Splinter Cell

I stop at a newsstand and pretend to browse the magazines, keeping an eye on the bagel shop. After a moment I see Zdrok exit and cross the street to the bank. He doesn’t look my way. He’s probably forgotten all about the encounter. I’m counting on it, anyway.

Once he’s inside the building I move back down the street and enter an old-fashioned phone booth. These relics are pretty much a thing of the past in America, but you’ll still find them in Europe.

I cradle the phone between my head and shoulder and activate the OPSAT. I’m able to send an e-mail anywhere in the world with the thing as long as I have an unhindered signal to the satellite. It works best when I’m outdoors, but it’ll do all right in some buildings. For this, though, I don’t take any chances. I want Zdrok to get this e-mail.

His address is stored in the OPSAT so it’s a simple procedure to send Carly’s file. For a message, I type in Russian, “I thought you’d find the attached conversation interesting.” I sign it “A Friend” and send it.

I leave the phone booth and walk the two blocks back to where I parked the Pazhan. I get inside, put on my headset, and listen to the bug in Zdrok’s office. At first there’s nothing but static. After a few minutes, though, I hear someone walk into the room and the subsequent creak of the chair as he sits in it.

He picks up the phone and makes a call. “Ivan, find out where General Prokofiev is. I want to talk to him,” he says. It’s Zdrok, all right. He hangs up the phone and I hear him typing something on his computer keyboard. Good. Maybe he’s checking his e-mail. There’re a few minutes of silence and then I hear Carly’s file, broadcast loud and clear on the computer’s speakers.

TARIGHIAN: “Zdrok is blind to everything but his own little world. He’s angry that the first shipment of arms was confiscated in Iraq. The Iraqi police arrested the men who had it. Ahmed and his men tried to mount an operation to retrieve it, but that failed. We had to bite the bullet and pay for a completely new shipment. So far, Zdrok says he hasn’t been paid.”

MAN: “So he probably thinks you’re trying to put him out of business.”

TARIGHIAN: “Yes, that’s probably what he thinks.”

MAN: “You did give the order for the transfer, didn’t you?”

TARIGHIAN: “Not likely, you fool.”

MAN: “The Shadows’ influence on them will change things.”

TARIGHIAN: “The Shop behave as if they’re in the West. They are a godless bunch. All they care about is money. I’ve hit them where it hurts and I’ll continue to do so.”

MAN: “Let me get this straight. The diaper factory was attacked—”

TARIGHIAN: “The rift was already there. We just made it wider.”

MAN: “An Arab—”

TARIGHIAN: “I sent him—” (garbled) “—and left Tirma material all over the place.”

I wish I could see Zdrok’s face. He’s probably sitting there with his mouth wide open. Silence fills the room again. He’s not moving. I hope he’s in shock. After a minute goes by he plays the file again. When it’s done, there’s more silence. He plays it a third time and then picks up the phone.

“Ivan, have you found General Prokofiev yet? Well, hurry!” He hangs up. I hear him type some more. Maybe he’s forwarding the file to all his buddies in Russia or wherever they hang out.

After a minute the phone rings. He answers it with a “Yes?” I switch on the OPSAT’s record mode and listen.

“General, where the hell are you?” he asks. “I see. Where’s the plane? Yes, our plane, what did you think I—? Yes. I see. Listen, this is what I want you to do. I want to order an air strike on Akdabar Enterprises in Van, Turkey. Yes, I know what I’m doing. I have proof that the Shadows are double-crossing us. They never sent that money and have no intention to do so. And I know now they are responsible for what happened at the hangar in Baku. Yes. I just sent you an e-mail, did you get it? Well, check it, damn it! I’ll wait.”

There are a few moments of silence, but I can hear Zdrok breathing heavily. The guy’s blood pressure has probably shot up.

“I’m still here,” he says. “You have it? Listen to the file. I’ll wait.”

More breathing. A cough.

“Well? You see? No, no, I just want to — General, this is not negotiable. These are my orders. Send the plane to Turkey and bomb the shit out of that facility. I want it done today. Right. Keep me informed. Thank you, General.”

He hangs up the phone and I hear him stand and walk out of the room.

I stop recording and play back the file. His voice comes through clearly. He said all the right things and it’s beautiful. Apparently Tarighian’s people are going to see some fireworks later today. Too bad the big man won’t be there. I know he’s down in Cyprus now. Carly got hold of his e-mail address easily enough, so I prepare the file and type the same message in Russian—“I thought you’d find the attached conversation interesting.” I sign it “A Friend” once again and send it to Tarighian.

As I drive away from Fountain Square and head toward my floating hotel, I hear Lambert’s tinny voice in my ear.

“Sam? Are you there?”

I press the implant in my throat and speak to him. “I’m here, colonel.”

“You’re finished in Azerbaijan, Sam,” he says. “All the evidence you’ve managed to capture in pictures is enough for us to move against the Shop. We’re going after the Swiss-Russian banks there in Baku and in Zurich. We’re also making arrangements to move in on Nasir Tarighian. Good job.”

I tell Lambert about Zdrok’s conversation I just recorded. “He’s going to do some damage to Tarighian’s operation in Turkey and it’s gonna happen soon,” I say. “You might want to alert the Turkish air force. If they’re on the lookout for a small plane capable of dropping bombs, they can kill two birds with one stone. Let the Shop do their thing on Tarighian’s place and then knock their plane out of the sky.”

“Good idea, will do. Now listen, Sam. I want you to go to Cyprus. We need to know exactly what Tarighian is up to. All we know is that he’s built a shopping mall in the north, but he’s got to be hiding something.”

“I agree.”

“Go to the American Embassy on Azadliq Avenue there in Baku. Find our man George Tootelian and he’ll set you up with transport out of the country. We’re going to fly you to Tel Aviv, where you’ll catch a ride to Cyprus. Tootelian’s expecting you. I’ll talk to you again once you’re in Tel Aviv. Have a good trip.”

“Thanks, Colonel.”

He signs off as I arrive at my hotel. I’ll need to check out and head for the embassy, but I’m hungry and want a bite to eat first. Knowing the efficiency of our embassies abroad, they’ll have me on a plane before I’m able to fill my belly.

My OPSAT beeps and I check it for an incoming message. It’s coded so I know it’s — Christ, it’s from Sarah! It’s the first time she’s ever used the private number to reach me.

But as the words appear on the screen, my heart skips a beat. I feel a growing dread that threatens to erupt into full-blown panic. I want to tear off the OPSAT and throw it into the Caspian Sea. I want to scream at the heavens for allowing this to happen.

The message reads:

WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. YOU HAVE 72 HOURS TO COME TO JERUSALEM FROM WHEREVER YOU ARE.

The message goes on, ordering me to phone a specific number when I arrive and ends with the parting shot:

NO TRICKS IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER ALIVE AGAIN.

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