THE CONTRACTOR Page 9

  Probably fine—what did that mean?

  “As I mentioned, Richards asked me to do a couple of things for him. Helping with his dirty little nuclear materials game was one, and the second—grab you balls for this one—was to send you and your lovely wife off to Valhalla.”

  Well, that was a WTF moment. Why me? Why us? What the hell did I do? Or were we still playing the same game that we had with Corrino?

  I stayed cool. “Really? And what is that about?”

  “Just fate, I guess. Ever since your chance meeting with Iskander, and the info he told you, and then finding out about Corrino, and the info he told you, well, you just know too much. It’s that simple. That and you screwed up ex-Director Richard’s plans for world domination. So… it might be a tad personal, too.”

  I had to ask him. “Why you, Erik? Why did he choose you to do this?”

  “He figured I was the only one who could. Don’t take it personally.”

  But it was personal to me. I had trusted this man. I had trusted this man with my wife’s life. How could he turn on us so coldly?

  “But there is good news,” he told me with another wry smile.

  I was wondering if he was being sarcastic. I was wondering if he was going to tell me he saved a whole lot of money on his car insurance by switching to Geico. I was wondering if there could be any good news in this cluster.

  Erik leaned in close and whispered, “First, I am not going to kill you or your wife. Second, I am not going to torture you.”

  “Mighty white of you,” I sneered. “Feel free to tell me why.”

  He slapped me on the shoulder again as he stood up. “Because you are already dead, my friend.”

  That phrase can have so many meanings. Each one played out in my head, but none made any sense.

  Two more men entered the room carrying an aluminum bucket of water and a rubber mat. It was the large shallow type you fill with ice and beer at a summer barbeque. They placed the mat on the floor in front of Merlin and placed the tub on top. Next, they took his unshod feet and duct taped them together at the ankles, after which they placed them in the water. The look in Merlin’s eyes let me know he was fully aware of what was about to happen.

  “So, I am already dead, and you are going to torture my buddy instead of me. How does that work?”

  Merlin, still remaining calm in light of his impending pain, responded: “Because of the crash, Nick. Everyone thinks we are dead. His boss thinks we are dead. The job is already done.”

  “Damn! Maybe I should keep that one alive and torture you, instead, Nick. He seems a lot smarter than you. But you and I go way back, so I’m giving you a break today.”

  “Why the hell do you have to torture him?” I asked my former instructor.

  “So these idiots will continue to believe I’m on their side.” Erik cracked me across the face again. He broke the skin under my eye. It wasn't the first time, but this one hurt in numerous ways.

  I said nothing. I didn’t groan. I didn’t beg.

  “So what about Miss?”

  “Oh yes, Miss. Last I saw her, she was tied to a chair in a similar setting in Istanbul. I sent a little dispatch to the consulate there—an anonymous tip that there was an American spy who had entered the country as a tourist. I gave some hints to the location. I gave her a fighting chance. Maybe she’ll find a way to escape. Maybe she’ll be found by the Turkish government first. I let fate handle that one.”

  “Did she know about the crash?”

  “Yes, she did. She thinks you’re toast. She seemed pretty distraught. Don’t worry, I gave her the whole ‘your husband was a warrior’ speech. It might have helped.”

  “And now that you know I’m not dead, what does that mean? How are you going to handle that if you aren’t going to kill me?”

  “That won’t be up to me. I am washing my hands of that one, too. I am outta here tomorrow morning, trekking through the mountains with our illegal materials. I will get my pay along the way. Then our wagon train will be discovered sometime tomorrow afternoon by U.S. Special forces in the region. With that Special Forces unit will be two high-ranking Israeli officers. They will be killed; I will make sure of that. Then, when I am safely positioned, our whole ensemble will be wiped out, except for me of course. It’ll all be on the six o’clock news, and preparations for invasion will begin in earnest. The Israelis will be up in arms. The whole world will know about the nuclear smuggling going on. Soon after that, I expect to see General Norkin leading air strikes on Tehran. I, however, will be in Baghdad by the following morning, the good Director cutting me a check. Oh, and you will be in the hands of our Iranian friends. I’m not entirely sure what they do with foreign spies...”

  One of the BGs took a short extension cord from his pocket, sliced off the female end with his knife, and then separated the wires a bit. He then dropped that end into the bucket of water. Merlin struggled a bit, but it was useless against the half roll of duct tape. The locals waited for Erik’s signal and then plugged the cord into the wall socket. Merlin went stiff for a couple seconds as the current surged through his body. Then his torturer removed the plug.

  “Don’t worry, Nick. I won’t let them kill him. This is all for effect.”

  I told him I was sure Merlin appreciated his concern. The bastard nodded again and once more the current raced through Merlin’s nervous system. Satisfied the Iranians continued to believe he was on their side, Erik told them to stop.

  “Well buddy, I am glad it turned out this way. I really didn’t want to have to kill you. I guess the gods voted in my favor this time. There is no blood on my hands. Besides, the whole teacher-killing-the-student thing is like a bad kung fu movie, and it’s certainly bad karma.”

  That was complete bullshit. “What about the blood of thousands that will come when we invade Iran?”

  “Fuck ’em. We need the oil.”

  Well, you couldn’t say he wasn’t a realist.

  “I am outta here, my friend. Enjoy your stay, and good luck to you and your wife. You never know what may happen.”

  “I’d keep looking over your shoulder, Erik. I ain’t dead yet.”

  He winked at me and rolled his right hand in circles from his forehead as he did a small bow. He said safar bekheir and left the room. The last local turned to me before exiting. I knew what was coming—the butt of a Kalashnikov.

  CHAPTER SIX - Foil

  What you think is the truth is actually a lie, wrapped in truths, surrounded by a bigger lie, underlying a larger truth, which—of course—is a lie.

  “Well, isn’t that the shit. Congresswoman Allen couldn’t get Goldman the DNI role. I bet he is pissed. He went through a lot of shit to get that seat.”

  CIA Station Chief Richards snapped his cell phone closed, tossed it onto his desk, and then stood at his office window sipping on a very black Turkish coffee. His newly trimmed flattop caught the morning sun revealing a mix of blonde and gray hair. He had spoken the words out loud, but to nobody. He had just received a secure call. The call wasn’t to tell him that Michael Goldman—former Director of Analysis at the CIA, killer of rogue agent Corrino, and guardian angel of Nick Branson—didn’t get the DNI job. It was to tell Richards that Goldman had been put in a very different position within the intelligence community.

  Goldman has to be sixty by now, Richards thought. How the hell is he going to be an Operative? Well, not the typical field operative. He was an Executive Operational Specialist, now buried deep in the new and still foggy world of the NCPC. The National Counterproliferation Center fell under the Office of the Director of National Intelligence and was supposedly tasked with preventing the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction as well as their delivery systems and related technologies.

  What Richards didn’t need was Goldman mucking up the works. Everything had been arranged in a meticulous way to yield maximum results. Everyone knew their parts, but none knew the parts of the others involved. Only he and Erik understood the whole pictu
re.

  Right now, the Iranians knew they would move two trucks of uranium hexafluoride salt across the Turkish border into their country, bound for two enrichment facilities. The U.S. Special Forces knew the route the trucks were taking and had a plan to detour them and stop the illegal transport. To reinforce the relationship between the U.S. and Israel, two Israeli officers were embedded within the SF. Erik was in place to cause some havoc and make a complete, yet planned, mess of things. And everything was going to be recorded from an eye in the sky so that it could be used as leverage in D.C. to commit more money and troops to the Mideast instead of adhering to the planned draw-down. After Richards had obtained the evidence he needed, a heavily armed Blackhawk would destroy the real evidence. There were numerous moving parts with precise timing an absolute necessity.

  The thorn pricking at Richards mind right then was why Goldman had suddenly shown up in Turkey.

  What is that bald motherfucker doing? Richards asked himself.

  Goldman had been in Istanbul for several months and found himself enjoying his new role quite a bit. He was officially representing the office of the Director of National Intelligence as an Executive Liaison. He had been tasked with developing relationships at the highest levels in the intelligence communities of key strategic partner countries.

  On a non-official level, he was moving chess pieces. Some of those chess pieces were pawns, small fish, easy to move about. Others were bigger pieces, more important in the game, and moving them was more complicated and had much more impact.

  Goldman loved this game. He came from a world of information. He had many friends in high and low places that could quickly gather and analyze data. He could then take that data, turn it into information, and in turn use that information to take action. Like a great chess player, Michael Goldman knew what reaction a specific action would cause. Thus, he was constantly thinking two steps ahead.

  The current mission was to foil a mission to foil a mission. Goldman had learned from one of his intel operatives about the situation Erik had set up, and now Goldman was in the process of putting together a mission to disrupt Erik’s mission. But it had to be put together carefully, because he was aware there were issues with illegal materials crossing the Iranian border, and that needed to be stopped, but without causing another Gulf War.

  Iran getting nuclear capabilities remained a very hot topic on the international political agenda. Nobody was really worried they would nuke anyone. Well, maybe Israel for the political chaos that would cause, but in general there was no reason for them to drop a nuclear missile into Turkey or Iraq, or any of the “stans.” The problem with Iran having nuclear capabilities was leverage. They would suddenly be high rollers at the table. They could then negotiate and influence strongly in the oil game. Iran, Turkey, Iraq, Saudi Arabia would become the “five families,” and we, the U.S. would become an irritant. Although they could feign at hating one another, they would all become the big boys on the block and come to each other’s aid in order to protect the overall business from outside influence or bullying. They would completely control mid-east oil, gas, pipelines, shipping lanes, strategic ports, and the southern gateway to the Russian states.

  So yeah, we didn’t want death and destruction and nuclear fallout, but we didn’t want the potential “five families” forming an alliance even more.

  Goldman knew about Erik’s mission to expose the transport of nuclear materials from Turkey into Iran, and to use that exposure to begin the justifications for military action in Iran, thus opening the door to setting up various puppet leaderships that would support “the cause.” And Goldman knew all the players well. Very well. He needed someone he could trust and someone with the special skillset to get the job done correctly. He knew just the man.

  Unlike most soldiers who do their time, ETS out, do their inactive reserve time, and then become fully civilian; High Risk Security Contractors, especially those at Nick Branson’s level are never really “out.” They have special, very expensive clearances. They have a very special skill set. They have seen things. They have heard things. Many of which certain government agencies and high-level world players would not want as public knowledge. Various companies and agencies “keep track” of these protective agents over the years. Do they take other government jobs? Do they take jobs from foreign countries that may benefit from what they know? Where do their spouses come from and what does their family do? Essentially, a risk profile is set up when you try to leave the high-risk protection world, just to make sure you don’t become a problem, and to potentially make you available for future activities that may need your special skill set.

  Goldman was very familiar with Nick’s skillset, as well as what he had seen and heard. Goldman knew about Nick’s relationship with his H2H mentor Erik Olsen. He also knew that Nick knew what Corrino knew about Richards’ nefarious plans in Iraq. One of the most important things Goldman knew about Nick was his current desire to “tone it down” a bit and try Executive Protection. He wanted a break from heavily armed bodyguard duty for the likes of Hamid Karzai, George Tenet, and several CIA interrogators. Goldman also knew that Nick could never be tamed. He might think he wants cushy and stable, but he craves action and adrenaline.

  This knowledge allowed Goldman to move the chess pieces. A re-routed CV. An EP school in the familiar feeling terrain of the Mideast. An old buddy as a teammate. A specific principal involved in a specific set of activities. Understanding how Nick would react to certain situations is what would make this all work. All this to shoot down Station Chief Richards’ attempt to start a fight—a big fight.

  Goldman sat on the balcony of the St. Sophia Suite at the Four Seasons at Sultanahmet overlooking the Hagia Sophia. He had treated himself to a superior room with a superior view. He didn’t get to Turkey that often and had always wanted this exact experience. Traditional Turkish opulence with a great balcony and a spectacular view of the sixteen-hundred-year-old mosque.

  The story of the Hagia Sophia had always fascinated Goldman, as it represented the struggles of man throughout time.

  It was built originally as a Christian church on the site of a Pagan place of worship. At first it was a wood building, later reconstructed with brick and then stone. Several attempts at a dome were made, but most collapsed. Then the church burnt a few times and was rebuilt. The dome was completed hundreds of years later, although repaired many times due to earthquake damage. Roman wars, Persian wars, Turkish wars, Religious wars all took their toll on the building, yet it stood. It was stripped and readorned multiple times after various sacks of the city. In 1453 the army of Ottoman Sultan Mehmed II marched into the city, occupied it, and began to change the church into a mosque. The minarets were added over the next century. It served as a Mosque until 1935 when it became a museum.

  Sitting, sipping a cup of tea, and thinking about the amount of time that had passed, the lives that had passed, and the wars that had passed, Goldman wondered for a moment if anything he was doing was really that important. All those soldiers, sultans, priests, and popes fervently thought their actions were all important. Yet here stands a building that watched them all come and go, and really for naught. It made one think.

  The phone in his room rang.

  Goldman pulled himself from the glorious view and answered, “Goldman…”

  “Mr. Goldman, there is a Mr. Sven at the front desk to see you,” the man on the phone said in almost perfect English.

  “Yes, send him up. I’m in room…”

  “Yes, Mr. Goldman, we know what room you are in.”

  Ah, living the high life.

  Soon after there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in Sven.” the old spy said loudly.

  Sven, as ever, was impeccably dressed. Not like Goldman dressed, although just as sharp. Goldman was an old school traditionalist. Suit and tie in the office, creased khakis and a button-down shirt in “casual” mode. Sven, on the other hand, had on a very tight, tan, European cut pair o
f pants, a tailored blue collared shirt and a sleek tan jacket. His brown alligator shoes were highly shined, which impressed Goldman. He also was inexplicably wearing a light blue scarf. But that was Sven. Goldman had learned over the years to ignore the obvious flamboyance and focus on the fact that Sven could find and obtain almost anything. It could be data, documents, vehicles, theater tickets, helicopters, fine wine. Whatever it was that Goldman needed, Sven could procure. And Goldman had learned to stop asking how. He was told on one occasion how a specific antique car was obtained and was sorry he asked. So, there was no more asking. There was just the assumption that if he asked for it, Sven would make it appear. And that was why Sven was in Istanbul instead of in Washington, D.C. Goldman was here and needed certain people to do certain things with certain obtained information. Cash would be exchanged, deals made, and other things that Goldman did not want to be connected with in any way.

  “Come in, sit down on the balcony with me. Is there anything I can get you?”

  Sven looked at his blue Patek Philippe Gondolo watch, “Well, it’s after noon, so Cosmo it is.”

  “This is a work meeting Sven.” Goldman looked side eyed at him.

  “Oh Michael, you are a jester, aren’t you?” Sven waived off his comment with a limp wristed wave. “Now where is the bar? I know there is a bar in one of these ostentatious rooms somewhere.”

  Sven marched off into the suite like he was walking the runway. “Aha!” he yelled from the next room.

  After a minute of clinking bottles and the rattling of ice cubes in a shaker, Sven reappeared on the balcony with his perfect pink concoction in hand.

  “So, what is it you need, sir? And holy shit snacks, this view is fabulous!”

  “Sit down, Sven.”

  He did. He unraveled the scarf from his neck, hung it over the chair next to him, and sipped on his cocktail. Then he looked over the rim of his glass at Goldman.