Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1)

by Dana Arama

  “Just send me the details and I will contact Zorro.”

  “It’s not so easy. I need to reconnect with an old contact of mine in the CIA and maybe if Alex is still under his surveillance, he will know how to make contact. As soon as I know anything more, you’ll hear from me.”

  From a distance, I could hear the siren of the ambulance I’d called. The police patrol car was seconds behind. When I saw Ashley being taken away on the stretcher, I left the area as well, directly to the casino. I looked at my watch. I had wasted ten minutes more than I had wanted to here. Because every second was critical, in order to find Jonathan, I had postponed the hardest mission of all -- notifying his parents that he had disappeared.

  Laura Ashton

  Relaxation room at the headquarters of the Strategic Coordination Office between the United States security agencies and the foreign intelligence agencies, November 11, 13:50 hours.

  Director of National Intelligence (DNI)

  I was in the middle of a dream when the phone rang. I didn’t want to answer, not because I worked the whole night but because after such a long time, I was back with them… with all of them. Dad looked like he did the day of the accident, in his New York Police Special Forces uniform. Mom was wearing her blue dress with the big flowers. Steven was in his military army uniform from the boarding school, and Gail was a pretty three-year old little girl. In my dream we were driving on the same road as before. There we are driving under the bridge with the purple lights, and Mom points to them and calls out to me to take a look, and I turn my head but then I catch Gail in my sights. In my dream she doesn’t suddenly start vomiting and her face is rosy and pink as always, Mom and Dad don’t turn their heads towards her suddenly and Dad’s hand doesn’t jerk the steering wheel all of a sudden towards the oncoming truck… in my dream, the truck carries on driving next to us and the sound of his blaring, warning and desperate horn changes into the song ‘Happy’ which was so successful as a mantra that I had chosen it for my ringtone on my phone.

  The words “Code Red” woke me up completely. In a matter of minutes, I had washed myself in cold water and wriggled into one of the skirt suits I left in my locker because they didn’t require much thinking. I pulled out one white shirt from the dry-cleaning bag and finished the look with matching shoes, elegant but equally comfortable. Ten minutes later I was out of the room and once again in front of my desk. In the hallway leading from the relaxation room to the offices I could manage to see a bit of the sky. There was a promise of a multicolored sunset or maybe from prior knowledge, knowing that the sun would rise and set and once again. It would be hours until I got to open my food box and warm it up in the microwave, hours until I would get to see my bed and fall asleep without interruptions.

  ***

  The information reached our office as ongoing intelligence before I retired to go to sleep. It wasn’t directly addressed to me because I was not in charge of the Israeli desk, but then it was decided that it was ‘Code Red’ and the whole office was enrolled into helping. The telephones didn’t stop ringing and people ran around in the corridors, seemingly deep into the matter. I prepared a strong cup of coffee for myself and sat down to work. In the beginning I scanned over the latest news and then ran across a name that sent a shiver down my spine. Like a signal received from life after death, he appeared in front of my eyes. Murat Lenika.

  I wanted to go towards the closed room, without an invitation, to enter and announce: “I saw the new information just received, I want you to appoint me to be in charge of the case.” But I waited. The will to do it, to be at the front, to receive all the new information that included places and names of people involved, was burning through me and still, I just watched the phone. After a moment I would take a deep breath, dial his secretary’s number and, with the utmost restraint, request a meeting. That would be my compromise between sitting in my place and barging through the door.

  When the phone rang, I jumped in fright. It was the secretary’s number on the screen. I immediately turned my head towards the closed door of the room. There were rumors that he could read people’s thoughts. This was the first time I saw it happening.

  I carefully picked up the receiver and politely said, “Yes?”

  “Please come in.” After a moment she added my name, as if to make sure she was talking to the right person. Of course she was talking to the right person. There had only been three women in the unit to begin with, and right now, one was on maternity leave. The other had quit over two months ago and so I was left as the only female official in the department. I pushed the chair back and strode towards the office of W.M. Scott, the legendary head of the department. I didn’t often get to go inside his office. The last time was after the terrorist attack on the newsroom in France.

  “How are you Laura?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. He immediately continued, “I want you to give Gordon all the information you have on Zorro.”

  “Is this about the latest piece of news that we received about the kidnapping of the Israeli boy?” I asked, courageously.

  “Yes…” He looked tired. He removed his glasses and cleaned his lenses. “A disturbing case. He could almost be considered American.”

  “I want to handle this case.”

  “The Israeli case?”

  I hated his smug look on his face, but I ignored it and simply answered, “Yes.”

  “Have you learned Hebrew in your free time and forgot to tell me?”

  “That has nothing to do with it… We are talking about Israel, every representative of theirs speaks English. You know very well that it doesn’t pose a problem.”

  “What I know is that you don’t belong to the Israeli desk and that Gordon does belong there and I also know that he is available at the moment and will take the case. I also know that I asked you to transfer all information concerning Zorro.”

  “Gordon? Again?” I lowered my head for a moment. I didn’t want him to see the disappointment in my eyes. Gordon would never share any information with me, and I had to be there. I had to! I raised my head and quietly said, “You keep me away from any interesting case that has real activity. I am beginning to feel as if there is no place for women in this department.” I knew I was playing a dirty game. Any hint of gender discrimination would prompt defensiveness.

  “What does it have to do with you being a woman?”

  “The only woman here now,” I corrected him. “And the only person who wasn’t ever in charge of a case.”

  “What can one do if there are no diplomatic incidents with the French faculty?”

  “That’s exactly the question… Why am I in charge of the French desk? My French is as good as my Hebrew. Why in fact did you appoint the only woman in this department to a desk that doesn’t have any intensive activity in it? Maybe you thought that in a moment of crisis, a woman would be able to handle the situation better with the French faculty? Maybe the only reason you accepted me into this department is because of my looks?”

  “No way!” I saw the look of shock on his face, of the idea I had brought up. He avoided looking directly at me. For the first time I understood that this was exactly the role women played in the department. They kept us small and cute and on the back burner, in case of a crisis where we were needed to soften the men.

  “I am capable of anything Gordon is capable of. I was a combat fighter in the field for a longer period of time than he was, my grades were better than his, I am able to relate to people, also because of my personality and I smell here,” I put a finger to my nose, “discrimination of the kind no congresswoman would like.”

  “I don’t like the threat you’re implying.”

  “Who is threatening? For years we have been told that there is no gender discrimination and I stand here before you and point out your policies here. Prove me wrong. Put me on this case.” I adopted a little smile, half tempting and added, “Pl
ease.”

  “No,” he answered with determination. “Gordon will stay in charge on behalf of the office, but I am prepared to diversify your job.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The kidnapped boy’s relative is asking to join the investigation. He has connections to the highest places in the Mossad -- so high that I was asked if I could help him find Zorro. I am prepared to let you help him.”

  “To be a babysitter once again?”

  He smiled. “Yes, in a way, because I expect you to help him on the Zorro matter, but I also want you to find out what he knows about the case and everything he is hiding from us. I believe that there is a much bigger story behind this kidnapping. I want you to prevent him from leaving the country and from roaming around freely, to keep an eye on him.” He pushed a blue and white file that lay on his desk towards me. “I want you to make sure that he doesn’t leave a trail of bodies behind him.”

  “Is he a Mossad agent?” I asked, with raised eyebrows.

  “Officially? No. I was told that he is recuperating from a personal trauma. A few years ago, his wife was killed in a terrorist attack in Jerusalem and since then he hasn’t been able to get over the tragedy. He traveled in Europe for a few years and for the last couple of months has been living here, with his brother.” His finger remained on the blue and white file. “Unofficially, I believe that he is still working for them and that the story about his wife is a cover story.”

  “The Mossad doesn’t work…” I wanted to say that the Mossad doesn’t dare work in our jurisdiction, but between doesn’t dare and the Pollard affair there was a questionable diplomatic gap.

  He raised his finger threateningly, but very quickly he softened the gesture with a smile. “This isn’t just any babysitting job, as you called it. I expect to receive information without diplomatic stories.” Then he announced, as if reading my thoughts, “It isn’t easy working opposite the Israeli Mossad. They have the tendency to push their people into the midst of any affair, they share information selectively and misleading in general, they don’t trust anyone. This is a situation that I won’t allow. Our agreement with the Israelis doesn’t allow them to work independently on American soil. Everything has to be authorized by us and to remain within American authorities. If they want part of the action, they have to go through the regular diplomatic channels. United States soil is out of bounds for them, is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered sincerely and humbly.

  “Because you were fool enough to insist on this case,” he said, “You are going to get it.”

  I took the file from him and opened it. The first photograph was of the kidnapped boy. The second picture was of a young, impressive-looking guy and the third was of two Arabs, a young man and a woman, in a lobby of a hotel. A long text compiled from different sources was attached to this photograph, along with a disc-on-key that probably had a film from one of the security cameras somewhere.

  “Try and find information about this affair, the one that appears on the disc-on-key. If you manage to connect him to this, Israel will owe us one, owe us big time.” My boss got up from his seat and went over to the coffee machine. As an afterthought he added, “I didn’t like your threat…didn’t like it at all. I don’t like being threatened, not even when it’s just implied. If you foul up in this case, you will find yourself out of this department.”

  ***

  The first team started working in the middle of the night, directly after receiving the first news item about the terrorist group which had been playing in our front yard. A few hours later, the second news item came in, the mysterious disappearance of the person who found out the information about the group. Then the second team was established.

  Both teams were supposed to work side by side and I was supposed to receive information from both of them. Because the subject was sensitive and the data received was sensitive as well, I was supposed to decipher and decide which information would be passed over to the Israeli side and which information remained solely American and therefore would remain privileged. The FBI teams didn’t quite like the fact that the information they had managed to obtain would be leaked to an external factor, but it wasn’t every day that the son of an Israeli scientist is kidnapped. Not just an Israeli scientist but one with close connections to the Israeli Mossad. As such, I was like a diplomatic thorn in their tight butt.

  The hall on the fourth floor was packed with chairs. This was a big and complicated affair and many security personnel were going to participate. The small hall couldn’t contain everyone. There was a coffee machine on the side counter. I walked over there and poured myself a cup. Half a cup was enough. I knew many pairs of masculine eyes were staring at me at this moment. It was good. This was one way of getting their attention. Until I got up on the small stage, the coffee in my cup would be a welcome tool. It wouldn’t spill, it wouldn’t do anything unnecessary beyond what it’s supposed to do: to cause them to notice me walking, to take in the look of my long legs as a future object to try to conquer.

  My boss was right. I really did threaten him, but I got what I wanted and now I was in the midst of it all. Gordon remained in the place he loved, in the heart of diplomatic communications. He was and would remain the liaison between the security officer of the Israeli embassy and American security. It was a good position to be in, because from there, one could climb to the next stage; an advisor to some minister, most probably someone who deals with the security domain or maybe even the next Secretary of State. Gordon loved flights which were well filmed and being mentioned in the right columns in the most considered newspapers. I loved the action behind the scenes.

  “My name is Laura Ashton and I am in charge of the communications between the two teams here, in this complicated diplomatic affair. So,” I paused, and gave each and every person a second of eye contact, then continued, “I am supposed to receive every piece of information you reveal. What is related to the Albanian mafia in general or Murat Lenika in particular and information that is connected to the terrorist group.”

  Ross Barkley was the head of the tactical team in charge of finding Lenika. I knew him from a course both of us had taken on the East European mafia’s infiltration into the United States. I remembered him as an intelligent man, widely knowledgeable and very thorough in his work.

  The head of the second tactical team was Musstafa Allimi, tasked with locating the terrorist group. Allimi was known for his deep intelligence regarding the different Muslim streams working within the United States. He was said to be more informed than any other security officer. I hoped that he did, in fact, know the subject well and would locate the group as quickly as possible, because, for my own reasons, I wanted to focus on Murat Lenika, the senior representative of the Albanian mafia on the east coast.

  I said, “I am passing the podium to Ross Barkley, who is in charge of finding the person kidnapped. Afterwards Musstafa Allimi will take the stand. He’s in charge of locating the terrorist group. Both cases are related to each other, with the same people involved. The link between the two is none other than Murat Lenika.” I smiled at Ross and announced, “We will start with the most important issue at hand -- finding the kidnapped boy. Ross, please give us an update on what you know so far.”

  Guy Niava,

  Atlantic City, November 11, 2015, 2:15 p.m.

  By the time I entered the casino I had received the file with the description of the casino’s layout. All in all, it was a very simple building plan, even a bit gloomy, designed so that when the sun set it became a gloriously well-lit honey trap. According to the map, the casino’s safe was located in the basement, directly opposite the computer security zone. This was probably the area into which Jonathan infiltrated while he was poking around in restricted areas. Also on the same floor were the restrooms, two of them to be exact. The first floor was the casino itself with a small restaurant, a storage room adjacent to the re
staurant’s kitchen, and, not far from there, more restrooms, which were divided into two areas. The second floor had offices, and three rooms which looked to be set aside for guests who requested a bit more privacy. Maybe they were high-risk gambling rooms, where one could play for stakes higher than the average tourist could conceive of. Two suites were situated near them. Those two rooms piqued my interest. As far as I was concerned, the target was to see that they weren’t holding the boy hostage in there.

  I stopped on the side and learned the building plan. In the first parking bay, right by the entrance, stood five black vans with dark windows. They looked like they were part of a series belonging to the same entity, probably the one that operated the casino. Exactly opposite the entrance stood a post and on it, a camera filming the entrance of the casino and of the parking area. Purposely I circled around and parked on the further end of the parking lot, so that on my way to the door I could check out all the cars. I went from one to the other, quickly peeking in the front windows of the cars and then feeling the hoods. They were cold. Cars that hadn’t been in use for a long time. It was apparent that it would be too easy to bring him here. Still, I knew I had to sweep the building, starting from the suites all the way down to the basement.

  The intelligence I had gathered didn’t come from what I saw, but from what I didn’t see. After one drink and losing five hundred dollars, I won the attention of the waitress who served me. I exchanged a few words and smiles with her, and in the end raised the question: “With whom do I need to speak to get things around here?” I added a shy smile.

  “It depends what ‘things’ you need,” she answered, sweetly.

  “As I’m alone in this city, I thought about finding a friend for the night.”

  “I would love to keep you company tonight,” she answered and let her finger glide caressingly over my arm.

  “I like you too much for you to be just a one-night-stand.” I drank the rest of my drink. She really was cute. “Besides a friend for the night, I would need a few extra things.” I whispered in her ear, “And I think that those you can’t supply me with. Maybe some pills, or some powder…”