"Reza, whatever enlightenment you can provide would be appreciated."

"I don't know much, either. Only that the group is taking credit for a lot of attacks lately. Are we even sure that the Shadows really exist? Could they be al Qaeda or another one of the established groups merely trying to confuse us?"

"No, I don't think so. Their methods are slightly different. Results are the same, though. I actually think I met some Shadows in Arbil the other day."

"Really?"

"Yes. That reminds me. What do you know about the Tabriz Container Company?"

Hamadan wrinkles his brow. "Why?"

"There was a shipment of arms confiscated in Arbil. The stuff was in crates made by the Tabriz Container Company."

Hamadan shrugs. "It's a large company here that makes boxes, crates, containers. . . . Their warehouse is located outside the city."

"I'm going to check them out."

"It can't hurt, but I can't imagine that this company is involved in anything illegal. They sell their products to all kinds of clients. The Shop might be buying the containers through a middleman or a front."

"Could be. Here's another question for you. Have you ever heard of anyone named Tarighian?"

"Tarighian?" Hamadan looks surprised. " NasirTarighian?"

"I don't know his first name."

"If you're talking about Nasir Tarighian, you're talking about an Iranian war hero. He was a hero during the Iran-Iraq War."

"Tell me about him."

"He was very wealthy, owned several businesses, and was very active politically. He got into a little trouble in the early 1980s by speaking out against the Islamic Revolution. When the war started he underwent a tragedy--his home was destroyed and he lost some relatives, killed by Iraqi bombs. After that incident he swore revenge against Iraq. He formed an anti-Iraqi militia--a terrorist group, really. They made frequent raids across the border. They were merciless--they killed innocent civilians and destroyed a lot of property. Tarighian became something of a cult hero here in Iran, but the government didn't approve of his actions. They were going to step in and stop him, but before they could, the Iraqi army ambushed Tarighian and his little band of soldiers. Tarighian was killed and the militia was wiped out."

"Tarighian's dead?"

"That's the general consensus. He hasn't been heard from since. No bodies were recovered from the battle, I might add."

"Hmm. I heard a member of the Shadows mention that name in Arbil."

"I shall make inquiries," Hamadan says. "However, the one name I have heard associated with the Shadows' leadership is a man named Ahmed Mohammed. Have you heard of him?"

"Yes, I heard his name in Arbil as well and I remember his name coming up in reports," I answer. "I'm sure he's on the FBI wanted terrorist list."

"Mohammed is an Iranian, a known terrorist who is wanted by our government for a number of crimes. My sources tell me that he is a major player in the Shadows. He may not be the supreme boss, but he most likely plans operations and has them carried out."

"Well then, I'll be sure to watch out for him."

Hamadan stands and goes to his desk. He opens a drawer and removes an accordion folder. He brings it back to me. "This is Mr. Benton's. He sometimes stayed in a room we have above our shop. In fact, he was here just before he went to Belgium. He left that material here and I found it in the room. Perhaps the material will be useful. You are also welcome to stay here in the room if you wish, Sam."

"Thanks." I open the file and find several papers and some photos. I remove the first photo and have a look. There are two men in the picture. One of them looks vaguely familiar to me. He's obviously Middle Eastern, is in his fifties, and appears to have a skin condition. The other guy I don't know.

"Ah, yes, that's something else," Hamadan says. "Mr. Benton had made contact with that man." He points to the guy who looks familiar. "His name is Namik Basaran. He's a Turk. Mr. Benton believed that Mr. Basaran has inside information about the Shadows."

"Namik Basaran. I think I've heard of him."

"You might have seen him on television. He's an entrepreneur who owns a huge conglomerate in Van, Turkey. It's called Akdabar Enterprises. Do you know it?"

"No."

"They deal mostly with construction, oil production, and steel. Besides that, Basaran runs a charity organization called Tirma, the mission of which is to provide relief for terrorist victims around the world. He founded Tirma with his own money. Namik Basaran is a publicity hound, so he always goes on the news to speak out against terrorism whenever there is an attack. He has been known to help the Turkish police in their search for terrorists, and he seems to have connections in all the surrounding countries."

This charity organization rings a bell. Perhaps I have heard of this guy. "Have you met him?" I ask.

"Never, but we have done business together. I sold him some carpets to decorate his offices. I hope to meet him someday. He's a very generous man, but I must say I believe he's more interested in getting his face on TV than in anything else. But at least he puts his money where his mouth is."

"Who's the other man in the photograph?" He appears to be Eastern European, not Arabic or Persian. Another guy in his late fifties or maybe early sixties.

"I don't know. Neither did Mr. Benton."

"Where did Rick get the photo?"

"I don't know."

I return the photo to the folder and nod. "Well. It looks like I have some homework. If you don't mind, I'm going to take you up on your offer for that room, get some rest, and then check out the container warehouse tonight."

"Very good. I will show you to the room."

I follow Hamadan out of the office and up a flight of stairs. It's a small but very homey bedroom with a futon and dozens of pillows. There's an attached bathroom as well. As far as I'm concerned, it's pure luxury. I thank Hamadan and tell him I'll see him at dinner. Then I settle down to relax. Before I go to sleep I check the OPSAT for messages. There's one from Lambert that says, simply, "Talk to me."

I press the implanted transmitter in my throat. "Colonel? Are you there?"

After a moment I hear Lambert's voice in my ear. "Sam? Where are you?"

"In Tabriz. At Reza Hamadan's place."

"Good, you made it. Listen, I have some nasty news. Another one of our Splinter Cells was murdered yesterday. Marcus Blaine."

Blaine. Again, I didn't know him personally, but I know who he was. He was Third Echelon's man stationed in Israel.

"How did it happen?" I ask.

"We don't know yet. Details are very sketchy, but the preliminary report indicates that it may be the same killer or killers who got to Rick Benton and Dan Lee."

That's when I begin to take what Hamadan said about the Shop having a list of names a bit more seriously.

15

ANDREIZdrok sat in his office in the Swiss-Russian International Mercantile Bank, gazing out the window at the streets of Zurich's financial district. This had been his home for several years and he loved it. Zurich was a very expensive place to reside, but he had the means to take advantage of everything the city had to offer. His chateau on the shore of Lake Zurich was his pride and joy, and the only time he ever left the home was to come into the bank. When he wasn't working, he indulged himself in expensive hobbies. Zdrok owned six automobiles that were considered collector's items, including a 1933 Rolls-Royce that Paul von Hindenberg once owned. His most prized possession, however, was the Swan 46 yacht that he had recently purchased. He liked to sail it leisurely along the length of the lake and sometimes slept on it. Zdrok considered it a small slice of heaven on earth.