The Caspian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  She gave an exasperated huff. "I know that. — We will drive past the Turkish border station and observe our targets. The road passes through rugged terrain a few kilometers west. We will conceal ourselves and wait for them to give up on this Peter and drive back down the road past our position. Then you will, as you so artfully put it, spray them with some nine-mil."

  Amadeo nodded his head. "Works for me."

  "Now we must rest. We leave a 0600."

  Amadeo glanced over at the couch.

  She said, "The bed is much more comfortable."

  "I'll take the couch." He noticed her puzzled look. "The last guy you tried to talk into you bed is laying back there dead."

  Her face turned to stone. "Have it your own way."

  Amadeo watched her as she wheeled around and marched off to the bedroom. Tempting as it was, he knew better than to mix business with pleasure. She was too much of an unknown — and dangerous. She had already proved that.

  24 ~ On the Road

  Thursday AM, 10 November 1979: Tabriz

  "Are you awake?" Ronni called from the door of the bedroom. It was 0600.

  Amadeo sat up and shoved the blanket aside. He had been awake for the last half-hour. "Yeah, how about some espresso."

  She flipped on the light and entered the room, fully dressed in her jeans and sweater. "Was it comfortable?"

  "The blanket left something to be desired. We don't get this kind of cold in Miami."

  She noticed the Škorpion at his side. "Were you afraid I might attack you in the night?"

  He winked at her. "No use taking any chances. This seems like a dangerous neighborhood."

  She flashed a smile and sashayed into the kitchen. Minutes later a welcome aroma wafted through the house. Amadeo laced up his shoes and joined her.

  "We riding in the Gaz?"

  "Yes. You have an objection?"

  "What about the weapons? The border guards ain't that dumb."

  "There is a hidden compartment. We will place them there before the border. The electronic board also."

  "Your colleague has a jeep with a hidden stash?"

  She seemed put-out by the question. "Very well. The jeep, as you call it, belongs to me."

  "Look, if we're going to do this together, we don't need to have any secrets. Okay?"

  Her stone-cold look was unsettling. "Have you told me everything. Why were you with this Peter and why are the Soviets after you?"

  "It's complicated."

  "Yes. It is complicated and that is why we must work together, even if we do not trust one another. Does that make sense?"

  "Guess it'll have to do. But I'm still concerned about the border."

  "I have crossed there many times." She opened the cupboard and produced a couple of bottles of Johnnie Walker Red. "The officials on both sides can be counted on to be cooperative."

  "You bribe them with booze? Thought that would be against the current Iranian code."

  "I don't bribe them. They conveniently find and confiscate the whiskey. I plead for leniency and they give me a sour face and take it to their office. I am sure it is disposed of in accordance with the new Islamic law."

  "And I'm sure this pleading is done with a deep sexy voice with a silky Italian accent."

  "It works every time."

  Thursday AM, 10 November 1979: Esendere Crossing, Turkey

  "There's the border crossing ahead," said Jack. The small Turkish post, hemmed in by a deep valley, looked forlorn, perfect for their purposes.

  "We'll park down there beside those trucks. Looks like a good place to stay out of view," said John.

  They pulled the light blue Turkish-made sedan in between two stake-bed trucks. The vehicle had proven to be more reliable than it looked. The only hitch had been a flat tire just before entering Yüksekova, the last major town on the Turkish side. Ibrahim's son had left them there. His guidance had proven essential on the dark sometimes unpaved roads.

  "I'll stroll down and let the guards know we're waiting for someone. No use them getting too curious for no reason," said John.

  "Okay. I'm gonna try some of this pastry and an apple." They had hung around Yüksekova long enough to shop early in the local market. In addition to the pastry and fruit, they had stocked up on a couple day's supply of Turkish Pide bread, goat cheese, sausage, and beer.

  "Leave some for me." John walked down the dusty road to the Turkish border guards' station.

  The concrete brick hut looked like an old filling station without the pumps. Further on, two small castle-like guard houses flanked a pole set across the road. The Iranian post lay a few dozen meters away.

  A young Turkish sergeant with a FN FAL rifle slung over his shoulder met John at the main building. John explained in halting Turkish that they were waiting for someone arriving from Iran and that they might be there for a day or two.

  On his return, Jack greeted John, "They got anything hot to drink over there?"

  "He invited us for tea. Says they always have a pot going. He suggested we move the car closer to the guard house, says they have some bandit activity from both sides of the border."

  "Those guys seem alert?" said Jack, trying to assess the guard's readiness.

  "They're mostly young troops, from the Turkish Jandarma, a para-military outfit, sorta like the German Bundesgrenzschutz border guards. Shouldn't have any problem with them."

  "What about the Iranian side?"

  "He said they're made up of local members of the Revolutionary Guards. The regular border police left soon after the revolution. He don't seem to give them high marks for professionalism, called them an impolite term for yokels."

  Thursday AM, 10 November 1979: Police Headquarters. Tehran

  Lieutenant Abbasi rushed into Captain Rezaei's office without knocking.

  "Captain, I have spoken to Tabriz, they have found a dead body."

  "Fernandez?"

  "No. A foreigner. His passport is for an Austrian, Peter Mattias."

  "The driver of the yellow van."

  "Yes. A worker found him this morning in a construction dirt pit. He had been shot three times."

  "A gun battle?"

  "No, he was shot at close range in the foot, knee, and in the head."

  Rezaei leaned forward and scrunched his eyes. "Perhaps he was executed after intense questioning."

  "They said there were no other marks on his body."

  "Must have been in a hurry."

  "Do you think Fernandez did this?"

  "Maybe."

  Abbas's eyes brightened as he had a revelation. "Perhaps this Fernandez is really the professional assassin, Carlos the Jackal."

  Rezaei restrained himself from laughing. Carlos the Jackal, not likely, but the idea could prove useful. Better to have a world-famous assassin slip through your fingers than a common spy.

  "Put the word out to your men, it will inspire them to search harder. A promotion for the officer who brings in or kills this Carlos the Jackal."

  Thursday AM, 10 November 1979: West of Tabriz

  "That's a big lake," said Amadeo. "Looks salty." They were a hundred kilometers west of Tabriz. Amadeo was driving.

  "Yes. Lake Rezaiyeh, named after the Shah. The largest lake in the region. I think they have renamed it, but I am not sure. See how it glitters in the morning sun."

  "How much farther?"

  "Two or three hours, depending on the road conditions. We turn south before Salmas, also called Shahpur, the next city."

  'When was the last time you crossed here?"

  "January."

  "That was before the revolution. Don't you think things might have changed a bit?"

  "It will be no problem."

  He didn't believe her. Murphy was a founding member of the Iranian revolution.

  "Road block ahead," said Amadeo. It was the third one since Tabriz.

  A trio of local revolutionary guards manned the checkpoint. Amadeo rolled up to the man standing in the road.

  "By God an
d the Prophet, stop," exclaimed the leader, a serious young man dressed in black. He wore a green armband and had an old Mauser rifle slung over his shoulder.

  Before Amadeo could speak the man yelled at Ronni, "Woman cover your hair, show respect for the laws of the Koran." She tried to answer. "Hold your tongue woman." She obeyed.

  The man spat on the ground and said, "What do you want here? You are not from this land."

  "We are traveling to the border," said Amadeo in broken Farsi. He avoided eye contact and softened his tone.

  "Your papers."

  Amadeo handed him both passports. He examined them, and asked again, "Why are you on the road?"

  "We are driving to Beirut for a holiday."

  The declaration surprised the young man. He seemed puzzled by the sudden arrival of two foreigners and made a pretense of re-examining the passports.

  He spoke sternly to Amadeo, "Your woman must cover her hair."

  Ronni pulled her scarf up over her head.

  The man returned the passports and waved them on.

  Down the road, Ronni said, "So, now I am your woman." She moved closer, up against his shoulder. "A holiday in Beirut, how romantic. When this is over, perhaps…" She let her words trail off with a mischievous grin.

  Her intense presence ignited a jolt of testosterone that set off a firestorm of expectations. He stole a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. His desires barely suppressed, a series of fanciful scenarios played in his mind. He struggled to concentrate and stay focused.

  Ronni continued with small talk. He kept his eyes on the road and responded with half-hearted chitchat. She was a classic Italian beauty with an alluring personality. The temptation to give in was irresistible. With a strange mixture of regret and relief, a primitive survival response overrode conflicting emotions. She was tempting, but he could not get involved. The last thing he need was to get mixed up with a female Mossad agent.

  Thursday AM, 10 November 1979: Soviet Embassy, Tehran

  Suslov stood in front of the Soviet ambassador's desk. He had been called in unexpectedly and was not offered a seat. They were alone.

  "Major Suslov." The ambassador barked out his name in a contemptuous fashion, not a good sign. He held up a sheet of paper. "I have in my hand a letter from the Iranian Foreign Ministry. I will not read you the full text, but it is sufficient to say, you have been ordered to be expelled from the territory of the Islamic Republic of Iran — at once."

  Suslov reeled. He steadied himself with his cane. "I don't understand."

  The ambassador threw the paper down on his desk. "What is there not to understand. You are to leave the country immediately."

  "Did they give a reason?"

  "A reason. You don't think a dead Soviet officer who died in a gun battle on the side of a rural road is enough? Not to mention the fact he was armed with a Soviet made pistol with a silencer, no less."

  "This is not a diplomatic matter, it is for the Committee for State Security to—"

  "It is a diplomatic matter, as you describe it, the Politburo has ordered me to comply. They do not want to further damage our delicate relations with the new government. We don't want to end up like the Americans."

  Suslov smirked. "They wouldn't dare."

  "Don't they teach you any history at your academy? They butchered and decapitated the Czar's envoys in 1829. Killed them all."

  "But that was during the last century. It was claimed the mobs were incited by the British."

  The ambassador thundered, "Look outside, do you really believe they have changed that much. Do you see any Englishmen, do you see James Bond? We managed to deal with your ill-timed escapades earlier in the year, but this is the end. Now get out of my office."

  Suslov's shoulders slumped in defeat.

  25 ~ Ambush

  Thursday, 10 November 1979: South of Salmas

  Ten kilometers south of Salmas, Ronni said, "Stop here. We need to get the weapons out of the compartment."

  "You expecting trouble?"

  "The road from here to the border is bandit territory."

  He pulled off the pavement on a rise in the road. No other traffic was visible either way. He took the Beretta, she placed the Škorpion on the floor beside her feet.

  "You think these pop guns will do any good against a band of tribesmen?"

  She didn't answer.

  "Do you have any recent info on this area, since your January trip?"

  She gave him an irritated look. "Some things never change. We need to be careful."

  "If I was careful, I'd be home sipping a beer 'bout now."

  "You speak decent Farsi. Have you been in Iran before?"

  He hesitated, not sure where she was headed, and kept his answer short. "A few times."

  "And now you are here to find this man Carlos Spazier." 'He didn't answer. "Is that his real name?"

  "Not sure. He seems to have more names than the telephone book."

  She picked up the Phoenix missile board and examined it. "In the hands of the Syrians, this would have grave consequences for the stability of the region. Thank you for helping me."

  They had not discussed the final disposition of the board. That was an argument he didn't want to have until the final moment. Although it wasn't his mission, he wasn't about to let the thing fall in to the wrong hands. Her intentions were unclear. Did she want the board for Israel, or did they already have it? He didn't know but wasn't going to take any chances. He would destroy it if necessary.

  So far, she seemed unaware of his real purpose: deliver the tape in the film canisters. He intended to keep it that way.

  * * *

  Amadeo slowed the vehicle and stopped, a herd of sheep blocked the road. A car pulled up thirty-meters behind them and the driver stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. A second pointy faced man got out and stood beside the black Paykan sedan. The scruffily dressed men had the look of tough guys. Amadeo didn't like the way they eyed the Gaz with their dark eyes.

  With his situational awareness in overdrive, Amadeo, sensed an ambush. A herd of sheep, two men outside a car, it looked like a classic setup. He placed his hand on the Beretta.

  Ronni followed the man in the rearview mirror. She sensed danger, her heartbeat increased, and she reached down and placed the Škorpion on her lap.

  "Is there a problem?" she said with a tense edge to her voice.

  "Just being cautious. You're the one who said there were bandits."

  "Yes, we must be cautious."

  Amadeo sensed her anxious tone. "You okay?"

  She didn't answer.

  The sheep passed. The man tossed the cigarette aside and they drove around them, off to the south.

  Amadeo paused before staring the vehicle. "We need to keep our eyes open down the road. I got a suspicion these guys may be waiting for us around a bend somewhere." He glanced over at her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  This time her voice had a determined edge, "Just drive, I'm alright."

  * * *

  Amadeo hit the brakes as they topped a steep rise in the road. They had been following the black car from a distance.

  Ronni spoke first, "Where did he go?"

  "Good question. He must have pulled off in one of those gullies ahead."

  "What now? Do we speed past him? Maybe he stopped to rest."

  "Not likely. It would be too dicey to try to blast past them. You don't lose the fight's you avoid." Amadeo stepped out of the vehicle. "We'll pretend to have car trouble and wait and see what they'll do." He raised the hood and pretended to examine the engine.

  She got out and started to raise the binoculars.

  "Stand behind the vehicle, out of sight," said Amadeo. "Don't let them know we're suspicious."

  Ronni edged to the rear and looked through the windows with the glasses. "I see a head moving above the rocks about one kilometer away." She paused. "No sign of the car."

  Amadeo walked across the road and sat down on a large boulder. "Make yourself comf
ortable, this may take a while."

  She leaned against the tailgate and took a deep breath.

  "You sure these guys are just bandits?" said Amadeo. He was beginning to sense something else was at play.

  "In this part of the world, one can never tell. They may be anything."

  Ten minutes passed, the men hadn't taken the bait. Amadeo preferred to confront them from the high ground if possible. Ronni had returned to the front seat, keeping a watch with the binoculars.

  Five minutes later, Amadeo took a look back down the road. A flash of light off a windshield.

  "We got company, something's moving our way."

  She peered through the glasses. "A truck … coming this way."

  "Good. We'll use him for a shield. Be ready. When he passes us, we'll fall in behind and run past him when we get those goon's position. Pull the side-curtain windows off and toss 'em in the back, we need to have a clear shot, just in case."

  The truck, a heavily decorated open cargo carrier, struggled up the hill. Several traditionally dressed tribesmen sat on top, not unusual for the region. The moment it drew even, Amadeo ran across the road, started the Gaz jeep, and fell in behind. Ronni grabbed the machine pistol and pulled back the slide.

  A wizened old man, wearing a headwrap and robe, stared at them with an unapproving glare. The others ignored the following vehicle.

  Ronni kept watch down the road, her head half-out the open window. Amadeo concentrated on staying close behind the truck.

  "One-hundred meters," said Ronni. "He sees us, he's moving."

  Amadeo shifted down a gear, took the Beretta in his right hand, and steered with his left.

  "A man with a rifle, beside the road." Seconds later she shouted, "Now." A shot rang out, Ronni responded with a blast from the Škorpion.

  Amadeo cut left, stomped the gas pedal, and accelerated to the left side of the truck. The startled truck driver weaved left, driving Amadeo off the pavement onto the gravel. He pressed on and whizzed past the truck in a cloud of dust. The firing continued until the road cut right at the next curve.

  He slowed and looked over at Ronni. She was in pain.

  "You hit?"

  She gasped, "Yes."