“Ah… how’s that?”
“I do not know quite how to phrase this,” Reyes said, “but I am not completely comfortable with the way things stand. Up to the point of the bastard Braun’s death, I was fully involved in the operation. I was napping in the hospital lounge, to be notified immediately when he regained consciousness so that we could resume interrogation, and the next thing I knew he was dead. Since that time, I have been kept a bit at arm’s length.”
“I’m sure Jesse—”
Reyes held up his hand. “Please, Señor Dugan. Do not feel the need to defend Agent Ward. I know he is your friend, and I’m sure he is merely doing his job. But that is my problem.”
Dugan looked confused, and Reyes continued.
“You see,” Reyes said, “I am a simple policeman, not an intelligence agent. Agent Ward promises a “joint operation” against Rodriguez and assures me I will “participate.” However, I suspect my definition of participation will be quite different from his.”
“Go on,” Dugan said.
Reyes continued. “I want to be present when we deal with Rodriguez, but I strongly suspect that because of my personal loss Agent Ward considers me too emotionally involved — in short, a liability. I believe that the operation timetable might be arranged so that I am otherwise engaged and unable to participate in the main mission.”
“Even if that’s true,” Dugan said, “how can I change that?”
Reyes took a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Dugan.
“Not change, señor,” he said, “merely inform. I know that you are… shall we say “quite close” to Agent Walsh. I need only know the real date and time of the operation. If you learn of this and call me, I will be forever in your debt.”
Dugan was noncommittal. “I probably won’t know, but if I do, I’ll think about it.”
Reyes extended his hand. “I can ask no more. Thank you, señor.”
“So what did Reyes want?” Ward asked as Dugan got in the car.
“He apologized for kicking my ass,” Dugan said. “I told him I understood. And the thing is, I really do. When Ginny died, I was ready to find someone to pin it on and kill them on the spot. I can’t imagine how much harder it must be to really know who was responsible and have to bottle up your rage. It must be eating the poor guy alive.”
Ward nodded. “Well, hopefully the Venezuelan op will bring him some closure.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Landing in ten, ma’am.”
The secretary of state smiled her thanks up at the steward before stuffing a file into her briefcase and fastening her seat belt. It had been a whirlwind seventy-two hours, with stops in Ankara, Turkey, and Baku, Azerbaijan. She still couldn’t quite believe what she’d managed to accomplish in such a short time. She looked at the file and smiled. She was no great admirer of the intelligence community, but the spooks had outdone themselves this time. The plan was masterful.
She thought again about leaving the Chinese out of the plan and again reluctantly concluded it was for the best. She had provided her Chinese counterpart the basic intelligence, enough to assuage any concerns about US duplicity in the Malacca attack. But there were enough moving parts in the spooks’ plan as it was; Chinese involvement would just complicate things unnecessarily. Russia was the key.
The secretary sat with the Russian president and Russian foreign minister, watching their faces as they, in turn, watched the video, their rage barely contained. When it was over, the foreign minister turned to face her.
“This is obviously most disturbing, Madam Secretary,” he said, glancing at the Russian president. “We will analyze this and act on it accordingly, but I think it is obvious that nothing can be done in the short term. And as much as we appreciate you bringing it in person, we are puzzled as to your intention in doing so.”
The secretary of state looked at the Russians. “I came to seek your cooperation in, to use a Russian proverb, killing the wolf closest to the door.”
The Russian president spoke for the first time. “It will be difficult to hide our outrage, but until the strait reopens to tanker traffic, we must play Motaki’s game. The first cargoes of Iranian oil to fill our European contracts are in transit to Rotterdam, and payment in Russian fuel is arriving in Iran even now.”
“And if the strait does not reopen to tanker traffic?”
His face colored. “Unacceptable! That threatens our entire economy. International law and long-established precedent are on our side. If the Turks persist, military response is inevitable.”
“Your points are sound, but the Treaty of Montrose was signed over seventy years ago. Given current world public opinion, I doubt the Turks will respond to ultimatums.”
“What would you propose? The Black Sea Straits” — he used the Russian name—”are open to all by treaty. Failure to defend that right puts control of our only warm-water ports in foreign hands. Would the US accept a Cuban blockade of the Florida Strait? And we cannot deal with Iran until our oil flows again.”
“Must it flow through the straits?”
The Russian president snorted. “How then? Pipelines? All are inadequate and cross Turkey or Georgia, involving contracts of dubious enforceability. You ask us to abandon legal rights of free passage to place ourselves at the mercy of other countries?”
“Not abandon, Mr. President, merely assert more strategically.” She spread a map.
“If I may,” she said. “Five percent of Black Sea exports can be moved north to Baltic ports through your own pipelines. Correct?” He nodded.
“As you know,” she continued, “Western interests are in constructing a pipeline across Turkey, from Samsun on the Black Sea to Ceyhan on the Mediterranean, projected operational in six months. Completion can be accelerated to six weeks or less, allowing tankers to shuttle between your ports and Samsun. From there the oil can be pumped across Turkey to Ceyhan, bypassing the straits. That can handle half your exports.” The Russian listened, nodding.
Her finger moved east. “At Baku in Azerbaijan, the Baku-Novorossiysk line, formerly carrying Azeri oil to your oil port, lies idle as the Azeris now prefer the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan line.”
The Russian grunted at the reference to yet another incidence of Western companies undermining Russian influence. “What has that to do with anything?”
“The terminals for the Baku-Novorossiysk and the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan lines are two kilometers apart. There is spare capacity on the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan line, and a connection could be built in days, allowing you to reverse the direction of the Baku-Novorossiysk line and pump your oil from Novorossiysk to the Mediterranean via Baku. These steps combined could see 95 percent of your exports flowing to Western markets in weeks.”
“And the remaining 5 percent?”
“Will transit the Bosphorus via tanker, maintaining your right of free passage.”
The Russian looked skeptical. “The Turks and Azerbaijanis accept this?”
“They do, pending negotiation of pipeline tariffs. The Turks will accept the tankers with increased security against accidents and terrorism. They want joint inspection teams to include a Russian, a Turk, and a neutral-country observer on a rotating basis. Ships will be inspected before departure from Russian ports, by ‘invitation’ of your government. No one will be seen as ‘conceding.’ This arrangement can be publicized as a cooperative international effort to deal with a difficult issue. Mutual cooperation and diplomacy at its best.”