Cyprus Rage

by J E Higgins

  Brought to a set of double doors in the back, they were led down a hall lined with closed steel doors. At the far end, they were shown the lavatory facility complete with two shower stations and five toilet areas. They were told that hygiene supplies and exercise equipment would be accessible as needed. They were next led to an empty storage area where the weapons and equipment they received would be stored to keep them out of sight.

  The tour ended. Everyone was turned loose to find a cot and store their gear. Tarkov announced the initial briefing would take place in twenty minutes in the operations area. Carzona and Tarkov took the two cots furthest from everyone else to keep distance between commanders and subordinates.

  Sauwa dropped her pack on the cot on the end. Gorzo went to drop his gear on the one next to her but was stopped short by Sacchini who slipped onto it first. Gorzo muttered something in Italian to the older man as he dropped his on the next cot over. De’vor marched past the group without a single word and took the final cot at the other end. Gorzo eyed Sauwa then Sacchini and shook his head. Sauwa didn’t bother asking what had been said between the two. She could make an educated guess.

  She sat down on her cot and took a deep breath. This had not turned out how she wanted it. What was even more frustrating was that when it was all over, if she survived, she had another near suicide mission to look forward to when she returned to Valikov. Then she would be depending on a former black militant to watch her back.

  Twenty minutes later the group met at the operations area and sat around the table that was being used by Tarkov. The other Filipino men were gone leaving the original group alone in their new temporary home. Tarkov took the lead while Carzona remained quietly in the corner to prevent any question as to who was in charge.

  The briefing was short ─ no more than a general plan for how tomorrow was going to be organized ─ breakfast at 0800, followed by a briefing, then a discussion on what they will actually be doing and, finally, an afternoon to do some shopping for clothes and other needs. The meeting concluded with little fanfare and few questions. Everyone was tired and in no mood for anything but a bath and some sleep.

  Much like the safe house in Izmir, a natural order emerged ─ Tarkov and Carzona showering and doing an evening hygienic ritual, followed by De’vor and the two Italians, then when all others had finished, Sauwa took her turn. She had resisted Tarkov’s and Sacchini’s demand that ladies go first. She didn’t need a bunch of men waiting outside while she walked about naked or half clothed. Nor did she want to provide Gorzo an excuse to ‘accidentally’ walk in on her when she was in a state of undress. With such a long day, they had no trouble laying out their bedding and falling asleep.

  15

  Kennson Rhys wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but Azio Lorenza’s mansion was a monument to classical tastes. The estate was located on the outskirts of Manila, the capital of the Philippines. On the outside, it was evidence of the country’s European roots ─ a multistory, grey brick structure with a tower-like roof that looked like a French chateau or a Spanish hacienda. A long cobblestone, circular driveway led from a tall iron gate of spear-shaped bars up to and around the house. Every visitor had a chance to gape at the exotic jungle-like garden featuring all sorts of large trees and flowing indigenous plants surrounding the estate.

  As he drove past it, Rhys, an experienced soldier who had cut his teeth in the New Zealand Special Air Service, could not help wondering why a man, such as Lorenza, with so many dangerous enemies, would create a terrain that would make it easy for someone to infiltrate. The veteran soldier thought it had to do with just how rich he was. As soon as he arrived, Rhys was met by a very prim looking butler dressed in a dark suit and black necktie who gave the New Zealander the proper greeting of his station. The butler sized up the foreigner trying to discern how best to receive him. After a few seconds, the butler led the man up the stone stairs toward the large entryway.

  Inside, the mansion was a museum, the halls lined with expensive classic statues from various Asian countries and ancient weapons from the medieval times of Europe and Asia. Walking past a range of rooms, he saw polished wood bookshelves filled with hardback and leather-bound books. Rhys knew many were early editions of fine classics. Elegant furniture dating from the Victorian period filled the rooms that they passed, reminding him of the comfortable times he had enjoyed cigars and whiskey in this very house.

  At the next floor, the butler directed Rhys through another set of large, polished wood doors into a room that served as Lorenza’s personal art collection. The four walls of the vast room were covered with priceless artwork. In the center of the room, sitting comfortably in a brown leather armchair, was a small, brown-skinned Asian man. The butler presented Rhys to the man who was enjoying a Montecristo cigar in between sips of vodka.

  “Your guest has arrived Mr. Lorenza,” the butler announced. He was stopped by Lorenza raising his arm slightly to silence him.

  “Thank you,” Lorenza said gently, his attention directed toward the paintings on the wall in front of him. “You may go now. Mr. Rhys and I have some things to discuss. The butler bowed and quietly left the room. Rhys stood fast. He figured it was best to let Azio Lorenza start the discussion. He studied the small man in the chair. For someone in his mid-sixties, Lorenza was in remarkably good shape. His body was lean, a sign of someone who still exercised consistently. His grey hair was neatly trimmed, and his thin mustache manicured, giving him a distinguished look. His khaki slacks, brown leather shoes, and tan sweater imparted the image of an academic more than a serious business mogul and one of the richest and most influential men not only in the country, but in all Southeast Asia.

  “Tolstoy,” Lorenza uttered.

  Rhys waited a second before responding, “I’m sorry.”

  “You look different out of your camouflage uniform,” Lorenza suddenly uttered, referring to the navy blue suit the New Zealander had chosen to wear for the occasion.

  “I try to look presentable when I can,” Rhys replied.

  Lorenza went on. “I have never understood the fixation the wealthy western world has for the impoverished masses in countries like mine.” He set down his drink and, clenching his cigar in his teeth, he rose to his feet. He only came to the New Zealander’s chest, yet stood as if he were a bigger man as he sized him up. “My family, along with thirty others, controls virtually all of the arable land in the Philippines.” He started to walk with Rhys following closely behind. “We control the land and in doing so we make valuable use of it. Yet, smug humanitarians protest this and despise us for this situation claiming that we deprive the peasant farmers of their right to own land.”

  They continued moving slowly around the room, as Lorenza balanced his attention between the New Zealander and viewing his art collection. “You know Leo Tolstoy may have written about the nobility of the poor. In fact, when he took over as the inheritor of a massive estate, he tried to bring the peasants on his land into the modern realms of thinking. He built a school for their children to learn, he introduced all sorts of state of the art farming equipment to make their work easier, and he even tried to provide medical aid. Within a year, it had all proven disastrous. The farmers dismissed their modern equipment favoring their primitive tools, none of the children showed up for school, and the space became storage rooms. The attempts to bring modern thinking about medicine and sanitation landed on deaf ears. The farmers continued to choose to reside in abject squalor rather than adopting sanitation practices that could have staved off disease.”

  Rhys said nothing as he waited to see where the Filipino was going with this storyline. Lorenza continued, “I say this because I find such noble gestures toward the poor foolish and naïve. My great-great-grandfather built the family fortune during the time of American colonialism in my country. During the Second World War, my grandfather negotiated skillfully with the Japanese making himself indispensable to them during their occupation and then turned around and did the same when the Americ
ans returned. He preserved the family estates and the fortune because he was brilliant. That is what people don’t understand. Our family, like other powerful families, didn’t have this fortune handed to us. We work to preserve it, build on it, and have the intellect to see the future in order to adapt accordingly. That is what separates us from the small-minded peasant who knows only what they know and nothing more. I attended the London School of Economics and, for the time I was there, I tended to my studies, devoured every lesson and read every book voraciously to expand my knowledge. I studied the models of Europe’s great businesses to see how I could better develop my own. I did all this because I knew what my role would be coming home.”

  “My western classmates would decry endlessly the plight of impoverished countries like mine. They blamed the problems on families like mine. I had to wonder if they ever met the kind of people they seemed so concerned with ─ people who had never seen electricity or flushing toilets, people who believed in foolish superstitions and knew nothing outside of a few miles of their own community. They decried my family and my wealth, yet I had to wonder how these peasants would live if men like me weren’t running the economy and managing the resources. If I’m gone and the land becomes theirs, they will be as Tolstoy’s peasants. They will do nothing with it. The world changes, but they cannot change with it, and valuable land would become like Tolstoy’s schoolhouse ─ a wasteland of nothingness. I can see this just by how easily the great unwashed of my country cling to extremist rebel armies that embrace imbecilic political ideas that only tell the fools what they want to hear and would be a disaster if they came to fruition.”

  This was not anything that Rhys had not heard before. It was rhetoric often espoused by many of his clients. Since leaving the service of the New Zealand army, he had made his living in the employ of Lorenza and several of the country’s established, wealthy families training and leading their private armies to combat the reckless bands of communist and Islamic guerrillas that plagued the country. He had made pretty good money doing so and, in all honesty, seeing the war zone of the country first hand, he was convinced that the private armies, though brutal in the execution of their mission, tended to be more effective in curtailing the guerrilla threat in the countryside than the state military.

  Lorenza stopped to admire an oil painting depicting some battle from a nineteenth-century war that looked to have taken place in Russia. “The reason I have summoned you is that I and my associates need to retain your services for an important mission.”

  “That is normally why you call me,” Rhys responded.

  Lorenza turned from the painting and, for the first time since the meeting began, he looked the New Zealander directly in the eye. “As you know, I and my colleagues have been at odds with the current president. He has been pushing heavily for land reforms. He is one of the progressives who entertains foolish notions about peasants. In response, we have decided it is necessary to take action to ensure the president is properly marginalized. This action comes in the form of making us indispensable just like my grandfather did.”

  “I’ve been briefed on ‘The System’ organization and on Operation Chaos,” Rhys said.

  “Then I won’t waste your time on what you already know,” Lorenza smiled. “What you don’t know is that we are obtaining three large consignments of weapons from an arms dealer in Cyprus. The weapons will be delivered to different regions of the country to supply various rebel groups we can quickly arm, who have the size and organization to create the necessary havoc. It has come to our attention through sympathetic sources that allies to the president and supporters to his agenda may now indeed be working to thwart this plan. If that is the case, we need to take steps to protect ourselves. We need you to assemble a team and go to Cyprus in order to neutralize this group if they attempt any such act to hinder our efforts.”

  “Are you sure they can even do it?” Rhys inquired as he observed the little Asian man. “I mean just because this group is onto you doesn’t automatically mean they know anything. Nor does it mean that the actions you suggest I take is an advisable course of action.”

  “A professional soldier not recommending military action.” Lorenza feigned shock as he looked back at the New Zealander.

  “Military action is a tool sir,” Rhys replied, “and, like any tool, one must assess the situation with a skilled eye to ensure it is the right tool to use in the situation.”

  “I quite agree.” Lorenza raised his hand and shook his cigar toward Rhys. “I have seen military action serve with great success in addressing certain political difficulties. I, much like you, have also witnessed the folly when it has been used incorrectly.”

  “Which is why I think you might be acting hastily dispatching me now,” Rhys explained. “Cyprus is not an island in the Philippines or the South Pacific where armed insurrections are common and someone like me could operate unnoticed. This is a country where such actions could create complications you may not want to deal with.”

  Lorenza twisted his cigar between his lips as he pondered the Rhys’ words. “This is why I prefer you to so many of your colleagues Kennson Rhys. You are not addicted to war nor do you exploit every chance to promote it as men in your profession often strive to do. You are quite cerebral and strategic in your calculations.”

  “I value fighting logically sir,” Rhys responded.

  “I agree, which is why I want you there,” Lorenza explained taking a puff from his cigar. “You’re right in that we only know that the President has allies who know about our intentions. We know little other than that. This means we need to be prepared for different scenarios. If they come to Cyprus and find nothing, then we do nothing and carry on with our operation. If they go to the police, then the arms broker we are working with is quite well connected and can mitigate such complications for high paying customers. You are in position in the event we are dealing with a hostile threat that will use force to thwart our plans. The people we have there aren’t skilled operators like yourself. They’re lawyers, businessmen, and some trained bodyguards. Not the kind of people I would entrust to deal with trained and experienced mercenaries or terrorists.”

  Rhys shook his head. “What would you have me do if it should come down to that? At some level, we’d still have to find these people and figure out their network. This wouldn’t be something done simply or cheaply. At some level, we’d have to worry about the police. Make enough noise in any respectable country and even a corrupt police force will have enough of you.”

  “That’s true, that’s true.” Lorenza nodded as he enjoyed another puff on his cigar. “Another possibility I have considered. Which is why I want you there. Such conflict must be waged logically and discretely. You don’t act in rage or believe in taking action simply for payback. A mission either adds value to the cause, or it is not done when it comes to you. I do realize the risk. But what is at stake is of great importance to our cause. I need to ensure that any military attempt to thwart these people is done skillfully and intelligently.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Rhys replied. “But not knowing much about this enemy, I’m working in the dark. In my line of work that’s incredibly dangerous.”

  The Filipino puffed some more on his cigar. “I understand the position I’m putting you in. You will be compensated for your troubles. You will also be given considerable resources to carry out this mission. I assume you have some men in mind for this mission.”

  “No,” Rhys replied curtly. “Going to a European country with a bunch of Filipino guerrillas would unquestionably bring unwanted attention. I have a few local boys I know and trust. But the bulk of our force will have to be recruited locally over there. I’ll need to find some European mercenaries for this job who can blend in better with the local population. In a situation like this, remaining inconspicuous is more essential than using people you’re familiar with in the field.”

  “I understand,” Lorenza said as he began moving on to admire another painting.
“As I said, you will be given ample resources for your mission and, should it come to needing your services, you will be given full command of the project to carry out the fight as you see necessary.”

  “No matter what happens, kindly understand this won’t be something like Mindanao or some other remote jungle island where we do what we have to, to win ─ where anything goes and repercussions are inconsequential. Mistakes in Cyprus can have repercussions and in combat, I will only have limited control over what happens.”

  “Again, I understand.” Lorenza paused to observe another painting. This time it was a chalk sketching that looked like a Picasso. “I appreciate your concern for the political ramifications and delicacy of the matter. Still, the risk is necessary. A great deal of risk and capital has been expended already. The success of the operation is absolutely vital.”

  “Then I shall begin planning and making arrangements accordingly,” Rhys said. “I can reach out to some contacts I have in Europe to recruit my team. Not knowing exactly what I’m up against, I’ll have to keep my requirements flexible. This brings me to the next consideration. I’m in an alien environment dealing with shadows. I’ll need a good intelligence source to help me figure out who I’m up against, where I can find them, and help me navigate the cultural and political waters of the country and its security forces.”

  Lorenza puffed his cigar. “My people and I can be flexible with funding if your recruited talent should turn out to be rather expensive. As to an intelligence source, I already have my people trying to ascertain such information and are in the process of finding someone who can acquire the needed information. They have told me they may possibly have someone you can work with as soon as you get there. And, before you ask about weapons, the trafficker we have can provide anything you will reasonably need.”