Viper: A Thriller

by Ross Sidor

  “We knew these weapons were going to turn up somewhere. It was just a matter of time,” Culler said.

  And he was right, but Avery never expected the missiles to turn up quite so close to home.

  “I suppose this might be a stupid question to you spooks, but why would Iran arm FARC?” Slayton asked. He knew, inside and out, the world’s drug production centers and smuggling routes, and the governments and gangs involved, but Middle Eastern politics fell outside his areas of experience or interest.

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Culler replied. As a veteran CIA operations officer, he’d come up against Iranian agents on multiple occasions in Iraq, Lebanon, Bosnia, Turkey, and even in Canada. He knew firsthand how cunning and devious they were.

  “With SA-24, they possess the perfect terrorist weapon, and Iranian involvement is concealed and deniable. If FARC acquires SA-24 and can turn an important country in the American sphere of influence into a war zone and destabilize the region, well, that’ll keep the White House pre-occupied with another crisis, won’t it? And FARC takes the blame. Just look at Lebanon, Gaza, Iraq, the bombings of the Israeli embassy and the Jewish community center in Buenos Aires, the attack on the Israeli embassy in Azerbaijan. Iran’s preferred method of attack is through deniable terrorist proxies.”

  Culler went on to explain that when it came to terrorist groups with ideologies that were seemingly contrary to Iran’s revolutionary Shiite brand of Islam, Iran was still willing to assist tactically, but not strategically. For example, Iran once supplied intelligence, travel documents, shelter, weapons, and explosives training to al-Qaeda, but Iran would never go as far as to politically help the Islamic State to create its Sunni caliphate.

  “It’s really low risk, high reward on Iran’s part,” said Culler. “They can transfer the missiles to Caracas aboard a routine Iran Air flight or in diplomatic containers. From there the missiles will travel over the border into FARC territory. It’ll be easy to slip a few along the cocaine smuggling routes into the US.”

  Despite the pain and exhaustion coursing through his body, Avery felt drive and purpose now, thinking about the Viper and Kashani. He felt like an apex hunter finally presented with the prospect of worthy prey.

  EIGHT

  Arianna Moreno flew out of Panama’s Tocumen Airport over a day after Avery and Aguilar made their exfil. Leaving the Trump Ocean Club and Tower after the ambush, she’d sensed at once that something was wrong, even before Jon Castillo missed the rendezvous and then failed to contact her. She thought that Castillo was likely among the dead, which wasn’t a loss, as there was no way she could have allowed him to walk away from the Panama operation anyway.

  But Castillo’s death meant that Carnivore was alive, and this was soon confirmed when she saw on the news the stills of the American from surveillance cameras around the hotel and learned the police were searching for him.

  There’d been increased security measures and police at Tocumen Airport, but no one stopped or questioned Arianna. They hadn’t even opened her luggage, which was just as well because she travelled with the VSS disassembled and concealed in a specially designed x-ray proof case of KGB origin.

  She was sure the case would be searched upon her arrival in Caracas. Venezuelan Customs officers were notorious for searching travelers’ belongings for anything of interest to steal, but that didn’t matter, because SEBIN expected her.

  Arianna Moreno was aware that the lecherous heterosexual male eye deemed her attractive, was eager to appraise her, and that alone made her stand out in a crowd. Trained by female DGI officers in the subtle and some not so subtle intricacies of seduction, she knew how to use her looks and feminine charms to her advantage, and had done so on multiple occasions, but she also knew how to conceal the aesthetically pleasant contours of her physique, and she knew how to dress, wear her hair, present her body language and demeanor, and carry her stride in order to go completely unnoticed, not even warranting a second glance from a man thinking with his genitals.

  Fortunately, security at the airport focused their attention on Caucasian males, not Latin females flying on a Bolivian passport, allowing the Viper to easily board her flight and slip away.

  It truly was too bad about Carnivore getting away. Worse, it made her question herself. She never failed to kill a target. She wondered if she’d get another shot at him. But as satisfying as it would be to find the American again, she focused her attention on the task at hand. The missiles were the main objective.

  Plus Pablo Muňoz had been the primary target in Panama City, and with the FARC informer now eliminated, Andrés Flores would put the Viper into contact with the Venezuelan-Iranian network arming FARC.

  As she proceeded into Simón Bolívar’s arrivals terminal, Arianna Moreno was aware of the Customs officer’s eyes following her, professionally, not lasciviously. She did not see the Customs officer hit a button concealed beneath his desk that sent a signal to the airport’s SEBIN office.

  SEBIN had briefed Customs earlier, providing them with a photo of Arianna Moreno and known aliases under which she might be travelling, and her passport had been flagged. The Customs agent did not know who Arianna was or why she was of interest to SEBIN. He simply did what SEBIN instructed, knowing it was best to cooperate with the intelligence service without asking questions.

  Fifty-five seconds later, two SEBIN security officers approached the Viper from behind.

  They casually fell into stride beside her, while swiftly relieving her of her purse and suitcases. If she hadn’t sensed them sneaking up beside her, and she hadn’t exercised restraint, she would have reacted instinctively to the unexpected physical contact, and the two SEBIN officers would be dead or disabled.

  An additional four officers were dispersed in the surrounding crowd, shadowing the trio, keeping them within the surveillance box. The Viper quickly identified each of them, mentally tagging them and logging their positions. They wore suits with their jackets open so that their weapons were easily accessible.

  The Venezuelans didn’t expect trouble, but SEBIN’s already tumultuous relationship with the Viper had just changed overnight, and they wanted her within sight and on a short leash for the duration of her stay in their country. Their job was also to see to it that it was a short and uneventful stay.

  Arianna looked from one of her minders to the other. She recognized one of the Venezuelans from previous meetings. He’d introduced himself as Durante, which she’d correctly presumed to be a pseudonym.

  While detecting no threat from Durante’s men, the Viper still maintained her guard and was ready to react to any provocation. She could easily disarm and disable Durante and his partner and take down or evade the backup team if necessary. Her mind already choreographed the required movements.

  “As always, it is a pleasure to see you, Senorita Moreno.”

  Durante radiated glib insincerity. In reality, the Viper’s very presence put him on edge, because of what she was and of the implications for his country if anyone learned she was here. A head taller than Arianna, he stared down at her with his most patronizing smile.

  “If you will please come with us, dear, we can go somewhere more discrete to talk.”

  The Viper didn’t resist or argue. She followed Durante to the SEBIN section, located in a closed off section of the airport, near the hub of Conviasa, the Venezuelan national airline, which is often used to carry Venezuelan intelligence officers across South America and to Western Europe. The airport’s intelligence station rests behind a heavy cipher-lock door and thick, bullet resistant glass windows covered by blinds. Durante entered the five-digit code in the key pad, opened the door, and escorted Arianna inside.

  Durante guided Arianna through the rows of cubicles and computer stations to a small interrogation room in the back. Here he set her luggage down on the table and gestured for her to sit down. He opened the larger suitcase and sifted slowly through the contents. He held up a pair of panties, letting them dangle close in front of his f
ace and inhaled deeply through his nose while holding eye contact with her across the table.

  The invasion of her privacy was a vulgar tactic designed to demonstrate his power, and place her in the subservient, degraded position.

  She turned her head and yawned into her hand.

  Next Durante opened the smaller case and removed the false, x-ray proof bottom, revealing the components of the VSS Vintorez. He whistled and shook his head in mock astonishment. “You know, it takes serious balls to travel with this through airport customs, but then you always were an arrogant one.”

  “We both know that your customs would never open my luggage, and even if they did, your service would quickly intervene on my behalf. And Panamanian security is practically non-existent as long as you’re on your way out of the country.”

  Durante’s partner took a picture of the disassembled rifle with a small digital camera. Then he stepped back for a wider shot of the Viper seated at the metal table with the case on the table in front of her.

  “I suspect that if we bothered to examine this weapon, we will find that it was recently fired,” Durante said. “Our sources have obtained a copy of the ballistics report from the Panamanian Ministry of Public Security. They removed a distinctive nine-millimeter tungsten tipped armor piercing round of Russian manufacture from Pablo Muňoz’s body. I’ll even go as far as to predict that we’d find that this weapon was involved in the shootings in Panama City. My agency is hearing through its sources in Bogotá that Muňoz was a Colombian asset. No doubt the Colombians will pay handsomely for any information about his death.”

  Arianna rolled her eyes.

  The implication was clear. Durante possessed leverage to use against her, or at least he thought he did. She didn’t understand to what end, though. He’d never before made or implied outright threats toward her.

  She realized it could only mean one thing. Somehow, politics had become involved, and Caracas was trying to cover its ass.

  “Am I being detained, Durante?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” the Venezuelan replied. “Don’t worry. I won’t delay you for long. My orders are to take you to the Iranian, that’s the arrangement I have with General Flores, but first I need to discuss something with you and make certain conditions known. What I am about to say is on behalf of the chief of my agency.”

  “I’m listening.”

  The Viper expected that Durante wanted money and waited to hear his price. SEBIN officers were well known for their corruption, and Durante was no exception. In the past, he’d provided her with passports, weapons, and logistical support, like moving equipment in diplomatic pouches, but it always came at a cost. Despite the leftist Bolivarian rhetoric of their political leaders, SEBIN was actually quite capitalistic and opportunistic.

  Like so many men, Durante had once sought the use of Arianna’s body in return for his assistance, but she had made clear in no uncertain terms that he should remove the idea from his mind, lest she remove something else from him. Her body had been for Aarón alone, and now that he was gone, Arianna did not believe she would ever share herself with another man. Most men, in fact, disgusted her just for being male.

  So like most men, if sex was not available, Durante happily accepted cash as the next best thing, although at inflated rates.

  “I must make absolutely clear to you, Senorita Viper, that when your business here is finished, you will no longer be welcome in Venezuela. That is, if you intend on going through with this insanity and diverting Estragos to the United States.”

  Arianna had not expected that. The resentment and animosity swelled within her. “So you’ve spoken with Andrés Flores.” She thought that for an intelligence chief, Flores did a bad job keeping secrets. “And what else has the self-styled general told you?”

  “I know enough, and my service is kept well-informed. You’ve been an occasionally useful asset, Senorita Moreno, but after today, the relationship between my agency and yourself is over, and it will be as if it never existed. If you ever return to Venezuela, or enter a Venezuelan embassy abroad, or threaten to compromise my agency’s operations or my government’s political standing, you will be regarded as hostile agent, a terrorist and an international fugitive, which, let’s be honest, is exactly what you are. The Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela neither supports nor condones terrorism.”

  “Is this a threat, Durante? You should know that I do not respond well to threats, especially not from sniveling apparatchiki who are incapable of actually following through or posing a threat to me.”

  “A friendly warning, but take it how you please.”

  And the Viper understood full well how to take it.

  After she commenced her assault against America, she would become the most wanted person in the world. If she re-entered Venezuela after that, SEBIN would be obligated to take action and couldn’t feign ignorance of her presence. The last thing the Venezuelan president needed was to be accused of being complicit in terrorist attacks against the United States or harboring those responsible.

  But the Venezuelan government also couldn’t risk taking her alive.

  There would be complications with the Americans or the Colombians demanding extradition, and her past connections to SEBIN could prove politically embarrassing if they ever came to light during interrogation sessions by the intelligence services of either nation.

  Another concern was that she would attempt to blackmail Caracas into providing her sanctuary.

  So the threat was quite implicit. If she returned to Venezuela, Durante would make her disappear.

  The Viper expected no less from the Venezuelans. They’d never been true allies. They simply resented Colombia for being a close American partner, and Caracas only used FARC when it served Venezuelan interests to do so.

  The good news was that the Viper, to a certain extent, could at least count on Venezuela not to betray her to the Americans, unless she violated the terms that Durante had just laid out for her. There existed absolutely no intelligence sharing between Washington and Caracas. Far as the Americans were concerned, SEBIN was a hostile intelligence service.

  “We know that you were responsible for the stupid and pointless violence in Panama City,” Durante continued. “You’re becoming reckless and what you intend for the United State is absolute insanity. My government will have no part in it. We are in fact taking a considerable risk as it is merely by facilitating your transaction with the Iranian, but that is really none of our business.”

  It was a calculated risk, Durante didn’t need to mention. The missiles couldn’t be traced back to either Iran or Venezuela. And only certain factions within SEBIN had knowledge of Plan Estragos.

  “You may not believe it,” Durante added, “but this is a more than fair arrangement, especially considering that I can have you arrested right now and rid my government of the burden you pose. We go our separate ways. You leave us alone, and we in turn leave you alone. As a courtesy and a show of good faith, we will allow you to retain ownership of the passports and legends my agency has provided and backstopped for you, and we will not compromise those identities in the manhunt that will surely unfold.”

  The fact that Durante even mentioned that implied a threat, the Viper realized. She’d need to discard her Venezuelan-supplied travel documents.

  “As another sign of good faith, and hopefully to discourage you,” Durante continued, “I will also tell you that according to signals intelligence provided by the Russians, the Americans know you are coming, and they are already looking for you, with help from their loyal Colombian dogs. The intelligent thing to do would be to abort and forget about all of this, but I know you will not do that.”

  Russia had recently re-opened the Cold War-era Lourdes SIGINT station near Havana, once the largest signals intelligence facility in the world. Over the past forty-eight hours, Lourdes observed a surge in message traffic amongst American embassies, CIA bases, and SOUTHCOM facilities pertaining to the Viper, and the Russians had s
hared this information with Caracas.

  Durante studied Arianna Moreno closely for several seconds but was unable to gauge her reaction. “Do you understand the situation?”

  The Viper fought to contain her vitriol. She didn’t give a damn if she ever returned to Venezuela or if SEBIN threw her to the wolves. But it was the principal of the matter. At that moment, she wanted badly to slice Durante’s throat open.

  Unfortunately the worst part of it was that she still needed his help.

  “Once my business here is through, you will never see me again.”

  NINE

  In beautiful, sunny Havana, the first session of the Colombian peace talks was underway after Operation Phoenix. ANIC sources warned that members of FARC’s Secretariat had been in contact with representatives from Caracas the previous week and intended to use public outcry over the military raid in Venezuela to their advantage, to make threats and demand further concessions from the Colombian government or, if the peace talks broke down completely, attribute blame to President Santos as an imperialist warmonger.

  Among those in attendance, heading the delegation of the Republic of Colombia was President Santos’ deputy interior minister, a forty-nine year old former lawyer and career diplomat who was widely criticized by the media for his apparent lack of interest in the peace talks and his unwillingness to give any leeway to FARC’s demands. From the deputy interior minister’s perspective, the point of these talks wasn’t political reconciliation, but to negotiate the terms of FARC’s surrender, demobilization, and disarmament.

  The deputy interior minister was delayed that morning on his way to the Palace of Conventions because President Santos had instructed him to first stop at the Colombian embassy to see the ambassador and the ANIC station chief. The latter presented him with a note in a sealed envelope and instructed him to discretely pass it to Antonio Lascarro, the chief of the FARC delegation. The deputy interior minister was vaguely briefed on the content of the note and assured that it was a matter of the highest national security.