Cyprus Rage

by J E Higgins

  “We have to forgive him this one,” Rhys cautioned. “He is right that we are all in strange territory trying to work fast with few connections. The circumstances are not ideal. At some level, we have to take what we can get and hope for the best. In this case, the best is not what we got.”

  Yadav said nothing but stared at the door as if he were still watching Managua. Rhys continued, “We have to use what we have. It sounds like the cover-up following this shit is being well managed and, if we didn’t get the information from Morayo, at least we have her documents that hopefully contain something useful.”

  “Hardly in time to help us,” Yadav reminded him. There were only two days until the ships were due to arrive which meant the intel could still come too late to be of any real help. “That is still assuming this lawyer woman was even involved.”

  Rhys pressed his thumb to his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “When is Mehendra due back?”

  Yadav glanced at his watch. “In about a half hour.”

  Mehendra had taken the Greeks out for one last rehearsal and weapons check. In actuality, it was an excuse to get them out of the house while Managua was there. Rhys had wanted to keep things compartmentalized. The team might see Managua at the dock, but they wouldn’t know any more about him than that. The hired help did not need to know any more about the intricate workings of the operation than necessary.

  “We’ll work with what we have,” the New Zealander said, as he rubbed his head. From the time he had landed until the time they were about to distribute the first of several shipments, he had been told nothing about this mysterious adversary he had been called in to neutralize. Nobody knew anything concrete, and all he had heard amounted to rumors and conspiracy theories. In the back of his mind, he began to wonder if this whole thing wasn’t just some fabrication brought on by the wild imagination of a bunch of men getting paranoid over the fear of their enemies discovering their highly illegal act.

  What concerned Yadav, even more, was that since their arrival the greater plausible threat would be some private investigator trying to collect evidence of the plot rather than some group of terrorists ─ evidence that could be presented to the government back home. If that were the case, having the top soldiers of one of the biggest private armies in the Philippines caught at some shady nighttime business at a pier in Cyprus would be playing directly into their hands. Wrestling with this very real consideration, Rhys decided that since he and Yadav were both well known for their services in Lorenza’s private army, they should not be at the peer meeting. Managua, ever the negotiator of backroom deals, had agreed completely. His own presence at such a meeting brought possible exposure, but due to his long client list, he did such work throughout the South Pacific and could easily explain away his presence.

  Since Mehendra was the newest member of the group and not as well known, he would be in charge of the security mission. The Fijian had spent his military career combating anti-government rebels and terrorists in his home country and defending key installations from dangerous infiltrators. During his time working with Rhys in remote jungles, Mehendra had proven himself to be highly competent as a soldier commanding troops in operations and raids against trained guerrillas.

  Though it was not something the Fijian accepted easily, he had garnered a great deal of respect from the Greeks now in their employ. He had not lost sight of the fact that they were still like most European soldiers, oriented to the idea that whites were the inherently superior soldier. It had not been hard at all for Rhys to be seen and respected as the natural leader of the group while Mehendra and Yadav had had to work to earn the same level of respect. Mehendra was concerned that he would have difficulty managing the troops without Rhys around. If a situation arose that called his team into action, he could very well lose control of them if they suddenly decided that some Pacific Islander wasn’t capable of doing the job. Both Rhys and Yadav understood their friend’s concern, but they all agreed there was no other option. It was only after careful coaxing and reassurance, Mehendra finally capitulated and assumed control of the mission.

  A short while after the lawyer left the beach house, the team returned. They had spent the last few hours going over response drills and practicing tactics and honing their skills to ensure that it was down to muscle memory. They practiced under the watchful direction of Mehendra who oversaw the day’s training. That was the other reason the Fijian was now by himself with the Greek mercenaries while Rhys held his meeting. Mehendra needed time as their leader to help establish him in that capacity without Rhys around.

  Filing into the house, with Mehendra leading the way, the men looked beat. The way they all flopped into the first available seats like dominoes dropping one after the other confirmed their exhaustion. Mehendra remained standing as he walked over to his two compatriots. “The training went well. They know their job and are confident with the procedures we’ve created.”

  “Good,” Rhys said as he eyed the bodies sprawled out on the furniture.

  “The other issues?” Yadav whispered.

  Mehendra shrugged. “I’m not just some third world primitive to them at least.” He turned his body slightly to eye the Greeks and then turned back to his comrades. “However, they still hold some reservations ─ training can rectify only so much.”

  “It will have to do,” Rhys sighed gazing at the Fijian.

  28

  Despite the festive atmosphere dominating the city’s evening, the vibes in the small Toyota pickup were tense and silent. While her male companion, a young man of about twenty-six, manned the steering wheel and avoided the sea of drunken humans occasionally pouring out of the clubs, Sauwa vigilantly tracked their surroundings from the passenger seat.

  She was impressed by the casual manner James Musamba displayed as he responded to each unexpected stop with a subtle easing on the brakes that brought the truck to a halt slowly. The recently stolen truck was now packed with several kilos of Semtex explosives. She expected him to be a complete ball of nerves and drive so cautiously they would attract the attention of the police. Instead, the man drove like he was on routine business. She suspected it was from years of experience infiltrating well-guarded checkpoints run by the Israeli military. She would have preferred to have driven herself but opted not to. Both she and the man she was with agreed that a woman driving a pickup, a traditionally man’s vehicle, would appear out of place to everyone watching.

  At the four-way stop, the Palestinian made a right that brought them to a quieter street filled with small coffee shops and eateries for the less adventurous crowds. Sauwa had planned the route so they could weave through the streets along the beach not staying on any one street for very long but mainly on roads heavily populated with traffic. Unobtrusive vehicles, such as the low-key Toyota, would attract little attention from the police over more ostentatious modes of travel. If they traveled through the back streets at such a late hour, the towns were apt to be patrolled by bored police officers looking for something to do and would pull them over for any excuse. Sauwa wanted to keep close to the streets hosting most of the bars and clubs, while not staying on them very long. This way they could be sure the police they encountered would be too busy with bar fights, drug dealers, and out of control crowds of drunk tourists to care about petty traffic issues.

  After a few blocks, Musamba pulled the truck onto the ramp that would take them to the main highway. Out of her rear-view mirror, Sauwa checked to make sure she could see the other vehicles ─ another grey Toyota truck and a grey Nissan van. The truck ascended the large circular ramp. A few cars behind them, she could barely see the other pickup. The van was out of view for her, but the small walkie-talkie that rested on her lap remained dormant, signaling to her that everyone behind could still see her.

  She would verify their status again when they reached the highway. At that point, they would tighten their convoy and press forward. Leaving the ramp, the truck merged onto the highway. At this hour of the night, the tra
ffic was sparse making it easy for them to move without hindrance and able to notice any other vehicle that might possibly be a tail.

  She caught sight of the second pickup and soon after that the van. On her order, they all stayed in the same lane maintaining good separation so their convoy was not too obvious to the few cars traveling the road. Their trip was less than fifteen kilometers, but with all the tension, it felt like years. Finally, the road curved into a large roundabout. Musamba entered the roundabout and turned onto the left off-ramp.

  Even in the darkness, the outline of the Limassol port could be seen through the rows of lighting outlining the building and harbor. From pinpricks of lights from the structures that sat along the pier, Sauwa could see the black pool of water. She could also see the outlines of two large cargo ships resting beside their area of interest. She assumed they were the Romanov and the Chin Wu. She hoped the rest of the team was in place and getting ready to move.

  A short distance from the off-ramp they found themselves surrounded by an open field on both sides and a few spartan houses and buildings could be seen in the distance. Sauwa grabbed the walkie-talkie and ordered the truck behind them to drive past them. It continued down the road as Sauwa’s truck drove onto the ground separating them from the oncoming traffic. The truck went across a rough area filled with wild bushes that battered the truck before they reached the opposite lane.

  They continued down the road a few more meters before stopping in another open area between the port and the road. A few minutes later they were joined by the second truck that pulled behind them. It was a two-lane road, and they needed to ensure that both lanes would lead to the same destination.

  The van went past them and came back passing them again until all that could be seen was the faint blink of red tail lights. The plan was to detonate both trucks and, after the assault, use the van as the escape vehicle. Sauwa had recced the road quite a few times and had found there was virtually no traffic on it, including the police, after 2100 hours. This spared her the need to plan for neutralizing any police patrols showing up at an inconvenient time. She didn’t relish needless killing but a witness was a witness, and they were about to commit a serious crime. Even if she thought differently and sought a less lethal method, it was doubtful her Palestinian subordinates would feel the same way.

  Removing a bundle wrapped carefully in a black cloth, she exited the vehicle with Musamba following her. Like her, he was carrying his own dark bundle under his arm. They were soon joined by their two cohorts. Together they walked back toward the van. “It won’t be long,” Sauwa said without a hint of emotion as she felt her operational instincts kick in. There was no reply and no need for conversation from the men as they continued walking. Everyone knew the danger they faced.

  They got to the van and found their comrade waiting with a gym bag over his shoulder. Without saying anything, he reached into the bag and produced a set of night vision optics which he handed to Sauwa. Through the night optics, she had a clear view of the trucks and the road beyond.

  Satisfied that they were good, she and the team walked back to the trucks. The trucks had been covered with a rubber overtop that wrapped over the entire rear of the vehicle. Removing the cover, Sauwa and Imil, the Palestinian, found themselves looking down at several bricks of the white claylike Semtex stuffed neatly in dark plastic sheathing and taped against the wall of the truck in the direction facing the road. There were five bricks weighing a kilo each tucked snugly together and held in place by thick black construction tape. Inside the truck was another small canvas bag.

  The bag contained the copper blasting cartridges they stuck into the exposed back of each of the clay bricks. Next, they connected the bricks to some nickel chrome wire that they folded into a V-shape and covered with some rubber sheeting to keep the chrome ring from producing any kind of contact with the cartridge. This was a very tricky and dangerous part of setting up the explosive with only the power of a 9v battery to detonate it. Keeping the wiring from actually touching the inside charge of the cartridge, Sauwa finished it off by applying caulk to seal everything. She carefully connected the wires to a small metal box containing the battery and a disposable cellular phone that were wired together and melded into place. Placing the chrome wires into the box, she connected them to the electrical wiring of the phone. She finished by taping the box at the far edge of the Semtex.

  She and Imil walked away back toward the van. She wasn’t worried about the other two Palestinians working on the other truck. Like her, they had received similar explosives training from covert intelligence units and from former IRA bombers, the best urban guerrillas in the world at times, who tended to hire out their expertise to those who could afford it.

  They had only just returned to the van when they heard the footsteps of the other two men following up behind them. “We’re good.” One of the men said as they came up to the rest of the team.

  “We’ll only know that when it’s time.” Sauwa hissed, reminding them that it only was good if the bombs detonated when they needed to.

  Iventi Mehendra felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He had felt the tingle since he had arrived at the harbor. It was not from the breezy night sea air ─ it was the unnerving feeling he had about the situation. He didn’t like conducting sensitive operations with such poor lighting. All he saw were the innumerable ways some enemy could use the shadows to get too close.

  Managua, the lawyer, who was supposed to manage this affair had mentioned some rather disturbing news. It bothered him even more that he knew practically nothing about the men he was going to do business with this evening. The arms merchant and men arrived in a long convoy of sleek black vehicles.

  Mehendra looked at the man stepping out from the back of the third truck. He had long, golden hair that was even visible in the scant light and was dressed in an expensive suit that had obviously been made by a very skilled tailor. As he exited the vehicle, he was flanked by two armed guards who remained at his side as he started to walk toward Mehendra.

  “This is not the man I’ve been working with,” was the disconcerting news Managua hissed into the mercenary’s ear. Mehendra observed the golden-haired man and his entourage as they approached. He didn’t see any behavior or action that led him to conclude this was a setup. Still, the lawyer next to him looked utterly baffled which did cause concern.

  The arms merchant came up to the two Asians. Instantly, the golden-haired man extended his hand in a cordial manner that was left open for either man to take. Managua paused then gripped the man’s hand with his own in a hesitant manner. “I was expecting Mr. Prokopis for this evening’s business,” Managua explained to the dumpy, middle-aged man they had brought along as an interpreter. The dumpy man turned in the direction of the arms merchant and began translating the lawyer’s words in Greek.

  Nodding politely, the golden-haired man listened. When the interpreter was done, he turned toward the Asians and began to speak. His voice was accented, but his English was clear and concise. “Mr. Prokopis will no longer be part of this affair. For this exercise, you will be dealing with me.”

  “What happened to him?” Mehendra asked. His tone was sharp and serious.

  Theo Kalopolis observed the two Asian men coldly. He was both impressed and offended by the Asian’s demand to know about his former employee. The arms merchant’s first thought was to dismiss the man’s abrupt request for information regarding his late employee. But, looking over the hardened figure cutting a much more intimidating figure than the Filipino lawyer, he thought better of it. “I’m afraid Mr. Prokopis has died.”

  The inquisitive look on the Asian’s face demanded a better explanation. Kalopolis continued. “He was dispatched violently in a bar fight only a few days ago.”

  Mehendra felt the cold shiver in his spine intensify hearing such news. That the key operative managing the arms shipment for the gun runners was so conveniently murdered at an inopportune time so close to the transaction occurring seem
ed highly suspicious. Now looking at the expensively dressed man standing before him with an entourage of tough-looking men who were obviously there for his protection and nothing more, the Fijian began to feel slightly unnerved.

  Maybe he was being paranoid, and that this was all just some conspiracy theory developing in his head. But, Mehendra couldn’t shake the feeling it was something more. Turning from the meeting, he walked over to his men scattered behind him in the shadows ─ this was to prevent them from being easy targets if this first meeting turned violent. With a wave of his hand, he gathered them in a half circle. Before issuing orders, the Fijian turned back to the arms merchant. “How many men do you have designated for exterior security?”

  Kalopolis and Managua both turned back displaying looks of exasperation at being interrupted. Mehendra ignored their indignation as he walked closer and asked the question again. “What kind of security have you arranged for the outer area?”

  The arms merchant exhaled irritably. “The security I have brought is for my own protection. There are armed men aboard the Romanov for protection of the cargo. I can only presume you have similar protection aboard your vessel. Otherwise, I see no reason to circulate a lot of armed men around to attract a lot of unwanted attention from whoever else is working at this hour. I’ve already taken more than enough risk obtaining this private location even though it goes against the port’s policy.”

  The Fijian was aghast at hearing this response. He turned back to his men and made a quick assessment, then set about deploying them to cover the most likely means an adversary might have to infiltrate. It wasn’t an easy task; he hadn’t a clue what kind of threat he was guarding against. If it was a team of highly trained professionals, he figured at this hour that the enemy would come through a weak spot in the surrounding fence line under cover of darkness. They could then make their way through any number of routes through the maze of stacked cargo boxes and equipment to come through and assault them from numerous blind spots. Or, they could come through the waters of the port which gave ample concealment and a vast array of darkened places along the harbor they could come up to and launch a surprise attack. It was far too much ground to cover. The other possibility he considered, was that a lesser trained group of trigger-happy bandits might opt for the expedient way of coming in from the adjacent roadway where they could speed in on vehicles and lay into some wild cowboy attack setting onto the unprepared group.