The Weary Waiting Game
Chapter 23
The fireworks display was getting closer by the day. Much had been accomplished by his Yemini operatives in a relatively short period of time. The strike team had already crossed the border and was holed-up in a safe-house near the water. Vlad had corresponded with them and provided explicit instructions as to how the operation had to go down. It was imperative that everything be in-place and the timing just right.
However, he was still waiting for a key piece of the plan to fall into place before he’d pull the trigger. He liked the turn of phrase and thought it very appropriate to the situation. Strike the match, pull the trigger or light the fire or similar expressions to describe the initiator of a massive conflagration that would be heard and seen throughout the Persian Gulf. It would likely move the needle on the Richter scale and cause a mini Tsunami to sweep across the water to nearby countries. It would be the terrorist act of the century and he’d own the bragging rights.
Vlad found Dubai comfortable enough, but would never consider settling there permanently given the high cost of living and ultramodern cityscape that simply didn’t appeal to him. The Seychelles were more to his liking, but, regrettably, he could never return. Vlad boarded the plane to Riyadh as Tomas Becker, a Maltese citizen of good standing whose name had never reached the computer database at Interpol.
Now all he had to do was to wait and worry. That was the toughest part of the job.
***
Our eyes were crossing and Pet was getting cross with me for needlessly reminding her to double-check the entries on each of the passenger manifests. We’d switch the lists back and forth between us to make sure we didn’t miss anything; most importantly, the Scandihoovian name of one Sven Jensen.
We’d spent the past several hours poring over list after list of flights departing Kampala on the day Vlad departed for wherever. We assumed Moses was correct on the drop-off date and time so we only concentrated on flights taking off afterwards. We made some assumptions and included them in our search methodology. We obviously eliminated females and children and thought it safe to do the same with Arab and Asian names. Otherwise, every male passenger on the manifests was fair game. We even looked for possible variations of the name, but without success. We’d struck out on our search and were about to give up and go home when I had an idea. What if Vlad, cum Sven, had stayed overnight at the airport hotel and departed the next day?
We stayed overnight at the airport hotel and searched the flight manifests for the following day using the new date. It didn’t take us long to spot the name. Eureka! Sven had departed via Turkish Air to Istanbul with a connecting flight to Dubai. Perhaps Vlad had finally screwed up. More likely, we’d simply gotten damn lucky. Either explanation was fine with us.
Pet and I were amazed at the cooperation we received from the airlines. Usually, trying to access such information would have entailed endless hours of negotiation and much paperwork. I later found out the U.S. embassy in Kampala had faxed a nicey-nice Dip Note to the station managers reminding them how difficult the new visa regulations could be for those wishing to enter the U.S. The issuance might take many weeks or result in an outright denial for admittance. By the way, the note continued, Pell and other grants for foreign college students, such as their kids, were getting harder and harder to come by these days, simply a matter of tight funding and nothing personal. The airline managers got the message loud and clear: either play ball with Uncle Sam or suffer the consequences. They all wisely decided to concede the game.
My reward points were quickly adding up and now I’d score more for my flight to Dubai. The skies and perks were, in fact, friendly for a change.