Cliff Ryder: Black Widow

"None of that money is counterfeit," Mustafa said. "I checked it myself."

Hasan tossed the packets of American money back into the suitcase. The bodyguards closed the suitcases and stepped to one side.

"I choose to trust you, my friend," Hasan said. "But in the future…"

"In the future," Mustafa said, not to be browbeaten, "perhaps there might exist more time to prepare to take advantage of your good fortune."

Hasan smiled. "It was good fortune. And now the good fortune is yours."

"Only after you have taken your cut, my brother."

"Merely the price of doing business." Hasan waved Mustafa to the rear of the truck. "Come. I will show you what you have been so fortunate to purchase."

Mustafa followed the other man to the rear of the truck. His bodyguards, including Ajza, trailed behind.

Hasan threw open the metal door to reveal wooden crates stacked inside. Ajza knew what the crates contained the instant she smelled the gun oil. This wasn't a drug delivery, after all.

Panic rose in her. Drugs were one thing, but she couldn't allow the munitions cargo in the back of the truck to get funneled to Mustafa's buyers. She searched the rooftops again and saw nothing.

For a moment she thought she was going to be sick. Something had to be done.

London

"Okay," the young man with the goatee said, "let's bring Room 59 online and hook Indigo into the sat-links we've appropriated, people."

As she paced around the room, Samantha watched the mini-satellite dishes power up and independently search for transmissions.

"Satellite Alpha has a lock," one of the women said.

"Satellite Beta is streaming," another man reported.

Diagnostics ran across the screens of the various laptops as everything came online One of the women walked to the front of the room and pulled down a huge blank screen. Immediately different windows filled it. The designations for the computers occupied the lower-left quadrant of the individual monitors.

Samantha studied them, quickly memorizing the location and designation of the various computers. Even after years of being involved in cutting-edge technology designed for espionage, every time she took the command seat for Room 59, it still wowed her.

Kate Cochran served as the director of the clandestine agency, but whoever stood in Room 59 during an operation was captain of the ship. Kate kept everything moving, but Samantha knew she depended on the people she served with.

"Room 59 is live," the man in the goatee said. His fingers were poised over the keyboard.

"Bring up Alpha and Beta," Samantha said. "Side by side, please."

Immediately, the two monitor views expanded and filled the screen. Beta showed Kate Cochran and Hirschvogel in the latter's New York apartment.

"Orange," Samantha said, referring to Kate by her designated call sign for the op, "I have a visual on your location."

"Understood, Indigo."

"Bring up Delta in the lower-right corner," Samantha said.

Immediately the monitor screen with Kate and Hirschvogel shrank and became the same size as the new screen, which flipped through random images of Hirschvogel's apartment building.

"I also have your back," Samantha stated. One of the techs constantly kept an eye on the apartment building's electronic security. If anything suspicious happened, the tech would alert her.

"Good," Kate replied.

Samantha concentrated on the Alpha screen.

"Do any of the businesses in the area maintain closed-circuit security?" Samantha asked. Since 9/11, security cameras seemed to exist everywhere.

"Yes," one of the women said.

"Can you access them?"

"I'm working on it. I think I can hack into a bank." Her fingers clicked across the keyboard. "All right." Satisfaction sounded in her voice. "I'm in. I've designated it as Epsilon."

"Bring it up. Stack it on the right." Samantha paced behind the operatives.

Another window opened up showing the back of the truck where the group under electronic surveillance milled about.

"Are we getting digital images?" Samantha asked.

"Every time I get a face," another of the women said. "I've got fourteen so far."

"Excellent job. Thank you."

"Yes, ma'am." The young woman kept working, efficiently alternating between the mouse and the keyboard.

The computers instantly shot every scrap of information the team gathered to a secure holding area. Nothing remained on the machines operating Room 59.

Samantha continued studying the windows. Reading the body language of the men, the way they reacted to one another within the group, it became easy to tell who was with whom.

At that point Epsilon, which had a better straight-ahead view of the back of the truck, revealed the cargo.

"Freeze Epsilon," Samantha ordered.

The image suspended.

"Can you magnify that?" Samantha walked to the pull-down screen and studied the image more closely. She could almost make out the image with her naked eye.

"Magnifying."

"Can you clean up the image?"

"Somewhat."

"Please do so." Samantha remained conscious of the time passing, but if she was right about the item in the image, they'd made a significant — and unexpected — find. "Is Red Team in place?"

"Red is in place," a strong male voice answered in her earpiece.

Samantha couldn't immediately identify the agent. The possibility existed that she'd never worked with him. Room 59 was set up that way. Only Kate knew who all the players involved in an op were; she put the teams together.

"Good to have you, Red."

"Affirmative. Good to be here. The troop size looks bigger than what we were told to expect."

"Yes."

"The backup plan is to destroy the contraband, not confiscate it. We are locked and loaded," he said.

"Wait for my go, Red. We have an unexpected problem."

"Affirmative. Red on standby. Can you identify the problem?"

"The cargo isn't drugs," Samantha answered. "It's ordnance. Destruction of the contraband isn't going to be possible at this point."

The image on the wall screen smoothed out and clearly showed an M-4 assault rifle. That, Samantha knew, was an American-made weapon.

"Does someone want to tell me how the Yanks lost a truck full of weapons?" Samantha asked.

No one had an immediate answer.

Istanbul

Ajza stared at the M-4 assault rifle in Hasan's hands. A shipment of drugs presented one problem. Customers only got harmed one at a time, and most of the time using the drug didn't leave anyone dead.

Guns killed a lot of people at one time.

And the crates in the back of the truck promised to hold a lot of guns.

Mustafa smiled.

"You see?" Hasan asked. "My good fortune is now yours."

Ajza knew that Mustafa had a buyer somewhere. If that was the case, he planned to get something back for his trouble. His group was already well equipped. They didn't need the guns.

So who did?

"You are satisfied?" Hasan asked Mustafa. "That they are all here and in good shape?"

"I am. You would not betray me, Hasan."

That was true, Ajza knew. If Hasan did, Mustafa would kill him. Mustafa would have no choice. As a broker and dealer in Istanbul, he couldn't afford to let anyone get the better of him.

For the first time, Ajza regretted not having a wire or a radio on her person. Someone back at Home Office needed to know about this. The Americans needed to know about this.

Hasan jumped from the back of the truck and closed the door. "Then our business here is done, Mustafa. May your path prove fruitful."

"And yours."

Hasan and his group walked toward the harbor.

"Now," Mustafa said as he turned to his men, "who can drive this truck?"