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At the Georgia-Azerbaijani border, guards and customs officials were inspecting the blue rental truck. Abdula Nassir and his two men were seated in the cab of the truck and they provided the necessary visas and documents and proceeded easily through the Georgia side of the border. They next drove the very short distance over to the Azerbaijani customs gate and waited their turn to check through.
“What are you carrying in the truck?” the Azerbaijani guard asked Abdula who was sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck.
“We’re carrying Georgian citrus fruits to be sold in our markets in Baku.”
“I see, so you’re prosperous foreign merchants.”
“No, not really, my brothers and I make only a modest living, we are not wealthy, if I was rich I’d be sailing on the Caspian and letting someone else make these trips for me.
A Customs Officer approached the guard and asked, “Do we have a problem here?”
“They’re hauling crates of fruit to be sold in Baku. They’re poor merchants but they could afford to travel from Georgia in this expensive rental truck,” the guard said as he gets down on his knees to look under the truck.
“Please open the back of the truck so we can check inside,” the Customs Officer said.
When Abdula doesn’t get out of the truck quick enough, the guard bangs the back door of the truck with his rifle.
“I have a letter from the agricultural exchange office in Tbilisi,” Abdula said as he got out of the truck with a pained look on his face.
“They said that you would honor this because we paid good money for the fruit, all we want is to be on our way.”
Abdula handed the officer the letter and unlocked and opened the back of the truck. The guard climbed into the truck and pried off the top of one of the crates with a crowbar. He pulled up a sheet of the packing material and stared into the crate for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity to Abdula. The guard turned and tossed a grapefruit out to the Customs officer.
The Customs officer looked over Abdula’s letter and said, “I need to make a phone call to check this.”
Abdula rolled his eyes and said, “We wish to be in Sheki this evening before it gets too dark.”
“I promise that we’ll have you out of here as soon as we can,” the customs officer said.
As the customs officer turned to walk toward the guard station, Abdula grabbed the man by the arm and said, ”Please forgive me, I’m not a patient man.”
“You and your cargo will be released when I say so,” the Customs Officer said before he walked away.
In the CIA’s Mercedes, David was watching the road ahead and said, “That’s the border gates up ahead.”
A second later, Frank quickly slowed the car and veered off the side of the road to a screeching stop.
“What the hell are you doing, Frank?”
“Look up there at the far gate, that could be the blue rental truck that we’re looking for.”
“Good eye, Frank, you and Brad stay put, while David and I take a walk up there and check it out.”
Hoskins and David got out of the Mercedes and walked toward the border gates. They showed their visas to the Georgian guard and walked across to the Azerbaijani gate.
While they walked from one gate to the other, Hoskins said to David, “I want you to find the friendliest guard or tourist that you can near the rental truck, you need to buy me some time to look the truck over.”
David immediately struck up a friendly conversation with an Azerbaijani border guard. Hoskins stood to the side pretending that he was looking at a map he was holding and glanced occasionally at the blue truck and its passengers. He saw that Abdula was agitated as he sat there staring at the customs office and cursing in Arabic. Hoskins nonchalantly walked around the back of the truck and spotted the citrus crates in the back. Then he saw the sign for ‘Caucasus Rental’ on one of the truck’s back doors. Hoskins then motioned to David to finish his talk with the guard, and he waved for Frank to bring the car up and process it through the border gates. The Mercedes pulled forward and after Frank and Brad cleared through the Georgian gate, Hoskins and David got back into the car.
“That’s got to be the truck we’re looking for,” Hoskins said.
“Are we going to seize it now?” David asked.
“No, we can’t risk a shoot out anywhere near those cesium canisters,” Hoskins said.
“Hell, they might even have the truck rigged to explode for all we know,” Frank said.
“Could we bribe the guards to delay them until we bring in reinforcements?” Brad asked.
“No, in this neck of the woods, you really can’t be sure who you could trust,” Hoskins said, “No offense, David.”
“Its okay, I understand.”
“The terrorists probably have money too, and we could end up on the short end of a bidding war. Generally, the less people involved in the situation, the better off you are,” Hoskins said.
“Let’s just follow them for a while and see where they take us,” Frank said, “And since we’re going to be in line for a while, I’m going to run inside and use the rest room.
Frank exited the vehicle and walked toward the Azerbaijani guard station.
“Did anybody call while we were outside,” Hoskins asked Brad.
“No, we called Caucasus Rental and the truck was paid for with a credit card. Frank traced the number to some unidentifiable corporate Swiss account.”
“Is HQ tracing the account?”
“Yeah, Frank called it in, but they said that it might take a while.”
“The Azerbaijani’s are probably going to check the trunk,” David said, “Should we be worried that they might find the half million dollars in there?”
“Not at all,” Hoskins said with a laugh, it’s in a sealed compartment under the trunk, your local mechanic could look right at it and not even see it.”
After a few minutes, they watched as the blue rental truck passed through the border gate and into Azerbaijan.
After Frank got back in the car, the group waited their turn and finally pulled up to the border gate. Frank opened the trunk that was empty except for four small overnight suitcases, and the group showed their papers to the border guard. The guard stared at the four men for a minute and finally handed back their papers and waved them through.
“Okay Frank let’s get moving before we lose them,” Hoskins said.
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Frank said as he turned on a monitor under the dashboard and pointed to a blinking red light moving on a small map grid.
“They’re about four miles straight ahead of us,” Frank said.
“You bugged their truck,” Brad said with a laugh, “That is too cool.”
“Good job, Frank,” Hoskins said as the Mercedes moved into Azerbaijan.
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