The Leveling by Dan Mayland Read Free Book Online Page B

with his tail between his legs. At least not until he figured out who was doing the driving, and what could be done to stop them.
    Running to catch up, Mark’s minder said, “The flight to Bishkek will already have boarded.”
    Mark thought about the assassin in the library, and his conversation with Orkhan, and his stolen book, and the indignity of his ruined tomato plants, and the rushed and unprofessional resignation letter he’d just written to Western University. He thought about the view from his apartment that he would never see again and the casual way the Azeri security forces had been ashing their cigarettes on one of his plates.
    Then he thought about the picture with the arm in it, an arm that he was now virtually certain he recognized.
    “Then insist that they hold the plane until I’m on it. Airport security will listen to you.”
    “You don’t have a visa.”
    There was a reason why Mark had kept his black diplomatic passport. “I don’t need one.”

14
    Washington, DC

    “C ENTCOM IS REQUESTING that the
uss stennis
divert to the Arabian Gulf.”
    The president steepled his hands and waited for his chief of staff to continue.
    “So that when you come to a decision, whatever course you choose won’t be limited by a lack of assets in the region. If you approve the request, the Iranians are sure to protest. You can expect a complaint to be filed with the Swiss embassy in Tehran.”
    If the
USS Stennis
was ordered to the Arabian Gulf, three aircraft carriers would be patrolling just off the coast of Iran. The
Eisenhower
was already in the Persian Gulf, and the
Nimitz
was in the Arabian Sea.
    Two aircraft carriers was normal. But three? That was an anomaly.
    “If the Iranians protest, tell them the
Stennis
will be replacing the
Nimitz
,” said the president.
    “They’ll know that the
Nimitz
has only been on patrol for one month and isn’t due for replacement.”
    “Then we’ll tell them the
Nimitz
is experiencing mechanical problems and needs to be recalled early.”
    “They won’t believe it.”
    “I don’t expect them to. Parliamentary elections in Afghanistan are going to be held five days from now, on the seventeenth. We’ll tell them the
Nimitz
will be fully repaired andleaving the Arabian Sea by the eighteenth. They’ll think we’re trying to tell them not to meddle with the elections.”
    “That might fly.”

15
    Manas Air Base, Kyrgyzstan

    B RUCE HOLTZ WAS a square-jawed thirty-two-year-old former football player for Texas A&M who towered over Mark as they faced each other at the entrance to Manas Air Base, the main transit station for NATO supplies bound for Afghanistan. On his hip he wore a smartphone as if it were a sidearm.
    “Mark Sava. I gotta say, this is definitely a surprise.”
    Holtz flashed a big smile that appeared genuine, extended his hand, and did the squeeze-too-hard thing.
    It was early evening. The air was cold, the sky an angry gray that promised rain. In the distance, a few US Air Force C-130 planes were lined up near the main runway, ready to fly arms and rations to Bagram. The flight from Baku to Manas International Airport—Kyrgyzstan’s biggest airport, located just outside the leafy capital city of Bishkek—had taken four hours. After landing, Mark had caught a cab to the section of the airport leased by the US military, the part known as Manas Air Base.
    He and Holtz exchanged a few lies disguised as pleasantries. Eventually Mark got around to saying that he’d gotten sick of teaching college kids, so he’d quit his university job in Baku and left for good.
    “That mean you’re looking for work?”
    “Maybe…”
    “CAIN could use you.”
    “I’ll give it some thought. Right now I’m working on another project.”
    “You’ve been giving it some thought for a year now.”
    “I’ll think harder.”
    Over the course of his career, Mark had served in Azerbaijan, Georgia, Abkhazia, Tajikistan, Nagorno-Karabakh Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and