Val Karren - The Deceit of Riches

“I don’t have any package for you, no disc. In fact, the people following me think you have a disc that they say they need to have. I am supposed to signal to them when I know that you have it with you,” I countered his advance.

“I know you don’t have anything for me, but the only reason you are alive is that my friend from Kyrgyzstan, working for the Iranians, believes that you do have it and will surrender it to me today,” he explained further.

“You set me up?” my trust in my friend was growing thin.

“Kid, you know enough to be killed by three different groups. If I played an open hand with all the powers that want this data and told them that you are clean, you would have been dead yesterday. The only reason you are alive is that the Iranians believe you are transporting the disc for me from Nizhniy.” Del’s eyes had grown very serious. The tension gathered around the table as I listened to the twisted fairy tale of intrigue.

“The FSB believes that you have the disc,” I challenged.

“Only after they caught you and you convinced them that you don’t have it, that’s why I’m still a free man. They heard about you from my customer, I’m sure, and came after you,” he countered. “You see, the FSB agents and I are being paid by the same intermediary to get the data that was in play. Both the Kyrgyz, Chechens and the FSB were looking for you during your river excursion. I told them you had the disc and would on my orders pop up again soon and meet me right here,” he said boasting his bluff.

“What’s on the disc?” I asked defiantly.

“Well, that’s a bit of a story. A story that you, by the way, helped to unravel. As you know Mr. Ivan Sergeyevich S., or as you know him, Mr. P.’s father, was somewhat of a genius when it came to radar and tracking technology. Working on the MIGs for the Sokol development department there in Nizhniy Novgorod he designed what is most likely the most sophisticated missile guidance systems ever known to man, adaptable to all sizes of projectiles, whether it was ground fired, surface to air, air to surface, air to air, you name it. This system is able to guide a Tomahawk cruise missile through a circus master’s hula hoop, after passing through the big tent doors without knocking the hat off the monkey turning the organ grinder. We have never seen anything like it. The Chinese have never seen anything like it, the Russians went crazy when it worked in a test in 1993 and even more so in the spring of 1994 when it did even better. The Iranians are jumping up and down to get it and are willing to fork over an oil well to get it,” Del was rather worked up.

“What does Iran want it for?” I asked naively.

“Kid, if you’re sittin’ on the beach of the Strait of Hormuz with your binoculars and a cup of mint tea and you see the USS Nimitz passing by with impunity, making waves in your tidal pool, you’d give twenty million dollars to be able to put a missile through the gap of the front teeth of the captain on deck lookin’ right back at ya with his binoculars thinking he runs those waters. Don’t mistake it kid, the indignity they feel watching the Great Satan’s Man-of-Wars float by every day has really got them indignant.” Del explained his cowboy politics in a unique way, I wished I had been recording him. “If one of our fighter pilots as much as turns on a cockpit light to read his pre-flight checklist, the guidance system can latch on to the electric pulse and pick it off the deck of the aircraft carrier before he’s been cleared for takeoff. It’s that sensitive!”

“So, how does Mr. P. get involved in all of this? How did he wind up with this technology? I can’t believe security is so bad at a top-secret facility that he could just waltz in and burn a disc for himself,” I queried.

“We believe that Mr. P. had his father killed to obtain the disc in order to sell it himself. Mr. S was in Bishkek last year officially helping with an FSB sting to help stop the smuggling of Russian technology to the highest bidders, in that case, it was the Chechens. Those arms shows throughout the central Asian republics of the USSR are deadly places for innocence! The materials one can buy there, Oohhhwee! Deadly, deadly. Mr. S. had that program with him in Bishkek for some reason. We know because we were watching there too thinking he was meeting somebody to sell it himself. The meeting we anticipated didn’t happen. S. never showed up. He was dead in his hotel room. Strangled the night before by a prostitute,” Del expounded.

“Did you kill Mr. P. then to get the disc?” I asked again with accusation in my voice.

“No, I did not kill Mr. P. but I did get the disc in the end,” Del confirmed. “There were enough people willing to knock Mr. P. off that wanted his organization, that it didn’t take long to find somebody willing to do it for me. They did a great job to make it look like a mafia hit. His own second in command shot him in his own driveway and then drove his car to the place where Mr. P. was supposed to meet another contact of my Kyrgizian friend to make the swap. Mr. P. planned to use the money from the sale to buy the land from the city for his casino hotel which would have gotten him into the big game with the big sharks. From there it would be arms smuggling and oil deals instead of pimping and racketeering. It’s the timeless deceit of riches that nobody can resist, not Mr. S., not Mr. P, not Mr. P’s second in command and not the KGB boys! They believe that the money will make them immortal somehow. They think that they can outrun the grim reaper and get away with more than their fair share, but in the end, it just makes them all dead. Too many people without enough imagination chasing and killing each other for it. The siren’s song luring them all straight to ruin.”

“The FSB agents holding my leash are accusing me of the murder, and say they have enough to turn me over to the local police in Nizhniy to have me locked up for thirty years. I need to know who pulled the trigger, Del,” I demanded.

“Kid, the FSB agents jerking you around are all working off the books. They are as corrupt as Yeltsin’s cabinet and their hands just as dirty. They aren’t trying to protect any state secrets. They’re looking to score big by being the ones to sell the S.’s software to the Iranians and as soon as they do, they’ll retire to the French Riviera or buy a villa on Cyprus and keep their money in Switzerland. Yes, sir, they’re out for their piece of the pie. You don’t have to worry about them turning you over to anybody. They’ll shoot you first,” Del clarified.

“My signal to the spooks around the corner is to stand up and walk away. That will mean to them that you have the disc,” I threatened.

“And if I get up and walk away that means that you’ve turned over the package to me and Mr. Bishkek will let it fly. As I said you know too much.” Del gave me an ice-cold stare. “You see kid, it’s a stalemate. The FSB is well aware that if they were to jump all over us like circus monkeys right now that Mr. Bishkek, who they are now trying to double cross, would simply pick them off right now to protect his package. If Mr. Bishkek were to step out of his sheltered position right now and grab your backpack the six FSB agents watching us would apprehend him thinking that he was trying to grab the disc and disappear and then they could turn him in for espionage. So as long as we sit right here, and leave together in a civilized way after our lunch is finished, we may both get out of this with all our limbs attached. If we split up, you’re dead before morning. Got it?” Del was dead serious.

“Got it,” I said in a defeated and terrified whimper.

“Good, let’s eat!” Del smiled and bit into his club sandwich.

With his mouth half full, still chewing, Del spoke again, “Kid, you’ve got some great skills. You should think seriously about using them to help keep the world safe. The skills set that you have could help us keep this post-Cold-War world from coming apart at the seams. I haven’t had an official field agent work for me that showed more competence than you have. Your ability to research and make connections to the real world is impressive. Your raw talent for this work can be honed to craftsman level if you’d allow yourself to be trained. That is why I am still here, to get you out. The disc has already been destroyed. The mission is over. We want you to come work with us.”