“And you are?” Titov asked.
“In a hurry,” the soldier said. “Perhaps we can leave the introductions for later.”
Titov looked at Francis who nodded. “Let’s go.”
They carried Francis between them to the end of the road and out into the open desert where the Russian-built Mi-17 transport helicopter sat waiting. Francis managed to lift himself inside where he collapsed on the floor. As soon as Titov was seated the engines began to spool up. The soldier took a seat across from Titov. When the pilot turned to look at him he shouted something in Arabic. A moment later they were airborne.
“Where are we going?” Titov said.
“Chabahar,” the soldier said. “It’s as close to the border as I can get you.”
“Are you the man I spoke to?”
“If I
was
you’d be dead now, my friend.”
“I don’t understand,” Titov said.
“They intercepted the call,” Francis said.
Both Titov and the soldier looked down to see Francis resting on one elbow. His face was drenched in sweat and he looked like he was close to passing out.
“I’m Captain Baraghani, by the way. It may also interest you to know that the Emirates have requested your extradition. They say you hijacked a private yacht.”
“We borrowed it,” Francis said.
The captain laughed. “I guess you forgot to tell the owner.”
“And?” Francis prompted, “are you planning to cooperate?”
“Luckily for you, we have other priorities.”
“Such as?” Titov said.
The captain shrugged. “Call them budget difficulties.”
This time it was Titov who smiled. “You want the money.”
“We certainly wouldn’t turn it down.”
“It’s yours,” Francis said. “Get us to Pakistan and give us an account number.”
The captain looked troubled. Titov was about to ask him what the problem was when Francis said, “How much?”
“A million.”
Titov looked dumbstruck, but Francis merely nodded.
“It’s nothing personal, you understand,” the captain said.
“And what do we get for our money?” Francis said.
“Safe passage,” the captain said. “And the right to remain silent, as you Americans say.”
“We’ll make the call,” Francis said. “But we can’t guarantee our sponsors will agree to the price.”
“Your sponsors?” the captain said.
“The money you were offered was our fee,” Francis said. “We have no direct affiliation with the client. In fact, we don’t even know who they are.”
The captain considered this for a moment and said, “Then perhaps we should make our offer to the Emirates.”
“At least let us try,” Francis said. “If we’re not worth it, you can put us on the auction block.”
They were airborne for less than an hour. When the captain pulled the helicopter door open at least a dozen armed soldiers were there to welcome them. Several of them helped Francis out and carried him to the back of a waiting transport truck. The captain led Titov to a small building on the edge of the landing pad. Inside he handed Titov a strip of paper with an account number printed on it, then pointed at one of the two phones on the desk and picked up the receiver of the other. Titov dialed the number from memory and waited. The woman who answered had a distinctly Latin accent.
“Regional Holdings, how may I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Banks please,” Titov said.
“Just a moment, sir.”
There were several audible clicks on the line before Caroline answered.
“Is everything alright?”
“I’m afraid the terms have been modified,” Titov said.
A long pause. “In what way?”
“The price has been doubled.”
Another long pause. “Do you have an account number?”
Titov read the number on the paper, then listened as Caroline read it back.
“The transfer will be made when you reach the border,” Caroline said.
Titov looked at the captain who nodded.
“Fine,” Titov said. “I’ll call back as soon as we’re there.”
The line went dead.
“It looks like your friend underestimated your value,” the captain said. “Come, we need to go.”
The captain motioned for Titov to climb into the back of the truck, then got in behind him. Francis was lying across the seats on the left-hand side, looking decidedly worse for wear. Two soldiers were sitting just behind the cab, their rifles at the ready.
“It’s a two-hour trip to the border,” the captain said. “I hope your friends have made provisions for you on the other side. The Pakistanis don’t look kindly on uninvited foreigners.”
The Pandora
Monday 11 June 2007
0830 EEST
Richelle, Mitch and Naoko had now been joined by Heinz. All four of them were looking at the big screen on the wall of the bridge where the infrared image now showed a slow-moving truck making its way east. There were two people in the cab and five in the back, including the elongated shape of Francis sprawled across several seats.
“At least they’re going in the right direction,” Mitch said.
Richelle didn’t reply.
Caroline had called to say her contact in Iran had stopped answering her calls shortly after the helicopter had arrived. They had all watched Francis and Titov escape into the building across the street, only to be apprehended shortly afterwards. The helicopter had landed less than forty-five minutes later outside the town of Chabahar. Mitch had zoomed in on Titov as he was escorted inside the adjacent building, then back outside to the waiting truck.
Before Richelle could voice her frustration at the puzzling scene unfolding in front of them Caroline called back.
“What the hell is going on?” Richelle said.
“I don’t know,” Caroline said. “Titov just called through regional. He says they’re asking for a million.”
“Who the hell is
they
?”
“I don’t know. But he wouldn’t have called Regional if there was a problem. He also gave me an account number.”
“So we just pay and hope for the best?” Richelle said.
“What else can we do? He’s going to call me back when they reach the border.”
“Don’t do anything until you hear from me,” Richelle said.
The next two and a half hours passed like a funeral procession as the truck ambled its way north, then turned east toward the border checkpoint near the Pakistani town of Kurumb. Instead of driving up to the checkpoint, however, the truck turned off the road a few hundred yards in front of it into a compound of warehouses. As soon as it stopped, Titov and one of the men in the back got out and walked to the nearest warehouse.
“They’ll want the money first,” Mitch said.
“Tough shit,” Richelle said. “No one gets a penny until they’re over the border.
“Are we really in a position—”
Mitch was cut short by the sudden appearance of Titov. He came bursting out of the warehouse and ran straight for the truck. When he got to the driver’s door he opened it, reached inside and pulled the stunned driver out. The man fell to his knees and Titov kicked him onto his side, then got in.
“What the hell is he doing?” Heinz said. “He’s going to get them both killed.”
No one said anything. They all watched as the truck began to move. A moment later the passenger door swung open and the other soldier came flying out. He hit the ground and rolled to the edge of the road. Then the screen went blank.
Mitch and Naoko looked at each other, then back at the screen, where a single line of bright red text was now flashing.
“What just happened?” Richelle said.
Naoko read the line and frowned.
“What the hell does it say?” Mitch said.
“I’m not sure,” Naoko said. “It’s requesting confirmation.”
Richelle, Heinz and Mitch all asked the same question in perfect unison, “For what?”
Naoko only shook his head. “I have no idea.”
Iran
Monday 11 June 2007
0930 IRST
Francis was only vaguely aware that Titov and the captain had gotten out of the truck. The pain in his lower back and abdomen had returned with a vengeance. He could feel what little energy he had left draining from his body as his clothes grew damp with sweat. In the light coming through the open canopy he could see the two soldiers looking at him apprehensively. There ensued what appeared to be an argument between them. When it was over one of the soldiers leaned his rifle against the back of the cab and knelt beside Francis to the obvious disapproval of his colleague. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small cloth, then proceeded to wipe the sweat from Francis’s forehead.
“Water,” Francis said. “I need water.”
The soldier looked confused for a moment, then he removed the canteen from his belt and began to unscrew the cap. Francis reached for the canteen, only to see it fall to the floor. The soldier began to shout. When Francis tried to sit up the one who had remained sitting sprung forward and pushed him back down. This was followed by a shout from somewhere outside. A moment later they were moving again. Another argument erupted between the two soldiers as the truck swerved and began to bounce wildly. The entire episode could not have lasted more than a minute. The truck suddenly came to a skidding stop which sent all three of them crashing into the back of the cab. Francis saw stars enter his field of vision as the elbow of one of the soldiers caught him squarely in the stomach. The last thing he saw was the canopy being pulled back as the inside was flooded in bright light.
When he regained consciousness he was lying on a cot bed in what looked like a cell. A young dark-skinned man in military uniform was taping a fresh dressing to the stitches in his abdomen. When he saw Francis was awake he handed him two green and red gel capsules and pointed at his mouth. “You take.”
“Where am I?” Francis said.
The soldier turned to close his medical bag and Francis saw the patch on his arm contained two crossed sabers below a crescent moon on a round green background. Francis put the capsules in his mouth and tried to swallow, but they were stuck to his tongue. The soldier saw his predicament and walked to the small sink in the corner of the room to get him a glass of water. Francis was about to ask where he was again when the door outside the cell opened and Titov stepped inside followed by a middle-aged officer with a thick gray beard. The officer barked an order in Urdu at the medic who quickly picked up his bag and left.
“How you feeling?” Titov asked.
Francis looked at the officer, but saw no sign of hostility. As for the question, he was actually beginning to feel much better, although he suspected that had more to do with whatever he had just swallowed than anything else.
“A little dizzy,” Francis said. “And
very
curious to know what’s going on.”
Titov turned to the officer. “Colonel, would you mind if I had a word with my friend in private?”
“Make it quick,” the officer said in heavily accented English. “We need to leave as soon as possible.”
“This will only take a minute.”
When the colonel was gone Francis said, “I can see you’ve been busy.”
“Can you believe that piece of shit raised the price to two million as soon as we reached the border?”
“Can I believe it?” Francis said. “I’m surprised it wasn’t more.”
“They’re crooks,” Titov said.
“So you thought you’d try to get us both killed instead.”
Titov looked offended. “We’re in Pakistan, not hell. I’ve spoken to Mohindar. He’s arranged everything. That guy seems to know more people than the pope.”
“Call Caroline and tell her to pay the Iranians.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t have to be what they asked for,” Francis said. “Just what was offered originally.”
“I don’t get it,” Titov said. “They were trying to blackmail us.”
“We showed up in their country in a stolen plane. They could have handed us over to the Emirates. If we leave them with a political crisis and nothing to show for their troubles someone is going to want blood, and these are not the kind of people you want to upset. Giving them the money will make it a lot harder for anyone to make the case for retribution.”
“What if Caroline refuses?”
“Then you can tell her there are over a thousand warring factions in this country that would take a contract on our heads for the price of a second-hand pickup. If that doesn’t inspire her, remind her that if they find her contact in Tehran, they also find her.”
“I see your point,” Titov said.
“Then make the call.”
“Now?”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me there’s half a million dollars sitting in the right account.”
Titov left. When he returned a few minutes later the colonel was with him. “It’s done.”
“Good,” Francis said. “Now I suggest we get out of here before someone finds us.”
“I thought you said—”
“I said it would decrease the likelihood,” Francis said. “I didn’t say it was guaranteed.”
Pyongyang, North Korea
Monday 11 June 2007
1700 KST
General Rhee left his car and driver at the gate and was escorted to the front steps of the large house by two soldiers of the supreme leader’s personal guard. Several men were gathered inside the lobby. All but one of them were senior party officials. They each greeted him in turn with a respect none would have displayed under ordinary circumstances. It filled Rhee with an enormous sense of both glee and disgust. As a favored member of the supreme leader’s new entourage, his position in relation to these men had effectively been turned on its head, and they all knew it.
An attractive young woman opened the door to the office and smiled at Rhee. “The dear leader will see you now, General.”
Rhee took one final look at the men around him, determined to savor every last ounce of their humility, then stepped inside.
Kim Jong-sul looked nothing like his father. In fact, he looked nothing like any other member of the family. For this piece of good fortune he had his mother to thank. She had been the last in a long line of secretarial staff courted by the dictator in middle age. When she had fallen pregnant several months into the affair, it had been assumed that the child would be aborted. Thus it had come as somewhat of a surprise to everyone in the inner circle when she had been allowed to keep the baby.