Death on the Silk Road Read online

  ALSO BY RUSSELL MILLER

  A Spy with a Clean Face

  Journey to a Closed City

  Doing Business in Newly Privatized Markets

  Selling to Newly Emerging Markets

  Some Recent Reviews:

  "Russ Miller • Not the Retiring Type" Iowa Alumni Magazine

  "[Miller] weaves the threads of the disrupted Ukrainian business environment with his own uncertainty in his first significant retirement activity. The story captures the mood of that not-too-distant past, so familiar to visitors to former Soviet countries.This autobiography is also an armchair traveler's window into a backward environment that still exists in corners of Russia and its former empire. Further, the story is very typical of the experiences of consultants from developed countries engaging with the Third World, whether on two-week or two-year assignments. Armchair Interviews

  "Miller tells it like it is in Eastern Europe--Terrific! What a great book!"--Travel Helper.com

  "The dawn of a new internationally co-dependent economy" --travelsage.com

  "This book is interesting reading to anyone, retired or still employed, who is interested in volunteering his or her time and talents to "doing good" around the world."--- IESC.org

  Death on the Silk Road

  Russell R. Miller

  BeachHouse Books

  Chesterfield Missouri USA

  Copyright

  Text Copyright 2011 by Russell R. Miller. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  While set in real places this is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, institutions, or events is unintended and entirely coincidental.

  Graphics Credits:

  Cover design by Dr. Bud Banis assembled from Royalty Free stock photo of a Isolated Dagger with Splatter of Red Blood Stains ©anyka, 2011 ID: 71395379 licensed from Pixmac.com, a CIA map of Kazakhstan Courtesy of University of Texas Libraries, The University of Texas at Austin, and photographs throughout from the Author's private collection.

  ISBN 978-1-59630-074-3 BeachHouse Books Edition, November, 2011

  Miller, Russell R., 1928-

  Death on the Silk Road / Russell R. Miller.

  .

  ISBN 978-1-59630-074-3 (regular print : alk. paper)

  1. Retired executives--Fiction. 2. International Executive Service Corps--Fiction. 3. Americans-- Kazakhstan --Fiction. 4. Kazakhstan --Fiction. I. Title.

  Library of Congress PCCN reference number 2011939424

  BeachHouse Books PO Box 7151

  Chesterfield, MO 63006

  (636) 394-4950

  “We have to build up a picture. It’s like a jigsaw,

  but with key sections missing, and pieces

  from other jigsaws mixed in.”

  Sir John Sawers—head of the U. K.’s

  foreign spy agency MI6

  To the Family

  Elsie

  Cheron, Mike, and Paul

  Mark, Margaret, and Cindy

  Timothy and Melinda

  Introduction

  Music to read by:

  The Silk Road by Kitaro: 1985 Canyon Records

  The Silk Road Suite: London Symphony Orchestra 1996 Domo Records

  Jazz Impressions of Eurasia: Dave Brubeck Sbme Special Markets Label

  Music to Spy By: Music from the International Spy Museum Recording

  For a thousand years, the Silk Route spun the thinnest of links between China and the Mediterranean. Since the time of Marco Polo, the trade route between China and Western Europe has been a source of commerce, conflict, and corruption. The road travels through some of the most hostile environments imaginable, including the Taklimakan Desert, which is sometimes referred to by the local inhabitants as the Land of Death. It is here that temperatures climb with the sun, only to plummet after dusk. Sandstorms are common, made even more dangerous by the velocity of the prevailing winds. Formidable mountain ranges surround the area. To the south are the Himalayas, which provide a barrier to the Indian subcontinent and to the west are the Tianshan and Pamir ranges that provide barriers that complicate passage to China.

  The Silk Road would have never been developed as a route for the caravans if it were not for the great value of the goods traded along the way. While silk from China was undoubtedly the most significant, the route was also used as a means of conveying rare and precious metals such as gold, iron, lead and zinc; as well as rubies, jade, ivory, glass, and exotic animals and plants destined for the royal courts of Western Europe.

  Religion supplied another important and highly varied commodity that traveled the route through the centuries. During different periods in diverse areas, residents became Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims. Each belief had its distinct effect that later provided an added element of potential conflict between the surrounding cultures.

  Very few merchants traveled the entire length of the road. Most covered only part of the route selling their wares, and then returning home with the proceeds. As a result, goods changed hands many times, moving slowly from Asia, through Central Asia to connecting seaports, before ultimately arriving in the trading capitals of Europe.

  The road, and its surrounding areas, in addition to providing a critical chain for international trade, also became the source of considerable conflict between the major powers wishing to control strategic areas along the way. “The Great Game” is a term relating to the early strategic rivalry between the British Empire and Russia for supremacy over Central Asia. The conflict initially centered on the English control of India and their prevailing fear that the Tsar’s later penetration into Afghanistan would serve as a staging area for a Russian invasion of India. The original clash between East and West, during the 1800s, served as a training ground for the early development of national intelligence agencies that competed clandestinely in what later became known as The Tournament of Shadows.

  “A New Great Game” is currently playing out on a gigantic and deadly geopolitical chessboard between the United States, the United Kingdom, and supporting NATO countries against Russia and the Peoples Republic of China. The desired prize this time, instead of geographic areas and overland trade routes, centers more on regional petroleum products and their connecting pipelines, tanker routes, and associated oil driven consortiums.

  In addition to the traditional combatants, new entries to the game include Turkey, with its cultural ties to Central Asia; Pakistan armed with nuclear weapons; Iran, the historical seat of the Persian Empire with rapidly developing nuclear weapons; and India, which has now become a recognized nuclear power. This devastating combination of oil wealth and atomic weaponry is forming a highly volatile and unpredictable contagion of conflict leading to new geostrategic calculations. Further complicating this already incendiary mixture is the relatively recent demise of the Soviet Union’s control over the Central Asian republics, followed by its embarrassing withdrawal from Afghanistan. This, combined with the advent of the “war on terror,” is reforming alliances among the newly independent republics with their vast wealth of oil and mineral resources.

  The historical trade route is once again gaining importance, now supplemented by pipelines, railroads, and sea routes, which are providing further sources of conflict and corruption as the newly independent republics compete with each other for lucrative contracts and geopolitical influence. This is creating a developing mosaic of national interests, operating in an ancient area, wit
h conflicting cultures. The Silk Road and the Central Asian Republics are again the focal point for foreign armies, with new and more deadly weapons actively supporting their competing intelligence agencies.

  It is in this unpredictable and volatile environment that Death on the Silk Road takes place.

  1.

  Istanbul

  Dusk was fading into darkness, and the lights were beginning to better define the extended spans of the Bosporus Bridge. Charlie Connelly nursed his Bombay martini as he gazed thoughtfully through the darkened windows of the Istanbul Hilton’s rooftop bar. It had been many years since he was last here, but the view remained magical. He still considered it extraordinary that he could watch the lights flickering across the bay in Asia while enjoying a martini in Europe.

  He watched a ship steaming slowly through the darkening harbor, being careful to avoid the ferryboats criss-crossing its path. The port had become a center for arm shipments to the Middle East and Central Asia, competing for space with the petroleum-filled tankers destined for Europe and the United States.

  As the ancient freighter approached the Golden Horn, it picked up steam expanding the foamy wake rising on its rusting hull. The ship’s onboard lights soon faded in the distance. Charlie wondered about its destination, and tried to guess its cargo. He had always been fascinated with distant places. Back in an earlier life, as an international marketing executive for Apex Electronics, he traveled to many of them. Even so, going to a new location with unknown people never lost its appeal. Since retiring, he had managed to find some assignments with international development organizations as a consultant, which allowed him to continue traveling, while earning a few extra bucks on the side.

  Earlier in the day, his trip from Ataturk Airport to the hotel was not as peaceful as his present view. Istanbul had turned into a modern city while retaining all the romance and most of the drawbacks related to its ancient origins. The narrow streets were jammed with vehicles competing ineffectively with bicycles and darting street vendors.

  As his taxi had approached Taxsim Square, a short man with a tall fez, riding a three-wheeled bike, his skinny legs peddling like pistons, pulled a homemade cart loaded with a gigantic anvil, as he weaved his way through the stalled traffic. Suddenly, a short distance ahead, the man seemed to disappear in a cloud of smoke, immediately followed by a deafening explosion.

  The cab’s windows imploded, raining shards of glass over both driver and passenger. The cabbie veered crazily into a narrow side street, while falteringly exclaiming “suicide bomber—up ahead—police station.” With worry beads wrapped tightly around his fist, and blood trickling down his cheek, he maneuvered his way through the military vehicles that appeared out of nowhere, and were now choking the route.

  Welcome to Eurasia, Charlie thought trying to brush the shattered glass from his hair and clothes. Conflict and corruption were becoming the hallmarks of the area.

  Turkey fielded the second largest army in NATO, backed by a population that was overwhelmingly Muslim, and it had become a critical ally to the United States in its War on Terror. Now a power struggle was developing between the country’s Islamic rooted government, and its more secular military.

  Earlier that morning, prosecutors had brought charges against a senior officer accused of plotting to overthrow the country’s civilian leadership.

  According to the International Herald Tribune, Charlie had picked up in the airport, the Turkish government believed dozens of other officers might have joined the General in a conspiracy to destabilize the country. They feared this could rapidly develop into a civil war. The entire city was in turmoil as a result, providing an excellent opportunity for terrorists to strike.

  Gazing out of the window of the cocktail lounge, Charlie was beginning to regret his choice of Istanbul as a layover point on the way to Almati, but flights from the United States to Kazakhstan were infrequent and this provided the only reasonable place to break-up the tediously long flight. Now, because of the security crackdown, it appeared he would have to wake-up even earlier to arrive at the airport in time to clear the Aeroflot flight to Almaty.

  “Meester Connelly?”

  Startled, Charlie turned toward the inquiring voice.

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “I have been told to give you this valentine,” the linen clad bar boy replied timidly, before abruptly turning and disappearing into the artificial darkness of the crowded cocktail lounge.

  Irritated by the interruption, Charlie quickly opened the small sealed envelope. Inside was a number. A telephone number. A telephone number he recognized, but had not seen in a long time. A very long time in fact.

  Glancing at his watch, he signaled for the check then shouldered his way through the growing crowd of questionable characters, and their expensive women, who frequent up-scale bars in late-night Istanbul. The night was going to be even briefer than he had expected.

  Back In his room, Charlie threw a few items into an open bag before setting his travel alarm and laying down for a quick nap. With the time change, it was too early to call Washington. Falling into a fitful sleep, he wondered how they knew he was in Istanbul, but somehow they always seemed to know.

  Three hours later the alarm jolted him awake. Swearing, he went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Afterwards, he dialed the number written in the envelope. He could hear the phone ringing, then stopping, replaced immediately by the once familiar whirring of the scrambler kicking in at Langley.

  “Hello Charlie. Good of you to call.”

  “Well, well, Emmett Valentine, I thought you retired from the agency a long time ago.”

  “I had, but you know how it is my friend. Old fire horses still chomp at the bit when they hear the sound of the alarm.”

  “You aren’t a horse Emmett. You are a very old man, and I didn’t know there was any alarm sounding.”

  “And you Charlie were always far too literal. I intended it only as a metaphor, but a very appropriate one. You see, ever since the Agency got a new Director there have been alarms going on all over the place. Shortly after he took over, he feared there still wasn’t enough attention paid to the Muslim world. Instead, he believed the agency continued to focus far too much attention on the Soviet Union. As a result, they were poorly prepared to combat the global militancy of Islamism.

  “The Agency is not unlike an old man. It likes to concentrate on doing what it knows best. You know yesterday’s battles and all that. Anyway, the Director pretty well finished clearing out the Russian House, and all of the old experts, and put them out to pasture. The Agency has been effectively gutted, and over 50% are new-hires”

  Charlie was not surprised at what he was hearing. It was common knowledge that prior to 9/11, the CIA was still concentrating a good deal of attention on the Soviet Union and Communist China, with only a minimum effort directed toward the Mideast. This left the intelligence agency poorly prepared for the global struggle with Islamism in a realm where ideology, ethnicity, and national interest would inevitably collide in a new form of asymmetrical warfare.

  Even after bin Laden became active, the Agency relied on Israel’s intelligence agency, the Mossad, for information on his whereabouts. When the CIA attempted to retaliate on its own for the USS Cole disaster, they sent a missile into a vacant aspirin factory, and later into an empty training camp in Afghanistan hours after bin Laden left.

  “They cleared you out as well Emmett?” Charlie asked with some sympathy. “Did they get rid of you too?”

  “No, no, my boy, I was already out to pasture. See how well the old horse metaphor continues to work,” he chuckled.

  “Anyway, the Director cleaned house, and began staffing-up with new people. At the same time, someone in Washington formed a committee--you know that is what we do best here--made up of some of the former spy chiefs. Their function was to evaluate the government’s entire intelligence network--all 16 different agencies. It seems there was a rift developing between the hea
d of the CIA and the Director of National Intelligence, and between the two of them and the people in the Pentagon.

  “Apparently, the old hands believed the present structure was too dependent on intelligence leaders getting along personally. Eventually, the committee concluded that if personalities didn’t mesh it could be dysfunctional—imagine that,” Emmett added sarcastically. “

  “What the hell does this have to do with you Emmett--and for that matter with me?

  “Oh Charlie, you were always so impatient. You would never have made it here in Washington. You should realize that the bureaucratic battles in Foggy Bottom are fought more fiercely than any of our foreign conflicts. Wait until you hear what they did next.”