The Third Cell

by Anthony D'Egidio

  Jonah headed back to the apartment. This method should elude scrutiny by any law enforcement agency.

  In the United States, Jonah was finding it almost impossible to locate a public Internet service. I’m going to have to use the Palm Beach County Library’s Internet service. I hate being in a public place. I’ll use the cover of researching exotic Florida plants for the business if I ever run into an acquaintance.

  Over the next several years, rubysanandres and stellabogota communicated briefly through the Colombian dating service chat room using a simple coded message.

  From rubysanandres:

  “I would like to have the opportunity to meet you.”

  The response from stellabogota was always the same:

  “I’m not ready to move into a relationship.”

  Jonah could only wait until the Amir was ready. He consulted the Qur’an constantly and asked Allāh to give him the patience’s he needed waiting for the final command. He continually hid his apprehension of delaying the mission from Howard and Daniel.

  For Jonah, the move to the Internet protected him from further investigation by the NSA. The Colombian DAS had extrapolated from the Colombian Customs database all visitors over the past few years to San Andrés from the United States that were residents of Florida. This list was then shared with the United States, NAS and FBI agencies. The agents who followed up investigated Jonah, but his name was quickly scratched off when it was discovered he was a successful Jewish businessman, highly respected within the community. He had no criminal record and had legitimate business connections in Colombia. His strong relationship with Howard Lieberman, the owner of MetroMax South, put him beyond suspicion. He just didn’t fit their profile of a drug dealer or terrorist.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE WERNER INCIDENT

  Beekman Estates

  May 8, 2008: Benjamin Werner sat at the closing of his four thousand square foot condominium overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway, at the corner of A1A and Las Olas Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

  Benjamin only considered relocating back to the United States after the death of his wife of thirty-six years in 2006. He had chosen Fort Lauderdale and the Las Gatos area because of the propensity of antique and art dealers in the area. He was an avid antique collector, a habit his wife had to coach him into when first married. He found rummaging through shops for Holy Land and Egyptian artifacts as a way to take his ever-churning mind away from espionage and the Mossad. His collection of treasured Egyptian water vessels, dating from 3100-2686 BC, Benjamin personally packed for shipping from Tel Aviv to Fort Lauderdale.

  Benjamin’s mind wandered over these fine memories as a tear fell from his eye. He brushed it aside as the closing agent for the title company startled him.

  “Mr. Werner, this is the last paper to sign and you’re the proud owner of prime Intracoastal property.”

  The other reason Benjamin had chosen Fort Lauderdale was its close proximity to Boca Raton, where his sister and brother-in-law had a built a new home. He could still remember his sister’s phone call.

  “Benjamin, after years of pleading with Aaron to move, we’re finally going to live in Boca Raton. You know how much Aaron loves golf and I hate the cold, and well, we’ve chosen to move to the Beekman Estates.”

  Aaron was ten years older than Ilona and treated her more like his daughter than his wife. Aaron Shapiro had made his fortune on the New York Stock Exchange as a risk arbitrageur and strategist, dealing in hedge funds that targeted corporate mergers.

  “A gated community within a gated community, how ridiculous is that?” Benjamin replied to his sister when she told him of the community and the home they were going to build.

  The house took almost two and a half years to complete. When completed the Shapiro family, with three moving vans full of goods, relocated from New York City to Beekman Estates.

  Benjamin Werner arrived at the Miami airport after his flight from Israel. His sister, who was there to meet him, said, “Please come and stay with us. You know we’ve more than enough room.”

  Benjamin always liked his quiet time. “I need to take care of so many things and have several meetings with the attorney handling the purchase. Staying at a hotel in Fort Lauderdale is just more convenient for me.”

  Ilona continued, “At least come up this weekend and spend some time with us.”

  On Saturday morning Benjamin drove up to the main security gate at the Beekman Estates. As he reached into his wallet to retrieve his Israeli driver’s license as identification, he noticed the guard’s nametag, Marco Rodriquez. Inspecting the man’s face and features, Benjamin thought, this man looks more Middle Eastern than Hispanic.

  The ever-inquisitive Benjamin was suspicious as he watched the guard enter the information in the computer. As the guard handed the driver’s license back to him, Benjamin said in Arabic, “Men ayna anta? (Where are you from?)”

  The guard didn’t flinch nor did he move as he spoke. “Excuse me, Sir?”

  “Nothing,” said Benjamin. The guard’s eyes are darting back and forth. Something isn’t right.

  Arriving at the second gate to the Kingsford Place community, the guard who greeted him was definitely not Middle Eastern. She was a large African-American who spoke with a distinct Haitian accent. He proceeded through the gate to his sister’s house and was greeted warmly by Ilona and Aaron.

  Sitting by the pool relaxing, Benjamin spoke about his encounter. “I noticed the nametag for the guard at the front gate was Hispanic, but he looked more Middle Eastern to me. When I spoke to him in Arabic, he pretended he didn’t understand, but his eyes said differently.”

  Ilona shook her head. “You’re ever the quintessential espionage agent who can’t leave anything alone. I find these guards to be the most courteous and understanding of any group I‘ve ever known. When I had a flat tire, two of them in the security car stopped and changed it for me. They’re not supposed to do that, but they insisted and I couldn’t be more grateful. You’re extremely paranoid and read too much into everything.”

  Benjamin listened to his sister’s lecture. I’m not convinced.

  The phone rang in Howard’s study. Michelle called out to Howard who was in the shower, “It’s the business line. Do you want me to pick it up?”

  Could only be trouble. No one is supposed to be calling today. Howard shouted, “I’ll just check the caller ID and return the call when I’m done.”

  Howard was always the one to answer the MetroMax South phone, wary that someone would make a mistake and speak in Arabic. He abruptly stopped showering. Throwing a robe over his wet body, he proceeded to the study. The caller ID number is from a prepaid cell phone that we’ve distributed to the operatives in case of emergency. Howard’s body was already tense as he dialed the number, but what he heard next made him pace the floor.

  The very nervous guard recounted the incident. “Sir, we had a visitor at the South Gate who produced an Israeli driver’s license. He was going to the Shapiro residence in Kingsford Place. His name is Benjamin Werner and when I gave him back his license he spoke to me in Arabic.”

  Howard stopped pacing and froze in place. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead while his heart pounded. Benjamin Werner! Of all the people on the face of the earth, why him? I thought he resigned from the Mossad right after 9/11. Breaking out of his thoughts he told the guard, “Contact the other operatives who are on duty and advise them of this man.”

  “It’s already been done, Sir. I’ve also contacted Sergeant Matthew Navarro regarding the encounter.”

  “Good, you’ve taken all the appropriate actions,” said Howard. Hanging up the phone, he was contemplating his next move when Michelle walked into the study.

  “Howard, are you okay? You’re so pale and sweaty.”

  “I jumped out of the shower to answer the phone. That’s why I’m soaked.”

  Michelle approached him, placing her hand on his forehead. “You’re very warm. Maybe you should lay
down and rest.”

  “I have to check on a security breach. I’ll be okay. Don’t be worried.”

  “Well, just take care of yourself and don’t get all worked up about some minor problem.”

  Minor problem, if this was only minor. Howard got dressed rapidly. In his vehicle he contacted Jonah. “I need to see you and Daniel right now in my office.”

  From the sound of Howard’s voice, Jonah knew immediately there was a problem. He quickly dialed Daniel. “Howard’s called an emergency meeting at his office. Something’s happened!”

  As each man arrived at the office complex, they were motioned by Howard to join him in his vehicle. He signaled to them not speak by placing his index finger over his lips.

  Driving out of the office complex, Howard continually checked his rear view mirror, concerned that they may be followed. At Boynton Beach, he pulled into two different shopping centers then left, finally entering a third shopping center parking lot. Stopping in a secluded area away from any other vehicles, the men exited his SUV.

  As they walked Howard spoke. “We’ve an incident at the Beekman Estates and I want us to stay away from all of our vehicles and offices until we have an electronic surveillance sweep. Benjamin Werner, the former head of the Mossad’s Counter Intelligence Division, is at Beekman Estates visiting Aaron and Ilona Shapiro.”

  Both Jonah and Daniel stopped in their tracks.

  Jonah asked, “Coincidence?”

  Howard told the scenario, “When he got his driver’s license back from the guard Benjamin said, ‘Men ayna anta.’”

  Daniel was speechless.

  “How the hell would Werner know the guard spoke Arabic?” Jonah asked.

  Howard shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re all under surveillance.”

  “What did the guard do?”

  “The guard told me he only said ‘pardon me.’” Howard continued as they walked. “I don’t think we were followed because I never saw any other vehicle make the turns we took to get here, but I can’t be sure. We have to investigate everything. I’ve contacted Sergeant Navarro and he’s already met with the operatives who are working as Beekman Estate guards, briefing them on the incident. All non-operative guards have been assigned to the gatehouses and the operatives will only perform the roving guard duties. I’ll send Sergeant Navarro to do a sweep of our homes, offices and vehicles for eavesdropping devices immediately.”

  For Sergeant Navarro it was a familiar routine that he had performed many times. The sergeant dressed as an employee of GoldCoast Environmental and, using one of the company trucks, went into the specified locations under the guises of pesticide control. The cell members had arranged for any occupants of their homes to leave the premises for three hours. Business offices were usually tested on Saturdays or in the evenings when not occupied.

  As the three cell members discussed the incident in the parking lot, Sergeant Navarro had already arrived at MetroMax South Corporate offices in his disguise and was doing a double sweep of the buildings.

  Ilona was hungry and cooking was out of the question. “Let’s go to the clubhouse for lunch. There is an elaborate luncheon buffet.”

  “Fine,” said Benjamin. “We’ll use my car.” As they drove to the clubhouse Benjamin asked, “Where are the other entrances?”

  Ilona was irritated. “Now what are you up to?”

  Aaron, always the calm and understanding husband, replied, “Let him be. It’s just his nature and we should be lucky he’s this concerned.”

  Finding the other two entrances, Benjamin would exit and return immediately. At the first gate a Hispanic woman whose English skills were average greeted him. She’s definitely not the profile I’m looking for. The same results occurred at the second gate with the guard being another woman, this time of Eastern European heritage.

  Ilona turned to Benjamin as they entered through the second gate. “I’m very hungry and want lunch. I told you, you were making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  Benjamin said no more, but exiting the car at the clubhouse he noticed the guard in the roving security vehicle. There’s another guard with Middle Eastern features. Something’s definitely wrong here. I’ll find out what’s going on.

  “You hardly touched your lunch.”

  Benjamin half heard his sister’s remark as his old friend, the knot in his stomach, tightened.

  Howard met with Sergeant Navarro, on a Sunday afternoon two weeks after Benjamin Werner had visited Beekman Estates.

  “I need to know everything about Benjamin Werner and what he’s involved in. You must be very diligent and careful, for this man is known internationally for his prowess and counterintelligence activity.”

  Sergeant Navarro listened attentively to the instructions and left to formulate his plan. He was the only operative who knew the Jewish names of the three cell members and had been sworn to secrecy by Howard who had spoken to him in Arabic. He had no clue to their true identity and what country they were from. He had been asked many times by the curious operatives, but he never would discuss anything about the three cell leaders.

  Howard Lieberman previously contacted his friends in the FBI, claiming he was considering Benjamin Werner as a security consultant and asked if they could provide any information. Within days he received an email report that spanned fifteen pages. Reading the report Howard was astonished; I see how influential Benjamin has been to the success of the Mossad, and the other intelligent gathering agencies, Aman and the Shabak. He is also recognized within the espionage community as one of the premier code breakers in the world. The more I read, the greater my concerns become. He made a list of details about Benjamin Werner to give Sergeant Navarro.

  After meeting with Howard, Sergeant Navarro read the information, studying each line carefully.

  Age: 65

  Dual Citizenship: USA and Israel

  Ethnic background: Russian Jew

  Education: Ph.D. in Mathematics from Tel Aviv University

  Retired from Mossad as Head of Special Operations

  Speaks several languages fluently

  Marital Status: Widower, wife died of breast cancer

  Interests: Antique and artifacts, of Middle Eastern origin

  Personality: Loner, confrontational, suspicious of everyone

  Address: 101 Los Olas Blvd., Apt. 1242 Ft. Lauderdale, FL

  Sergeant Navarro studied the profile of Benjamin Werner and contemplated his strategy. My target has a unique personality who is going to suspect everything, so I must attack him with his heart and not his mind.

  The sergeant, using the MetroMax South office computer, looked up an escort service in the Fort Lauderdale area. While going through pages of profiles, Sergeant Navarro could only remember the Ayatollah Khomeini’s fiery Khutba’s that the United States was The Great Satan. Allowing this filth of prostitution to be made readily available to the public is repugnant. My dilemma is the filth that I’m viewing could be the tool to destroy my enemy.

  After looking at countless online pictures, he finally found a promising profile. This one is perfect, Mika, age 45. Her picture shows a face of ordinary features, not pretty, not unattractive. I will contact her.

  Sergeant Navarro signed up for the escort service using the assumed name of Paul Kramer, from Hialeah, Florida. He registered a prepaid mobile phone and contacted her.

  Sergeant Navarro, posing as Paul Kramer, would hold his first meeting with Mika at the Tuscan Italian Grill in Miami Beach, Florida. Howard, who had previously held dinner meetings with clients, gave him the restaurant’s name and directions to get there. Having never been to South Beach, Sergeant Navarro drove the area two days before the scheduled meeting and came upon a bikini model photo shoot taking place on the beach. He was semi-mesmerized by the scene of the women in their skimpy bathing suits and it troubled him. These women parade around the streets showing off their almost naked bodies. They have no dignity or self-esteem. It’s the weakness of the flesh that overpowers the m
ind.

  Mika Rudolph

  Sergeant Navarro was in his room at Cooper Farms, preparing for his first meeting with Mika. His hair had been streaked with a gray tint. A latex prosthetics was placed above his forehead to falsely increase a receding hairline. Other Latex prosthetics on his ears and nose altered their shape.

  The sergeant looked in the mirror. I appear to be fifteen to twenty years older. He put on navy pants, tan loafers and a beige sports jacket. I’ve never worn a sports jacket or loafers in my life.

  Walking out of his room some of the operatives taunted the sergeant about his Americanized look. He ignored them and had one of the operatives take his picture. If I have repeated meetings with the woman, I will have to duplicate my appearance. The operatives continued to gawk at the scene, having no idea what he was up to.

  The evening temperature in late June was near ninety and the disguise was uncomfortable. Sergeant Navarro had trouble finding a parking place close to the restaurant. Once he parked, Sergeant Navarro had to hurry concerned that excessive sweating would loosen the prosthesis. Inside the restaurant he inconspicuously placed himself at the bar and waited for Mika.

  Mika’s entrance was nothing short of spectacular. Her online description and photo hadn’t done her justice. She was a tall woman about 5’ 10” whose face didn’t reflect her age. The beige chiffon dress with plunging neckline revealed brown nipples showing through the thinly woven cloth. Heads turned as she walked past the rows of men sitting and standing at the bar.

  Sergeant Navarro came up to her while she was scrutinizing the bar scene. “I’m Paul Kramer. It’s my pleasure to meet you.”

  “Paul, I’m Mika. Finally there’s a face behind the voice.”

  “Shall we have dinner?” asked Sergeant Navarro. I’m very uneasy having so many people looking at us.

  The sergeant placed a twenty dollar bill in the Maître D’s hand and they were quickly seated in an inconspicuous area. He had selected a Tuesday evening believing the restaurant would be less crowded, but to his surprise, three-quarters of the tables were occupied. He found it very difficult not to fixate his gaze on Mika’s breasts.