Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1)

by Dana Arama

  I closed my eyes, relieved. Gideoni had managed to pass on the message after all.

  “If the terror attack was only against the Israeli consular and its workers, it would have made things a whole lot easier. They are so practiced in emergency situations it is almost a joke,” Gordon said.

  “Yassin also banked on it,” I agreed. “He is playing with the American public’s assumption that the Israelis won’t be hit, just those near them, those who cooperate with the Israelis. It is an absurd situation that we cannot accept.”

  “It is a terror attack with a hint of a trace of anti-Semitism…or, at least, that is what would be made of it,” Linda remarked and then said, “I’m going to Allimi, he may have some information on the shahid in San Francisco.”

  “I hope the weather will be in our favor. I find it hard to believe that so many people will go and demonstrate in this cold weather in favor of Israel. It is only eight thirty in the morning in San Francisco and it is bitterly cold.”

  “Where there is passion, cold weather is no deterrent. Let’s see what Allimi has to say,” Linda said, and she walked out.

  The officer in San Francisco reported that the area had been shut down to all traffic. “We preferred to close all the roads and reroute the public transport as well. I hope you finish this nightmare quickly. The city is awakening to a real mess.”

  “I hope so too,” Gordon replied, “The hour chosen was not by coincidence. They were going for maximum chaos and devastation, including psychological damage. I need to go, I’m with Washington on the other line.”

  “Things at Columbia University are starting to calm down. They didn’t receive the news about cancelling their permit to demonstrate very well.”

  “They don’t really interest me at the moment,” Gordon answered the police officer. “What about the catering trucks?”

  “We checked which embassy is supposed to be having a big party with catering, because we didn’t want to solely rely on the evidence. In the end, your witness was right. It was the Malaysian embassy. We have checked all the trucks of the catering company. There were two missing and they were supposed to be in the repair shop. We managed to find one of them there and the other we tracked with the GPS chip located in the vehicle. Both drivers have been arrested. The explosives have been dismantled. We hope Washington is out of the line of fire.”

  A spontaneous round of clapping sounded throughout the room, which only reminded me how much pressure everyone was feeling. Every city cleared of danger was a triumph, the result of tremendous effort by hundreds of policemen and security forces.

  “I am going to hear Allimi’s report,” I announced. There were three people working in Linda’s office. They concentrated on a screen on Linda’s desk. They were listening to the report and made space for me next to the camera. I signaled for Linda to remain seated and listened in.

  “...in the end, we managed to get the cooperation of the imam in the third mosque. Maybe he had too much to lose. He led us to one of the newer worshippers, who was trying to lead the youngsters into radicalism. The imam led us to the coffee shop where he worked, and they gave us his address. He hadn’t shown up that day for work. We have arrested him and two other accomplices who were busy filming their farewell speeches. It’s a kind of a custom of theirs, to film themselves giving their last message before they blow themselves up.”

  We all sat, erect, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from our shoulders. I even saw a few satisfied smiles. “What about the two snipers? Anything to report there?”

  “Not yet. Maybe with the interrogation of the kid we’ll get some more information. I understand you stopped the pro-Israel demonstration?”

  “We stopped it and also closed down any access to the street around the Israeli consulate. All the traffic has been diverted to other routes and the security forces are trying to find the snipers.”

  “We are waiting to hear from you if there is anything new to report.” Linda smiled at the screen and Allimi smiled back at her and the call ended.

  “I am going back to Gordon,” I announced and walked back to the operations room where Gordon was orchestrating.

  “Philly, what’s new with you?” Gordon asked as I entered. His voice sounded hopeful. “Have you found the wired car yet?”

  “Not yet. We are still looking, but we have closed down the whole area surrounding the Israeli consulate. We aren’t letting any residents out of their homes and the civilians are putting a lot of pressure on us here.”

  “So, they’ll have something to talk about during their dinner tonight…”

  In the background came the sound of excited masculine voices and Gordon turned his head to see what the commotion was all about. “The dogs are running around one of the cars… maybe?”

  “Did they find the suspicious car?” He spoke to the camera, but his head was faced backwards, so he sounded fragmented. When he turned back to the camera, he had a wide grin on his face. “Most probably. yes… We have found it! I repeat, we have found it!”

  “Great news! Dismantle the explosives carefully.” Gordon smiled and signaled to one of the men, saying, “What’s happening in Atlanta?”

  “Do you remember he mentioned a penthouse was for sale? Have you managed to use that information to narrow your search?” I asked.

  “They are on top of it. They are trying to cross-check the ‘for sale ads’ and rentals from the last few months and a specific radius around the consulate.”

  “We don’t have any results yet,” the guy answered. There was tension in his voice. “But we have narrowed down the search from a hundred options.”

  “Boston has reported a success in dismantling the bomb,” said the field officer. “We are still maintaining a red alert situation until you inform us otherwise.”

  Gordon said, “Thanks, Boston,” as if he were refereeing some sort of competition. Then he turned me and said, “I haven’t updated you yet. The coffee house in the Park Plaza building has been shut down. The building has been evacuated and because the parking space opposite the building was very limited, they also found the car quickly.” Then he turned and spoke to the room. “People, listen to me: we haven’t managed to successfully locate all the snipers and it is almost noon time.” Everyone glanced at their watches. “If civilians start falling in the streets,” Gordon continued calmly, “the instructions to the security forces must be that they collect the wounded and get out of there as quickly as possible. Under no circumstances are they to treat the wounded on site.”

  On all the screens, the field officers nodded their heads in agreement. Their faces were dead serious, and no one made a move to object. “Now all that is left is to minimize damages.”

  I felt a light tap on the shoulder and turned around. The guy with the nice smile, the one I’d sent to check on the car rental agencies had returned. He said, “I have results. Come and see.”

  I disengaged myself from the clock, which showed we had ten minutes, and hurried after him.

  “I ran the program with all the faces of those who rented vehicles from a number of agencies from this last week. Look what I found.” He showed me the same face, in screen grabs from what must have been security footage from different agencies. “This guy was at a few agencies and rented about ten cars under different names. At first, I could only find three rental agencies he had visited. In the first two he managed to avoid the cameras, but then I found out that one of the agencies had two cameras and one of them was in high definition. I ran the picture through the highest quality filter in the biometric program, then I managed to pick up that he had been to a few more agencies. In some of the agencies he put on a mustache or a beard, or glasses, but the biometrics wins.”

  “Are you telling me that there are more than ten cars with explosives in them?” I asked in alarm.

  “Or maybe some of them were used to help the snipers get to t
heir destinations.”

  “Do you have the details of the cars he hired?”

  “I have all the details. I have their GPS device records and the program is locating the addresses as we speak.”

  “Every address you manage to locate please pass it on immediately to the field officers. We have ten minutes, max, to prevent a disaster.”

  He answered me, “Yes, ma’am!” and returned to look at the screen. Two agents stood behind him, waiting in anticipation for the details to unfold on the screen. “Take these details and run them on the other computers,” he instructed them.

  In a matter of minutes, the location points were on the screen, each row of numbers turned into a picture and each picture into an address. The instructions were passed on to the local forces in the field, who were waiting for the cue. There was a palpable yearning for good encouraging news -- doors cracked open, locks broken, forces raiding the hideouts and snipers arrested.

  Nine cities, one of which had been neutralized; twelve rental cars, two of them found; but only eight men arrested. Nobody knew when the sniper who’d managed to slip through our fingers might reappear in a city somewhere in the United States, go up into a hotel room, and shoot at innocent passers-by, killing them on the spot.

  We didn’t know and despite that, we knew that we had worked hard. We had given all of ourselves, all that we had and a bit more, and at the end of the day – we’d beaten evil. But could we prevent the next wave of terror attacks?

  Guy Niava,

  December 2015

  The atmosphere in the pub I had arranged to meet her in was especially jovial. The perfumed pianist was playing blues music and all the young patrons were happily rocking to the lugubrious tempo. I looked around and asked myself which of these people were supposed to have been on one of the flights destined to blow up a month ago? If we hadn’t managed to break Yassin Graham, who would have been buried deep in the earth and who would have toasted a lost friend? A wave of laughter round one of the tables in the middle caught my attention. Two of them stood up, swaying to the rhythm of the music. The others cheered them on, clapping their hands. It seemed as if this wasn’t the first time they had danced together. Their chemistry was magnificent.

  The door opened and a woman swathed in a coat and a woolen hat entered the pub. I recognized the blond ends of her hair peeking between the scarf and brim of her hat. She caught sight of me and waved her gloved hand. She made her way through all the people, some dancing, joining the couple dancing I’d just seen. As she came toward me, she began to peel off her layers, the woolen hat, the scarf and her gloves.

  I received a warm, long hug, which only ended when the waitress approached us. She had missed me as much as I had missed her. We ordered our drinks which arrived surprisingly quick.

  She took a sip of her drink and said, “I am not sure this is what I ordered, but it’s alcohol and I am happy to see you, so I guess it’s not that important.”

  I prodded the wrapped parcel on the table and placed it in front of her. “Happy New Year, Laura,” I said.

  She hesitated, as if she didn’t wish to open it now, in front of me. Maybe she hesitated to receive anything from me at all, so I added, “It’s not an expensive gift. It’s a symbolic Jewish gift.”

  “I haven’t bought you anything,” she admitted shamefully.

  “You weren’t supposed to get me anything. It isn’t the Jewish new year.” She grabbed the gift and opened it like a little girl, tearing at the wrapping impatiently. She took out the colorful object.

  “I know what it is,” she smiled. “It’s a hamsa, right?” she said, looking at the hand-shaped object.

  “It’s supposed to be hung on a wall near the entrance to your home. For good luck, or maybe against bad luck.”

  “If you believe in luck…” She smiled mischievously. “If not, then it is a pretty ornament.”

  “Anything to help you be happy.”

  “I will drink to that,” she said and raised her glass. After she’d set it down again on the table, she asked, “What are your plans for the future?”

  The pianist asked for a ten-minute break and the audience clapped and whistled their thanks.

  “They have suggested I remain here,” I answered, once the noise had quietened down, “Your elections have caused concern amongst the Jewish community in D.C. and they feel they need another agent on the ground.”

  “They are justifiably worried. The Ku Klux Klan is growing again. Its southern factions are up from 72 to 190.” She took another sip of the golden liquid in her glass and squinted her eyes in concentration. “I still haven’t quite understood their connection to the whole kidnapping affair. What caused them to join up with a radical Muslim group?” Laura asked.

  “As far as they knew, they hadn’t joined up with a radical Muslim group. They had hooked up with the white British aristocracy and both of them were against the Jews, the Israelis and the foreigners. He didn’t refer to himself as Yassin Graham but as Mr. Graham.”

  A second round of drinks was brought to our table. “That was Yassin Graham’s duplicity game.” Laura said.

  “Exactly,” I agreed. “What I didn’t understand was the connection to El Desconocido. What was his interest in investing money and strengthening a candidate who openly declared a fight against him?”

  “We also don’t understand it. We’ve tried to look for connections, and believe me when I say it, we’ve looked hard. Maybe he received a promise from the candidate that, when elected, he would redirect interest from El Desconocido’s cartel and chase his rivals instead. We have found no common ground at all, no parties or business ventures together. Nothing!”

  “According to what I remember, he said in the video call that it was a personal vendetta. He wants to kick out the other candidates.”

  “So now the question is what he has against them? The other candidates, I mean. And is it against them or against their benefactor?”

  “Carry on digging. They most probably have some skeletons in their closets, something that causes their nerves to rattle so much that they are prepared to help their sworn enemy.”

  “They are not only giving him pause. This campaign has competitors whose stories cause shivers to run down my back too.” And then she put the subject aside and added, “Did I tell you I started dating someone from my office?”

  “I guessed that something of the sort was happening with you.” I took a sip of my own drink and it burned its way down my throat. “You look amazing. As if you are glowing from within.”

  “He really is good for me.” She smiled bashfully. “Speaking of things that are doing us good, have you heard from Zorro?”

  “She returned to Mexico. Things aren’t good there. Her club has been burned down a number of times already.”

  “My sister can be very obstinate...”

  “Yes. The last time was particularly bad. Apparently, a sous chef remained there to sleep off his drunken state. They found his body the next day. That was the only time she didn’t manage to warn everyone.”

  “Maybe it’ll calm Gail down.” She took another sip. “Now that she got her blood quota.”

  “Maybe it’ll calm both of them down.” I took a sip as well. “I have told her in more ways than one that I’d be happy to see her by my side.”

  Guy Niava,

  The end of July 2016

  She got out of the shiny red Mercedes-Benz, looking as stunning as ever. She looked like a Hollywood actress in her prime. Her black dress accentuated her curves and her blonde hair. Her sunglasses hid the beautiful eyes I had learned to love, and, as if she had read my mind, she lifted them and placed them on her head. A million-dollar smile reached her lips. Her hair, billowing behind her with each step, revealed her cheekbones. In perfect harmony, her dress also billowed with each step, revealing a perfectly sculpted thigh, delicately muscular, yet addic
tively soft.

  “I am happy to see you have not forgotten me,” she said, as she sat down opposite me. She crossed her legs such that her bejeweled ankle magnetized my stare.

  “Not only haven’t I forgotten you, but I even missed you very much. How are you, Zorro?”

  “Fine. Good. I am getting myself organized to open up a new place. What are you doing here?”

  “Errands,” I answered lightly, and laid my hand on the silver suitcase next to me. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the back window of the Mercedes-Benz she had just emerged from lower slightly, no more than half an inch, but enough to draw my attention. “Ahh, I see you are not alone,” I said.

  “I am with you now. That is what is important, no?”

  “And are you going to stay with me?”

  “Stay where?”

  “Come with me to Tel Aviv? Could you leave everything to come and live with me in Israel?”

  “Is this a marriage proposal?” she asked and smiled.

  “No. Not yet. But you know I am madly in love with you and there will be a marriage proposal at some point. It’s only that I don’t have an engagement ring with me here.”

  “But you have a suitcase worth a lot of money…”

  “It is only worth a lot to the State of Israel. Many years have been put into this and the knowledge within it is priceless.

  “And what does this suitcase do?”

  “It controls the Israeli satellite, which is to be launched next month.”

  “You are offering me a marriage proposal, but you haven’t offered me a kiss yet?” A disappointed look mixed with a sweet smile on her face.

  I got up from my seat and held my hand out to her. She took it and stood up, close to me. Even with her high heel shoes, she was still about four inches shorter than me. I leaned over and kissed her. When I felt the barrel poke into my stomach, it was already too late. The shot that came next threw me to the floor. All I saw was her high heels walking away, her black dress fluttering in the breeze, and the silver suitcase vanishing inside of the red Mercedes-Benz.