The Iranian Intercept

by R G Ainslee

  My stomach tensed, and I froze in place.

  Jack spoke to the Marine sergeant on my right. "See the guy across the street?"

  "Yes sir. Is he your ride?"

  "No, he's Russian. He wants to give us a ride all right, but one-way only, if you understand. We need him to leave ASAP."

  "Yes sir." He barked an order to the other Marine. "Cover me." The lance corporal un-slung his M-16 and moved off to the side. The sergeant started across the street.

  Suslov snarled a command to his driver and gave us an, I'm-not-finished look. I knew he wasn't. They sped off, leaving the Marine in their wake.

  The sergeant stood in the street until the car turned the corner. On return, he asked, "Sir, do you need a ride?"

  "Wouldn't hurt," said Jack.

  The Marine stepped back inside the gate, made a call, and in no time, an embassy Suburban pulled up.

  * * *

  We made it back to Lara's place without being followed, at least according to Jack. I had a feeling Suslov knew where we were staying. Someone at the French embassy could have ratted us out. Maybe the grumpy broad at the front desk, well who knows?

  We sat down to plan our next move. The prospect of having to deal with Hansen again was sobering. The situation had changed. Caught between Suslov and Hansen, I wasn't sure what to do.

  "What do you think happened to Wilson?" asked Jack.

  "Don't ask me. I never have been able to figure out how those people operate. All, I know, it usually ends up with me on the short end of the stick. What do you think?"

  Jack was more serious, his career was on the line, not to mention our lives. "Here's my assessment. First, Suslov: we need to avoid him, can't afford to be involved in a shootout. That would involve Afghan authorities who could be sympathetic to, or under the control of the Soviets.

  "Second, Hansen: we need to avoid the embassy, they'll cause problems. Simmons might help us, but we can't count on it. At least we have seats on a flight out. We just need to steer clear until then."

  "Agreed, let's just let sleeping dogs lie. I'll add a third to your list. To me, it's the most important. Lisette is out of pocket and I want to find her."

  "Okay, sounds like the best option is to Get-out-of-Dodge."

  "My sentiments exactly. When Lara gets back we'll ask about getting a car."

  "How do you think your intercept will play into this?"

  "Been thinking about that." He motioned for me to continue. "I got lucky, very lucky. Conditions were perfect for the intercept. The signal was what I expected, to a tee. And we have the recording. Amounts to a home run with the bases loaded in my book."

  "You think it may be significant?"

  "Yeah, big time. If the Soviets think we have the secret to a new air defense system, they may abandon the project and try a different technology. It's not difficult to produce effective countermeasures once you know how the system operates. Marsden's idea was clever, but not flawless. In any case, they almost certainly know we have it. Could be why Suslov is hot on our trail."

  "I'll leave that stuff to you tech guys. I just want to survive."

  * * *

  Lara returned home late in the afternoon. Her mood had improved, but she remained cool and agitated.

  "I hope you were able to conclude your business with your embassy. Did they arrange for you to leave … soon?"

  "Yeah, we got our business taken care of … ah, might get a flight out on Monday."

  By the expression on her face, Monday wasn’t soon enough. "So, what do plan to do in—"

  "Where can we rent a car?"

  She answered with a cutting intonation, "Let me guess. You plan to go to Bamiyan. — Am I correct?"

  "You're a mind reader Lara. We'll just run up there and bring them back."

  The expression on her face was not encouraging. "You will just run up there? Do you not realize the situation? Your ambassador has been killed and—"

  "Look — we gotta leave for good reasons. I'm worried about Lisette and want to find her. And … it seems we're persona non grata at the embassy." Her expression showed she didn't fully understand my French. "They may try to place us in custody. We can't go back there until we're ready to leave."

  She rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? You are in trouble with your people again." She shook her head and stared me down with a piercing stare. "Is there anything else you are not telling me?"

  "We ran into Major Suslov this afternoon," said Jack. "It may be safer to get out of town."

  Lara headed towards the kitchen and spoke over her shoulder, "Did he follow you here?"

  "No way. I made sure."

  Lara didn't respond. She strode over to the cupboard, pulled out the MAT-49, jerked back the bolt, chambered a round, and laid it on the counter. She gave me a withering glare and strode into the bedroom. The distinctive racking sound of a pump shotgun chambering a shell echoed through the rooms. She returned with the Ithaca-M37 in hand and tossed it to me.

  She gave me a typical French look of exasperation, one I had become familiar with over the last year. "Let us eat, we need to sit and plan our trip to Bamiyan."

  * * *

  A tall, tanned, muscular man, who reminded me of a recruiting poster for the French Foreign Legion, remained impassive, his eyed focused on Lara. She hammered away in rapid fire French, doing all of the talking after his initial report. Lara dismissed him, and his heels clicked together. He marched out of the apartment in a crisp military fashion.

  Lara turned to us. "Siegfried," he did sort of look German, "tells me a green Lada automobile containing two men is parked in the next block." She let the comment hang for a precious moment. "One of the men matched your description of this … Major Suslov."

  Jack’s eyes flared, and he leapt from the couch. I reached for the shotgun.

  "Please relax. As you Americans might say — we got it under control." She made it sound like a Humphrey Bogart line.

  I asked, "Now what?"

  Jack checked the window and sat back down.

  "We let them sit, unless you wish to take them some tea."

  "No, the SOB can starve for all I care."

  "Siegfried informed me a car is ready and we may leave at any time." She noticed my concern and added, "We have an alternate exit for the compound. Our departure will be unobserved."

  "Is traveling at night a good idea?"

  "No, however, it will be much easier to avoid your friend. We spend the night at my embassy's rest house north of Kabul."

  "He's not my friend."

  "But he is certainly attracted to you."

  * * *

  The rest house turned out to be a small compound used for weekend retreats by embassy staff. We were not alone. An officious French diplomatic type and his Swiss girlfriend, surprised by our sudden appearance, tried unsuccessfully to convince Lara to leave.

  The woman, a cute brunette, stared apprehensively at Jack and me. Jack carried the MAT-49 and I cradled the shotgun in my left arm. After Lara treated them to a cool precise dressing down, they retreated in a huff to one of the two bedrooms.

  Lara ordered with a commanding tone, "I will stand the first watch outside. You will rest. We have a long day tomorrow." She grabbed the MAT-49 from Jack, without asking.

  After the door closed, Jack remarked, "That's one hell of a woman … she married?"

  "Don't even think about it, she's too much for even you."

  "No… just asking. Rochelle's more my type. You on the other hand could use someone like her."

  "What do you mean? I'm already married."

  He gave me a sly grin. "She'd keep you in line. Bring a little discipline to your life."

  I paused and laughed. "If you must know, I had similar thoughts at one time, but luckily met Lisette first. Anyway, Lara's too smart for me, I'd never be able to get away with anything."

  Jack cracked a smile. "That's exactly what I meant."

  Didn't have an answer, he was right.

 
"Gonna hit the rack. I'll take the next shift outside." He marched off to the other bedroom and closed the door.

  On the couch, I leaned my head back and let out a sigh of relief. It's almost over. We completed our mission and the tape is on the way to Fort Meade. At last … tomorrow a reunion with Lisette. I didn't even care about Hansen. I intended to chuck it in, tell him where to stick it. All we had to do was avoid Suslov.

  I thought about the intercept. Was this worth it? Masters' dead. Valentina's dead. Perhaps even Roksana. Is Amadeo safe? No, it's not over yet. We — no, they — still have to analyze the tape … Marsden. I had forgotten about him. Where’s he at now? Back in Russia? If he is, he's out of my grasp. Like to get my hands on the SOB, one last time…

  Two hours later, the door cracked opened and Lara peeked in. "Who will be next?"

  Told her Jack was asleep, and I'd take his place, couldn't sleep anyway. I grabbed the MAT-49 and stepped outside into the chilly night air. The half-moon allowed a dim view of the surroundings.

  I roamed back and forth across the compound, trying to stay warm, and checked the gate a few times. My mind wandered, thoughts on other things. A cloud moved over the moon. Approached the gate once again, pushed it open, and stepped out to the drive.

  A loud pop echoed through the still air. Mud from the wall splattered on my cheek. Stunned, I failed to react, slow to comprehend what was happening. Another pop — a zing — a bullet struck metal beside me. Someone was firing. I was the target. Ducked and retreated inside the gate. A burst of automatic fire hit too close for comfort. A faint flash registered in my peripheral vision.

  Two more bursts clanged off the gate. I kneeled and aimed the sub-machine gun through the narrow opening. Another round struck closer. A sting — something glanced off my head. Reflexes took over and the MAT-49 spewed out a stream of nine-millimeter rounds. A final burst slammed into the gate. I forced it shut, spun right, and hugged the wall.

  The house door flew open. Shrill cries echoed from inside, a romantic weekend ruined. Lara raced out, pistol in hand, and crouched behind the diplomat's car.

  She called out, "Are you all right?" Her tone was controlled and confident, the voice of experience.

  "I’m okay. The shooter’s outside, somewhere down the drive. Didn't get a good fix on ‘em. — Where's Jack?"

  "Do not speak, be silent."

  I followed her advice and huddled against the wall. The shooting had ceased. The only sounds, my heart pounding, and a ringing in my ears. Even the screams from inside had subsided.

  Just as I assumed the fireworks was over, a burst of automatic weapon fire clattered away, followed by a thunderous blast from a shotgun. A shriek rent the night air.

  Only a few seconds elapsed before a pistol shot rang out, followed by two blasts from the shotgun. I waited, not sure how much ammo remained, and replaced the magazine with the spare.

  "All clear — Ross, give me a hand." Jack called from outside the gate.

  I eased through the opening and scanned the area. "Where you at?"

  "Over here."

  Seconds later, Lara was at my side. "Go, I will stay here."

  I stumbled through the darkness towards the direction of Jack's voice. Past the second large bush, Jack crouched over a man sprawled on the ground, an Afghan in his thirties, a tough guy by his appearance. Blood covered the man’s torso and he wasn't breathing. A wicked looking pistol, a Czech made Škorpion, lay at his side.

  "Is he dead?"

  "Yeah. You okay?"

  I reached to my forehead and felt a warm wetness. "Think I might have a little nick … must’ve been a chunk of wall."

  A car started up out on the road, brake lights gave its position away. Without thinking, I raised the MAT-49 and emptied the magazine, unleashing a blazing stream of lead. The vehicle accelerated, and the sound faded in the distance.

  "How'd they find us?" I asked.

  "Dunno."

  "So much for letting sleeping dogs lie."

  "Yeah, sometimes they ain't sleeping and come back to bite you." He seemed uncharacteristically agitated by the ambush. "You keep a lookout here. I'll reconnoiter down range … and don't shoot me when I come back."

  Jack moved off into the night like a cat, silent with stealth and deadly effect. His capabilities made me feel inadequate in comparison.

  A half hour later, after searching the area, we dragged the body away from the compound and hid it under some bushes close to the main road. Jack placed the weapon near the dead man's hand. The Škorpion was of no use to us, the magazine was empty. The goon didn't have a spare, perhaps a fatal mistake.

  We regrouped inside the house. Lara inspected the scratch on my head. The diplomat and his girlfriend had long since departed after doling out a storm of invective.

  "Think it's safe to stay?" I asked Lara.

  She eyed me with a dismissive glare. "Safer here than on the road. You are injured, let me see to—"

  "It's just a scratch."

  "Sit."

  She returned with a first aid kit. I winced when she dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on my forehead. She had treated me once before, in Kenya, and seemed to derive satisfaction from my discomfort.

  Jack picked up the MAT-49. "You guys get some sleep, I'll stand guard. Won't be able to go back to sleep." He inserted a fresh magazine and disappeared into the night.

  I asked Lara, "How did they know we were here?"

  She closed the kit and said with an air of assurance, "I do not know … but you can be certain I will find out."

  I had no doubt either. She appeared a little frazzled by the experience, but remained cool, very cool indeed. Lara strode to the bedroom, gave me a vague glance over her shoulder, and shut the door. The lock clicked.

  I glanced at the uncomfortable couch and decided to check out the abandoned love nest. The girlfriend left in a hurry. Her so-called nightie, left on the floor, looked like the type of thing women wear in a men's magazine.

  33 ~ Salang Pass

  Friday, 16 February: Road to Charikar

  The Hindu Kush Mountains loomed in the distance. Snow glistened off the peaks as we approached Charikar, north of Kabul. The two-lane paved road crossed an open plain, the most productive agricultural area in Afghanistan, according to Lara.

  The rest of the night played out without incident. We left early, hoping to be gone before Suslov or whoever ambushed us had time to regroup. We rode in a car borrowed from a French embassy colleague, a green Fiat 124, almost a dead ringer for Suslov's Lada. When I first noticed the vehicle at Lara's place, my heart stopped, thought Suslov had found us. Jack tensed also but betrayed no obvious reaction.

  Lara insisted I drive and told Jack to sit up front with the shotgun. She occupied the back seat as most women do in Afghanistan. She reasoned, correctly, we didn't need to draw any more attention than necessary.

  We stopped three times on the 60-kilometer trip from the embassy love nest. Each time, Lara remained in the vehicle, the MAT-49 in her lap. Jack took up a defensive posture with the shotgun on the passenger's side while I scanned the road behind us with Lara's Lumiere Paris 8x30 binoculars. After the third stop, I was almost confident no one was following.

  "Never seen this make, didn't know the French made binos," I commented to Lara after we resumed the journey.

  "They are old, belonged to my father. He gave them to me before he left for Indochine."

  "He fought in Vietnam."

  "He died at Dien Bien Phu."

  "Sorry." Sometimes, or is it too many times, I manage to say the wrong thing.

  A few miles later, Lara advised, "This road, to the right," the sign read Bagram in Russian, "leads to a new military airport built by the Soviets. The more cynical in my profession believe it is for the purpose of landing troops in a crisis. Alexander the Great built a fortress there. So, it has a history of hosting invaders."

  "When do suppose they'll start landing?" asked Jack.

  "Do you believe I am cynical?
"

  "I dunno, you tell me."

  "And Rochelle told me you are kind and sensitive and loving."

  "I'm not?"

  "Hah, you are so — Américaine."

  I responded, "She nailed you on that one."

  "How come you aren't married?" Jack wasn't finished, "Have you ever been?"

  "No." I glanced up at the rearview mirror and noted sadness in her eyes. "A family life is not suitable for a woman in my profession."

  After a few moments, she leaned forward. "Is also not suitable for a man with a new wife and baby."

  I gulped. "What’d you mean?"

  "You must find a new profession. Lisette needs you. The child will need a father."

  She was right. — The whole enterprise had turned sour … Nepal, Tehran, Herat, Kabul, and now Hansen. What next? Sooner or later my luck' will run out and I'm not a pro like Jack or Lara. I've just scraped by on luck. I had already decided to tell Hansen to stuff it.

  Jack suggested with a mischievous tone, "Why don’t you go back to being a cowboy."

  "A cowboy?" Lara was incredulous. "I am serious. You need to find a safe work, for the sake of Lisette."

  "I only worked on a ranch in the summers when I was a kid. But guess that's my ultimate employment of last resort."

  "You … a cowboy? Is this true?"

  Jack popped off again, "Yeah, I've heard about the place. Sounds pretty nice to me."

  "You will be a cowboy?"

  "Not if I can help it. It's not like the movies, just a lotta hard outdoor work — no matter how hot or cold."

  We continued our way north in silence. The turnoff to Bamiyan was 10 klicks past Charikar. A roadblock delayed us at the edge of town, but a 20 Afghani note and Jack's attempt at the local language smoothed the way. Our weapons remained hid under a blanket on the back seat. They paid no attention to Lara.

  * * *

  Charikar's main street, lined with shops, appeared almost modern. I slowed the Fiat to a crawl as we negotiated normal Afghan traffic: cars, trucks, donkeys, bicycles, and pedestrians. Men in traditional clothing shuffled along or languished idly watching the world go by.