“Shimon. Or ‘Simon’ in America. Simon Dori. This is Yehuda. We’ve spent some time with one of your people.”
“So we hear,” said Darren.
“We’ve given him very important information.” He stared at Darren and waited for a reaction.
Darren remained poker-faced.
“You have to understand, your president’s new approach to the Middle East and to Israel is going to cause problems for decades. Giving the Iranians billions of dollars to spread around the Shia Muslim world is a game changer. Iran will be funneling weapons to Hamas, Hezbollah, and a dozen other terrorist organizations. My government doesn’t understand the logic. By the time the Iranians finish their spending spree with the Russians and Chinese, they’ll have the most sophisticated radar, air force, and missile defense system in the entire Middle East. Maybe as good as ours.”
“Shimon, I didn’t race across town to get a lecture on foreign policy. I don’t make those decisions, I just run field operations.”
“I understand. Me, too. And one of those field operations I ran crossed over with one of your best people. Apo Yessayan. We call him the Chameleon.”
Darren tried not to allow his face to show his surprise that Shimon knew Apo’s real name. That was a problem.
Shimon read his mind. “Oh, it’s okay. His name today isn’t his name tomorrow. I know where he lives. He knows where I live. We respect each other, Mr. Davis. Unlike so many of the people we deal with, Apo and I speak exactly the same language and logic. It’s my deep respect for him, and I dare say, my love of that man, that I reach out to you now, in this way. Coffee?”
Kim and Darren smiled and Yehuda began pouring them all mugs of fresh-brewed coffee.
“Do you know who lives next door? Next building—not next apartment,” asked Shimon.
Darren shook his head.
Shimon smiled, the kind of disarmingly warm smile that would always make him the center of a dinner party. He pointed with his thumb. “Building on the left is home to at least three Russian spies. But the GRU is in turmoil with the changes to their leadership after the director died suddenly, so who knows who’s actually in charge anymore. The building two over on the right is home to two BND German spies, including one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I love keeping track of her. Heidi. I want to follow her full-time. And across the street in number 1255 is an Indian spy. The IB—Intelligence Bureau of India—only has one agent living there, so far as we know. He looks fifteen, but probably can write computer codes to get a missile to Mars. This might be the busiest neighborhood in DC outside the Pentagon.”
“And I suppose you all meet for coffee on Sunday mornings?” asked Darren, reaching for his coffee from Yehuda.
Shimon stood and leaned back against the counter in the small kitchen. “Don’t laugh. We have this little group of friendly enemies that works better than the UN. Every time the UN condemns Israel for defending herself against Hezbollah or Hamas or any number of these terrorist organizations, almost every government in the UN votes against us by resolution. Then, we meet privately with our friends in this neighborhood to discuss real solutions.
“Last November, the UN adopted six resolutions against Israel. Apparently, it’s the fault of the Israeli population that Palestinians keep shoving knives into our citizens. I wish I could tell you that it was only the Syrians and Arab nations that take that stance, but the resolutions number over a hundred in favor to six opposed. Only Israel, the US, Canada, Australia, and a few tiny islands in the Pacific defend us against charges so ridiculous they should be laughed out of the building! So—after Israel has to stand there in the UN and listen to hours of anti-Semitism and hate speech, a few of us meet for coffee and try to find real solutions.”
Darren was intrigued. “Such as?”
“Well, in theory only, of course?” hinted Shimon.
“Of course.”
“Shortly after Israel was condemned for taking out some Palestinian leadership that resulted in civilian casualties, because the coward was hiding in a school, one of our friends—I can’t say who, but I will hint she is stunning and blonde with blue eyes and a perfect body and should marry me—anyway, that friend of ours gave me the address and meeting time of the man’s replacement. They had just assembled a suicide vest–making factory in the basement of a mosque. We destroyed it, took another round of insults and accusations of crimes against humanity, and then sent flowers to our beautiful friend as a thank-you.”
Darren sighed with frustration and looked at Kim. “Maybe we should just overthrow all of our governments and start over with the folks who actually know how the world works?”
Shimon smiled. “Israel is one-tenth of one percent of the Middle East. Eight million citizens surrounded by half a billion Arabs who keep telling us they want us dead. Political correctness doesn’t exist in Israel, my friend. We’d all have been dead a long time ago. This president’s ‘evenhanded’ approach to the Middle East is naïve. He scolds both sides like he’s handling two children in a fight over toys. Your president thinks being evenhanded is a signal that peace can be worked out by being ‘fair’ to both sides. The problem is, all we want is to be left alone, and the other side wants our total annihilation. We’ve never been so alone in the world as we are right now. We need a stronger friend.”
“Shimon. I am a friend. But I’m also just a middle manager who answers to my boss. I’m here because you have something important for our national security, I assume. Let’s get to the point.”
“This isn’t a quid pro quo. My government doesn’t expect instant changes from your president because we’re going to help you right now. But what I’m offering is something big, you understand? It’s worth something.”
“My government gives your government billions of dollars every year, even with plenty of anti-Israel sentiment at home. If you can help us, don’t you think it’s your moral obligation, or at the very least, just good business sense?”
“Of course. But in explaining what we have for you, it opens another can of worms. Your government is currently fighting with the world’s biggest phone maker over security. What I am offering you reveals the fact that we’ve overcome that obstacle.” He shrugged. “Our people are good.”
“Shimon. Enough bullshit. I have men in the field right now, maybe fighting for their survival because two presidents can’t agree on who’s in charge of a screwed-up operation. What have you got?”
“Yehuda, bring . . .”
Yehuda disappeared into a room and returned with a laptop, which he opened and placed on the kitchen table. “The prime minister himself cleared us to show you this technology. This is our most classified level of secrecy. We’ve been inside Daesh phone calls and e-mails for almost a year. Their table of organization has been mapped out carefully for months, although it keeps changing because of your successful drone strikes. But you’re president isn’t going to like what he finds.”
“We’re listening,” said Darren quietly.
CHAPTER 48
Charlie Mike
Dex Murphy watched the overhead image of his team from the newly arrived drone as he spoke to Moose via sat-phone. “Moose, you’ve got multiple vehicles heading from the airport towards your position. You’ll have maybe an hour tops before a few hundred Mexican Marines arrive on station. We still can’t convince General Ortega to stand down, and Ortega has President Nieto convinced that your people just declared war on Mexico. Have you secured transportation yet?”
Moose looked at the eight-year-boy old cranking the engine on the rusted-out orange pickup truck. “Affirmative. We should be able to break three knots if we’re going downhill and pushing.” He looked around and shook his head. Continuing the mission was the only option. “We’re Charlie Mike. Out.”
The back of the pickup truck had homemade wooden sides built up to allow larger loads of produce to be hauled. The tires were so bald they were actually shiny in the morning sun. The little boy pushed the door ope
n with a long, whining creak, and stepped down off the running board to the ground. His beautiful smile made Moose laugh out loud, and he walked over to the child and took a knee.
“Nice truck,” he said. Apo translated in Spanish and the boy laughed.
“Noooo!” he responded, hysterically laughing. He was young and uneducated, but he knew a piece of shit when he saw one. “It’s older than nana!” he said in Spanish. “But it goes!”
Eric Hodges walked over to Moose and pointed to the horses nearby. “Skipper, I could ride before I could walk. What do you say I take a horse and scout out ahead? I can stay off the road and try and find us a clear path.”
Moose looked over at the skinny horses. “Ray! You know how to ride a horse?”
Ray shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”
Jon piped up. “I can ride. I’ll go with Big E.”
Moose grunted. “Okay. That’s it, then. You two head south towards Comalcalco and we’ll follow. Once we get there, we’ll steal better transportation. Apo, you got cash on you?”
Apo pulled out what he had, a few hundred dollars in US currency. Moose chucked his chin at the house, and Apo walked inside to where the old woman was making tortillas for everyone. Apo busted out laughing. They were potentially in the middle of all-out combat any second, and momma was making everyone brunch.
“Señora Maria, what are you doing?” he laughed.
“You’ll need your strength. I made enough for everyone except that animal you captured. He goes hungry.” She and her granddaughter began placing the fresh, hot tortillas in a sack.
Apo handed her almost four hundred dollars in cash. “This is for the use of your truck and horses. We’ll leave them in Comalcalco.”
She raised her hands. “I don’t want your money. Just take that animal away to jail.”
Apo forced it into her hands. “Please. Please. You take care of those beautiful babies. And hide the cash. If anyone comes after us asking questions, you just say we stole your truck and horses.” He gave the woman a quick hug, a surprise peck on the cheek, and then bent down to squeeze the little girl. “You take care of your nana!” he said, pinching her cheek. She squealed with a little girl sound that made Apo feel warm inside. It was good to remember why you risked your life once in a while.
Apo ran outside as the team piled into the pickup truck. Eric and Jon had already trotted off across the field toward the dirt road that disappeared into the forest heading south on two grey horses that had seen better days. Ripper took the driver’s seat of the ancient four-speed with Moose riding shotgun, and Pete, Ryan, Ray, Apo, and El Gato climbed up into the back. With the raised wooden sides and piles of hay, wooden pallets, straw baskets, and garbage thrown in the back of the truck, a quick glance didn’t reveal a very cramped team of American special operators.
The little boys waved goodbye, chasing after the truck until they were called back inside by their grandmother, who made them wash and sit down to eat. As the pickup truck lurched and whined through its gears, the men aboard ate the best homemade tortillas they ever tasted, except El Gato, who remained gagged, zip-tied, and furious.
Eric Hodges gave his horse a little kick, and the grey and black mare picked up her pace with Jon close behind. “Cavalry, dude! We’re cavalry!” yelled Eric with a laugh, and then he smacked his horse into a faster gallop. The two of them rode out ahead of the smoke-belching truck, looking somewhat comical in their state-of-the-art combat gear, mounted on two horses that looked like they were originally owned by Apaches a few hundred years earlier.
CHAPTER 49
Shimon
The four of them sat in the small kitchen at the high-top table. Shimon sat with Kim and Darren seated behind him so they could watch the monitor over his shoulder. Yehuda stood casually against the wall, taking it all in, reading the faces and body language of their guests.
Shimon’s fingers began flying over the keyboard. The man could seriously type. Several screens began opening up, stacking up behind each other, so Shimon could flip back and forth and show Darren and Kim what he was working on. While the Mossad and the CIA often assisted each other and shared information, to sit and show each other actual live operations and classified technologies was pretty much unheard of. The significance of this “big reveal” wasn’t lost on Darren or Kim. Two Mossad agents had more or less admitted that they were foreign spies, operating on US soil, and if Darren Davis made a phone call, FBI agents would be swarming the house arresting them and seizing everything in the apartment.
Shimon pulled up an e-mail account written in Arabic. He looked at Kim and Darren. “Can you read it?” Darren understood a little Arabic, but reading and writing the language wasn’t his strong suit.
“Translate, please,” asked Darren.
“This is a phone we hacked into a few months ago. The big US news story of the moment is about the ‘right to privacy’ versus protecting the world’s largest phone manufacturer’s customers. Well—the codes your FBI wants to get into these phones—the ones that supposedly don’t exist? We have access to whatever we need.”
That was a small bombshell that would have to later be revisited by the CIA, NSA, FBI, DOD, and whoever else in Homeland Security that would be clamoring for a chance to grab those codes from the Mossad. The fact that the Mossad had cracked and hacked their way into phone technology without anyone in the world, including the phone manufacturer, knowing it was big news. If they were willing to share it with the US, it would be a game changer in the war on terror as well as a new revolution about rights to privacy.
Shimon studied the faces of his American guests. They were cool customers, but he was confident he’d already blown their minds, and would continue to do so for quite a while yet. “There are e-mail exchanges between Daesh and Las Zetas in Mexico from this and other phones we’re monitoring. We’re inside their e-mails and texts as well. We’ve got IP addresses in Mexico in contact with IP addresses in Syria. They’re bouncing them all over the globe, but we can follow them every step of the way. Some of these e-mails ended up in Iran.”
Kim held up her hand. “Wait—Las Zetas is communicating with Iran?”
“Not directly, no. And I want to be one hundred percent accurate in my information to you, without any ‘interpretation’ of what I think I found. I will re-explain as clearly as possible—just the hard data. You’ll draw your own conclusions and conduct your own investigation, of course. We’ve been putting together the table of organization of Daesh, same as you.
“And, while Iran is fighting ISIS and supports Iraq in their fight against the regional ISIS threat, there has been direct communication between the highest levels of ISIS and Iran.”
That was another surprise. Darren’s face couldn’t hide his frustration. “You’re saying Iran is cooperating with ISIS? That runs counter to every piece of information and accepted knowledge of the regional situation. I’m sorry, but I call bullshit.”
Shimon nodded. “I told you, this is chaos. These same IP addresses have had contact with servers in Mexico, Syria—that’s both western and eastern Syria with rebels and government forces. And while the computer signals are using sophisticated programs to bounce their signals, our software can follow them, as I said before. To the best of our knowledge, they have no idea that we’re reading everything they’re sending.”
Shimon took a breath and continued. “The Russians are obviously supporting Bashar al-Assad, but we have them communicating with rebel forces as well.”
Darren made a face. “The Kremlin is in contact with the rebels opposing Assad?”
Shimon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Don’t you miss the Cold War? I liked it better when there were only two sides.” He chose his words carefully. “It’s chaos, my friend. Russia backs Assad against the US-backed rebels. For the most part, the US-backed rebels fight the Russian-backed Assad troops, and the ISIS troops just kill everything they see. And then, of course, you have the Kurds, who are backed by the US against the wi
shes of the Turks. And while you’d think the Russians would be opposed to the Kurds for the mere fact that the US supports them, a Kurdish separatist movement that weakens Turkey makes the Kremlin happy purely because it complicates NATO.
“The war being fought at the moment isn’t some organized campaign of battles. It’s endless battles that may or may not have anything to do with an overall clear picture of any war, per se. Every battle . . . every bomb . . . every complication—they change the overall strategy daily to the point that there can be no overall long-range plan. To try and think past a week’s worth of outcomes is almost impossible.”
Kim snapped at him. “Oh come on, Shimon! That’s ridiculous! Of course we need long-range plans. Long-range strategy, and diplomacy, and the cooperation of every country in the region.”
“What you say is logical, of course. And yet . . .” his voice trailed off and he threw out a new fact. “Yesterday, Putin pulled out almost all of his troops without warning. Do you know why?”
Kim and Darren looked at each other. “It’s being assessed now.”
“There’s nothing to assess,” Shimon said flatly. “He pulled out because he knows it’s expensive to stay and it’s not worth it. For now. And next month, if oil prices go up a hundred dollars a barrel, all of a sudden Russia will decide that Assad needs more help again. But that’s such a tiny piece of this whole mess. Who cares? Russia can get plenty of cheap oil from ISIS at the moment. ISIS, who, by the way is supplying the Syrian rebels—their own enemy—with oil. They’re also selling oil to the Kurds. And the Turks.”
Shimon shook his head at his own comments. “Quite honestly, this may be the single most hysterically funny war in the history of the world, except for the parts about a small genocide being carried out and tortures coming back into fashion that haven’t been around since the Spanish Inquisition. A bunch of thugs sitting around saying ‘business is business,’ swapping cash and weapons and oil, and then annihilating each other. Quite frankly, the Syrian civil war and development of ISIS as a regional power is probably good for Israeli security.”
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