The scene brought with it a new awareness; he was where he was supposed to be. There were names like Packer and Miller, and a purpose to where he was. Hours of confusion and muddled thinking were melting away. He was on a mission; Packer wanted him to do something. What was it?
There was something about cataloging an inventory and finding out what went on there — but for the moment there was no connection. There was still too much going on in his head to think clearly.
He turned away from the window and looked at the woman again.
“Did they tell you why I am here?” he asked.
The woman shook her head. She had overheard some of the officers talking, but she chose to remain silent.
“I’m here because I have business with General Baddour,” Bogner said. There, he had said it. It sounded right.
The woman’s faint smile reappeared.
“I have not been told why you are here. I know only that Colonel Fahid left instructions; he is to be notified when you have strength enough to talk. I will call him now if you feel strong enough?”
Bogner tried shaking his head and got away with it.
“Can’t say that I’m ready for that,” he admitted.
“I still feel a little disconnected. You can tell him that much.”
The woman nodded, reached for the tray on the nightstand beside his bed, opened a small bottle, and handed Bogner two capsules.
“This should help,” she said.
“You have done enough for now.
What you need now is rest. Tomorrow morning you will be able to think even more clearly and you will then be ready to talk to Colonel Fahid.”
Colonel Ishad Fahid had waited until dark before sending for Taj Ozal. Up until the moment when the guards arrived to escort him to his meeting with Fahid, Ozal’s only contact with any of Baddour’s staff had been two brief sessions with one of Baddour’s officers, a man by the name of Major Mustafa Jahin, in a small room adjacent to the room where he was being kept. The Iraqi major had interrogated him in much the same fashion Ozal figured an Iraqi officer would question a prisoner.
Still, Ozal felt as though he had handled each of the sessions well, carefully answering each question, always taking time to think back to the grueling information sessions conducted by the men whose job it was to prepare him for the mission.
When the sessions with Jahin ended, the Iraqi officer seemed satisfied.
Now two NIMF guards were parading him across an open courtyard to a poorly lighted, single-story, brown building with nothing to distinguish it from the other similar buildings in the compound. He was led through a stark entrance and down a long corridor until they came to a door with Fahid’s name on it. One of the guards knocked and Ozal heard the word “Enter.”
While the sessions with Jahin had been something he had not anticipated, Solkov had thoroughly prepared him for Fahid. In Fahid he knew what to expect. Fahid fit the description in the carefully worded dossier; he was a short, barrel-chested man with a tight, scowling face encased in a fleshy, somewhat oversized head. Even more striking were his black, penetrating eyes, thick lips, and huge hands. He was the antithesis of his military counterpart, Jahin.
Fahid’s quarters or office, Ozal wasn’t certain what the room was supposed to be, was furnished with a minimum of creature comforts. There was a nondescript metal desk, two chairs, what appeared to be a standard bunk, a unit that obviously served as a closet, and a small basin. The desk top, with the exception of an ashtray, was bare; no desk lamp, no papers, no telephone. The only light in the room came from a small incandescent bulb in a ceiling fixture hanging directly over the desk.
“Sit down, Mr. Ozal,” Fahid wheezed. When Ozal was seated, Fahid walked around him, studying him. Then he went around behind his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a cigar. Ozal waited while he clipped off the end and lit it.
“Your Russian comrades have done a good job,” he said. He reached in his desk, took out an envelope, removed a photograph, and laid it on his desk so that the man masquerading as Taj Ozal could see it. It was a photograph of the real Ozal, the man Sergi Doronkin was replacing.
Ozal breathed a sigh of relief. Contact had been established.
“Your earlier sessions with Major Jahin were a necessary precaution,” Fahid revealed.
“Military protocol, you know.” He leaned back in his chair and continued to study his guest.
“I too must exercise a degree of caution. Comrade, and I would ask how is it that you know our General Baddour.”
Ozal knew exactly how Solkov wanted him to answer.
“I had the good fortune to meet General Baddour when he was in Istanbul a little over a year ago. I was invited to a small reception in his honor at the South African consulate.”
Fahid exhaled a cloud of slate-gray smoke and it languished in the air over their heads.
“Excellent,” he assessed.
“And do you recall the names of some of the others who were in attendance at that reception?”
Ozal began reciting the carefully rehearsed names of individuals, their titles, and their importance.
Again Fahid approved. When he finished, Ozal said, “And now I have a question. Will General Baddour recall that when the real Ozal informed him of the nature of his business, he invited Ozal to visit him in Ammash if he believed his endeavors could be beneficial to both of them?”
“He will remember,” Fahid said.
“That is why I had Solkov arrange to make the phone calls.”
“Phone calls?” Ozal repeated.
Fahid nodded.
“Twice within the past two weeks. General Baddour has received calls reminding him of your impending visit on a matter of extreme importance. As you can see, Comrade, nothing has been left to chance.”
“Then I can assume that the general is familiar with Jade?”
Fahid studied his cigar and indicated mild amusement.
“Suppose I told you, Mr. Ozal, that I believe Jade has nothing to offer us; that Jade’s real purpose, if they came to Ammash, would be not to sell weapons but to buy them. We are aware that Dr. Rashid’s work is well known and would be worth a great deal of money to certain governments.”
“Then you have more recently been in contact with Comrade Solkov?”
“As recently as yesterday I informed him that you and the one called Bogner had survived the unfortunate incident in Koboli Pass. As for that incident with your helicopter, I can assure you that Captain Nayef is not one of us and is unaware of your real purpose here.”
“But the plan is still intact?”
Fahid continued to savor his cigar.
“Before we proceed, Comrade, there is more you should know. Originally, the plan was to blame General Baddour s death on a coup attempt by his junior officers. In that plan you would have killed Baddour and wounded me, thus exonerating me of any involvement. However, when Comrade Solkov informed me that you had been contacted by Americans agents who wished to gain access to our compound in Ammash, we recognized immediately that such a development could work to our advantage; we could, in announcing the assassination of General Baddour, place the blame for Baddour’s death on the American government — a much stronger and more unsettling situation than a mere coup attempt by junior officers. We could even go so far as to say that the Baghdad government and the Americans were in collusion in the heinous act. I feel certain you realize that having the Americans involved has the potential for causing even more of an upheaval.