“That’s the general consensus. He hasn’t been heard from since. No bodies were recovered from the battle, I might add.”
“Hmm. I heard a member of the Shadows mention that name in Arbil.”
“I shall make inquiries,” Hamadan says. “However, the one name I have heard associated with the Shadows’ leadership is a man named Ahmed Mohammed. Have you heard of him?”
“Yes, I heard his name in Arbil as well and I remember his name coming up in reports,” I answer. “I’m sure he’s on the FBI wanted terrorist list.”
“Mohammed is an Iranian, a known terrorist who is wanted by our government for a number of crimes. My sources tell me that he is a major player in the Shadows. He may not be the supreme boss, but he most likely plans operations and has them carried out.”
“Well then, I’ll be sure to watch out for him.”
Hamadan stands and goes to his desk. He opens a drawer and removes an accordion folder. He brings it back to me. “This is Mr. Benton’s. He sometimes stayed in a room we have above our shop. In fact, he was here just before he went to Belgium. He left that material here and I found it in the room. Perhaps the material will be useful. You are also welcome to stay here in the room if you wish, Sam.”
“Thanks.” I open the file and find several papers and some photos. I remove the first photo and have a look. There are two men in the picture. One of them looks vaguely familiar to me. He’s obviously Middle Eastern, is in his fifties, and appears to have a skin condition. The other guy I don’t know.
“Ah, yes, that’s something else,” Hamadan says. “Mr. Benton had made contact with that man.” He points to the guy who looks familiar. “His name is Namik Basaran. He’s a Turk. Mr. Benton believed that Mr. Basaran has inside information about the Shadows.”
“Namik Basaran. I think I’ve heard of him.”
“You might have seen him on television. He’s an entrepreneur who owns a huge conglomerate in Van, Turkey. It’s called Akdabar Enterprises. Do you know it?”
“No.”
“They deal mostly with construction, oil production, and steel. Besides that, Basaran runs a charity organization called Tirma, the mission of which is to provide relief for terrorist victims around the world. He founded Tirma with his own money. Namik Basaran is a publicity hound, so he always goes on the news to speak out against terrorism whenever there is an attack. He has been known to help the Turkish police in their search for terrorists, and he seems to have connections in all the surrounding countries.”
This charity organization rings a bell. Perhaps I have heard of this guy. “Have you met him?” I ask.
“Never, but we have done business together. I sold him some carpets to decorate his offices. I hope to meet him someday. He’s a very generous man, but I must say I believe he’s more interested in getting his face on TV than in anything else. But at least he puts his money where his mouth is.”
“Who’s the other man in the photograph?” He appears to be Eastern European, not Arabic or Persian. Another guy in his late fifties or maybe early sixties.
“I don’t know. Neither did Mr. Benton.”
“Where did Rick get the photo?”
“I don’t know.”
I return the photo to the folder and nod. “Well. It looks like I have some homework. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take you up on your offer for that room, get some rest, and then check out the container warehouse tonight.”
“Very good. I will show you to the room.”
I follow Hamadan out of the office and up a flight of stairs. It’s a small but very homey bedroom with a futon and dozens of pillows. There’s an attached bathroom as well. As far as I’m concerned, it’s pure luxury. I thank Hamadan and tell him I’ll see him at dinner. Then I settle down to relax. Before I go to sleep I check the OPSAT for messages. There’s one from Lambert that says, simply, “Talk to me.”
I press the implanted transmitter in my throat. “Colonel? Are you there?”
After a moment I hear Lambert’s voice in my ear. “Sam? Where are you?”
“In Tabriz. At Reza Hamadan’s place.”
“Good, you made it. Listen, I have some nasty news. Another one of our Splinter Cells was murdered yesterday. Marcus Blaine.”
Blaine. Again, I didn’t know him personally, but I know who he was. He was Third Echelon’s man stationed in Israel.
“How did it happen?” I ask.
“We don’t know yet. Details are very sketchy, but the preliminary report indicates that it may be the same killer or killers who got to Rick Benton and Dan Lee.”
That’s when I begin to take what Hamadan said about the Shop having a list of names a bit more seriously.
15
Andrei Zdrok sat in his office in the Swiss-Russian International Mercantile Bank, gazing out the window at the streets of Zurich’s financial district. This had been his home for several years and he loved it. Zurich was a very expensive place to reside, but he had the means to take advantage of everything the city had to offer. His chateau on the shore of Lake Zurich was his pride and joy, and the only time he ever left the home was to come into the bank. When he wasn’t working, he indulged himself in expensive hobbies. Zdrok owned six automobiles that were considered collector’s items, including a 1933 Rolls-Royce that Paul von Hindenberg once owned. His most prized possession, however, was the Swan 46 yacht that he had recently purchased. He liked to sail it leisurely along the length of the lake and sometimes slept on it. Zdrok considered it a small slice of heaven on earth.
The Shop had done well. The enterprise had begun modestly, operating at the beginning out of Georgia. He and Antipov had made the first arms sale, and then they recruited Prokofiev and Herzog to join the team. The Shop grew in size and influence, supplying arms of all kinds to whoever was able to pay for them. Zdrok had no political aspirations or loyalties. The almighty dollar was his only motivation.
The business really blossomed during the Bosnian conflict. Zdrok moved the base of operations to Baku, Azerbaijan, for security reasons and opened the first Swiss-Russian bank in Zurich. A second branch was built in Baku two years later. By using the front of the two banks, Zdrok was able to assemble a discreet machine that handled marketing, acquisition, delivery, and profit laundering. Finding the right employees to do the grunt work had been time-consuming — he had to be sure that his men would remain loyal. He paid them well, which went a long way toward insuring their devotion. At any rate, the common soldiers of the organization didn’t know a lot about the operation. Thankfully, to date no one with any real knowledge of the Shop had ever been caught by the law.
Andrei Zdrok felt justified in enjoying his life in Zurich.
The biggest problem they now faced was rebuilding the Far East pipelines. The business had been hurt badly but not irreparably. The Shop had intelligence of its own, and Zdrok was certain that the Americans’ National Security Agency was responsible for the damage. Operation Sweep, the initiative he created to hunt down and eliminate Western spies, was already in place and active when the events in Macau occurred. Now the operation had become a priority.
Zdrok thought about the Far East situation and how it could be repaired in a timely and efficient manner. It was possible to bring in another partner, the leader of a Chinese Triad called the Lucky Dragons with whom the Shop had done a lot of business. His name was Jon Ming and he was quite possibly the most powerful gangster in China. He resided in Hong Kong, his Triad’s home for decades. Even when the handover occurred and other Triad clans moved out of the former British colony, Ming and the Lucky Dragons stayed. He had a special relationship with the Chinese government. He had the ability to pull strings and keep lawmakers in his pocket. Yes, Ming might be the answer to the Shop’s problems, but Zdrok wasn’t sure how the other partners would feel about bringing the man aboard.
There was also an American he knew in the Far East who might be able to help. Zdrok’s partners would most certainly be opposed to working with
