium the previous week, the premier global financial forum. It was more important than the World Economic Forum held in Davos. The Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City had sponsored the symposium. And the Fed had been founded by the very same people who had founded AGU.
Fairchilde smiled at the thought of the power wielded by AGU—the power he wielded as its chairman. The founders of AGU had been brilliant financiers. They had created what had otherwise been regarded as an impossible entity—the third incarnation of a central bank of the United States. The first central bank had been dismantled by Thomas Jefferson, who saw it as an engine for speculation, financial manipulation, and corruption. For similar reasons, the second central bank had suffered the same fate at the hands of Andrew Jackson.
The third central bank, formally known as the Federal Reserve System, was created by a group of internationally connected financiers and signed into law by Woodrow Wilson in 1913. Ironically, Fairchilde thought, that was the same year the Sixteenth Amendment was ratified, creating the federal income tax. While the tax was a federal activity, there was nothing remotely connecting the Fed to the government. It was run by private bankers, led by a committee of them, and chaired by someone appointed by the president on recommendations from political cronies. Those cronies were all members of AGU. It would amaze most of the public to know that the Federal Reserve had full independence over monetary matters, including the ability to print and destroy money at will. Essentially, it controlled the nation’s economy, and largely that of the world. The leaders of the Fed worked in concert with AGU. And he ran AGU.
He set his empty coffee mug on a flat spot on the wooden rail. Bankers and financiers, those who made or lost their fortunes on the actions of the economy, in fact controlled the economy completely. Because they manipulated it, they knew exactly how to invest—go long, go short—and precisely when to do so. Market fluctuations—so-called panics—were exactly what the Fed ostensibly had been created to prevent. Instead, such fluctuations were one more tool to be used to their advantage. Life was good, he thought.
The AGU meeting was being held at the exclusive and luxurious Resort and Spa At Bitterroot. It was perched near the top of seven-thousand-foot Black Bear Peak, and overlooked Dead Angel Creek. It was difficult to reach. The Missoula International Airport was seventy miles away. The last several miles consisted of a narrow gravel road that wound its way through the switchbacks that snaked up the steep slope of Black Bear Peak. It was in the heart of Montana’s Bitterroot Mountains, close to the border with Idaho. Fairchilde had chosen the place for the meeting because it was accessible from Jackson Hole via the airport in Missoula, and it was very private. Another factor was the fly-fishing. Rainbow trout were prevalent in the nearby meandering creeks and streams. Many of those attending the meeting were avid fishermen. Seasonally, the winters were cold and snowy, while the summers tended to be hot and dry. The short spring and autumn were pleasantly crisp. It was mid-May and the weather, in Fairchilde’s opinion, was perfect.
* * *
Fairchilde was obsessed with punctuality. He opened the meeting at exactly nine a.m. All the other members were aware of his obsession and had been in their seats for at least a few minutes.
Glancing around the table, he was pleased to see the Chair of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve System and several presidents of the twelve Federal Reserve Banks. Also in attendance were the heads of the central banks of England, Israel, and Japan, as well as the president of the European Central Bank and the managing director of the International Monetary Fund. All of the finance ministers of the Group of Seven, or G7, were in attendance, along with their counterparts from several emerging or less industrialized countries. One of these sat to Fairchilde’s immediate left, across the table from Fed chair. Fairchilde made it a point to introduce the man.
“I assume most of you probably recognize the gentleman to my left. For those who don’t, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Prince Khalid bin Salmon al-Rahman, the recently appointed Minister of Finance for Saudi Arabia. His Highness replaces our late colleague, Prince Mahmud bin Abdullah al-Aziz. He has only just arrived from the Middle East and wasn’t able to attend our sessions in Jackson Hole. I’ve conferred privately with Prince Khalid, and suffice it to say, he is not only aware of our plans and goals, but also fully engaged.”
Fairchilde turned to the Saudi and said, “Please advise the others in attendance of the status of the situation in the Middle East.”
The prince was dressed in a dark blue Zegna suit, pale blue silk shirt, Charvet tonal-stripe silk tie, and bespoke Ferragamo cap-toe derby shoes in cordovan calfskin. He nodded politely at Fairchilde, then looked slowly around the long table, purposely making eye contact with each of the others present.
“First, thank you for affording me membership in this very exclusive organization. I shall endeavor at all times to serve faithfully.”
There were several polite nods around the table.
“I do have some important news. First, I have good news and then…” The prince paused for effect. Several members unconsciously leaned forward in their seats as he indulged in a smile. “…I have more good news.”
There was an almost audible sigh of relief as the other members relaxed back into their chairs.
“Over the past few days, I have spent time with Omar Kamel al-Bakr, who has adopted the name Nadir Shah. He commands the Holy Army of the Caliphate. He welcomes our support, in exchange for which he will conti
nue to create havoc in the Middle East. This, of course, complies with our goals of disrupting oil supplies to damage global economies, as well as to further weaken the West’s abilities to function militarily and politically.”
The German minister of finance, sitting near the far end of the table, spoke. “Realistically, does Shah have the military capabilities to constitute a disruptive factor in that part of the world? I mean, his troops are primarily religious fanatics engaged in a sectarian war with the Shia.”
“I understand your concerns, and they are well founded. However, Shah’s soldiers are well equipped, thanks to weaponry they confiscated from Russia via Syria and the United States via Iraq. What they lack is training.”
“And how do we help them solve that problem?” said the president of the Fed’s district bank in Dallas.
Khalid smiled. “That is the ‘more good news’ I mentioned earlier. Shah has engaged a few former members of the Russian Spetsnaz, their top special forces unit, to train his men. What they need is more like them. That is where we can be of assistance.”
“How do we go about doing that, run an ad in Soldier of Fortune magazine?” the finance minister of Spain said sarcastically.
The prince smiled pleasantly. “That shouldn’t be necessary.” He gazed to his left across the table at the Russian finance minister. While Russia had been booted from the former G8 because of its actions in Crimea, he, because of his position, was still included in the membership of AGU.
“Minister Kuznetsov,” Khalid said, “your alliance with Iran is on shaky ground. They are Shia and are allying with the Shiite government in Iraq against Shah’s Sunni force. This makes the Iranis, after a fashion, uneasy partners with the Americans. In Syria, you have been allied with Assad’s government, but now he has serious issues with Shah’s goal of carving a caliphate from parts of Syria.”
Prince Khalid leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. It brought him physically closer to the Russian. “If your objective is to cause increasing strain on the Americans and their Western allies, wouldn’t you be well-served to assist Shah? Surely, you do not need all of your Spetsnaz operators masquerading as rebellious peasants in eastern Ukraine.”
The Russian was a tall man, almost skinny, with a receding hairline and wire-rim glasses. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and nervously pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “Actually, I understand this very situation is being discussed in Moscow. How…ah, would the cost of the Spetsnaz participation be covered?”
“Not to worry,” Fairchilde said. “AGU has developed a number of methods for financing the work we deem necessary around the globe. And Mr. Shah’s activities fit our plans very well.”
* * *
Following the meeting, Fairchilde spoke privately with Kuznetsov for several minutes. He then spoke with Khalid, who had asked for a few moments in private with him.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me privately, Mr. Fairchilde.”
“Please, call me Harland. We’re all friends here.”
“Yes, thank you, Harland. There is something that I wanted to share with only you. My fingerprints can’t be found on it.”
“I assure you this conversation will be held in the strictest confidence.”
“My cousin, Prince Bandar bin Nayif al Saud, shared something of the utmost secrecy with me.”
“Isn’t he the head of Saudi Intelligence?”
“Yes.”
“Why is he sharing something of such a classified nature with you?”
Khalid’s face formed an expression somewhere between a smile and a sneer. “We are the same age, grew up together, went to the same schools at the same time, and serve together on certain committees. He foolishly trusts me.”
“How unusual. A trusting Arab. I wasn’t aware there was such a creature.”
Khalid dismissed the barb with a wave of a well-manicured hand. “The important thing is what he shared with me. It appears that your old nemesis, Clifford Levell, and his Adam Smith people have struck a bargain with my government to drive down the price of oil.”
Fairchilde raised an eyebrow. “That would be very harmful to the Russian economy. It could remove them as a player in our efforts to destroy nationalism in America and elsewhere. A truly global economy can’t exist without that.”
“Indeed.”
Fairchilde was thoughtful for a few moments. “Your government never does anything without getting something in return. What have they asked of Levell?”
The Saudi smiled. “You have a well-deserved reputation for perceptiveness. In fact, my government has asked Levell to eliminate Nadir Shah. He is seen by the ruling royal family as a threat to the Kingdom’s well-being.”
“Because his ‘caliphate’ covets your country’s oil wealth. If he is able to solidify his position in Syria and Iraq, he will sweep south and conquer Saudi Arabia. Presumably he would have little use for the several thousand members of the royal family, present company excluded.”
Khalid nodded. “It is why I have allied myself with Shah. But let’s discuss how we might prevent Levell’s efforts to assassinate him.”
“I suggest you try to glean from your cousin, Prince Bandar, where the assassination attempt is going to take place. We then can arrange to thwart it.”
* * *
After the prince had left, Fairchilde returned to his suite. He poured a glass of mineral water and walked back out onto his balcony. The air was warmer now, and the smell of ponderosa pine filled his senses. Many of the other members in attendance had gone on afternoon excursions such as fly-fishing or horseback riding. They were scheduled to meet again the following morning, but he had work to do in the meantime.
He thought about what Prince Khalid had told him. He believed the man. Khalid was a member of one of the cadet branches of the royal family. They were addressed as “Highness.” Prince Bandar, on the other hand, was a member of the House of Saud, from whose members the King was chosen. They were addressed as “Royal Highness.”
Personally, he liked Bandar and knew him to be highly intelligent and loyal to the king. Unfortunately, foolish traits such as loyalty only got you killed. Khalid, a thoroughly despicable man, was a prime example of a survivor. Fairchilde had no doubt that Khalid’s real purpose in allying with Shah was to position himself to usurp the throne in the wake of Shah’s conquest of the Kingdom. He definitely was Fairchilde’s kind of man.
Chapter 34—Dubai
Whelan’s plane arrived in Dubai at 2:30 in the morning Gulf Standard Time. Dingle was five time zones away and he could sense the jetlag. He was supposed to have arrived in Dubai hours earlier, but not unexpectedly his connecting commercial flight from Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris was delayed.
Whelan carried an Australian passport. His cover was that of a construction manager for one of the Mueller brothers’ international companies, inspecting a site on Palm Jumeirah Island for the proposed construction of a vacation home for a reclusive Swiss billionaire. He was modestly familiar with residential construction from his hands-on renovations of the Fianna Inn. And he’d spent two days in Dingle with a construction manager flown in by the Muellers. Still, he hoped to avoid engaging in any detailed conversations concerning the construction process.
Quentin Thomas had arrived a day earlier, a lawyer on vacation from Senegal. His ancestors had been brought to America from West Africa as slaves in the eighteenth century, so he had the physique and look of natives of the area.
Larsen and Stensen had been in Dubai for two days. They carried Canadian passports and ostensibly were in the Emirate as soccer coaches observing a major international tournament currently underway.
Kirkland already had been in the country for ten days as a newly hired property manager for a foreign investor who owned several apartment buildings in Dubai and Abu Dhabi. Kirkland carried a passport identifying him as a Scot from Edinburgh.
Almeida arrived shortly after Whelan got there. His cover wa
s that of a maintenance man hired by Kirkland. Almeida’s passport identified him as an American, as Levell feared he couldn’t pull off an assumed accent or convince anyone he was from anywhere other than the U.S. All of the men except Almeida had worked on their accents and brushed up on the relevant facts concerning their “home” countries.
At nine o’clock the following morning, the six men rendezvoused at a vacant, but furnished, apartment that was part of Kirkland’s management portfolio. Each was staying in a different location, and, except for Kirkland and Almeida, took care not to arrive at the same time.
The apartment was in the Discovery Gardens section of town, not far from the Dubai Marina. As rentals went, the unit definitely was lower end. Whelan looked around the living room. The furniture was dirty and ragged, well past its prime. There were traces of mold in the corners of the ceiling, and the walls cried out for fresh paint. He walked over to a window and carefully drew the cheap curtain aside. The blank wall of another building faced him only a few feet away, blocking any possibility of a view. Whelan and the others were shocked to hear that the unit commanded an annual rent of 125,000 Dirhams, or $34,000, a rate of almost $3,000 per month.
“So this is what Dubai has become,” Thomas said. “It’s changed a lot from the Gulf War days when we all were here last. Can’t say I’m impressed.”
“I was here five or six years ago,” Whelan said.
“Why?” Larsen said.
“Caitlin and I wanted to vacation someplace we hadn’t been as a couple. She’d heard about the crazy boom underway here and wanted to see it. We were supposed to be here a week.”
“And?”
“Two days was all we could take.”
“Why?” Larsen said again.
Endanger Species: Part 3: A Sleeping Dogs Thriller Page 5
