***
Vedeno, fifty-five kilometres to the south of the Chechen capital, Grozny, located on the northern slopes of the Andi Mountains, would have been regarded as a tourist delight. However, it was not. Many battles and many deaths had left it an isolated, remote area best suited as a hideout for the Chechen Martyrs.
It was here that Yanny and Phil had followed Rehmani, on intelligence received from Uri. They had Rehmani visible in the sights of the Steiner-Optik 8 x 30 binoculars that Yanny had brought along. The route into the area, carefully watched by the soldiers of Akhmad Dudayev had been no deterrent to the formidable skills of Yanny and Phil. The crates were also clearly visible on the back of the truck that the Afghan was pointing to.
‘We’ve got Al-Rashid. He’s back in Tel Aviv with Uri,’ Steve said over the satellite phone to Phil.
‘What about the two crates he had?’ Phil asked.
‘We dumped them at sea.
‘We’ve located Rehmani and the two crates. It looks as if they are taking them somewhere.’
‘You’re both to pull back. We’re going to hand it over to the Russians.’
‘Why? We can wrap this up soon enough.’
‘There’s a complication. Habash has escaped.’
‘I thought you and Harry were looking after him.’
‘We were, but we gave him to Uri on assurances that he would not be harmed.’
‘And you trusted him?’ Phil asked.
‘We had no option. We couldn’t keep dragging him around with us. What if the authorities had checked the plane and found a man restrained inside?’
‘I suppose you’re right. I won’t tell Yanny though.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Regardless of Habash, this is the remaining material. If we get this, then it’s over.’
‘Phil, you don’t get it. Al-Rashid is not the mastermind. It was always Samir Habash. He’s been spinning us along all this time. He’s the zealot, not Al-Rashid, and certainly not Rehmani, who’s probably just trying to save his skin by making a deal with the Chechen rebels.’
‘Assuming Habash is the bad guy, what does that have to do with us? If he has no more of the virus, what can he do?’
‘Why do we assume he has no more of the virus? Who told us that?’
‘Are you saying that it maybe an incorrect assumption?’ Phil asked.
‘We’re not sure, but we can’t risk it. If he’s going to use it, it’s going to be America.’
‘So why do you need us?’ Phil asked.
‘There’s only one chink in his armour.’
‘You mean Yanny?’
‘Yes, it’s Yanny. We need her. She may be our only hope to stop him.’
‘I’ll let her know gently,’ replied Phil. ‘But yes, we need to pull out. God help the Russians if the contents of these two crates are used.’
***
With a change in the directive, Yanny and Phil back-tracked to the capital of Georgia, Tbilisi. It took them thirty-six hours travelling down a succession of tracks and roads. Steve sent the plane that Ed had supplied to pick them up. Yanny was not happy on her arrival and blamed Steve directly for giving Samir to Uri. Her conflict was all too apparent, although Steve still maintained his confidence in her professionalism, her loyalty, her sense of right and wrong. It upset him so much so that he got drunk that first night in an attempt to forget what she had said to him. It did not help. It only gave him a throbbing headache the next day, when what he needed to do was focus.
Activities had relocated to Mossad headquarters. There was no need to hold meetings in a hotel, hoping that no one was overhearing. Uri had the full support of his organisation behind him and full authority. The President of his country had been adamant, and no one was going to countermand his order. The key decision makers, Ed, Steve, and Uri still saw that a small tight team was the best approach although, behind the scenes, surveillance activities by others continued. An explicit instruction to all CIA and Mossad operatives had been given: no one was to approach or hinder any suspected terrorist or fundamentalist without referring back for further instructions.
Yanny was in a dark mood when she arrived for the early morning briefing. Phil was all right, having met up with the Israeli woman that had been keeping him occupied before his trip to Afghanistan. Harry had checked on his interests in England and Africa and Steve nursed his aching head.
‘We’re reasonably sure that Habash crossed over into Lebanon some nights back,’ Uri said. ‘We’ve got people on the other side. They’ve spread a substantial amount of money around. He is now using the name of Najib Gemayel, or at least he was twenty-four hours ago. He’s dyed his hair a lighter colour and cut it back short to the scalp. We’re not sure where he’s getting the money from, but we assume that Al-Rashid has assets in the region. He’s done a vanishing trick again and, if he keeps changing his name and his appearance, he’s going to be difficult to trace.’
‘Do we know where in America he may be headed for?’ asked Yanny. ‘Friends, relatives, cabin in the hills, that sort of thing?’
‘Nothing as yet,’ replied Uri, ‘but we’ve got Ed and Darius Charleston looking. We’ve pulled in Ismail Hafeez, the transportation guy, and both he and Al-Rashid are being persuaded to talk.’
‘He’s academically one of the most intelligent men on the planet, an IQ almost off the scale’ said Steve. ‘Habash would have had plans within plans. It’s clear that he would have foreseen every possibility, every problem, and counter-solution. Our chances of following him are limited. It seems the best idea is if we go to where he will arrive.’
‘America, are you sure?’ Phil asked.
‘What else do we have? Uri’s here with his guys following as best they can. We can be over there preparing for his arrival. It would be best to coordinate with Ed and his team, see if we can come up with anything new.’
Ed, still in America entered into the meeting over the conference line. ‘We know that Haberman would go away for a few days at a time, especially last year. Where he went is uncertain, but the best we can ascertain is that it’s somewhere remote. Darius is following up. After his team’s success with Shafik up in the Appalachian Mountains, he’s our best bet.’
‘That was a great piece of work he did there,’ said Steve. ‘I would be proud to have him on our team.’
‘Thanks for the compliment,’ Darius had dialled in. ‘Credit must also go to Michael Lincoln. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it.’
‘Still, it was excellent work. What do you have?’
‘We’d always assumed he had disappeared for a few days with some girl or other. He seems to be adept at charming the ladies, but when we looked further, we found that on some of those trips, there were no ladies and no apparent destination.’
‘So what are you intimating?’ asked Steve.
‘If he has some extra supplies of the virus, he must be storing them somewhere. He could have even been manufacturing it.’
‘How far from Atlanta would he have travelled on these trips?’ asked Steve.
‘It can’t be too far. We’ve got his car. We’re attempting to tally gas receipts with mileage and come up with some possibilities.’
‘It was a Porsche,’ Yanny said. ‘It can’t be too remote. The vehicle would never have got there.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Darius. ‘It is a Porsche. Forensics is going over it, looking for grass seeds, unusual vegetation that could only come from specific areas. There’s nothing yet, but hopefully, by the time you get here, we should have something.’
‘Is Atlanta safe enough now?’ Steve asked.
‘Yes, it’s fine. The final tally is horrendous, but there have been no infections for quite some time. The city is almost back to normal. In fact, most of the country is looking that way as well. What the final numbers are likely to be is unclear at the present moment, but it’s got to be in the tens of millions.’
‘Okay,’ replied Steve. ‘We better make sure that number, howe
ver bad it is, doesn’t increase.’
Chapter 27
Moshe Shaked and Yosef Eshkol had joined Mossad at the instigation of their families. Both had served their compulsory military service, both good and decent men. Shaked, a fervent Jew; Eshkol, more moderate.
Moshe Shaked saw Mossad as the best way of continuing in the service of his country after completing his military service. He was surprisingly tall and slim for an Israeli, but he put it down to good living, good food from his mother and a devout and pious approach to his religion. His hair was black and short, and even though he was only a shade over twenty-five years of age, it was starting to recede. It did not concern him.
Yosef Eshkol regarded his religion as a personal matter, although he was proud of his heritage and the success of his parents after they had arrived in the country thirty years previous. He was a shorter man than Shaked, barely reached his shoulders. They had been assigned by Uri to guard the special prisoner.
‘I’m undercover with the Palestinian extremists, the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades, the special prisoner said. The prison carefully concealed in a suburb of Tel Aviv was two flights down a set of stairs, carefully hidden by a metal door in the basement of a car park. The car park specially constructed to allow a prison to be built underneath, a prison where special prisoners could be brought for special treatment. It had been made clear to the two guarding that this special prisoner was not to be harmed, in fact, the complete opposite. He was to be afforded all civility unless orders were given to the contrary. Neither of the two protecting him understood the subtlety of the instruction. The prisoner’s explanation as it unfolded seemed viable.
‘I’m one of you,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ Shaked asked.
‘I’m Mossad.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘It’s a subterfuge.’
The prison was concrete and austere with no windows, the only light provided, artificial. None of those confined, prisoner and guards enjoyed the place and within a few hours of incarceration, conversation became the preferred way to pass the time.
‘Tell us your story, if it is subterfuge as you say,’ Eshkol, the shorter of the two guards said.
‘I’m a Jew, grew up in the north of the country. I served my time in the military and then joined up with Mossad. I know how you both feel. I did my fair share of mind-numbing surveillance and watching over the Palestinian scum.’
‘We cannot believe you,’ Shaked said. ‘We have been told to look after you, not let you escape. There must be a reason.’
‘And have you been told to look after me with care, afford me every comfort?’
‘That is true.’
‘Can’t you see? I’m telling you the truth. I’m undercover with the Izz ad-Din al-Qassam Brigades, the military wing of Hamas.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ The prisoner knew he was weakening the resolve of his guards. He couldn’t believe his success.
‘Not to us, it’s not,’ Eshkol responded.
‘There was a raid by the Israeli Army, I gave them the tip-off. I ensured that I was arrested, not shot as were eight of my so-called colleagues.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Think, man, think. I’m going back undercover. If I don’t serve some time here, get roughed up a bit, the Palestinians will not believe me. They’ll see through my cover in an instant.’
The story proved convincing enough for them to believe his story, although he still remained a prisoner. Four days of continued protection and barely a break in the routine, the two guards started to weaken in their diligence. They kept the prisoner supplied with food and drink, even ensured that the television had sufficient channels and that he was able to shower daily. The route to the surface and freedom was separated by two metal doors, permanently locked until one of the other guards exited. The prisoner took note to watch their movements, calculate the time of opening a door and its closing.
Uri had phoned Shaked and Eshkol on a regular basis, but apart from that, there had been no other visitors. The eighth day presented an opportunity to the prisoner. Eshkol had left for an hour, supposedly to buy some food, and Shaked was alone. It was the time that the prisoner demanded a shower which was located outside of his cell and five metres down the passage.
Feeling increasingly at ease and believing the prisoner, Shaked agreed.
As they walked down the passage, the prisoner took the opportunity to seize an iron bar as smash it over Shaked’s head. As the guard collapsed to the ground, the prisoner took the opportunity to take the key, held in a clip on Shaked’s belt and affect an escape.
***
Samir Habash was once again free and moving forward with his final plan.
With false papers, he rented a car and drove north. The border crossing was porous and easily breached. He made his way to Beirut, the capital of Lebanon.
The man he met was not pleased to see him. ‘Samir, this is Lebanon, what you ask is not easy. It is worth more than the life of my children to help you.’
‘Jamal Moawad, we have known each other for many years. Our fathers conducted business together. Your father, Fouad, was as shrewd as you. If it is money you need, then money I have. Name your price and I will pay.’
‘Of course. For the sake of the friendship of our fathers, I will help. For you, I will keep the price as low as possible.’
Moawad, an unpleasant little man with a swarthy appearance, a beaked nose, and squinting eyes, was in his late thirties. The friendship of their fathers, there was none, had nothing to do with his helping Samir. It was all to do with money and, as far as his children’s lives were concerned, there were none. He was both impotent and unmarried. Careful to maintain the appearance of a man who enjoyed female companionship, he would always be the one chatting up the women at the local bar, but never did he take one home. Chomping on a trademark cigar, he was a criminal, and Samir Habash knew his story intimately.
‘How much will it cost to get me into America? I know you are running drugs into there, and please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.’
‘I am just an honest businessman, ask anyone.’
‘I don’t care whether you are honest or otherwise.’
‘There are many arrangements to be made. I need to negotiate with a lot of people.’
‘Answer my question. Tell me how much and when?’ demanded Samir, ‘Otherwise, I will be forced to send a complete dossier of your criminal activities and your assets to the Lebanese police. A copy of it is in your email. If I am not in America within two weeks, the original will be sent automatically.’
‘My father said yours was a fool, too easy to agree on a price. It appears the son is not. You have me at a disadvantage.’ A cursory glance at his inbox confirmed that Samir Habash was a dangerous person, someone not to be trifled with.
‘You have two weeks, or else you will find some men in uniforms with guns at your door.’
‘The price is two hundred and fifty thousand American dollars in cash, up front.’
‘Agreed. You will receive half now and half on my arrival.’
‘Then I also agree,’ replied Moawad. ‘Do you need any documentation, passports?’
‘No. You just need to ensure that I get to any location on the eastern seaboard of America. That is all.’
‘Then you will leave tomorrow early. It is necessary for you to travel to Cyprus by small boat. From there, a number of planes, some commercial, some charter. Once in Mexico, or one of the Caribbean islands, your passage will be arranged to a location on the American mainland. Is this acceptable?’
‘It is acceptable. I will be ready for your call.’
***
Atlanta, the capital of Georgia in the United States still showed signs of activity and commerce even though it had seen its population reduce by at least eighty thousand. The team with no further work to deal with in the Middle East had relocated there a wee
k after the disappearance of Samir Habash. It was an office at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention where they all met.
‘The traffic’s a lot lighter. Fewer cars on the road, I suppose.’ Ed made small talk while everyone at the meeting came to order.
‘It still seems busy enough to us,’ said Steve. ‘We’ve been off the beaten track too many times in the last few weeks and Israel is positively subdued.’
‘Let’s get down to business. Steve, give us an update on what we know of Sam Haberman,’ Ed asked, glad to be occupied again.
‘We know he went to Lebanon. We now know from Uri, he phoned just before this meeting that he left there, apparently by boat, heading to an unknown location.’
‘Are we still confident he’s coming here?’ asked Ed.
‘It’s the only logical place anyone can think of.’
‘He’s not going to get the numbers he achieved before.’
‘We think he will go for maximum effect. The biggest targets, though not necessarily the largest numbers.’
‘Washington, is that possible?’ asked Ed. ‘The security around there is still immense. How would he get into there, assuming you’re right?’
‘He’s managed to get around the world with ease,’ said Steve. ‘He’s hoodwinked us into believing he was an idealist who had been led astray by a zealot Arab and a Taliban commander. Now we know that was all rubbish. He even managed to escape from Mossad. I think we would all agree that he could get anywhere he wanted, even into the Oval Office.’
‘Darius, an update on what you’ve found out,’ Ed asked.
‘His car revealed traces of some unusual plants. Not particularly rare, but more prevalent in one particular location. Trout lilies, a distinctive yellow flower, are found close to the Chattahoochee River, to the north of the city. We found a house up there leased out to a Simon Asquith.’
‘He’s used that name before,’ Harry said.
Terrorist: Three Book Boxed Set Page 33