The Third Cell

by Anthony D'Egidio

  Howard had waited fifteen minutes, finishing the coffee and reviewing his notes.

  Wayne Anderson and two co-workers walked into the room. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” said Wayne as he shook Howard’s hand.

  Howard sized up the man who he would be negotiating with. He’s about fifty and doesn’t dress very well. Probably closing in on retirement and isn’t motivated to make any changes that will cause him extra work. I’ll need to convince him that MetroMax South can make him look good.

  The men sat down at the table with Howard on one side and the FEU team on the other. Wayne picked up his copy of the bid. “I don’t know how you can offer your services at such a reduced cost. I’ve had endless meetings with my upper management and they have the same questions.”

  “There are several reasons we can meet or beat any of our competition,” said Howard. “First of all, we’re a private company and we don’t have to answer to our stockholders. Second, we run lean. By that I mean we don’t have layers of management. The guard reports to a sergeant, who reports to an area chief, who in most cases is retired from law enforcement, and that person reports to me or my wife.”

  “Am I correct that your wife is an owner in the business?”

  “Yes, but she runs the Washington, D.C. operation. I will handle MetroMax South. This way FEU will get my undivided attention.”

  “Howard, would you please step outside the conference room,” said Wayne. “I need to speak with my management.”

  Howard stood in the hall contemplating his position. I know they have been plagued by rapid turnover of guards because of the low wages coupled with a lack of benefits, health insurance and no retirement plan. They had a plan to set up their own security force, but their chief financial officer nixed it to keep the stockholders happy. FEU is willing to sacrifice the security of their nuclear reactor sites so some corporate officer can reap the benefits of their executive stock plan. The weakest link in America’s security is greed.

  Twenty minutes passed before Howard was called back into the conference room. Wayne Anderson was still conferring with the other two men as Howard sat down.

  Wayne turned to Howard. “Your bid was ten percent lower than the competition. If you are willing to stand by your proposal of increasing the training, salaries and benefits for the guards, FEU will give MetroMax South a three-year contract for the Florida nuclear facilities and corporate headquarters security starting in January. That is, once I get corporate management and finance to sign off on it. But with these numbers, I don’t see a problem. If management agrees, we’ll write everything from your proposal into a contract, and send it to you within a few days.”

  Driving back to Boca Raton, Howard called Michelle on his cell phone. “We did it. We’re going to get the FEU contract through the year 2001.”

  “Congratulations,” said Michelle. “Now I’ll never see you.”

  “Probably not, I’ve only got three months to be staffed and ready to go. It’s balls to the wall, but I’m confident that the present guards who will be put out of work will be looking for employment. I’m going to make sure they know about MetroMax South getting the contract. There’s nothing like having experienced personnel.”

  “That’s like kicking someone when they’re down,” said Michelle.

  “I really don’t care. Now that we have this under our belt, I want to put a proposal forward to Beekman Estates for their security.”

  “Aren’t you taking on too much?”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t approach them until the spring and only then if FEU security is running one hundred percent.”

  By April 1998, only a month after moving into their new home at Beekman Estates, Howard was ready to make a presentation to the developer TIC, Inc. and the homeowners association to handle the security at Beekman Estates. He and Michelle were reviewing the quote.

  “Howard, this is a bare-bones bid. I’m not sure we can stay profitable with these numbers.”

  “It’s a give-and-take game. The money we take in at MetroMax in Washington is gravy, so a little loss won’t kill us. Housing developers would switch subcontractors to save a dime. All we have to do is convince the developer that MetroMax South can do a better the job and also save them money. Once we get in and do a superior job for the developer, he’ll recommend us when he turns over the complex to the homeowners association. When we’re well established with them, we can raise prices to a profitable margin.”

  Reunited

  On the first of May, MetroMax South took over the security for Beekman Estates. The first thing Howard did, as the new security company, was to have a meeting in his office complex with all the sub-contractors employed by the homeowners association.

  Attending the meeting were Daniel Schonfeld of GoldCoast Environmental and Jonah Meyerson representing Phoenix Irrigation and Phoenix Lawn Maintenance. As usual the various subs introduced themselves and when it came to Daniel and Jonah, Howard didn’t even acknowledge or make eye contact with them.

  Howard announced, “We have new procedures for entering into the country club grounds. No more will the driver of the subcontractor vehicle with six Mexicans hanging on the back be allowed in on only the driver’s identification. From now on everyone in or on the vehicle is to be verified.”

  Someone yelled, “It takes ten to fifteen minutes to get in now. We’ll be backed up for hours at this rate and it’s costing me money when they’re not on the job.”

  Howard wasn’t in the mood. “I’ve implemented a new identification process. Starting on Wednesday you each will be given a schedule to have your workers come into this office, be photographed and issued a Beekman Estates I.D. That photo will be in a new computer system that we’ve just installed. When the driver gets to the gate you’ll hand a photocopy of the ID’s to the guard and they’ll compare those photocopies to the workers in the vehicles. I warn you now, if even one photocopy is not clear and the guard can’t make out the facial features, your entire workforce will not be permitted in.”

  Howard paused to let his words sink in and then continued, “This probably affects GoldCoast Environmental and Phoenix Lawn Maintenance more than anyone since they have the largest amount of workers at the country club. I would like the two of you to stay after the meeting, to go over some other details.”

  Daniel and Jonah looked across the room at each other and nodded in agreement.

  As the meeting broke up it was close to five o’clock. Howard sent his secretary home leaving only himself, Jonah and Daniel in the office. After seeing the last car drive off, Howard locked the door and the three men embraced each other and chanted over and over again in Arabic, “Bismi Allahi alrrahmani alrraheemi. (In the name of Allāh, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.)”

  This was the first time in fifteen years that all three men were together. Tears of joy ran down their cheeks and they showed no shame in weeping as they continued to chant.

  That night for the first time in several years, Jonah’s reoccurring dream about the death of his parents woke him from a sound sleep.

  Maria touched his arm. “Honey, you must have been having a nightmare. You were crying and mumbling aloud, but I couldn’t understand what you were saying. It sounded like a foreign language.”

  Jonah quickly answered, “I don’t remember what I was dreaming about. Maybe it was something in Hebrew.”

  Maria accepted the explanation.

  Jonah was concerned. I need to start a routine of deep meditation thirty minutes prior to going to bed. If anyone questions my actions, I’ll use the excuse that job stress has increased and meditation is a way to overcome it. Maybe I should move to another bedroom if I continue to talk in my sleep.

  Maria never again mentioned that he spoke in his sleep.

  A few weeks after the reunion of the three men, they introduced their spouses to one another and soon the three couples were spending time together at restaurants, movies and at the Beekman clubhouse. The relationships had become a mainstay i
n their lives. Their wives never thought it unusual that the three men would spend so much time together, especially fishing for swordfish on Friday or Saturday evenings.

  In June, Jonah sent a communiqué to Robert Peterson of Multilingual Books and Records.

  Robert,

  The fishing has not been good, but we expect by the beginning of August to hook into some really large ones.

  Hope you can make the trip.

  Lee Ruby Sr.

  Upon receiving the letter, Robert Peterson relayed the information to his operative in Damascus, who then made a call to Algeria. The Algerian oil tanker Majestic left the port of Oran, Algeria with fuel for passenger cruise lines and headed for Miami, Florida. On board were four men who spoke English and Spanish fluently, as well as Arabic, Farsi, and Punjabi (the native languages of Iran and Pakistan). Their extensive training had included weaponry, hand-to-hand combat and explosives.

  The Muslims For Justice had made a special request to the Iranian Revolutionary Guard to handpick the finest and most loyal of the young fundamentalist in their ranks and from surrounding countries to be trained as combatants.

  Each combatant received a separate salary that went to their families, for as long as they were members of the Muslims For Justice. Most men selected were from the slums of Tehran and Damascus and had little hope of ever breaking out of the poverty that had a strangle hold on their families for generations. This was not only a chance to escape from the slums, but it also allowed them to serve Allāh.

  The Rendezvous

  It was late on Friday evening August 7, 1998, when The Phoenix Rising left the Boca Inlet and headed southeast with the three cell members aboard. They arrived at 26°11’02.50” N Latitude 79°42’20.17” W Longitude and waited.

  “Do you see anything?” asked Daniel.

  Howard put down the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not quite sure, but I think there was a faint light coming from the starboard side. But it’s still far away.”

  It was almost one o’clock in the morning when Howard said, “It’s a large ship and it’s heading our way.”

  “I’ll turn on the searchlight and signal them.” Jonah climbed to the flying bridge. “I just got the correct response. I’ll take the boat closer.”

  The Phoenix Rising was about a quarter mile away when Howard announced, “I think I see a platform being lowered. It looks like three or four men in scuba gear.”

  Daniel paced on the deck. “What if we’re caught trying to make the pickup?”

  “Shut up. You’re like an old lady,” said Howard. “If we’re discovered, they’re expendable. If anyone asks, we’re fishing.”

  Howard greeted each of the men as they were helped aboard the yacht. “Marhaban (Welcome)!” Abruptly he said, “That’s the last word you’ll hear from me in Arabic. From now on we only speak English or Spanish. If this boat is stopped you’ll claim to be workers at Cooper Farms as you were instructed during your training.”

  Once the four scuba divers were onboard The Phoenix Rising, the gear was removed and placed in the empty lockers where Jonah’s personal scuba gear would normally rest. Jonah handed each of the men a package. “Here are shorts, tee shirts and sandals to wear. There’s a wallet with a fake driver’s license, a saltwater fishing license, a social security card, money and a mix of receipts. Memorize the name and address on the driver’s license. The address is the Cooper Farm location where you’ll be living.”

  One of the four men stepped forward to introduce himself. “I am Arshad Osman Hassāni and this is Faiz Bilal Taqi. We are nuclear engineers and we were previously employed at the Kanupp Pressurized Heavy-Water Reactor located in Karachi, Sind, Pakistan.”

  “Welcome,” said Jonah. “You are the most important of all the team members and you’ll be eventually assigned as guards at the nuclear reactor sites.”

  Jonah opened up the engines on the yacht and headed west eleven miles to Swordfish Hill. The men spent the next five hours fishing before going back to the Boca Inlet in daylight. The four operatives looked the part of fisherman, with blood and slime from the baitfish on their shorts and tee shirts.

  Jonah had his boat moored at a home he purchased across from the James A. Rutherford Park, in Boca Raton. There wasn’t a clear view of the dock from the park due to the intense growth of native vegetation. He had spent months locating the right house. He wanted one with a large enough dock to handle The Phoenix Rising, yet inconspicuous enough not to attract undue attention.

  Upon exiting the yacht, the men were hustled into a waiting vehicle and driven directly to Cooper Farms. Instructed they must only speak Spanish while residing at Cooper Farms, the new men were looked upon with suspicion by the other workers who viewed them as competition for their positions. The clandestine operatives would eventually replace all the migrant workers.

  The three cell members would rendezvous with the Majestic over the next two and a half years, allowing them to bring in one hundred twenty clandestine operatives and housing them at Cooper Farms. Only on two occasions was The Phoenix Rising stopped by the Coast Guard. After checking ID’s and finding nothing but a group of fisherman, they were free to go. Jonah thought about the boarding. By coming back to the marina during the daylight hours it removed the suspicion that any illicit activities were taking place. Besides, who would smuggle in illegal immigrants on a million dollar yacht!

  Howard Lieberman

  Howard announced to Michelle in August 1998 that he was moving the MetroMax museum from Arlington, Virginia to Delray Beach, Florida.

  “Don’t you consult me anymore on your intentions?” Michelle asked angrily. “I know the museum is your pet project, but as your wife I have a right to be included in your decisions.”

  Howard knew he had made a mistake by not telling her sooner. “I was planning it as a surprise, because you had to spend so much time making sure the museum was properly staffed when you were in Washington and I wanted to take that burden off of you.”

  “You always have some excuse, but I’m still mad as hell.”

  Howard purchased a small two-story office building on East Atlantic Avenue in Delray Beach. East Atlantic Avenue had become the local center for art and antique shops as well as many fine dining restaurants and would ensure him a large amount of foot traffic going by the museum.

  The remodeling had been completed in December 1998. A heavily armed convoy, which included two-bullet proof SUV’s and a tractor-trailer, left Arlington, Virginia for Delray Beach, Florida. In each SUV were four armed guards and two additional guards in the tractor-trailer cab.

  January 17, 1999: MetroMax South held their grand opening of the MetroMax South Firearms Museum with local and county dignitaries present. A West Palm Beach television station, WAVW Channel 13, told Howard that they were sending a news crew to cover the event.

  Howard, always the opportunist, walked up to the WAVW crew as they were setting up. “I’m Howard Lieberman, the proprietor of MetroMax Museum.”

  “Glad to meet you. I’m Jeff Grossman, the newscaster for WAVW. I was going to seek you out for an interview.”

  “Before we start,” said Howard. “I’d like a tour of the remote broadcast truck and how it operates. I’ve always been intrigued by electronics.”

  “My pleasure,” said Jeff. “I’ll show you personally.”

  “Do you mind if I take photographs?”

  “Feel free to shoot whatever you want.”

  Howard smiled and then took several pictures of the new 1998 television truck and crew, concentrating on the interior. Using a letter size notepad as a ruler, he was able to extrapolate actual interior measurements of the vehicle by placing the notepad strategically in all of the pictures.

  Sergeant Navarro was sitting in Jonah’s office waiting for him to arrive. The Phoenix Rising had finished picking up all of the operatives. Only Sergeant Navarro knew the Jewish names of the cell members and he was sworn to secrecy.

  Sergeant Matthew Navarro a.k.a. Iyad
al-Ibrahim, was a dedicated follower of Islam and the teachings of the Ayatollah Khomeini. He joined the Iranian Republican Guard at the age of fourteen and distinguished himself during the Iran-Iraq War as a fierce fighter and leader. He was fortunate enough to survive the slaughter of an estimated one million Iranians either killed or wounded during the war.

  In 1990, Iyad was contacted by the Muslims For Justice to become their recruiter for a not yet disclosed terrorist attack against the Great Satan. He enthusiastically agreed when the Muslims For Justice arranged to pay his impoverished family the equivalent of five hundred American dollars a month for life, a fortune for the family where the average pay for unskilled labor was equivalent to one hundred dollars per month.

  Recruiting from the slums of Tehran and Damascus, Iyad was personally responsible for eighty-five percent of the operatives joining the cause. He was a strict disciplinarian, but could show compassion when necessary, especially to those who longed to be back in their homeland. Iyad’s men thought it an honor to be led by him and would obey and follow him to their deaths.

  Jonah entered the office. “Sergeant Navarro, it is good to see you again.” He shook the Sergeant’s hand. “I have called you to my office regarding an apparatus I need fabricated by our machinist. We are going to install this device on The Phoenix Rising.”

  Jonah went to the office safe. After entering the combination he opened the door and brought out a blueprint. “Come over to the planning table. I want to review this drawing with you.”

  The sergeant looked over the blueprint. “What is it?”

  “It’s a set of electrically powered magnets to be fitted in the hull of The Phoenix Rising. It’s part of a mechanism that will allow us to bring in ammunition for the machine guns. We can’t purchase the ammunition in the United States. It’s too risky.”

  “We’re going to bring it in on the boat?”

  “That’s correct. We’ll meet up with the Majestic at sea and a container of ammunition will be lowered and then magnetically fastened to the bottom of the hull.”