The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) (33 page)

People die every day. Lots of people. They die in fires, auto crashes, hospital beds, swimming pools, front lawns, motel beds, everywhere. On January 16, 1991, lots of people died in Baghdad, Iraq. Most died when bombs started falling from the night sky just before midnight. But hours before this manmade cataclysm, hundreds of people died from gunfire in the warehouse district of southeast Baghdad.

In the fading afternoon light as shadows grew, the sounds of gunfire, screaming, explosions, racing engines and flailing helicopter blades all meshed to bring about a whirlwind of death. Lance Priest was right there in the middle of it.

In the moments after a beat up and dirty transport truck pulled into a nondescript warehouse, Iraqi soldiers began pouring out of a building three down and across the street. Amir Rezzon slapped several of them on the shoulder as they ran by him. He was cursed to stand by the phone. But he knew that just as soon as he walked away from it, the phone would ring and at the other end would be the Russians, or even worse, Saddam. For now, he had to trust his instincts in sending out nearly 100 well-trained and experienced Republican Guard soldiers to lock down the scene and take possession of the warheads, regardless of how the Russians wanted the transaction to be conducted.

On the highest rooftops, Rezzon had snipers accompanied by Mukhabarat agents to relay information. He knew his plan was risky, but he couldn’t chance anything going wrong at this late date with American warships flying overhead. He cursed the phone again.

Kusnetsov saw the Iraqi soldiers come pouring out of the north end of the street a few moments after he witnessed the execution of seven Iraqi soldiers at the roadblock. That had to be either CIA or Mossad. Not unexpected. He moved his binoculars and looked up ahead at another truck to see men dressed as laborers jumping out of the back. They obviously weren’t laborers; Americans most likely.

From his window, he could see it all unfolding below. He’d expected some deviation from the orders he had given to the Iraqis, but hundreds of soldiers converging on his nuclear warheads was not cool. His partner was about to get caught in the middle of all of it and he needed to point this out now. He raised the radio and depressed the transmit button so Korovin could hear him speak and then picked up the phone and dialed the phone Rezzon stood beside.

“Yes.” Rezzon picked up at a half of a ring.

“So many soldiers, what is this?” Kusnetsov asked in Arabic.

“Insurance.” Rezzon responded in Russian.

“Of course, but why the lack of trust?” Kusnetsov’s voice was full of pleasantries.

“Just making sure all is well with our purchase Igor.”

“Well, I have to report that all is indeed not well with your purchase.” Kusnetsov smiled a little.

“What do you mean Vladimir?”

“So funny Amir. Yes, I know your real name Amir Rezzon al Tikriti and your address and family. I get to know my business partners quite well.”

“Fine, Kusnetsov, me too. What do you and Mr. Korovin need to tell me about my purchase. What has changed?” Amir snarled in reply.

“Very good Amir. You have done your work as well.” He really was pleased to learn the Iraqis had looked into he and Korovin’s backgrounds as KGB agents. They knew they were dealing with serious men.

“You have other interlopers moving in on your location, I just saw three of them kill your roadblock on the south end. But that is not the change I am calling you about.”

Rezzon did not reply. He was on the radio with his snipers to confirm the activity at the south end of the street. He got confirmation and then relayed to the colonel in command to bring in more troops on the periphery of the scene. Damned if they were going to get his bombs.

“Why then are you calling me?” He replied calmly to Kusnetsov.

“Inside the warehouse, my partner was ready to hand over your next instructions, but now with all your soldiers and what looks to be CIA or Mossad or MI6 on the scene, we will be unable to complete this part of the transaction.”

“What do mean instructions? You are to hand over the firing keys for the weapons now or you will not receive another penny.” Rezzon fumed.

“I know the plans as you were told them. But that was never going to happen Amir. My partner is carrying a set of instructions that tell you where you can find the firing keys here in Baghdad. But as I said, with all this military might around, the plans have changed. You will now provide my partner and his men safe passage out of the area. If safe passage is not provided now, you will not receive the instructions. Oh and 30 seconds after you hang up this phone, you are to call the banker and arrange for the remainder of the money to be transferred or you will get absolutely nothing, no firing keys, no nuclear weapons and I think I will pay your family a visit as well.”

“This is not what we agreed to Nikolai. You will hand over the warhead keys now, or we will kill your partner and his men and then pay your remaining family members in Kiev a visit. The keys better be handed over to my men in the warehouse, now.”

“Amir, they are not there. My partner cannot give them to you. Provide them protection and safe passage, or you will not be able to use your new little toys. There is no time Amir.” Kusnetsov lowered the phone to his side and spoke into the radio to Korovin.

“See my brother, you should never have gone into that snake den unnecessarily. Holy hell is about to break out down there.”

Inside the warehouse, Korovin could not see the confluence taking shape around the building but he had a good idea from the conversation he’d just overheard. “So tin soldiers are coming? How many?”

“Many, and our other friends are here as well. Ahead of schedule.” Kusnetsov added.

“But not unexpected.” Korovin added.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree again on you being in there. But as you’ve heard, protection of sorts will be coming in a few moments so you better follow our plans. Now please.”

With that, Korovin turned to the others in his transport group and told them to fortify the doorways. An attack was coming, not protection. They raised weapons and headed for the front and rear doors. Korovin, on the other hand, dipped around behind the truck with the only other Caucasian in the crew. While he bent for a small handle barely visible on the dirt floor, the other man hopped in the car to move it. Korovin pulled the handle and a door opened to a small crawlspace and tunnel below. He jumped in and closed the door behind him. The car was rolled up a few feet to hide the door again.

K&K had made special arrangements several months earlier when they rented this warehouse. They had a tunnel dug that ran nearly 90 feet to the east into a crawl space under a squat building next door. They had concerns that the Iraqis might not act in good faith when the deal was finally to be consummated.

The tunnel was insurance, but Korovin always thought he’d be using it. That’s why he worked closely with the three-man crew who dug the passageway using shovels, jackhammers and picks. He had crawled down with them often, made sure their way was lit and well ventilated and that they always had water and food when they crawled back out from their day’s work. Because he wanted the work done quickly, he had them stay in the warehouse for the week. When done with the project, he gratefully thanked each as they climbed out of the tunnel for the last time. He gave them all a cold drink of water and a hug. He finished thanking each man by putting a bullet in his head, silenced of course.

Kusnetsov returned to the telephone conversation with Rezzon. “Amir, I am hanging up now and in less than a minute, I will call the bank in Cyprus to confirm the transaction. If I do not get that confirmation, you will not get your bombs.” He hung up and looked at his watch.

Rezzon cursed the Russian but did as told. He dialed a number only he knew. The banker at the other end of the line was pleasant and had been told in advance to expect this call. “Good afternoon.”

“Benefactor 34613. Confirm.” Rezzon had no time for small talk.

“Next phase?” The banker followed protocol.

“Brazil 64992.”

“And phase three?”

“Oscar 11286.”

“Thank you sir. Your authorization code is confirmed. Transaction will be completed within one minute.”

Rezzon hung up and punched the wall. He had just approved $180 million dollars being moved to a clearinghouse account that he could not track. He knew a good portion of the money had come from resources stolen from Kuwait, but it still pissed him off.

Kusnetsov let the minute pass and dialed the number only he and Korovin knew.

“Good afternoon, may I be of service?” The voice was pleasant and professional.

“Account transaction confirmation please.”

“Yes sir. Account and authorization please.”

Kusnetsov provided the necessary information and was delighted to learn the amount of $180 million dollars had just been received in his account. He instructed the bank coordinator to make seven pre-arranged disbursements of various amounts to other accounts at banking institutions on four continents. He and his partner were very wealthy men, for the moment.

But alas, moments are fleeting.

“I’m nearly out.” Korovin relayed to Kusnetsov over the radio as he reached the end of the tunnel three minutes later. In the crawl space under the next building he put on clean clothes waiting for him and emerged expecting to see few or no people. He was surprised to find two armed men waiting for him. Fuchs and Lance stood there smiling.

Before Korovin could draw his weapon or open his mouth, Fuchs drilled a clean hole through his forehead that silently exploded out the back in a cloud of red mist. Fuchs bent and picked up Korovin’s radio. But first he spoke into his own headset.

“Green 2 terminated. Proceed with Green 1.”

“No hold.” Seibel cut in. “We need another minute, hold position. Wait for my signal.”

Watching from the window previously occupied by Marta, Seibel continued to take in the action below. He wasn’t quite ready for the next step in the newly revised plan. He needed confirmation of Saddam Hussein’s presence. His binoculars were trained on the top floor windows of the four-story building a half-mile from the warehouse. He peered into the windows wondering if the country’s great leader was watching as his dreams of nuclear blackmail went up in smoke.

Seibel got up from the chair and picked up the satellite phone from the windowsill. He dialed the number assigned for this mission only. While waiting for the line to connect, he took two steps over to the bed and sat down next to Marta who began to stir. She was in a lot of pain but would have to tough it out for a while longer. He had given her a pretty good dose of painkillers that helped her drift off to sleep. Her wounds were not life-threatening. But she was going to be seriously pissed when she got her wits about her.

He brushed the hair from her face. Marta opened her eyes and looked at him as she had done many times before. He smiled down at her as he had many times before. She was his investment just like Lance, but on a more personal level. He had brought her into this business to save her as much as help him fight the cold war. She was his most precious cargo. He loved her as much or more than his own daughters.

A technician 11,000 miles away answered immediately on the first ring.

“Pedro’s Pizza, how can I help you?”

“Eagle Eye summer sparklers; 74819 delta.” Seibel responded.

The tech knew it was Seibel but still punched in the code as required by protocol. “Sir, how can I help you?”

“Update on movement in the vicinity of our target location.” Seibel referred to the four-story building five blocks away.

The tech had been watching the location for the last hour as ordered and referred back to his notes. “Vehicles meeting the description of Pearly Gate arrived at 17:24 local time. Multiple figures emerged from the vehicles and entered the structure.”