Fatal Conceit (34 page)

Daudov followed his glance to the young woman. “You're not helping anyone if your plan has no possible ending but failure. But I will think on it,” he said.

However, before Daudov reached a decision, Jaxon showed up with Karchovski, Jojola, two former U.S.-Special-Forces-turned-agents, and satellite imagery of a mosque and its surrounding compound near the city of Kasplysk in Dagestan. The reunion was short but emphatic.

They'd also brought a “surprise guest,” Nadya Malovo. Daudov's eyes glittered with anger when he was introduced to the woman. “You've caused my people a lot of pain and suffering,” he said. “Women, children, old men . . . you had no remorse for who would die in your evil plots.”

Malovo said nothing. And if she was seen swallowing hard and a tinge of moisture showed in her eyes, it was thought to be fear and nothing else.

Jaxon had been right about the value Daudov would place on Malovo. “She will confess her crimes, and then the world will know the truth about Russian treachery and lies,” he said. “The world will have to listen and act. We will have Chechnya for Chechens!”

Daudov was also a man of honor. He could have seized Malovo and left the American team to fend for themselves. But instead he agreed to help rescue Lucy and Huff.

“We couldn't bring a large team and overwhelm them with
numbers,” Jaxon explained when Blanchett asked where the “rest of the troops” were. “Dagestan is a member of the Russian Federation, and they're not going to like us ‘invading' one of their states. So we have to get in and out before the Russians get involved, then let the diplomats and politicians blow hot air after they're home safe.”

“Why not tell the Russians where they are and have them rescue the hostages?” Blanchett asked. “They have pros at this sort of thing.”

Jaxon and Jojola had looked at each other before the team leader replied, “Let's just say we want the hostages to survive being rescued. We're not at all confident that would happen if the Russians go in.” He'd explained briefly what was going on back in the States.

“Goddamned politicians,” Blanchett exclaimed. “They're the real terrorists, or are at least aiding and abetting the enemy. I'd like to get them in my sights.”

“I understand,” Jaxon said. “But let's figure out how to save Lucy and Mr. Huff and get Al-Sistani in your sights first.”

The problem was Al-Sistani's beehive. “According to the satellite imagery and our best guess, he's got anywhere from a dozen to two dozen men on the grounds at any one time,” Jaxon said. “So charging the front gate is not a viable option.”

“We need someone inside,” Daudov agreed. “And then must rely on surprise and speed.” The Chechen guerilla leader thought about it for a moment and then said he had a plan. “I will send one of my advisers, Bula Umarov, to tell him that I want to negotiate a truce . . . that I will be willing to put myself and my Hands of God brigade at his command. He'll think that the Russians have finally forced me to join him.”

“What if he decides to kill you,” Jaxon replied. “You're his main rival.”

Daudov shrugged. “He might,” he said. “In fact, given time, I am sure of it. But it would at least get me in the compound.”

“But you're one man,” Blanchett said.

“Haven't you heard, I am the Lion of Chechnya,” Daudov said with a laugh.

“I think you can sweeten the pot and, perhaps, even the odds a little more,” Karchovski said.

“How is that?” Daudov asked as they all looked at the tall Russian.

“There is someone whom Al-Sistani would consider an even greater prize than you. Ajmaani. But for a different reason than yours,” Karchovski explained. “You want to use her to prove the duplicity of my fellow countrymen and win freedom for your country. But Al-Sistani will want her to help him reach a man named Andrew Kane; a man who can access billions of dollars if he falls into his hands, which would go a long way toward funding jihad against the West.”

“So I sweeten the pot by taking Ajmaani with me?” Daudov said with a smile.

“And, of course, two men necessary to escort such a dangerous prisoner,” Karchovski said, pointing to himself and Jaxon. He then outlined how Jojola and Daudov's men would approach the mosque.

“I'm going into the compound, too,” Blanchett demanded.

“You're more valuable performing your speciality,” Karchovski replied. “Besides, this will be a complex operation; we need somebody who can see when everyone is in place and choose the moment to set the ball in motion.” He pointed to a hill outside of the mosque on the satellite photograph. “This is where you'll set up. Then we will wait for your signal.”

“What will that be?” Blanchett asked.

“The death of the first man you shoot,” Karchovski replied.

“How will I know who to shoot first and when?”

“That, my young cowboy,” Karchovski said, clapping him on the shoulder, “will be up to you and God.”

After they'd agreed on the basics of the plan, Daudov had cautioned
them, “I am not going to tell Bula Umarov our plan. Only that I wish to meet with Al-Sistani and offer my loyalty. I am not going to tell him about Ajmaani, or our rescue plan.”

“Why not?” Jaxon asked.

Daudov glanced at Zakayev. “We have reason to believe that he is a traitor working for Al-Sistani, and perhaps the Russians, too.”

“Then why trust him with even that part of the plan?” Jojola asked.

“Because Al-Sistani trusts him and would expect him to ferret out any secrets,” Daudov said. “That's how Al-Sistani learned about David Huff's mission, as well as the mission of your people. It's also how he knew that I was supposed to be at the compound that night. Only a delay saved me from being there.”

“What about Ajmaani . . . Malovo? What are we going to tell her?” Blanchett asked.

Karchovski thought about it for a moment. “It is difficult to pull wool over eyes of someone like her who is suspicious of all motives,” he said. “But Jaxon can tell her that Daudov has agreed to trade her with Al-Sistani for the hostages in exchange for arms from the U.S. She may or may not see through it. I will also tell her that our young sniper friend here will keep her in his sights every step of the way and if she tries to escape, or even attempts to move in the direction of cover, he will shoot her before she can take a step.”

•  •  •

Blanchett intended to keep Nadya Malovo in the crosshairs of his scope but decided that Al-Sistani would be his first target when everyone was in place. However, first Al-Sistani had moved so that the shot was blocked by the truck, then Daudov had stepped behind Lucy with a knife at her throat while Raad stood directly behind them.

Blanchett chose a new target. Praying that Daudov would get himself and Lucy out of the line of fire, his finger started to gently press the trigger. Lucy threw herself to the ground and Daudov landed on top of her. At that moment he shot and knew that his target, Al-Sistani's executioner, was as good as dead. He'd quickly worked the bolt, jammed another cartridge home, and sighted on what he'd already determined was the second target: the guard with his rifle pointed at Karchovski and Jaxon.

Blanchett then looked for Malovo, but she was nowhere to be seen in the chaos that erupted. He switched to Al-Sistani, but the terrorist dove over the wall as the 7.62 bullet took out a chunk of plaster where he'd been a moment before. A man had appeared on the minaret and died from the bullet intended for the other two. He then looked for Lucy and saw her crawling through the hail of gunfire as Daudov ran toward where Al-Sistani was cowering.

Lucy was on her own. All he could do was keep shooting.

•  •  •

Jaxon and Jojola saw Daudov racing toward Al-Sistani at about the same time. They began pouring bullets toward the position even as their comrades and Blanchett on the hill continued to engage the others. One of Jojola's accomplices was down and the other wounded, and a glance from Jaxon to Karchovski revealed that the Russian had been hit, though he continued to shoot and it was difficult to tell how badly he was hurt.

Heedless of the bullets that whizzed past him or struck the ground in front of and behind him, Daudov ran toward his archenemy, shooting with the handgun and brandishing Raad's knife in his other hand. One of Al-Sistani's bodyguards stood up and the two men fired simultaneously. A bullet grazed Daudov's cheek, another bullet caught the bodyguard in the throat. The wound threw Daudov off for a moment, and the second bodyguard might have
killed him, but the big gun on the hill boomed and the man never got his shot off.

Then Daudov was over the wall where Al-Sistani crouched. The terrorist whimpered when he saw who was standing above him with a knife.

“I give up,” Al-Sistani screamed. “I invoke Allah's mercy. You cannot kill an unarmed prisoner!”

With a snarl, Daudov reached down and yanked Al-Sistani to his feet. “I should not, you're right,” he said, at which his prisoner relaxed. “But I will have to ask Allah's forgiveness.” With that, the Chechen patriot plunged the blade deep into Al-Sistani, driving beneath his rib cage for the heart.

Al-Sistani squealed and wiggled like a stuck pig as his hands clutched at his executioner. His eyes widened in terror and blood gouted from his mouth, then he went limp and Daudov let him fall to the ground.

Only then did Daudov seem to realize that all the shooting had stopped. He looked around. None of Al-Sistani's men were left; they'd all fought to the death. Only the men from America and one of his own were still standing; Karchovski appeared to have been shot in the midsection and was being tended to by Jojola.

Jaxon ran up to him. “Where's Lucy?”

Daudov turned toward the mosque door. “Inside, I think.”

•  •  •

Lucy had reached the shadows just inside the door of the mosque when the apparition of St. Teresa vaporized and was replaced by the very real personage of Nadya Malovo. The assassin was pointing a gun at her. “Get up.”

Slowly, painfully, Lucy stood and leaned against a wall. “What are you going to do if I can't?” she said.

“I need a hostage,” Malovo said. “In fact, I need two.” She
tossed a staff used for a Muslim banner at Lucy. “Use this, or I will kill you instead.”

Hardly waiting for Lucy, though she looked back from time to time and kept the gun on her, Malovo moved toward the back of the mosque. Suddenly, she stopped next to a door. Outside, the shooting seemed to be growing less; inside, they could hear voices.

“Go out and help Al-Sistani,” a voice Lucy recognized as Bula Umarov's said.

“I refuse,” a man answered. “I am going to escape out the back while there is still time.”

“Oh, no, you don't,” Umarov said. Then there was the sound of a shot, a man cried out, and something heavy hit the floor.

Malovo stepped through the door, which led to a small courtyard in the back of the mosque. The man everyone else knew as Bula Umarov stood with his back to her, his gun still trained on a jihadi lying on the ground. A frightened Deputy Chief of Mission David Huff stood to one side.

“Drop your weapon, Sergei,” Malovo commanded.

The small pockmarked man straightened as if he'd been shocked and dropped his gun. He turned slowly, then smiled. “My old comrade from my KGB days, Nadya Malovo. I'm glad you made it this far.”

“Sergei Nikitin,” Malovo replied. “Time has not improved your looks or your memory. We both worked in the KGB, but you were no comrade of mine.”

Nikitin shrugged. “Be that as it may, now I work for the Russian Federation secret police and I suggest we leave.”

“Why?” Malovo asked.

He started to reach for his pocket, then hesitated when she pointed the gun. “May I show you something?”

“Go ahead.”

The spy slowly reached in and pulled out a cell phone. “All I have to do is make a call and my bosses—your former bosses—will
have a helicopter pick us up at a prearranged meeting place on the beach,” he said. “I'm sure they would love to see you again. But we need to hurry.”

“What's the rush?”

Umarov-Nikitin laughed. “You mean other than that, whichever side wins the battle outside, things might not go well for either of us?” he said. “Well, there's always the small transmitter I placed on the truck you rode into the compound.”

“Transmitter? What kind of transmitter?” Malovo demanded.

Nikitin pointed to the sky and smiled. “A radar tracking device, courtesy of our new Russo-American alliance,” he said. “I received it yesterday and was supposed to arm it when you and Daudov and the hostages were together with Al-Sistani. An American drone will be here any minute, and I suggest we be somewhere else. But first we need to shoot the hostages.”

Malovo frowned. “Why?”

“Orders from the Kremlin,” Nikitin said with a shrug. “Apparently the Americans don't want them back.”

Malovo thought about what he said for a moment, then pointed the gun at Lucy. “Call the helicopter,” she said.

Nikitin smiled and pressed a button on the telephone. “I'll be there in twenty minutes,” he said. “And I'm bringing an extra passenger.”

The spy hung up and pointed to the door leading out of the courtyard. “Shoot them and let's go.”

“Sorry, there's been a change of plans,” Malovo said, turning to point the gun at Nikitin.

“What? No!” Nikitin shouted, but his next words died in his mouth as the bullet smashed into his brain.

“Go,” Malovo said to Lucy. “Take him with you.”

“I don't understand,” Lucy replied.

“What's not to understand? An American drone has been summoned. It will home in on the radar transmitter and reduce this place to rubble. Now run. Tell the others and save yourselves!”