The Third Cell

by Anthony D'Egidio

  In the cities across the Middle East people were pouring into the streets shouting praises to Allāh and rejoicing at the humiliation of the United States and Israel. Finally the Great Satan and the Zionists had been taught a lesson. No power on earth could overcome the will of the Muslim people and the one true God, Allāh.

  The Majestic

  The oil tanker plowed through heavy seas at fifteen knots with its GPS-controlled autopilot set for 35°54’10” N, 7°01’44” W, the Straits of Gibraltar. Eight hours had passed since the rendezvous with The Phoenix Rising and the ship had traveled one hundred twenty miles east. The rolling sea was making Dr. Ziyad Dayeh’s job tedious. He had met that morning with the trio and showed them the computer-enhanced pictures of their future features.

  Abdul-Aziz was protesting the loudest. “I look like the ass of a horse!”

  The three men who were so handsome were to be transformed with less than ordinary looks. Their noses would be made larger, their chins reshaped with implants, lips enlarged and all three would have their ears lobes reshaped. It was a motley-looking crew the computer images showed.

  The three took their meals inside the cabin, only venturing to the doctor’s operating room for pre-surgery instructions. The rest of the time they were glued to the satellite television watching news broadcasts. It was just after eight o’clock when the television flashed Breaking News.

  The reporter was ecstatic as he spoke, “The President of the United States has just announced an agreement with Israel to meet all the demands of the terrorist group known as Muslims For Justice. The terrorists and a group of hostages from Beekman Estates will be taken to Fort Lauderdale, Florida and flown to a location not identified in the Middle East. It’s our understanding that once they have landed in their chosen destination, the two nuclear reactor sites will be turned over to the United States authorities and those terrorists will be flown to the Middle East. When the last group of terrorists is in their chosen country, all the hostages will be released. It appears that the world has averted a nuclear disaster by the United States and Israel agreeing to the terrorist terms. This is a bitter pill for the United States and Israel to swallow, but under the circumstances they had little choice. More news will be forthcoming as we gather additional information.”

  The three cell leaders congratulated themselves on a job well done. They had achieved their thirty plus year goal of dignity for the Palestinians and repatriation for all those who had been expelled. Only the Amir, the three cell members and Iyad al-Ibrahim knew the final destination of Allāh’s soldiers.

  Beekman Estates

  Iyad al-Ibrahim had been asleep for only two hours when one of his men woke him. “Iyad, the President of the United States will be broadcasting in ten minutes.” Iyad rose, feeling the strain of the last few days on his body. Listening intently, his face broke into a smile as the president spoke. The infidels had been defeated. I’m ready to complete the mission.

  Celebration broke out amongst the terrorists as the news spread via the VHF transceivers. Shots were being fired into the air from within the community while outside law enforcement and military personnel took cover.

  After a couple of minutes of celebration, Iyad gave a command to stop. He gathered his key leaders to select which of the male hostages were to be on the plane. The hostages, who had been naked for three days, were told to dress.

  Unfortunately, Aaron Shapiro was chosen to be one of the hostages on the plane. Not knowing the circumstances for this change in attitude by their captives, many of the hostages thought they were going to be led to their deaths.

  Iyad, after checking on the hostages in the fitness center, entered the clubhouse for the hostage selection process. Walking past the entrance where two of his guards were stationed, he looked for the third. Turning back to the entrance he asked. “Where’s the guard for the stairs?”

  The two guards looked at each other but didn’t say anything.

  Iyad could see nervous glances between them. He was just getting ready to reprimand the men when he heard a quiet sobbing from behind the front office door. Investigating, Iyad opened the door slowly to see the missing guard with his lower extremities exposed. On the rug lay a naked young girl being held by the guard who was getting ready to mount her. The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old.

  The powerful Iyad quietly walked up behind the man and the struggling girl. He grabbed his guard by the neck and threw him against the wall in one swift motion. The surprised look on the guard’s face soon turned to fear when he recognized Iyad.

  Sa’id Silmi had always been a troublemaker at the farm and never quite fit in with the rest of the men. He skipped prayer meetings, didn’t complete his assignments on time and provoked aggression between the men. Iyad, having reported him several times, suggested they take Sa’id on a one-way fishing trip but Abdul-Aziz had nixed the idea.

  Iyad walked over to the desk, picked up the girl’s clothing and handed it to her. “Are you okay?”

  She nervously nodded yes, trying best to cover herself.

  “Have there been others?”

  Again, she nodded yes.

  “Please get dressed.”

  Iyad turned to the other two guards who were watching the scene.

  “Have you been engaging in this act of molestation?”

  “No we have not,” both guards said adamantly.

  “Did you know this was going on?”

  They sheepishly nodded their heads yes.

  “How many others have there been?”

  “There were three others that Sa’id had brought to the office.”

  Iyad was livid. He had given strict instructions on how the hostages would be treated and molesting women, especially young girls, nauseated him. He had no problem shooting a hostage as part of the mission, but raping a young girl was something he couldn’t stomach.

  Iyad turned to the two guards. “Hold him under gunpoint; if he moves shoot him.” He then took the trembling girl and led her back to the room where other young women were sitting on the floor. As he entered the room he could see the fear come over their faces. It was a different fear than being held captive. It was a fear of personal humiliation that comes from the thought of being violated.

  Iyad spoke calmly. “It has come to my attention that one of my men has sexually assaulted some of you. Please come forward and let me know how many have been violated.”

  There was complete silence. Finally, a woman in the back of the room had the courage to speak up. “I was raped for over an hour by one of your men.”

  “I promise you, and anyone else who was attacked by this man, that justice will be forthcoming.”

  With that statement two other women rose up and acknowledged they too were sexually assaulted.

  Iyad motioned for the women to exit the room and stand outside the office. “Bring him out here.”

  The two guards paraded the half-naked Sa’id to the waiting woman.

  Iyad asked, “Is this the man who violated you?”

  They all acknowledge Sa’id as the culprit.

  Iyad called for one of the SUV’s commandeered from the hostages’ homes.

  When the vehicle arrived Iyad called out to the guards. “Bring me Sa’id and put him in the back.” Sa’id was dragged out of the building, struggling and protesting. The half-naked Sa’id, handcuffed and legged-tied, was thrown in the back of the waiting vehicle.

  Iyad instructed the driver. “Bring these four women to the front gate and drive to the equipment blocking the road. Once you’re there, leave the vehicle and return to the front gatehouse. I will radio the gate to tell the police not to shoot and that you are releasing four women.”

  The SUV stopped as instructed and the driver scurried back to the gatehouse.

  Palm Beach County Sheriff’s personnel rushed to the vehicle when they saw the women exiting. There was a short conversation followed by Sa’id being dragged from the rear of the vehicle. One could only guess his
fate. A note taped to his bare chest with duct tape, contained a partial quote from the Qur’an, An-Nisa (Women) Chapter 4, verse 19:

  Ya ayyuha allatheena amanoo la yahillu lakum an tarithoo alnnisaa karhan

  (O ye who believe! Ye are forbidden to inherit women against their will)

  Iyad was in a hurry, having been slowed down by the incident. He and his lieutenants methodically went through the group of hostages, picking out those who fit their profile, looking for men who were most likely not to try an escape or attack them. The one-hundred-sixty-men selected were lined up by twos. Handcuffed to each other, they were marched to the four waiting buses and seated alternately from side to side opposite an armed terrorist.

  The buses, now filled, headed to the main entrance and exited. Turning east on Yamato Road, several law enforcement vehicles proceeded to lead the procession towards Interstate 95 and eventually to the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport. It was a bitter task, the law enforcement personnel having to guard the terrorist procession, but with the hostages and the two nuclear reactor sites still under terrorist control, they had no choice.

  After the last busload of terrorists left Beekman Estates, the remaining law enforcement and armed forces personnel rushed in. Bursting into the clubhouse and fitness center they were met with cheers and tears. Jubilance soon turned to sadness as it became apparent that one hundred sixty of their fellow hostages, members of the community, were still captive and under the control of the terrorists.

  The Air Israel Flight

  Ahman watched the procession as it was being televised to the world. Within fifty minutes the buses were pulled up along side the Air Israel B747-400 on the tarmac. An exhaustive investigation of the aircraft was conducted, and only after it was determined to be secure they boarded. The only luggage was two duffel bags loaded with explosive devices. The terrorists who were carrying these up the stairs stopped at the top, opening the bag and proudly exhibiting some of the devices, as if eighty terrorists with automatic weapons weren’t enough to deter an attack.

  The world watched as the Air Israel plane lumbered down the runway, finally lifting into the sky.

  Arshad Osman Hassāni and Faiz Bilal Taqi were also watching via closed circuit television at the nuclear reactor sites. Half of the plan had gone perfectly.

  Ahman watched until the plane was out of sight on the television screen; then he walked over and shut it off. He wasn’t interested in the press coverage of the Beekman Estates liberation, with teary-eyed reunions and of course all the personal accounts of the trials and tribulations these pampered Jews had just gone through. He muttered, “You should spend a year in the Jenin Refugee Camp to see what true suffering is. If you weren’t so important to my final goal, I would have eliminated all of you from this earth.”

  The Majestic

  Nasih and Abdul-Aziz were in their cabin watching the broadcast of the operatives flying out of the United States and congratulating each other on a job well done. Rashad was in the doctor’s clinic having his face altered.

  The plastic surgeon could normally complete most of the procedures in less than one hour, with the Rhinoplasty usually taking an additional two hours, but with the ship rolling he had to pause several times during the procedures. It was almost five hours before he had finished with Rashad. Once he recovered from the anesthesia, Rashad was helped to the quarters where Nasih and Abdul-Aziz were waiting.

  Seeing Rashad’s face bandaged up except for his mouth and eyes they broke out laughing.

  Hurting too much to answer, Rashad gave them both the finger as he collapsed on his bed.

  It was now Abdul-Aziz’s turn, but he was done sooner because the seas had calmed and the doctor was able to work faster.

  When Abdul-Aziz appeared back in the quarters, Nasih said nothing. Tonight would be his turn.

  The Air Israel Flight

  12:30 P.M.: The B747-400 headed east at its cruising speed of five hundred forty-five miles per hour, when Iyad entered the cockpit. The flight crew had over ten thousand hours of flight time on the B747, representing about ten years of experience each. In the cockpit jump seat sat a terrorist with an automatic weapon pointed at them.

  Iyad’s message was short and direct. “Set your autopilot for the following coordinates, 29°58’31” N, 31°01’44” W, and turn off your transponder.”

  Captain David-Hen Vekret recognized the destination immediately. He reached to the panel to comply with Iyad’s request stating, “That would be Cairo, about eleven and a half hours away.”

  Iyad didn’t answer as he turned to the terrorist sitting in the jump seat. “Come here and look carefully at this switch,” Iyad pointed to the transponder control. “If it’s turned on, shoot the man immediately.” He then turned and left the cockpit. Looking at his watch it was almost one o’clock Sunday afternoon, the perfect time for making the flight. The plane would arrive near eight o’clock on Monday morning when there would be several flights in and out of Cairo International Airport. With over fifty different airlines servicing the airport, Iyad was sure the skies over Cairo would be filled with planes.

  Captain Vekret was not about to jeopardize the lives of one hundred sixty Jewish hostages as well the other members of the flight crew. He was the epitome of an airline pilot. Never shaken by problems during flight, he always was a calming voice when trouble occurred. He had flown for the Israeli Air Force for two years when in September, 1985 he was picked to fly a F-16 Fighting Falcon in operation Wooden Leg, as it was called by the IAF. In retaliation for an attack on three Israeli civilians who were boating off the coast of Cypress, Israel attacked the PLO headquarters located at Hammam al-Shatt, twelve miles from the capital of Tunis, Tunisia. It was a one thousand three hundred mile flight one way and required refueling over the Mediterranean.

  Arriving back home, Captain Vekert’s wife was adamant. “I’ll never go through the hell I just lived while you were on that assignment knowing that you could die any second. Either you leave the IAF or I’ll end the marriage!”

  The following year Captain Vekret left the IAF and joined Air Israel and by 1995 he was flying the B747-400 between Tel-Aviv and New York City. His wife, hearing of his piloting the flight with terrorists, could only conjure up thoughts of the deadly operations he flew as an IAF pilot.

  The air traffic controllers watched the B747 disappear from their screens when the transponder was shut off. They relayed the information to USSOUTHCOM who was also tracking the plane. It didn’t matter to the military that it had dropped off the civilian screens.

  A prototype E-10 MC2A had been scrambled from Tinker AFB, Oklahoma as soon as the request for the B747-400 had been made. The E-10 MC2A, equipped with Multi-Platform Radar Technology was scheduled to replace the older E-3 AWACS. But due to budget shortfalls the program was cancelled. The lone prototype had been maintained by the Air Force for testing purposes. It would provide airborne surveillance of the terrorists’ jet, keeping at a safe distance of twenty miles behind the target.

  Code-named Tracer One, the E-10 had a flight crew of four, two pilots, a navigator and fight engineer. In the plane’s command center was the E-10 Crew Commander with a support group of eleven personnel including Communications and Airborne Radar Technicians.

  The B747’s route was projected to be to the Middle East. Not certain of the final destination and needing a refueling strategy, the U.S. military requested from the Italian Air Force a Boeing KC-767 Global Tanker Transport Aircraft.

  The White House

  In the Situation Room the mood was mixed with relief that most of the hostages in Boca Raton had been released, but apprehension was still running very high in regards to the fate of the one hundred sixty who were taken to the aircraft and the nuclear reactor sites that were still vulnerable. They could only wait until the B747 landed and the terrorists declared victory. There was much speculation on where they would eventually land, but no one had a clear picture.

  Military bases in the Middle East were on hig
h alert. The United States Navy’s Sixth Fleet was headed for the Red Sea.

  CIA Headquarters

  Michelle Branson and Traci Sanders were still being held and questioned. Though the agents had been relentless in trying to find a connection between the women and the terrorists, nothing was apparent. The agents were convinced that the pair had been nothing more than pawns in the elaborate terrorist plot, but with pressure from the top they continued to try and break the women.

  Michelle was handling the pressure well considering the circumstances. She had been kept isolated in a small room with a light that couldn’t be turned off, a bed, small sink and an exposed toilet. She was under 24-hour surveillance and knew it.

  Michelle refused to be broken by her interrogators. Those son-of-bitches must be getting their rocks off every time I use the toilet. Let’s see if they have x-ray vision. She hid her bodily functions under the heavy wool skirt she was wearing.

  The skirt also acted to block the light allowing her to sleep. She pulled it up over her head then would bring the thin blanket over her body. The room temperature was kept at sixty-five degrees making it hard to sleep, but somehow she was able to overcome the conditions and get rest. She had been three days in the same clothes and she knew asking or pleading for something else to wear would be useless. Having read several books on the psychology of interrogation, she knew exactly what they were doing to Traci and her.

  For Traci, it was an ordeal that she was not prepared for. Her slender body shivered the whole time she was in isolation. Traci actually looked forward to the interrogation sessions, for she would be in a room with normal temperatures. She had the unfortunate plight to start her period on the second day, soiling her underwear and the slacks she was wearing. There were no sanitary napkins and she was forced to use the small amount of toilet paper they allocated each day to stop the flow. She had removed her slacks and underwear, wrapping a blanket around her. She washed the slacks and underwear out in the small sink. They were still drying on the morning of the third day when they came to take her for additional interrogation.