DARKNET CORPORATION (12 page)

Once he thought Geoff had grasped what he was saying, he
added to his argument, ”The CIA will have to home them in on the transponders,
and they will probably want the transponder retrieved rather than being confiscated
by some civilian police force.”

“This is not about chasing after George Wood?” Geoff asked,
looking at Bill with an accusing look.

“No!” he lied. “Chances are I’ll never see the prick again.
But I don’t like walking away from something I started, and I know how much
grief that much heroin will be causing on the street,” said Bill, sounding
pious.

“Are you well enough to be prancing around the Balkans and
all over Europe?” Geoff was trying to find a good excuse to get Bill to drop
the idea.

“I’m fine. And if I chase after them, all I will be allowed
to do is act as an observer, anyway. If we are lucky there might be some
intelligence about the operation we can use. I wouldn’t want anything useful to
be overlooked or not fed back to us. If I provide them the GPS coordinates I
should be present at the takedown of the drug smugglers. I am more likely to
have any information shared with me if I am on the ground at the time. If we
rely on, ‘normal channels’, who knows if they’ll pass
anything
on,” said
Bill.

Geoff was outdone and given the trauma of the last few days,
he was not keen to give Bill a hard time about it. If he wanted to pursue this,
and the CIA was willing then he would be churlish to push back on it. Geoff
knew he would get into very difficult territory with London allowing it, but
was prepared to ask for forgiveness when required and avoid asking for
permission right now.

“The least I can do for Mickey is to follow through on the
shit that got him killed,” said Bill with feeling.

Chapter Twelve

Joe Martin was enthusiastic about getting Bill ‘back on the team’, as he
saw it. No doubt as a way to bind him to secrecy about Mickey’s death, but also
because he respected Bill’s uncanny knack of getting results. He was under no
illusion that he was unlikely to get any leads from the drug smuggling
operation once the European police forces involved focused on the criminal
aspects rather than the terrorist connection.

Geoff Wynn-Thomas was much less willing to expose Bill to any further
field espionage after recent events. Bill had suffered a severe beating;
imprisonment and escape from ‘enemy territory’, not to mention the trauma of
losing a colleague. But Geoff had been reminded by Joe Martin of his
obligations in the UKUSA agreement, part of the
five-eyes
arrangement
with the US, UK, to share intelligence.

Geoff was keen enough to score a few points with the CIA. He decided to
tacitly approve extension of Bill’s ‘mission’ given that he had plausible
deniability through Joe Martin. If anything went wrong he could claim he knew
nothing of the details of what Bill was about to do.

Geoff met Bill in his office where he was studying the
Bicep
intelligence in the Dinner-Jacket directory.

“Right Bill, you are green for follow up on the drug smuggling operation,
assuming you are still nuts enough to do it?” said Geoff.

Bill confirmed he was still serious about doing it, so Geoff continued,
“We’ve got you on a commercial flight to Istanbul at noon. Jenkins will still
be your primary point of contact but he will also liaise with everyone else
that gets dragged into this.

If the drugs convoy is going to be intercepted in Turkey you make contact
with a CIA officer in Istanbul that Jenkins will give you the details for. He
will make arrangements with the local authorities and make sure you get access
to any evidence that there is, if and when they do a drug bust. If the
smugglers keep going up the Balkan Route you will be handed onto local CIA
representatives depending on where the shipment goes.

I just hope it doesn’t blow up in your face, Bill.” Geoff immediately
wanted to bite his tongue for the remark and looked cautiously for Bill’s
reaction.

“Anyway.
You won’t have any jurisdiction or authority other than what
can be arranged locally with the Company’s existing agents. You will be in
their hands. You are not to overstep the mark and interfere with the local cops
and you are not to divulge anything about why we’re interested in the drug
running other than the idea that the expected destination is the UK.
Understood?”

“Yep, no worries,” Bill asked.

“The CIA is running this, and as far as anybody knows, MI6 has nothing to
do with it. It’s all over to you. The CIA is going to supply you with some of
their gadgets and stuff,” Geoff said looking up under his brows.

“I hope they’re still paying?” Bill queried, hopeful.

“Yes they are actually. This is still a Dinner-Jacket operation. But in
the end we all cough up funds for these things. For now it probably means less
bureaucratic bullshit in getting it done. No doubt they will want their pound
of flesh later.”

“They’ve had several kilos of flesh already,” fired back Bill, as Geoff
winced at the retort.

“OK, finish up here and get your gear together. See Jenkins for the
Company’s gadget’s, and let me know if you get BS from anybody in SIS on your
way home…..and….keep your head down Bill!” Geoff was always concerned for his
people, as he thought of them, when they went into the field; the most recent
‘incident’ serving to prove him right to be concerned.

Bill finished browsing through the routine intelligence on the
Bicep
directory and closed it down. There was virtually nothing to see except the
periodic summaries with nil reports reflecting Wood’s absence on the journey on
the road.

Packing up his minimal personal effects Bill made his way over to the CIA
compound. Jenkins jumped up as Bill came in. Jenkins had his ‘package’ waiting
for him, which included a mobile phone with a number of useful contacts already
entered as well as a new wallet filled with credit cards and cash in US dollars
and Euros.

Bill ticked off the items on the clipboard form and signed and stuffed
the wallet and phone into his pockets.

There was a control unit display on one of the big screens showing the
red blip somewhere north of Syria. The scale was much smaller than he had seen
using the unit so far, but he recognised the finger of land between the Black
Sea and the Mediterranean, as Turkey.

“When you get to Istanbul our agent will have a control unit and other
equipment, you cannot carry on your commercial flight,” said Jenkins,
presumably referring to a firearm.

“I’ve also got you a couple more intercept software sticks,” said Jenkins
referring to the tiny USB devices Bill had attached to
Bone’s
laptop. Handing
him another USB stick as big as a cigarette pack, he said, “and this allows you
to copy an image of a computer hard disk. The target computer needs to be
powered up, and it will take a few seconds, depending on the size and speed of
the disk.” Jenkins rotated a USB connection from the end of it to show how to
connect it. “When you connect it, this light will go red, then flash red while
it’s copying, and go steady green once it’s finished. Don’t pull it out until
it goes green. OK?”

“Has the USB stick worked, the one I put on Wood’s laptop?” Bill asked.

“No, but we don’t know if that means he’s discovered and removed it; he’s
not used his laptop; or it’s simply u/s.”

Jenkins pointed out the phone numbers that had been incorporated onto the
mobile he had been given for CIA assets he may need to access, talking through
what they were. He pointed out an app that he could use to monitor the
transponder if he could not use the control unit for any reason, showing him
how to adjust the scale. “I won’t show you how to program other transponders,
for obvious reasons,” Jenkins looked at Bill somewhat sheepishly, hoping his
comment wasn’t offensive.

“For them to get from Turkey into Greece or Bulgaria they will need to
pass close to Istanbul, so positioning you there means you can be sure to pick
them up. Our agent will meet you off the plane and make sure you have whatever
you need. He will introduce himself as ‘Mert’ and be wearing a yellow tie,”
Jenkins was back into briefing mode.

“And the passwords, as before?” asked Bill.

“Yes. Keep it simple, no chance to forget it,” replied Jenkins. “Do
you have any questions?” he finished.

“No.” said Bill, “but I do have something else I would like you to help
me with.” Bill arranged for Jenkins to draw US$3,000 cash on expenses for
“recompense of commandeered vehicle and services from
Reshteen
Ismail
Fahim
” and to arrange through a
hawala
broker to get this money to their erstwhile driver in his home village of
Dad
Qumar
in the FATA. Jenkins wrote up a requisition
order and got Bill to sign it agreeing to make the arrangement through a local
intermediary so that there was no smell of the CIA given to the
hawala
broker.

The duty officer appeared at the door and said, “Your transport’s here,
Mr Hodge.”

“Good luck, Mr Hodge, and safe journey. We’ll be monitoring the phone
lines we’ve given you 24-7 for anything that comes up. Keep in touch,” Jenkins
smiled, obviously feeling satisfied he had done his bit.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Mert’ smiled and offered his hand. “This way Mr Hodge,” he said, as they
walked briskly along the airport concourse.

Bill waited for a casual moment and fired the passphrase at him, even
though he appeared to be genuine, wearing a yellow tie as described, waiting
for him and knowing his name, Bill was happy to apply every precaution to check
credentials, “Dinner”. “Jacket,” replied Mert, as expected.

In the car park, Mert pulled a package about the size of two shoe boxes
out of the boot and climbed into the driver’s seat of a new-looking dark sedan
and Bill got into the passenger seat and tossed his bag over the back of the
seat into the back.

‘Mert’ handed over the package to Bill. Inside was a Glock 19 with two
extra, standard 15 shot magazines and two boxes of 9mm rounds.

Now into a civilian environment where a weapon hung from his belt might
not be appropriate, there were leather shoulder straps that went over both
shoulders. Connected on one side was a tight holster that allowed a horizontal
pull of the weapon and on the other, storage for two magazines.

The only other thing in the package was a familiar-looking control unit.
Bill flipped it open and watched as the GPS resolved the connections with the
control unit and the red blip, T-1 target.

“Cool,” said Bill, a flicker of a smile passing over his face.

Deciding that they should get out of the airport car park and check that
there were no eyes on them before doing anything else. Mert drove through the
barrier using a validated car park ticket; turned right onto the cloverleaf
overpass and followed the road in a wide sweep around to the right to go south.

Watching for followers he saw none and going around a large oval
roundabout, took a random turnoff into a residential area and drove for two
blocks. Mert turned into a side street and parked, getting out and walking back
to the corner to check for watchers.
Nothing.

He got back in the car and drove around until he came to a car park next
to a beach and parked at the far end away from all the other vehicles.

Mert introduced himself as Mert Erdem; a Turkish soldier, (he didn’t
mention rank or responsibilities), who had been introduced to the CIA when
Turkey had initially assumed command of the administration of ISAF
(International Security Assistance Force), in 2002.

He had been recruited by the Company and had operated in Istanbul for
several years. He was familiar with Abu
Ukasha
and
the various terrorist ‘celebrities’ in Afghanistan and had comprehensive
knowledge of their exploits. Bill had the impression that Mert had suffered
some of the effects of the violence meted out by the warlords, either
first-hand or to those close to him, but chose not to dig into the subject.

He was a square-faced man with ears set low on his head with very short
dark hair and a three-day growth kind of beard. Fit and agile looking, he
walked with a quick, economical step and deceptively aware eyes. His English
was flawless and almost
accentless
.

“You had someone close to you killed, recently?” Mert asked.

“Yes, an old comrade who was providing close protection for me. It was a
blue-on-blue accident which makes it even worse than being dropped by an
enemy,” explained Bill without mentioning drones and CIA involvement. Bill was
not yet sure if this line of conversation was a test or check, or idle
curiosity.

“Shit happens! I had three in my group that were blown to bits by an IED.
It’s hard to deal with. They at least are gone and returned to Allah,” Mert
reminded Bill of his Muslim faith.

Bill opened up the control unit again. In due course the T-1 red blip
registered and Bill looked carefully to discover where it was against the map
background. The transponder showed it to be on the A89 close to the border of
the Ankara and
Bolu
provinces about 300 kilometres
east.

“Good,” said Mert, they were ahead of them and there would be at least a
couple of hours before they were anywhere close.

Bill closed the control unit and picked up the Glock, checked it wasn’t
loaded, pulled its action, loaded rounds into all three magazines, the one in
the weapon as well as the two spares, stowing the spare magazines into the
holder straps and wrestled himself into them. He tried the fit of the Glock
into the holster and tested the force required to prise out the weapon and
pulled on his jacket.

“We need to get eyes on them so we know what it is we are tracking. Where
would be the best place to catch sight of them?” asked Bill

Mert explained that the E89 that they were on became the E80, the main
road east into Istanbul. To get to Greece or Bulgaria they would probably stay
on the E80 and perhaps turn onto the E84 to go to Greece or turnoff further up
the E80 to take any other minor road into Bulgaria. But the E80 could take them
to either country in the area of Edirne or
Svilengrad
.
Staking out the E80 was clearly the plan.

Their ability to cross borders presumably depended on the plausibility of
their electrical transformer ruse. Bill thought that since they had done this
before they probably had excellent paperwork to back up the ‘export/import’ or
had bribed the appropriate officials or perhaps both. Either way, they were on
a major route and were probably getting through by hiding in plain sight rather
than trying to sneak over remote border roads. The heavy electrical
transformers would look a little out of place in some remote country track.

Mert thought about the best method to catch sight of the drug smugglers.
After a while he suggested using a road which was elevated across the main E80
highway as it exited the urban area of Istanbul, to avoid too much local
traffic, about 15 kilometres northeast of where they were. Bill agreed and they
set off to get into position.

Parking the car in a side-road near the highway Bill watched and waited
until the transponder showed that the T1 blip was still on the E80 and within
30 kilometres. He estimated they would take about 20 minutes to arrive at this
spot at their current speed.

Bill took the control unit and walked up the ramp of the bridge over the
E80 and positioned himself on the side away from the approaching traffic so
that he would not be seen by anyone in the vehicles, unless they were checking
their rear-view mirror.

Bill put the control unit out flat on the bridge parapet and Mert got out
a smart looking camera with a zoom lens. He adjusted the camera so that he
could get the best image and adjusted the zoom to get a clear image of
registration plates by experimenting with other vehicles going under him.

The transponder was fast approaching and Bill watched it and adjusted the
scale, zooming in to get an accurate perspective on time and distance, giving
Mert a running commentary on his estimates.

Closer.
Closer.

Bill looked back across the other side of the bridge anticipating the
vehicle with the transponder coming into view. Then he saw a large softside
truck. It was on its own. Then he realised that there was in fact a large SUV
with dark windows about three hundred metres in front of it and as they came
around a curve towards the bridge and there was another large SUV about three
hundred metres behind it. An armed drugs convoy if ever he saw one!

Bill called out the convoy description and Mert prepared to take the
images as they went past.

Finger pressed on the button; elbows set upon the bridge parapet to
steady
himself
, Mert captured a series of images. Then
as the convoy raced on up the E80, Bill noticed that a few hundred metres
behind the convoy was another sedan, not the beat up creamy-coloured jalopy he
had witnessed in FATA, but a modern, black sedan with a driver and a passenger.
Was it
Bone
? Or was it his imagination running hard on. He recovered
from his daydream and yelled at Mert to photograph the black sedan coming, now!

They watched as the convoy receded into the distance then looked at the
images, but the daylight and scale of the camera was too hard to see if he had
captured what they needed.

Wondering what happened to the medium sized flatbed truck that left
Sadda, Bill realised that the smugglers would have to move the cargo to a
vehicle that would not look out of place in the highways of Europe on its
journey. The softside tarpaulin hid whatever was on the truck and Bill surmised
that the two electrical transformers were probably camouflaged by other cargo
on the bigger truck.

They returned to the car and looked again at the images. Inside the car
was a darker environment than outside, but Bill pulled his jacket around to
block out the light and create an even better view. Picking the best one of
only a few images that featured the truck’s registration plate, Mert zoomed in
to maximum zoom and as the camera worked to resolve the image at this level,
Bill could see the registration numbers and letters and triumphantly called out
“Yes!”

Bill took the camera and checked through all the images, poring over the
black sedan without seeing any conclusive evidence of
Bone
other than
the hair prickling on the back of his neck.

Mert connected the camera to his mobile phone with a cable and downloaded
images. Selecting the best examples, and deleting the others from the phone he
forwarded the images to a number in his contacts list.

“The images go into a control centre and are distributed to participants
in Dinner Jacket,” Mert explained.

Bill called Jenkins to warn him about his suspicions regarding the black
sedan in the images. Jenkins acknowledged that the images arrived during the
call and promised to update Bill with whatever intelligence they could develop
from the
im
-int.

They set off, Mert driving, Bill monitoring the control unit, to follow
the convoy at a safe distance.