Cameron Poe - Red Agenda

She snapped her fingers in Andri’s face annoyingly, getting his attention again. The new elite , he contemptuously thought.

“What do you mean someday ? I want to speak with you now!” she cackled at Andri.

“Yes, madam. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Help? You could have helped an hour ago when my poor child became ill. You could have stopped.”

“Madam, it would have been of little consolation. That would have only delayed us getting him back on solid ground.”

“I believe not. I believe that you drove the boat in such a manner that it caused him to get ill.”

“I do not drive boats, madam. I pilot them.”

“That makes little difference to me. I had a terrible time, and now I want my money returned. If not, I will complain.” The woman spat as she wagged her finger at Andri’s nose. It was all he could do to keep from losing his temper.

“Very well. Please go to the sign-up booth and ask for a refund. I’m sure they’ll be glad to give it to you.”

A condescending victory grin crossed her face as she wheeled about to exit the craft. “That’s better,” she spouted. “I won’t have some lackey steal my money.”

It was too much. He paced up behind and caught her skirt before she could leave. The woman shrieked as his large hands grasped her underwear, pulling it up between the two potato bags that were the excuse for her ass. With great ease he hoisted her on his shoulder and dumped her over the railing. It wasn’t much more than a three-meter drop, but the splash created by the woman’s body sprayed across a large portion of the dock. She came up gasping and screaming for her son, but he was still busy emptying his stomach.

George had stayed all night in his car, parked outside Mohsen’s house. About three in the morning, lights came on, and servants began scurrying about, packing Mohsen’s Lexus for a trip. Several times throughout the week he had called the captain’s office and tried to set up a bogus interview. The young aide that checked his schedules never knew he was giving away Mohsen’s itinerary. Mohsen would be around for interviews and dinner except for these next five days.

“During that time,” the aide said, “the captain would be indisposed to everyone.”

This had to be the period when he was leaving for his meeting with Stemovich . At least that’s what George surmised.

At a quarter past five, three more servants and a driver emerged. George had gotten quite comfortable in his little Mini Cooper parked across the street. He shook himself awake and waited for Mohsen to appear. He never came. That’s what George thought at first. The driver hopped in the car and started it up. One of the three servants opened the back door of the Lexus and helped another in. Then the remaining two were given instructions from the one in the back of the car. They bowed their heads in a manner that clearly gave away that Mohsen was traveling incognito.

“That son of a bitch,” stammered George. “He doesn’t even have the balls to go in his uniform.”

The Lexus backed out and drove off. George followed, keeping a good distance between the two cars. An immense sinking feeling knotted his gut. It was becoming obvious that if Rezaee Mohsen had to exit his own country secretly, then something big and nasty could be on the horizon. Disgust is what George felt. He slammed the steering wheel with his hand and wished he had discarded that small piece of paper he had found so many nights before. I can’t believe I’m getting mixed up in something else , he thought. Two more months and I’d be free. Out to live my pension. Damn! It was nice to complain because he rarely did. He also knew that he would never leave his job half-done; but this one was it. Once over, he was stateside.

The drive to the airport was short, and the Lexus basically sped all the way. George hurriedly parked his car and grabbed a small carry-on bag. He knew when he returned he’d have a hefty fine to pay, since he left his car in short-term parking. Probably more than what the car was worth, but he didn’t want to lose sight of Mohsen.

Several times Mohsen melted into the crowd of early morning flyers. Some businessmen traveling to the West were sporting very contemporary suits, but most still wore the long, flowing Arab regalia identifying their status in society. Mohsen could not pass up the chance to wear a somewhat lavish robe. Though he was traveling secretly, he still maintained outwardly that he was a man of some importance. That mistake made it easier for George to follow.

Only a few times did George lose sight of him completely. In his rush to locate him again, he accidentally bumped into Mohsen at the counter. He turned away quickly to appear as a clumsy traveler. It was an amateurish mistake. He was much better at snooping than tailing, and it did nothing but enflame George’s opinion that this particular operation was being handled poorly. Usually there was a structure to following a person and support agents. This time no rules applied. He could only make it up as he went along.

The flight Mohsen was boarding was a nonstop to Istanbul. Once Mohsen got in the security line, George returned to the ticket counter and purchased a fare. He cut in the line, much to the chagrin of some businessmen.

“I do apologize, but I have lost my pass, and I need to make the next flight to Istanbul.”

“Business or pleasure?” asked the agent.

“Family emergency.” That was the same excuse he had left at work.

“Unfortunately, you are still required to buy another ticket.”

“Fine. That is acceptable.”

The agent processed his ticket, and within minutes, he returned to security, where he observed Mohsen quietly reading the morning paper as he waited his turn. For the first time, he could relax. Once through, he took a seat behind the captain on the concourse and let the tensions drain from his body. He had almost fallen asleep when the first boarding call for the plane came. Twenty minutes later, he and Mohsen were on a DC-10 taxiing out to the runway. Before it left the ground, George had drifted off.

The plane touched down in Istanbul, jolting him back to life. Though he knew there was no way Mohsen could have left, he still looked for him to make sure he was in his seat and satisfy his peace of mind.

As with all airplane passengers, none could wait to exit, and the herd moved forward as George looked for a position to jump into. Mohsen had been lucky. Seated near the front, he could disembark the plane first. George was hoping to catch up. Calmly he walked up the corridor looking for him. Mohsen was nowhere to be found. He ran his eyes across the area briefly and then made his way to the terminal. He stopped often to gaze back in the hopes that he had overlooked him by mistake. He couldn’t figure out how he could have passed him. Still, he was gone. George made it to the main terminal, then went back, convinced that he must have passed him. He controlled his anger. Mad not at himself for being so poor at tailing people, but at the whole operation. Even this early in the game it was turning into a fiasco. He had almost given up looking for Mohsen and begun to formulate plan B when he spotted the captain through a window.

There he was, on the tarmac outside, standing in line to board a small twin-engine aircraft. The plane couldn’t hold more than ten, and there were that many people in line. It was obvious that George would have to wait.

He went to the nearest ticket agent and inquired about the destination of the plane. The reply was that it was headed to a town known as Simferopol in Crimea, across the Black Sea.