Cyprus Rage

by J E Higgins

  “The delegation is where we should be focused,” De’vor spoke up for the first time. “They are the ones with the money. If we concentrate on hitting them, the rest becomes moot.”

  Nods and murmurs silently erupted in support of the Frenchman’s idea. Then Sauwa entered the discussion. “Well maybe not. If we act against the Filipinos, what is the likelihood they’ll just send someone else to continue the business? I mean they’ll still have the arms trafficker available. Only next time they’ll be anticipating us. Besides, can we even get to the Filipino group? From what I’ve read, they’re holding up in penthouse apartments taking up an entire floor of one of the city’s hottest hotels. They have an entire security staff guarding them around the clock. Furthermore, they only leave the penthouse when they go to conduct business. When they do leave, it’s on an irregular schedule making it impossible to develop a decent timetable.” She sat back in her chair feeling somewhat defeated. She looked up to see all eyes focused on her.

  Apparently, everyone was waiting to hear more so she continued. “These people are no fools. They chose their location for protection well. An expensive hotel in the top tourist location in Cyprus, in a city like Limassol, where tourism is a major industry. Expect that the hotel will have its own tight security with an abundance of surveillance cameras that can capture our image with hotel detectives keeping watch for any suspicious people. It’s also a good guess that the greater area will have a strong police presence. Like most tourist-heavy cities, expect to be up against the very best police officers around such expensive locations.”

  “Remember in an operation like this, it’s not just about the successful execution of the mission. We’re committing a crime, and the clock begins once we initiate until the police respond. Even after we escape, we have to worry about the inevitable investigation. In the heat of the action, the evidence is not the prime concern, and we have to worry about what we left behind for the police to trace. Professional intelligence agencies fuck this up all the time which is why so much is known about these things.”

  She finished speaking to hear dead silence in the room. She found she was staring back at several deadpan faces as if they had all seen a ghost. The one exception was Tarkov who was giving her a satisfied look as if she had met all his expectations. “What then do you recommend?” he asked. She eyed the rest of the group and found she was still dealing with a captive audience waiting to hear more.

  With a sigh, she went on. “We should begin with understanding what we’re up against by noting what’s not in these files. Reviewing the dossiers, I can assume that this intelligence was compiled by a more regionally placed private network hired by our employers. My guess is that they had a good idea who this arms trafficker, Theo Kalopolis, is. He is from this region, which means they should have been able to collect information on him more easily than a foreign businessman from halfway around the world.”

  “That can only mean that Kalopolis is that good at protecting information about himself which makes him dangerous because we don’t know what we need before going into this. Or they know who he is, but he’s so connected and dangerous that they don’t want to get in his bad graces by poking around in his affairs. If so, we can conclude that we not only don’t know what we need but that he could prove to be an incredibly dangerous enemy for us to have on this island.”

  The mercenaries remained silent. Their attention was still entirely on her, mesmerized by her words. Even the steadfast Carzona was clearly intrigued by what she was saying. It had now become apparent that this was what Tarkov was talking about back in Izmir when he mentioned her being a key advisor. The only person who seemed to show a lack of complete interest was De’vor, who glared at her as if what she was saying only confirmed his disapproving image of her.

  Ignoring his condescending gaze, she pressed on. “As I see it, the problem we have is that we have a delegation of Filipino businessmen about to buy a massive amount of serious weapons from a major arms trafficker. They’re both going to be incredibly hard targets to go after. They have protective details and are anticipating a threat to themselves. And, whoever we go after, even if successful, we are automatically going to alert the others who will take even more precautions. We assume that taking out the Filipino delegation will end this business. But, as we have already discussed, they represent a much larger organization that could just send somebody else to finish where they left off.

  In addition, the thought of losing a serious client might force Kalopolis to take action on his own to neutralize us just to protect this deal. Our best bet is to take Kalopolis. He’s the pipeline to the arms and taking him out of the equation would be the most detrimental as it wouldn’t be easy to find another arms dealer who could fill such a large order. However, as we’re in his backyard here in Cyprus. We don’t know what kind of security he has, or what kind of intelligence resources he has at his disposal. This means we would be flying in dangerously blind.” She fell back in her chair feeling exhausted by the enormity of the task before them. She scooped up the file again and started through the series of pictures and documents as if she had possibly missed something.

  When she was at an end of her dissertation, Tarkov retook control of the meeting. “Well, that’s enough for right now,” he said while observing the stumped expressions on the faces of the other mercenaries. “We’ve eaten and discussed the initial problems. Let's break for now and take care of some other pressing issues. We’ll take this meeting up later tonight after we’ve all had a chance to think about it.

  As the meeting adjourned, the attitudes amongst everyone was a dismal, collective nervousness. The soldiers walked away from the meeting feeling incredibly out of their depth. With the exception of Sacchini, who had done slightly similar work operating against Sicilian criminal groups for the Italian government, the soldiers had operated on battlefields where such considerations as police were non-existent. The missions they completed in the service of criminals put them in remote regions where they conducted business with other mercenaries, guerrillas, and warlords in the most lawless parts of the world. Sauwa, with her assessment of the situation, had opened their eyes which had been a sobering experience.

  With the meeting concluded, Tarkov handed each member of the team thick white business envelopes. They were filled with Cyprus pounds. “This will be your expense money while you are here.” He gave everyone a chance to examine the contents. “What you have is what you get, so spend conservatively.”

  The envelopes quickly disappeared into jacket pockets. Tarkov explained that their contacts would be around soon with the van to take them to one of the shopping districts, so they can pick up fresh clothes and get the lay of the land. As everyone started heading back to the sleeping area, Tarkov grabbed Sauwa by the arm. “We need to talk.” She followed as he led her away from everyone else. “I’m concerned about this lack of intelligence we have regarding Kalopolis. Since it seems apparent, even by your estimation that he should be our prime target, I would like to have more detailed information to work with. What are the chances that our mutual friend could provide what we need?”

  Sauwa shook her head. “I imagine Valikov knows a great deal that would aid us at this point in time. In fact, I can imagine that he knew from the beginning that Kalopolis was involved in this. He is probably hoping that killing a serious competitor would be the inevitable outcome of this operation.”

  Tarkov scratched his chin as he shrugged his shoulders. “Then it seems that he would be interested in helping us.”

  “No,” Sauwa shook her head again. “He’s going to keep as far from this as possible. Logically, if we succeed, the market just opened up for new business for him. If we fail, then his hands are nowhere near any of this, and he doesn’t have to worry about retaliation from a powerful new enemy.”

  “He doesn’t think supplying us with weapons and equipment will be just as incriminating?” Tarkov questioned.

  Sauwa looked at the Russian as if he were an
innocent child. “Selling weapons to a group is one thing. In the black-market world, no one asks what the weapons are going to be used for, and it would be easy to feign ignorance if the guns are traced back to him. Information that was used to help plan an assassination against a competitor is a lot harder to explain or deny. So, don’t expect any help.”

  With a deep look of consternation, Tarkov scowled. He released Sauwa as he stood there pondering his next move. Sensing he was out of his element, he felt like a novice. He was used to fighting in the jungles of Central Africa or the harsh lawless grounds of the Caucasus. In a situation like this, he was inclined not to trust his own experience or judgment, and he didn’t like the feeling one bit.

  He looked over to see Carzona in the operations area making sure there were no loose documents lying around. All the files had been accounted for and neatly stacked in a pile that he was tucking into a metal case with a combination. He was certainly security conscious and watched all sensitive documents like a hawk. Tarkov approached, “What do you think?”

  “I think that Miss Catcher was a wise choice for this operation,” the Filipino replied as he scanned the area one last time. “I initially had my doubts about her. However, after seeing her in the interview and then in the meeting, I feel that she is going to prove to be a very valuable asset going forward.”

  “Well, you have to admit,” Tarkov looked over at the mercenaries congregating in the bedding area as they prepared themselves for their outing, “when it came to people with experience operating in this sort of environment under such restraints, we didn’t have much to choose from. The Englishman claiming to have been with British intelligence was hardly impressive.”

  “He was burnt out and an alcoholic.” Carzona shook his head. “That much was obvious during the meeting. It was clear that he was far past his prime.”

  A hard knock was heard at the door. Everyone stopped what they were doing and froze. The knock was followed by a voice speaking in the German-accented English they had heard spoken by the pale man the previous day. “Go ahead and open the door,” Carzona called out to the mercenaries. “My people have arrived.”

  Carefully, De’vor and Gorzo inched over to the door. To ensure that intruders with hostile intentions would have a hard time breaching the door they had used a rubber doorstop on the inside. Kicking the wedge away, Gorzo flung open the door as De’vor stood guard. The pale man walked through the doorway and presented himself to Carzona.

  “Alright let’s go,” Tarkov commanded.

  The mercenaries finished dressing, securing their gear, and making other last-minute adjustments. Once everyone was ready, they filed out the door behind the pale man with Carzona last. They were all warned to pay close attention during the tour as this would be the only time they would have their guides. In the future, all the mercenaries would be operating entirely on their own.

  18

  Kennson Rhys stepped off the plane into the Larnaca International Airport in Cyprus. He was tired and wanted nothing but a warm shower and a good dinner. However, first, he was determined to meet with Lorenza’s people in Limassol and gain some perspective on this vaguely explained operation.

  He kept the brisk pace of a predator moving to stalk its prey as he moved through the airport. The two men accompanying him followed in his stride ─ one was a Nepali, Khadga Yadav, and the other was a Fijian, Iventi Mehendra. Both men had been with Rhys for a long time and were among his best men. They had been at his side through some terrible battles and campaigns in some of the worst places in the South Pacific.

  Khadga Yadav had served for almost sixteen years in the British army as a soldier in the 7th Duke of Edinburgh’s Own Gurkha Rifles prior to it being merged with the other Gurkha units into the Royal Gurkha Rifles. Having seen action all over the world, including time in the Falkland conflict and Brunei, he had left the service. With the Gurkha Brigade gradually shrinking, and the end of the cold war bringing a lull in missions, Yadav decided it was time to go. Instead of returning to his native Nepal, Yadav found his way to Burma, now Myanmar, where he found work in the service of the Burmese army working as part of a special unit that hunted Islamic Rohingya guerrillas hiding deep in the remote jungles. It was here he had met the New Zealand SAS soldier, Kennson Rhys, operating as part of a clandestine mission against the guerrillas. They struck up a solid friendship and a few years later when Rhys, now in the private sector, called him offering a better paying job in the Philippines, the former Gurkha didn’t hesitate to say yes.

  The Fijian, Iventi Mehendra, was a former soldier in the Fijian army’s First Meridian Squadron. More commonly known as the Counter Revolutionary Warfare Unit ─ the unit was modeled after the British 22 SAS ─ and had worked with everyone including the U.S. Navy Seals, the Australian SASR and the NZSAS. It was on such a joint operation that he had met Rhys who he befriended. And, similar to the Nepali Yadav, he was contacted on the eve of his discharge from the Fijian armed forces, asking if he’d like to ply his trade in the Philippines. Since then both men had served with him in the service of the private army of Azio Lorenza and the Lorenza family. If the New Zealander was being honest with himself, these men were his closest family.

  All three men had packed light ─ only carry-on luggage that made it less complicated moving through the different airports. They made their way to the doors leading outside and were instantly met with a warm, evening atmosphere. Strangely, it seemed to wake them all up. “Oh, that feels much better,” Mehendra said as he rejoiced to feel the fresh, warm air all around him. “After being cooped up in that plane, I just want to walk about, stretch, and get the blood flowing in my legs again.”

  “I hear you,” Rhys replied as he concentrated on finding some mode of transportation. “We’ll get plenty of time for that just as soon as we settle things with our people here.”

  “We don’t even know what’s really going on, and that bothers me,” Yadav stated in his quiet unassuming tone.

  “That’s why I want to get down to business before we do anything else,” Rhys replied as he raised his arm to hail a cab. “I want to see these people and figure out exactly what we’re dealing with.” The taxi pulled up to the curb. The driver barely had time to ask the destination before the three men piled into the car. Rhys jumped in the front seat while his colleagues slid in the back.

  It was fortunate that the driver spoke reasonably good English. It didn’t take the New Zealander long to direct him to the hotel where Lorenza’s people were staying. Giving a nod and cracking a smile to reveal a row of nicotine-stained teeth, the driver released the brake and pulled the cab onto the main road. Twenty minutes later they were in the ritzy Galatex district surrounded by expensive first-rate resort hotels. The cab was pulled up to the reception area of the Flamingo Hotel. The men left the vehicle and started up the entryway.

  They were dressed casually in slacks, open-collared shirts, and jackets ─ the typical attire exhibited around the hotel. Making their way to the reception desk, they were greeted by a stunning young woman with piercing blue eyes and golden blond hair. She was genuinely friendly as she met them with a warm energetic smile and welcoming demeanor. “How may I help you, gentlemen?” She asked in well-spoken English.

  “If you could please ring the penthouse, number 4, and tell them that Mr. Thompson from Luzon is here.”

  “Of course,” she smiled as she picked up the phone and called to the penthouse.

  She relayed the message. There was a brief exchange of words involving her describing the three men, and she finished the call with instructions that they were to wait in the lobby for someone to meet them. The men took seats in a nearby waiting area. The chairs were comfortable, and the trio relaxed. They looked like everyday guests finishing the evening with a little relaxation before retreating to their rooms. Their break was cut short when they were met by a young man wearing a white shirt and black trousers. He looked like one of the hotel’s valets. The young man was polite and addressed R
hys in English. He explained that someone had asked him to deliver a message. He handed Rhys a small sealed envelope. The young man gave a bow and walked away.

  Rhys looked over at his two colleagues who eyed the envelope questioningly. Slicing it open with his thumb, he unfolded a small piece of paper. The note was brief. They were to go to a bar two blocks down the street in thirty minutes and follow the instructions for how they were to identify their contact and make the connection. Rhys nodded to his men to follow as he rose from his seat and started casually toward the front door.

  Outside, the three men made their way down the street until they were able to flag another cab. It was only a short distance to the meeting spot, but none of the men felt comfortable traipsing around in an unfamiliar country. The cab driver spoke little English but seemed to recognize the location when Rhys explained where they wanted to go. It was a quick ten-second drive down the street until they were parked just outside an upscale lounge at the corner of what looked like an exclusive nightclub district.

  The trio exited the vehicle with Rhys following after he left a handsome tip for the driver. The street was wild with fancy clubs that advertised to the throngs of tourists cruising the street with intoxicating liquid-neon signs and trendy party music loudly blasting from inside. Like the rest of the establishments along the street, the lounge was exotically lit with inviting signs. Yet, it offered no wild music or dance floors. It was the spot for the tourist who wanted to enjoy a private drink in a quiet spot.

  The men entered a dark room that contained several tables and a row of booths. The waitresses glided around in sleek tight-fitting satin dresses as they moved about filling orders. The clientele consisted primarily of expensively dressed men in their late forties and fifties. Most of them were engrossed in conversation. A few busied themselves trying to gain the attention of some of the young waitresses as they walked past. No one gave the slightest notice of the three men who had just walked in. It was a well thought out location for a clandestine meeting.