Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Don’t ask me to repeat that word, at least not in German.’

  ‘I’m assigned to their language centre teaching English, German, and Arabic. I don’t start for three weeks.’

  ***

  Phil spent a few days shadowing Habash. Uri had confirmed by Montgomery’s identification that Samir Habash and Sam Haberman were one and the same.

  ‘There was a two-week period when Samir Habash left Israel, and Sam Haberman arrived in America,’ Uri informed Steve and Ed Small, who was on the conference line. ‘It is clear that Samir Habash never reached his intended destination and that Sam Haberman never departed from the location he stated on his arrival in New York. The document forgeries must have been exceptional if neither of our countries picked it up.’

  ‘Exceptional?’ replied Ed. ‘He would not have been organising this on his own. He must have had substantial assistance.’

  ‘Another issue,’ continued Uri. ‘We have found that Samir Habash, on a visit at the age of fifteen to the Gaza Strip for a family wedding, lost his entire immediate family during an Israeli bombing.’

  ‘That may explain his current activities,’ said Ed. ‘It would make anyone angry and bitter against Israel and, no doubt, America.’

  ‘It doesn’t explain how, at the age of twenty-one, he was able to travel to America as an Israeli Jew,’ added Uri. ‘There must be someone who took him under his wing.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘But meeting him, what do you hope to achieve?’ Phil’s attempts to dissuade Yanny from engaging directly with Sam Haberman were proving fruitless. He saw the inherent dangers, although he wasn’t sure she had.

  ‘We know he is susceptible to an attractive woman. It’s the only way to break through his defence.’

  ‘You talk as if you were a Mata Hari.’

  ‘I will let my conscience deal with the guilt after we have stopped the release of this virus.’

  ‘How far will you go with this?’ Phil asked.

  ‘If necessary, I will seduce him.’

  ‘I don’t like this. We should run it past Steve.’

  ‘It is my decision. There is no need to run it past anyone.’

  ‘If that is your decision.’ He reluctantly agreed.

  ‘It is my decision,’ she emphasised.

  ‘I never imagined you capable of such an action.’

  ‘We do not have time for personal considerations. There is something I can do, and I must.’

  For some days, Phil maintained a watch on the movements of Samir Habash. On the seventh day, he phoned Yanny with the information she wanted. ‘He visits a bookshop virtually every day around one in the afternoon.’

  ‘Give me the details.’

  ‘He often sits at the back of the shop on a comfy sofa and reads through some of the books, often buys one or two.’

  ‘Then I will get there earlier and pick up some books on Jordanian history, or something similar. What’s the address?’ she asked.

  ‘The Good Bookshop on Halim Abu Rahmeh Street, they serve an excellent cup of coffee as well. Find Gerard Ice Creams on the corner and you’re virtually there.’

  ***

  The bookshop was quaint and old-fashioned with the smell of books and coffee pervading the interior. It was a haven from the madness of the traffic and the people outside. Two days passed before Samir Habash casually spoke to her. ‘I see you are reading about Petra. Have you been there?’ he casually asked.

  ‘I only arrived in the country in the last few days.’ She looked across from the sofa where she sat and smiled at the attractive man who had just spoken to her.

  ‘What do you intend to do here? How long are you staying?’ He was both charming and polite.

  Yanny had dressed in a long-sleeved white blouse and an ankle length skirt. The first day he had seen her, he thought it too presumptive to approach and make idle conversation. The second day, he seized the opportunity of a spare seat on the sofa next to her. She was studying a tourist book on Jordan, written by an obscure Jordanian author.

  ‘At least a year,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken a position lecturing at the German university.’

  ‘Lecturing?’ he replied, sounding surprised. ‘You don’t look old enough. I would have thought you were more likely to be a student.’

  She was instantly attracted to him. A good-looking man, he initially spoke in Arabic but quickly changed to English when he realised both were comfortable in either language, and it ensured a degree of privacy.

  ‘I’m working in the languages department. Age is not the issue, fluency is.’

  ‘Which languages are you proficient in?’

  ‘Several, but at the university, it will be Arabic, German and English. I’m hoping to study Hebrew there, as well.’

  ‘German is beyond my ability,’ he replied, ‘although I speak Hebrew fluently.’

  ‘Hebrew? I would have thought that an unusual language for a Jordanian to learn?’

  ‘I am not Jordanian. I was born in the north of Israel, a Palestinian Muslim.’

  ‘That makes you an Israeli Arab?’

  ‘That is where I was born, but I do not wish to remember my association with that country.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It is a long story and not very pleasant. I would not like to ruin our conversation by talking about such matters. Maybe another time I will tell you as to why I hate Israel.’

  They spent the next two hours sitting on the sofa, sipping coffee, with little focus on books. Yanny had to remind herself of the reason she was talking to the man.

  ‘Would you let me take you to Petra tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘Would that be acceptable in a Muslim country?’

  ‘Jordan is a tolerant country. As long as we dress appropriately and act in a polite and courteous manner, it will cause no concern for us to travel there as friends.’

  ‘Then I accept. I don’t start at the university for a few weeks. They agreed to my coming early to allow me to assimilate into the country.’

  ‘I will pick you up at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Where are you staying?’

  ‘Amman Pasha, on Al Shabsough Street,’ she replied. ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘I know it well. It is a good hotel, although a little old.’

  ‘Ask for Yanny Schmidt. I will wait for you in the foyer.’

  ‘That explains the German. I never asked as to why you were fluent in the language.’

  ‘German father, a Senegalese mother,’ she smiled. ‘It’s a long story as to how they met.’

  ‘That explains the exotic look and the beautiful colour,’ he said, looking into her eyes. ‘We have spoken for two hours, and yet there is still so much we do not know about each other. I’m Samir, Samir Habash by the way.’

  ‘Then we can talk further tomorrow on the way to Petra.’

  ‘Be prepared for the crowds, it is always busy. Make it nine o’clock. We’ll try and avoid the rush hour, and then maybe I can take you for a meal in the evening?’

  ‘That sounds fine,’ she replied.

  It concerned Yanny that even now her detached professionalism was being impacted by the feeling of intense personal attachment. She phoned Phil as soon as she reached her room in the hotel. ‘I have made contact.’

  ‘And what is he like?’ he asked.

  ‘I found him to be exceedingly attractive and charming.’

  ‘You sound as if you fancy him.’

  ‘In different circumstances.’

  ‘As long as you remember what he’s capable of. He’s already responsible for the death of four hundred people in Afghanistan, as well as an American doctor.’

  ‘You do not need to remind me,’ she replied.

  ***

  Yanny was waiting at the entrance to the hotel the next morning when Samir Habash drove up in Ismail Hafeez’s personal car, a late model Range Rover.

  ‘It’s about a three-hour drive,’ he said, making polite conversation. ‘We should be there around midd
ay, depending on the traffic.’ Yanny, as usual, dressed impeccably in blouse and trousers.

  ‘I am in no rush. Let us enjoy the day.’

  The entrance to Petra overrun with stalls selling tourist nonsense failed to dissuade from the attraction they felt for each other. It was four in the afternoon when they left the ancient city, avoiding the madness of the tourist buses as they made their chaotic and perilous journey into Amman.

  Fakhr-El Din Restaurant, close to the bookshop and acknowledged as one of the best restaurants in Amman, concluded the day. Yanny chose Shokaf Motabbal, meat cubes marinated in lemon and garlic, charcoal grilled. Samir ordered Kabab Khashkhash, minced meat with garlic, chilli, and tomato sauce, charcoal grilled. Both meals were accompanied by a fresh salad and some local bread.

  It was past eleven at night before he dropped Yanny back at the hotel, a polite kiss on the cheek and a promise to meet up again in the next few days. What is wrong with me? he thought. In the past, I would have pushed my luck and attempted a first night's seduction, and here I am acting like a saint.

  It was midnight when Phil phoned. ‘So how did it go?’

  ‘Fine, he was a gentleman.’

  ‘So he didn’t put the hard word on you?’ he couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘No, he behaved perfectly.’

  ‘Are you seeing him again?’

  ‘In a couple of days. We made no firm arrangement.’

  ‘So why so long?’

  ‘I cannot act like an infatuated teenager. I need to maintain a certain remoteness. Too keen and he’ll only see me as an easy lay. He will not fall in love with me.’

  ‘I understand, but time is against us. What’s he doing for the next few days?’

  ‘He said he was occupied. He has to go on a trip somewhere. That’s all I know.’

  ‘I better stay on his tail,’ Phil said. ‘We still need to find out where he is keeping the virus. Montgomery made it clear that he must have a laboratory somewhere.’

  ***

  Early the next morning, Habash exited Hafeez’s house. Phil had been staking out the property for days. He was severely tired of maintaining the vigil. There was no one else he could trust, yet he was not sure how much longer he could keep the focus, or how long his presence within the area would remain unnoticed.

  ‘I’m following Habash,’ he said on the phone to Steve, back in Israel.

  ‘And what is Yanny up to?’ Uri Weizman was also online.

  ‘She’s made contact with Habash.’

  ‘Who authorised her?’ Steve asked.

  ‘Nobody authorised it.’

  ‘I would not have allowed it.’ Steve concerned at such a foolish and dangerous action. ‘Doesn’t she know the risks attached?’

  ‘She knows the risks. She also knows that, if she had asked, she would have been denied permission.’

  ‘And you knew? Why didn’t you tell us?’ Steve reproached Phil.

  ‘I tried to dissuade her, but she compelled me to keep it secret.’

  ‘You’ve acted irresponsibly,’ Steve angrily replied.

  ‘Don’t get on your high horse with me,’ Phil responded in a raised voice. ‘We’re on the ground here. This guy is smart, very dangerous. As Yanny said, following him is unlikely to give the information that we want. We need someone closer to him. She decided it would be her.’

  ‘She’s risking her life. If they find out what or who she is, her life would be in danger.’

  ‘And if she does not attempt to find out the smallest detail, then we know the potential consequences. She knows what she is doing.’

  ‘How far will she go with this?’ Steve’s interest was more than professional. Phil did not know the details of Yanny and Steve’s history, although he had always suspected that there was something between them.

  ‘She will do whatever is necessary,’ said Phil. The inference of how far she would go, clear to Steve.

  ‘She is a remarkable woman,’ Uri said admiringly. He had been listening in on the conversation. ‘A woman Mossad would be proud to have as an operative.’

  ‘Where are you now?’ asked Steve.

  ‘I’m tailing Habash, Phil said.

  ‘Where is he heading?’ Steve asked.

  ‘He’s driving out of town, no idea at the present moment,’ Phil replied as he wrestled the mid-morning traffic in Amman in the beat-up Toyota he had purchased.

  ‘We need to find this laboratory. Could it be where he’s heading?’ Uri asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea, and what will this laboratory look like? Montgomery indicated it may not be easy to pick out, and what do we do if we find it?’ Phil asked.

  ‘We’ll bring in Montgomery when it is confirmed,’ said Steve. ‘Before that, we need to find out what Habash and his group are planning. We need to know when and how they are going to release the virus.’

  ‘Yanny is our best hope at the present moment.’ Phil stated the obvious.

  ‘Call us back if you have any updates,’ Uri replied.

  ***

  Two days later Samir Habash phoned Yanny. ‘I’m back in Amman. Are you free for tonight?’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Eight o’clock. Is that okay with you?’

  ‘I’ll be ready and waiting at the hotel,’ she replied.

  Samir Habash was nervous when he arrived to pick her up. The permissive nature of American women, and especially the women in England, made him uncomfortable. That last woman at Porton Down had been worse, but that was not how he saw Yanny. The first night, a few drinks and then putting the hard word on her were not going to work. She required wooing and romancing, and he did not intend to ruin their friendship by acting too hastily.

  ‘I’ve arranged to go to Zad el Khair,’ he said. ‘It’s an Iraqi restaurant. Is that fine with you?’

  ‘Anywhere is fine, even a café would have been fine.’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ he replied.

  ‘Somewhere the locals go to, and I’ll pay.’

  ‘I could never allow you to pay. It would offend my culture.’

  ‘Then tomorrow your culture will be offended. I will insist.’

  ‘Just like the women in America.’

  Yanny laughed. ‘You can tell me about your time in America. What you did there? When you went?’

  ‘I will tell you more of my life story, and why I can no longer see myself as an Israeli Arab.’

  Yanny tried the Sharwama Tashrimb, lamb chunks served with hot Tanour bread, soaked in tomato sauce and chickpeas with a rice platter. Samir chose half a chicken marinated and grilled in Tanour, the Iraqi way, served with rice and vegetable sauce.

  It was late when he dropped Yanny off at the hotel and, for the first time, they had a lingering embrace and kiss before parting for the night. She would have invited him in, but he seemed reluctant. She was torn between an increasing fondness for the articulate, polite and exceptionally intelligent Samir Habash and the ruthless, mass-murderer Sam Haberman. He had still not told her his story of how he came to be in America.

  She decided to press for further information at their next meeting. The virus could be released at any time and, so far, none of the team had any inkling as to where it was, how it was being cultivated, its method of transportation and intended release points.

  ‘Are we any closer? You seemed to be getting awfully chummy with him tonight.’ Phil was on the phone as she reached her room.

  ‘Are you spying on me?’

  ‘I’m just trying to ensure your safety. You know what and who we are dealing with here.’

  ‘I need to press for some more information about his life. It may help us to fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle. I understand time is against us.’

  Steve and Uri were in constant communication with Phil, although they purposely left Phil as the only contact with Yanny.

  ‘How is Yanny going with Habash?’ Uri asked in the daily phone conference.

  ‘There are no updates yet, although they appear to be getting
along really well,’ Phil replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Steve asked.

  ‘I’m certain Yanny is taken with him.’

  ‘You mean she’s attracted to him,’ Steve said.

  ‘But doesn’t she know what he has done, what he is capable of?’ said Uri.

  ‘She knows,’ replied Phil. ‘But an emotional attraction is blind.’

  ‘She is a professional,’ said Steve. ‘She can be trusted to detach herself from any personal issues and to act as is required. I trust her totally.’

  ‘Of course, we all trust her,’ said Phil. ‘It would be unfortunate and painful if she forms an attachment to this guy knowing full well that his fate is ultimately sealed.’

  ‘Once we have removed the threat of the virus, Mossad will deal with him.’ Uri said.

  ***

  ‘Tell me about your time in America,’ Yanny asked. Samir had taken her to an outdoor café in an alley off Al-Amir Street in Central Amman. It was cheap, cheerful and the food came on plastic plates. Falafels, mashed chickpeas fried, with oil, pita bread, hummus and raw onion, and copious amounts of tea from waiters walking around with trays.

  ‘I went there when I was twenty-one,’ he said. ‘Six years after my family was murdered in an Israeli bombing raid on Gaza.’

  ‘Tell me about your family?’

  ‘Let me tell you about America first.’

  ‘Please continue,’ she replied.

  ‘I went to study at the best university, the University of Boston in Philadelphia, where I obtained a Doctorate of Philosophy in Genetics and Genomics.’

  ‘How did you gain entry?’ asked Yanny. ‘I’d have thought it would be difficult.’

  ‘It may destroy our friendship if I tell you the truth.’

  ‘Nothing will do that.’

  ‘I falsified my entry documentation.’

  ‘How did you do that?’ Yanny personally wanted to know, professionally she needed to know.