Blowback

TEN

Chief of Staff Charles Anderson found the Swiss ambassador at a quiet table in the Mandarin’s lobby bar.

“Can I buy you a drink, Chuck?” asked Hans Friederich as a waitress set down his martini.

“I’ll have a light beer,” said Anderson. “I don’t care what kind.”

“Light beer?” said the ambassador as the waitress smiled and walked away. “Since when does Charles Anderson drink light beer?”

“Since my trousers started getting a little too snug around the waist.”

The ambassador laughed good-naturedly.

“I’m also going back to the office tonight,” added the chief of staff. “We’ve got a bit of a situation brewing.”

“I’ve been watching your situation brewing all day on TV,” said Friederich.

Anderson grimaced. “Yeah. The al-Jazeera thing. Believe it or not, that’s shaping up to be the least of my worries at this point.”

“Then I’m sorry that I might soon be adding to them.”

“Why?” asked Anderson. “Are Mitzi and the kids okay?”

“They’re fine.”

“How about you? You look like maybe you should start thinking about switching over to light beer too.”

The ambassador smiled and shook his head. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

Friederich tilted his head in the direction of the approaching waitress and fell silent. Once the young woman had poured Anderson’s beer and left the table, the ambassador continued. “I have some information for you, but before I give it to you, I want you to know that we’re only an intermediary. My government has no way of corroborating what I am about to share.”

“Understood. What do you have?”

“The sword of Allah.”

“The sword of Allah?” repeated Anderson. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“If what I hear is true, you are about to become extremely familiar with it. It’s a weapon with which Islamic fundamentalists intend to purge the world of all but the most devoted Muslims.”

“And exactly what kind of a weapon is this?”

“It’s a sickness that infects all but the most devout followers of Islam.”

Anderson almost spit his beer back in his glass. How the hell did the Swiss ambassador know about this? He took a moment to glance around the bar to make sure nobody was listening to them. “Where’d you get this information?”

“I’m here on behalf of a man who does a tremendous amount of business with my country.”

“Who?”

“He’s not a Swiss citizen, but he has been extremely—”

“Damn it, Hans. I don’t have time to fool around. Who the hell did you get this information from?” demanded Anderson.

“Ozan Kalachka.”

“Kalachka the Turk? The terrorist?”

“The terrorist characterization is malicious and unfounded,” replied Friederich.

“Unfounded, my ass. Western intelligence, in particular the CIA, knows—”

“Western intelligence knows precious little. In fact, Western intelligence, your CIA in particular, has been trying to compile a detailed dossier on him for years without any luck.”

“We know enough about him,” said Anderson.

“I don’t think so. In fact—”

“Hans, let me save you some time. If you’re here trying to promote Ozan Kalachka for U.S. citizenship in exchange for whatever dubious information he may or may not have, forget it. We don’t want anything to do with him. And frankly, I can’t understand why Switzerland bothers with him either.”

“Mr. Kalachka is a businessman. He has many legitimate international contacts that have proven very profitable for Switzerland.”

“And lots of not-so-legitimate contacts that have proven very profitable for Switzerland’s private banking industry.”

“True,” said Friederich as he took another sip of his martini. “But in all fairness, the United States had their Adnan Khashoggi to help cement its relationship with the Saudis and their mountains of money. One trillion they have in your economy now, if I recall correctly. It’s no wonder you remain so loyal to them. If they pulled their money out of America, your economy would collapse.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that Ozan Kalachka serves much the same function for us as Khashoggi has for you — he drums up capital for our ventures in other parts of the world.”

“Capital. It sounds so clean when you put it that way.”

“Come on, Chuck. We both know how the game is played. The difference with the Swiss, though, is that we recognized the value of doing business with Kalachka straightaway. I believe Khashoggi didn’t get his job with the White House until he accidentally ‘forgot’ a briefcase with a million dollars in it at the home of your President Nixon. After that, as I understand it, Mr. Khashoggi became quite popular over here. Your country even thought enough of him to allow him to act as the middleman during the whole Iran-Contra affair, didn’t it?”

“Those were different administrations,” replied Anderson, exasperated. “Can we please get to the point here?”

“The point is that you shouldn’t allow your preconceptions to cause you to dismiss the information Ozan Kalachka has—”

“Allegedly has, and I’m not dismissing it. I just don’t like the taste I get in my mouth when I say the guy’s name.”

“Does that mean you’re interested?”

“I still don’t completely know what we’re talking about. You’re going to have to give me more than just this cloak and sword of Allah routine.”

“Fair enough,” said the ambassador as he removed a small digital video player from his suitcoat pocket. “Mr. Kalachka thought you might need some additional convincing.”

Anderson watched in disbelief as he was shown virtually the same footage he had seen in the situation room that morning from Asalaam. “Where did you get this?”

“I told you,” said Friederich. “I’m just the messenger. You’ll have to ask Mr. Kalachka.”

“No doubt he wants something in return.”

“Yes. Mr. Kalachka apparently needs a favor.”

Anderson was understandably wary. “What kind of favor?”

“Mr. Kalachka is prepared to tell the United States what he knows about the weapon and will even provide access to one of the scientists who worked on it—”

“One of the scientists is still alive?”

“According to Mr. Kalachka, yes. But there is only one person he will give this information to, and he wants to arrange a meeting with him in private, at which point he will ask favor face-to-face.”

The chief of staff had known the Swiss ambassador for many years and could read him like a book. “Absolutely not. I won’t allow it.”

“Allow what?” asked Friederich. “I haven’t even told you who he wants to meet with yet.”

“I know you, Hans, and I can’t believe you thought for a second I’d allow the president of the United States to meet with a man like Ozan Kalachka.”

The ambassador couldn’t help laughing. “That would indeed be a historic meeting, but thankfully, President Rutledge is not the person Mr. Kalachka wishes to meet with. He has someone else in mind.”

Anderson was trying to guess who in the U.S. government Kalachka might want a favor from and why he would need the Swiss ambassador and the president’s chief of staff to put it together for him. “As long as this person is not the president or a cabinet member, I’m willing to consider arranging a meeting. Who are we talking about?”

The ambassador leaned forward and said, “Agent Scot Harvath.”