A Patriotic Nightmare. Don E. Post

intently, wrinkled their brows, pulling their necks down into their shoulders as they shrugged again. Then the manager said, “Maybe middle age. We don’t know for sure.”

      “That’s strange. That same guy seems to show up wherever I go. He must represent a competitor.” He slipped the manager some dollars and asked, “Would you let me know when this guy comes and goes?”

      “Oh, happy to.”

      “But keep this between us. Okay?”

      “Yes, of course, monsieur. Yes, yes,” replied the manger, smiling excitedly.

      “What room is this Russian fellow staying in?”

      The manager excused himself, stepped over to the clerk, then returned to whisper to Mark, “He’s in three-forty-eight. But he just left.”

      “Okay. Merci.”

      Mark registered under a fake name as he slipped the manager more dollars. He was given room 326. He took the elevator to his room, then walked down to Yuri’s room, where he picked the lock. Noting Yuri’s small briefcase he carefully planted a small listening device in the seam of one flap without disturbing the bag in any manner. Then he left.

      Yuri had returned not long after Mark had done his work. Then, a few minutes before nine, the manager called Mark and alerted him to Yuri’s departure. Mark thanked him profusely, hung up and stepped out on his balcony. Using night-vision binoculars, he spotted Yuri on the small dock at the north end of the marina and watched as the small motorboat picked him up and delivered him to the yacht. Mark now had time to search Yuri’s room more thoroughly. He carefully re-entered the room and went through all of the arms merchant’s belongings. A few brochures of MIG fighters and missiles and price lists of the company’s weapons Yuri had left behind interested Mark. After taking pictures of the materials, he put everything back in place and quietly left.

      The next morning Mark noticed a well-dressed man coming to shore in a small motor launch and managed to get pictures. He watched as Ghaleb climbed the steps and followed the flowery walkways through the hotel’s gardens to the lobby. Mark went back into his room, then cautiously opened his door and walked down the hallway to the ice machine. He pretended to get ice as he kept an eye on Yuri’s door. He ducked from sight as Ghaleb came off the elevator onto the third floor. He heard Ghaleb gently tap on room three-forty-eight and then enter. Mark hurried back to his room to record the conversation.

      He heard the arms transaction clearly. As soon as Ghaleb left Yuri’s room, Mark slipped down the south-side emergency stairs, out the door and through the garden to his own hotel. He went to his room, took a shower, shaved, checked out, and waited in his car until Yuri drove away. He followed Yuri to the airport and watched him board a non-stop flight to Marseille.

      Mark then returned to the U.S. Embassy, called his Paris office and made his report. He requested a check on The Medallion through Istanbul. He hoped that other agents could identify the men aboard the yacht. He sat back and took a slow deep breath.

      Two hours later Agent Andrew McCall called from Langley. “Mark, you landed at the right place at the right time. One of our agents in Istanbul has had several of these guys under surveillance for months and they’ve been pretty quiet. We think they are part of a new group that has splintered off from Al-Qaida in an attempt to reinvent themselves. But we don’t know for sure. He thought their joining a yacht party significant and sent in a report. Two of the yahoos are Saudi agents, two are Libyan and the others are from various Arab countries. Anyway, a big arms shipment seems to be their goal. Did you find anything to indicate the ultimate destination of these arms?”

      “None,” Mark answered. “They’ll be picked up in Odessa, Ukraine, so we need to be present. I suspect the arms are headed to Arab countries, don’t you?”

      “Well, let’s see. We need to know when this shipment’s taking place, so stay on your toes in Marseille. We’ve got the yacht under surveillance.”

      “Fine. The French have the construction firm bugged so we’ll know when a large sum of money arrives at the Swiss bank. McCall, do you think those Russian guys have fifty million dollars worth of small arms left to sell?”

      “If they don’t we’ll hear soon enough. The Mideasterners will be furious. The Arab fundamentalists do their homework well. If they didn’t think they could buy that amount of material cheaply, they wouldn’t have proceeded. I don’t think it’s a fishing expedition. Do you?”

      “No, sir,” Mark responded.

      McCall continued, “The Director and I have been discussing this for the last hour or so. We think the order will be processed within a week and that the Mideasterners will want those weapons shipped immediately. We’ll set up surveillance in the Ukraine, but you need to get over to Istanbul and stay on top of things. Oh, wait.”

      Mark could hear the rustling of paper and a muffled voice. In a few minutes McCall continued. “I’ve just been handed a memo that the yacht belongs to the Sarioglu ShippingCompany. We will try to find out who leased it. Agent Angela Miller will meet you when you arrive in Istanbul and have things arranged.”

      “Okay,” Mark said.

      “We need to stay with the two main guys in this deal. We don’t think they’ll go back to their home country until they arrange the order and movement of funds and prepare for picking up the arms. There’s no doubt where the money’s coming from, but we need to document that anyway. Our biggest interest, as you know, is finding out the destinations of those arms.”

      Mark got up from his desk chair and, stretching the phone’s cord, walked over to a window looking out on a busy street. “Are our relations with the Turkish military any better since the Iraqi war?”

      “We just agreed to give them more F-Sixteens so they better be! We also must remember that they backed us in Afghanistan. The Islamist Welfare Party’s involvement in government is always going to be a problem. Libya’s Quaddafi has been courting the guy that’s head of it. And, of course, all the Muslim countries are wired in there. One way or another. That’s why these buyers are working out of Istanbul. They’ve got protection and help. But Agent Miller will fill you in on that. She’s been there for three years and knows the back alleys pretty well. She has also developed some fine sources within the government and industry. Have you had a chance to meet her yet?”

      “No, I haven’t.” He paused to think a moment, then continued. “I find the fact that no one from the PLO office here in Tunis attended the meeting on the yacht very interesting. Why didn’t they attend?”

      “Ummm. We have to assume that this particular arms purchase is run by the guys aboard the yacht. Besides, doesn’t the staff of that PLO Tunisian office maintain a low profile there?”

      “According to the Embassy staff they do. They’ve had no problems here for the last several years.”

      “Keep your head down anyway. There is no substitute for caution. I’ll be in touch when you get back to Paris. Let’s see what develops in the next few days.”

      Mark caught a flight to Paris in late afternoon. He reached his office to find a report from McCall saying that The Medallion had dropped two men off in Tripoli. So, Mark thought, our intelligence has been right. The Libyans are involved. The last satellite report has The Medallion on a heading toward the Aegean Sea, so it’s probably heading back to Istanbul through the Dardanelles.

      Mark called Agent Miller in Istanbul and found she had received orders from McCall to put The Medallion’s remaining passengers under surveillance when they docked. Several additional agents in the Ukraine had been called in to keep a twenty four-hour surveillance on the six Odessa warehouses used by Yuri’s group for storing arms. Mark kept close contact with the French as they continued monitoring Yuri’s construction company.

       2

      WASHINGTON, D.C.

      Monday, February 3

      While an arms