by J E Higgins
“So let us get down to business.” Alyssa Rios slipped one of her pens from its holding sleeve and readied herself to take notes. “I was not given very much information, only that some interested parties from the Middle East required extensive intelligence and possibly operational support against another party also from the Middle-East.”
“That is a good understanding of the affair.” Dayan chose his words carefully. “We are a political consortium, operating independently of any foreign powers, interested in working against some rival interests that are looking to set up a network here in South America.”
Alyssa Rios said nothing only lowering her eyes briefly to jot down notes. Dayan continued, “Our ultimate goal is to identify their operations, all operatives they have, and where they are headquartering their networks. Basically, we need to employ an already established intelligence network to help work against our ‘competitors’ to identify, engage, and neutralize the threat.”
Rios rolled the pen between her fingers as she contemplated the Israeli’s explanation. “Who is this threat you are worried about and tell me why you can’t use your own assets already in the country?”
Dayan moved uncomfortably in his chair as he contemplated how to explain this to her. “What difference would it make? It’s no different from what you are normally up against judging by your security precautions. If we are willing to pay you several million dollars for your services, such risks should be a normal occupational hazard.”
Rios leaned back in her seat with her arms folded and stared directly at the Israeli. “Mr. Herron, let me be frank. Security precautions only work so far. The real protection in my field is having the instincts and wherewithal to know when to walk away from a job. I can easily assume what government you are in defacto working for. I wouldn’t want to risk hatred from the kind of people you are working against. I either have a good understanding of what I’m getting into, or I can happily show you the door.”
The woman held firm. Kafka Dayan realized his only option and responded. “We are combating what we believe to be a rogue element of the Iranian Pasdaran, better known as the Revolutionary Guard, who are trying to develop a network and extend their secret war to this side of the world.” He looked at the woman who, with pen pressed to her lips, seemed to be listening intently. He continued, “I represent an interest of a similar nature. I belong to a rogue element, as you can probably guess, that intends to neutralize this effort and whatever operation they intend to execute.”
“The Revolutionary Guard, huh?” Rios shook her head and muttered something in Spanish. She gave a discerning look at the man across from her. “You are asking for a very tall order. One that I could possibly turn down; that I probably should turn down...” She stopped and looked at the Israeli. She studied him carefully.
Dayan said nothing for several moments letting the woman collect her thoughts. “But you won’t, will you?” He looked at her coldly.
“No, I won’t. However, let us be clear, ‘Mr. Herron’. I will support you with intelligence. I will support you with logistics. But neither I nor any of my people will be involved in any ‘activities’ or operations you take on as part of your war. Use your own people for that.” Her eyes were focused and unassailable as she eyed Kafka. The message was received.
Nodding his head Dayan opened the side of his black sports jacket visibly enough to show her he was reaching into the side pocket. Slowly, he produced a small black memory stick which he slid across the table.
Picking it up, Rios examined it for a moment before the young assistant entered the meeting room. She retrieved the memory stick from her employer along with some instructions delivered in Spanish. The young assistant vanished out the door as quietly as she entered.
Rios returned her attention to the Israeli. “So, I can assume that tactical actions will be carried out in this little affair?”
Dayan nodded. “A lot of things will probably be carried out that the authorities, in general, will not take kindly to.”
“How extensive do you imagine this operation will be?” Rios began jotting notes.
Dayan noted her scribbling was in the form of no language he could recognize. “Are you actually writing this down?”
“I’m writing in a code I developed and perfected myself. No one else knows it,” she answered reassuringly. “I find it a far more secure means of passing information than a computer, email, or IPad that can be hacked. Where you are concerned, this code prevents viable information from being understood if my files were hacked or stolen. So please continue.”
Dayan continued. “We assume that we may be operating extensively across international borders and in large metropolitan areas.”
Rios said nothing as she jotted down the notes. Dayan continued, “The only information we have is on the memory stick I just gave you.”
“It will be reviewed and returned to you,” she replied.
“Thank you,” Dayan nodded.
“Well then, what I ascertain is that you need me to build you an information system that allows you to capture the intent of your adversary and the support to carry out neutralization measures against them,” Rios concluded.
“That is precisely what we need,” Dayan said as he started tapping his fingers on the table, which Rios found extremely annoying.
The young assistant returned moments later with a laptop computer in her hands. Placing it in front of her employer she opened the screen. Waving her hand at her assistant, the two ladies began to speak in a language far different from any familiar Spanish dialect. Turning her attention to the laptop, Rios read slowly as her assistant directed her to portions she wanted to point out. Dayan said nothing as he studied the facial expressions the ladies displayed as they reviewed whatever information was capturing their attention.
It seemed like hours, though it had only been a few minutes, when the room went awkwardly silent before Alyssa Rios looked up and stared the Israeli directly in the eye. “Ali Anwar al Qalmini!” She looked the Israeli up and down. “From what my assistant could gather in her research, we are being asked to collect information against one of Iran’s most formidable covert operators.” She paused for a moment collecting her thoughts. “This is a lot you’re asking of us. Iranian Intelligence is very well connected in South America in all the worst places. Cartels, dictator regimes, and even a large enclave of ethnic Lebanese throughout some very lawless geographic locations; they have ties to them all.”
Kafka Dayan listened but was puzzled. “Forgive me, but I thought your business was in navigating such waters and with such clients. Why would this be any different?”
Rios pursed her lips as she looked down at the table. Waving her hand, she dismissed her assistant who turned and exited the meeting room as silently as she had entered. Looking back at the Israeli, Rios folded her hands. “This is my business which is why I can tell what I would be getting into, who I would most likely be dealing with, and know the reach and capabilities they possess. Collecting information on criminal groups relegated to a certain country or city is one thing, corporate espionage and investigations are something else. Each situation has their own risks, and they can be mitigated with planning. However, you’re talking about well-connected and very dangerous networks that can easily find out who is spying on them if my people were discovered during this operation.”
Nodding his head slowly Dayan acknowledged the woman’s concerns. He could also sense she was being somewhat disingenuous. “I understand your concerns. My own experiences with such people and their extensions make me well able to understand your apprehension. Yet, I would guess you are no stranger to such threats, and I doubt this would be your first time working against them.”
Rios said nothing as she gazed back at the screen and then the Israeli. “Yes, you’re right. I have on occasion provided services for and against such powerful entities. But it was a huge risk and had to be handled delicately.”
Raising his hands Dayan beamed. “That is e
xactly what my people are looking for as well. We want this handled with a light touch and a lot of discretion.”
“No, you don’t.” Rios regained control of the conversation with a sharp interruption. “Allow me to be direct. Discretion is not what I feel when I am speaking to someone like you. Everything I see tells me you’re a commando in Special Operations and not a professional spy. That you were sent to be the contact, tells me this mission of yours is going to involve a lot of noise and quite easily cause a lot of blowbacks. My firm and those I would employ could wind up suffering, so do not presume to give me assurances that you will not be able to honor.”
Gnawing at his lip Dayan contemplated his next words carefully. “So, what guarantee would put you at ease?”
Rios sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “I’ll get you your information. I’ll track your people and get the intelligence you need. But if you get out of hand or attempt to carry out an operation that could compromise my people and not clear it with me first, I will consider our business at an end.”
Dayan nodded slightly. “Of course, under the circumstances, I find such conditions perfectly acceptable.”
“Very well,” Rios replied. “Then let our business begin. I’ll start looking for your Iranian and identify who he is employing.”
Chapter 10
The Contessa Selena de Alvarez relaxed as she enjoyed the breathtaking view of the lushly vegetated countryside from the back seat of her limousine. The upscale community located just south of Caracas, Venezuela was a rich picture of manicured ranch estates with imported Kentucky bluegrass lining the sporadically placed islands of exotic trees. The wood fencing enclosed pastures where magnificent horses, mostly imported Arabians, pranced about freely. It was all a reminder of her own family estate in Spain.
For the last several weeks, she had been moving around circles of sweaty Iranian soldiers, low-end dives, overrated universities, obnoxious left-wing militants, and unwashed jungle mercenaries. She found the thought of meeting those who shared her own higher class of breeding and culture refreshing. The limousine drove off the main road and started up the white chalky, graveled driveway leading to a very imposing ranch house. This mansion was an impressive structure standing several stories high with castle-like balconies on each floor. The design allowed the homeowner to project a commanding force. Several smaller houses were connected to the structure adding to the intimidating image.
The limousine drove slowly around the circular driveway stopping in front of the house. A man emerged from the front door and approached the back door of the vehicle. Attired in a light blue suit, he was already in sharp contrast to the surrounding setting of ranch houses and gauchos sporting blue jeans and T-shirts.
The man was well spoken and neatly polished. Opening the door of the limo he gave her a slight bow. “Contessa de’Alvarez, you honor us with your presence. The Patron is upstairs and would be very honored if you would join him for lunch.”
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she lowered her head to the man. “I will happily accept the Patron’s gracious invitation.” She moved to slide out of the car as the man extended his hand to aid her. Accepting the hand gracefully, she exited the backseat. Closing the door behind her, the man gently placed one hand on her back while guiding her to the front door with the other.
As the two walked toward the door, the Contessa made note of the subtle security features. The portico and the various corners were covered with small, unobtrusively placed video cameras. Judging by what was visible, she assumed they were high pixel-grade cameras with a variable view. They were likely wireless with a connection to a central database and power grid. This system would be very difficult to be neutralized. In addition, well-hidden, physical security features circled the house: grass mounds were revealed to be bunker fighting positions where armed men could be deployed in the event of an attack. The TV dish was actually a powerful satellite receiver capable of connecting to anywhere unobstructed by outside interference.
As she entered the house, she was impressed by the artful way the South American cowboy motif blended with classical European design. Walking along the smooth oak flooring, the two came to an elevator located in the center of the house. Entering it, the man typed in a code and floor number and the elevator promptly rose. At the third floor, the elevator door opened. The two stepped out onto another oak walkway. Again, the Contessa took note of the surroundings: an open lounge of plush chairs, couches, and a small, well-stocked mini-bar with an overhead spherical light suspended from above. They passed a set of thick wooden doors guarding the entrance to a meeting room. It was cast in a more traditional design with a long table surrounded by Victorian-era leather armchairs. The walls were lined with paintings depicting various battles from the Renaissance period.
It was obvious the Patron reserved this floor for his business while maintaining another room to accommodate clients or parties. In this case, the Patron had apparently decided that the Contessa was a client who would enjoy an outdoor setting and a good meal while discussing business. The more conservative types preferred the formal meeting room, and the wild gangster types enjoyed business over hard drinks, loud music, and the company of pretty Latinas sliding about on their laps in tight dresses.
Her escort moved past her as he quickly reached for the door leading outside. Giving him a nod of gratitude, she walked through it. Finding herself on the porch, she observed a long glass table with outdoor patio chairs arranged around it. At the far end, an aged, rather portly man was seated comfortably as he puffed on a cigar while enjoying the pleasant view.
Don Diego Francisco del’ Meduriso was an energetic figure even at sixty-five. He was well groomed with a neat crop of salt and pepper hair and a roundish face. He impressed many as a charming man of wealth, class, and good breeding, and known to be a brilliant negotiator and businessman. He had survived many changes over the years and still managed to come out even more prosperous by dealing with the American rage against drug cartels, communist rebels looking to eliminate capitalist competition in the black market, and superpowers with a political agenda that did not include him.
Turning his attention to the young lady, he smiled a sincerely gracious smile as he stubbed out the remains of his cigar. “Ah, my dear Selena, you truly honor me with your presence.” His voice was smooth and pleasant.
“My dear Patron, I am honored you would see me,” the Contessa replied as she walked over to him. Her movements were that of a confident, sophisticated woman at home in the current environment. The Patron looked at the young lady dressed in her dark business jacket and a matching skirt that hugged her frame nicely, and her long legs encased in stockings and heels that showed off her toned, curvaceous body, her sensuality, and powerful presence.
She had her golden hair tightly secured in a bun that glistened in the sunlight. Don Diego Francisco del’ Meduriso looked upon her not with any sense of lust but with a mixed feeling of respect and paternalistic pride. He had known her father years before as a well-respected officer in the Spanish Army and later as a deputy foreign minister. He could remember this young woman as an energetic teenager who enjoyed the various adventures South America had to offer a girl of her stature and position. Even then, she had an interest in the region’s politics, economy, and quietly discussed the intrigues that dominated South American society.
Now she was even more beautiful but no longer following her father to important meetings. She was a businesswoman conducting her own negotiations and making her own way in the world. For this reason, Don Meduriso was eager for this meeting. He wanted to see how well the diplomat’s daughter was handling the world of business.
Taking a seat directly across from Don Meduriso, the Contessa smiled pleasantly. “Don Meduriso, you are still the distinguished figure I remembered as a child.” She extended her ungloved hand which the old man gently took and lightly kissed.
“My dear Contessa, the honor and pleasure is all mine. But you came to see me for business, no
t pleasure.”
She crossed her legs and faced the old Don. “I have a business venture for you. One I’m sure you will find quite lucrative.”
“Go on,” the Don said, intrigued. He folded his hands.
“I’m representing a, shall we say, syndicate of a sort, that is planning to operate here rather extensively in the near future. They will require a continuing supply of armaments.”
“I see,” the Don said. “What kind of syndicate, my dear?”
The Contessa feigned a look of surprise at the old Don’s question. “Sẽnor, of all people, you should understand discretion is most important in these matters for both you and the client.”
He smiled with affection. “Your shock is endearing, and I agree to a point. But one in my sort of business survives by odds and knowledge. That includes knowing enough about customers to understand what type of trouble they bring, and what it will look like when it comes. So, while I don’t require names, blueprints, and other detailed information, I won’t even begin to discuss this deal until I know what I’m getting myself into.” Nothing changed except a hint of menace to his tone. “Who are they, what is their agenda, and how extensive is this group?”
“Very well,” the Contessa relented. “I’m working with a group of leftist revolutionaries from Uruguay. You already know the story. They have grievances with the government and believe it is controlled by oligarchs. They feel the situation warrants an armed insurrection. Politics as usual for South America.”
“In Uruguay?” The Don was taken aback. “It has a solid democratic system and is one of the more prosperous and better-run countries in this part of the world.”
Contessa gave him a look of confusion. “Throwbacks to the old Tupamaros complain about the current state when really they want to relive the old days of their youth. However, in this case, they have managed to attract enough popularity among the countryside peasants and committed college radicals to create an underground movement of some formidability.”