Andri jumped up. It was now the opportunity to show the Kuwaiti just how brilliant he was — especially in situations of military importance. He pulled a map of the world from his desk drawer and laid it on the floor.
“Let me guess what is going on.” Excitement coursed through his veins. “This is not about destroying Baghdad. It’s about where to launch. It’s always been about where to launch, so the missile can be tracked. It must be tracked. It will be tracked. I wondered why not a ground-based missile, until I figured out that you needed to launch from a specific area. You aren’t as interested in the ship as much as the missiles. You’re looking for a launch site…”
Mohsen was off his guard.
Andri continued. “One that would leave no trace of exactly who or why. You see, it bothers me that a missile would be sent from the Persian Gulf to Iraq. The only one to blame would be the United States, but they are your protector. They could also easily devastate the entire region if it came to that. No. You want to launch a missile from right about here. A launch that would implicate others, possibly.”
Andri circled a section of water a few kilometers off the Israeli coast in the Mediterranean. “This small bit of ocean is annexed by Israel. A missile tracked from this point would lay blame squarely in the lap of the Jews. It would cause an eruption to the region. Iraq is of no consequence, though you would want it to seem so.” Andri smiled again, less invitingly. “Here is another observation. Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan will demand war with Israel. At the urging of the United States, Kuwait, possibly Saudi Arabia, and the other smaller nations will remain conveniently neutral. You owe them that much. That is what will fracture the OPEC coalition. Then you let the war handle itself — if there is one.”
Mohsen almost fell out of his chair.
“You stay neutral, and you are effectively out of OPEC. You avoid reprisal, economic or otherwise. Over here”—Andri motioned to Israel—“the Jews take a pounding on all fronts; and you profit. OPEC will never be the same once the countries take sides.”
It was of considerable concern to Mohsen that this old Soviet captain had analyzed their plan in a matter of five minutes. A plan that had taken a whole year for him to devise.
“A very well laid plan, but it won’t work.”
“Why?” he said with a dry mouth. Mohsen again gave away that Andri had hit it on the nose.
“You can’t hide the building of such a vessel. The United States will find out, and they will destroy it.”
“That you can leave to us.” Mohsen tried to regain his composure.
“I can’t. But let us suppose you pulled it off. That is, right up to the firing. After the missile is launched, what happens to the ship?”
“We will sink it in deep water.”
Andri smiled and leaned back on the couch. “Captain Mohsen. You have made things too hard. All you have to do is buy the submarine.”
Mohsen shot him a questioning glance.
“Russia sells off vast quantities of its arms all year. They say the nuclear subs are not for sale. Yet there could be an arrangement,” continued Andri.
The emotions avalanched on Mohsen. Not only did Andri commit, but he solved a crucial problem. Surely the emir would make him his right-hand man for such a coup.
“And the missiles?”
“Yes, the missiles too. Everything in Russia is for sale.”
Andri could not have cared less for the Kuwaitis and their situation. Their lack of conscience over the consequences of detonating a nuclear missile reinforced his opinion that the Mideast was full of corrupt, self-absorbed leaders. At the moment, though, he needed them. And they needed him.
George ripped the headphones off. He was stunned by what he had heard, and it incapacitated him for a few moments. “Holy fucking shit,” he whispered aloud. They are fucking nuts!” Fuck was a word George hadn’t used in fifteen years. It symbolized just how distraught he had become over the conversation. There would be no return to Kuwait. He couldn’t take any chances on a note being misplaced, losing the thumb drive, or any other number of screwups that occurred with some frequency in the spy game. He would have to fly to the United States himself.
It was another ten minutes before he heard Mohsen and Andri exit and bid each other farewell. George knocked the cannon over when he tried to pull it out of sight and broke the barrel. He laid low until the Mercedes had driven off and Andri returned to the flat. It was ten o’clock at night and had become too dark for him to fumble his way down the steps of the old boathouse. He removed the thumb drive from the recorder and placed it in his pocket. There was a warm wind blowing in from the sea, and it made an emotionally spent George drowsy. The moon crept up overhead, and he decided that he was in as good as place as any to spend the night. He packed the LSALD and peeked over the wall at Andri one last time. He wasn’t doing much more than staring at his hands, contemplating the impact of the conversation he just had. George figured the excitement was over for the night, so he rested his head on his arm and quickly drifted into an impatient sleep.
Sasha stood three blocks away under a dim street lamp on the corner. He had waited all night and was getting bored. A young man had left a small pub up the street, and as he walked past, Sasha touched his arm.
“Looking for something to do?” he queried.
“Fuck off, you fag!” The man recoiled and gave him the finger.
“Don’t ask. Don’t get.” Sasha watched him strut away.
Down the street, the headlights of the Mercedes caught his eye, and when the car had driven away, he headed back toward Andri’s apartment. By the time Sasha reached the doors to the flat, George had fallen asleep on the roof of the boathouse and missed his arrival.
Again, the door was ajar, and he entered the room to find Andri staring at his wall in deep thought. He could tell Andri had crossed some line and was trying to regain himself.
“You have more than a look of concern, comrade.”
Andri shook off the trance. “I have committed. I never thought events would fall so perfectly my way. It actually gives me hope.”
Sasha became excited. “What happened, Captain? Did they ask for a boat?”
“Yes. They will pay for one. They are willing to spend the money to bring one of the ships up.”
“My God,” Sasha said. “We had spoken of this, but I never imagined such a thing would ever happen.”
“It still surprises me.”
“Why do they want one?”
Andri knew the less Sasha knew, the better. He trusted him only so far, and he knew that Sasha really didn’t care, so a lie would work just as well.
“Mostly to satisfy their own egos. They consider themselves a power after the Gulf Wars, and they want to look like one.”
“Arrogance,” chided Sasha. “It will be their downfall.”
“We’re not concerned with them,” Andri reminded. “They’re nothing more than a tool in our pursuit.”
“Do we continue to the second step?”
“Yes. The sooner, the better. Advise Valsovich of the initiation of the program. He must prepare his troops and make plans if all goes smoothly.” Andri rose into his commander persona. He was again making decisions, and it bolstered both his and Sasha’s confidence. They had begun to realize the importance of what had happened.
“This is it, isn’t it?” Sasha couldn’t contain his smile.
“I believe so, comrade. We will all return as heroes of the Second Revolution.” Andri turned to the window. He stood straighter than he had in years. He knew it would be a long road to his objective, but the Kuwait government had just handed him the key to start the engine.