by Dana Arama
The twelve missed calls on my lock screen renewed my apprehension that something had happened to Jonathan. I looked at the numbers. Ten of them were from the same device. I called the number and a masculine voice answered me nervously, “Hello?”
“You called me.” I answered him shortly.
“Guy Niava?”
He pronounced ‘Niava’ like my father’s Russian cousins did. I suddenly remembered my conversation with Ashley Holding in the hospital. “Do you remember any details about the person who picked you up?” I had asked her, and she’d answered, “He had a Russian accent and looked like an accountant. Not scary at all.”
“Speaking,” I answered.
He asked again, insistently, “Jonathan Niava’s uncle?” The Russian accent was very prominent. If this is the same Russian that Ashley had mentioned, then he was a product of the KGB and very dangerous.
“Yes,” I answered.
“I have him. You can have him back in exchange for Murat Lenika.”
Bingo, I thought and answered, “I don’t have Murat Lenika.” Before he hung up, I added, “But I have another suggestion for you…”
“Shoot,” He answered.
“How about your life plus a nice handsome amount of money for Jonathan Niava?”
Surprisingly, he answered, “Murat Lenika, my life, a handsome amount of money and one more thing.”
It was my turn to say, “Shoot.”
“The promise that my name is not mixed up in this terror affair. Before you answer me, remember that I can eliminate the kid and disappear.”
“What do you know about this affair?” I asked. At the same time, I took out my brother’s cell phone and texted Laura: I need an immediate location on the following number and added the Russian’s number.
“A lot more than I thought was happening here,” he answered. “You are in for a big disaster.”
“Let me talk to the kid.”
I heard him say, “Take the phone, talk to your uncle…” A moment later I heard Jonathan’s voice.
“Guy, he saved me. He shot the terrorist who was ordered to kill me and saved me… I don’t know him.”
Jonathan’s voice disappeared from the phone and the Russian was back online, “So? Do we have something to talk about?”
I answered him, “We sure do. I promise you won’t be involved in this shit.” I had no authority to promise anything of the sort, but it didn’t matter.
“The time is nine twenty. You have until noon to keep your promise.”
“Why noon?” I asked, apprehensively.
He laughed, “Because at noon all hell will break loose and shit you never considered will start to hit the fan.”
“I won’t manage to make it on time.” I glanced at my watch.
“Arrange immunity for me, at the Israeli embassy in New York. I can get there in half an hour.”
“You’ll go there with Jonathan Niava?”
“With him and with the information I have on me.” He was silent for a moment and then added, “Make sure that Murat Lenika is there, free and happy.”
“Wait by the phone.” I hung up and immediately called Gideoni. “Jonathan can be at the Israeli embassy in New York as soon as half an hour from now. Someone with a Russian accent, a man who seems to be holding Jonathan, will be bringing him. It is one of Murat Lenika’s men and he is demanding that Lenika be brought there, with guaranteed immunity. I am warning you ahead of time that it may be a trap, but there is a chance that it isn’t. Aside from Lenika, he is requesting political asylum, a sum of money and a promise his name won’t be dragged into this affair.”
“I can organize immunity in the embassy,” he answered immediately, “We will put him in the security room and before that, we will scan him to make sure he doesn’t have any explosives on him.”
“And another thing,” I said before hanging up, “He warned that all hell will break loose at noon exactly.”
I called back the man with the Russian accent. “They will wait for you at the Israeli embassy in New York.”
“What about Murat Lenika?”
“We are working on it with the Americans. I suggest you make yourself valuable and get to the embassy with Jonathan Niava and with detailed information.”
“Jonathan Niava is the source of the information. I suggest you make yourself valuable and get Murat Lenika for me.”
I hung up and called Laura’s number from my brother’s cell phone.
“You made it out of there in one piece,” she said when she answered the call.
“Did you read my text message? I need a location point immediately on that mobile number.”
“I read it.” The tone of joy became businesslike. “Who is it?”
“Someone who is near Jonathan now.” Six and half minutes had gone by and I was getting further away from the gas station.
“Could it be that he is in the Israeli embassy in New York?” she asked.
“He said he could be there in half an hour.”
“So, it seems as if he is already there or in a very close vicinity, if we take into account the slight error of a few feet here or there with the location point.
“He said half an hour,” I repeated the sentence stupidly. “He also said that all hell will break loose at exactly twelve noon.”
“Do you want to tell me what happened at the farmhouse?”
“Not really… I can tell you that there are a few bodies and that I have a computer from there that may be a source of information.” I was weighing the possibilities of telling her now or not, and then decided to tell her. “You should check the computer thoroughly, because it turns out that this gang, together with El Desconocido’s organization, have someone running for the White House.”
“I want you to get to this location point I just sent you. A light aircraft will wait for you there. I am also organizing for someone from the CIA, who will be there to receive the computer from you. It is too important to wait till later to deal with it. The candidates are gathering votes daily.”
“How long will it take for me to get to you?”
“You will still be in the air at noon.”
“If the mess starts then, I don’t even know where you will be able to land.”
Laura Ashton,
Israeli embassy, New York, November 16, 2015
The figures of the man and the limping boy moved quickly away from the entrance of the hotel and blended in with pedestrian traffic. If it had not been for the stumbling boy next to him, the Russian would have melted into the background; he was a chameleon, clearly a professional. I watched them through the cameras. They reappeared outside the gates of the Israeli embassy. Whatever occurred inside the embassy couldn’t be seen on camera and I knew I had to rely on the reports the Israelis would supply.
The Russian refused to give his name, but he delivered the goods. He returned Jonathan safely to the Israelis. But then, so I was told, Jonathan lost consciousness. I wanted to be there, inside the embassy, to know if the Israelis were avoiding full cooperation. Were they divulging all the information they were receiving? Had Jonathan really lost consciousness? The Israelis had agreed to stream the interrogation live so I could take part, but that didn’t happen. Jonathan had fainted. The timing was suspicious. I reminded myself not to be so suspicious. He had been through a trying time.
I sat by the computer and waited for the boy to regain consciousness. Meanwhile I spoke to someone at the Israeli embassy.
“Have you identified the Russian?”
“He refuses to give his name, but our profile identification program gave us a lead.”
“Who is he? What do you know about him?”
“He’s former KGB. Still keeps close contacts with the Russian intelligence services.”
“How did he get to them before us? What is his conn
ection to this affair?”
“He was Murat Lenika’s bodyguard. Like Murat Lenika’s field commander. He was the one that put the other tracking device in the vehicle. They took the vehicle which had the rifles, the ones stolen from Germany.”
“It is a pity he didn’t put tracking devices in the rifles themselves,” I said.
“He actually thought of it but decided against it. He had a sniper prepared to shoot a tracking device on their car but didn’t use it in the end.”
“Why not? It would have saved us much time and work.”
“Because they didn’t transfer the rifles into their cars as he expected and for some reason, they forgot about the tracking device in the car itself.
“That explains the delay. He was supposed to break into the company’s system to get information. It is a pity he didn’t stick with his original plan. But sometimes the good guys get lucky because the bad guys ignore the obvious,” I noted.
“All we needed was one mistake on their part and it was sheer dumb luck. He could have ignored the boy. By the way, what’s going on with Murat Lenika?”
“Do you know the saying ‘Zed’s dead’?
“From Pulp Fiction? So Lenika is dead. It’s a bit difficult to make a deal given this new development.”
“Offer a body. We are prepared to give it up.”
He answered, “Will do,” then hung up, but not before promising to get back to me with details of the investigation with the Russian.
Jonathan, now awake, and the person from the Israeli embassy appeared on camera a few minutes later. “He has requested that you return the body to the family and asked to be allowed to disappear. I have guaranteed that we will respect his wishes,” said the investigator.
I answered, “We’re on it,” and then added, “Welcome Jonathan. We are very pleased to see you’re back safely.”
The boy didn’t look very well. I could see that they had bandaged his injured foot. It rested gingerly atop the plastic chair in front of him.
I continued, “I know you have been through a few rough days, but we have little choice right now. I have to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?”
He looked at my image on the screen and then at the Israeli. Only when the agent nodded and smiled at him in confirmation did Jonathan answer, “Yes, it’s okay.”
“Let’s start from the end. Do you know what is supposed to happen at noon?”
“The British man told the guy that was supposed to kill me that at noon everyone would start shooting and then when the security forces started coming, they were planning on blowing up a few cars with explosives in them and things like that.” The sentence was incoherent. The kid had clearly been subjected to some trauma. How much of his testimony could I rely on?
But besides the horrific information he had divulged, he asked an even more horrific question: “Have you stopped the buildings from getting hit?”
The question curdled my blood and I hoped I misunderstood, or that maybe he was hallucinating. Still I inquired, “Are you sure he was planning on blowing up buildings?”
Jonathan nodded and his face suddenly distorted in pain. The spasm passed, and he stared at me silently.
“Do you understand what I am asking?”
Another second passed and he remained silent.
“Are you sure about the buildings?” I repeated the question slowly.
Jonathan closed his eyes tightly, and, as if to emphasize his answer, he nodded his head. Another spasm of pain crossed his face.
This mentioned was vital information, but it contradicted the intel I had on hand, and so I pressed on. “What about the terror attacks on the aircrafts?” I inquired.
He looked at me and didn’t shut his eyes. After a moment of silence, he seemed to have come to a decision and in a hoarse voice, he croaked, “Planes, not now. Buildings, yes!”
“And when is this going to happen?” I insisted, then added, “I know you’re in pain, Jonathan. I know you’ve been through a lot. But this is really important. Think hard. When are they planning on hitting the planes?”
“Today. They are planning on blowing up the buildings today. Not the planes,” he insisted. “I sat inside the cupboard and heard them talking about it.”
“When are they going to blow up the planes!?” I urged.
“On Thanksgiving. Then the planes flying to Israel will be hit.” I saw he was trying very hard to remember all the details. His eyes were focused on a single spot beyond the camera, and his forehead wrinkled in concentration. “No, I misspoke… Planes belonging to companies flying to Israel will be hit.”
Under the table, my leg started to move of its own accord, faster and faster. It sounded impossible, but we were talking about Yassin Graham the ninth. I turned to the embassy worker and asked, “Is he healthy enough for questioning or no?” I hoped he couldn’t sense the tension in my voice.
“I can’t say he is at a hundred percent. He lost consciousness and when he awoke, he asked if we had managed to stop the terror attack on the buildings yet…”
“If he is right…God help us all,” I said. The look on the Israeli’s face said that he agreed.
“When can I see my parents?” Jonathan asked, and the embassy worker and I were both suddenly reminded that he was just a boy, and not just the bearer of bad news.
“They’re on their way here,” the Israeli promised him. “We are doing everything we can to get them here as soon as possible.”
“Jonathan,” I continued, “Do you have any idea which buildings they were talking about?”
“The buildings adjacent to the Israeli consulates or the consulates themselves. I didn’t quite understand. They have different plans for each building in every city, but the plan that I managed to hear was that after the first set of shootings the security forces will arrive at the scene and then they will be shot at as well.”
“Do you know which buildings exactly?”
“No,” he answered impatiently. “I was locked up in the cupboard. I couldn’t see what they saw, I just listened to their conversation.”
A shiver ran down my back. If the boy was right, the disaster was going to be much bigger than we expected. “Jonathan, try to concentrate and we’ll start from the beginning,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was five after 10. At noon, all the embassies would be open across the States. Some would be just opening and others just closing. Could the security forces in the New York embassy manage to warn all the others?
***
“There were a few people. The guy that kidnapped me tried to help me afterwards. His men called him ‘Murat’ or ‘Boss’. There was one named Yassin and he…” I saw he shuddered at the thought of him and he paused, not wanting to continue.
“We caught him.” I tried to calm the boy, and added, “Yassin is in custody and well-guarded now. You have nothing to fear from him.”
“I am not worried. I am disgusted.” He said shortly. “He tried petting me and said it was a pity I wasn’t a bit younger and smaller. When I tried to push him away, he beat me and broke my foot.”
“Do you prefer to concentrate on their conversation?”
“Yes. Definitely.” He relaxed a bit. Once again, he focused his eyes on a spot on the wall, trying to delve into his memory, and when he was sure of his thoughts, he started talking. “Yassin said that the building opposite him was the building he was going to blow up. The building had the number 800 written on it. They knew that the consulate was on the 14th floor and they had planned on putting snipers in good positions with their special rifles to shoot at anyone approaching the consulate.”
A woman came into the room, handed Jonathan a can of Coca Cola and walked out. He took the can, opened it and took a long sip. His face glowed with satisfaction, like someone long deprived of the simple pleasures in life. When the boy set the can back down, he embarrassedly
said, “Sorry,” a shy smile crossing his lips. For the first time I saw his resemblance to Guy.
“There is nothing to apologize for.” I smiled back. “Now, what else was mentioned in this conversation?”
“I am just saying everything I heard. I don’t know more than that.”
“Okay,” I answered, nodding my head vigorously.
“Yassin mentioned that the terror attack was going to be in a number of cities simultaneously. New York, Washington, Los Angeles, Philly, Miami and Boston, but I suppose that there were other cities too because I heard him say that the list was long.” He took another sip of his drink and added, “An attack may occur in each of the cities. He definitely spoke of sniper shootings in these attacks.”
“Let’s get back to the attacks on the aircrafts,” I guided him. “What do you remember about that conversation?”
He was quiet, as if trying to arrange his memory. The typist next to me also took a pause. As if enlightened, Jonathan started talking again. “He said that there would be attacks on a few planes on their way to Israel and that it would happen on Thanksgiving. He is planning to blow them up, on their way to Israel, all at the same time, to scare the world.”
After a few minutes of silence, I asked, “Do you remember anything else?”
“I remember a whole lot… For instance, that they spoke about special bullets for these special rifles that someone supplied them with. These bullets are supposed to penetrate impenetrable objects, but also if they don’t manage to penetrate then their plan will work because after the snipers start shooting people on the streets, the security forces will start coming and then another circle of killing will start, because he will blow up the ambulances in the midst of the security forces.”