FATAL eMPULSE (14 page)

Atash sat, hands raised, watching.

“ID papers. Passport. Now,” barked one of the men.

Slowly, Atash reached for the inside of his suit pocket, carefully pulling out his passport. The man giving out orders snatched it up and glanced at it. “Iranian diplomat?”

Atash nodded.

The man gazed upward as he must be wondering about the connection between two men with diplomatic immunity. “What is your business?”

“A small vacation. The gentleman from Russian and I share common business interests. I am his guest.”

“What business interests?”

Atash shrugged. “What everyone does to make money here. Sell and buy oil.”

Motioning with the muzzle of his weapon, the man gestured for Atash to rise. “You. Up with the others.”

Putting his passport back in his jacket pocket, Atash climbed to the top deck. Yegorov stood a few feet away, scowling at the officer in charge. “My embassy will be notified of this outrage. Detaining a person with diplomatic immunity. Even in this backward toilet of a country, you must know that this will cause all kinds of problems.”

The officer seemed undisturbed. “Sir, we had no way of knowing that you are on diplomatic business. We must ensure that all vessels passing through our waters do not represent a threat to Azerbaijan and that they are not involved in criminal activity.”

“Criminal activity? Hah!” Yegorov sneered. “Your country is the hub of human trafficking—undocumented workers, sex slaves, trafficking children—and you worried about criminal activity? Your country disgusts me.”

The officer stiffened. Yegorov was a fool, insulting an armed boarding party during a time when they needed to quietly take care of business without bringing attention to themselves.
Drunken idiot!

Footsteps on the stairs made Atash turn. He saw the naval seaman who ordered him to come up here emerge from below. The seaman caught his commanding officer’s attention and gave a slight nod. The officer scowled at Yegorov. “Do not think that you Russians can come into our country and order us around. We no longer bow to your kind. We are finished here. I suggest that you leave our country immediately—since you do not respect our customs.” He stalked over to the edge of the vessel and lowered himself down onto the Zodiac.

Yegorov turned toward Atash. “They only understand strength, my friend.”

Atash watched the boarding party pull away. “Do you think that was wise to denigrate their country given our situation?”

Yegorov waved his hand. “Relax. Let us go below and finish our business.”

As they settled down to talk, the Russian seemed determined to pour one more drink before taking a seat. “Now, getting back to where we left off.” Yegorov waved his drink. “First, Richard Dunsmuir acquires this technology that you are interested in buying which he sells to me. Your friend Stuart Martin—an American lobbyist for defense and communications contractors—puts you in touch with me so we can plan an operation that Dunsmuir’s people created.”

Yegorov paused to slurp another drink. “This Martin and Dunsmuir must work for the same group of Americans. No? If Richard Dunsmuir is someone else, we cannot find out his true name. And our people are good. Maybe he is who he claims?” The Russian rolled his shoulders, moving his head from side to side. “Maybe we just have to use him while we keep looking for information on this guy.”

Atash nodded. “Nor can we find anything. That makes me suspicious. We face a lot of risk, you and I. We must keep looking to see who Dunsmuir and Martin work for and find out who they really are.”

Atash stared through the glass portal and watched the military vessel steaming away. Before they put any plan into operation, he would find out everything about these two Americans. Only then would he take the chance that might spark a war in the Middle East.

A sharp rap on the metal hatch drew the captain from his chair. “Come in, Lieutenant.”

The boarding officer entered, saluted and glanced at the woman across the room. “Sir, mission completed.”

“Excellent, Lieutenant. You may return to your normal duties.”

The officer saluted, but instead of turning away he hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Sir, two men on board, Russian and Iranian. We seemed to have interrupted their meeting. Both claimed diplomatic immunity.”

The captain nodded. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will take care of it. You were simply following orders. Return to duty.”

The officer’s shoulders lowered and his face relaxed. “Yes, sir.” He wheeled around and disappeared down the corridor.

The captain shut the door and glanced across his quarters at Shakeela Vaziri leaning against the bulkhead. “Those I trust spoke highly of you. That you are a friend to Azerbaijan, even though you are Iranian.”

She pushed away and folded her arms. “It is true. I am Iranian by heritage, but I am an American citizen. My mother is Azeri. You know how Iran treats my mother’s people.”

The captain nodded. “Did our little ploy work?”

“Yes. Very well, thank you. My people are listening to those two men speak at this very moment.”

As soon as Shakeela spotted the boarding party heading back from Yegorov’s vessel, she sent a text message that the transmitters were in place. Signals from the room shared by Hassan and Yegorov began transmitting intercepted conversations from Baku to a CIA listening post at the U.S. embassy. She would be briefed later upon her return to shore.

Hassan’s travels had taken an interesting path. Martin in Paris to Yegorov in Baku. And now they could hear what the men were planning.

February 24
Key West, Florida

C
ruising in a powerful motorboat on Florida’s blue ocean with a beautiful woman would be a moment most men would enjoy—but not Gerrit O’Rourke. Tracking down a killer really killed the mood.

He circled the farthest point of Key West. To his back, less than ninety miles away, lay Cuba. He could only imagine the intensity of surveillance between these two countries across these open waters. As they drew closer to shore, he grabbed a cell phone and dialed. “Willy, any update? We are just about to walk onto the island.”

“Nothing, Mr. G. I sent you the coordinates to his house. Stay safe.”

“Roger that.” Gerrit cut the engines to a slow idle with just enough juice to work his way toward the marina on the eastern side of the island. “Hey, you hear anything from Joe? We met at the hotel, and then he was going to get a little shut-eye before catching a return flight to Tahoe.”

“Nothing, bro. I sent him a couple of text messages, but he’s not responding. Maybe he overslept.”

“Let me know when he checks in, okay?” Gerrit closed the cell phone.

Alena hauled up a heavy Grip bag. “As soon as you find a place to park this thing, let’s get below and put on our
tools
to take care of business. According to the information Willy sent, Devon should live within a few blocks of the marina.”

“That makes me wonder if this is the right place.”

“What do you mean?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “All of Willy’s hits on this guy—credit cards, bar tabs, restaurants—are all centered around this area. Almost within walking distance of each other. So what’s the problem?”

“Look around. Is this where a hired gun like McAllister would hang out? Seems like more people than sand crabs down here. All squeezed onto a tiny island. No place to give you a fire zone against your opponents. No protection from your enemy. Nowhere to run and hide except the open sea.”

“Maybe the guy figures no one will track him down here. After all, he is not the smartest tool in the kitchen.”

“Tool in the shed, Alena.” He smiled. “If you’re going to use clichés, try to get them right, will you?”

“My point,” she gave him an irritated look, “is that this guy might be stupid enough to use his real name at the hotel in Miami, and he seems to live down here as if he does not have a care in the world.”

“Just too easy for my taste. You’d think a professional would hide his trail more carefully.”

“That is what he did with Gloria. Realized his mistake and started to wipe his trail clean. Kill the witness that might be able to identify him.”

“Which makes me wonder about us strolling up to his place in broad daylight. He might be expecting us.” He headed along the pier and cut the engines, then tossed several cushioned fenders over the edge to protect the boat from the wood pilings. He leaped onto the pier, rope in hand, and tightly secured the vessel fore and aft.

Alena picked up the bag and carried it down the hatchway. “Only way to find out is to go pay this guy a visit.”

As Jack Thompson finished dressing, he heard a knock on the motel door. After his meeting with Shakeela, he’d headed over to the Pentagon to report in and try to gather some information on Hassan and Martin. He came back with very little, and checked in to this motel to get some shut-eye before heading back to the airport. He glanced at his watch and saw his driver came early.

He flung open the door, “Hey, you’re—”

Two men in dark suits stood outside. “Colonel Thompson. We’ve been instructed to escort you to the airport. A military transport will be waiting.”

“That’s okay, pal. I’ve already made my own travel plans.”

“Your plans have been canceled, sir. You are to come with us.”

“Like hell I will. If you don’t—”

“Sir, you may want to check with your office. Your presence is requested elsewhere.”

Jack felt himself tighten.
Who are these guys? And how did they know he was here?
“Exactly who do you work for?”

“Sorry, sir. We cannot divulge that information.”

A chill pierced his chest. Someone with a lot of juice must have found out about his investigation. Could they be coming after him? He had not thought to bring a firearm on this trip. After all, he was only supposed to visit Langley, and then get the heck out of here.

Reaching for his cell phone, Jack turned it on and saw he had two text messages. One was from his boss, and the second message was from his bosses’ boss. He scowled as he called up the messages and read what had been sent. Plans had changed. He was ordered to go with these guys immediately. A matter of urgency. Everything would be explained when he reached his destination.

Jack deleted the messages and put the cell phone back in his pocket. Something was off here. Who was jerking his chain—good guys or bad guys? He would find out soon enough—without a weapon in hand.

Beck started for the elevator at the FBI building when his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen. He’d just got a message from his boss.
Plans have changed, Beck. Two men are waiting in my office. Grab a bag; you’re taking a trip with them. No questions asked. This comes from the top.

Beck turned and strode toward Sutherland’s office on the other side of the building. As he entered, two burly men in dark suits stood, earbuds visible.
Secret Service? CIA? Internal Affairs?
He shot Sutherland a questioning look as he walked in, but his supervisor—seated behind a desk—just shook his head.

“Beck, once you get to your destination, I am assuming you will be told what this is about. I don’t have a clue—so, don’t ask.”

He would not get any answers here. Beck turned and followed the men out of the office. Both men were armed.

February 24
Key West, Florida

A
breeze carried the aroma of fried fish across the marina. Gerrit and Alena left the boat and walked across the wooden pier, passing several hotels and spas before entering a residential area. Gerrit felt his weapon beneath the Hawaiian shirt he’d picked up in Miami. Alena wore a tropical blouse, with cotton shorts that showed off her long legs.

She must have caught him looking. “Keep your eyes on the target, Gerrit.”

“I’m easily distracted today.”

“You fail to spot Devon and I’ll give you a really good reason to be distracted.” She tried to hide a smile.

They walked down the sidewalk as if they were a couple of honeymooners. He could feel Alena’s weapon in the small of her back as his arm clasped her waist. He leaned over and whispered, “There’s just something about you that really makes me want to take you seriously. Maybe it’s the gun I feel under your blouse.”

“Keep your mind—and your hands—on business,” she said, laughing.

Her smile vanished, and he turned to see what she was looking at. Gerrit saw a clapboard, two-story dwelling about midblock, set well off the street. Trees shaded the building and sidewalk. “That’s his place,” he said quietly, scanning the neighborhood around the house.

She nodded, and he felt her tense. As they continued toward the house, tires squealed behind him. Whirling around, he saw two black Chevy Suburbans bearing down on them. The tinted windows prevented him from seeing inside.

Just as he started to draw his weapon, men in tropical attire leapt from both vehicles. They were not displaying weapons, but a bulge under their right arms warned Gerrit these guys meant business

The man closest to them had the ruddy face of a drinker and looked like a forty-year-old beach boy. He spoke in a low, raspy voice of a chain smoker. “Mr. O’Rourke. Ms. Shapiro. We’ve been asked to bring you in. Please keep your hands where I can see them. You are in no danger.” Beach Boy’s right hand appeared to be poised, ready to reach for a weapon if Gerrit did not obey.

This beach bum had the advantage. Before Gerrit could get to his weapon, Beach Boy and his men would be able to draw down on him. He couldn’t tell how many others were in the vehicles. He slowly raised his hands.

“Mr. O’Rourke. You are not under arrest, but you and your companion must come with us.
Now.
Just keep your hands down where I can see them and we won’t have a problem.”

Alena complied.

“Please get in the car. I know that both of you have weapons. I ask that you keep them holstered.”

Gerrit got into the first vehicle. “Where are we headed?” Alena slid in next to him.

Beach Boy spoke up. “Not far from here, sir. Just a few minutes’ drive.”