conversation. Inaudible waves of energy vibrating from the walls — more nanotechnology — killed all sounds five feet from her desk, making it impossible for anyone outside of the room to hear.
“This is Danny.”
“What’s going on?”
“The tag marker we put on Tarid was diluted because of the rain. We want to tag him again.”
“Do it. You don’t need to hear from me.”
“The problem is, he’s on his way to Iran. We want to follow him.”
Ordinarily, Breanna would have said “Go” right away, but what she heard about the visit made her pause.
For all of a half second.
“All right. How are you getting there?”
“That’s why I called. We’ve tracked his flight schedule and have a pretty good idea of what his planes are. It’s too late to get on the flight with him,” Danny added. “And besides, if we take a commercial flight, there’s always a chance someone will find something in our gear.”
The Iranian secret police and intelligence agencies also made it a habit to follow westerners in the country. While they could get around that, Danny wanted to avoid the hassle.
“So what were you thinking?”
“We want to fly into Baku, Azerbaijan. There’s a flight to Egypt from Khartoum in about an hour and a half that goes up to Cairo. If you can get a plane there and get us up to Baku, we’ll make it just in time. But we need help renting some boats and getting gear together. I can’t take anything on the first leg.”
“Baku?”
“I was there during the Iraq War.”
Zen had been there, too, flying a still classified mission he never talked about.
“All right, Danny. Tell me what you need.”
“You may want to get a pen. The list is kinda long.”
Reid had already gone to bed when Breanna called him.
“Don’t you have a family to go home to?” he asked tartly, pulling on his glasses and sitting up in bed. “And don’t you get any sleep?”
“Don’t worry about my family,” said Breanna. “Our subject is on his way to Iran.”
“Yes?”
“Danny, Nuri, and two other Whiplash people are following him.”
“Into Iran?”
“That’s where he’s going.”
“Why do we need to go to Iran?” Reid asked.
“Because the marker is going to fail and we won’t be able to follow him soon. I talked to Ray Rubeo. His people think we’ll lose the signal in another three or four days. The computer estimates about a week. Either way, that’s going to be too short.”
“Maybe not.”
“There’s no way we can risk losing him now. They have a plan that will get them to the airport in Tehran before he lands. Tagging him there should be easy. If not, they’ll follow along until they can get close.”
“Losing the political agreement with Iran is a much bigger risk,” said Reid. “If this blows up, the trip is sure to be scuttled.”
“What good is the agreement if they’re cheating?” said Breanna.
Reid reminded her that the consensus of the analysts who followed Iran was that the operation to refine the weapons grade material was being conducted by a splinter group of some sort, not the government itself. There were serious doubts about how effective or lasting such a program could be.
“You’re getting pressure from Edmund,” said Breanna. “Is that why you want to hang back?”
He had, in fact, been getting pressure — a phone call from the deputy director of operations as well as the big boss, both of whom implied that he was going over to the other side — that being defined as any entity not under their full control. But Reid didn’t think he was responding to the pressure at all.
“I’m merely saying there’s no need for haste or too much risk,” he countered.
“So you don’t think they should go to Iran?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Good,” said Breanna. “They’re going to need some supplies and logistical help.”
Reid put his elbows on his knees for a moment, thinking. Late night phone calls were one of the reasons he had turned down the DDO’s job. Not the major reason, but still one of them.
“If things go wrong, Breanna, they’re going to have our heads,” he said finally.
“Isn’t that always the case?”
“Yes, of course it is.” Reid sighed. He knew they should go — the trail would undoubtedly lead back there at some point anyway. “Let me get dressed and make some coffee. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
39
For nearly two thousand years Azerbaijan in the southern Caucasus had been little more than a vassal state, the rump end of kingdoms whose capitals lay hundreds and even thousands of miles away. The high desert and rich hills had seen more than their share of conflict, while the people who lived there had fought countless times to rewin their independence.
The land’s austere beauty was part of the problem. The mountains that marked three of Azerbaijan’s borders seemed to beckon adventurers, and no one who saw the calm sea at its east could withstand the temptations of the mild climate and lush vegetation nearby. At times it seemed as if everyone who came to Azerbaijan wanted to rule it.
With the collapse of the Soviet Union in the 1980s, Azerbaijan had gained independence from its most recent ruler. And with the increased demand for oil and minerals in the years that followed, the country prospered. Its deepwater oil fields offshore were the envy of the world; vast resources lay untapped, making it potentially one of the most important producers in the twenty-first century.
Baku, the capital on the Caspian Sea, had become a boomtown since independence, fueled not just by oil riches, but by the disposable income of Russian oligarchs and mafiya types, who found its mild weather, newly built nightclubs, and relaxed attitude toward wealthy foreigners extremely welcome. Baku had its old, center city, an ancient core bounded by medieval walls that seemed not to have changed in hundreds of years. But much of the city was very new, buffed by flash. There was chrome on everything, cars and buildings, even people. Money flowed freely in new Baku, attracting other money, drawing the good and ill it always draws.
Even so, the man at the marina was dubious when Nuri and Danny arrived to pick up the boat. It was 8:00 P.M., and all of his employees had gone home for the day. The only reason he had stayed was the prospect of receiving twice his normal fee for leasing the craft.
Still, the money wasn’t quite enough to stop him from asking questions.
“Why so late?” he asked as Nuri began counting out the hundred euro bills.
Cash had been his first stipulation.
“It’s not late,” said Danny. He’d slept on the plane from Khartoum to Egypt, but those two hours represented all the rest he’d had in the past two days.
The marina owner took the hint and stopped asking questions. Holding the euros was reassuring. He fanned through them and decided it was none of his business what the two foreigners wanted to do with the boat.
As long as it was back in one piece.
“By Thursday evening, yes?” said Nuri. “To your dock.”
“With a full tank of fuel.”
