“But Captain Khaldun is a—” Fahid held up his hand.
“If Captain Khaldun walked into a trap, it matters not what he was-the fact is, he is probably dead — or soon will be.
The Kurds know their territory well.”
Baddour had heard enough.
“Enough discussion.
Whether Captain Khaldun is alive or dead is of little consequence. I am more interested in hearing your recommendation, Colonel.”
The usually reticent Fahid studied his cigarette and watched the smoke curl over the table.
“It would seem that Captain Nayef and his people have taken the first step. They have located the truck, reported that it is still intact, and since there has been no contact from Captain Khaldun’s patrol since last evening, we have sufficient reason to send a patrol to investigate what happened.”
“Do you concur, Major?” Baddour asked.
“The colonel knows the territory better than I do,” Jahin admitted.
“I place great faith in his judgment.”
Fahid directed his attention to Nayef.
“Do you think you can find a place to put one of your helicopters down close to the crash site, Captain?”
Nayef studied the map and the terrain below the location of the pass.
“I believe so,” he said.
“It will be difficult but it can be done.”
“What about it. Major?” Baddour pressed.
“With the general’s permission, I will order a dawn departure under the direction of Lieutenant Illah, six men in addition to Captain Nayef’s crew.
That should be sufficient to handle anything.”
Baddour leaned back in his chair.
“And your orders will be. Major?”
“I will make the appropriate response if necessary.
If there are indications of Kurdish interference with Captain Khaldun’s patrol, I will see that action is taken.”
“And that action would be. Major?”
“Extermination of everyone in the settlement, General.”
Baddour was smiling.
“Excellent, Major, excellent.”
Peter Langley inched his gray four-door Chevrolet through the downpour and over to the curb.
Packer was waiting. By the time the ISA chief managed to get his umbrella down and enter the car, he was soaked.
“Damn it, Peter, why all the mystery? I thought this clandestine bullshit went out with Nixon.”
Langley held his finger up to his mouth and jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. When Packer turned around he saw the small figure of a man wrapped in a raincoat huddled in the corner of the backseat.
“What Mikos has to say is not exactly something I want monitored or taped on a damn telephone, Pack. I know a place where we can talk.”
Langley pulled back out in traffic, headed up Georgia, passed the bus depot, pulled onto Belcher Street, drove six blocks, and pulled into the drive of an all-night convenience store.
“What the hell is this, a coffee stop?” Packer groused.
Langley was smiling.
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Pack? In the old days you would have loved it.”
“Adventure, hell. At my age and at this hour I should be home in bed curled up next to Sara.”
Langley hustled the two men through the rain, into the store, and through a door marked “Employees Only” into a room with a bank of telephones.
“What the hell is going on here?” Packer demanded.
Langley peeled out of his raincoat, helped the one he had introduced as Mikos out of his, and motioned for Packer to have a seat.
“Clancy, I want you to meet Dr. Mikos Asonokov. According to the dossier we’re passing around, Mikos is a visiting professor of mathematics at Georgetown-at least that’s what we’re telling everyone.”
Packer was still fretting and trying to get out of his raincoat when there was a knock on the door.
The door opened and a black man Packer figured was al least as tall as the Washington Monument and weighed close to four hundred pounds threw a deck of cards on the table along with a fistful of fives, tens, and twenties, and spilled out the contents of a box of poker chips.
“Look busy,” he growled.
“A couple of the regulars just phoned in, said they would be stopping by. I’ll tell them the game is closed but I want them to hear some chips rattlin’.”
Langley nodded. When the door closed, he explained, “Old Navy buddy. Name’s Koko. A conduit.
He’ll’keep the gawkers out.”
“At the risk of sounding redundant, Peter, just what the hell is this all about?” Packer complained.
“I haven’t played poker since Sara made me give up cigarettes.”
Langley picked up a stack of chips, let them filter through his fingers, and began to deal the cards.
“I’m back at the beginning. When we left Lattimere’s office earlier today I contacted Mikos.
He agreed to meet with us tonight. By way of explanation, Pack, Mikos is in out of the cold. N1 ordered him home six months ago. His field of expertise is the Middle East. His job was to keep track of what was going down in Iran, Iraq, Jordan, and Yemen. At our request he still keeps in touch with his old contacts. According to Mikos, his former Russian cohorts are monitoring that area pretty hard.”
Packer had taken out his pipe and lighter.
“Contacts?
What kind of contacts?”
“Not only does he have contacts, with a little official departmental encouragement Mikos here has also been keeping up a steady dialogue with some of his former Communist colleagues. They think he’s in Canada, hiding.”
“Cut to the chase, Peter. Does he know how to get us into northern Iraq without getting our damn heads blown off or tipping our hand about our concerns in Ammash?”
Asonokov cleared his throat.
“Perhaps it would save time if you directed your questions to me, Mr. Packer. Most Russians speak English, many of them far better than some of the people I have had the misfortune to encounter since I arrived in your country.”
Packer made no effort to mask his surprise. Mikos Asonokov had a directness and an imposing voice that was all out of concert with his small stature.
“I’ll be happy to do that,” Packer said.
Some of the testiness had disappeared.
Langley smiled and picked up a handful of poker chips.
“Why don’t you start by telling Clancy what you told me earlier today, Mikos.”
Packer laid his pipe on the table.
“Before you do. Dr. Asonokov, my apology. I assure you, we appreciate any help we can get. But I feel certain you can also appreciate that this whole meeting has caught me a bit off guard.”
It was Asonokov’s turn to smile.
“That is good.
If you suspected nothing, my years of training in the KGB serve me well. I am glad I do not look or act like an agent.” The little man picked up one of the poker chips, inspected it, and laid it back on the table before he continued.
“If I fully comprehend that which Captain Langley has told me, you and your colleagues have an urgent need to get past the NIMF air patrols as well as the Turkish border guards. The purpose of which is to inspect the wreckage of a helicopter you believe to have been carrying two of your agents when it crashed.
Is that correct?”
Packer glanced at Langley. Asonokov was the one who had cut to the chase. He was already into it. Obviously Langley trusted him.
“Precisely,” Packer said.
“On the other hand, we don’t even know if anyone survived that crash.”
“Which means you are looking for a confirmation of their fate. What else do you seek?”
“Obviously, if they are alive, we need to get them out of the country. If not…” Packer’s voice trailed off.