Into The Shadows

by Michael Brady

  Kenema, Sierra Leone - Nov 6, 3:45 PM

  Manjo and his group returned to the firing range. Next up was the Chinese type 54 pistol, also known as the “black star.”

  The type 54 pistol, first copied from the Soviet Tokarev TT-33 in 1951, is still in use in some Chinese military forces, specifically the People’s Liberation Army (PLA). Consumers of the effective, but sometimes unreliable pistol, are still in Mozambique, Angola, and Sudan, among others. It is still the choice of many criminal organizations found in western Africa.

  Manjo was nervous. He had difficulty controlling his breathing. The discussion with Foday was still fresh on his mind. Nevertheless, he had to focus on his target.

  After Manjo and the other trainees had received their magazines, they received instructions to load their pistols. They could begin engaging their targets when ready.

  Manjo raised his left hand and fired. The bullet hit its intended target.

  Death came quickly to the young man standing to the left of Manjo. The single shot to his head entered above his right temple and into his brain.

  “Stop firing. Stop firing. Stop firing,” yelled the old gray-bearded man.

  The two men to Manjo’s right were clearly distressed. Dazed and confused, they looked at each other hoping one would reassure the other that all was okay. They had absolutely no idea of what just transpired or why Manjo shot Julius. Nor did they have time to react.

  Manjo stood over the lifeless body. Blood was oozing from the man’s right head. Manjo thought it would be bloodier. The act of killing a man had not yet set in. He stared across the field and into the bright blue skies. Remorse and guilt consumed him, though no outward signs were evident.

  Foday began barking instructions.

  “Musa and Tejan, Manjo was ordered to kill Julius. We caught him stealing from the Mosque a few days ago. Sheikh Cissi will not tolerate such criminal behavior. He was a disgrace to our Mosque. Manjo killed him as he was instructed.”

  He turned to Manjo who still gazed into the tree line.

  “Manjo, you will be joining our brothers in Iraq and Syria soon. You are now ready.”

  Manjo rotated to Foday and looked into the man’s eyes. He shared Foday’s optimism.

  “Musa and Tejan, take Julius to the trees up ahead. Dig the ditch at least four feet into the ground. Come find me after it’s done.”

  Foday turned back to Manjo.

  “Manjo, walk with me.”

  Manjo did as he was directed.

  “How do you feel, Manjo?”

  “It was a little harder than I thought.”

  “It’s much harder to kill a man up close. It is more personal. It is intimate. Not many young men could do what you just did,” said Foday.

  “So, am I leaving soon?”

  “Yes, you and I will both be leaving,” said Foday as he put his arm around Manjo.

  Foday and Manjo soon returned to the shelters. Foday instructed Manjo to resume his studies and that someone would pick him up before the drive back to Kenema.

  About an hour after Musa and Tejan began shoveling the soft dirt from the ground, their ditch reached four feet in depth as Foday instructed. Tejan returned to the shelters and found Foday. He proudly professed the ditch was ready.

  “Very good, Tejan. Soon you will be following in Manjo’s footsteps. I’ll be there shortly.”

  A few minutes later, Foday and one of his associates arrived at the ditch. Foday inspected the hole and was pleased.

  As he stood back up at the front of the ditch, he reached behind his back, pulled out his “black star” pistol and shot both of the young men. Foday had killed before, and they died quickly. At least he was merciful.

  Sheikh Cissi ordered the killings to ensure the young trainees could never speak again, if questioned. The new recruits had not yet earned his trust and were expendable.

  “Bury them, Victor. I will drive Manjo back to the Mosque. Check in with me when you get there.”

  Manjo and Foday drove east back toward Kenema. Their unlikely journey together was already underway.

  Euro Airport Basel-Mulhouse-Freiberg, Germany – November 6, 2:15 PM

  Jurgen and his co-pilot parked the Airbus A330 aircraft into hangar seven. Paul and Markus were waiting for him. He smiled in their direction but sensed something was wrong. Paul did not appear pleased as Jurgen and Lukas exited the plane.

  “Lukas, Markus and I need to speak with Jurgen in private. There has been a delay in the transport until tomorrow. Go home and wait for instructions. Good work yesterday.”

  Lukas could feel the tension in the air and quickly left the hangar. He had only been Jurgen’s co-pilot for nine months but sensed his growing dependence on alcohol during previous operations. He wondered if Paul had made the connection as well.

  Paul motioned Jurgen to walk with him to the vehicle near the rear of the hangar.

  “Our delivery at the marina was nearly compromised last night. One of our officers in Cyprus is dead. What the hell happened?”

  Jurgen acted puzzled by Paul’s request and proceeded to give an accounting of his activities after arrival in Larnaca. Paul, a clandestine veteran, and expert at body language, knew right away Jurgen made an error in judgment.

  “After I landed I checked into my hotel and went to a club.” Jurgen felt he was in trouble and became jittery as his breathing intensified. One of Markus’ associates joined them and stood behind Jurgen.

  “Did you speak to anyone at the club about the operation?”

  “No, Paul. I have never discussed an operation with anyone. Not even my wife.”

  “Then you won’t mind taking a polygraph, Jurgen?”

  Jurgen became more uncomfortable. He was not a trained operative, only a contract pilot, who delivered cargo to destinations arranged by his employers.

  “Why the hell would I need to do that, Paul?”

  “Do I need to remind you we lost an agent? This is non-negotiable Jurgen.”

  Jurgen was surrounded by Paul, Markus and an associate. He felt cornered and trapped. There was no way to get out of this, he thought to himself. He determined honesty might be the appropriate choice.

  “Paul, I might have said something to a girl there. All I said was that some cargo was going to the marina. I drank a bit too much. That is all I said. She was just some girl looking for a good time. I would not know anything else, Paul. You know that,” said Jurgen frantically.

  “We never talk about our business, Jurgen. I thought I made that clear years ago. Never.”

  “I’m sorry Paul. I will stop drinking. I know I have a problem. It starts now. I promise.”

  “Would you remember the girl if you saw her again?”

  “I think so,” said Jurgen immediately.

  Paul’s eyes turned to Markus as he barely nodded his head to the longtime friend and trusted associate.

  Markus struck Jurgen in the back of his head with his pistol. Jurgen fell to the ground and blood swelled his head from the impact. Jurgen was now unconscious.

  Paul and his two associates placed Jurgen in the back of their tinted black sedan and began the trip to the farmlands at Brand-Erbisdorf.

  Waiting for Markus at the entrance of the barn, a middle-aged man opened its old wooden doors.

  During the trip, Paul received updates from Rick and his team in Cyprus. Several images of individuals flashed across his secure iPad. Rick’s team had spent all night and the morning looking at criminal gangs in and around Larnaca. Narrowing their search to ,known organized syndicates and their associates, rather than street gangs or petty criminals, would increase Paul’s chances of identifying the woman. Rick had concluded the individuals at the marina were professionals.

  A short time after their arrival, Jurgen awoke and was clearly startled. Tied to a chair in the center of the barn, he b
egan pleading his case to Paul, who sat directly in front of him.

  Paul proceeded to show Jurgen pictures of individuals from Larnaca. Included were known girlfriends and wives of the Spiro Kostopoulos syndicate. Jurgen looked at nearly twenty photographs and none appeared like Sonia.

  “I don’t see her, Paul.”

  “Look again, Jurgen. I have a dead CIA officer in Cyprus. The woman you spoke to is responsible.”

  “She’s not there,” he began whimpering. “I’m sorry, Paul. Please.”

  Paul sat up. Even if Jurgen identified a woman, the intelligence would be worthless since he was admittedly intoxicated at the time he met her. Rick would want to know how he obtained the intelligence. Paul was not going to send Rick and his team on a wild goose chase. Their time would be more valuable working with the Cyprus authorities and Larnaca police.

  Paul was a fiercely loyal man and gifted leader and experienced a momentary ethical crisis. Though no stranger to killing rogue contractors or foreign spies, he never took a liking to killing. To kill someone meant the individual deserved it. He was unsure if Jurgen had reached this threshold.

  Jurgen and Paul reached the termination phase of their relationship. Though most clandestine officers end relationships with their assets due to retirement, job transfers, and other routine life circumstances, rarely did termination mean death.

  The problem confronting Paul was clear. A man succumbing to alcohol and incapable of keeping secrets became a liability. Paul’s risk of exposure due to a loose tongue was too great of a risk to his operations. Jurgen had to die.

  Paul turned to Markus.

  “Do it now.”

  Without hesitation, Markus drew his firearm and fired a single shot into Jurgen’s head. Jurgen’s head jerked back and then slouched forward in the chair.

  “Take me back to the hangar, Markus.”

  Paul and Markus drove back to the airport while one of the men in the barn began the task of disposing Jurgen’s body. No one would ever find Jurgen again, including his wife.

  As Paul’s plane reached cruising altitude over Germany, he had two things on his mind. First, the problem in Larnaca would be in Rick’s hands to solve. He was confident they would identify their agent’s killers. Secondly, he needed to convince Michael his operation was not in jeopardy, at least as far as he could tell.

  Port of Iskenderun, Turkey – November 6, 2:45 PM

  Michael and Elif arrived at the designated pier and waited for Walid and Nanook. They were to arrive at 3:00 PM, per their previous update. The pair already prepped their truck for delivery.

  The long journey to and from Larnaca took its toll on the two men. Both men were experienced seafaring captains and familiar with the Mediterranean. Rotating behind the console every three to four hours, eased the burden.

  Once the Sophia came to rest, its crew, along with Michael and Elif, began to unload the cargo into their truck. Walid and Nanook had already packed the AT-4 weapons into new containers they brought with them. The transfer to the Range Rover took ten minutes. Elif chose the vehicle to remove any suspicions from Turkish security or police forces as they approached the border.

  Elif and Michael soon approached Highway 91 and moved north. The beautiful three-hour trip began with breathtaking sights of the Mediterranean to the east. Flanked to their west were the ancient Nur Mountains, also known as the Mountains of Holy Light. Nanook and Walid traveled close behind and would provide support during the extraction of Haris and subsequent delivery of the AT-4s.

  Michael and Elif passed the time by vividly sharing memories of their families, childhood, and training. A mutual trust already developed between the two professional spies and they felt at ease in each other’s presence. Of course, operational specifics outside of securing Haris and delivering the AT-4s, were off limits.

  As the two approached Nizip, Elif called Raif.

  “Raif, we are about five miles from Nizip. We will be at your location in twenty minutes.”

  “Very good, Elif, I have some food and drink for us.”

  “Is everything ready for the evening?”

  “Yes.”

  Michael found Nizip warm and inviting. The streets were crowded with residents and lined with shopkeepers and coffee houses. However, he did observe some makeshift camps to the west of the city, probably being used to house refugees fleeing the nightmare in Syria.

  The house on the northeastern edge of Nizip was small and surrounded by trees and brushes. It offered a small opening leading from the driveway that ended alongside the house. There, Walid and Nanook parked the truck carrying the AT-4s. Each man would take turns remaining in the vehicle, while the other napped. Elif led Michael to the front door where Raif stood waiting for them.

  The three sat down where Raif would brief them on the plan to deliver the AT-4s.

  “How many buyers will be there, Raif?”

  “My contact said there would be himself and two other vehicles. I assume around five or six men.”

  “Will they be carrying weapons, Raif?” asked Elif. Michael sat back and listened. This was her operation, and he was along for the ride.

  “Yes, they usually carry weapons.”

  “What kind of weapons? Small arms, rifles?”

  “Both.”

  “Are you sure your contact will be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is your contact?”

  “A colleague I work with when selling at the border. He can be trusted.”

  “Is he YPG?” asked Elif. After all, she was placing some trust in the smuggler.

  “No. But like me, he has family fighting in Syria.”

  “How long have you worked with him?”

  “About two years now. It will be fine, Elif.”

  Michael was not so sure. He knew Raif had provided her information for a year, but this would be the first time she would be on the border. Michael was not as concerned for Elif’s safety, rather the reliability and loyalty of the contact. Michael knew she was capable of defending herself.

  “Do they know you will not be alone?”

  “Yes. I told them I would have a few friends.”

  “Where is the precise location, Raif?”

  Raif moved the map closer to Elif and Michael. Raif pointed his finger to a tiny patch of land at the end of the trail that ran directly toward the Turkish and Syrian border. To the east of the dirt road, and just a couple of hundred feet further, was the mighty Euphrates River.

  “We will park as close to the trees as we can. Then we will walk to the banks of the river and wait for their arrival,” said Raif.

  “How will they get across the border? That looks like barbed wire to me.”

  “This is an older map, and only some of the wire is still there. YPG controls the area on the Syrian side. It is one of many crossing points they use to get into and out of Turkey.”

  “What about Turkish border patrols? I know they have them, and assume they patrol the area.”

  “They do, Elif, but I pay the border chief in Karkamis each time I make a delivery. They have an outpost near the border. We will simply drive by, conduct our business and return the way we came in. I am leaving now to make the payment.”

  Elif finished and was satisfied with the details Raif provided. She had a few more questions but could wait until Raif’s return. She and Michael would use the time during Raif’s absence to finalize plans for Haris’ escape.

  Elif sent a message to Tel Aviv. It included a quick update on the extraction plan for Haris and their plan to deliver the weapons. Elif included the exact grid coordinates so ‘eyes’ could track their movement and observe the area.

  Mossad, like many intelligence agencies, enjoyed the luxuries of overhead collection, particularly satellites flying in low earth orbit. Israeli drones were not available to support Elif due to t
heir location along the border. The risk of detection was too great.

  Supporting Elif and Michael would be the Tec Star spy satellite, an Israeli built synthetic aperture radar with real-time video feed, among other collection capabilities. Launched from India, the Tec Star was capable of real-time intelligence support to Israeli intelligence, military commanders, and policy makers concerned with ongoing developments in the Middle East.

  Michael was impressed and thankful that Elif was a deliberate and thoughtful planner. Elif was clearly a seasoned and decisive operative, he thought to himself. Michael still had some reservations with Raif and his contact, however, Elif trusted the man and so he went along. He had no choice.

  “I like the area south of Karanfilkoy,” said Elif.

  “It’s open and in no man’s land. There will probably be a few Islamic State snipers in the area,” said Michael.

  “True. However, my intelligence says they do not have night vision capability. Either way, it is going to be tricky for all of us. We will have Nanook and Walid in support. They will each have a sniper rifle fitted with night optics.”

  The Israeli Galil sniper rifle was a superb weapon and used by Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). It could fire twenty rounds and included a bipod for support. The stealthy characteristics of the weapon also included a flash hider and threads for silencers. Walid and Nanook would have the full complement of available items. Elif acquired the weapons after Mossad began supplying some of its agents and their contractors in the region for just such an occasion.

  “It looks like there are some old buildings on the south side of town,” said Michael.

  “Yes, Michael. Imagery shows the buildings are uninhabited.”

  “It’s practically a ghost town. That’s good and bad for us.”

  “True. But good, I think,” said Elif as she smiled at her American partner.