01:23 (Istanbul Time)
Saturday, June 6, 2015
MV Heraklion, sailing out of Limassol
Cyprus
Having informed first ‘Stryker’ that she was going out to send a position report, Farah made her way cautiously out of the bow section and went to hide in her now customary spot under a tarp covering two separate piles of crates on the weather deck. It took her only a few minutes to contact by satellite telephone her handler in Tehran and pass the news that the cargo ship was leaving Limassol, along with its present position, heading and estimated speed. She had put back in her small haversack her GPS locator unit and her satellite telephone and was starting to crawl out of her hiding place when a harsh female voice speaking in English made her freeze, while her heart jumped in her chest.
‘’DON’T MOVE! YOU DO ANYTHING STUPID AND I WILL SHOOT YOU ON THE SPOT. NOW, COME OUT SLOWLY, HANDS AWAY FROM YOUR BODY.’’
Not knowing about the presence of the two GRU agents on the ship, Farah quickly thought about what she could do now. Unfortunately, the woman who had found her was now shouting in Russian to somebody, probably one of the surviving Spetsnaz soldiers. Stuck in her tight spot, Farah had no way to move quickly, thus could not surprise the Russian woman, whoever she was. As for shooting her, that would only provide her a short respite, that if she could win that firefight, something she doubted. The other Russians would then hunt her down and may thus discover the hiding place used by her and the two American agents if she tried to return to it. On the other hand, those two Americans may just be her only hope for help now. Bitter at her poor choice of options, Farah resigned herself to whatever would come and spoke up in English.
‘’I am coming out now. Don’t shoot!’’
‘’No tricks, or I shoot!’’
Before obeying the woman, Farah quickly took off her haversack and her pistol and hid them in a small recess between two crates, then slowly crawled out of her hide. A Spetsnaz soldier was arriving at a run as she was emerging from under the canvas tarp, with the Russian woman pointing an AKSU-74 carbine at her from a safe distance.
‘’STAY ON YOUR KNEES, WITH YOUR HANDS UP!’’
As the woman watched her, the Spetsnaz soldier quickly searched her, taking away her folding knife and showing it to Petrova.
‘’She only had this knife with her, Lieutenant.’’
Petrova in turn gave a hard look at Farah.
‘’Who are you and what are you doing on this ship?’’
‘Time to be a good liar.’ Thought Farah before answering, still using English and faking terror.
‘’Please, don’t hurt me! I only wanted to get into Turkey clandestinely.’’
The look from Petrova then turned to a dubious one.
‘’Sure! And why couldn’t you enter Turkey normally, like about everyone else?’’
‘’My father is an ethnic Kurd accused of being a terrorist by the Turks. They would arrest me or any other member of our family the moment we show up at a customs point. I didn’t have the money to pay for a faked passport, nor did I know how to get one, so I decided to get aboard clandestinely. Please, don’t shoot me! I just wanted to join my family in Turkey.’’
Petrova eyed her with suspicion, unsure about that woman: her story actually would make sense…if she was what she claimed to be. She however could not afford to take risks with that clandestine passenger. Looking at the Spetsnaz soldier, she gave him an order in Russian.
‘’Tie her hands, then bring her down to the forward cargo hold furthest from the bridge superstructure and watch over her while I go get Captain Ponomarev.’’
‘’Yes, Lieutenant!’’ Replied the soldier before taking a plastic cuff from one pocket and, roughly pulling Farah’s hands behind her back, tying them none too gently. He then forced her up, his AKSU-74 pointed to her back.
‘’Walk this way and don’t make any stupid move, or you will regret it.’’
Mortified and worried that this could ruin her mission’s outcome, Farah had no choice but to obey and meekly let the Russian push her in the direction of the deck hatch giving access to the forward cargo hold. The soldier held her by her shirt’s collar as she climbed down the steep ladder, in order to prevent her from falling. Once down at the bottom of the cargo hold, which was filled to near capacity with stacked sea containers, the soldier pushed Farah to a small space left behind a pile of sea containers, then forced her to sit on the steel deck.
‘’Don’t move and don’t speak, or I will have to forcibly shut you up.’’
Grimly hoping that her story would somehow fly, Farah obeyed him and rested her back against the nearest bulkhead, staying quiet while looking at the Russian soldier with a beaten puppy expression, doing her best to play her role as an harmless stowaway.
The tall Russian woman came back only fifteen minutes later, accompanied by a blond man who eyed Farah with cold eyes.
‘’What is your name?’’
‘’Fatmeh Barzani! My father’s name is Massoud Barzani.’’
‘’And where is your father right now?’’
‘’He is presently hiding in Anatakya, a coastal town south of Iskenderun.’’
‘’And where are you coming from?’’
‘’I was working as an illegal immigrant in Nicosia and regularly sending money to my family in Turkey. I got the news that my father had fallen seriously ill, so I decided to go join him to help my family during his convalescence.’’
‘’Hmm, I see!’’
Farah relaxed a bit then, as the Russian appeared to believe her. The man then suddenly hit her violently on her left cheek with his fist, making her head snap around. He then stepped forward and brutally pulled her hair, forcing her face upward as she spit blood.
‘’Do you take us for idiots? We found your satellite telephone, GPS locator and silenced pistol, which you had hidden under that canvas tarp. You will tell me that a simple Kurdish expatriate girl would have such items with her? Who are you and who do you work for? The Mossad? Syrian Intelligence services?’’
‘’I told you: I am simply a Kurdish…’’
A second powerful hook hit her, this time on the right cheek, making her fall sideways on the deck. The Spetsnaz soldier watching her pulled her back to the vertical at once as she spat more blood, along with a broken tooth. Ponomarev gave her a hard look as she grimaced with pain.
‘’If you think this is bad, wait for what you will get if you still refuse to speak. So, who are you and who do you work for? Why were you hiding on this ship?’’
Knowing that her story about being a Kurdish illegal immigrant was now hopelessly full of holes because of the discovery of her equipment and pistol, Farah resolutely looked up at the Russian.
‘’Fuck you!’’
That earned her another savage blow, this time a direct in her left eye. The hit made her head project backward, hitting the steel bulkhead behind her with a resounding ‘thud’ and leaving her half knocked out. As she wobbled, still on her knees, Alexandrina Petrova put a hand on Ponomarev’s shoulder.
‘’Let me work up that bitch, Yevgeni. I know how to break her kind. You have more important things to do that to waste your time on her.’’
Ponomarev gave her a sober look: Petrova had a reputation as an agent who could be quite brutal, nearly sadistic, when the occasion called for.
‘’Very well, Alexandrina. Don’t kill her before you are sure that she told you everything of interest to us, though.’’
‘’Don’t worry, Yevgeni: she will live long enough to regret ever being born.’’
‘’Then, she is all yours. Be careful, though: she may be a fully trained agent and could be dangerous if you are not careful.’’
‘’I am always careful, Yevgeni. I will inform you the moment she will talk.’’
Giving a last, unsympathetic look at Farah, Ponomarev then walked away, leaving Petrova and the Spetsnaz soldier with the prisoner. Petrova looked around her at the setup of the hold and showed to the soldier a steel pipe running horizontally along the bulkhead behind Farah, about seven feet up from the deck.
‘’Help me suspend her from that pipe. We will also tie her feet apart with some of your plastic cuffs. But first, let’s strip that bitch!’’
‘’With pleasure, Lieutenant!’’ Replied the soldier, a mean smile appearing on his face. The two Russians then ripped and cut away Farah’s clothes, leaving her completely naked. Petrova grinned as she eyed her now naked prisoner.
‘’My, such a pretty body to work with. This will be fun indeed. Okay, let’s untie her, so that we can pass her arms over her head. Don’t even think about resisting, bitch, or you will regret it.’’
Still expecting resistance from her prisoner, Petrova took out of a pocket a hand taser and, applying it to Farah’s left nipple, pressed the trigger, sending a 50,000 volt shock through her body and making her convulse uncontrollably for seconds. The soldier then used that opportunity to cut off her plastic cuff and pull her arms forward and then up before tying them again, this time with two plastic cuffs. Both Russians joined their strength to raise Farah up and tie her wrists to the overhead pipe, using two more plastic cuffs for that purpose. Looking down at Farah’s ripped clothes, Petrova bent down and grabbed her shirt, cutting a large piece out and rolling it into a ball before forcibly stuffing it in Farah’s mouth, gagging her. Next, she tied each of the Iranian’s ankles to vertical pipes, spreading open her legs. Her work done, she stepped back to eye with a mean smile her naked prisoner, suspended and helpless.
‘’That should do just fine. I hope that you are comfortable, bitch, because the fun is about to start.’’
She then looked at the soldier standing beside her.
‘’I am going to go get a few things from the ship’s repair shop. In the meantime, feel free to enjoy her body.’’
‘’Understood, Lieutenant.’’ Replied the Spetsnaz man, eyeing with glee Farah’s naked body. As Petrova left the cargo hold, the soldier stepped in front of Farah, very close to her, with his hands roaming all over her body, feeling her breasts and penetrating her vagina with his fingers.
‘’You better talk right away, pretty girl, because you won’t be pretty for very long if you don’t talk.’’
The gagged Farah could do nothing but look down at him with fury as he fondled her. His lust fuelled by her nakedness, the Russian then unzipped his fly and penetrated her none too gently.
He had ample time to come to an orgasm, close back his fly and summarily wipe her genitals with a piece of ripped cloth before Petrova came back with a canvas bag.
‘’So, had some fun with her, soldier?’’
‘’I sure did, Lieutenant. She has a nice, sensitive cunt if you ask me.’’
‘’Good! You may now leave me alone with her.’’
The soldier, a bit disappointed by that, nonetheless left without a word. Now alone with Farah, the Russian woman eyed her with a cruel smile.
‘’Listen, bitch, and listen well. Even though you are gagged, you will just need to nod your head when you will be ready to answer my questions. Until then, I will work you up until you do talk. This is now your last chance before I start. Are you ready to answer my questions?’’
With her mission now possibly doomed and with little hope of being able to free herself from the Russians, Farah could only do one thing now: deny to these unbelievers any information that could help them in their mission to deliver weapons to the cursed ISIS bastards. She thus vigorously shook her head, making Petrova fake disappointment.
‘’That’s not very smart, bitch. Before I start with the serious things, let me just tenderize you a bit.’’
Grabbing Farah’s belt, a narrow leather one with steel studs decorating it, Petrova started swinging it with vigor, flogging thoroughly the breasts and front torso of the Iranian for a good minute before taking a pause.
‘’So, ready to talk yet, or do you want more?’’
Farah, crying with pain, desperately shook her head in response.
‘’Too bad for you, bitch.’’ Said Petrova before resuming her flogging. After six more minutes of that treatment, and with her front covered with red welts and bleeding scratches from the studded belt, Farah passed out, to the disappointment of the Russian.
‘’You damn bitch! Wait until you wake up, then you will really start to suffer.’’
When Farah slowly came back to consciousness, with pain radiating from her wounds, she saw after a few seconds that the Russian woman was still facing her but was holding both a thin steel pipe section and a welding lamp. She was busy heating one end of the pipe with her welding lamp and smiled when she saw that Farah was conscious.
‘’Well well, the bitch is back with us! Look at the nice thing I have for you here.’’
With the heated end of her pipe now a dark red, Petrova put her welding lamp down on the deck, then approached Farah, who involuntarily trembled with fear as she eyed the red hot pipe. The Russian grinned on seeing her fear.
‘’I will now give you a chance to talk before I start rolling this pipe across your breasts, bitch. So, are you going to be reasonable now?’’
Near panic but unwilling to let that Russian break her, Farah shook her head a couple of times, attracting a false look of commiseration from Petrova.
‘’Decidedly, you are as stubborn as a mule. Too bad for you.’’
Farah closed her eyes and bit in her gag as Petrova approached her with her hot pipe. The searing, horrible pain she expected never came. Instead, she heard a gurgling sound, followed by the metallic noise of the pipe hitting the deck. Opening her eyes, she saw with a mix of surprise and immense relief the tall and strong ‘Stryker’ standing behind Petrova and cutting her throat open with his combat knife. Throwing the now dying Russian face first on top of the red hot pipe, Dean quickly came to Farah and started cutting the ties immobilizing her ankles.
‘’I am sorry that I didn’t come earlier, Farah: when I didn’t see you return from the open weather deck, I went searching for you with my partner. It however took us some time before finding where you were.’’
He next cut the ties that suspended her and held on to her as she fell down to the deck. Sobbing from the pain, she clung to him in a pure reflex of relief and gratitude. More touched than he wanted to recognize, Dean held her naked body in his arms for a few seconds, time for her to get over her crying. She finally looked up at him with eyes still wet with tears, her voice half chocked up.
‘’Thank you! I will never forget this.’’
‘’You can thank me later, Farah. Let’s put your clothes back on before we get out of this hold.’’
‘’I can’t: that bitch cut up my clothes.’’
‘’Then, we will have to improvise, won’t we?’’
Bending down over the dead Russian woman, Dean quickly undid her jeans and pulled them off her before giving them to Farah.
‘’Here! They may be a bit too long, but simply roll up the excess length.’’
She hurriedly slipped the pants on as Dean also removed the Russian’s T-shirt, which he gave to her. Farah was able to use her own socks and running shoes, which were still intact. Once dressed, Farah faced again Dean, who handed her the AKSU-74 carbine and Glock 17 pistol that had belonged to Petrova, along with two spare magazines for the weapons.
‘’Here you go, Farah: no point in going around naked.’’
Farah couldn’t help smile at Dean’s attempt at humor.
‘’Thanks, Stryker: you are a great guy indeed.’’
‘’Don’t mention it! Sparrow is above us, hiding on the weather deck and watching the exit of this hold.’’
‘’What do we do now? Those Russians took my satellite telephone and my GPS locator, plus my pistol. They know that I am a secret agent, even though they still don’t know from which country.’’
‘’Well, with that Russian woman dead, there is now no way to hide the fact that you were not alone in hiding aboard that ship. We will thus have no choice but to complete the cleanup on this ship before the Russians could alert Moscow or Graschev.’’
‘’And then what?’’
‘’Then, with any luck, the captain of this ship will still head to Iskenderun to unload his cargo of weapons, at which time we will be able to get our hands on that Turkish intermediary.’’
‘’But, once he knows that someone aboard the ship has killed the Russians escorting the weapons, that intermediary will never show up in Iskenderun, fearing a trap. At the very least, we will have to sabotage the ship’s radio sets to prevent the captain from sounding the alarm.’’
‘’A very good point indeed, Farah. I think that my partner will take you up on that idea.’’
Climbing up the succession of ladders leading to the weather deck was a slow affair at first, Farah being stiff and sensitive from her flogging. Dean showed patience with her and went slowly as well, something that allowed him to scan and listen carefully ahead of him. Thankfully, they didn’t meet another Russian during their climb and cautiously emerged on the dark open deck, finding Erik crouched nearby behind a big crate. The latter made a sign for them to hurry to him, which they did at a crouch. Dean then spoke to him in a whisper.
‘’A Russian woman was torturing her but that bitch is dead now. Farah proposed that we destroy the ship’s radios, so that the captain or the Russians can’t give the alert about us.’’
‘’We will certainly do that. How is she?’’
‘’She was extensively flogged over her front torso but I was able to stop the tortures in time to avoid much worse for her. She will be okay, albeit she will be a bit stiff for a while. I gave her the Russian’s weapons, since her pistol and satellite telephone were seized.’’
If Erik had misgivings about that last point he didn’t say so to Dean and pointed at the bridge superstructure, where a Russian was visible, standing on the bridge open port wing and walking slowly while scanning the sea around the ship.
‘’We have no choice now but to kill the remaining Russians if we don’t want them to alert their Turkish intermediary due in Iskenderun. We will also sabotage the radios, as suggested by Farah. We will do all this as quietly and covertly as we can. If possible, we will throw the Russians’ bodies into the sea, so that the crew won’t know for sure what happened. With luck, the captain will panic and will simply get to Iskenderun at top speed, without turning around to return to Limassol.’’
‘’What if he does return to Limassol?’’
‘’Then, we will have to blow up the ship and its cargo of weapons.’’
Erik didn’t miss the fact then that Farah stiffened slightly on hearing that. He already knew from her intercepted calls that her superiors in Tehran had plans about the weapons that did not correspond completely with the CIA plans. While he was ready to give Farah some slack, he definitely still intended to keep a close eye on her.
‘’Farah, I think that you should go back to our hide and wait for us there: you need to rest after what you went through.’’
‘’But, I want to help you kill those Russians.’’
‘’Do you have experience in sneaking to a man and then kill him with a knife, quietly?’’
Seeing Farah hesitate, Erik insisted.
‘’Believe me, Farah: this is no job for an inexperienced agent, however motivated you are. One slip, one shout and our plan will be down the drain. Please, go back to our storage room.’’
‘’Alright, I will go.’’ Conceded Farah in a bit of a downcast voice. She then turned around and crawled on all fours towards the bow section, staying close to the covered piles of crate for concealment. Dean watched her go before looking at his partner.
‘’That girl does have guts aplenty, Erik. She did not give us away under the tortures and she still does want to do her part despite what she suffered through.’’
‘’Maybe, but I’m still not ready to trust her more than necessary. Granted, I am sure that she wants as much as us to prevent those weapons from getting into the hands of ISIS, but those weapons would be very tempting for many other groups in the region, starting with the Hezbollah militia. The Israelis wouldn’t be very happy if all those missiles fell into the hands of those pro-Iranian Lebanese Shiites.’’
‘’True! You know what they say about the second most important thing to have in life: after having good friends, it is to have good enemies.’’
Erik smile at that, amused.
‘’I heard that one before. She probably could qualify as a good enemy, I will give you that. Well, enough talking: let’s go kill a few Russians.’’
‘’Yeah, and let’s not forget about the radios, too.’’ Added Dean.
06:17 (Istanbul Time)
Captain’s cabin, MV Heraklion
‘’CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN! OPEN UP!’’
Grumbling at the one who had just awakened him with his frantic pounding on his cabin’s door, Stavro Philipopoulos jumped out of bed and walked heavily to the door, opening it. He then found himself facing one of his sailors, who seemed to be bordering on panic.
‘’Yes, what is it, George?’’
‘’The Russians! They all disappeared during the night! Their cabins are splattered with blood!’’
That bombshell woke up Philipopoulos in a mighty hurry and he stared with big eyes at his sailor.
‘’But, there was no noise of a gunfight, not a single shot heard. How could that be?’’
‘’I don’t know, Captain. What do we do now?’’
‘’We stay on our present course for the moment. I will get dressed, then will radio for instructions. I should be on the bridge in ten minutes. You may now return to your post.’’
‘’Yes, Captain!’’
Closing his door and going to his locker, Philipopoulos thought bitterly about how this apparently lucrative contract for him was turning progressively into a nightmare. If he had known in advance about all that was happening on this trip, he would have refused that contract without hesitation. However, now that he had the cargo aboard his ship, he had no other choice left to him but deliver it, especially since he was now less than half a day away from Iskenderun. You simply didn’t run away from a shipment of this value without suffering serious consequences. The fact that 24 men and one woman had been killed up to now on his ship because of those ‘machine tools’ amply demonstrated how badly his customers could react to him turning around now, this close to Iskenderun.
Six minutes later, Philipopoulos walked out of his cabin and went up to the radio room, a small compartment situated behind the bridge. His crew was too small for him to have a dedicated radio operator, so the compartment was empty most of the time. He only needed to have one of the sailors on bridge duty to periodically go check the queue of e-mails received and recorded on their ship’s communications computer, which used a satellite communications link, in case some urgent message came from his parent company. As for the international distress frequency, it was permanently on, plugged into a loudspeaker in the bridge, so that the duty helmsman could listen to it. Entering the radio compartment, the Captain froze the moment he looked at the communications computer: its display screen was dark, as if it would have been turned off. Swearing to himself, Philipopoulos quickly tried to switch it on, without success. He then went down on his knees to check if it had been somehow unplugged by accident, but found all the wires in their proper place and well plugged. After a minute of increasingly frustrating efforts, he had to give up on the computer: it was as good as dead. Going for his other means of communication, he went to sit in front of the two powerful HF radio transceivers. More swearing came out when he found that the two radios were also dead.
‘’Somebody sabotaged my radios!’’ He exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table supporting the radios. Who had done that was evident: the same ones who had killed the Russians and made them disappear. Cold sweat suddenly appeared on Philipopoulos as he fully realized the meaning of all this: he and his crew were stuck aboard the ship in the company of a group of assassins capable of killing a dozen well-trained and armed men, and this without making a noise. Philipopoulos didn’t know about Farah, as Ponomarev had not told him anything about finding a stowaway last night, so he could only speculate about who those assassins could be. One thing was for sure: he was certainly not going to order his sailors to proceed with a search of the ship. For one, he could then risk seeing his sailors disappear as well one by one. Secondly, his sailors would probably flatly refuse to conduct such a search, something he honestly wouldn’t blame them for. Thinking hard for a long moment, he finally had to recognize that he had only one viable option left to him: to keep on and sail to Iskenderun, where he would finally be able to get rid of his cursed cargo. Philipopoulos promised himself that he would then proceed with the biggest drinking binge of his sailor’s career, that is if he was not going to die before with his throat cut open.
11:08 (Istanbul Time)
Bridge of the MV Heraklion
93 nautical miles southwest of Iskenderun
Eastern Mediterranean
Stavro Philipopoulos raised his binoculars again to have another look at that strangely behaving yacht that had been sailing parallel to his route for hours now while staying a good six miles away to his eight o’clock. It could be simply a yacht also headed to Iskenderun, but then why go only at a speed of twelve knots, when it could clearly go much faster? If he would be placing bets, he would have said that the yacht was actually trailing his cargo ship. But why would it do that? Stavro’s expression hardened when the thought came to his mind that the yacht may be linked to whoever had killed the Russians. It would actually make sense, with the yacht possibly standing by to eventually retrieve the killers still hiding aboard his ship. Thankfully, he was now less than eight hours away from Iskenderun. Going back inside the closed bridge, the Greek captain went to the navigation radar set and examined the screen. The yacht following him was there alright, but Stavro frowned on seeing an unusual number of other boats within detection range. At least a dozen spots were grouped tightly and were actually heading directly towards his ship, while a lone ship was also approaching at quite a fast speed from another direction but was much further away.
‘’What the hell is going on now?’’ Asked Stavro to himself. Going out on the starboard open bridge wing, he used his binoculars to scan the horizon, trying to see the group of boats coming from the direction of the Lebanese coast. After a minute or so, he started to see the biggest boat of the group, some kind of motor yacht. He was still observing that ship when one of his sailors shouted at him.
‘’CAPTAIN, A HELICOPTER IS APPROACHING FROM FIVE O’CLOCK!’’
‘’What now? Is my ship coated with honey, to attract everyone around like this?’’
Raising his binoculars in the indicated direction, he saw nearly immediately the helicopter in question, a small model that could carry maybe four or five persons. It was indeed coming straight at his ship, flying at an altitude of maybe 500 feet. Stavro kept watching it as it grew closer, trying to see its markings. He suddenly felt blood rush to his head on finally having a view of its markings as it was about to pass on the starboard side of his ship: it bore the Israeli Star of David! Being boarded and having his cargo inspected by the Israelis was something he definitely did not need right now. Unfortunately, the Israelis had given themselves the right to challenge and inspect any ship they found suspect, even in the international waters in this part of the Eastern Mediterranean, and God knew how suspicious the Israelis could be. Now having gloomy thoughts about possibly ending in an Israeli jail, Stavro kept watching the Israeli helicopter as it made a full circle around his ship before veering towards the incoming armada of small boats. Stavro knew that such helicopter types didn’t have the autonomy to come all the way here from the Israeli coast and return safely. It thus had to have come from an Israeli patrol boat large enough to carry and launch helicopters. Such ships were typically very fast and also heavily armed, so trying to evade it was definitely not an option. Stavro was still thinking about what to do about that incoming Israeli patrol ship when a puff of smoke followed by a trail of smoke suddenly rose from the larger boat of the incoming armada. The shocked Greek merchant marine captain saw the trail of smoke describe a curve as it rose towards the Israeli helicopte