the right word. He receives instructions and money from Tarighian and then sees that things get done. He’s very much a wanted terrorist, and I’m
“No idea where he is?”
“None. Anywhere and everywhere. Like Tarighian.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“Excuse me a moment,” Basaran says. “Come in!”
A thin man with unkempt blond hair enters the room. He is a Caucasian and appears to be in his late forties or early fifties. “May I speak to you for a moment?” he asks Basaran. I can’t place the accent, but it’s European.
Basaran stands and says, “Professor, how many times a day must you interrupt me?” He winks at me and says, “The professor is a stickler for details. Please excuse me a moment. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as they are gone, I quickly stand, reach into my jacket pocket, and remove three miniature sticky bugs. They’re a lot like the sticky cameras I use except that they’re audio-only. I move to Basaran’s desk and quickly stick one bug underneath, attaching it to one of the legs up high where it won’t be noticed. I hurry over to the scale model and place another bug on the underside of the table. Finally I attach the third bug underneath the small table where we’re currently sitting. I resume my place, pick up my teacup, and am mid-sip when Basaran returns.
“I’m sorry, please accept my apologies for the interruption,” he says. “I’m afraid I must cut short our talk. Something has come up that requires my attention. However, if you are free for dinner tonight, I would be more than happy to meet you and we can continue our discussion.”
I stand and say, “Why, I’d be delighted. Just tell me where and what time.”
He gives me the address of a restaurant in the harbor area, and we arrange to meet at eight o’clock that evening. We shake hands and I’m escorted out of the building.
I drive out of the Akdabar complex and park on the hill where I was earlier, turn on my OPSAT, and tune in to the little bugs I left in Basaran’s office. Reception is very good, but I know the farther away I am, the less quality I’ll get. I recognize Basaran’s voice. He’s talking in English with another man. It doesn’t sound like the professor fellow I saw briefly.
BASARAN: “And what is their answer?”
OTHER GUY: “The suppliers refuse to refund our money for the first shipment. The goods were confiscated in Iraq and were under our control at the time. The suppliers say it’s not their responsibility.”
BASARAN: “Damn them to hell. What happened to the shipment was not our fault and they know it. Bastards.”
OTHER GUY: “Not only that, but the payment for the replacement is due in two days.”
BASARAN: “It’s highway robbery, that’s what it is. Damn Zdrok! Fine, do what you have to do. Proceed with the payment. And tell Professor Mertens to expect me in his lab in twenty minutes.”
Mertens? I recall the name scrawled on Rick Benton’s chart. Was that the “professor” I saw in Basaran’s office?
I hear the door open and close. There is silence for a moment, and then I hear Basaran mutter again, “Damn Zdrok.” After that the door opens and shuts once more and the room is quiet.
Tarighian. Mertens. Zdrok. It’s all trying to come together.
19
Lieutenant Colonel Petlow knew that the confiscated arms would be excellent bait for the Shadows.
After he had received Sam Fisher’s report from Arbil, the U.S. Army took the initiative to secure the arms shipment that was held in the police headquarters and move it to an unspecified location. The Shadows had shown they were keen to get it back, so a plan was instigated to draw the terrorists out. The Iraqi police were also under pressure to find those responsible for murdering the members of their force, as well as make up for the botched arrest raid that occurred outside the Arbil police headquarters. The debacle was more an embarrassment for the Iraqi police than the U.S. Army. In fact, the Pentagon blamed the Iraqi government’s lack of adequate police training for the deaths of the four American soldiers, who were officially along on the arrest raid only as observers. So in a unique instance of military and civilian police cooperation, the two organizations worked together to formulate a plan to draw in the escaped terrorists.
One of the more positive developments to come out of Iraq gaining its own government in the summer of 2004 was that informers were more willing to cooperate with Iraqi police, intelligence officers, and the military. These people, most often civilians but sometimes men who had served in various Iraqi militias, were interested in not only receiving monetary compensation for their efforts but also in developing a favorable relationship with those in power. Sometimes a reliable informer would be granted special status with employment or tangible means such as property. In a country like Iraq, which was still finding its way back to the level of economic existence it held before the war, many people jumped at the chance to get ahead.
Thus, informers were paid to spread the word around Arbil that the arms confiscated from the Shadows were being kept in a cave that was in control of a Kurdish army platoon. Furthermore, the Kurds were reportedly green and undisciplined.
In reality the arms were nowhere near the cave. The U.S. Army positioned two platoons at the site with orders that if the Shadows didn’t try to retake the arms within two weeks, then the soldiers would be reassigned. Petlow figured it was worth the time and expense to deploy the troops in this way.
It was a dependable informant named Ali Bazan who came through with the goods. He had at one time been a top lieutenant to the militant Shiite cleric who waged a guerilla war against the U.S. in the spring of 2004. Now working for the young Iraqi government and police force, Bazan made contact with the alleged terrorists who were itching to find and take back the arms taken from them. Bazan duped them into believing he was on their side and was helping them achieve their goal. They foolishly shared with him their plans to attack the Kurdish platoon at the cave on a given morning.
Sure enough, in the early hours of the same day that Sam Fisher drove to Turkey from Iran, a group of twenty militants laid siege to the cave. They were armed with AK-47s and handguns of various makes and models. The U.S. platoons were armed with standard issue M16A2s, M4A1s, M203 grenade launchers, M67 fragmentation grenades, and M84 stun grenades. There was no contest.
The terrorists struck first with six men storming the cave opening, guns blazing. As they engaged the men inside, the Shadows quickly realized they weren’t fighting Kurds. The American firepower overwhelmed the attackers and the six men were killed. This brought forward the remainder of the terrorists, who found themselves surprised by the sudden appearance of the U.S. army at their right and left flanks. The Americans had hidden in dugouts covered by trapdoors camouflaged with dirt, rocks, and vegetation.
The gun battle lasted twenty-two minutes. Thirteen of the terrorists were dead and the rest were captured. The U.S. lost two men. The seven prisoners were brought to a temporary base outside of Arbil and lined up outside of Petlow’s quarters.
Sam Fisher had made copies of the relevant file photos he found in Arbil and forwarded them to Petlow. The lieutenant colonel, along with a representative from the Iraqi police force, had a chance to take a look at the dead militants first but didn’t recognize any of them as being the men that Fisher had seen that night. Petlow then confronted the seven prisoners, one by one. They were a mangy bunch, men who had lived in the brush and avoided the law for months at a time.
None of them looked familiar. As he briefly interrogated each man with the Iraqi policeman serving as interpreter, Petlow had a sinking feeling they had failed to catch the men they were looking for. But as he spoke to the fourth man in line, something sparked his memory.
“Open your mouth,” Petlow ordered the prisoner. When the man did so, Petlow saw he was missing some teeth. He was the man Fisher called “No-Tooth.” The man responsible for the deaths of the four U.S. soldiers.
Petlow gave the order for the Iraqi policeman to interpret. “They’re all under arrest, of course, but this one is
