Open Source Page 14

  A light suddenly came on in Susan’s head. “The Israelis,” she said, loud enough that conversation at the water cooler in the IWG offices stopped momentarily as people craned their necks to find the source of the outburst. “So Israel finds out about the missiles, sends some guys to take over the ship to keep it from getting to Algeria, and then tells the Russians to come collect their belongings. Israel is happy because Iran doesn’t get a new air defense system, and Russia is happy because they get their missiles back. And everything is done in secret so that no one loses face. Not the Russians because they had their missiles stolen. And not the Israelis because they committed an act of piracy on the high seas.”

  “Nice work, Ms. Williams,” Casey said. They were both smiling, on two sides of the same phone line, eight hundred miles apart.

  “What about the ransom, then?” Susan asked, instantly extinguishing any feelings of elation she had just experienced.

  “I don’t know,” Casey said. “You tell me.”

  Susan sighed with exasperation. “I don’t know. Maybe to keep up the appearance of a hijacking? Let the Russian Fleet come to the rescue? Sell that story to the media, and no one would probably think twice about it. They could even show pictures of some hooligans who are already on the government’s black list or in jail and claim they are the captured pirates—assuming they’re gonna let the Israeli hijack team make it back to Israel without any fanfare. Allow the media to photograph the pirates being escorted to prison from a distance so they don’t get a clear picture. Or not at all, even.”

  Casey was impressed with Susan’s apparent penchant for the intricate workings of international cover-ups. “You know, I think that may be the answer,” he said. “I think you just sewed this whole thing up, Susan.”

  “Well, almost. I still have some work to do on the buyer,” Susan said. “We only have a theory about that one. And that part really is just a theory. I haven’t come up with any proof whatsoever that Ahmad Rafi Alam was behind the attempted purchase of the missiles.”

  “Who?”

  “IRGC.” Susan hadn’t talked to Casey about what she had come up with since the night he steered her to the IRGC, so he was not aware that she had a suspected buyer in mind, by name.

  “You’ll find it,” Casey said. “Just keep asking the right questions and the answers will find their way to you.”

  “Now who sounds like a coach?” Susan asked, laughing. “Just the same, would you mind giving me some research assistance on this? Since you’re unemployed this week, anyway?”

  “Well I was going to use the time off to take the kids to see their grandma before school starts back up again.”

  Susan didn’t know how to respond. She remembered reading in some of his early posts about an old relationship, but that was a few years ago. Maybe he was married now and had a family. She had never thought to ask, and now she didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m joking, Susan. Sure, I’ll help out. It’ll give me something to do.” Casey laughed at his little prank.

  “Thanks, Casey. You’re an ass. I owe you one, but you’re still an ass.” Susan was laughing, too, when she hung up the phone. Not as much as Casey, but laughing, still.

  Casey put the phone back in the cradle when the connection was broken. He went to the Google main page and typed in the name “Ahmad Alam IRGC.” He couldn’t remember the middle name of the guy Susan wanted him to look into, but he had enough to start with. When the search results came in, Casey got up and went to the bathroom to relieve himself before getting another Diet Coke from the refrigerator and an apple almost as bruised as he was. He sat back down in front of his computer and began researching.

  Chapter 16

  New York City

  When Susan hung up the phone, she picked up the pen by her keyboard. She put the mangled pen-top in the corner of her mouth and began chewing on it while she wrote down notes of the conversation she just had with Casey. She wanted to run this information, and her new theory about the hijacking ruse, by her boss before he went to lunch. Jim Shelton had a knack for objectively dissecting every piece of analysis that came across his desk and seeing the truth or falsehood behind each. His experience gave him an open mind to all sorts of possibilities in the world of geopolitics, which was tempered with a firm base in reality and what people were actually capable of. Susan hoped to take advantage of that experience before she went further with the Baltic Venture.

  Susan knocked on the door to Jim’s office as she entered the room. She stopped suddenly when she noticed Pete Grozny seated in one of the chairs in front of Jim’s desk.

  “Susan, come in. Please, sit down,” her boss said, motioning to the other, empty, seat. “We were just discussing the information you gave me this morning about the threats sent to Mr. Shenk’s website.”

  “Good morning, sir,” Susan said to Pete Grozny as she took her seat and brushed her hair away from her eyes.

  “Susan, Pete here thinks the threats to your friend may be enough to corroborate the intel we have on the missile sale that got foiled when the Baltic Venture was hijacked,” Jim said, looking at Pete, cueing him to continue.

  Pete Grozny turned to his left so he was talking directly to Susan. “The source we have in Kaliningrad has been thus far untested. The information you gave us, while not solid proof, is enough to run on the assumption that the intelligence he provided us is, in fact, genuine.” Grozny coughed. In addition to a deep hatred of Communism, Pete Grozny had developed a habit of smoking Cuban cigars while growing up behind the Iron Curtain. His penchant for the rolled tobacco leaves made Mark Twain’s nefarious bad habit seem juvenile. It also accounted for two heart attacks and a triple-bypass open heart surgery five years earlier—that and too many runs through the McDonald’s drive-thru. Pete loved everything about America, his adopted home, not least of which was the first-rate medical care that had saved his life. Despite his near misses with death, Pete Grozny had no intention of giving up his cigars. Or his fast food.

  “Excuse me,” Grozny said before he continued. “I also think your idea of the IRGC as a potential buyer of the Russian missiles has merit. We know the Revolutionary Guard Corps has bought from the black market of the former Soviet Union before. Particularly from some shady elements in Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan. Moving things through the Caspian is quite easy in this regard.”

  “Susan, Pete is going to run with the story,” Jim interrupted before Grozny inevitably began a long-winded dissertation on the history of crime in the region, which Jim had been forced to listen to on more than one occasion. “Before he does, though, he came to me to see if you had any concrete information to back up the assertion that Ja’afari and Alam might be behind the deal on the Iran side.”

  Susan turned her attention from Jim to the large Russian sitting next to her. Grozny hadn’t moved. He was still looking directly at Susan, smiling. He was obviously waiting for her to say something. Susan felt nervous under his gaze and focused back on her boss.

  “Umm, well not exactly, sir.” She had come in to tell Jim about the possibility that Israel staged the hijacking, and now she wasn’t sure how to even bring it up. The two men were obviously hoping she would give them news about Iran, not Israel. Still, Susan thought, she had told Jim about Benjamin Netanyahu’s trip to Moscow, and he seemed to buy off on it that morning. They were still staring at her, waiting for her to continue.

  “I still believe the Guard is a good bet, but I haven’t been able to confirm that yet,” she said, gaining her confidence back just by breaking the silence that seemed to be smothering her as she was the focus of the room’s attention. Jim and Grozny looked disappointed.

  “Well, keep looking,” Jim said. “It doesn’t affect the report, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Grozny nodded. “You are right, Jim. It does not. We will go with the story and follow up with specifics of the true buyer in this deal when we have more information. Thank you.” He turned to Susan. “And thank you, Susan. You have b
een most helpful. Jim speaks highly of you, and it is well-deserved.”

  Susan blushed as Grozny stood up to leave. Jim also stood as his colleague moved toward the door. “Sir, wait,” Susan said, wheeling out of her chair and facing Pete as he was reaching for the door knob. “I have something else that pertains to the Baltic Venture. Something new.”

  “New?” Jim asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Susan said. “I think you might want to hear this, too, Mr. Grozny.”

  Pete’s stomach was rumbling at the thought of how close he was to getting something to eat for lunch. He hesitated, let go of the door knob, and walked back to the chair he had just occupied. Jim also sat down. “Okay, Susan. What is it?” Jim asked.

  Susan took her seat before beginning. She told them everything she and Casey had just come up with, starting with the report of a ransom demand on the BBC web page. The two men listened for ten minutes without saying a word while Susan gave her report. Susan focused on her boss while she spoke, slightly intimidated by the bear next to her. No matter how cordial Pete Grozny was to her, Susan always believed he was secretly plotting an unspeakable act of evil, hidden behind his cold gray eyes and leather-tough face. She blamed her childish fear on too many movies. When she finished, she looked down at her notes, the ink running from the sweat moistening her palms. She hadn’t looked at them once.

  Jim looked at Grozny for a response to Susan’s revelation. Finding none, he spoke up first. “So you think the whole thing was set up to look like a hijacking?” he asked Susan.

  “No, sir. Well, not exactly. I mean the ship was hijacked, I just think the Israelis did the hijacking. They just wanted to keep the missiles out of Iran’s hands,” Susan said. She gave them both her reasons for believing Israel was responsible for the hijacking of the Baltic Venture, but she got the feeling they weren’t of the same opinion, despite her efforts.

  “Very interesting, indeed,” Grozny said. “I believed in the possibility of Mr. Netanyahu tipping off Mr. Medvedev to the sale of the stolen weapons, but this is something altogether more incriminating, is it not?”

  “Sir, I don’t think it’s too farfetched to believe that Israel would go to any lengths to intercept these missiles,” Susan said. “The Israeli prime minister has said time and again that they will not sit idly by and be threatened by Iran. They were only being proactive.”

  “Well, why didn’t Israel just tell Russia from the beginning? Let the Russians stop the shipment? They could have taken over the ship before it left the Baltic Sea, or maybe before they sailed from Kaliningrad. Why the theatrics?” Grozny asked.

  “Time.” It was Jim. “The Israelis wanted time to let the ship get out of easy reach of the Russians.” Pete Grozny and Susan looked at Jim, wondering what exactly he meant. Jim could tell his two co-workers were confused. “In order to influence someone you generally need one of two things. You must either have their respect and loyalty, or you have to have something the other wants or needs. Russia may respect Israel, as any nuclear power must have some modicum of respect for another nuclear power, but it certainly owes Israel no loyalty. That means, in order for Israel to influence Russia, it must have something it wants or needs. In this case they have both.”

  Susan smiled. She knew exactly what Jim was getting at, and he was defending her theory. He thought she was correct. She also knew she had missed something—something that gave her argument more credence. And Jim had found it. It was a pleasure to watch his mind at work.

  “I am not sure I follow you, Jim,” Grozny said. “Why does Israel need to influence Russia? To what end?”

  Jim looked at Susan and returned her smile. “The P5+1 talks,” Susan said, completing her boss’ line of reasoning.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “In two weeks the permanent member-nations of the UN Security Council plus Germany are going to hold the next round of talks with Iran about that country’s nuclear program,” Jim said. “Now, Susan said this morning that she thought Israel might have found out about the cargo of stolen missiles on the Baltic Venture and told the Russians about it, possibly in return for Russia’s promise to torpedo Iran’s efforts to get nuclear power. We all agreed this morning that this was highly probable. But let’s take a step back and think for just a minute. Do you really believe that would be enough? Would Russia stop helping Iran build their nuclear plant at Bushehr simply out of gratitude for Israel’s kindness in giving them a heads-up about their missiles? Maybe. But would it be enough to ensure that the missiles never actually made it to Iran? Probably not,” Jim said.

  “So if you are Israel, and you are even the least bit suspicious about Russia’s ability to stop the Baltic Venture from reaching its destination, you take matters into your own hands,” Jim added. “You hijack the ship yourself, and then, once you have the missile shipment under control, only then do you tell the Russians. That way, as Susan said, everyone gets what they want—except the Iranians. And no one on the outside needs to know a damn thing.”

  “So will this influence the Russians enough to guarantee their capitulation to Israel’s wishes? Will they oppose Iran’s nuclear ambitions?” Grozny asked.

  “No. You of all people should know, Pete, that you can’t count on the Russians to do anything that isn’t in their own best interests—the rest of the world be damned,” Jim answered. “But it does mean that Iran doesn’t get their missiles. A bird in hand, as the saying goes.”

  Susan felt as if she was watching a Sherlock Holmes film, the way Jim was able to articulate his arguments. And his presentation made you believe him without question.

  Pete Grozny stared at the floor in front of him. It did make sense. None of the actors in the Baltic Venture play had done anything that could not be justified, or even applauded. Assuming no one on the cargo ship was killed during the hijacking, then the only ones who would end up with egg on their face if the story got more publicity beyond some blogger’s obscure website would be the Russians. They had, after all, lost their missiles. The Israelis were kind enough to return them. Grozny smiled at that thought. He stood up to indicate that he had passed judgment on Susan and Jim’s argument.

  “Very well,” he said, “I will write it into tomorrow’s Intelligence Report. The boss may have something to say about it, seeing as how we are accusing Israel of piracy, whatever the justification. But I will frame the issue of Israel’s part in the hijacking as a possibility, and not a certainty—just as you presented here. Fair enough?”

  Jim smiled at Susan who was already beaming. “Fair enough. Thanks, Pete.”

  “On the contrary, my friend. Thank you. Both of you.” Grozny nodded to Susan and left the office, leaving the door open behind him.

  “Okay, Ms. Williams,” Jim said to Susan, “now let’s see if we can’t find something about the buyers. Pete’s guys will no doubt be working on the Israeli hijacking piece now, trying to put truth to the rumor. We’ll focus on our part.”

  “Yes, sir,” Susan said. “And thanks for backing me up on this.”

  Jim was opening the blinds on the east side of his office now that the sun was no longer beating directly on his desk. “I hope you’re right on this one,” he said. He turned around and faced Susan. “If your theory is wrong, and we publish it, there may be some people who get a little pissed off. Then again, if you’re right and we go public, those same people may be just as pissed off.”

  Susan wasn’t smiling anymore. She had warned Casey—more correctly, the CIA had warned Casey—to be careful about who he named as part of the Baltic Venture hijacking/arms deal. Now her company was going to distribute that same theory around the world where thousands more people follow the reports of IWG than Casey’s little blogspot from Savannah, Georgia. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t have anything to worry about as she excused herself from Jim’s office and slowly walked back to her cubicle. When she got to her desk she picked up the phone and dialed a four-digit extension.

  The phone on the other end picked
up after two rings. “IWG, Phil Davis.”

  “Phil, you up for a beer after work?”

  Chapter 17

  Savannah, Georgia

  Casey woke to the sound of gunfire. He opened his eyes and rolled off the bed for cover, the pain of the maneuver shooting from his ribs to his toes and back again. He looked around and was surprised to see sunlight framing the blinds on his bedroom window. Not ten seconds ago it was just past one in the morning and pitch black. And he was in London. Or was it Atlanta?

  More gunfire.

  Casey cursed under his breath as he realized he wasn’t being shot at. Someone was knocking at the front door. He slowly picked himself up off the floor and grabbed the t-shirt on the foot of the bed. Barefoot and only wearing boxers and a shirt advertising his allegiance to Sterling Marlin, former driver of the #40 Coors Light Dodge, Casey walked to the front of the house to investigate the noise.

  “Dude! Where the fuck were you?”

  It was Mike Tunney. Casey had barely opened the door. Before he could ask what his friend was talking about, Mike was inside, on his way to the kitchen.

  “Old Fred had to make another run to swap out the crews. We didn’t get off the island ‘til half an hour ago.” Mike helped himself to a Miller Light and walked back toward Casey, who was still standing by the open front door. He closed it as his heartbeat slowed back down to a non-life threatening level after dodging bullets in London. Or was it Atlanta?

  “Man, I completely forgot. I’m sorry,” Casey said. After the wreck on Thursday, the last thing Casey was thinking about was his promise to take the boat from Skidaway to Wassaw to bring a new batch of volunteers to the National Wildlife Refuge to tag nesting sea turtles. He would have done it, no matter how sore he still was, but he honestly forgot all about it.