“PUT UP YOUR HANDS!” a thick Russian voice echoed from the hallway. “IF YOU WISH TO LIVE! DROP’M NOW!” Russian militia filled the perimeter armed with TOZ-17 rifles and Schmeisser submachine-guns. The shuddering of helicopter blades overhead shook the walls like an earthquake while dust drifted from the ceiling.
Most dropped the weapons to the tile. Three made the mistake of raising their weapons and their bodies hit the floor riddled with bullets, the AK-47’s clanking uselessly to the floor in their dead hands.
A soldier spoke into a headphone. “Secure. The room is secure.” Everyone was lined up against the wall with their hands behind their heads.
A Russian, General Dimochka Sergeievich strode into the room with a MP-445 pistol in his hand. “Very good.” He looked at Mahdi. “You appear to be Admiral Mahdi.”
“Yes.”
“I am General Dimochka. I thought I would drop in for a little visit. If you would point out your three best men for me please.”
Mahdi nodded to several and they stepped forward. He is going to kill us all.
General Dimochka smiled. “Relax. You are in no danger. Lower your hands as you make me uncomfortable. Let us sit and become comrades.” The others were marched from the room and the five sat at the table while Russian soldiers stood around the perimeter wielding machine-guns.
“I am thirsty. Perhaps you have some refreshment nearby?”
Mahdi opened a cabinet and brought out a bottle. “I have wine if you wish.”
“You are most hospitable”
He held up the bottle so the Russian could see the label.
“Chateau Ducru Beaucallou. You have excellent taste, Admiral. Such fine wine deserves nicer surroundings. Let us move to your veranda. I imagine the view is spectacular.”
Mahdi escorted the general though the cool tile-floored foyer and out into the sunny patio with its bubbling fountains, pots of jacaranda and copper metal tables shaded beneath burgundy-colored parasols. Spread below lie the sprawling city and the blue-green waters of the harbor that reached to the horizon.
Mahdi surveyed the general that he imagined to be a man of rugged countenance from the lines of his nearly square jaw to the rippling muscles that hide beneath the plethora of medals that spread across his chest. He imagined the Russian taller than himself by an inch or two. The heavy brows were definitely Russian and a six-day rough hewn beard gave him an angry look like a maddened bear that had not been fed recently.
Dimochka was a rising star within the ranks of the military. Some called him a prodigy, a master of military strategy. The Russian-born son of immigrants from Poland Dimochka received a MBA in military science at Moscow State University and was recruited by the Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti where he underwent extensive espionage training. After a five year stint working undercover in the Baltic States, the US and Germany, he worked his way up to second-in-command and was recruited by the military as a general working side-by-side with the prime minister and president. He was fluent in Arabic, German, English and half-dozen African languages.
“You are doing well for yourself Admiral Mahdi.” Dimochka sipped the wine and dabbed at his beard with a napkin.
“I imagine so.” Mahdi wondered where any of this was leading.
“Much is happening in the world and you are probably more important on the world stage than you realize.”
“Few have ever heard of me and I am a thorn in the side of most.”
“That will change soon, I am sure. For a man of your position I’d like to paint a picture for you of what you could turn your operation into, something — shall we say—more ambitious.” He peered into the eyes of the lieutenants that surrounded the table, then sat back and drummed his fingers on the table. “I am simply imagining — talking off the top of my head — and you may wish to dismiss all that I say.”
“I am listening. We all have an open mind here.”
“You have done well — hijack a tanker here and there — a million here a million there. Nearly two hundred ships sail off your shore guarding against your efforts and it becomes more difficult with every passing day. If you continue like this, one day you will probably be caught and hanged.”
“That is the risk of being in this business.” Mahdi brought out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offered one to the others then lit it and exhaled a cloud of dense smoke.
“Ah yes, I suppose it is.” The general clasped his hands together at his chin while he continued to lean back apparently feeling quite comfortable. “How many ships do you imagine pass through the Straits of Hormuz and into the Indian Ocean each day?”
“Usually fifteen or more.”
“That is a lot of ships that slip through your fingers?”
“I only grab what I can. There are limits—”
“Ah yes. Limitations. Only so much manpower — a limited amount of tools to work with.” The general gazed at a tanker far out on the horizon. “Do you remember 9/11?”
“Of course.”
“A dozen men brought the American economy to a standstill for many years in a single blow. They were men of imagination. Bin Laden used the American’s own airliners against them. Some would say it was an inspired act to think of this and to pull it off so well. Sadly there was no money in it for them. It was simply an act of hatred, but it did bring about the desired effect. The Americans responded by attacking Iraq. That response cost them somewhere near a trillion dollars and drained their resources for many years.
“Now here you sit on the other side of the world and the oil that fuels the entire world passes by your front door everyday. When you hijack a tanker, it is a pittance to them to buy you off and then they go their merry way as though nothing has happened. Oh, they do have their warships out there flexing their muscles, but in the end, they would be there anyway because of their Middle Eastern concerns. Your activities are a minor nuisance, not worth the time to come in here and bring your operation to a grinding halt. Now suppose a man of vision decided to somehow hijack all the ships that came by here?”
“Impossible. It could never be—”
“It may be impossible — maybe not. We are simply tossing around some ideas here.”
“I suppose a million or two per ship.”
“Suppose that this went on for a day or two and ships feared passing by your front door. Then what would that be worth?”
Mahdi blew smoke rings into the breeze and watched it drift off. “I see. Their precious oil would be truly threatened. Economies would grind to a halt, stock markets would tumble, and the world would be in turmoil—”
“Yes, such an act would be much more than a nuisance—”
“The sum would be greater than its parts. I have thought of such a thing and have dismissed it as too big of an operation to pull off. Your thoughts are a pipedream and no more than that.”
The others agreed, “Pipedream….”
“Yes, I suppose it too much to hope, a hundred million per tanker, perhaps a hundred billion for you to agree to cease your operation—”
“Yes they would probably pay that much.” Mahdi’s mind drifted off for a moment in contemplation.
“It is wild speculation, mind you — well, maybe not. Perhaps it is time to bring your operation into the modern world. Instead of racing around in speedboats hoping to run across a tanker you might utilize GPS, radar, worldwide communications, geosynchronous spy satellites—”
“I imagine our ways are outdated a bit. We know nothing of these things.”
“They use all of this against you and that is why your days are swiftly coming to an end.”
“We could learn. We would not know where to start. We are simple people that understand little of the modern world.”