Targets of Deception (43 page)

The Korean stared at him in disbelief. “Do you understand that I am here on behalf of the Great Leader? Do you realize, that if I so choose, you will never leave this room alive?”

Adina remained utterly composed as he replied, “And to whom do you think you are speaking, some fool toady you can intimidate with your threats? Kim would not have sent you to meet with me unless he believed I had something important to say.”

“Insulting my glorious country, is that what I should find important?”

“No, my friend,” the Latin replied, speaking slowly, so that nothing would be missed by the translator. “What I have come to say is that I have a solution to these problems. A strategy, if you will, that will benefit your country and mine.”

Hwang hesitated for a moment, then sat back down. “Well?”

“What if we could arrange a means of using your military intelligence and capability to deal a mortal wound to our common enemy? What if we could do it in such a way that the blame was not laid at your doorstep or mine? What if we work together to ensure that you will have access to oil at a fair price for decades to come, while crippling the United States in the process?”

“You want us to go to war against the United States?”

“Quite the contrary. I want to help you
avoid
a war with the United States, a war that is inevitable if your economic issues worsen and your flaunting of their demands increase. Let’s be frank in our assessments for a moment. Try to put aside the patriotic claptrap you’re

forced to recite for the masses and look at the realities here.” The Korean translator visibly flinched as he delivered this sentence, but Adinawent on. “Where will all the hunger and oppression in your country inevitably lead? Eventually you will be left with a disenchanted people and a huge army with war as the only rationale for its use. Just as the United States needed the Second World War to lift itself from the Great Depression, the DPRK will be left with no alternative but bloody conflict. Then who will you fight? The Chinese? The Japanese? The Americans? With their resources, it will spell disaster for you.” Hwang began to protest, but Adina held up his hand. “Right now our enemies in the West face an ongoing battle with the extremists in the Middle East. Instead of becoming entangled in those hostilities, let us embark on a mission that will use the fanaticism of the Islamic lunatics for our benefit. Let them escalate their conflicts with the United States, let them deflect all attention away from us while we actually deal the Americans a crushing blow. Let our two nations become the core of a great new alliance for this young century.”

“Who are you?” Hwang said, regretting the question as soon as it was uttered.

Adina waved the question away as if swatting at a noisome insect. “Who I am is of no consequence for now. What
is
important is that we are already moving ahead, swiftly and secretly and effectively. We already have men in place to begin the first part of this mission.”

“Already moving?”

“Yes, with the approval of your Great Leader.”

Hwang appeared stung. “Where?”

“In the Caribbean.”

Hwang would have laughed, if humor were any part of his limited emotional arsenal. “The Caribbean? What sense does that make?”

“All the sense in the world,” Adina said with a smile. “As you will come to see, once you are prepared to listen, it makes all the sense in the world.”

CHAPTER ONE

TEHRAN

SEYED ASGHARI WAS a true believer. He had dedicated much of his adolescence and all of his adult life to the glory of Allah, pursuing what he perceived to be God’s purpose—the destruction of all Western infidels. He was devoted to this calling and therefore honored to have been recruited for his latest assignment, serving Iran in a multinational assault upon the United States.

And yet, almost from the start, he was troubled.

He first became anxious when he learned his cell would be led by an Asian. Throughout his years of loyal service to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, Seyed had always taken orders from fellow countrymen, or from Syrians or Palestinians with whom he shared a cultural and religious bond. .is stranger from the Far East was different in style and approach from any of the other men he had followed, and the unconditional authority he wielded disturbed Seyed more and more as the days wore on.

He was also bothered by the inclusion of three Spanish-speaking men in his unit. Not only was it unusual for Hispanics to be involved in an operation originating in this part of the world, but these three seemed to share a private bond with the Asian that alienated

Seyed.

And there was one further issue. Seyed presumed he had been selected for this mission because of his expertise in clandestine methods, skills that involved far greater subtlety and technical proficiency than those possessed by most of his compatriots. As the planning

proceeded he was not entrusted with details of the impending assignment, but what little he was told left him wondering how his particular talents would be useful in what appeared to be a paramilitary strike.

Something did not feel right about any of this.

For the past few years Seyed’s handler in the IRGC had been Ahmad Jaber, a man well respected within the organization for engineering terrorist assaults and who, as a consequence of his service to the cause, was being actively hunted by the governments of the United States, Argentina, and Israel, among others. Jaber had become a mentor to Seyed, the only person to whom the young man would dare confide his apprehension. And so it was to Jaber that he brought his concerns.

Seyed was seated on the edge of the sofa in the comfortable living area of Jaber’s home, a place he had visited only once before. He spoke slowly and deliberately, wanting to be certain he was giving a fair account of everything he had seen and heard.

After listening intently until his protégé was finished, Ahmad Jaber slowly shook his head and admitted, “I have been told nothing of this operation.”

Seyed was dark-skinned and bearded, short and powerfully built, clothed in a traditional, free-flowing Arabic aba and sandals. His eyes, ebony dark and normally filled with defiance, now betrayed his growing fear. “How can that be, emir? How can such a thing be arranged without your knowledge?”

Jaber calmly held an upraised hand in response to the question, then stood and paced thoughtfully back and forth across the room as his young charge waited. Jaber was tall, clean-shaven, and well groomed, his thinning hair combed straight back, his nails buffed and trimmed. He was finely dressed in an Italian suit and French shirt, worn open at the neck. His Western bearing was what one might expect from a corporate executive in Europe, not a murderer in the service of a distorted faith. Jaber finally stopped and looked down. “I honestly do not know how this can be,” he conceded. “What else have they revealed to you of their plans?”

“I told you all I know. They have not yet discussed plans for the attack with me. They act as if I cannot be trusted, as if I should not really know everything until the last moment.”

“And how many of our own countrymen are involved?”

“Only two others,” Seyed told him, then recited the names of the other Iranians in the cell. “I had never heard of them before.”

Jaber shook his head again. “Nor have I.”

“How can that be?” the young man asked again.

While Seyed was anxious about his individual role in this mission, Jaber had a broader concern. In the past year he had repeatedly clashed with other IRGC leaders over their use of foreign agents, fearing that the purity of their jihad was being compromised. Jaber warned them that they were beginning to look more like some international conglomerate run by the Americans than an Islamic crusade.

Now he was being informed of a major assault being prepared without his participation, an operation led by an Asian and run with South Americans. .e implications for his own future were obvious. Jaber returned to his seat opposite Seyed, still trying to make sense of this.

“Emir?” Seyed interrupted his reverie.

Jaber stared at the young man without speaking. Then he said, “It is clear that you must continue your role, learn everything you can and then report back to me. First, recite for me again everything you have been told. Everything.”

Seyed restated the major points he had already shared, then Jaber pressed him for details, seeking to piece together as much information as he could about the others who were involved, particularly the Asian. Seyed believed he was either Chinese or Korean, his nationality having not been disclosed. He had not been told which country the South Americans were from, but believed they were from Venezuela. He vowed to find out. “I am sorry I do not know more,” he said.

Jaber smiled warmly and assured him it was only a beginning. “But you must not come here again. There may be danger in that for both of us.”

“I understand. But please know that I was most careful in my journey to your home.”

Jaber smiled again. “Good, good. I am certain you were. And you must be just as careful when you leave.” Then he gave instructions for contacting him.

Seyed pledged his loyalty, then went on his way.

* * *

As Jaber suspected, Seyed had been less cautious than he believed in traveling to this prosperous suburb of Tehran. .The men who organized Seyed’s mission had assigned watchdogs for everyone involved and, even as the young man followed a circuitous route back to his own home, his meeting with Ahmad Jaber had been tracked and reported.

“A shame,” the Asian man told his three Spanish-speaking lieutenants, speaking in their native tongue. “Seyed might have been valuable to us at some point.” He thought for a moment. “That leaves only two Iranians in our unit. We may need to recruit another. What a waste of time.”

The others said nothing.

“He must be removed at once.”

One of the men asked, “Can we be sure that he revealed anything to Jaber? After all, they have had a long relationship. Is the visit so unusual?”

“It is when you consider the pains he took to conceal his destination.”

The others could not disagree.

“And it is the nature of their relationship that persuades me he would certainly have discussed our plans. There is no question, Seyed must be interrogated and then eliminated. And quickly. There is no telling who else he might speak with.”

One of the other men hesitated, then asked, “What of Jaber?”

“Yes, I know, a troubling complication.”

“He is a high-ranking operative in the IRGC.”

“I am aware of that.” .e Asian paused, then said, “It must be made to look as if someone else removed him. The Americans, the Israelis. Do what needs to be done, but clean this up now.”

* * *

Later that evening Seyed received a text message summoning him to a meeting. There was nothing remarkable in either the short notice or the late hour. His cell had been gathering frequently, often at odd times. In each their Asian leader assured them that the time for action was drawing ever closer, even if specifics were scarce.

Seyed deleted the message, completed his prayers, then headed out.

Unlike the IRGC briefings he attended in the past, which were conducted by Jaber in an impressive high-rise at the center of the modern Elahiyeh district, tonight Seyed traveled on the Kordestan Highway, taking an exit that led to an old neighborhood of broken down buildings and industrial yards.

During the ride he thought a great deal about Jaber. Until today Seyed had always known the man to be beyond fear. His mentor thrived on power and control. Now he was obviously distressed at the prospect of a major offensive being planned, right here in Tehran, without his knowledge. Seyed had repeatedly asked him, “How can it be so?” It worried them both that neither had an answer.

It was also apparent that Jaber, although he voiced no criticism, was upset Seyed had visited his home to deliver this information. Seyed was certain that he had taken the necessary precautions, that he had arrived and departed from their meeting undetected, but he recognized that Jaber was not convinced. It was up to Seyed, then, to prove himself. He was determined to learn what he could and report back.

Seyed turned off the service road and drove to the end of a long, dark street, guiding his car around a squat structure. He parked in the rear lot and took the stairs to the second floor.

Hurrying up the two flights, he reached the warren of offices they used for their meetings, strode through the unfurnished vestibule, and entered the inner room. As soon as he walked in he saw that Jaber had been right, his betrayal had been discovered. There was nothing tangible, just a feeling, an intuition about danger he had developed over the years, an instinct that up to now had kept him alive. Tonight he saw that his fate had been written. He saw it in the face of the Asian, and in the fact that only this stranger from the East and the three South Americans were present.

“Where are the others?” Seyed asked.

The Asian was standing beside a large drafting table they used for their meetings. He stepped forward as two of the others moved behind Seyed and barred the door.

“We need to talk,” the Asian said simply. His Arabic was rough, but understandable.

“Of course.”

“I trust you will be professional, so this does not have to become unpleasant.”

Seyed blinked.

“You have gone outside our circle, contrary to all instructions. We need to know how much you have revealed, how much damage has been done.”

Seyed held on to the fleeting hope that this was only a bluff, a test. Perhaps they were not sure. He said, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

As he uttered the final word of that denial he felt the crushing blow of a metal pipe across the backs of his knees, dropping him to the floor. Before he could catch his breath he was struck a second time, the heavy iron rod now brought crashing down on his right shoulder, the sickening sound of breaking bone followed by his cry of pain.