“I’ve got no problem hiring you as an independent,” said Kaufman. “We’ll have a new Agency team in Baku by tomorrow. You can work with them.”
“I’m not working with any new team,” Mark said. “And I’ll need money.” He mentioned a figure he knew Kaufman wouldn’t like.
“We’re not funding your retirement,” said Kaufman coldly. “Show a little patriotism for Christ’s sake.”
“That’s the going rate for independents.”
“Going rate, my ass.”
“And then I have to figure expenses on top of that, expenses that I anticipate will include lots of bribes—”
“I don’t want to hear about it.”
“—and subcontractor payments. That figure’s a weekly rate by the way, payable in advance.”
“What subcontractors?”
“That’s my business.”
“Not if you’re on my payroll.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“What is it with you?” said Kaufman. “I mean really, you think now’s a good time to go asshole on me?”
“This new team of yours that’s flying in, anybody on it speak Azeri?”
Kaufman didn’t answer.
“Anybody who’s ever set foot in Azerbaijan?” After that last question was met with more silence, Mark said, “I’m not good with Daria and me playing the sitting-duck routine while you send over a couple jackasses who have no intention of doing anything other than holing up in the embassy and writing reports based on what the Azeri government feeds them or what they read in the English-language newspapers. We can either agree to use each other, or you can ignore me and take your chances. Your choice.”
The line was silent for a while. Eventually Kaufman said, “Hold on.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mark had his answer: the Agency had agreed to his terms. So after stopping off at the British-owned LPM International Bank and withdrawing $50,000 from a numbered CIA account — the five hundred-dollar-bill bank bundles fit easily into a small canvas shoulder bag — he called Orkhan again.
16
Martyr’s Alley, a long open-air memorial to all the Azeri protestors killed by the Soviets in 1990, was perched on a ridge high above the old walled city of Baku. A limestone tower, under which burned an eternal flame, anchored one end of the memorial.
Orkhan walked purposefully toward the flame and placed a red carnation inside an eight-pointed Azeri star at its base. After a moment of feigned reverence — he thought the protestors who’d died had been stupid not to just wait for the Soviet Union to collapse — he strolled to a point a few feet away from Mark.
“This is not an ideal place to meet,” he said tightly.
Martyr’s Alley was just a short walk away from the Ministry of National Security. The whole area was infested with Russian and Iranian spies. Orkhan wondered whether any were watching now.
He glanced down at the yellow cranes that lined the enormous shipping docks far below them.
“Thank you for seeing me again,” said Mark.
Mark, Orkhan observed, was still wearing the same filthy shirt he’d had on earlier that day. And he hadn’t bothered to shave.
“What do you want?”
“Since we spoke this morning, I’ve encountered complications.”
The Americans were a bloodthirsty people, Orkhan thought, as Mark described what had happened at Leonard Peters’s apartment. More so even than the Russians. Ask any one of them and they’d deny it. They’d claim to regret the necessity of whatever violence they were in the process of inflicting and point to some righteous cause that had forced their hand.
But always there was blood.
“Baku is a safe city,” he said. “You brought this with you.”
“I brought nothing with me.”
“Then your government did.”
“We’re the ones getting killed, not doing the killing.”
“Why are you telling me this?” said Orkhan.
“The woman you have in custody. I fear—”
“I have arranged for extra protection, as I said I would. I spoke with the minister of internal affairs.”
“Still, I worry that her guards may not share your commitment.”
“I have personally spoken with the commander of the prison. If she is harmed his head will roll.”
“I also need to question her about Campbell’s assassination.”
“I thought she knew nothing about that.”
“At this point I don’t know what she knows.”
“Did she kill him?”
“No.”
“But you think she’s holding back information.”
“I want her out, Orkhan.”
“Impossible. The Interior Ministry controls Gobustan.”
“When I find out who killed Campbell, you’ll be the first person in Azerbaijan to know.”
Orkhan didn’t respond. It was true that he and Mark had proved useful to each other over the years, in ways that had benefited them both. But Orkhan sensed something was different this time around, that the stakes were much higher.
“She’s going to be a problem for you,” said Mark. “Eventually the US embassy will have to get involved.”
“So she is an American.”
“If the Iranians find out that she was carrying a fake Iranian passport, they’ll investigate. When they discover she has ties to the Agency, they’ll assume that you knew she was spying for us in Azerbaijan, helping us collect intelligence on Iran.”
“We knew nothing of the sort.” Orkhan felt that migraine threatening again in the back of his head as he recalled that Mark could be an absolute bastard when he wanted to be. Iran didn’t worry him the way Russia or the US did. But Azerbaijan was a tiny nation of nine million people — Iran, seventy million. And the Iranians were paranoid; they had to be treated delicately. And Mark knew it.
“The Iranians already know you let us use Azerbaijan as an intelligence base because we help keep the Russians at bay. This will just feed their suspicions.”
Orkhan’s jaw tensed. “It would be unfortunate for both of our countries if there were to be supply disruptions on the BTC.”
“Unfortunate for both of our countries is right,” said Mark.
After a decent silence, Orkhan added, “I don’t want to hear any more threats about Iran.”
“Point taken. But that still leaves the girl.”
Orkhan sighed.
17
This was the point in the conversation when Mark had envisioned offering Orkhan a bribe — to the tune of $25,000 or so. But now he wasn’t sure how to go about it. In the past, bribing Orkhan had just involved transferring funds earmarked for combating terrorism from the Americans to the Azeris, at which point Orkhan would take whatever he saw fit off the top.
But Mark couldn’t offer official funds now, and he wasn’t sure how Orkhan would react to a big, crass bag of cash. Orkhan had rules concerning what was honorable and what wasn’t, and sometimes those rules were hard for Mark to figure out.
“If there are any incentives I can provide on my end to help facilitate this, let me know.” The strap of the cash-filled shoulder bag crossed Mark’s chest like a bandolier. To drive his point home, he tapped the strap and added, “I am not without means.”
This brought a hard smile to Orkhan’s face. He said, “I like you, Sava. But you are an American through and through. You think a few dollars solves all problems.”
Mark nearly choked on that one. His best guess was that Orkhan had skimmed around a half million dollars off the top of military assistance from the Americans. A few dollars indeed.
“Just something to consider.” Mark stared back at Orkhan.