The Third Cell

by Anthony D'Egidio

  Reunited

  Aboard the An-Najm, Nasih could care less about the dilemma the United States was in; he had immersed himself into his new identity.

  The real Issa Abdullah Gara disappeared while working for Hezbollah in southeastern Lebanon. Over the years, he infiltrated and befriended Christians loyal to their political leaders in Beirut. He then passed the information on to PLO terrorists who would target the unsuspecting Christians for assassination. With his cover blown and no longer able to perform past duties, he was looking for a new assignment. Unfortunately for him, he received an invitation to Damascus to join a Hezbollah leader in discussing a special assignment. Shortly after arriving he was lured to the Syrian Chemical and Fertilizer Company to review new chemical explosives and disappeared, literally. Those responsible for his demise never knew his true identity.

  After a week of sailing across the Mediterranean, the An-Najm docked in Latakia, Syria. The city had been spared the internal strife that had been so prevalent in the country. As instructed, Nasih took a taxi to the al Dolphine restaurant located at the southern end of the corniche. He walked across the street to the apartment complex that overlooked the Mediterranean and, locating number 1901, pushed the button and listened for the intercom.

  The familiar voice of Ahman called out, “Marhaban. (Welcome.)”

  Nasih replied, “Eshtaqto elaika katheeran. (I’ve missed you often.)”

  The buzzer at the lobby door sounded, allowing Nasih to enter. Taking the elevator to the nineteenth floor, he was filled with anticipation. As the door opened his uncle was waiting to greet and hug him. In Ahman’s apartment, they sat drinking iced tea and reflecting upon the events that had lead to the demise of their grand plan.

  “Uncle, I’m physically and mentally drained. I’ve built up so much anger against those who have destroyed the hopes and dreams of our people. I have more anger against them than I have for the Zionists who killed my parents. I want revenge.”

  “I long to punish them also,” replied Ahman. “I no longer sleep because my mind is full of hate and revenge, and my days are filled with anguish.”

  Nasih lamented, “I don’t know how I can accomplish this task alone, but if I have to sacrifice my life, I’m ready. I have no other reason to live.”

  His uncle took a long drag on his cigarette before he spoke. “I’ve been working on a plan that didn’t include you, for it’s a death assignment. As strange as it sounds, I think it’s possible to get the United States to help us with our goal. I don’t know how long it will take, but patience is the one thing we need. Don’t let this tragedy eat you alive.”

  “Uncle, I am ready to die for my people.”

  “This sacrifice I would never ask. But if you want to serve Allāh, you’ll have your day of retribution and it will be glorious.”

  Then Ahman wisely quoted a short phrase from the Qur’an, Chapter 3: Al-E-Imran:

  “Kullu nafsin tha-iqatu almawti wa-innama tuwaffawna ojoorakum yawma alqiyamati faman zuhziha.”

  (Every soul shall have a taste of death: And only on the Day of Judgment shall you be paid your full reward.)

  CHAPTER 36

  ALLĀH IS EXALTED AND THE LORD OF RETRIBUTION

  Latakia, Syria

  Several months passed before Ahman made his first contact. He and Issa (Nasih) spent hours each day planning and plotting the demise of their enemy. Ahman had to keep reminding himself to accept Nasih’s new name, less he slip and reveal who he was. Now was the time to set the plan into place. He wrote a small cryptic note and through messengers had it hand-delivered to the United States Embassy in Istanbul, Turkey. It was addressed “Confidential to Secretary of State, George Martens,” with the return address stating “the Amir”. After being scanned by x-ray, bomb and chemical detection devices it was placed in a U.S. Courier bag and forwarded to Washington.

  Washington, D.C.

  Once the package arrived at the office of George Martens, he invited Jack Shelby of the CIA to witness the contents. The note simply said:

  As I’ve promised, I’ll lead you to those who are responsible for the destruction of your country. You must send an intermediary to Damascus, Syria. They’ll check into the Safir Al-sayedah Zeinab Hotel, under the name of Hanif Hussain Shah, a Lebanese businessman. We’ll contact that person for a meeting.

  George turned to Jack. “What do you think? Do they really have a plan or is it just a witch hunt?”

  Jack took a moment to reflect. “Why would they go through all the trouble to contact us, knowing they were exposing themselves, if they didn’t have some strategy in mind? They certainly wouldn’t go through all this trouble just to take out one person.”

  “I’d like to know what they’re up to,” said George, his brow wrinkled as he thought of the consequences.

  Jack said, “I’ll personally go.”

  “You’re volunteering?”

  “Absolutely, it’s been seven months and we’ve no idea where the three cell members went. We also don’t know where the leadership of al-Qaeda is located. The press and the public are demanding action. What have I to lose?”

  “With all the turmoil going in Syria, it could be your life.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. We can’t divulge this operation except to a few key people.”

  George Martens, shaking Jack’s hand, said, “You have my approval and I will contact the president and General Knight.”

  The Meeting

  Jack Shelby left for Damascus after being provided with a counterfeit Lebanese passport and identification as Hanif Hussain Shah. Jack was fluent in Arabic having spent several years in the Middle East in different embassies under the guise of being an economic development counselor, while instituting clandestine operations in those countries.

  Jack’s flight to Istanbul, Turkey was aboard a CIA jet that operated out of rural airports on the East Coast of the United States. There had been reports for years that the private CIA jets were employed to seize suspected terrorists and utilized for interrogation at thirty-five thousand feet. No one in the CIA or elsewhere in government would deny or confirm the rumors. In Istanbul, Jack boarded a Mideast International plane for the short two-hour flight to Damascus, arriving at one thirty-five in the morning.

  Jack had a relatively easy time going through customs. There was no one else in the airport except for the passengers from his flight. It was his first time in Damascus in fourteen years. The city had undergone quite a transformation since he was there last. Damascus never lost it heritage, having been inhabited continuously for over 7,000 years, making it one of the oldest cities in the world.

  Exhausted, Jack arrived at the Safir Al-sayedah Zeinab Hotel, checking in under the assumed name of Hanif Hussain Shah. He went to his room and collapsed on the bed.

  Jack passed the time by wandering through the local shops and restaurants. Frustrated after the first two days, he visited some of the more renowned sites in Damascus including the Ommayad Mosque, with a shrine honoring St. John, the Baptist whom the Muslims consider a prophet. He could never reconcile within himself the dichotomy of a religion that had prophets from both the Christian and Jewish religions, yet had radicals preaching annihilation of anyone associated with those religions.

  On the evening of the third day no one had made contact with him. Jack thought the meeting was a ruse and he should return home. After having dinner he checked in at the front desk to find an envelope waiting for him with a simple message.

  Come to the coffee shop and look for a man in a white sports coat and red tie.

  Quickly Jack walked to the small restaurant and spotted the subject. Walking over to the man he introduced himself, “Masaa el kheer, esmee Hanif Hussain Shah. (Good evening, my name is Hanif Hussain Shah.)”

  The man rose and, holding out his hand, replied in English, “It’s not necessary to speak my language. Besides, I need to practice my English skills. It’s a pleasure to meet with you. My name is Zahid. Would you please accompany m
e? We’ve a long trip ahead of us.”

  Not feeling threatened, Jack readily agreed and they went to the parking garage. A car with two men pulled up.

  “Who are they?” asked Jack.

  Zahid turned to Jack. “These men are here as our bodyguards. We must take necessary precautions for we never know who may have an alternative agenda. Everyone in Syria is being watched. Please wait while we check you for weapons or tracking devices and then sit in the back seat. We’ll place a hood over you. We can’t reveal the site you’ll be visiting.”

  After being frisked, the Jack sat in the back of the vehicle between the two bodyguards and a hood was placed over his head. The driver hit the accelerator and the car sped out of the garage heading into traffic. He then made several turns in a short distance both in a left and right direction.

  Jack was counting the turns and seconds between them. Soon it would be impossible to remember the sequence. They’re wise to the ways of espionage.

  The car headed for Duma, located eleven kilometers northeast of Damascus, to the infamous site of the Syrian Chemical and Fertilizer Company. Pulling into the guarded facility, they walked the agent into the office complex. Inside the windowless room they removed his hood. The door opened and Jack instantly recognized Ahman Imad Rahman, the man known as the Amir.

  Ahman was the first to speak. “Obviously you know who I am.”

  “I do and I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you. I will not divulge my true name or the agency I work for.”

  “Who you are and who you’re representing is not my concern. I only know your name as Hanif Hussain Shah and I am comfortable with that. I’ve brought you here to make a proposition to the United States government. My nephew has agreed to locate and then transmit the location of the highest leadership of al-Qaeda for your government to strike as you please.”

  “Nasih Mahmoud Rahman?”

  “Yes, and in doing so, he’ll put his own life in jeopardy. We do this in retaliation against those who for their own selfish reasons destroyed the lives of our people who have suffered for so long. It is true we had planned and set up the mechanism for the nuclear reactor site destruction to leverage our position. But we didn’t carry out the explosions that caused the destruction. We had no knowledge that these extremists had infiltrated our organization. You must understand that thirty years of planning was destroyed by these two individuals and their radical leadership and I’m seeking revenge!”

  As Ahman spoke his voice grew louder and he hammered the tabletop with his fist. “I want the world to see that we can stop this spiral of death and destruction. The only thing the radicals of the faith understand is total and complete obliteration of their leadership and the knowledge they have nowhere to hide. I want your government’s total cooperation.”

  Agent Shelby watched Ahman’s face. This man seems sincere in his desire to punish those who destroyed his plans. He could be a useful tool. Agent Shelby asked, “If we give you what you want, how do you propose to infiltrate the organization that no one has been able to? How will we know it’s time to strike?”

  “We’ve a plan that only my nephew and I am privileged to know. I will not discuss this with anyone including my closest confidants, for I can’t risk the details leaking out. What I need from the United States is a sophisticated device to signal that the location and objectives have been found. There can’t be any verbal communication prior to the strike. Anyone who has been able to get this close to the top leadership will be scrutinized thoroughly and we can’t take the chance of being discovered. Can the United States provide a device that will accomplish this task?”

  Agent Shelby was reluctant to talk about a government secret, but he could give enough information without divulging the proprietary technology. I need to keep this meeting going. “We have a transmitter that can be implanted into the body and we can track that person. Under x-rays it appears to be a medical device. Different sequences can turn on and off the transmitter. I can’t tell you any more at this time.”

  Ahman’s interest was peaking, “How long after the signal is received would a strike begin?”

  Jack gave a brief scenario, “If a ship was stationed off the coast of India in the vicinity of Karachi, it would be less than forty-five minutes to a little over an hour to strike targets at the Afghanistan-Pakistan border where we believe most of the leadership is hiding out.”

  Ahman finally saw his chance for revenge. “This is excellent. How soon can we have this device to implant?”

  Jack sneered, “I don’t know if I can even get clearance to have a top secret device implanted in your nephew, no matter how noble the cause.”

  “I’m sure the United States government will jump at the chance of taking out the present leadership of al-Qaeda or the Taliban. We have a legitimate objective and if they are willing to use my nephew as the agent, how do you propose to have this device implanted?”

  He’s not going to be interested, but what do I have to lose? Jack retorted, “We could bring your nephew aboard a U.S. Navy vessel here in the Mediterranean and have the procedure done.”

  “Does the CIA think I’m gullible enough to send my nephew, who’s wanted for the deaths of one hundred twenty American soldiers and one hundred sixty American hostages, into your hands? I think this proposal will never work and this meeting is over.”

  I can’t lose this opportunity, thought Jack. “I could bring the device to a location in Syria and a doctor you select can perform the operation. We both can be present while it’s being implanted.”

  Ahman toyed with the agent, “And what if we decide to remove it after your gone?”

  “It will simply self-destruct along with the person. This was designed to prevent someone under torture from giving up the device, willingly or unwillingly.”

  Ahman got up and left the room to speak to his nephew who was listening from another room. “Are you comfortable with this device and plan?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me, Uncle. It only matters that I get my revenge. Does the American understand it could take more than a year for me to get close enough to the leadership to enact the plan?”

  Ahman returned and told agent Shelby about the length time needed.

  Agent Shelby became serious. “It took us ten years to locate and eliminate Osama bin Laden. A little longer won’t matter as long as we can land a fatal blow to the rest of the leadership of al Qaeda.”

  Ahman reached across the table and placed a long narrow package in the agent’s hands. “This gift is to show my sincerity to the cause. When you’re ready to start this undertaking you must return to Damascus and, as before place a reservation at the Safir Al-sayedah Zeinab Hotel in the name of Hanif Hussain Shah. We’ll be prepared to receive you.” Ahman stood up then left the room.

  The men who had accompanied Agent Shelby to Duma replaced the hood and drove for almost an hour before returning to the hotel.

  Once inside the hotel-parking garage, the hood was removed and he was let out. Without a word being spoken they sped off.

  Agent Shelby returned to his room, carrying the package he had received and placed it on the bed. I need to write down all the events of the trip and meeting. I can calculate the time it took us to travel to the destination and it should be between ten to twelve kilometers from the city, but the direction is unknown. I could distinctly make out the odor of hydrogen sulfide, which was a by-product of oil wells and chemical plants. But it didn’t have the classic oil-impregnated smell to it, so I can eliminate the wells. Only a chemical plant could produce the odor. Based upon my knowledge of the industry surrounding Damascus, I conclude that we were somewhere in the vicinity of Duma, Syria, the only major industrial area which had chemical plants. I could call in a strike right now, but the international repercussions would be too great. An hour has gone by and they could be well out of the area. Besides, if these two could pull off what they had proposed, then we certainly have bigger fish to fry!

  Jack got up from the d
esk and picked up the package that had been given to him as a gift from Ahman. Is it booby-trapped? I doubt it, for they could have taken me out at any time. He slowly opened the package and removed the item from its ornate leather sheath.

  It’s a Damascus sword with gold and silver inlays and a mother-of-pearl handle and it’s magnificent. It’s probably from the sixteenth century, and worth at least ten thousand dollars. Damascus swords of this vintage are usually in the hands of collectors or museums. The blades are made from a unique process that forged multiple layers of different metals into a laminate that could have as many as five hundred layers. I know the process for making the blades has been lost for hundreds of years and only recently had been rediscovered. Jack Shelby was impressed.

  Washington, D.C.

  Three days later, Jack was pitching the plan privately to General Knight, the president, secretary of state and director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Reaction ranged from “it’s an outright trick to gain our technology” to “we’ve a chance to kill all the bastards.” The meeting went on for hours until finally President Conklin consulted privately with General Knight.

  After the meeting the President announced, “As Commander and Chief, I’m giving the go-ahead on this operation. I want you to make it happen and no more screw-ups.”

  Damascus

  In late September, the phone rang at Ahman’s apartment announcing that a Hanif Hussain Shah had made a reservation at the Safir Al-sayedah Zeinab Hotel for the following week. Ahman was pleased, for Nasih was becoming impatient and he didn’t want him doing something impetuous.

  Jack flew to Cairo and took a Mideast International flight to Damascus. Questioned about the electronic device he had stored in his brief case, Jack presented identification as the manufacturer’s representative and a letter from the Syrian Health Ministry authorizing the importation. It was clearly marked as a pacemaker from one of the largest medical device manufactures in the United States. The Syrian customs agent reviewing the information approved Jack’s entry.