The Montevideo Game

by J E Higgins

  Essouri stopped and looked up to assess the young man. Surriman’s facial expression indicated he was in agreement with what had been read. The major continued, “You excelled in your training and aptitude for raw survival intelligence, excelled in your ability to think quickly and adapt to changing environments, and have shown a remarkable talent for intelligence operations in the area of field operations.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Surriman responded not knowing what more to say.

  Essouri continued, “This brings us to now, and why you are here. Iran is about to undertake one of its biggest, most daring missions ever, and you are going to be part of it.”

  Surriman said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the small, older man waiting to hear more.

  Rising from his chair the Major began to walk around his office. “Our mission is to bring down the government in Uruguay and install one that will be friendlier to Iranian interests here in the Western Hemisphere. Where you fit into this plan will be helping establish a military force that will accomplish this goal.” Essouri waited a few moments to let the Arab absorb the information he was being given before continuing.

  “As it stands now, we will approach this operation in a series of stages. The first will be to initiate a wave of left-wing terror campaigns aimed at creating hysteria and culminating in the assumption that the current president of the country in somewhat involved. After we create an atmosphere of instability, the intent is to sweep in with a champion from the political right-wing who will swoop in with a force of patriots and assume control of the country. While we already have someone working on setting up the network and all necessary components to carry out the left-wing insurgency, you will be our man on the ground doing all the necessary preparation in establishing the right-wing force needed to ultimately take over the country. You will be responsible for setting up training facilities, recruiting forces, organizing logistical support, training them and preparing all the groundwork for execution of the mission.”

  Surriman nodded as he absorbed the information. “If I may, sir. By the way, you describe this plan, it sounds as if I will have to build everything from the ground up.”

  The Major had by now made a complete lap around the perimeter of his office before coming back to his desk and sinking into his chair. “Yes, that is your assignment. The purpose of this mission is for Iran to be as hands off as possible without any direct involvement. Otherwise, we risk giving the Americans an excuse to intervene militarily and destroy everything. For this reason, we need you to work quietly to make this all appear as domestically developed as possible. This means using your old connections in the Triangle to procure support in the form of weapons and other logistics that will have to be gotten off the black market. This is something I presume you can do?”

  “Yes.” Surriman motioned the Major to continue.

  “You will have to find a way to recruit people, move them to the training facilities, and organize them. We will need weekly reports on their progress. As they develop, we will give you more thorough details regarding the specifics on how they will be infiltrated then be utilized in seizing the country.”

  “If I may?” Surriman opened. “I can only see this plan being successful in an urban operation. Yet the way you are describing my role, it sounds as if you want me to develop this operation in remote, rural, or, jungle, environments?”

  The Major nibbled his lower lip as he processed the comments of the young operative. “We have to be discrete, so we may have to build town replicas of essential facilities in the jungle.”

  Surriman interrupted again. “The point is that I can recruit impoverished peasants and mercenaries from former guerrilla armies throughout the continent but, in the end, their experience is still going to be in the jungles and countryside. Inevitably, we will need people who have experience operating in cities and urban environments.”

  Essouri pressed his fingers to his chin as he contemplated the young Arab’s observations. “We can build urban warfare models if necessary, especially if we utilize some of the old mining camps that have been abandoned. However, you make a good point about recruits. They will need urban fighting experience.”

  Realizing the Iranian had limited experience in the realm of street warfare, Surriman took some liberty. “We can recruit from two key sources.”

  Essouri leaned back, his index and thumb still firmly molded against his chin, “Go on.”

  “Recruit instructors from two worlds: Former police from one of the more developed locations in South America such as Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro, and some of the fighters returning fresh from the conflict in Syria. The fighters can give a more combat directed touch to their training. These men can train and organize your main corps of operatives ─ your shock troopers can take control of the city, the main streets, and operate against any dissension. The other groups should be trained in a more advanced setting. These fighters should be your Special Forces urban commandos. They should be the advanced group who can take and control all key locations such as Parliament, the President’s offices, and any offices for intelligence or military general staff.”

  Essouri was impressed with the young man and his insightful wisdom developed well beyond his years. “This is all quite good. I must say your perception is brilliant. Where can we get such skill on the market here in South America?”

  “It is just a matter of finding the right broker to reach out to the right contacts. There are also several South American born fighters serving in Lebanon and Syria who have considerable experience. Have them discharged from service and sent home. This way you can bring them back with a viable reason that will not raise suspicion with the US. They will not be acting as operatives of Hezbollah or Iran but of South American. They can also be used in the actual force you’re trying to set up. They will probably prove more reliable than whatever mercenaries you manage to find if they know they are operating in the greater interest of Islam.”

  The young Arab had presented a great solution to what could have been a serious issue. Essouri said, “So this brings us to the setup.” Unrolling a large document onto the top of his desk, Essouri revealed a large scale map of an area encompassing land around the Argentinian/Brazilian border.

  At first glance, the land appeared to be in a remote jungle, mountainous environment. “Here is where you will be operating.” Essouri pointed out the locations his commander had recently purchased from the Cuban front company. “You will be in a place with very limited contact with the outside world. With some intense use of camouflage, we should be able to protect the mission from any satellite or aerial surveillance that might prove cumbersome. You will also have limited radio and cyber communications capability to limit any possible signal interception.”

  Surriman nodded as he listened, “I’m assuming we will communicate through runners and intermediaries?”

  “Correct. Remember, this entire mission depends on concealing any connection that could be made to the Iranian government. We will use intermediaries to communicate to ensure such protection.”

  “What about the left wing opposition you intend to create?” Surriman asked. “What involvement will I have in that?”

  “None. You will be a separate operation entirely. Someone else is responsible for setting up and directing their operations. You will have the necessary information to eliminate them when the time is right — only that — so there won’t be a complication.”

  “So, they’re not going to be hired guns that can be paid off?” Surriman shook his head, disappointed. “A little cold-blooded, if I may.”

  Essouri shrugged. “I wish they could simply be paid off. But either mercenaries or manipulated believers will still be a group in this country with guns and a penchant for mayhem. Besides, to legitimize our new Uruguay hero, we have to show that he has neutralized the terrorists and can protect his people.”

  Surriman understood the Iranian’s logic and the need ─ all very Machiavellian. Still, he didn’t approve
of leading people through this kind of charade.

  The two men discussed further points. Everything was being set into motion perfectly.

  Chapter 9

  Kafka Dayan was sweltering in the back seat of the cheap taxi as it idled through the narrow streets of Bogotá. He had determined weeks earlier that he was not disposed to tropical weather. If he was not so beholden to the old Mossad spy, he would have divested himself from this mission altogether on the issue of climate alone. The driver, a heavyset man of gigantic proportions, swayed awkwardly in the driver’s seat as he listened to the salsa music playing over the radio. That was bad enough, but when the driver attempted to add to the festivities by singing, Kafka was sure he had discovered a new torture method for interrogation.

  The car, and by extension the torment, finally came to a stop. Trying not to look desperate to escape, Kafka exited the car as casually as he could while still exhibiting the speed of a soldier deploying from a vehicle in combat. Outside he found himself standing in front of a small, two-story building on an obscure street corner. The only clue he was at the right location was a small wooden sign in Spanish on the front door: Guardian Angel Intelligence.

  Paying the driver, Kafka nodded goodbye and walked toward the building. As he neared it, he began to realize the building was far more than it seemed. His operational instincts alerted him at once to a well-hidden but strategically placed camera system. Small and barely visible, the cameras would be easily overlooked by someone taking the building at face value. He approached cautiously, his senses becoming even more heightened. The windows were in cheap glass frames but covered with a strong layer of blast-proof glass of near armor strength.

  It was obvious the apparently cheap structure was actually a well-protected fortress. Dayan pressed the rusted and broken appearing doorbell. He then placed his hands up against the wall. Looking up to where he was sure another camera lay hidden, he made certain they could get a good look at his face. He held the pose for several minutes, even though it felt like hours before the battered, metal door cracked open. Seconds later a young woman, looking to be in her late teens or early twenties, emerged from the darkness. She said nothing. Taking her time to look the man up and down, she then focused her gaze on his clothes.

  “I’m carrying,” Dayan spoke up realizing what the girl was trying to assess. “One in my belt behind me, the other under my armpit just under my shirt.”

  The girl seemed satisfied with his answer, nodded slightly, and opened the beaten screen door to let him in. Motioning with her head for the Israeli to follow her, she walked back inside. Obeying her, Dayan carefully followed. The lights were low leaving the inside hardly visible to someone whose vision had not adjusted. If he was going to be ambushed, now would be the ideal time. Strangely, the girl stopped and stood against the wall watching him. Minutes later his eyes began to adjust to the darkened environment, and he could make out his surroundings. The inside corridors were vastly different from the building’s exterior. He found both he and the girl to be in a thick glass holding cell constructed of the same blast-proof material he had seen on the outside windows. If someone did breach the front door, they would find themselves unable to get very far.

  “Are your eyes adjusted?” The girl asked in a quiet tone.

  Dayan was surprised. She had been waiting for his vision to adjust this whole time. “Ye... Yes, they are.”

  With a nod, the girl lowered her head toward a small electronic device. A green laser illuminated the small corner of the room for a brief few seconds before a second door of the holding area cracked open allowing passage to the rest of the building. The girl stepped through and motioned silently for the Israeli to follow.

  With his eyesight adjusted, he was able to get a better look at his silent hostess. She was a beautiful, young woman with a perfectly contoured, hourglass figure neatly fitting into a snug, gray business suit that captured every bit of her features. Her hair, a glistening raven black, was tied into a tight bun behind her head. Like the rest of the building, she was out of place with both the neighborhood and the outside cover.

  Suddenly, he was walking on nice carpet and viewing thick, concrete walls while going down a long, narrow corridor. This was a virtual death trap for any team of attackers. They would be huddled together with no cover and surrounded by concrete walls that would create a wave of ricochets for any bullets fired in these tight confines. At the end of the hall, he noticed that the corners had been smoothed out in a way that provided excellent fighting positions for anyone defending the location. This building would not be a good location to attack even for the most skilled commandos. Dayan could appreciate the security measures. This environment was more what he had expected both tactically and professionally. It was truly an impressive site.

  The young woman led the Israeli to a small door to the left. Punching in a code of numbers, she stood back as the sound of an electric lock detaching echoed. Opening the door, the two made their way up a narrow flight of stairs leading to the second floor and another thick wooden door. They found themselves entering a business-oriented setting. Expensive oriental carpeting covered the floor, and the walls were no longer gray concrete blocks but polished dark oak paneling. Lights were suspended from the ceiling in perfect alignment as they illuminated the walkways. This was a sharp contrast from the fortified defense position below.

  Motioning the Israeli to the waiting room, the girl turned and looked at Dayan. “Please wait here, sir.” Her English was smooth and well refined ─ not broken or accented. It was obvious she was a native speaker of both tongues. Dayan took a seat on one of the four leather chairs circling the polished oak table.

  The girl said nothing as she quietly disappeared. The waiting room was bare; there was no reading material or anything to make a person the least bit comfortable. It didn’t take Dayan long to realize another miniature camera was hidden in the upper corner of the room allowing someone to observe him. Apparently, the entire setup of the waiting room was a subliminal test to give the observers an idea of what to expect with either a client or potential threat.

  After several minutes, the young girl returned to get him. Leading him down the hall they arrived at a large room with a long meeting table located in the center. The girl beckoned him to take a seat in one of the chairs surrounding the large table. Dayan sat and watched as she disappeared. This time, however, he didn’t wait long before another woman dressed in a gray pantsuit entered from a door on the other side of the room. Except for a slight age difference, she was an almost perfect copy of the young girl who had been leading him through the building. Her hair was even pulled back in a similar fashion ─ a tight bun atop her head.

  “Mr. Herron?” She asked as she came to the chair directly across from him and sat down. “I trust you have been well taken care of?”

  “Indeed,” Dayan responded, “your assistant has been most accommodating.”

  “She is a professional,” the woman replied implying he was not to mention her again.

  Placing a leather writing pad on the table, she opened it up exposing a pristine white notepad and expensive black writing pens. Leaning back in her chair, the woman assessed the man sitting across the table. “I’m Alyssa Rios, the CEO of Guardian Angel Intelligence, better known as GAI. Now, what exactly is it that you require, ‘Mr. Herron?’ A name which I presume is an alias.”

  “It is,” Dayan replied as he sat back in his seat. “I have to admit this setup is not what I expected from the neighborhood or, for that matter, your combat zone on the lower floor.”

  “In my business one has to be able to account for several realities; the reality that when you provide intelligence and covert operational services, it is wise to keep a low profile and not make yourself easy to find or watch. This neighborhood is rundown but with a very deep-rooted community. This makes it hard for someone from the outside not to be noticed, and a narrow winding roadway makes mobile signal collection very difficult.

  As f
ar as the palatial corporate setup you now see, the clients who have the connections and go to the lengths you did to acquire my services are not your local street vendor or low-end racketeer. They have powerful interests with very serious concerns. They wouldn’t give business worth several millions of dollars to someone who looked like they were doing business like a detective from a cheap novel or who looked like a sweaty, head chopping mercenary. The professional environment is what people with money expect to see and with whom they expect to deal.”

  “Then I am impressed,” Dayan stated as he rubbed his chin.

  The woman remained expressionless. “As far as your interest in the lower floor, it is really just a reasonable precaution. Again, in my business, those who you work against are not always inclined to use legal methods to resolve their problems with people like me. I just like to know that more extreme responses can be mitigated. And since you were so quick to realize the tactical implications as well as notice my hidden cameras so easily, I can only deduce your own professional experience is in the tactical arts ─ possibly from police or military special operations. You are giving your cover away, Mr. Herron.”

  Waving his hand in a casual gesture the Israeli shrugged. “You wouldn’t be worth the business we are offering you if you couldn’t figure out something so rudimentary. After all, I’d have to be someone with experience in that type of world to be involved in affairs such as this.”