by Galen Winter
Jake had no alternative. If he had not promised Teddy he could get Abdul to work with him, the part of the Guatemalan venture that would end in Clark’s death would have been jettisoned. Jake would do anything to keep Clark from escaping his planned revenge. Now he had to pay the price for his distortions. He was committed to contacting a man he didn’t trust, a man who tried to kill him and who might try again. He had to convince that man to work with him.
With a feeling of resignation, Jake filled out the Customs forms the stewardess handed to him. Jake had to look at the documents Ferdie Robbins had provided when he filled out the parts of the Entry Declaration that called for name and passport number. Jake was now identified as Albert S. Simpson, a travel agent from St. Louis. He never recognized the tiny bit of Ferdie Robbins’ revenge represented by the initials of the name in his false passport nor did he see the sardonic humor of his answer to the question: Purpose of Trip. He had written: “pleasure”.
The spaces for the listing of potentially dangerous or taxable items brought into the country were quickly check marked “none”. Of course, he brought no weapon with him. He couldn’t get a side arm from the Station without announcing his presence and there was good reason for keeping his visit to Abdul as quiet as possible. He could never disclose the reason for his visit to Damascus. If he met with Abdul, he would be unarmed. It was not a pleasant thought.
Jake would stay at the Le Meridien. At least that nebbish fool, Ferdie Robbins, had made reservations at a Five Star hotel. As soon as he was in his room, Jake phoned the number he had used when he contacted Abdul two years earlier. As he expected, he heard Arabic words completely unintelligible to him.
Jake answered in English speaking slowly and enunciating clearly. “I am Jacobson. I want to speak to Abdul. He will be interested in what I have to say. I am at the Le Meridien Hotel. I am registered under the name Albert S. Simpson. I will be here for 24 hours.” After a few seconds of silence, the connection was broken.
Perhaps Abdul was dead. He may have been killed. He may have been moved into the Gaza strip or sent to Pakistan. If Abdul didn’t return his call, Jake wouldn’t consider entering the murky Damascus world of car bombers and murderers to find someone else to replace Den Clark. It was far too dangerous an undertaking. He would return to Langley. He would tell Teddy Abdul had been killed. His plan to kill Den Clark in Guatemala would have to be dropped.
In spite of the peril represented by a meeting with Abdul, Jake hoped his pipeline to the Jordanian had not been broken. He hoped Abdul was still in Damascus. He hoped he would return the call. He smiled when he remembered the line from The Godfather movie. This time he would make an offer that could not be refused.
As Jake waited for the phone to ring, the dangers of a meeting with Abdul began to displace his thoughts of revenge. He remembered his feeling of panic when he heard the shooting from inside the souks tavern. He remembered seeing Mick McCarthy, standing in the narrow alley and firing at the men who pursued him.
Jake could have been the man who fell into Abdul’s trap. Another meeting with Abdul could be another trap. This time Jake would not be seated in an automobile, able to leave the scene if shots were fired. Jake’s hopes to contact Abdul began to wane as his fear of the dangers of a meeting grew.
Abdul was surprised when told Jacobson was in Damascus and wanted to talk to him. What was the man’s ulterior motive? Was this an elaborate scheme to avenge the death of the CIA agent he had killed? That hardly seemed probable. With the help of the Israelis, the CIA could have found an easier way to kill him in Syria. No, he concluded, the meeting with Jacobson was probably not part of that plan.
Jacobson tried to bribe him once. Was it possible he would again try to buy him? Well, there was little danger in answering Jacobson’s call.
Jake was staring out at the Damascus cityscape when the phone rang. He hesitated before he picked it up. Jake thanked Abdul for calling. Abdul said nothing. Jake told him he had an attractive proposition for him to consider. It would make him wealthy.
After a few seconds of silence, Abdul decided he could not repeat the mistake he made in Damascus. He killed the man before actually receiving the bribe. This time it would be different. He would talk with Jacobson. If Jacobson offered money, He would take it. Then he would kill him.
Abdul spoke one word: “Talk”.
Jake talked.
“Would you like to come to the Western Hemisphere and take assignments from the Central Intelligence Agency? If you listen to what I have to say, I will give you ten thousand dollars. Just to listen, Abdul, nothing more. Just listen to my offer. You can accept it or you can reject it but I’ll need your decision before I leave tomorrow afternoon.”
Abdul was cautious. Of course, he expected duplicity from the Americans. As far as he was concerned, anyone who believed anything a CIA agent told him had completely lost touch with reality. Abdul had no intention of working for the CIA, but he would not overlook the potential of a ten thousand dollars payoff.
Jake waited for thirty seconds before Abdul again spoke. “Where shall we meet?”
“I’m at Le Meridien.”
“Why don’t you invite me into the basement of your Damascus Station?” was Abdul’s sarcastic response. “I have a better suggestion. Remember where we met in the bazaar in old town? In souks? In Straight Street? We can have coffee in the back room.”
Now it was Jake’s turn to be sarcastic. “I remember it well, Abdul. That’s where you waited to kill me. The old town is your territory. I’d suggest something more open where the risk to either of us will be limited. You don’t like the Le Meridien? How about another Five Star? How about the Sheraton?
“No.”
“All right, you name the hotel.”
This time the pause was only a few seconds. “The Metropolitan,” Abdul said. “Top floor. The Oasis barroom. Ten minutes.” Then he hung up.
Abdul named the barroom at the Metropolitan as their meeting place because two trustworthy friends worked there. The bartender and the young man who ran errands, carried cigarettes, liquors and other supplies from the storage room to the bar and seemed to constantly sweep the carpets, empty ash trays and clean the table surfaces. Jake Jacobson also knew the Metropolitan and the Oasis Bar. It was popular with Americans.
When Abdul abruptly hung up, he left Jake with no alternative. It was the Oasis or nothing. Jake hesitated and vacillated. Abdul could send a suicide bomber. Top floors of hotels were not the best places for a bomber to plant a bomb and set off an explosion. The Oasis Bar was as safe as any place in Damascus.
No place in Damascus was entirely safe. A meeting with Abdul anywhere in Damascus was dangerous. Still, a meeting with Abdul was Jake’s only opportunity to insure the death of Den Clark. In the end, Jake reluctantly decided to meet with Abdul. He went to the Oasis Bar.
Jake left his taxi, walked into the Metropolitan Hotel and took the elevator to the top floor. The Oasis was empty except for two TV newsmen at the bar and Abdul who was seated at a table where he could quickly exit through the service door. The younger of Abdul’s two friends was waiting behind that door, ready to help him make his escape.
Jake wore slacks and a shirt, showing he had no place to hide a weapon. Abdul carried a knife sharp enough to use as a razor. It rested in a sheath beneath his jacket. Jake approached him and, before sitting, handed him an envelope containing ten thousand dollars.
Abdul opened the envelope. He counted one hundred bills. Each carried the picture of Benjamin Franklin and each one looked legitimate. He slipped the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. He would listen to what the American had to say. Then he would slit his throat and, with the help of his friends, quickly leave the Metropolitan.
Jake didn’t mention the existence of Aegis. He said he expected Abdul to be skeptical about the suggestion that he work with the CIA. He made his arguments as brief and as powerful as possible. Abdul was in the business of killing people. The CIA had use for his serv
ices. The CIA would pay much better than anyone else. Abdul was curious and wanted to hear more - so he showed false signs of interest and Jake became more explicit.
Abdul was to remain in Syria until notified. Then he would disappear from the Near East scene and quietly re-appear in Mexico. When Abdul arrived in Mexico he would receive another ten thousand dollars. He would be expected to establish his residence there. From time to time he would receive an assignment from Jake.
The amount of the payment for his services would depend on the degree of difficulty involved in the assassination. Half payment would be delivered when Abdul accepted the assignment. The balance would be paid upon the successful completion of the job. The Jordanian presumed the CIA’s objective was to use him to kill fellow Moslems. He knew the language and the culture and could move about Moslem communities without attracting attention.
Abdul had fought for the Palestinian cause for many years and was an accomplished killer. The CIA could certainly use a man with his special qualifications. Abdul, however, would never kill a fellow jihadist Moslem. Nevertheless, he told Jake he would consider working as a CIA assassin. His words were lies, calculated to mislead. He had no intention of working for the “CIA dogs that did their Israeli master’s bidding.”
The Jordanian decided to defer his plan to cut the throat of the man who sat across the booth from him in the Oasis barroom. The delivery of the ten thousand dollars and the promise of liberal payment for his services saved Jake’s life. Abdul amended his plan. He agreed to wait in Damascus until Jake contacted him. Then he would go to Mexico. He would collect the additional ten thousand dollars, kill whoever delivered it, and then return to Syria.
Jake returned to Langley and assured Teddy he had secured a competent replacement for Den. He told him the Jordanian terrorist had agreed to undertake projects from the CIA. Jake recommended they give him the same code name assigned to him when, as a young man, he had been recruited by Hezbollah to kill Israelis.
Jake hoped Abdul hadn’t lied to him and would come to Mexico for the additional ten thousand dollar payment. Privately, he didn’t put much faith in Abdul’s promises. Whether or not the terrorist actually became an Aegis assassin was not important. Jake’s enthusiastic and confident assurances were made for the purpose of getting Teddy’s agreement to kill Den Clark in Guatemala.
Teddy gave his approval to all aspects of Jake’s Guatemalan project. Jake was happy. Clark would die.
That evening before he went to sleep, Teddy reviewed Jake’s Plan. He thought briefly of Den and recalled the succinct advice of 18th century buccaneers. Dead men tell no tales.
Chapter 11
It was a Sunday afternoon when Den returned from the Maine Woodcock hunt. He was refreshed. A few weeks in the autumn woods can, temporarily at least, erase the cares and troubles that beset a man during his usual urban occupations. Den unpacked and, alone in his apartment, felt relaxed and comfortable. He opened his apartment’s kitchen cabinet and removed the bottle of The Macallan. Minutes later, he was seated in an easy chair - Scotch and water in hand.
It didn’t take him long to realize he was again inside the Belt Line. The solitude he had enjoyed in Maine quickly slipped away. As he took his first sip of The Macallan, he noticed the red light blinking on his telephone. He listened to the message Teddy had left. “Den. Hope you enjoyed Maine, you lucky dog. Come, tell me about it when you get a chance.” Den knew what it meant. Translated into English, Teddy told him to get to the office as soon as possible.
Den suspected Teddy’s message also meant a special operation had been planned by Aegis. He expected he would be asked to execute it. When a new operation was in the offing, Den became impatient. He wanted to know about it ASAP. He did not enjoy watching a minute hand struggle around the face of a wall clock while he waited to be told just what he would be asked to do, but it was too late in the afternoon to travel to Langley. It would serve no purpose. Teddy wouldn’t be there. Den limited himself to a few “damnits” and resigned himself to waiting until the morning.
Den turned on the TV and clicked through the channels, looking for something - anything interesting enough to attract his attention. Some guy was fooling around with an alligator. He tried to make it look like he was in danger. His cameraman associate evidently felt safe. The man continued to film the episode, taking a number of shots of the alligator’s head and teeth without as much as a camera-shaking tremor.
By the repeated use of the clicker, Den escaped the plague of soaps and quasi-soaps that threatened him. Finally, after deciding he had no interest in buying ersatz gemstone jewelry and still less in watching automobiles speeding around a circular track, juvenile cartoons or replays of the Senate chambers during a Quorum Call, he said “damnit” again and pressed the Off button.
He swiveled his chair so he could look out the king sized window in his apartment. He was reduced to watching the air traffic at the Reagan National Airport. He was no longer at ease. He was restless and he couldn’t do anything about it. He had to wait until meeting with Teddy on the following morning. In the meantime, he glowered, sipped The Macallan and watched another airplane land at Reagan.
That night he had dreams, many of them, only short scenes and brief episodes, all immediately forgotten and not one of them told any kind of pleasant story or left him with even a momentary impulse to smile. He awoke in the morning, not rested by the evening’s sleep. He breakfasted automatically, without tasting what he ate, got into his car and drove to Langley. In only a few hours, Den had been re-adjusted from life in the woods to life in Washington D.C.
“Den. Great to see you,” was Teddy’s greeting as he got up from behind his clean and shining desk and extended his large hand. “I haven’t hunted Woodcock in years and years. I remember they were usually in such thick stuff that I had trouble raising my gun barrel.” Den knew he was in for a few minutes of chatter before Teddy explained the reason for the meeting. He had to struggle not to say “Cut the crap, Teddy. Get to the point.”
Finally, Teddy broached the subject. “There is a problem in Central America.” He thought for a moment and re-phrased it, “I guess I could describe it better by saying our friends in Guatemala have a problem. The locals can’t or don’t want to handle it themselves. They’ve asked us for assistance and we should help them out.”
Teddy continued with his explanation. “Here it is in a nutshell. A group of bad guys are starting to stir things up down there. The Guatemala security people are convinced a terrorist cell in being organized. It scares the hell out of them. They tell us it’s not a big group right now, but they are worried. They say the Iranians are behind it and the local ringleader has a history as an effective rabble-rouser.
“We’re told the guy is one of those charismatic types. You know - a kind of Fidel Castro. The Guatemalans are afraid he’ll ally himself with the local drug merchants and bandits. If he does, he’ll have money and he’ll have the protection of the local politicos. It looks like most of them are getting pay-offs from the drug people.
“If, or when, the terrorists and the drug guys get together there will be the devil to pay. In short, the Colonel in charge of the Guatemala Security Police wants us to take out the leader of the cell before he becomes something very, very serious.” Teddy stopped and waited for a reaction.
Before he learned of the Damascus whitewash and Jake Jacobson’s transfer to the Projects Branch, Den had confidence in Teddy Smith. Now the worm of doubt was beginning to chew at him. Jake worked for Teddy. Den didn’t know if Teddy was Jacobson’s protector or if he was following orders from some unseen Aegis principal.
Den felt his best course was one of caution when dealing with Teddy and, for that matter, with anyone who might be in the Aegis network. As far as Den knew, that could mean anyone in the CIA. After a moment, he asked: “That doesn’t seem to be such a difficult problem, Teddy. Why call us in? Why don’t the Guatemalans take care of the matter themselves?” He didn’t wait for an answer. His ne
xt question followed immediately. “Are you telling me the whole story?”
Teddy Smith lit a cigar and puffed a few times. He checked the lit end and was satisfied with it. He smiled when he answered. “Den, you old fox, there is a bit more to it. Somehow, I knew you’d ask.” His smile was not returned. “Neither of us was born yesterday. Both of us are painfully aware of the antagonism we have to face from the media. It’s not only a problem here in the States. It’s just as bad for our friends in Central America.
“You’ve read the reports of the so-called ‘death squad’ assassinations down there. Of course, there’s some truth in them. All local security guys in Central America are scared silly of death squad publicity. They are particularly sensitive because of the effects such reports have on some of our goddamned, panty-waist Congressmen.
“The Agency has labored long and hard to convince our Senators and Representatives of the necessity of military assistance packages for friendly Latin American governments. Death squad stories nullify our work and endanger those programs.
“The people who have confidence in you think all efforts…” Teddy paused for emphasis and then repeated … “all efforts should be expended to avoid an organized terrorist sponsored presence in this hemisphere. We had enough trouble with Castro and the USSR fomenting revolutions in Africa and supporting red rebels in Nicaragua and Salvador. They almost got away with a big airfield in Grenada. Reagan understood the danger and we nipped that one.
“We can’t afford to run the risk of an anti-US take-over in Central America. We’ve got to help our Guatemalan friends before it’s too late. At the same time, the Guatemala Aid package is being debated in Congress and it can’t be jeopardized.” Teddy leaned back in his chair and added nothing more. It was Teddy’s way of asking for questions. Den had a question.