The Minders (6 page)

They finally landed in Kuwait city. The plane doors opened and immediately all of the cool air left, replaced by dry heat. It felt like opening the oven door, six inches from your face, while broiling something dry and dusty. They quickly grabbed their sample cigarettes and digital merchandise in a duffle bag, and ran down the passenger stair-truck. They ran to the SUV, praying it had air conditioning and that it worked. The heat was stifling, with the first hour or two being the worst. It was a three to four hour drive to
Basrah
, and a two to three day stay, if all went well.

The SUV was modern, well equipped, with spares, gas tanks, and a large repair box, including shovels on the back. On the inside, in the back, was a water tank holding 20 gallons of fresh water. It was well air-conditioned and ready for the drive. The drive took them through a hot desolate desert, as far as the eyes could see. There would be no service until the border. The best thing about the drive was the lack of any speed limit. However, you had to keep an eye out for sand drifts. It could be life ending hitting those at a hundred miles per hour.

They reached the Kuwait-Iraq border after two hours, and refueled before crossing. A thousand dollar donation and a carton of Winston’s helped expedite the crossing. That was the safe part of the trip.

The remainder of the drive would be through troubled parts of Iraq, albeit safer than Baghdad. Thirty minutes across the border and an hour after a SAT call, an escort from
Basrah
met them, sent by the
Mullah
to help safely get them into town. They drove an additional two hours, finally arriving in town. Traffic was the major worry. They had to take multiple routes, re-routing several times not to be stuck in a jam. That was when attacks were the hardest to avoid or escape.

Eventually they found themselves at a building near the river. They pulled into a gated, barren yard, bursting with other SUVs, and armed people. This was
Grand Ayatollah
Muhammad Sadiq al-Sadr’s
compound for the day. The meeting was with his son,
Moqtada al-Sadr,
a twenty-something, up and coming cleric with whom the U.S. had established ties in the hopes of helping control the southern Shiite population. He was an enigmatic, charming character with a powerful presence. He was, at that point, a medium ranked cleric. Yet, he was an influential political and religious figure, with a very strong and obedient following, just like his father.

They met several times over the next two days. The most heated parts of the negotiations covered weaponry for his army, the amount of autonomy he would have over his region, and how much cash flow he should expect. The first two points were near impossible, leaving only one with which Jason could work. The U.S. would not deliver any arms, ever. Nor should he expect any autonomy. In the end, Jason did a great job negotiating. He promised him all the autonomy he knew they would eventually develop. He promised them all the arms he knew he would eventually acquire. Finally, he gave him an enticing cash flow, should they achieve the negotiated milestones, cash that the U.S. took from Saddam’s vaults after the first Gulf War.

In short, Jason gave him nothing of ours, knowing that he would get nothing from them in return. However, the quality time with him resulted in a great profile, but he had a foreboding feeling for where this man was going. The meetings were positive, but deep down Jason knew this man would be yet another thorn in our side. He followed orders, feeling strongly that they were wrong. He should have killed him instead, which was the other option discussed at the WHSR.

*  *  *

Every trip Jason took to the Middle East was filled with equal amounts of joy and pain. He could not forget his own years there as a young boy and felt so badly for the people whose lives had changed so dramatically over the decades. He had many friends that had left that region in the hopes of finding a better and safer life elsewhere. Nevertheless, no matter whom he spoke to, each one longed for the day they could go back home. Even Jason longed for those days as a child, living in Iran. It left quite an impression on him.

So many things were not what one expected. There were no standards. You could not find a plumbing fixture to replace a broken faucet. For those you had to go to a specialist who would fashion something for you based on the sample item you furnished. There were no lines and no basic order. All lines looked like an arrow. It started with the first person, behind them stood two, and behind them three and so on. It was a first shove, first serve model. Nothing was set in stone. Everything was negotiable. You were in a constant state of negotiation. Simple chaos reigned.

Yet, the warmth of the people, the simplicity of life and the social graces made up for so much of the other missing items. Your choices were always between a small set of things, but all useful. There were only two T.V. stations with very little to watch. The grocery stores had one kind of toilet paper, not a hundred different brands.

The food, fruits, and ingredients were fresh, safe and free of chemicals and preservatives. But, you did have to wash everything, and I mean everything. Life was slower, smoother, and more satisfying. It was not a race to see who had the best and most recent iPhone, car, or clothing. It was a great place to raise a child.

*  *  *

Alas, in the end and after each trip, the most important thing for Jason was getting home to his family. In that case, it was a job well done. Everyone got home safe.

Maybe the next birthday, he would be with his family and not trying to change the course of a region.

Yasmin Akbari was in a constant state of shock and anxiety. She went through the day in fear for her husband and daughter, both of whom were stuck somewhere in Iran. She had no idea where.

Are they in some prison or some other horrible place?
She would think.

Most of her friends and all of her family lived in Iran. She dared not call anyone in Iran. The intelligence groups monitored all calls inside Iran. At least back in Atlanta, she had some friends. In Copenhagen, she had no one. She was new to the area and her job. She didn’t know how things worked there, nor did she trust anyone to help. Yasmin had worked for years at The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) in Atlanta, when unexpectedly she got a great offer, involving a promotion and the opportunity to run a division at the World Health Organization (WHO).

Six months ago, she took charge of the WHO’s Vaccines and Biologicals Division, and was the United Nation’s liaison on that subject matter. She had worked in both Africa and the U.S. She was the foremost expert on deadly level-4 biologicals (BSL-4). She had written dozens of research papers and delivered countless seminars globally. She was now at a facility where they conducted deep research on BSL-4s, and where many of the biological samples were stored.

When Yasmin first received her text message, she thought it a joke, done in poor taste. When she did not hear from her husband, and then received worried calls from her relatives asking when they would arrive, she knew it was true. Out of fear for her loved ones, she told people in Iran her husband had cancelled their trip. While back at home, she said they were enjoying their visit to Iran.

Her text message instructed her to deliver a prescribed quantity of a specific item. She knew the items to be illegal and extremely dangerous. The only solace she had was that the delivery system for this disease required complex mechanisms to create an efficient cascade effect, which required sophisticated dilution to weaponize as an aerosol. A hard combination to come by, she thought. Regardless, she just wanted her family safely back. She was going to obey.

*  *  *

The WHO in Copenhagen was celebrating an anniversary for which they had catered food and drinks to satisfy all manner of tastes, given the diversity of cultures employed at the facility. The place was bustling with vans bringing tables and chairs, flowers and table settings, as well as food and drinks. Everyone had to go through the main gate, for validation against a database of approved vendors and visitors. The building courtyard could accommodate over 500 people seated in a fully enclosed and climate-controlled outdoor/indoor structure. They assembled the kitchen and service areas, on the outside, next to the inner courtyard structure, within one of the star wedges. Stoves and freezers were set up. Generators were humming. That particular wedge area had never been so active.

One of the caterers provided Persian caviar. They were a local business with great relationships with an Iranian importer out of France, who specialized in Beluga, Osetra and Sevruga caviars. The Paris-based importer had their own facilities at the port of
Anzali
, in the
Gilan
province in northern Iran, from where they processed, packaged and shipped worldwide. The caterer dropped off 20 kilos, a variety of 250g tin cans, all on ice and ready to serve. Additionally, there was a small cooler containing five 500g containers of Beluga marked for delivery to Yasmin Akbari, with a congratulatory note mentioning her new role at the WHO.

*  *  *

There was a knock on Yasmin’s office door. A delivery person from the mailroom walked in with the package, handing it to her with a smile.

“I believe this was brought in for you. Congratulations, your very own caviar.”

Yasmin knew the time had arrived for her to do as instructed. She opened the cooler to inspect the interior. The thermometer was at the perfect range and the timer had 36 hours left on it. The package looked like a normal travel cooler from the outside, but the inside had two layers of sophisticated lining. The outer lining contained a filler material sufficient to pass the highest of International Safe Transit Association (ISTA) requirements. Coolant gel filled the inner lining, enough to last between twenty-four and forty-eight hours. Finally, a small battery-powered motor created suction for final vacuum sealing. These people were not amateurs. She took out the five Caviar tins, which were actually glass jars painted to look like the traditional tins. Each had integrated rubber rings on the lid with double snap locks. Everything was airtight. Each jar could hold three petri dishes. She had to fill all of them, according to the instructions.

*  *  *

The festivities finally started. Yasmin began her walk down to the gathering. Sometime during the evening, she would commit a major crime, with potentially devastating consequences, all to save her family. Once in the center courtyard, she grabbed a glass of champagne and a small plate of food, pretending to be part of the celebration. She was tightly holding both, but neither drinking nor eating. She was too nervous. She carried on with the small talk, intermixed with some details about her groups’ plans, and any other pleasantries she could manage with a growing knot in her stomach.

It was almost time
, she thought.

Finally, everyone sat down for the presentations and speeches. She would commit the crime during this formal part of the event. She quietly slipped out, walking down a corridor off the main courtyard and towards the elevator to her office. From her office, she grabbed the cooler, heading back to the elevator and up to the bio-storage labs in the uppermost floor. At the main lab, she slid her card through the reader, and faced the biometric reader for a retinal scan. Lights turned green and the lock clanked open. She entered a small changing room where all the safety suits were stored and where a secondary door placed her into an airtight hallway. She dressed herself in a safety suit, pulling it over her fancy evening dress, and then pressed the entry code on the large keypad. The second door opened. She entered the glass hallway. Sensors checked the air. All was good. The third door opened.

She walked into freezer room C-25 and grabbed fifteen empty petri dishes from storage. She then proceeded to freezer room K-112, where she entered and removed fifteen Hemorrhagic Smallpox dishes. She peeled and switched the RFID tags on all petri dishes, then placed the empty dishes back in the place of the smallpox samples. She worked quickly but carefully. Her heart was beating super-fast, like a timpanist on speed. She felt every pulse all the way to the tips of her fingers. She opened the travel cooler, took out the five fake caviar glass jars, and placed three smallpox petri dishes in each. She closed the jars, placing them back in the cooler. She closed the cooler lid and pressed the vacuum seal button. The cooler was now sealed, airtight, and locked, hopefully. Unbeknownst to her, the embedded explosive was set as part of the sealing process. Should anyone open the box without the proper code, it would explode.

The package was ready for shipment. She nervously walked over to the entry and exit glass hallway. This would be the test
.
The sensors were so delicate they could detect the smallest microscopic trace of a stray biological, which would immediately trigger the alarms and lock her inside. Again, she keyed in her code on the opposite keypad and the doors slid open. She entered, holding the cooler tight against her body. The doors closed and sealed tight. The air was pressurized and the room was vacuum shut. Holding the container tight against her, she could feel the air circulating around her. All collected air samples would then run through the sensors, running through all the tests, but conducting a deeper test for items based on which freezers she opened. It was a much longer process then the entry test. It seemed like an eternity. Finally, the lights turned green, unlocking and opening the second door. She was hoping to trigger the alarm, so they would stop her. In the end, she was more worried about her family than the world. The quality of the cooler made her feel slightly better. It had passed all of the tests and it seemed safe for transport.

She walked back to the courtyard area, finding the caterers responsible for the caviar. She handed the container back to them.

“Thank you very much for this very nice and generous gift. However, we are not allowed to accept gifts of any kind. Please return this to the sender with my regrets.”

She walked away and back to the courtyard area. Finding her seat, she sat, picking up a glass of water with both hands shaking. She took a sip. A sip she could hardly swallow, as nervous and scared as she was.

The package was now on its way.