Spy for Hire (26 page)

“The sooner you get the boy to the hotel, the sooner your brother will be released.”

“Five in the morning, Bishkek time. That’s two in the morning Bahrain time, a little more than eight hours from now.”

“My men will be there.”

“Treat my brother well.”

“We’re not animals here. He will be treated as a guest. But if the transfer of the boy doesn’t take place as planned, you can
bring a body bag when you come to pick up your brother. Consider yourself warned.”

“If I need to reach you before the transfer, how do I contact you?”

“You don’t. You just deliver the child. I sense you’re a man who likes to bargain, Marko. But there will be no more bargaining because I won’t be there for you to bargain with. In a moment, you will be released to make whatever arrangements you need to make, and I will disappear. The only thing that will save your brother is if you deliver the child. If you do so, I will have him transferred to the Royal Bahrain Hospital in Manama. If you don’t… well, I think we have an understanding now, no?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mark. “We definitely have an understanding.”

What Mark understood was that he’d have to be an idiot to trust Saeed to hand over his brother once Muhammad had been delivered. What incentive would Saeed have to do so? What could he possibly stand to gain?

Rad now knew his captors were Saudis. He’d be able to recognize many of them. If the Saudis were to release Rad, he might make a stink with the US embassy in Manama. He might go to the press. His employer, BP, might get involved. The only reason to release Rad would be to placate Mark.

And Mark wasn’t convinced that was enough of an incentive. He thought it just as likely that the Saudis—once they had Muhammad—would try to kill both Saveljic brothers and be done with the whole mess.

Mark had been playing this game for far too long to walk like a lamb to that slaughter. No, the best way to secure Rad’s safety—and to do right by Muhammad—was to insure that Saeed was properly motivated to do the right thing.

Money was an option. Mark had over a half million dollars he could wire to Saeed overnight. Though that might do the trick, Mark doubted it would. Saeed was just a representative of the Saudi intelligence apparatus, and to Saudi intelligence, a half
million dollars was pocket change. Other common tools—appealing to a person’s ego or conscience, or offering them an opportunity to exact revenge upon an enemy—were also almost certain to fail in this case.

Dredging up compromising information about Saeed was definitely on the table. Maybe Saeed was an adulterer, or had tried to embezzle money, or was gay—a potentially capital offense in Saudi Arabia. But those were leverage points that—if they even existed—would take time to uncover.

Extortion through other means was possible, though. Especially if it were combined with some of the cruder tools of his trade. A plan began to form in Mark’s mind.

PART III

47

Mark caught a cab back to the Manama Sheraton. By now it was a little after six. The sun was beginning to wane.

He connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi and used his iPod to call Kaufman. When he got sent into Kaufman’s voicemail, he hung up and called again. And then hung up and called a third time. This time Kaufman answered on the fourth ring.

“I can’t talk to you, Sava. You’re radioactive on the seventh floor.”

The offices on the seventh floor of CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, were occupied by the men and women at the very top of the Agency’s bureaucracy.

“Someone on the inside shared my personnel file with the Saudis, Ted. I think it was Rosten.”

“He wouldn’t. Not the file of a former operative.” Kaufman, however, sounded less convinced than his words implied.

Mark explained all that had happened since he’d taken Muhammad from the Saudis, concluding, “I don’t know what deal Rosten tried to cut with the Shias, but whatever it was, it didn’t work. So now he’s going to throw the Shias under the bus and back the royals. But for that to happen, he needs for me to deliver the kid. He was worried I wouldn’t, so he shared my personnel file with the Saudis so they could put the squeeze on me.”

“I’m sorry about your brother, but maybe you
should
just deliver the kid. Did that ever occur to you?”

“My personnel file is chock full of intel from my time with Central Eurasia. Your division. This isn’t just a shot fired at me, it’s a shot fired at the whole division. If Rosten did this, you need to sound the alarm. Or, if it turns out management approved this, at least have the decency to tell me so I know what I’m dealing with.”

“Mark—” Kaufman sighed.

It was a weary, maybe even frustrated sigh, but Mark was guessing that in the end Kaufman would help. His old boss was like that—always complaining, never eager—but when it came to defending Central Eurasia’s turf, he was a seasoned infighter who looked out for his own.

“This isn’t just about me, Ted. Something big is going on down here. I don’t know what it is, but—am I telling you something you already know? Do you already know what the hell is going on here in Bahrain?”

“Unfortunately, no. All I know is that yesterday the deputy director personally ordered me to order you to show up at the embassy in Bishkek, and that once you got there you were supposed to do whatever Rosten told you to. Beyond that I’m in the dark.”

“You know as well as I do that there should be a record of whoever accessed my file. There’s only a handful of people with that clearance.”

“I’ll pull your file and find out who else has accessed it. But if it turns out it’s Rosten, or someone even higher up, things are going to get sticky.”

Mark called Larry Bowlan. “So, how’d you like a job?”

A pause, then, “Have you been drinking, Sava?”

“I mean it.”

“No, ‘Hello Larry, how’ve you been since the last time we talked’? No, ‘Sorry for hanging up on you but thanks for hanging around the office for an extra hour, after everyone else has gone home’? Just insults?”

“I’m not insulting you.”

“I have a job.”

“I mean a real job. Hundred and fifty thousand a year base salary for intel work, with an opportunity for bonuses depending on risk factors.”

“You pulling my leg?”

“No, Larry. This is the real deal. A real offer. You’d be working for me. I’ve been doing some private contract work—”

“I know what you’ve been doing. You’ve been working for that clown Bruce Holtz. Honestly, I thought a guy like Holtz was a little beneath—”

“I’m going out on my own.”

“As of when?”

“As of now.”

“You’re not inspiring confidence.”

“I can guarantee your salary for a year.”

Bowlan didn’t answer right away. “I’d be more comfortable with a year and a half.”

“You’re seventy-one years old, Larry. And you haven’t exactly led what I’d call a healthy life. You could be dead in six months. Take a chance.”

“I quit smoking. Doing the patches.”

“Good for you.”

“Year and a half.”

“Fine.” Mark knew Bowlan would have taken a year contract—would have taken six months for that matter—but he didn’t want to haggle too much with his old boss. He needed Bowlan motivated.

“And I want a contract.”

“I’ll have one drawn up within the week.”

“Really?” Bowlan sounded surprised, in the way someone who’s just been told they’ve won the lottery might sound surprised.

“Yeah.”

“When do I start?”

“Well, see, that’s the thing.”

“Here it comes, the catch.”

“You start now. That’s why I called.”

“I thought the contract wouldn’t be ready for a week?”

“Maybe sooner. Hell, I’ll fill out a contract on a napkin and fax it to you now if you want. But I’m juggling a few things at the moment, and I can’t be dealing with lawyers. If you really want the job, you’re going to have to work on faith for a few days.”

“When’s my first paycheck?”

“Whenever I get around to paying you,” Mark snapped. Then, thinking better of it, he added, “Whenever, Larry. Tomorrow if you need it.”

Bowlan took a moment to answer, but Mark was certain it was just for show. He’d known Bowlan would be an easy recruit, and not just because of the money. Bowlan wanted to be back in the game.

“OK. You got yourself a deal, Sava. But I would advise you not to try to take advantage of the elderly. I may be a few years past my prime, but I’m a vindictive son of a bitch and I don’t have a lot to lose, so keep that in mind.”

“Welcome aboard, Larry. You’re officially the first employee of Global Intelligence Solutions.”

Mark had signed a non-compete agreement with Holtz, but he figured that wasn’t going to be an issue for much longer. The Central Eurasia Division would almost certainly put out a burn notice—whether formally or informally—on Holtz. CAIN’s business in Central Asia was about to dry up, at least as long as Holtz was running the show.

“Did you just make that name up?”

“This is the deal…”

Mark brought Larry up to date, including about what had happened to his brother.

Instead of expressing sympathy or alarm, Bowlan said, “So you’re telling me this isn’t a private intelligence op that you’re undertaking on behalf of a paying client. This is just a bail-out-you-and-your-brother op.”

“The first thing I need you to do is track down a few Saudi princes for me. I’m sure you get a steady stream of them coming into Dubai.”

“We do…” Bowlan sounded wary.

Laws in Saudi Arabia allowing polygamy, combined with astounding wealth, meant that there were thousands of members of the Saudi royal family. Many had business interests in places like Dubai and Bahrain, destinations that were popular not only for their pro-business tax and regulatory policies, but also because of the availability of alcohol and prostitutes—two attractions that were in short supply in Saudi Arabia.

“I need you to find me a few that have recently left Dubai for Bahrain. Is that something you can handle?”

“I can tap into the Emirates database, but when I do, I’ll leave a trail. It’ll be questioned, and if I don’t have good answers, which I won’t, I could be—”

“Fired, I know. That’s not relevant now.”

“And prosecuted. The same way whoever broke your cover can be prosecuted.”

“That’s the job, Larry. Take it or leave it. I didn’t promise a risk-free working environment.”

“Understood. But keep in mind, my data tap might be questioned in two days or two minutes. Point is, if you were counting on my having access to the consulate resources in the days and weeks to come, don’t.”

Mark continued as if Bowlan hadn’t spoken, “At the same time, I need you to search arrival records for a woman named
Kalila Safi. She would have flown in from Bahrain around three days ago. Fifty-six years old. Find out everything you can about her. How’s your Arabic?”

“I’m still as sharp as ever.”

Mark recalled that Bowlan, thanks to a few courses at Yale fifty years earlier, was able to speak a formal form of Arabic. It was a variation of the language that virtually no one spoke in real life, except maybe when giving a dry academic dissertation, but Larry was at least able to make himself understood—albeit barely.