executed his attacks. The young man was meticulous and trusted as few as possible. He had no entourage or circle of advisors. Raza worked with a small and efficient team, was brutal beyond measure, could be counted on to pull off daring attacks, and never showed remorse.
“I am not your partner,” Vladimir said. “I have deposited $25 million in clean money into your accounts. And there will be an additional $25 million deposited three weeks from today. Since the money is coming from me to you, I believe it safe to consider you my employee.”
“Is an employee entitled to ask questions?” Raza asked.
Vladimir shrugged. “I need these operations to go off without glitches. It was one of many reasons I chose you. I want each mission to make a statement, and you don’t do that by putting bombs in a man’s shoe or his underwear.”
“Yet you seek no credit for the attacks,” Raza said. “These will be high-end operations with hundreds if not thousands of casualties. That puts a bull’s-eye on my back, one not even $50 million can erase. Now, I don’t take issue with the bull’s-eye. I wouldn’t be doing what I do if I were concerned with such matters.”
“What then?”
“The attention. These jobs will bring with them increased police presence and surveillance,” Raza said. “That will make subsequent jobs more difficult.”
“Are you up to this or not?” Vladimir said, growing impatient with the conversation. “Anyone can be a headline terrorist. It takes nothing more than dynamite and a ticking clock. I’m giving you an opportunity to be immortal. Isn’t that what you want?”
Raza stood and glared out at the traffic. “And what is it you want?” he asked.
Vladimir stood and tossed his water bottle into a receptacle. “You have work to do and money to do it,” he said. “Focus on that. But know this—if you fail me in any way, then that death you are so eager to embrace will be upon you in a most unpleasant way.”
Vladimir walked off toward the center of the city.
Raza watched the Russian disappear into the crowd. He sat down, closed his eyes, and tilted his head toward a darkening sky.
Chapter 15
Northeast Yemen
The compound was well-lit and guarded, armed men and women walking the upper and lower perimeters, dressed in fatigues designed to blend with the bland landscape. All wore scarves or bandanas and had been in hard skirmishes since they were old enough to raise a weapon. There were forty guards in all, trained to fight to the death.
The compound—four small houses and one two-story structure—was the headquarters of Anwar Al-Sabir, the number two in Raza’s terrorist organization and its main operator. He considered a bomb in a town square a waste of an explosive, preferring missions that called for catastrophic destruction.
Al-Sabir was also the man the group turned to when the goal involved a takeover of a passenger airline or cruise ship. It was said he wept with joy when he heard the news of the 9/11 attacks.
I needed to speak to Al-Sabir and find out what he knew of the flight that killed my wife and daughters. I needed to know if his prints were on the plan.
In order to do that, I had to get him out of the compound alive. Which would require killing the majority of his guards, capturing him and getting him through hostile terrain. It was a job that required very little chatter; the fewer who knew, the better its chance to succeed.
That meant the plan had to be kept hidden from any of the organizations that signed on in the war against the Russians and the terrorists. I couldn’t even bring it to the members of my own crew. My people were good, but they didn’t have the skills such a mission would require. Besides, this job had to be done under mob radar, since I had gone to such lengths to tell all involved that the war was not a vendetta but a business move.
I was about to wage a war on two fronts and for two reasons.
If you know your history, you know such
“I am not your partner,” Vladimir said. “I have deposited $25 million in clean money into your accounts. And there will be an additional $25 million deposited three weeks from today. Since the money is coming from me to you, I believe it safe to consider you my employee.”
“Is an employee entitled to ask questions?” Raza asked.
Vladimir shrugged. “I need these operations to go off without glitches. It was one of many reasons I chose you. I want each mission to make a statement, and you don’t do that by putting bombs in a man’s shoe or his underwear.”
“Yet you seek no credit for the attacks,” Raza said. “These will be high-end operations with hundreds if not thousands of casualties. That puts a bull’s-eye on my back, one not even $50 million can erase. Now, I don’t take issue with the bull’s-eye. I wouldn’t be doing what I do if I were concerned with such matters.”
“What then?”
“The attention. These jobs will bring with them increased police presence and surveillance,” Raza said. “That will make subsequent jobs more difficult.”
“Are you up to this or not?” Vladimir said, growing impatient with the conversation. “Anyone can be a headline terrorist. It takes nothing more than dynamite and a ticking clock. I’m giving you an opportunity to be immortal. Isn’t that what you want?”
Raza stood and glared out at the traffic. “And what is it you want?” he asked.
Vladimir stood and tossed his water bottle into a receptacle. “You have work to do and money to do it,” he said. “Focus on that. But know this—if you fail me in any way, then that death you are so eager to embrace will be upon you in a most unpleasant way.”
Vladimir walked off toward the center of the city.
Raza watched the Russian disappear into the crowd. He sat down, closed his eyes, and tilted his head toward a darkening sky.
Chapter 15
Northeast Yemen
The compound was well-lit and guarded, armed men and women walking the upper and lower perimeters, dressed in fatigues designed to blend with the bland landscape. All wore scarves or bandanas and had been in hard skirmishes since they were old enough to raise a weapon. There were forty guards in all, trained to fight to the death.
The compound—four small houses and one two-story structure—was the headquarters of Anwar Al-Sabir, the number two in Raza’s terrorist organization and its main operator. He considered a bomb in a town square a waste of an explosive, preferring missions that called for catastrophic destruction.
Al-Sabir was also the man the group turned to when the goal involved a takeover of a passenger airline or cruise ship. It was said he wept with joy when he heard the news of the 9/11 attacks.
I needed to speak to Al-Sabir and find out what he knew of the flight that killed my wife and daughters. I needed to know if his prints were on the plan.
In order to do that, I had to get him out of the compound alive. Which would require killing the majority of his guards, capturing him and getting him through hostile terrain. It was a job that required very little chatter; the fewer who knew, the better its chance to succeed.
That meant the plan had to be kept hidden from any of the organizations that signed on in the war against the Russians and the terrorists. I couldn’t even bring it to the members of my own crew. My people were good, but they didn’t have the skills such a mission would require. Besides, this job had to be done under mob radar, since I had gone to such lengths to tell all involved that the war was not a vendetta but a business move.
I was about to wage a war on two fronts and for two reasons.
If you know your history, you know such
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