yellow smoke began to form, but it was flattened and disbursed when the
derrick struck the platform. It hit with a small-sounding crunch. Debris
flew into the morning sky, chasing away the distant gulls. The entire
rig shuddered. The whole thing reminded the Harpooner of a vignette he
had seen as a child. A poplar tree had been split during a storm and
fell across power lines. It hit them, bounced, then hit them again. The
lines hung there for a moment before sagging and then ripping from the
poles on the left and right. That was what happened here. The platform
stood for a moment after the derrick struck. Then, slowly, the steel
and concrete sagged where the second blast had weakened them. The
platform bent inward. Sheds, cranes, tanks, and even the helicopter
began sliding toward the crease. Their weight caused additional strain.
The Harpooner could hear the ugly collisions in the distance, see the
smoke and shattered pieces of wood and metal fly into the air. And then
it happened. The added weight was too much for the platform to bear. It
cracked and dumped everything into the sea. The boat was now too far
away for the Harpooner to make everything out. The collapse looked like
a waterfall from this distance, especially when the cascade of white and
silver debris hit the sea, sending up waves and spray. As the rig
disappeared beyond the horizon, all the Harpooner could see was a large
ball of mist hanging in the new day. He turned away, accepting the
congratulations of the team. They were treating him like a football
hero, but he felt more like an artist. Using the medium of explosives
and a canvas of steel and concrete, the Harpooner had created a perfect
destruction. He went below to wash up. He always needed to wash after
creation. It was a symbolic act of completion and of getting ready for
the next work. Which would be soon. Very soon. When the boat reached the
docks, the Harpooner told the crew he wanted to go ashore. He told the
Iranians he wanted to make certain that the Azerbaijani police had not
already learned of the blast. If they had, the police might be checking
incoming vessels. They might be looking for possible terrorists and
also for eyewitnesses to the explosion. The men thought that was a good
idea. The Harpooner told them that if he did not come back in five
minutes, they should leave the dock and head to the open sea. The
Harpooner said that if the police were talking to people, stopping them
from leaving the area, he would figure out a way to elude them. The men
agreed. The Harpooner went ashore. Six minutes later, there was a
massive explosion in the harbor. The Harpooner had stuck a timed
detonator into one of the sticks of water gel He had set it and then
left it below, under one of the bunks. Evidence from the attack was
still on board. It would take a while, but eventually the authorities
would find traces of the water gel on the boat and on the rig and
realize that the Iranians, aided by a Russian terrorist, had attacked
their own operation. The Iranians would dispute that, of course, and
tensions would rise even higher. The United States would suspect that
the Russians and Iranians were working together to seize the Caspian oil
wells. There would be no way to avoid what was coming. The Harpooner
got in the repainted van and drove it from the harbor. There were no
police there. Not yet. At this hour, the Baku police force was
involved primarily in traffic management and accident investigation.
Besides, there was no indication that a boat had attacked the rig or
that it had come to Baku. That would come later, when they found the
Russian and the Americans had sent over satellite photographs of the
region. The Harpooner headed toward the Old City. There, he drove up
Inshaatchilar Prospekti toward the hotels on Bakihanov Kuchasi. Two
days before, he had taken a hotel room under an assumed name. Here he
was Ivan Ganiev, a telecommunications consultant. It was a name and
profession he had chosen with care. If he were ever stopped by customs
agents or police, he could explain why he was traveling with high-tech
equipment. And being Russian had another advantage, especially here.
One that would help him get out of the country when the time came. He
had left clothing, gear, and cash in the room and a do not disturb sign
on the door. He would clean himself up, dye his hair, and then take a
long nap. When he woke, he would apply a fake mustache, slip colored
contact lenses into his eyes, and call a cab to take him to the train
station. A cabdriver was always a good hostage in case he was
discovered and surrounded. He would use his fake passport to leave the
city. He parked the van in an alley near the hospital. Then he pulled a
packet of dental floss from his pocket. He rubbed it deeply between two
teeth until his mouth filled with blood. Then he spat on the floor,
dashboard, and seat cushion. It was the fastest way to draw blood. It
also left no scars, in case anyone decided to stop him and check for
wounds. He did not need a lot of blood. Just traces for the forensics
people to find. When he was finished with that, he slipped a plastic
mircochip in the gas tank. Then he replaced the cap. When he was
finished dressing the van, the Harpooner took the backpack containing
the Zed-4 phone and left. When the authorities found the vehicle, they
would also find evidence inside tying it to the Iranians in the boat.
That would include their fingerprints on the wheel, glove compartment,
and handles. They would assume that one or more of the men got away.
The blood would suggest that he was injured. The police would waste
time looking through hospital records for a possible perpetrator. The
Harpooner would return to Moscow. Then he would leave Russia and permit
himself a rest. Possibly a vacation in some country where he had never
committed terrorism. Some place where they would not be looking out for
him. Some place where he could sit back and read the newspapers. Enjoy
once again the impact his art had had on the world.
Washington, D.C. Monday, 11:11 p.m.
Paul Hood was concerned, confused, and tired. Bob
Herbert had just spoken with Stephen Viens of the National
Reconnaissance Office. Viens was working late to catch up on paperwork
that had collected during his absence. While Viens was there, an NRO
satellite had recorded an explosion in the Caspian Sea. He had called
Herbert, who wanted to know if anything unusual had happened in the
region. Then Herbert called Paul Hood.
"According to our files, the coordinates of the explosion match those of
Iran's Majidi-2 oil rig," Herbert said.
"Could it have been an accident?" Hood asked.
"We're checking that now," Herbert said.
"We've got some faint radio signals coming from the rig, which means
there may be survivors."
"May be?"
"A lot of those rigs have automatic beacons to signal rescue craft in
the area," Herbert said.
"That may be what we're hearing. The audio keeps breaking up, so we
can't tel
l if it's a recording."
"Understood," Hood said.
"Bob, I've got a bad feeling about this. Fenwick goes to the Iranian
mission, and then an Iranian rig is attacked."
"I know," Herbert said.
"I tried to call him, but there was no answer. I'm wondering if the NSA
knew about this attack, and Fenwick took intelligence to the mission in
New York."
"If Fenwick had intel, wouldn't Iran have tried to prevent the attack?"
Hood asked.
"Not necessarily," Herbert told Hood.
"Teheran has been itching for a reason to establish a stronger military
presence in the Caspian Sea. An attack by Azerbaijan could give them
that reason. It's no different than historians who say that Franklin
Roosevelt allowed Pearl Harbor to be attacked so we'd have a reason to
get into World War Two."
"But then why all the deception with the president?" Hood asked.
"Plausible deniability?" Herbert replied.
"The president has been getting misinformation."
"Yes, but Jack Fenwick would not undertake something of this magnitude
on his own," Hood said.
"Why not?" Herbert asked.
"Oilie North ran an uberoperation during Iran-Contra--"
"A military officer might have the balls for that but not Jack Fenwick,"
Hood said.
"I had a look at his dossier. The guy is Mr. Support Systems. He's
instituted backup systems for backup systems at the NSA. Got congress
to jack up the budget fifteen percent for next year. The CIA only got
an eight percent bump and we got six."
"Impressive."
"Yeah," Hood said.
"And he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to take this kind of
chance. Not without backup."
"So?" Herbert said.
"Maybe he's got it." Shit, Hood thought. Maybe he does.
"Think about it," Herbert went on.
"He got double the increases everyone else got. Who has that kind of
sway with congress? Not President Lawrence, that's for sure. He's not
conservative enough for the budget group."
"No, he's not," Hood agreed.
"Bob, find out if Matt can get into Fenwick's phone records and
calendar. See who he might have talked to and met with over the past
few days and weeks."
"Sure," he said.
"But it's going to be tough to draw any conclusions from that. The NSA
head meets with practically everyone."
"Exactly," Hood said.
"I don't follow."
"If Fenwick were part of a black-ops situation, he would probably meet
with his team away from the office. Maybe by seeing who he stopped
meeting with, officially, we can figure out who he's been seeing on the
sly."
"Nice one, Paul," Herbert said.
"I wouldn't have thought of that."
"But that isn't what has me worried," Hood went on. The phone beeped.
"Excuse me. Bob. Would you bring Mike up to date on this?"
"Will do," Herbert said. Hood switched lines. Sergei Orlov was on the
other end.
"Paul," Orlov said, "good news. We have your man."
"What do you mean you have him?" Hood asked. The Russian operative was
only supposed to keep an eye on him.
"Our operative arrived in time to save him from joining his comrades,"
Orlov said.
"The assassin was dispatched and left in the hospital room. Your man
was taken from the hospital to another location. He is there now."
"General, I don't know what to say," Hood told him.
"Thank you."
"Thank you is good enough," Orlov said.
"But what do we do now? Can he help us get the Harpooner?"
"I hope so," Hood told him.
"The Harpooner must still be there. Otherwise, he would not have had to
draw these people out and assassinate them. General, did you hear what
happened in the Caspian?"
"Yes," Orlov said.
"An Iranian oil rig was destroyed. The Azerbaijanis are probably going
to be blamed, whether they did it or not. Do you know anything more
about it?"
"Not yet," Hood said.
"But the operative you saved might. If the Harpooner's behind this
attack, we need to know. Can you arrange for the American agent to call
me here?"
"Yes," Orlov said. Hood thanked him and said he would wait by the phone.
Orlov was correct. Suspicion would fall on Azerbaijan. They were the
ones who disputed Iran's presence in that region of the sea. They were
the ones who had the most to gain. But the Harpooner had done most of
his work for Middle Eastern nations. What if Azerbaijan wasn't behind
the attack? What if another nation was trying to make it seem that way?
Hood got back on the phone with Herbert. He also patched in Mike
Rodgers and briefed them both. When he was finished, there was a short
silence.
"Frankly, I'm stumped," Herbert said.
"I agree," Hood said.
"But we may have more intel than we think."
"What do you mean?" Herbert asked.
"I mean we've got the NSA working with Iran," Hood said.
"We have a president who was kept out of the loop by the NSA. We have a
terrorist who works with Iran taking out CIA agents in Azerbaijan. We
have an attack on an Iranian oil installation off the coast of
Azerbaijan. There's a lot of information there. Maybe we're not putting
it together in the right way."
"Paul, do we know who in the CIA first found out the Harpooner was in
Baku?" Rodgers asked.
"No," Hood said.
"Good point."
"I'll get someone to find that out ASAP," Herbert said. Hood and Rodgers
waited while Herbert made the call. Hood sat there trying to make sense
of the facts, but it still was not coming together. Concerned, confused,
and tired. It was a bad combination, especially for a man in his
forties. He used to be able to pull allnighters without a problem. Not
anymore. Herbert got back on.
"I've got someone calling the director's office. Code Red-One," he
said.
"We'll have the information soon." Code Red-One signified an imminent
emergency to national interest. Despite the competitiveness between the
agencies, CRIS were generally not denied.
"Thanks," Hood said.
"Paul, do you know the story about the Man Who Never Was?" Rodgers
asked.
"The World War Two story? I read the book in high school," Hood said.
"He was part of the disinformation campaign during World War Two."
"Correct," Rodgers said.
"A British intelligence group took the body of a homeless man, created a
false identity for it, and planted papers on the body that said the
Allies would invade Greece, not Sicily. The body was left where the
Germans would find it. This helped divert Axis forces from Sicily. I
mention this because a key player in the operation was a British general
named Howard Tower. He was key in the sense that he was also fed
misinformation."
"For what reason?" Hood asked.
"General Tower's communiques were intercepted by the Germans," Rodgers
said.
"British Intelligence saw to that."
&nb
sp; "I'm missing something here," Herbert said.
"Why are we talking about World War Two?"
"When Tower learned what had happened, he put a gun barrel in his ear
and pulled the trigger," Rodgers said.
"Because he was used?" Hood asked.
"No," Rodgers said, "because he thought he'd screwed up."
"I'm still not getting this," Herbert admitted.
"Paul, you said the president was pretty upset when you spoke with him,"
Rodgers went on.
"And when you met with the First Lady, she described a man who sounded
like he was having a breakdown."
"Right," Hood said.
"That may not mean anything," Herbert said.
"He's president of the United States. The job has a way of aging
people."
"Hold on. Bob. Mike may be onto something," Hood said. There was
something gnawing at Hood's stomach. Something that was getting worse
the more he thought about it.
"The president did not look tired when I saw him. He looked disturbed."
"I'm not surprised," Herbert said.
"He was being kept out of the loop and made an apparent faux pas about
the UN. He was embarrassed."