He opened another beer, looked up Abbas Mozedah in his laptop and dialed the number in Paris. Abbas operated a consulting engineering firm as a front but his zeal was for fighting terrorism and plotting against the ruling regime in Iran. Warfield had had several occasions to share information with Mozedah over the past few years and had a high degree of confidence in the Iranian.
“Cameron Warfield!” Mozedah’s voice was deep, foghorn quality.
“Probably woke you. What is it there? Six in the morning?”
“You know I never sleep, Cameron. No time for that, but tell me, how are things at that summer camp of yours?”
Warfield chuckled although he was not in the mood for it, and managed to return the volley. “Calling to see if you’re still playing hide-and-seek.”
They small-talked for a minute and Warfield got to business. “Remember the Russian army general I told you about? Aleksei Antonov?”
A moment’s pause, then, “Years ago.”
“Received a message from him. He retired but I guess he has intelligence sources there. Says there’s going to be a movement of bomb-grade uranium out of Russia.”
“Surprise, surprise. In what quantity?”
“Six, eight kilos if Antonov is right.”
“To where, Cameron?”
“Middle East, Antonov says. Nothing more specific.”
“Who is doing this?”
“Supposedly a Russian physicist who used to make their nukes at Arzamas-16.”
“You doing anything — officially I mean?”
“Contacted the FBI. They knew about it from one of their own sources. They say the Russian will be making a practice run to see if anybody’s watching.”
Abbas groaned.
“Yeah, that’s the problem. Try to confirm.”
“I will do what I can, Cameron.”
“Hurry.”
Abbas called back late the following afternoon, catching Warfield in his office at Lone Elm. “You are on to something here, Cameron. Looks like Antonov is correct about the uranium shipment.”
“Talk to me,” Warfield said, sitting up in his chair.
“Seth is behind it.”
Warfield whistled. “Seth again,” he mumbled, thinking about the legendary broker of death and destruction. The terrorist known as Seth was believed to be protected by Iran. He was an independent broker, arranging deals for terrorist groups with their own agenda. He didn’t often carry out terrorism himself but his name was associated with high-profile bombings against Americans and U.S. interests abroad and at home, including the failed Christmas Day underwear bomber over Detroit. His work to date was nothing of the magnitude of 9/11 but by concentrating on less ambitious projects he managed to often stay below the radar. Still, his notoriety gave him access to large cash reserves with which he could buy American spies. Harvey Joplan crossed Warfield’s mind again. “Who’s Seth selling the stuff to?”
“Not sure yet, but we do know this Russian’s name: It is Boris Petrevich. He will go from Russia through Georgia, cross into Turkey at the border gate at Sarp, and then cross from Turkey into Iraq at the Habur border gate where two of the guards on the Iraqi side of the border have been recruited for this operation. We do not know where he will go from there.”
“Anything else?”
“When the Russian moves, he will have the uranium. No dry run.”
“You’re sure of your source?”
“That would be Hassan, the brother-in-law of Seth. And yes.”
Warfield shook his head. “C’mon Abbas!”
“I know, I know what you are thinking, Cameron, but listen to this first. Hassan’s sister was murdered — this I know. Hassan believes it was Seth who had her killed. She was Seth’s wife. Hassan is appearing to go along with Seth’s claim that he was not involved so he can stay close to him. Wants to be sure nothing happens to Seth until he has proof. Then Hassan wants him all for himself. Seth is a hero to the world of terrorism, but as a human being he’s despised even among his closest allies.”
“If you’re satisfied, Abbas, I buy it.”
“No need for worry, Cameron.”
“When will it happen? The uranium movement.”
“An answer I do not have yet, but I will find out. I have sources close to this, Cameron.”
“Close?”
“Inside Russia. Yes. We are making progress there.”
“Find out everything you can.” Warfield wished he could recapture those words. It was a stupid thing to say to someone like Abbas.
“Of course, Colonel Warfield.”
“Sorry, Abbas.”
Abbas feigned irritation with a deep groan, then said, “Not to worry, Cameron. I am the same way. I will call you when I have something.”
Warfield punched in Fullwood’s number and got a receptionist who demanded a lot of details. He was surprised when Rachel Gilbert came on the line.
“Colonel Warfield. Again.”
“Okay Rachel. I don’t give up easily. For what it’s worth to the Bureau, I’ve got confirmation the uranium is traveling on the Russian’s first trip. It will not be a dry run.”
“Colonel Warfield, I don’t mean to be rude but I have orders.”
“Look, Rachel, nobody benefits from this kind of standoff. You’re the deputy director over there, second in command, which must count for something. This is intelligence I will stake my own reputation on in the intel community. You going to stand behind the stupid decree Fullwood made because he doesn’t like me?”
Gilbert took a deep breath. “You don’t know the director very well if you think I could change the plan on this operation without his knowledge. He’s all over it. And I think he has done some well-poisoning.”
Warfield now understood. Not only were Rachel Gilbert’s hands tied, Fullwood was preparing others within the intelligence community in case Warfield went to them. Warfield was still thinking about this when Gilbert continued.
“I think it will be better if you don’t call here again, Colonel Warfield.”
Warfield told the receptionist to hold his calls and spent the next hour weighing his options. If it came to a showdown, Fullwood had the cards stacked in his favor. Warfield could go to the president but that would put him on the spot and there would be only losers in the ensuing battle of egos, while the Russian Boris Petrevich carried out his nuke-smuggling mission unimpeded.
Warfield leaned back and surveyed the goings-on outside his window. Half a mile away Macc and a couple of his men were giving instructions on evasive driving. A cloud of dust rose from a pair of Abidingos in the distance, the new vehicle that replaced the Humvee. He felt like saying to hell with it and joining them.
Next morning, Warfield was back on the phone to Abbas. “I’d like you to put someone on the smuggler every step of the way.”
“How do you want this carried out?”
“You said he will make the trip on the ground. Tail him with a Geiger. If he’s carrying uranium there’ll be leakage. Might show up on his clothes, car, if you can get close enough.”
“FBI. Will we run into them?”
“Hope they don’t figure out what you’re doing but I’m not going to worry about that. If Petrevich is hot, stop him before he crosses into Iraq. But wait until the last second, in case the FBI decides to take him on their own. If they do — and I hope to God they do — we’re home free and your men are out of the picture.”
“Of course. And if they do not?”
“In that case, and if you know Petrevich has the stuff on him, it’s your baby. Do what you’re comfortable with. You know the risks. You okay with that?”