Bring it on Vladimir!
Chapter 41
It was time to visit Vlad the Impaler. He knew the nickname and much about his background having researched the man before hiring him. Rashid’s judgment was now being questioned by his own superiors in Bhutar following the debacle at Ras Tanura. Things weren’t good at home and he worried about his future or if he still had one.
He’d flown from Bhutar to Amman, Jordan and then onward to Manama, Bahrain. Since the break-off of diplomatic relations, Bhutaris were no longer welcomed in Saudi Arabia and Bahrain, so he travelled on a fake Lebanese passport to get around the little political inconveniences and annoyances by petty government functionaries.
Rashid wasn’t a second guesser and left those things to the wimps of the world. Of course, he would never place himself in that category of emotional weaklings. However, the story in The Guardian a few weeks ago was disturbing and perhaps a prescient foreshadowing of Operation Scorched Earth. No, that wasn’t quite true, he told himself. The Guardian article presupposed an aircraft attack on the complex ala 9/11, not one by sea. It was also an old story that had bounced around for years before being reprinted in the paper. But the timing of its publication was particularly worrisome.
He thought Vladimir’s attack strategy and tactics were sound ones. They had worked flawlessly in Luanda and there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t work for Ras Tanura. But he thought Booskowsky had badly underestimated the facility’s sea defenses. They both understood that an assault by land or air was doomed to failure at the start and only a water approach might succeed in reaching the target. It was a brilliant plan that ended up to be nothing more than a dismal failure. Maybe next time, if there was to be a next time.
Rashid pulled out of the airport’s Hertz lot in a new Mercedes E sedan and headed to Jubail, his ultimate destination. In the distance, he could see the flashing blue lights of a police car moving at high speed and commanding the highway. Another VIP escort, he thought. There were many dignitaries receiving protection these days, he mused. Everyone seemed to be overly concerned about terrorism and protecting people and things against attacks. What’s the world come to? He knew the answer better than most.
***
Vlad had packed for his trip to the Caymans and planned a circuitous route through South America. Sven Jensen’s documents had been destroyed and he no longer existed on paper or elsewhere. He was Tomas Becker and Tomas was now ready to leave Saudi Arabia for good. Good riddance, he thought as he finished his early morning coffee and scanned the internet. The mission had been a disaster, but not the one he’d had in mind. Chalk it up to bad luck or karma. He didn’t want to dwell on the past because there were many more buyers for his talents if the Bhutaris gave him his walking papers. He planned to stay under the radar and out of the sun for awhile. With time, someone would be knocking on his door with a job offer, so no worries.
The loud knocking on the front door startled him. He certainly wasn’t expecting any visitors, especially at this hour. However, he didn’t think the cops had arrived at his doorstep either. No, they wouldn’t bother to politely knock. Rather, they’d just knock down the door and invite themselves in.
Vlad went upstairs and looked down from a bedroom window and couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Rashid Misfer Al-Hajiri, his Bhutari boss and financier for their campaign. It seemed a new job offer was coming sooner than later.
“Welcome Rashid,” as the two shook hands. “This is a pleasant surprise since I didn’t except we’d meet again for awhile, especially here. Join me for a coffee, it’s still fresh and you can tell me the reason for your unexpected visit.”
Vlad was nonplussed at the sudden appearance of Rashid, but acted as though nothing unusual had just occurred. It was simply two colleagues meeting for morning coffee to discuss business. Of course, nothing was further from the truth. Vlad was on his best behavior and on guard until he could determine Rashid’s true intentions. Maybe it was merely a discussion of future operations, maybe something more lethal. Vlad would soon find out.
“Well, my friend, our plan for Ras Tanura didn’t go as planned it seems. I thought the scheme had merit and would be successful, but that was not to be,” Rashid nonchalantly spoke as he sipped the strong, black coffee.
“Allah works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he? But we can still behold more wonders by choosing less formidable targets in the future. Perhaps we were too bold in believing we could replicate the destruction at Luanda, but on a much grander scale. It’s what the ancient Greeks called hubris or over-weaning pride. The Americans would say we got too big for our britches.” Rashid laughed at his own use of the colloquialism.
“So what are your plans? It looks like you’re ready to move on soon so the timing of my visit was opportune.”
Vlad didn’t like the inane chitchat and sensed danger. The conversation was much too casual and nicey-nice to suit him. He’d expected Rashid to be furious with him over the botched operation. Instead, he was hearing about Greek history along with a verbal shrug of the shoulders that shit sometimes happens. It was all too pat and prissy for his liking. His sixth sense had saved him many times over the years. And his twitching antennae at the back of his suspicious mind proved to be correct again.
Rashid had pulled a small revolver from beneath his ersatz caftan and pointed it directly at Vlad’s head.
“Sorry Vladimir, but this needs to be done. My masters were sorely disappointed with your performance here.”
It seemed Rashid hadn’t brought along a new job offer, only his termination notice.
“You’ve become a serious liability in their eyes and must be eliminated. You see I’m also under a little pressure since I hired you and directed your operations. I must redeem myself by killing you and removing the link between you and me and ultimately back to others. I’m afraid there’s too much at stake to do otherwise. My bosses don’t believe in failure. It’s nothing personal, just business.”
As Rashid briefly interrupted his self-serving soliloquy as to why Vlad had to die, Vlad thrust the fork he was holding under the kitchen table into Rashid’s throat causing him to choke and gag, although there was nothing funny about the brutal act.
Vlad then dragged him to the floor and stomped down hard on his larynx, crushing the hyoid bone in the process and causing instant death. Rashid would never say a disparaging word about Vlad again. In fact, he’d never utter an unkind word about anyone. He’d stay forever mute in either heaven or hell and that was fine with Vlad. Another lowlife towel-head had just bitten the dust as far as he was concerned.
Good riddance to bad rubbish, he thought as he picked up Rashid’s pistol. Waste not, want not was the American idiom that sprang to mind. Be prepared was also a motto he remembered from somewhere. He didn’t have a clue about a stitch in time saving nine. That was too much kitsch, even for Vlad the Impaler to stomach.
Before Vlad could fully collect his wits, he heard rustling noises outside the house. That didn’t make any sense since there were no cattle grazing in the neighborhood. Another surprise, he thought, as he ran up the stairs to see what was happening. And what was happening wasn’t good. He could make out that armed paramilitary police had surrounded the property and knew an entry team was about to break down the front door. And that’s exactly what happened next.
The entry team with Jabbar in the lead came through the front door after it had been knocked off its hinges with a battering ram. The ramming device was a Dodge Ram 2500 pickup truck with a bull-bar attached to the front end. The door, frame and its surrounds collapsed inward from the brute force of the controlled collision.
We stayed silent as we scanned the living room for signs of Vlad. There were none. We gingerly stepped around the body lying on the kitchen floor. Jabbar then whispered we should do a room-to-room search of the ground floor of the large house. But I thought it a slow, tedious chore that wouldn’t get us results or Vlad. I had another idea in mind, one we’d practiced at the DSS Training Academy.
I put my cupped hands to my mouth and shouted in my most masculine, authoritarian voice: OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE. Come out, come out wherever you are! I had Pet repeat it in Russian in case Vlad was English impaired. And it worked since Vlad appeared at the top of the stairs holding a barrel of a pistol in his mouth. He knew he was cornered, but refused to surrender.
“Stop right there or I’ll kill myself,” he shouted down the stairwell. We grasped his words and intention despite his newly acquired speech impediment. It seemed he was going out with a bang rather than a whimper. I was an obvious no-brainer.
We were amazed that Vlad was now going to do what we planned to do to him. Jabbar thought it terribly unfair because Vlad wasn’t playing his expected role in the game by Hoyle or any other rules for that matter. We were supposed to kill him and not the other way around!
Jabbar was sorely miffed at this turn of events or turn of the table. I say miffed for the sake of propriety and politically correct speech. Truthfully, he was unequivocally pissed off! I empathized with him and his disappointment, remembering what he planned to do to Vlad. But then Vlad spoke, having the last word as it turned out.
“I’ve had my day in the sun and now it’s time to leave under my terms and by my own hand. I no longer have a life to live,” he spoke in an eerie, almost detached way. It seemed Vlad had passed into a state of full blown insanity by the sounds of his words.
At least I could relate to the sun part since he’d been in Saudi Arabia much too long for his own good. Maybe he was having a heat stroke and that accounted for his weird behavior. It reminded me of the Frank Sinatra song, an ode to the almost dearly departed:
And now, the end is near;
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, I'll say it clear,
I'll state my case, of which I'm certain.
I've lived a life that's full.
I've traveled each and every highway;
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
No matter, he was what he was. We were at a Mexican standoff even though we were in the Middle East with no taco stands to be seen. So, I was perplexed by my statement and its misdirected geography. But my stomach growled at the thought.
Jabbar had been standing still in a classic shooter’s stance ready to put a hole through Vlad’s head. But he was too late though because Vlad had just done the deed for him. Vlad’s lifeless body tumbled down the stairs to our feet. It appeared to me he’d broken his neck in the fall. The Saudi pathologist would sort that point out during the autopsy. One had to be damn careful where and how they stepped. So, perhaps the pratfall might be ascribed as the cause of death. If nothing else, it would be a politically expedient solution to what would become an international scandal.
“That was a very dramatic, very Russian and a very bizarre way of exiting life’s stage, a performance that would be appreciated by the trajedians at the Bolshoi.” Pet commented to no one in particular.
“No Major Petrova, the coward died a coward’s death,” Jabbar replied. “It was a desperate act by a desperate man, nothing more.”
I thought those must be old, wise Arab sayings, but wasn’t sure and didn’t bother to ask. But they had a certain repetitive, redundant quality about them that I liked. Then again, I was repeatedly pleased by the statement.
Our job was almost done, but an enormous brouhaha was about to begin. I didn’t know how or where it might start, although I was convinced the fallout would shake the planet regardless. And it turned out I was right for a change!