them for good. The French had notified the U.S. Embassy in Paris the night Ghaleb called Yuri Tavanovich’s home and asked to meet in Tunisia. Alarmed, Mark had immediately hopped a French military flight to Tunis and picked up Yuri’s trail as he left the airport terminal the next morning.
Mark had observed Yuri checking in at the El Hana Palace Hotel and he had checked in at the nearby Diar El Andaloui hotel, and then driven to Yuri’s hotel.
He had a cup of coffee in the main dining room, and then roamed the hotel grounds to gain familiarity with the environment. He noticed the hotel manager eyeing him suspiciously. Finally the manager approached him to see if he could help with anything. Mark explained that he needed a site for a small convention of his company’s salesmen and was deeply enchanted with his fine hotel. Mark handed the man a business card presenting himself as a marketing consultant to a leading French cosmetics firm.
At this point, the manager lost his suspicious edge and became eager to go over every detail of his hotel’s design, pointing out all the nooks and crannies of the property. Mark took detailed notes. During the course of the conversation Mark mentioned that he had planned to meet a colleague there, but he hadn’t shown up. Had any European types checked in lately? The manager walked back to the front desk and asked the clerk the name of the European who had checked in earlier. The clerk looked at his computer screen and said, “The man is Russian because his name is “Ta-van-o-veetch.”
“No, that’s not my friend. But is that man middle age, thinning black hair, about five feet ten inches?”
The clerk and manager looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, held out their arms, palms up and with a tilt of the head to one side said, “No, sorry, this man did not look like that.”
“He seemed a strong and stout man, the manager said. “He had reddish cheeks like the people in Scandinavia or Russia. His brown hair had fallen out a lot. How do you say…uhh.”
“Balding?”
“Yes, yes, balding,”
“How old is he?”
The two hotel men looked at each other intently, wrinkled their brows, pulling their necks down into their shoulders as they shrugged again. Then the manager said, “Maybe middle age. We don’t know for sure.”
“That’s strange. That same guy seems to show up wherever I go. He must represent a competitor.” He slipped the manager some dollars and asked, “Would you let me know when this guy comes and goes?”
“Oh, happy to.”
“But keep this between us. Okay?”
“Yes, of course, monsieur. Yes, yes,” replied the manger, smiling excitedly.
“What room is this Russian fellow staying in?”
The manager excused himself, stepped over to the clerk, then returned to whisper to Mark, “He’s in three-forty-eight. But he just left.”
“Okay. Merci.”
Mark registered under a fake name as he slipped the manager more dollars. He was given room 326. He took the elevator to his room, then walked down to Yuri’s room, where he picked the lock. Noting Yuri’s small briefcase he carefully planted a small listening device in the seam of one flap without disturbing the bag in any manner. Then he left.
Yuri had returned not long after Mark had done his work. Then, a few minutes before nine, the manager called Mark and alerted him to Yuri’s departure. Mark thanked him profusely, hung up and stepped out on his balcony. Using night-vision binoculars, he spotted Yuri on the small dock at the north end of the marina and watched as the small motorboat picked him up and delivered him to the yacht. Mark now had time to search Yuri’s room more thoroughly. He carefully re-entered the room and went through all of the arms merchant’s belongings. A few brochures of MIG fighters and missiles and price lists of the company’s weapons Yuri had left behind interested Mark. After taking pictures of the materials, he put everything back in place and quietly left.
The next morning Mark noticed a well-dressed man coming to shore in a small motor launch and managed to get pictures. He watched as Ghaleb climbed the steps and followed the flowery walkways through the hotel’s gardens to the lobby. Mark went back into his room, then cautiously opened his door and walked down the hallway to the ice machine. He pretended to get ice as he kept an eye on Yuri’s door. He ducked from sight as Ghaleb came off the elevator onto the third floor. He heard Ghaleb gently tap on room three-forty-eight and then enter. Mark hurried back to his room to record the conversation.
He heard the arms transaction clearly. As soon as Ghaleb left Yuri’s room, Mark slipped down the south-side emergency stairs, out the door and through the garden to his own hotel. He went to his room, took a shower, shaved, checked out, and waited in his car until Yuri drove away. He followed Yuri to the airport and watched him board a non-stop flight to Marseille.
Mark then returned to the U.S. Embassy, called his Paris office and made his report. He requested a check on The Medallion through Istanbul. He hoped that other agents could identify the men aboard the yacht. He sat back and took a slow deep breath.
Two hours later Agent Andrew McCall called from Langley. “Mark, you landed at the right place at the right time. One of our agents in Istanbul has had several of these guys under surveillance for months and they’ve been pretty quiet. We think they are part of a new group that has splintered off from Al-Qaida in an attempt to reinvent themselves. But we don’t know for sure. He thought their joining a yacht party significant and sent in a report. Two of the yahoos are Saudi agents, two are Libyan and the others are from various Arab countries. Anyway, a big arms shipment seems to be their goal. Did you find anything to indicate the ultimate destination of these arms?”
“None,” Mark answered. “They’ll be picked up in Odessa, Ukraine, so we need to be present. I suspect the arms are headed to Arab countries, don’t you?”
“Well, let’s see. We need to know when this shipment’s taking place, so stay on your toes in Marseille. We’ve got the yacht under surveillance.”
“Fine. The French have the construction firm bugged so we’ll know when a large sum of money arrives at the Swiss bank. McCall, do you think those Russian guys have fifty million dollars worth of small arms left to sell?”
“If they don’t we’ll hear soon enough. The Mideasterners will be furious. The Arab fundamentalists do their homework well. If they didn’t think they could buy that amount of material cheaply, they wouldn’t have proceeded. I don’t think it’s a fishing expedition. Do you?”
“No, sir,” Mark responded.
McCall continued, “The Director and I have been discussing this for the last hour or so. We think the order will be processed within a week and that the Mideasterners will want those weapons shipped immediately. We’ll set up surveillance in the Ukraine, but you need to get over to Istanbul and stay on top of things. Oh, wait.”
Mark could hear the rustling of paper and a muffled voice. In a few minutes McCall continued. “I’ve just been handed a memo that the yacht belongs to the Sarioglu ShippingCompany. We will try to find out who leased it. Agent Angela Miller will meet you when you arrive in Istanbul and have things arranged.”
“Okay,” Mark said.
“We need to stay with the two main guys in this deal. We don’t think they’ll go back to
