Numbered Account

Mevlevi walked to the second hangar, which housed his helicopters. "Death from above," cried the Americans and their Israeli vassals. Now they'd learn firsthand. He looked at the Hind choppers, their stout wings bent under the weight of so much ordnance. And the sleeker Sukhoi attack helicopters. Just staring at these instruments of destruction sent a chill down his spine. The helicopters had also been painted the dirty khaki tones of the Israeli armed forces. Three of them carried Israeli transponders captured from downed craft. When the birds crossed the Israeli border, they would activate the transponders. For all the world, or at least every radar installation in the Galilee, they would appear to be friendly forces.

Mevlevi's last stop before climbing aboard the aircraft to Zurich had been to the operations center, a reinforced underground bunker not far from the hangars. He wished to conduct a final review of the tactical situation with Lieutenant Ivlov and Sergeant Rodenko. Ivlov summarized the plan of battle: At 0200 Saturday, Mevlevi's troops would cross into Syria and move south toward the Israeli border. Their movement was timed to coincide with the beginning of an anti-Hezbollah exercise conducted by the South Lebanese Army. Syrian reconnaissance would be expected. Intelligence confirmed that no satellites would be overflying the operational area at this time. One company of infantry would take up position three miles from the border near the town of Chebaa. The other company, working in concert with the armored cavalry, would travel seven miles east to Jazin. The tanks themselves would be transported to the staging area by seven lorries normally used to deliver tractors. Each lorry could take up to four tanks. All troops would be in position by dawn Monday. They would attack on their master's command.

Mevlevi assured Ivlov and Rodenko that the plan would go forward as set forth. He didn't dare tell the two Russians that their incursion across the border to destroy the newest Israeli settlements of Ebarach and New Zion was only a feint, a bloody charade designed to lure the Jews' attention away from a small flight corridor above the northeasternmost corner of their homeland. To be sure, a few hundred Hebraic settlers could count on losing their lives. It wasn't as if Ivlov's attack would have no positive consequences. Just insignificant ones.

Mevlevi dismissed the Russian mercenaries, then descended a spiral staircase to the communications facility. He asked the clerk on duty to leave and, when he was alone, locked the door and moved to one of the three secure telephone lines. He picked up the phone and dialed a nine-digit number.

A groggy voice at the Surplus Arms Warehouse in downtown Alma-Ata, Kazakhstan, answered. "Da?"

"General Dimitri Marchenko. Tell him it is his friend in Beirut." Mevlevi expected Marchenko to be sleeping. However, this was his private line, and the general was proud to offer twenty-four-hour service, a concept he had no doubt picked up during one of his military exchanges to the United States. Besides, he was one of the general's better customers. So far he had paid him and his sponsors in the Kazakh government $125 million.

Two minutes later Mevlevi's call was transferred to another line.

"Good morning, comrade," boomed Dimitri Marchenko. "You are an early riser. We have a Russian proverb, 'The fisherman who-' "

Mevlevi interrupted him. "General Marchenko, I have a plane waiting. Everything is in order for our last piece of business."

"Wonderful news."

Mevlevi spoke using the agreed-upon code. "Please bring your baby to visit. He must arrive no later than Sunday."

Marchenko did not speak for a few seconds. Mevlevi could hear him lighting up a cigarette. If the general pulled off this deal, he would be a patron saint to his people for generations to come. Kazakhstan had not been blessed with abundant natural resources. Her land was mountainous and her soil barren. She had some oil, a little gold, and that was about it. For the essentials, wheat, potatoes, beef, she had to rely on her former Soviet brethren. But wares were no longer distributed according to a centrally mandated five-year plan. Hard currency was required. And what better place to begin than with her national armory? Eight hundred million Swiss francs would turn around his impoverished country's balance of payments overnight. Not exactly beating swords into plowshares, but close enough.

"That is possible," said Marchenko. "However, there is still the small matter of payment."

"Payment will be made no later than noon on Monday. I guarantee it."

"Remember, he cannot travel until I give him his final instructions."

Mevlevi said that he understood. The bomb would remain inert until a preprogrammed code was entered into its central processing unit. He knew Marchenko would enter this code only after he had learned that his bank had received the full eight hundred million francs.