The Puppetmasters (18 page)

Lastly, he went in search of President Shazeb. Rashid found him on the phone, where he had just been told that this latest crop of poppies looked to be the largest harvest ever. He motioned for Rashid to enter and close the door. Shazeb continued his phone conversation … ordering the raw material, a brownish-black gum that had been bundled into bricks, to be delivered to the morphine refinery outside of Jalalabad some ninety miles to the east. He was informed that the sap was still being collected and milked from the poppies. The deliveries were being made to the refinery on a rotating basis and would continue for the next week.

The first kilos of manufactured heroin would soon be ready for transportation through Pakistan via Khyber Pass to the southeast of Karachi on the Arabian Sea. The transshipment arrangements had been made, and the appropriate local officials in Pakistan and along the Indus River bribed. A cargo ship was now on its way to the rendezvous point at Port Qasim outside of Karachi and would arrive in three days.

Transshipping through Port Qasim, where the opium was loaded onto the cargo ship, was always the trickiest to negotiate. This time, Shazeb readily agreed to the local demands. He thought he was quite generous, given the profits he would soon be enjoying. But he made it clear to the Port Authority official that this was a one-time “gift,” because at the moment he had other pressing business to attend to; but that if this unreasonably high demand was made on future Port business, there would not be a good outcome. Shazeb’s partners and middlemen were well aware of his penchant for violence and retribution. They would not press their luck next time.

The president was in a great mood. Business was going well and his sons were not at each other’s throats. He owed much of the good will to Rashid. He kept the peace between the sons and enlightened the father on a routine basis.

Shazeb looked at Rashid appreciatively. “Ah, my son, Rashid. How is my blessed son today?”

Rashid explained that he was organizing a dinner, and Shazeb heartily approved. Given the tens of millions of dollars he was about to reap from his current harvest of poppies, he was ready to celebrate. He didn’t even mind that the Orion people were being included. It was high time he browbeat Fields on the state of Afghanistan’s computer infrastructure and that perceived issue of unknown eyes and ears having access to Afghanistan confidential business. He understood when explained about Kendall’s homesickness and anxiety, and even managed to find a spark of guilt at being the source of her current predicament. He thought it would be very interesting and entertaining to have Kendall work with the kitchen staff to prepare the meal.

He even thought that perhaps Kendall could be persuaded to stay on permanently. She would make a perfect third wife for him, having lost his first wife to the great fire that also took Rashid’s family. Shazeb had quickly remarried a young woman who promptly provided him with two girls. But he had not been blessed with any more sons. He reasoned that Kendall might be able to produce sons. He wasn’t so sure that either of his grown sons were the men he intended them to be. Shazeb shuddered at the thought of either Saaqib or Ahmad leading the nation once he was gone. He figured that Kendall’s surprise presence on the Orion plane was providential. She was a gift to him, and he would acknowledge that gift wholeheartedly. He knew he would have to deal with an angry wife, but she would fall in line … just like the rest of Shazeb’s family once he issued an important edict.

He sent Rashid away with his blessing to prepare an evening that would be memorable to all in attendance. Rashid headed to the family’s quarters and felt a slight unease at what lay before him in the next few days. The more he pondered the future, the more nauseous he became.

He finally arrived at the kitchen, one of his favorite rooms in the palace. It was bright and warm and smelled of fresh
naan
and a gentle, simmering, and fragrant lamb and vegetables for the evening meal. He vowed to put his anxieties aside and focus on the day’s events. The Head Chef, Taheem, was very happy to see him and greeted him like a son. They bantered back and forth for a few minutes as Rashid inquired after his wife and children. Then he explained the purpose of his visit.

Normally, the fastidious Taheem didn’t let anyone interfere in the preparations of the meal. He knew how diabolical the Shazeb men were. Without the slightest provocation they would cut a member of the household staff down. Taheem had never given them a reason to. Instead, he had gone out of his way to cook succulent meals for the family and special treats for the children. His
yema
dessert was their favorite.

Rashid explained that he would speak with Kendall and find out what ingredients were needed from the market. Taheem and his staff would go to the Kabul market the next day. But Rashid made it very clear this was a celebration, and that there should be several selections of wine for dinner. Even the older children would be allowed to have a glass.

They discussed the seating arrangements and theme.

Finally, an exhausted but triumphant Rashid went in search of Kendall. Of course, he knew where she was. He had left her alone now for three hours while he ran around locating people and arranging the upcoming evening affair. Given her state of mind the last time he left her alone for a couple hours, he was wondering in what emotional state he would find her this time. Well, either way, he knew that as soon as he explained the gravity of the next few days
and the demands that would be placed on her for the dinner event and beyond, she could make things very difficult for him … for all of them.
Did he know her as well as he thought,
he asked himself? Yes, and that’s precisely why he was nervous about facing her now.

M
OSSAD
D
IRECTOR
Z
IMMERMAN SAT AT
his desk at home that evening, pondering his next move. He was steeling himself for the story he was about to recite. Lying was a part of his business, and he accepted that. But it took its toll. One had to be on the highest alert to keep track of the false information being imparted. Further, if he spoke with an associate of the first recipient of lies, he had better remember what was said, or his fabrications—and by association, his character—would be called into question. Within the international intelligence community, though, lying and deceit was not surprising and actually was quite necessary. Still, a measure of loyalty and integrity was expected among “friends.”

In this instance, Zimmerman had known his CIA “friend” for over ten years. He considered her a worthy counterpart. They had worked together on many investigations and had jointly solved several of the most high-profile cases that had them traveling together and spending a great deal of time pursuing the same elusive suspects.

He sighed as he picked up his phone. This time it couldn’t be helped. He had to deceive his “friend” and even possibly make a fool of her. It was in Israel’s best interest. But it would surely cost him the friendship. There would be no going back. The days of old would be gone. They would no longer share information and insight once the full details came out. Zimmerman would be despised as a traitor to the intelligence community, and he would have trouble seeking favors in the future. He was not in the least naïve. He knew that this would be his last assignment. He would need to move on from leading this team. All of the good will he had so carefully cultivated would be gone in a flash.

But he perked up at the thought that he might even be named to a ministerial position within the popular Israeli party currently in power. If this mission was as successful as he dared hope, nothing would be out of reach for him. He could name his price … and position, for he would be held in the highest esteem. Even his counterparts around the world would be in awe of his success and daring.

He was startled out of his reverie by the beeping of the phone line. He drew a deep breath and made the call.

“Candace Lawrence,” a cool voice intoned over the line.

“Good morning, Candace, this is Ben. How the hell are you?”

Candace sat up in her chair. She detected an ever-so-slight edge of nervousness in Ben’s voice. Since she had never heard this from him before in all their years of working together, her senses were immediately on high alert. She hit the record button that would save the conversation permanently to the archives. This was hardly ever done, but something told her this would be an appropriate time.

She cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant. She was a master at the art of appearing composed when she was actually anything but. She shook an errant wavy black tendril from her eye and continued. “Oh, I’m fine. As a matter of fact, I’m having a little down time at the moment and am planning on taking a much-needed vacation in the next couple weeks.”

“Oh, really? Where will you go?”

“Haven’t decided yet, but definitely somewhere warm. This past winter was brutal in Virginia. Even though we’re almost through spring, I’m sick of the cold. I’m envisioning a private beach, never-ending supply of gin, and seafood of every type and flavor.”

“Sounds great! Maybe I will join you—ha, ha!” Agent Zimmerman sat back in his seat and relaxed. This was going well. Since her mind was on personal matters, she would probably not even notice the ever-so-slight tension in his voice.

“What can I do for you, Zim?”

This was even better than he hoped. She had used the pet name she had casually started calling him during a very long and bloody investigation in Lebanon a few years back.

He cleared his throat. “I’m calling with a small personal favor. I’m working on a drug investigation and have come across an American name. I’m wondering if you would run the name through your databases and let me know if she’s on the up-and-up?”

“Sounds intriguing. Is she an informant or a principal?”

“She came to us as an informant, but I suspect she’s actually a key part of the operation.”

“And what’s the location of the investigation?”

“I don’t know yet. We think somewhere in the Middle East … or possibly Turkey or Egypt. It involves the worldwide distribution of large amounts of heroin. The transshipment appears to be via the Mediterranean Sea.”

Candace assumed a bored toned. “Doesn’t sound like you have much info yet. How do you know it’s even true?”

Agent Zimmerman was feeling quite cocky now. “We’ve seen the stuff. The American girl gave us a sample brick. It’s high quality. We’ve had it analyzed, and it’s cut with cow’s blood. Apparently, the end result is a more pliant textured product. It’s easier to cut and results in less wastage. This is incredible stuff that’s about to hit the international market … including the U.S.”

What’s the name of the girl?”

“Candace, do I have your word this is just between you and me?”

She feigned a reluctant tone, “Agreed … for now … or until it becomes a national security issue.”

He paused and thought,
Well, here goes.

“Kendall Radcliffe.”

Agent Lawrence’s antenna hummed. She had heard that name recently … but where? “Hmm! Can’t say that I’ve ever run across her name before. Do you know which state she’s from?”

“No. I haven’t met her. A low-level investigator came across her.”

“I’ll do a quick check on her, Zim, and will call you back in an hour or so. Okay?”

“Sounds great! Talk to you then. Bye.”

He planned to be far away from his phone when she called back—if she even called back. Agent Zimmerman figured his call would trigger a massive wave of activity within the American intelligence community. They would have tons of questions for him, and he was not about to supply any answers. In fact, he planned to avoid any further communication with his American counterparts in the near future. He hoped Rashid’s operation would be well into play by the time the American intelligence mobilized for all-out war. They would be so far behind in gathering the facts that it would be over before they could interfere. Unfortunately, the collateral damage might not be so good for the Orion people, but the Mossad operatives would at least do their best to rescue them.

Agent Zimmerman was fairly confident that the two Orion executives would be saved. Hopefully, the sick one would survive his illness. But, in the agent’s eyes, it would work better if Kendall Radcliffe didn’t survive. It would be easier to let her involvement die with her. Questions would go unanswered, and the Mossad and Israel could offer any explanation that suited their purposes. She would be unable to refute anything. Just for good measure, they could even add fifty thousand dollars to her bank account at the end and call it a “down payment” from Shazeb. It would surely seal her fate of guilt by implication.

The first wire transfer had been a really stupid move on their part, Zimmerman thought. This time they would make sure the wire transfer began and ended in Switzerland. There would be no tie to Israel. It would look like she
was in cahoots with the Afghanistan drug suppliers and distributors. If America put up a fuss, the Mossad would plant a story in the West that Kendall died at the hands of the American intelligence community during rendition. That would cause such an uproar in the U.S. that Israel would be left to its own devices. Granted, rendition didn’t usually happen to U.S. citizens when at home in the U.S., but that was just a technicality. If enough innuendo and disinformation hit the press, the public would eat it up and not notice the inconsistencies.

Zimmerman sat back at his desk at home and smiled. Yes, he thought, the phone call had gone well. And he had high hopes for the remainder of the operation.

CIA Agent Candace Lawrence opened the national intelligence database and ran the name “Kendall Radcliffe.” That triggered an internal alert that had her phone ringing in two minutes flat. As the name and background popped onto her screen, she realized where she had heard that name: in association with the two missing Orion Premier Net Services executives. The proverbial fat was about to hit the fire.

She picked up her phone and answered in the most officious tone she could muster: “Agent Lawrence.”