The Devil's Handshake

5

Hong Kong / Dubai / Aeolian Islands, 2007

Once Thomas had told Mikhail what had happened to Nara at the hands of Rejejow and of his intention to avenge her honor, the bodyguard knew there would be no talking him out of it despite the possible repercussions to TLH and himself if he were caught. Nevertheless the former Israeli operative insisted on helping him.

“This is my fight,” Thomas had responded.

“We Jews have a saying, Thomas,” Mikhail had answered shaking his head, not taking no for an answer. “Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world and whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.” He was referring to the passage from the Babylonian Talmud called Tractate Sanhedrin 37a.

“That animal destroyed the soul of Nara and her mother” Mikhail had continued with disgust. “So because you saved my life on that street in Moscow and that of Nara and Tania for that matter on your journey, to right the wrongs of your life our souls are forever entwined with that of yours,” Mikhail had concluded with his ever-present fatalist outlook on life.

“I may not understand all what drives you on your quest,” Mikhail had carried on in reference to Thomas’s determination find those who had betrayed him in Iraq. “But it is my turn to help save your soul from yourself old friend.” He ended the discussion.

“Let me make some enquiries,” Mikhail had offered. “I am still owed one or two favors at the Institute,” He had said with a grim smile referring to the headquarters of his former employers.

The favor called. Three weeks later, Thomas and Mikhail found themselves in a suite at the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong greeting a Hasidic Jew and former colleague of Mikhail’s who made his living as a diamond dealer in Hong Kong while doubling as an intelligence officer of the Mossad.

There is perhaps no other ethnic group that is as inextricably intertwined with the world’s diamond trade than the Jewish people. A position that they as a collective have held ever since the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama discovered India in 1488. Ever alert to a business opportunity, the first traders who were based in Lisbon and belonging to the Sephardi opened their cutting houses and quickly gained a dominant role in the diamond-polishing industry before moving to Holland and then London to escape persecution. Yet despite financing the East India Company in the seventeenth century and running all of the diamond trade, it was not until the discovery of South Africa’s vast reserves during the late nineteenth century that they came to dominate the trade.

Concerned over a glut in the diamond market throughout, London’s diamond merchants a group of wealthy Jewish dealers of the Hasidic sect to pooled their resources to form ‘the Syndicate.’

The Syndicate’s purpose was simple in design: “Soak up all of the excess capacity being created by South Africa” in order to prevent the devaluation of diamonds. So successful in their endeavor did they become, that it enabled the dealers of London and New York to remain the driving force that lies behind the multi-billion dollar diamond industry that exists today throughout the world.

Possessing a long beard and wearing a simple jet-black suit, Yoel Teitebaum embodied to a ‘T’ what one would expect of a man belonging to the famous trader’s sect.

In the world of terrorists and criminals where diamonds had long been the currency of choice it made sense for the Mossad to place their assets in different locations around the world to keep an eye on the various individuals who acted as brokers and financiers.

Yoel was one such man. Recruited out of a northern Israel kibbutz at eighteen, he had served Israel faithfully in Hong Kong over the years. To his friends and business partners he was a successful diamond merchant who did business with anybody as long as the price was right. He was also the source of intelligence that had been passed on the Americans before 9/11 by the Institute (the Israeli’s name for the Mossad), warning them that a diamond merchant working for Bin Laden had been purchasing Sierra Leone diamonds from Charles Taylor, the dictator of the Sierra Leone.

Buying at a rate of three hundred thousand U.S. dollars per week between December 2000 and September 2001, then sending the diamonds to Hong Kong to sell them and transfer the funds into the money trader’s Dubai bank accounts, Yoel had passed on to the Institute the location of the funds he had transferred who in turn had then tracked them to Hamburg and then to America and into Atta’s and the other 9/11 terrorists bank accounts. It was these assets who had provided the intelligence to their Americans counterparts at Langley, before they, at their peril, had chosen to ignore the information until after the event.

“So Mikhail,” Yoel said after their expressive hugs were out the way.

“This is the famous Sir Thomas Litchfield,” he said offering his hand in the direction Thomas warmly.

“My pleasure Mr. Teitlebaum,” Thomas said in Yiddish taking the hand of Yoel.

“All lies,” Thomas answered with a smile in reference to Yoel’s ‘famous’ remark.

The man smiled but didn’t comment further as he took off his Beaver fur hat and sat down on the suite’s sitting room’s couch.

Neither Mikhail nor Thomas offered Yoel anything to eat, as they knew he would refuse it because the religious law of the Hasidic sects forbids a gentile from making food for Jews. Instead, because he was Jewish, Mikhail made and then poured him a cup of green tea.

Yoel thanked his old friend and got straight down to business. He didn’t ask the reasons why he had been asked to find a man within Oleg Rejejow’s criminal organization that could be approached to betray him. It wasn’t his place. It was also one of the reasons why he had stayed alive as long as he had, living in the shadowy world of criminals and terrorists. His role was merely to find, report, and pass on information.

“The man you seek is a diplomat in the Beijing Embassy. He is their local resident,” Yoel stated with authority, “But more importantly he is Oleg’s dealmaker with the Japanese Yazuka who uses their country’s diplomatic ‘bag’ to transport their illicit methamphetamines from North Korea via China into Western Europe.”

“My sources tell me that he has expensive tastes,” he continued with a smile that said it all before providing them with an outline of what they were. “I have set up a meeting with him tomorrow at Peninsula Hotel for you,” he said referring to the famous hotel located on Kowloon Island of Hong Kong where the tourists and members of the jewelry and apparel trades like to stay.

“Now, Mikhail tell me how is your family?” Yoel asked changing the subject to more palatable matters.

The next day, at five o’clock in the evening, a member of staff from the hotel led Ruslan Amangylyç Mingazow into a conference room overlooking Hong Kong harbor.

Instantly Thomas and Mikhail could see the colorful description of the man by Yoel who had described him as a ‘Cane Toad’ was spot on. In his late forties, medium height, possessing the typical rounded features of the tribes of Central Asia, and weighing at least two hundred and thirty pounds he moved like a man who was overweight. Thomas quickly sized up the man. He could see he had the look of one of Turkmenistan’s famous mountain men but being a trained diplomat, his mannerisms were anything but that of his brethren.

“Sir Thomas,” he said offering his hand respectfully.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Yuzbashi,” replied Thomas, formally using his military rank as he shook his hand.

“I am always happy to meet one of our President’s dear friends and partners,” he replied in a manner and style that Thomas concluded was creepy by the way the man smiled.

After the formalities of coffee were out of the way, Thomas got straight down to business.

“I am not going to waste your time,” he said. “I seek your help to settle a matter of honor relating to my family,” said Thomas.

“Sir Thomas,” the diplomat started.

“Qan dushar is illegal,” he continued referring to the term that means ‘blood reaches’ and an unwritten law of the tribes of Turkmenistan that allowed an individual with a common patrilineal ancestor who is not more than seven generations removed to seek revenge on the killer and their immediate kin, but had been declared illegal ever since the Soviets had ruled Turkmenistan.

“And in any case the law does cover foreigners,” he continued.

“Yuzbashi.”

“I am claiming the right on behalf of my daughter who is the granddaughter of Täçmyrat Baýramow,” answered Thomas using Nara’s grandfather’s name on her mother’s side. The man looked at Thomas for a second. He hesitated for a moment.

“The law only covers the patrilineal side of the family, not its matrilineal side,” the diplomat responded somewhat uncomfortably, implying he knew where the conversation between them was heading.

“Your woman’s father was Russian,” he tried to answer in the manner he had been trained.

“By definition because he is a foreigner the qan dashar cannot be claimed”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed, and then focused on the man. He kept his anger in check, but decided to take control of the situation.

“Ruslan Amangylyç. You will find I can be a most generous friend,” Thomas said making his move.

The man licked his lips. Thomas took this as a signal of greed he had been looking for.

“How generous?” He asked, falling in line with Yoel’s assessment of him.

“One million U.S. dollars!” answered Thomas.

Mingazow carefully picked up his glass of water. He sipped slowly to gather his thoughts. As he did so, Thomas assessed the man. He could see he was attempting to act cool. The offer was generous but not without risk. He was asking him to betray one of the most dangerous of individuals in his government’s list of henchmen.

“Who is the person the qan dashar will be performed on?” asked Mingazow with caution despite already indicating through his body language that he knew the answer.

“Oleg Mälikgulyýewiç Rejejow,” Thomas replied without hesitation.

Mingazow’s eyes widened. The fact he was sitting here meant that if Thomas failed with his attempted bribe, then the Turkmen would be facing certain death, for Thomas could not allow him to leave the room alive if he refused to help him.

“Five million upfront,” came the response of Mingazow without hesitation.

Thomas nodded. One never bargained with a person on matters of betrayal. Each man had a price that they valued their life at.

“I am not finished,” replied Mingazow forcefully laying down his terms. He put down the glass trying hard not to shake.

“If you’re successful, I want your support for my political ambitions in Ashgabat.”

Thomas nodded again.

“And a seat on the board of your Turkmen Company.”

At this statement, it was Mikhail’s turn to get angry. A look from Thomas defused the situation. Mikhail’s body language immediately relaxed at the instruction.

“With a salary and profit share I assume?” Thomas asked picking up his cup of green tea.

“Yes,” replied the diplomat without a flicker of emotion.

Again Thomas nodded.

“I will make the arrangements.”

“Then we have a deal,” replied Ruslan with a smile and offering his hand for Thomas to shake.

“We do indeed,” replied Thomas with the devil’s eyes.

Later that month, good to his word, Ruslan arranged for the setup, using the pretense that one of their partners in Japan wanted to meet with a man who could introduce him to the President to discuss a lucrative gas deal.

Being a trusted lieutenant in his business, Oleg didn’t even bat an eyelid when Ruslan had told him that the client wanted him to come to Dubai as he always enjoyed his trips to the Emirate. Nor did the Munbashi question the location of the meeting that was due to take place at a small four star hotel located on the busy road of Al Maktoum Street in Deira, known as the Moscow Hotel, because the hotel contained one of favorite dancing troops all drawn from Russia’s famous ballet schools who girls represented just the type of plaything he loved. Young, beautiful, elegant, and graceful but best of all, with limited experience in the ways of the world having been recruited from some of Russia’s famous dancing troops, therefore by definition, weren’t professionals, unlike the Jeleps he kept in Ashgabat and thus more innocent. As such his stays at the hotel were always thoroughly enjoyable.

“The manager has arranged for a private showing,” said Ruslan referring to the group of girls he had arranged to be delivered to the suite in order to pick one or two to share his bed as they were being driven to the hotel in a Sand Gold colored Vogue Range Rover by Yuri.

Already in a good mood because he had an excellent meal at the Emirates Towers Hotel’s Japanese restaurant, Oleg smacked his knee, making Ruslan wince in the process as he started the conversation.

“Who is this person the Katamaya-Gumi are sending us?” Oleg asked referring to their Yazuka partners from Osaka in Japan.

“Oleg Mälikgulyýewiç,” Ruslan answered formally, as nobody below him in the business was allowed to be informal when addressing him. “His name is Yaturo Nakajima and he represents one of the biggest Gas cartels in Tokyo.”

“What’s our take going to be?” Oleg asked, despite already knowing the answer. He just wanted to be sure the man wasn’t skimming anything.

“Twenty-five-year contract at $200 USD per 1,000 cubic meter gas delivered,” Ruslan answered, using the figure and term to reflect they would pay the transport costs of the Gas by sea that Thomas had given him.

”It will be worth two billion U.S. dollars to the President,” he offered nervously dangling the carrot just like Thomas told him to do so.

Oleg looked at him and smiled. Ruslan prayed to Allah that he would survive tonight. When the Jew had told him that the famous Sir Thomas Litchfield was looking for a good man to introduce him to Katamaya-Gumi he had jumped at the chance to earn some extra money on the side. Only to have that hope dashed as soon as the meeting started in Hong Kong.

He also knew if had refused then he was a dead man. Being a survivor, Ruslan tried to make the best deal possible out of a bad situation. He had no love for Oleg so the choice in the end had been relatively easy for him. That though didn’t stop him feeling nervous and terrified. If they failed tonight, his entire family would suffer.

“Who knows, you pull this off we might send you to Paris next,” Oleg said as the car pulled up in front of the hotel.

“Thank you Munbashi,” Ruslan replied with a nervous smile.

As they walked into the lobby, neither man spotted the dark looking Arab sitting there as they entered nor did they hear him mutter that the targets had entered the lift with a pair of locals dressed in their dish-dashes.

Exiting the lift moments later leaving the locals in the lift, the three men quickly made their way to the suite.

Once outside the door they rang the bell. The door opened and a Japanese man wearing a dark blue suit and red tie greeted them.

“Gentleman,” said the man warmly. “Do please come in.”

Once inside the Asian man, as was the Japanese way, presented his business card to Oleg and Yuri.

Although surprised that he had been given a business card, Yuri took it and made the pretense of being able to understand what was written on it so not to cause offence before promptly placing it into the pocket of his cheap tailored green suit.

“Thank you Nakajima-San,” replied Oleg respectfully as he took his card with both hands before presenting the man his own business card in the same manner.

They sat down and almost immediately both Oleg and Yuri started to feel out of breath and dizzy. An odor hit their nostrils. It was then they realized with horror where the smell was coming from. Their hands!

“YOU TRAIT….” was all Oleg managed to blurt out as his and Yuri’s world went black.

Originally developed by the Czechoslovak communist State Security secret police in the 1980s, the version of scopolamine used on Oleg and Yuri was four times more powerful than most date rape drugs that are sold and regularly used by the Colombian cartel known as “Devil’s Breath.” When a drugged person wakes, the first things that hit them are the side effects. A mixture of blurred vision, dizziness, and hypertension, Oleg felt all of these as his eyes opened.

A searing pain flowed through his brain. He tried to move his hands, but couldn’t. It was then he realized he was hanging by his arms above his head held up by a set of chains.

“Hello Oleg,” said the voice.

The second Oleg heard that English accent, he knew instantly who his captor was.

“LITCHFELD,” he said using the Russian form of Thomas’s name.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE YOU DOING?” he demanded as his blurry eyes began to focus on Thomas’s face as a pair of black soulless eyes stared back him.

“Spare me the tantrums, Oleg,” Thomas answered calmly.

“THE PRESIDENTS WON’T STAND FOR THIS,” Oleg said desperately.

Thomas looked at the man. He chose not to respond to the statement.

“Oleg, you are my prisoner because I am claiming the right of qan dashar on behalf of my daughter’s grandfather.”

“Qan dashar?”

He appeared confused before it suddenly dawned on him. Oleg’s venom returned in full force.

“FUCKING JELEPS CANNOT CLAIM THAT RIGHT, YOU PRIZA!” Oleg said referring to Nara’s previous position. “Poshel na knuy,“ he said, meaning “fuck you.”

Still Thomas said nothing.

Because Oleg knew that he was only moments from death, he decided to go out with pride. He started laughing.

“I always knew that bitch gave the best blowjobs! I just never expected just how good!” he said continuing with an evil laugh that echoed around the room.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. The demon in his soul surfaced.

“I bet the bitch didn’t tell you the words you’re supposed to say when honor is claimed,” he taunted Thomas. Still Thomas said nothing.

“Before you kill me, Englishman, you should know that your bitch and her mother had screamed like little piglets when I took them,” he said as he spat on the floor.

“Seniň mertebe bolmak meniň mertebe,” meaning “Your fate is my honor,” Thomas whispered as he lifted Oleg’s famous gold pistol and pointed it at him and fired, taking his head off his spinal cord as he riddled with it all the bullets of the magazine in the process.

It wasn’t long after that Nara had told him that day in their bedroom of what had happened that it transpired by a strange coincidence Oleg’s own bodyguard had killed him with his own pistol before disappearing in Ashgabat.

It was even stranger, when it was reported that the bodyguard also had turned up dead in Dubai with his throat cut and an ear missing less than a week later.

Although the news only made Sky News and The Times of London as a minor item, in Turkmenistan it was about as significant as news got for he was considered a powerful man with connections to the Government.

The police and the government both promised to investigate, but despite reported intense efforts being made throughout the country nobody so far, had been caught for the murders.

Nara came breathlessly running into his study upon The Libertine that were moored of the coast of the sky blue waters of the Aeolian Islands with her hair loose, wearing a sarong around her waist. She wore an orange sexy bikini top to tell him of the gift that had been granted from Allah to her and mama. He knew instantly why.

“Thomas!” she said, not stopping to draw breath, her breasts moving up and down seductively. “Mama says the pig is dead!” she announced excitedly.

Without a word, Thomas smiled at her, pulled out a walnut polished box from his desk drawer then got up and walked around the desk until he came to stand in front of her. Pausing for a moment, he looked into her seductive brown eyes.

“Open it, Darling,” he ordered softly, giving it to her whilst stroking her hair away from her face gently with his other hand.

Thinking it was just another one of his gifts of guilt that he had bought her as a way of an apology since that terrible afternoon of few weeks ago, Nara’s face immediately showed intense disappointment.

“He doesn’t understand!” she thought.

Nevertheless she did as he told her.

Upon setting eyes on the box’s contents that lay on green velvet, she quickly stared straight back up him in shock and awe.

“It’s the p-i-g’s pistol!” she exclaimed, recognizing it straight away.

“Is this his animal’s ear?” she asked referring to the piece of shrived up anatomy that was lying next to a knife that she had instantly recognized as belonging to Yuri.

“Seniň mertebe bolmak meniň mertebe,” Thomas said quietly in Turkmen, which meant, “Your fate is my honor.” He kissed her forehead beneath him ignoring her question.

Immediately, tears arrived in Nara’s eyes as she began to comprehend the enormity what her love had done in her name.