by Mark Young
Henderson clenched his hands. “If I cannot speak to Mr. Dunsmuir, our deal is off. I insist that you take me to the airport.”
Raed glared at Henderson for a moment, and then stood. “I must make a phone call. I will be back in a few minutes.”
Raed went into another room, out of earshot of Henderson but not of their listening devices. He dialed a number on his cell phone, waiting for the call to go through.
Gerrit turned to Shakeela. “Contact Jack or Frank—whomever you can get a hold of. Tell them to monitor the cell phones of our targets and see who Raed is calling right now.”
She nodded and moved out of earshot to make her call.
Gerrit turned back to the monitor and turned up the volume of the bug near where Raed stood. Raed greeted his contact over the telephone. “My brother, our scientist wants to speak to Brandimir.”
So they knew his real name too. Maybe Gerrit could learn what happened to the weasel.
Raed listened for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell him.” He hung up and pocketed the phone.
Gerrit switched to the surveillance tile on the screen that showed Raed rejoining Henderson. The scientist glanced up at the Syrian intelligence officer, and frowned.
“Mr. Dunsmuir will not be speaking with you—ever. You will be dealing directly with me. You will continue to do what I say.”
“And if I don’t?” Henderson jutted his chin out.
Gerrit thought the American at least had guts. No brains, but he did have moxie.
Suddenly Raed lashed out and struck Henderson in the face. The scientist yelled as he fell out of his chair.
“What the—?”
A brutal kick into Henderson’s rib cage ended any further words. Henderson had to have sustained one or more broken ribs.
Gerrit saw that Henderson knew the game had just changed. And Gerrit realized one other fact from Raed’s conversation with the unknown caller.
Brandimir Kisyov was no longer the main player.
Chapter 51
March 15
Tired and hungry, Gerrit and Shakeela returned to the hotel. As soon as the Syrian intelligence officer left Henderson’s apartment—giving the two guards their new orders to keep the scientist under lock and key—Max and Alena tried to tail Raed but lost him in the crowd.
Gerrit couldn’t fault them. Better to lose the target than to be picked up by counter surveillance and land in one of those notorious cellars the secret police have hidden around the capital.
Gerrit recalled one newspaper article of an interview with a Syrian lawyer, who did not want to be identified for fear of reprisals. The attorney told a reporter that there were torture chambers in unofficial jails and detention centers scattered around Damascus. Political dissidents and “agitators” never wound up in the capital’s central prison where they housed the normal criminal element. Instead, political prisoners disappeared into any number of these secret cellars kept by various branches of the military intelligence agencies, cellars where they were tortured to gain information. This was where he and the others would wind up if they were caught.
After the torture—a bullet in the head.
Not that the other side was much better. Muslim Brotherhood operatives and religious fanatics could be just as brutal. And they were not averse to bombing innocent civilians if the end justified their distorted means.
Gerrit powered up his laptop and made a connection with Jack still in Tel Aviv via an encrypted video feed. Jack was sitting at a desk that appeared to be in a military compound, uniforms and weapons seen in the background. “Colonel, how do you copy?”
“Read you loud and clear, Marine. What’s your status?”
“Good, sir. I’ll make this short and sweet. Intercepted a phone call from Raed to an unknown caller after our scientist wanted to speak to Dunsmuir.”
Jack broke in. “He called Atash Hassan. The Iranian told him to force Henderson to go along with the plan. We got Shakeela’s message and had NSA do a history search of recent calls using those SIM identifiers. We identified the caller as one of the numbers used by Hassan. Even got a transcript of that call.”
“Did they reveal the plan?”
Jack shook his head. “Sorry. They already understood the mission. Just talked about how to deal with Henderson. They are going to keep that scumbag under house arrest until they need him.”
“Raed tuned Henderson up a bit. The guy probably ended up with a few broken ribs.”
“I won’t shed any tears for that little creep. Just keep an eye on him, Gerrit. He might be key to when and where they are planning to launch the attack.”
Gerrit nodded. “We’ll keep in touch.” He started to terminate the call, but Jack called out for him to wait. “What is it, sir?”
“A couple more things. First, after Raed’s call, Hassan made another call. It was a burn phone, but it’s the same number we linked to a couple of calls from our targets: one call to Hassan while the caller and Hassan were both in Dubai the day Alena got attacked, and another call after Dubai as the caller passed through Dulles. He called a lobbyist group that fronts for the Muslim Brotherhood in the States.”
“In the United States?” Gerrit asked. “And now you’re telling me that same phone was used here in Damascus? That Hassan called it after talking to Raed?”
“Your dad always said you had a head on your shoulders.”
Inside, Gerrit winced at the mention of his father. After all these years, he still felt a raw place inside whenever his parents and their deaths came to mind. “Can we identify the caller?”
Jack’s face brightened. “You bet your sweet—”
Shakeela came into the room from downstairs as Jack killed the rest of his sentence. “Hi, Colonel. Please continue.”
“Sorry, Shakeela. I—”
“You were about to tell me who’s using this well-traveled phone, Colonel,” Gerrit said, smiling to himself. Jack always presented himself as some kind of salty, tough-as-nails Marine, but Gerrit knew the colonel would never speak inappropriately in front of women. He enjoyed the colonel’s look of chagrin as Shakeela came into the room.
“Huh, right.” Jack tried to gather his thoughts. “Willy sent Beck a copy of the man passing through security in Dulles. Beck ran that photo through the federal system—every terrorism database we maintain, CIA, DIA, even State—including voice-recognition programs from a sample NSA provided from the caller. Bingo, he got a hit.”
Gerrit leaned forward. “We got this phantom caller identified?”
“His name is Mohamed Abul Fotouh, a Muslim Brotherhood leader. That call from Hassan puts Fotouh in Damascus as of a few hours ago.”
Gerrit scratched his head. “This is crazy, sir. You have Raed—a Syrian intelligence officer talking to Hassan. Then Hassan turns right around and calls a known Muslim Brotherhood leader, an organization that Syria outlawed in their country. So any ideas what Fotouh might be doing in the U.S. with a Muslim Brotherhood front group?”
The colonel shook his head. “Lot of questions—no answers. Let me add one more twist. I just sent mug shots to your cell phones. Colonel Perlman passed this on to us from Mossad. They captured a photo of Hassan meeting with another character when he was in Damascus. Kadar Hanano, head of the Air Force Intelligence Directorate and confidante to President al-Assad. Syria’s number two guy in the intelligence community, and Raed’s boss. So, why is Hassan meeting with this guy after speaking to Raed and hobnobbing with the enemy—Fotouh and the Muslim Brotherhood? We hope you and the others might be able to come up with something.”
Shakeela accessed her cell phone and downloaded the photos. After glancing at the faces, she handed the phone to Gerrit so he could see a photo of Fotouh and Hanano.
“And all these idiots are somehow tied in to this mission against Israel?” Gerrit tried to make sense of what appeared to be contradictory affiliations. It just did not add up.
“Oh, Frank wanted me to pass on some information that is highl
y classified. Let Max and the others know, but no one outside your group.”
Gerrit nodded.
“The president told Frank that when he visits Prime Minister Shalev, they intend to visit the Golan Height as some kind of political statement. To show the U.S. supports Israel’s territorial rights.”
“That’s like throwing gas on an open flame to Syria,” Gerrit said. “They’ve wanted that land ever since Israel captured it during the 1967 Six-Day War. Could this be a last straw for Assad, on top of all the other indignities heaped on him the last few years?”
“Maybe,” Jack said, “but this guy knows it’s all about negotiations and patience. World opinion is very fickle, always swinging back and forth like the breeze. If he can weather this current crisis and retain his control over Syria, he knows that there may be another opportunity to bring this issue to the table. To take such drastic measures doesn’t seem a part of this guy’s playbook—at least not from past experience. So why risk World War III by taking out our president and Israel’s prime minister?”
Gerrit nodded. “And yet, here we are trying to figure out why they might be launching an attack. Thanks, Colonel. Signing off.” Gerrit killed the connection and hit the computer’s Off button.
Gerrit opened the window of his hotel room to get a little more air circulating. The night air felt cold, and it helped clear his mind after his conversation with Jack Thompson. He picked up his cell phone and quickly dialed and connected with Alena, who was working with Max in the apartment across from Henderson. Gerrit summarized everything Jack passed on to them. “Can you or Max tell us why that date is significant for the visit to the Golan Heights?”
Alena spoke in the background to Max in a muffled tone before coming back on the line. “We don’t know what the Golan Heights might have to do with it, but on that date this year Israel will be celebrating Purim, which falls on the 13th and 14th of the Hebrew month of Adar. That means that in three days—using our calendar, not theirs— they will begin celebrating Purim.”
“Purim. A two-day event? What does it signify?”
When he mentioned the name of the holiday, Shakeela hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. She leaned down, speaking softly. “I completely forget it was that time of year. This makes sense.”
Gerrit frowned at Alena. “Okay, color me stupid, Alena. Seems like everyone knows the significance of this holiday but me. Care to explain?”
Alena laughed. “I was trying to tell you. It is a time the Jewish people commemorate their salvation from destruction by the Persians while they were held captive.”
“Persians? We’re talking biblical times?”
“Yes. Do you remember the story from Esther in the Old Testament?”
“Some sort of queen, right?”
“Yes. She was made queen by the Persian king after his previous queen ticked him off. He got rid of the old queen and held a beauty contest. Esther came out on top, although she did not reveal that she was Jewish.” Alena continued. “That became significant when an anti-Semite by the name of Haman was appointed prime minister of the empire. Esther’s uncle, Mordecai, leader of the Jews, refused to bow before Haman, saying that he’d bow only before God. Haman plotted to have Mordecai killed and tricked the king into signing an edict that called for the extermination of the Jews.”
“Esther used her position to get that law nullified?”
“Basically,” she said. “At great risk to herself, she revealed her Jewish heritage and told the king that Haman plotted to kill her people. Angrily, the king had Haman hung and gave the Jews permission to defend themselves. On the 13th day of Adar the Jewish people rose up and killed those who sought to wipe them out. On the 14th, they celebrated this great victory.”
“Okay, this is starting to make sense,” Gerrit said. “Prime Minister Shalev is basically telling the world—particularly the Iranians and those countries that now exist where Persia once stood—that Israel is here to stay. That no one is going to push their borders back. And next to him, front and center, is our president.”
Shakeela nodded. Alena said, “Now you understand why this is so significant.”
A thought crept in that gave him a chill. “Wait a minute. Jack told me that only a handful of people knew about this aspect of the president’s trip.”
Alena seemed puzzled. “So? What are you…?”
“That’s right, Alena. If only a few close people to the president knew about this trip to the Golan Heights and the significance of those dates, then how did the Iranians and Syrians know about it and begin planning months ago? It could not be coincidental that they planned their attack at about the same time.”
The others remained silent. Nothing needed to be said. This new information just corroborated what they recently discovered—a giant hole had been ripped in the security net surrounding President Chambers. This attack would be unleashed on the very day that the Israelites celebrated their salvation from others who tried to exterminate them.
Did Iran and Syria plan on trying to finish what Haman started thousands of years earlier?
They had three days to find out.
Chapter 52
March 15
Tehran, Iran
Atash drummed his fingers on the desktop, waiting for his call to go through to Kadar Hanano. At times, Atash wondered who was using whom in this arrangement. It was time to balance the scales, to give Hanano information from the other side. Time to earn the man’s trust. Atash’s Muslim Brotherhood contact, Mohamed Abul Fotouh, had just phoned with information that he could barter with.
Information on the Americans spying in Damascus. Information that Hanano would drool over.
Hanano finally came on the line. “I am in a meeting. Please get to the point, my friend.”
“Of course. Time for both of us is very precious.” Atash paused, making sure the information he passed on would not reveal those he needed to protect right now. “I have received information from sources in your country that the Americans and Israelis may be staying at a hotel near the airport.” He gave the location and the names they might be using. “I believe you might want to watch them for a few days. They might lead you to others.”
“If this information is correct,” Hanano said, “my country is indebted to you.”
“We must stand together—your country and mine—against our common enemies. May Allah be praised.”
After Hanano ended the conversation, Atash sat back and thought about how he hoped the events over the next few days might unfold. If Hanano’s secret police took care of the Americans and Israelis and let Raed continue in this conspiracy, then they would be fighting against each other, and the Jews would be antagonized enough to attack Syria. It would be like beating a wasp’s nest, watching the Israelis attack. Once again, Israel would receive the wrath of the international community already bent on pointing an accusing finger at that country. Iran could quietly move in and pick up the pieces left of Syria.
Using a burn phone he’d toss after this call, Atash would alert Raed that a message would be waiting. He must be careful. He was sure by now Hanano and his security police had Raed’s phones tapped and monitored. He would run this call through a program that distorted his voice. Raed knew that from now until the attack, Atash would be using these types of phones and communications in a mutually-known code.
Atash made the phone call and then opened up the e-mail account shared with Raed.
“Move the package closer to the target. Do not let him touch the merchandise until date of launch.” He read the message over once and then closed the account, leaving the message as a draft. Raed should access the account shortly, read the e-mail, then delete it.
That taken care of, Atash moved on to the next order of business.
Alena watched the monitor as Max gathered their things. “You double-check this GPS thing?”
“Hey, if it doesn’t work, blame the Americans,” Max hissed across the room. “Gerrit slipped it into Henderson’s co
mputer case when you guys bugged the place, figuring the scientist would take it with him if they moved to another location. Now, we get to see if it works.”
She watched Henderson take his computer and slide it into a protective vinyl case where the chip had been hidden. “He’s taking it with him. If the chip works, it will save us a lot of work.” She put in a call to Gerrit, leaving a message to contact Jack with the updated information. Jack wanted to know when Henderson and his guards-turned-captors moved to a new location. “Here we go.”
One guard opened the door, stuck his head out, and looked both ways. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, the burly gunman motioned them to follow. The second guard shoved Henderson forward, causing the scientist to cry out in pain. Raed’s kicks must have done some damage. “They’re on the move, Max.”
“Okay.” He emerged from the back bedroom. “Let’s give them a few minutes and then get to our car. I’ll use the laptop to see if this GPS system will actually feed us their direction of travel.”
She nodded, snatched up her bag, and made for the front door. About five minutes elapsed before they locked the door behind them and walked out into the street. Winding through the market, they made it to their car several blocks away. Once inside, Max took the wheel and handed the laptop over to her. “I’ll start heading in the direction we think he will take, and you fire up the computer and call out the coordinates.”
As he pulled away from the curb, Alena opened it up and hit the power button. Watching the system kick on, she began setting up the controls to track the microchip’s GPS readings. As she waited, she dialed Gerrit and gave him an update. Hearing traffic noises, she asked, “Are you calling from the car?”
“Yeah, we’re on our way to the hotel. Shakeela left her things there. After that, we’ll stop by the farmhouse. Hey, when you hang up, could you give Max’s guys a call regarding your direction of travel? Maybe they can give you some assistance if needed.”
“You bet. See you back at the farmhouse.” She hung up and dialed one of the unit members. From now until the end of the mission, they’d be using the farmhouse as their headquarters.