The Third Cell

by Anthony D'Egidio

  “It’s more complicated than that. Apparently they had been speeding around a curve just outside of Bath on Saturday afternoon when they were pulled over by the local police.”

  “Yes, get on with it,” replied the irritated Benjamin.

  “Well, Saturday night the same vehicle with three people missed a hairpin turn and went into the ravine, catching fire and killing all the occupants.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same vehicle?”

  “The constable who was on the scene verified it was the same vehicle he pulled over earlier in the day. From what we understand, he inspected their passports and they were all from Arab countries. The vehicle is registered to a Johara Araff, Nasih Rahman’s aunt and the Syrian embassy.

  A partial burnt passport of Abdul-Aziz al Hummos was found, but the remains and other identification was completely burned in the fire. I guess that finishes off our three suspects.”

  Benjamin, always wary, gave his orders. “I want the remains to be followed and reported on, even at the funerals. Once they are buried, I’ll review everything and only then will I close this case. I want you to canvas Bath and the surrounding towns to see if there has been any suspicious activity. And make sure you interview this constable.”

  God, thought Dennis, this man never lets go. “Benjamin, two of the boys were from Syria. How in the hell are we going to get someone in there?”

  “I don’t need to have agents attend the funeral. If this is as big of an event as I think, they’ll be televising the services. Let’s make sure we see the broadcast, tape it and then we’ll analyze it.” Benjamin hung up the phone and returned to lunch.

  Dennis was perplexed and exasperated. First time I’ve had a conversation with Big Ben and I hope it’s the last. He contemplated how he and the Mossad were going to follow the bodies.

  The Mission Begins

  Nasih, Abdul-Aziz and Rashad were up early on Sunday morning listening to the lecture being given by Faris. “As of today you’ll no longer have contact with each other. As of today you’re no longer Muslims. You are now Jews! We’ll have you leave in different vehicles with your mentors and you’ll be moved into new separate locations in London.”

  Faris was adamant about the teens following his orders. “In the next several months we’ll build your cover, enroll you in Universities and completely erase your previous existence as Arabs. No matter how hard it may be, never, I repeat never, refer to your Islamic beliefs. You must attend Jewish rallies, even services at Synagogues. You’ll date and marry Jewish or Christian women and you’ll become the ideal Jewish businessman. Is there any questions?”

  The teens sat silent. Though they had known of the task before today, the actual implementation of the operation was finally sinking in.

  The reborn Jonah, Howard and Daniel were now wearing the pants, shirts and shoes taken from the three dead Jews. The clothes would be destroyed once they were back in London. The luggage they had taken to the Newberry Bed & Breakfast was left behind to legitimize their deaths. They gave each other a goodbye stating, “Allahu aHafidzuk. (May Allāh preserve you.)” Then they departed separately with their mentors to the safe houses in London.

  The Investigation Continues

  Agent Dennis Penefield arrived at the morgue in Bath late Monday morning. The trip from London was hell with the rush hour traffic. It had taken him almost one-and-a-half-hours just to reach the M4 Motorway.

  Arriving at the morgue he handed a phony ID to the clerk at the front desk. “I’m Dennis Penefield from British Intelligence in London. May I see Dr. Basil Miller?”

  After several minutes, a bespectacled man in scrubs came to the entrance. “I’m Dr. Miller. How can I help you?”

  Dennis again introduced himself as an agent for British Intelligence. “Doctor, what can you tell me about the autopsies of the three teens that were killed in the car accident?”

  Dr. Miller peered over his glasses. “I didn’t know that British Intelligence was interested in car accidents.”

  Dennis spun his tale. “This only happens when a foreign embassy is involved. In this case it was a Syrian embassy car and one of the occupants was a nephew of an Embassy employee. I would like to see the autopsy report and the bodies if I may.”

  Dr. Miller shrugged his shoulders. “I would certainly oblige you, but they were picked up this morning by two men from the Syrian embassy. They had all the required paperwork and they left over an hour ago in a refrigerated vehicle.”

  Dennis was perplexed. How did they put everything together so fast? Islamic beliefs do require burials to be completed as rapidly as possible. It’s not entirely out of the ordinary.

  The doctor continued. “Based on the report made by Constable Alton, we didn’t perform an autopsy. Here it is if you would you like to read it.”

  Dennis quickly looked over the report and found nothing different than what he already knew. “I would like a copy of this. I’d also like to know where I might find Constable Alton.”

  “He works at his family’s restaurant, The Sea Food Café on Lake Street. I’ll give you directions.”

  With report in hand, Agent Penefield drove to the restaurant and introduced himself to the constable. Billy Alton, as everyone in the café referred to him, was impressed that a member of the British Intelligence would be asking him questions. After a half hour of discussing the case, Agent Penefield was convinced that all the evidence confirmed that Nasih Mahmoud Rahman, Abdul-Aziz al Hummos and Rashad Ali Obeid had died in this accident.

  Well this case is finally closed, thought Dennis as he drove back to London.

  September 22, 1983: The scene in Damascus was one of overwhelming sorrow. The families of Abdul-Aziz al Hummos and Rashad Ali Obeid were devastated. They couldn’t help blaming themselves for their sons’ death by sending them to England. The Syrian state-run television ran a fifteen-minute piece on the two, highlighting their studies at El Huda and how they were at the top of their class academically. The Mossad videotaped the entire televised event.

  Two agents attended the funeral for Nasih Rahman in Ramallah. From an apartment overlooking the Jamal Abdel al-Naser Mosque, which the Mossad had been renting for years, they videotaped all who entered, which included most of the PLO leadership.

  A majority of citizens in Ramallah knew Nasih’s uncle Ahman and his deceased grandfather Mahmoud Rahman. At the burial site his grandmother Amila wept uncontrollably. She had first lost a son, then her husband and now her grandson. She was so distraught they had to lead her away before the service ended. Within three weeks Amila Sara Rahman suffered a massive heart attack and died.

  After evaluating the surveillance tapes on Thursday morning, Benjamin called a meeting of his section chiefs and key agents.

  Benjamin kicked off the meeting. “You’ve reviewed the videos, the report from agent Penefield, the British constable who investigated the accident, and all other pertinent information. What is your conclusion?”

  No one took the bait. They knew where Big Ben was going and no one wanted to be the scapegoat.

  Finally Agent Mark Heckman spoke up. “I can’t see anything here to make me believe that these three teens aren’t dead. The constable positively identified the bodies. The car was from the Syrian embassy. The embassy picked up the bodies and shipped them to Syria and Jordan. The families were almost hysterical in their grief. I think this chapter of the book is closed. If they had an alternative motive, it died with them.”

  To Mark’s and everyone else’s surprise, Benjamin said, “I concur. They’re dead and whatever they were up to, we’ll never know. But I have one incident I don’t understand. On the Monday morning following their deaths, a call came from the Syrian embassy to Ahman Rahman at his office. We couldn’t identify the caller, but in giving his condolences, he said something very perplexing, ‘The Phoenix has risen.’ What the hell does that mean in the context of what we know? I just can’t put my finger on it.”

  Mark interjected. “We all know the Ph
oenix is the mythical bird that’s reborn from the ashes of its predecessor. Sounds like a metaphoric statement meaning the boy will live on in memory.”

  Ben paused, drumming his fingertips on the table. “Maybe, but it’s the only thing that bothers me and I keep thinking something is wrong. Unfortunately, I can’t find anything in all the evidence to point me elsewhere, so I’m closing this case.”

  The agents collectively let out a sigh of relief. As the meeting ended they congratulated themselves on the great job they had accomplished. Benjamin went back to his office with the message repeating in his head. The Phoenix has risen.

  CHAPTER 14

  PREPARATION, 1983 - 1987

  The reincarnated Jews, Jonah Meyerson (Nasih), Howard Lieberman (Abdul-Aziz) and Daniel Schonfeld (Rashad), each left the farmhouse a half hour apart, with their mentors, for London. They would be relocated to areas they had never frequented and couldn’t be identified with. Forged birth certificates and identity cards were distributed to them.

  Dr. Ali Idris Jazar, a plastic and reconstructive surgeon and a member of Muslims For Justice, was formally from Iran. He performed the minor cosmetic surgery to change the characteristics of their assumed identities at his clinic located in Old Bexley.

  Dr. Jazar meticulously reshaped the looks of each of the cell members to closely resemble the deceased Jews. Nasih now known as Jonah Meyerson did have a small brown birthmark above his left ear, which was only partially visible when his hair was cut short. Since it couldn’t be removed without scaring it was left alone.

  A short time after the doctor had performed the surgeries, the leader of Muslims For Justice felt that Dr. Jazar was a liability and could identify the three cell members. One night as he was leaving the clinic, Dr. Jazar was a victim of a robbery and stabbed to death.

  The Amir smirked when told of Dr. Jazar’s demise. The Amir, as all who had joined the Muslims For Justice knew him, was officially Amir al-Muminin (Commander of the Faithful). His real name and identity were completely secret. He operated with immunity throughout the Middle East, overseeing all activities of the Muslims For Justice.

  The Mossad had tried many times to discover The Amir, but his whereabouts was tightly guarded. There were no photographs or videos. Whenever the Muslims For Justice made an official statement, it came from a subordinate. Even those at the top of the leadership had never seen his face.

  Jonah Meyerson was viewing his new look in the mirror when he heard pounding on the bathroom door.

  “You’re taking too long and I need to get to work,” yelled Bashir Moussa.

  Jonah stopped admiring himself and opened the door.

  “You’re lucky you don’t have to put up with all the crap I have to take.” Bashir complained to Jonah as they passed in the hallway. “I gave that bastard supervisor your resignation letter two weeks ago and all he did was toss it back, yelling, ‘I don’t care if we’re shorthanded just keep the bags flowing.’ All he cares about is productivity.” Bashir was still fuming over the incident. “You know the prick hasn’t hired another person to replace you?”

  Jonah smiled to himself; if he heard the story once, he had heard it ten times from Bashir. “It’s only for a few more weeks and you’ll be quitting. I don’t understand why you’re complaining so much.”

  “I just want to get on with the task I was brought here to do. I’m a mentor, not a baggage handler.”

  “You have no patience and you’re supposed to be training me?” Jonah said sarcastically.

  The plan was for the mentors Bashir and Wael to stay at their employment for two to three months after the Jews had quit, and not rousing any suspicion. It also gave them the opportunity to hear about any inquiries into their sudden departure.

  Faris had no need to keep up appearances. Every month Faris Shurrab received enough twenty-pound sterling’s notes to support the mission, compliments of the Muslims For Justice.

  Faris would distribute the money to Bashir Moussa and Wael Qassem at the London Central Mosque, where the three would meet the first Friday of the month.

  Wael was counting his share. “This is excellent, Faris, but how long do you think we can be funded like this?”

  “As long as necessary,” replied Faris. “We have access to unlimited financial backing.”

  “I don’t understand how this much money can be brought into the country without being detected.”

  “We don’t bring in money. We transport gold and precious stones,” said Faris.

  “But gold can be found using a metal detector and it’s heavy,” replied Bashir.

  “The carriers come into the country under a business visa,” explained Faris. “They have as much twenty-four carat gold on as possible without raising suspicion. They bring the gold to one of our jewelers to be melted down or resold as is. That money is then used to support our operation.”

  “You couldn’t bring in enough gold to finance the mission without making the authorities suspect something illegal is going on,” said Wael.

  “True. That’s why we primarily use precious stones, especially diamonds because they’re undetectable. The stones can be easily placed within the layers that make up the soles of a shoe. Another method is to place them into condoms, like the mules used to transport drugs. Swallowed, they are retrieved later. Unlike drugs, if there is a breach in the condom, no harm is done. That’s except for the very dirty job of screening one’s feces.”

  Bashir laughed. “Sounds brilliant to me. Besides, I haven’t heard of a diamond-sniffing dog.”

  Faris never returned to the accounting business he had bought from Melville Lake. It had mysteriously gone up in flames. A crude sign nailed to the burnt out door stated:

  WE HAVE LOST EVERYTHING

  AND ARE OUT OF BUSINESS

  Many desperate clients tried to contact Melville at his cottage in Bowness-on-Windermere, but never received a return phone call.

  Months later the local police found the decayed body of Melville Lake in his cottage. They listed the cause of death as unknown. His beloved cat Balance was still at his side, having survived on the flesh of his master.

  Bashir and Jonah were enjoying a meal together. “Congratulations, Jonah, on your acceptance to Hadlow College. In only four months you will be moving to the dorms. I’m certainly looking forward to having the bathroom all to myself.”

  Jonah’s smile broadened, “It’s a satisfying experience, but it pales in comparison to Howard and Daniel’s accomplishments.” It is so hard for me to get use to calling my friends by their Jewish names. I always have to hesitate and think before I open my mouth. I wish I could talk to them.

  Bashir leaned back in his chair. “Well now that Howard will be at Cambridge and Daniel at City University, maybe our jobs as mentors will go away.”

  “I doubt that,” said Jonah. “We still have so much to learn about America.

  CHAPTER 15

  INTRUSION FROM THE PAST, 1987

  Jonah was in the town of Chelsfield on the outskirts of London to meet with Bashir Moussa. Today would be Jonah’s monthly update of school activates and progress to Bashir, a routine they had carried out over the past three years. They had spent a leisurely evening discussing the progress report over dinner.

  Departing the restaurant Bashir saw activity at the end of the block. “There’s a disco down the street. Let’s check it out.”

  Jonah was reluctant. I am tired but if Bashir wants to go, I’ll humor him. Sometimes I wonder about Bashir’s adherence to his faith.

  Bashir went up to the bouncer. “Here’s something to get us in now.” The bouncer grabbed the twenty-pound note and led them through the door.

  The two men were sitting at a remote table away from the dance floor listening to the disk jockey while the band took a break.

  “Nasih, is that you?” a distinctly drunk female voice asked.

  For a few seconds the two men looked at each other. Bashir got up from his chair. “I’ve got to catch a train. Nice ta
lking to you.”

  The woman apologized. “I didn’t mean to run off your friend. You look very similar to a boy I used to know in Israel. When I saw the birthmark above your ear, I thought there couldn’t be two people on the face of the earth with the same mark.”

  Damn. If I didn’t get my haircut while waiting for Bashir and the barber hadn’t taken off more than I usually allow…“I’m sorry, but I’m Jonah Meyerson and I’ve never been out of the country.”

  “I think the drinks have clouded my mind,” the woman replied. “He was killed in a car accident some years ago here in England.” She continued slurring, “I’m sorry, I ran off your friend and I never introduced myself. I’m Ruth Keinan and I’m originally from Tel Aviv. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  Ruth had grown into a voluptuous woman.

  May Allāh be with me! What are the chances of my running into her? Am I in serious trouble? I better not leave abruptly. She might think I am Nasih. “May I buy you a drink?”

  “Thank you, I would like that very much. I’m drinking Drambuie straight up.”

  Jonah went to the bar to place the order. He didn’t want a cocktail waitress to see them together.

  Jonah returned asking, “How did you come to be here in England and in this small borough? It’s certainly a long way from Israel.”

  “I’m in this disco because my girlfriend brought me here. About an hour ago she left with some guy and I haven’t seen her since. Some friend she is.” Ruth paused for a second, taking another long sip of her drink. “I came to England to help out with the family business. I manage the London Office for my father at Bethlehem Stone Imports. We import Jerusalem stone to the United Kingdom.”

  Jonah’s heart almost stopped. Bethlehem Stone Imports is a front for the Mossad in London.

  Earlier in the year, Margaret Thatcher had shut down the official Mossad operation in England because the Israeli agency was involved in an assassination of a Palestinian journalist and the Mossad never revealed the plot to British Intelligence. Officially the Mossad didn’t exist, but they operated out of several bogus corporate fronts, Bethlehem Stone Imports Ltd. being one of them.