CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1)
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His operatives ran forward swiftly, surrounding the terrorists’ house.
Eli and two others from his team had just approached the front door, when the lights in the adjoining apartment lit up, the window opened and the figure apparently that of the landlord appeared peering into the front yard.
He must have noticed the shadows of Reznik and his men because he at once raised the alarm, shouting in a heavily-accented voice, “Minoo…? Who…? Who is there?”
Then probably realizing the truth, he ran inside and started to bang loudly on the wall separating the Jihadist side of the house from his. His public landline access had been disabled by one of the Mossad agents.
Lights began to come on inside their apartment and voices were calling out to awaken each other.
Having lost the element of surprise, the Mossad operatives went into a mini version of a blitzkrieg.
One of the Israeli agents shot and brought down the landlord, who had returned to the window, trying to raise the alarm.
Reznik and the other agents blasted open the front and rear doors using low intensity plastic explosives. The ground-floor side glass-windows were shattered open and stun-grenades lobbed inside.
There was a steady firing of AK-47 machine guns coming from the Jihadists inside the house who were by now thoroughly alerted.
As the Israelis rushed inside the ground floor area consisting of the living room, and kitchen, they found one extremist lying on the ground. The remaining three Jihadists ran up the stairs shooting as they went and regrouping on the first floor.
While Reznik’s team kept the Jihadists occupied in the firefight, an agile Kidon climbed the drainpipe running up the first floor on the exterior of the apartment. Then he blasted open the side glass window and tossed in a fragmentation grenade followed by another one in quick succession.
Seconds later the shattering serial blasts shook the upper floor.
Reznik and his team went up the stairs shooting with their silenced Uzi short-barrel machine pistols. When they reached the first floor landing, there was no sound except the smoke and the acrid smell from the grenades blast.
There, they found the three dead bodies of the would-be suicide bombers.
The action had lasted no longer than 180 seconds. Another minute was spent in hastily combing the area for any evidence they could find such as drawings, maps, photos, written notes etc. before the professional covert operation ended and the team players, without suffering any casualty, quickly withdrew from the house.
Importantly, they had captured one of the Islamic Jihadist who would be subjected to the Israeli art of investigation for retrieving details of the suicide mission.
Meantime, lights were coming up in the apartments of the adjoining blocks and the neighborhood houses; windows and doors were being opened and voices raised protesting against the foul disturbance in the middle of the night.
The police dispatchers were kept busy receiving and answering numerous and persisting calls about the public disorderliness in the Yonkers locality.
Alerted by the twin roar of the Peugeot car-engines being driven up the driveway towards them, Reznik and his men ran towards the vehicles, dragging between them the still unconscious Jihadi, who appeared to be handcuffed. They bundled him in the second car.
Reznik nodded to the female Kidon as he took his seat beside her, and seconds later, both the Peugeots drove swiftly away from the area.
Minutes later when they came up the junction connecting the highway, the fleeing Mossad agents could hear the faint sound of the patrol-car siren getting louder as the police approached Yonkers. Unperturbed, they drove on towards the safe house in the N.Y. City.
Before that, they would change the present vehicles for two SUVs while the Peugeot cars would be driven away to a safe garage-location by the local Sayanim, to undergo the required alterations.
By 5.30 AM of the same morning, Reznik, and the other three Kidon operatives were flying out of the New York City and soon the United States airspace as well, on their way back to Tel Aviv, Israel.
CHAPTER THREE
New Jersey 1962 – New York 2002
Jonathan Bradley
Born in the summer of the year 1962 of Portuguese-American ancestry in the State of New Jersey, Jonathan Bradley now 44-years old, stood at 6.1” with broad shoulders, good looking in a rugged manner, possessing a lean, strong face with a firm jaw-line, alert hazel eyes between an aquiline nose, and wearing light brown wavy hair combed backwards. Although fair skinned, his complexion showed a trace of medium skin-tone, part of his Iberian heritage.
The only marring feature in his otherwise modest presentation was the slight three inch scar running down the left ear on the side of his neck. This was a vivid reminder from a firefight ambush in the faraway Beqa’a Valley of the beleaguered southern Lebanon, during his tenure as the CIA’s covert operative stationed at the Beirut American Embassy.
Bradley finished High School at 21 years of age. Played basketball for his school, was a team-worker, and seen as fast-footed, making quick-thinking moves. He was an average student, but displayed a flair for foreign languages such as French, German and Arabic, the latter mostly self-taught.
Jon appeared to have already made up his mind during his high school years stint itself about his future career in the espionage world.
At the age of twenty-five he earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Criminal Justice. Did a one-year internship in the New York City Justice Dept., then joined the Counterterrorism unit of the FBI, before being recruited by the CIA, under its Directorate of Operations program following the required CIA security clearances and passing very thorough background checks.
At the CIA’s Farm in Virginia, Jonathan trained for two years at the Camp Peary army base, drafted in the program to become a Case Officer assigned to work abroad in the US embassies or consulates under the cover of Reserve Foreign Service Officer.
Thereafter, he opted for almost another two years of paramilitary training at the Jungle Warfare Training Center at Fort Sherman, Panama, which included handling firearms and explosives, hand-to-hand combat and active surveillance by electronics, cars and power boats, making parachute jumps, besides running the obstacle course.
The final notations made by his trainers in his dossier included acknowledgment of Bradley’s aptitude for foreign languages, particularly Arabic, while underscoring his natural tendency towards team-spirit, risk-taking, and as a quick-learner possessing analytical skills, and not the least a healthy, strong physique.
Jonathan Bradley’s ability to converse in Arabic and his near mid-eastern complexion, earned him his posting to the CIA’s Near East Division.
His principal job would be to recruit and control foreign agents and underground informants to penetrate the extremists and Islamic–Jihadist militant groups or cells training to undertake terror attacks on foreign assets especially inside the U.S.A.
Moreover, once stationed in a foreign country and holding a consular position, Jon would personally attempt to establish contacts with the local government leaders, including from the opposition, and the military and intelligence officials, in his task of gathering covert intelligence on foreign soil.
***
On completion of his training period, he received his posting letter. He was one of the six Reserve Foreign Service Officers, appointed at the American Embassy in Beirut, Lebanon, in 1993.
This happened a month before Sept. 13, 1993, when the Peace Accord was signed between the Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and the PLO Chairman, Yasser Arafat, in Washington before Bill Clinton, the USA President.
The peace negotiations, however, failed to achieve the objective since the rival groups, namely the Hamas, Islamic Jihad and the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine refused to recognize Israel. Once again, the region returned to violent infighting, assassinations, car bombings, suicide-bombers blowing up themselves in public places and attacking the State of Israel, which retaliated by air- bomb
ardment and its military occupying parts of Lebanon.
Bradley arrived at the Beirut International Airport and moved out quickly using the Diplomatic channel where he was received by the American Embassy’s Public Relations Officer, Robert Armstrong, himself a CIA operative.
Driving them to the Embassy was the Lebanese driver, actually a security-guard. He headed towards the village Aukar, in the predominant Christian East Beirut, the new, safer location of the Embassy building.
In the April 18, 1983 suicide-bombing of the previous Embassy located at Ain el-Mreisseh Corniche, Beirut, a total of 63 people lost their lives.
It was an unthinkable disaster for the CIA alone. On the death list were the names of no less than eight CIA operatives, including the Station Chief Kenneth Haas, the Near East director, Robert C. Ames, the CIA’s top Middle East analyst, and William R. McIntyre, deputy director of the USAID.
As Bradley was driven along the potholes scared highway, everywhere stood out the ruins – the charred and hollow structures, bullets and shells ridden, windows blown-out, burnt out frames and twisted chassis of cars, trucks and other vehicles.
He would soon learn that such wreckage strewn along roadsides was a familiar sight in many parts of Lebanon. There was never a smooth car ride due to the pitiable condition of the roads.
Lebanon was a prosperous and peaceful nation until the early 70s. All that drastically changed following the Civil War era of 1975-1991.
During 1993, the year of his arrival in Beirut for the first time, nothing had changed for better.
The car-bombings, the political and personal vendettas, the wanton shootings, assassinations, bombing public places, kidnappings and the appearance of roadblocks without warning became a part of life for the Lebanese people and outsiders especially the Americans and Europeans living there or visiting Lebanon.
Robert Armstrong noticed that his new counterpart was keenly observing the passing scene as they drove past the surroundings.
They had not spoken much, except for exchanging pleasantries due to the presence of the Lebanese driver. Safety protocol demanded discretion when speaking about official matters. No one outside their American staff could be trusted.
However, every Case Officer was thoroughly tutored until the agent was familiar about mapping out the places and locations, also staying cognizant of the region’s economy, the social life and the changing political situation, including the portrayal of the important, influential leaders and players in the country of his posting.
“Nothing ever improves here. It had been the same when I was posted here three years ago, and the same during the time of my predecessors. Phew… it sure is a good feeling to be returning home soon. Beirut is becoming a veritable hell hole and that’s not just for us, but for common Lebanese people too.”
“I can already sense that,” Jon said, “You live in Washington D.C.?”
“Yeah, have a wife and two kids – the girl’s ten years old and the boy’s eight. What about you? Still single?”
“Mr. Armstrong, Sir… I will have to slow down. There’s a checkpoint ahead,” the driver interrupted their conversation.
They could see the brisk activity some distance ahead of them; two stationery military vehicles on either side of the highway, besides the two armed guards
and four officers, dressed in olive green fatigues, checking out the car passengers and their documents.
From the black and red color berets they wore, Bradley guessed they were from the 'MOKAFAHA' – the Lebanese anti-terrorism unit and the Military Police.
A little behind them was parked the radio jeep, the police officer seated inside listening to the dispatcher’s alerts.
“The checkpoint wasn’t set up when we came through here earlier. But then, one never knows in this city,” observed Robert.
“Sir, I will take care of it.” The security-guard slowed the Embassy vehicle to a stop by the side of the road behind three other cars – one of them, an old beaten-up Mercedes taxi. Meantime, the line of cars behind them was growing, some impatient drivers honking almost non-stop.
Suddenly, the scene was disturbed by the sound of squealing tires, some distance behind them. People were getting out of their cars to see what was going on.
Their driver was already out of the car before Robert joined him. Bradley, however, preferred to remain seated inside the car.
Armstrong noticed a black Toyota Land Cruiser disappearing round the bend in the road. A few moments later he heard the sound of the police-car siren.
Then, he turned towards the checkpoint to see that one of stationary vehicles was approaching, and then going past them as the car sped up in the direction of the Land Cruiser.
Robert returned to his seat in the Embassy’s unmarked car and said to Bradley, “I will have to report this to Richard,” as he brought out his cellphone from his coat-pocket, and punched in the direct number of his superior. Richard Darwin was the Beirut Station Chief, who would be Bradley’s present boss.
“Mr. Darwin, we are in a situation here. Nothing adverse so far. We are held up at a temporary checkpoint along the Hafez al Assad road, a few meters before the Abbas el Moussawi roundabout. Jonathan Bradley’s beside me. All his documents are in order. Georges has gone ahead with our papers to speak to the Lebanese Officer at the checkpoint. Alright…,” he paused to listen, “Alright, I will call you back as soon as we are on our way again.”
Robert put off the phone, and turned to Jon. “He was anxious to know if they are militants. “
Bradley, who was looking through the windshield, said to Robert, “The driver is returning.”
They saw the first car ahead of them, moving past the barricade, as Georges got in, “They will let us pass ahead of the other cars after checking you two for identification.”
“What is the fuss about, Georges?”
“There were armed clashes last night in Tripoli between two neighborhood enemy factions, resulting in some death and injuries. Their leaders are on the run; one of them is a suspected terrorist.”
Robert raised his eyebrow at the security-guard, “They told you all this, Georges?”
Georges gave him a sheepish smile, “No… I learned the gist of it from my friends, who I talked with during the night, after finishing work.”
The out-going Case Officer knew about the Lebanese men’s passion for rallying around their kin and friends when a lot of assorted information and gossip is passed along.
Driving past the two cars lined up in front of them, Georges stopped short of the barricade.
Two officers came and stood on each side of the car while one of them briefly glanced at the faces of the Americans sitting inside the car, comparing his observations versus their passport details and photos, and then handed back the documents to Georges, saying with a vestige of a smile, “OK. You can go,” as he waved at one of the guards to open the barricade and let them pass.
CHAPTER FOUR
BEIRUT, Lebanon - 1993
American Embassy
It was 20 minutes later that they arrived at the Embassy building, without any further untoward incident. There, he first met with Richard Darwin, the Beirut Station Chief and the Deputy Station Chief, Ignatius Brasconi.
“Welcome to Beirut, Jonathan Bradley. I believe you have had your first taste of what the normal life is like in this unpredictable city,” Richard said to him lightly, watching Bradley with keen interest, as they shook hands.
The Station Chief, Jonathan observed, was in his early fifties, of medium built, gray-black thinning hair, and sharp light blue eyes – his trained body language showing the outward signs of a man of ease, behind his hard interior.
Darwin was the longest-serving Station Chief in this strife-torn city and had seen it all. He was held in esteem for his interrogation skills.
“Yes, Sir. But not unlike what we have been instructed about and told to expect.”
“You will experience a lot worse once on the job, Jonathan.”
“I have been so briefed, Mr. Darwin.” Bradley answered. He glanced at the brown folder with his name written on it, containing his dossier, lying atop his superior’s desk.
“Good. We meet every morning at 8.30 AM in the conference room, unless you are involved in a covert field operation, which would keep you away from reporting personally. In that case, I would need you to submit the daily reports at the earliest you are able to. Meantime, you will stay in touch on the phone with Brasconi here and keep him informed,” he paused to continue, “In the event of any emergency, you will have direct phone-line access to me and Ignatius, and next to the PRO and our Secretaries.
“As for your duties, you will be briefed and instructed by the outgoing Case Officer & PRO, Robert Armstrong. You will relieve him after he has brought you up-to-date and you have had the turnover meetings with his contact-agents and possibly the cold-meetings to re-connect with past agents.”
“I understand that, Sir”.
“I am sure, you do. Once again, welcome aboard, Jonathan.” He extended his hand to Bradley, which the latter took, and later left the Station Chief’s office.
Following the afternoon work break, he was introduced to the Embassy staff consisting of several Cover Officers like himself, the Secretaries, Cryptographers and Clerks, all the individuals he would be interacting with.
Later, Bradley was shown to his living quarters in the Embassy housing compound where the rest of the American staff also lived, some with their wives and children.
Next morning, Bradley went to Robert Armstrong’s office room on the fifth floor of the Embassy building to begin his first day as the CIA operative in Beirut.