by DiMirra
I poured three fingers worth of a single malt whiskey called Glenmorangie La Santa over crushed ice, which makes my Father, a purist Scotch drinker, crazy. I lit an ayahuasca Tigre cigar to put me in the proper frame of mind to gain the vision to finish this plan while I communed with the universe.
When the descent into Marrakech awakened me, I asked for a black coffee with two shots of espresso, a toasted croissant with butter, and some Argentinian sausage. Then I went and freshened up. We had a strong tail wind and arrived 40 minutes early. Ali was there with his customs agent in tow as we taxied into our private hanger.
Ali shouted "Baba," a tender expression for "Father" in Arabic, as we came together for a hug and cheek kisses, as is the custom.
We stepped into the air-conditioned office and were immediately served that thick, dark and aromatic Moroccan coffee that's always sweetened. As is normal in Latin and Arabic countries, we discussed family, friends and local events before anything else. Only true barbarians do not practice this wonderful custom.
"Baba, lets go directly to the house so you can meet your newest granddaughter in person," Ali said. "And my Farah is eager to see you as it has been some months."
Farah Qajar had been my choice for Ali when I introduced her to him when he was twenty-three. The occasion was a coronation of a distant family member. She was not only beautiful but also strategic in that she was related to virtually every monarchy in the region.
"Agreed Ali, I definitely need some quality time with the children. That is why we do everything we do."
We boarded the waiting Bell Super Huey, the marine version with the door-mounted mini-guns, which were mounted then. It was a beautiful day to fly and the view of the Draa valley through the crystalline air was spectacular in the dappled, mid-morning light. The compound, all 2,500 acres, dated back to the 11th century. It contained an old fort that was updated. The fort was bristling with an array of high tech radars, antenna galleries, and dish batteries for every energy frequency imaginable.
Ali's brother-in-law, Reza Khan, met us at the landing pad. We boarded a convoy of new Land Rovers and Humvees, then headed to a house perched upon the highest foothills in the valley overlooking the compound.
With the Atlas Mountains to our back, the view in front was magnificent. The Draa River, from where we drew our drinking water and power, shimmered as it snaked its way down the valley. The River also watered settlements along its path, giving them life, before ultimately disgorging its contents into the Atlantic near Cape Draa.
Homecomings are always joyous in Berber country. The children's screeches, the beautiful looks upon the faces of loved ones, the aromas of food cooking, with the sounds of music playing softly in the background -- these are enough to bring tears to eyes of even a hard man.
Much like the tradition in Latin America, the salutations were overpowering, yet without pretense. My heart swelled to be there and to receive such a greeting. Farah, Ali's wife, had prepared a mid-morning feast of traditional Moroccan food. It included lamb kebab, Harira (a tomato based soup) Kefta Merguez (a spicy lamb sausage,) a wonderful flat bread, and fresh Baklava for desert -- all washed down with tea and strong coffee.
Chapter 4
Rio San Miguel, Ecuador: January 15th
Guzman could hear screams as he dismounted from his helicopter in the midland jungles of northern Ecuador. It brought a smile to his pitted mestizo face. His obsidian eyes glittered, flat and cruel. The sound of someone being tortured was familiar to him.
The Don of the Cartel bearing his name was in surprisingly good shape for a man of his age. Screams and pleas grew louder as the noise from the chopper wound down. The closer he came to the camp, the more he could visualize the family he had arranged to be kidnapped. He could hear the wails of a young child as a blowtorch was applied to her feet when he entered the camp. He heard whimpers from her mother who was in shock from a slowly amputated arm.
There to greet him was Tomas Escalante, the leader of this FARC group, which had fled Colombia some years earlier to avoid capture. Escalante was educated -- a schooled Marxist who knew how to inspire terror. The area was mid-altitude jungle, the air dense and sticky with the promise of heavy rain soon. The normal sounds and smells associated with the jungle were displaced with the clatter of machinery and smell of chemicals used to manufacture that white powder Americans love so much.
The family's father, Hector Garcia, had been a shift manager at the Granada Gold works in Colombia. Now, he was an unrecognizable, bloody lump taking his last raspy breaths as he watched his loved ones being tortured to death for no apparent reason.
He had given his captors all the information they had asked for. The continued torture was purely entertainment, a theater of the macabre. They took the wounded children to a panga (a local wooden canoe) beached on a lazy tributary of the San Miguel River. The children had ceased to struggle and vaguely understood that this was the end.
The soldiers made small cuts on the young ones' arms and legs and slid them into the water. The flow of the river was slow enough to hold large schools of piranha and other predators. Within seconds, there was a huge boil on the surface. It was over in less than a minute. Only God knows their suffering and last thoughts.
Escalante greeted his business associate Guzman warmly, as if this were a convivial meeting in a downtown restaurant. Guzman was known as El Verdugo, the executioner.
"Verdugo, so happy to see you man," said Escalante. "I assume your flight was without incident and attracted no attention?"
"Tomas, I am the only remaining Big Cartel leader left out of all the originals," Guzman replied. "I did not live this long by being careless. We're almost ready to take down the Granada smelting plant. I did not want to risk any communication leaks. So I am here for an hour to finalize the details with you."
"Hector was a difficult man," Escalante continued. "He was loyal until we started on his children. He was on holiday, actually, and should not be missed until the twenty-first. We were thorough and here are the details -- The mines produce about 26,000 ounces a week and they buy artisanal gold on the open market, for cash, accounting for another 6,000 ounces. They ship weekly to the refinery. The refinery ships twice a month by helicopter to the airfield.
"You already know the raw placer gold in that area is 22 Karat, so the refining process is simple. The shipping dates rotate and are only known two days in advance. At any given time, there is approximately 8 tons of refined and unrefined gold, worth about $300 Million dollars, on hand at the plant."
"What are the plant defenses, Tomas?"
"The plant is located on a small knoll. The surrounding area is cleared. There is a 10-foot chain link fence with concertina wire around the plant itself, which is inside a walled compound. There are approximately 60 employees per each of three shifts based on standard shift hours -- 7 am to 4pm. Twenty security agents guard the plant. All are well trained and heavily armed. Fourteen are positioned inside, with two 3-man roving patrols outside. Response time for any reinforcements is approximately 20 minutes."
"Tomas, I understand the plant has never been robbed. So I expect we will have the element of surprise. Please go over the final plan details for me."
"Verdugo, mi amigo, as you suggested, starting over a year ago, we infiltrated the graveyard shift with ten of our own men who are loyal to the cause.
"There is a cantina about 500 yards from the refinery where the guards and the workers always have a snack before the shift change. They will proceed to the refinery and enter as usual. The men are seldom checked when they enter the refinery. It is when they leave that they are thoroughly inspected. Each man will be armed with Glock 40 calibers. The lead four will have silencers. Eight more men will arrive late, with silencers, after the second shift has exited. Our men will take out the patrols and secure the perimeter."
"All the equipment for transport of the gold is located within the compound. The gold is palletized and there are forklifts. There are also half
a dozen of those medium Toyota flatbed trucks.
"The distance to the dock on the Rio Vaupes is two miles. From the dock to Brazil is approximately 50 miles. There will be no border security. My Yanomami friends will see to that."
"My men will torch the plant as they leave to keep everyone distracted while we complete our retreat."
"Tomas," Guzman questioned, "My understanding is that the company patrols the river on a regular basis."
"It is as you say, Verdugo. There are intermittent patrols with fast inflatable boats -- and well armed. My Indian friends have been watching for the last two months. The patrols are grouped, usually once a day. The pattern has been 4pm to 8pm or 5am to 9am. This is why we chose a midnight raid."
"Tomas, you will arrive with the transport boats at 11:30 hours just below the dock. My man will shoot a red flare as they make their way to the docks with company trucks. You will head south to Brazil and the Rio Negro with your two boats. You should be through the border by dawn. I will head northwest with my share. The plan is simple, the way I like them. Our success lies in the execution."
"Perfecto, Verdugo. The day is set for Wednesday, January 20th.
Chapter 5
Morocco: Morning, January 16
We were safe in the bosom of the Berber community. This strong, fearless, and loyal people are the history of North Africa. You can see that saga written upon their faces. Fully twenty percent of our security forces were chosen from this group.
Our legions were under contract with major corporations, private concerns, and state departments from many nations. We guarded oil installations throughout the Middle East and mining operations in Africa. We provided security and translation services for troops in Afghanistan and all around the Middle East.
We also operate numbers of fast patrol boats and larger fighting ships that ply the seas around Somalia, keeping the pirates in check for the major shipping companies. Our eyes and ears in the Muslim communities throughout Europe comprised our special operations teams Alpha, Bravo and Charley.
We operated with 22,500 men under arms on security details on four continents and 31 countries. A staff of 40 dedicated people in Taroudant managed all these forces.
We also ran a small air force centered on a 4,500 foot airstrip at the base. This airfield was capable of landing our C-130's -- 11 transports and 1 gunship. Rounding out our air corps, we operated 16 helicopters, both attack and cargo types -- three at our airbase, the rest deployed elsewhere. We also had two smaller private jets.
Our fleet of drones were secured under shelter at the base. Our pride and joy were the Sharp Swords from China. We had four older MQ-9 Reapers, specially modified by the Israelis for us, and about 300 RQ-11 Ravens. The Ravens are short-range tactical surveillance drones, which can be modified to carry up to 1.5 pounds of high explosives for suicide missions. We called them 'Flying Claymores.'
There were 3 battalions of our best, about 1,500 men, in camp there with us, awaiting orders. They were battle hardened and elite. Their ranks included officers and troops from all the world's special forces -- including Seals, Green Berets, SAS, Spetsnaz, Stazi, COS from France, IDF killing squads, Marine Recon, and a large contingent of 'Recces' from South Africa.
All were men and women who would never be able to go back into a society, who did not understand it was they, the rough soldiers, who do the hard jobs that allow the rest of us to sleep peacefully at night. These are the fighters who run toward the battle, not away from it.
The soldiers, as is custom, strolled out onto the veranda with its sweeping view of the countryside, for a smoke and private talk among themselves.
"Baba" said Ali, "I have called the commanders deployed to Africa and the Middle East back in from the field. You know them all well because you originally hired them."
"Thank you Ali," I replied. "Have them prepare their kits. They're going to Lugano with us later today."
"For now, offload the bullion and store it here at headquarters to make room for everyone on the Gulfstream. Have the machine shop mill it down to one-ounce slices and stamp them 'Granada 99.99%.' I believe we will see the end of paper money shortly. Have you any news or additions to your report yesterday?"
"Baba, that's why I invited Reza to come up yesterday," Ali replied. I'll let him fill you in on Iran's movements."
"Uncle," said Reza, "When I speak, you already know the genesis of my information. This comes straight from the Admiralty. Both the Tareq and Yunez are headed for the East coast of the United States, near New York and D.C. Given that these subs both have upgraded screws and Japanese propulsion systems, and that conditions this time of year in the North Atlantic are stormy -- I think they have a better than even chance of getting through."
They were attached to the hulls of slow-moving supertankers, which allowed them to slip out of the Gulf undetected.
"We now believe those other two nukes I told you are missing are headed toward Israel, one by ocean freight, and the other overland, through Turkey and Syria."
"Reza, when will you know more details?" I asked.
"Uncle, when we finish here, I will head out to Abu Dhabi to visit my Mother and family. So, some time in the next 48 hours. I will return to Mombasa by Monday night, the 18th.
"Ok, Reza, this stays between us three for now. Let me know more as soon as possible."
From the veranda, we could see Kenyatta's Cessna Citation on final for landing. I excused myself and found Uwishun playing with his nephews and nieces. We grabbed a Land Rover and headed down to the strip.
Keny was a huge man, nearly 2 meters in height. He carried close to 250 pounds, all muscle. He was as black as a piece of anthracite coal and had a booming base voice that could not be ignored. Born of a Maasai warrior father and a Somali mother with kind of beauty that takes a man's breath away, the kind of beauty that leaves you staring long after she breaks your gaze.
His only daughter, who favors his wife, is married to Reza. They reside in Nairobi with two small children. The marriage was a perfect fit for both families, as Keny's mining business needed capital desperately so we injected $500 Million for a 51% interest and merged it into our own interests with him as the Managing Director. We received the clout and contacts we needed for Central Africa, and even the Naval Base at Mombasa.
Keny has a wonderful game preserve, an old family legacy, of 100,000 acres nearby Lake Nakuru, with robust herds of rhino and elephants. In a poaching incident some twenty years ago, he was injured, with a low gut shot, in a firefight with poachers. That rendered him unable to have more children. Africans revel in their families, the bigger the better. Now he holds a special hatred for poachers, which we both share.
Mine is a more ideological hatred, given that the slaughter of these priceless animals that are the face of Africa cannot continue unabated. At some point, a person can lose their humanity and in the process also lose their right to exist. Until you have spent time with an elephant, as I have, you will not understand that they are self-aware and a gift to the planet, as all beings are to some extent.
Elephants are slow to mature and long-lived, with gestation periods of 2 years, so their numbers are dwindling at an alarming rate. They will all but disappear within my lifetime if nothing is done. No, make that -- if I don't do anything.
From past experience, I know the world at large could not care less about Africa, its people, or its animals. What solidified my will and determination was the assassination of 300 elephants, an entire herd, in Zimbabwe, through cyanide poisoning of their water supply. This is the zenith of man's inhumanity because cyanide is an equal opportunity killer, so thousands of other animals lost their lives that week.
It is after viewing that carnage on-site, almost 4 years ago, that I conceived the plan known as Kwaheri, a Swahili word literally meaning "Goodbye." Ali, Kenyatta, and I have spent over 300 million dollars to date, financing anti-poaching units, new game preserves and alternative income-producing opportunities for locals that might become
involved to earn a good living.
Much of our money was spent on information, through payment or coercion, about the organizations and people behind the poaching curtain in faraway lands. Islamic jihadists and local warlords mounted the most recent poaching iterations to fund terror and political coups by sales of ivory and rhino horn. They have left humanity and the animal kingdom behind and descended into pure evil. We were finally ready to strike back.
Kenyatta's jet taxied to an open hanger where we have an official customs office, run by a well-connected cousin. As we pulled up to the hanger, I could hear a louder than life rumble, "I see you, Johnny!"
I replied to this traditional Maasai greeting with, "And I see you, Oh Great Bull!"
Keny has a disarming smile, with teeth as white as a young elephant's tusks and a cavalier attitude about life that we all wish we had. Nothing seems to bother him for long.
"Keny, you are beautiful sight," I said. "Let's take a ride up to Lookout Point and enjoy a little conversation."
We drove in silence, enjoying the view on the way to our place in the High Atlas Mountains. From here you could see forever, or so it seemed, but to me, maybe not far enough.
"Keny, the day we have been waiting for has finally arrived. Time to launch Kwaheri. Ali, please bring Keny up to date on yesterdays atrocity."
"Uncle, the Islamic group called Boko Haram land-mined a field just outside the Yankari Game Preserve in Nigeria and then drove a family of 52 elephants, of all ages, into the mine field. The slaughter and butchery took under 24 hours to complete. We were alerted after the fact and have followed their retreat with the ivory using a drone. We have their current location and Baba says, "Now it begins. Today, we will speak for the elephants."
"All eyes will be on Europe for the near future," I said to Kenyatta. "So you will have free rein to execute all phases of Kwaheri. Start with Boko because we know where they are right now. We have a C-130 transport en route, with seven 2,000 pound FAE (Fuel Air Explosive) bombs, for rollout. You will have the element of surprise. They do not appear to have shoulder-fired missiles.