by J E Higgins
“In other words, the perfect location for training a combat force,” Kafka reviewed the overhead photos with greater scrutiny.
Rios pointed out additional highlights, then allowed her client time to digest her findings.
It took several minutes of silence for Dayan to review everything. Rios sat back in her seat ready to answer questions once they were posed.
Kafka Dayan raised his head as if he was coming up for air after being underwater. His facial expression showed he had questions but had not quite formulated them yet. His eyes explored the walls and ceiling as if looking for the answer from some alternate source. “What do you know about these locations?”
“Not much outside of what I have already told you,” Rios said anticipating the question. “I have few resources in that region, so I have to work slowly. When I have something of note, I will contact you.”
“By work slowly what do you mean?” the Israeli asked.
“Provided you agree that these are areas of interest, I will establish the means to collect intelligence around the described locations to see what is going on.”
“They are,” Dayan replied with enthusiasm. “However, you said around the locations.”
Lowering her eyes with a gentle air of feminine mystery and professional reserve, Rios sighed. “As we discussed before, there are limits to what I will involve myself in. I will investigate the situation and see what further information develops. However, if there is any need for internal penetration into these locations, and I deem it too dangerous for my people, it will have to be done by your people.”
Dayan could not argue with the woman’s position. She was protecting her people in a fight that was only hers because of monetary reasons. Her demand was only realistic and fair as far as a soldier would understand it. He nodded slightly in acceptance of her position. “If it proves to be what you fear, I will accept that my people should take the greater risks.”
“I thank you for understanding,” Rios replied in her quiet, dignified tone.
With business concluded, Dayan received a small USB stick which contained all the documents and information. With a last exchange of pleasantries, Kafka took his leave.
Chapter 16
Oskar Vlak Straudner was a man of ambition. Though he often tried to convince himself that his actions were always in the national interest, somehow the national interest seemed to conveniently coincide with his own interests either financially or politically. He was a member of the long-established Partido Nacional or National Party ─ Uruguay’s leading right-wing political party. From a rather inauspicious beginning, he had clawed his way up through the ranks of the Chamber of Deputies, Uruguay’s lower house of Parliament. Though he held no formal ranking within the party’s infrastructure or in the Chamber, he had managed to amass a sizable base of silent power and influence to make him a dominant force.
Straudner was a product of long-established wealth from the sugar plantations of the Caribbean his ancestors had established upon emigrating from Germany in the mid-eighteenth century. In later years, their children would build on the family fortune with a succession of wise and highly lucrative business ventures that cemented the family’s connections and political influence in other parts of the world. In the late 1950s, with the gradual rise of the communists throughout the islands and other parts of South America, the Straudner family relocated to their more established stronghold in Uruguay.
In the new country, the elder members of the family decided their mission lay in combating the communist menace seeking to destroy a world the family had spent generations building. Through the military and politics, the family ensured that Uruguay would not follow paths similar to Cuba and other countries they had once seen as allies.
A graduate of the best European boarding schools as well as Oxford and the London School of Economics, Straudner was a product of the finest education and the highest breeding. Coupled with the business experience he acquired through the family’s vast international holdings, he was easily one of the most worldly and experienced politicians in the Chamber.
Resting back in the leather seat of his limousine, Oskar Straudner occupied himself with the collection of documents loosely assembled on a small drop-down table before him. The documents were copies of the leading Uruguay newspapers as well as an assortment of reports from various government departments that fell under his committee responsibilities and a few that did not.
Rolling a Rocky Patel cigar between his fingers, he perused a letter from the French Ambassador. What had come to be almost habitual, the ambassador was citing a list of policies France took issue with. As was the custom, the Europeans felt the need to lecture the politicians of South America about the way to run a country. For Straudner and many of his colleagues, it had become apparent that Western Europe still viewed the Western Hemisphere as their colonies. Though Straudner felt the recent letter would be best used as toilet paper, he still gave it the attention the ambassador felt it deserved. The young politician understood all too well how badly the Europeans took it when the advice of older and ‘wiser’ countries was not heeded or, at least, given strong consideration. As usual, a quick read before conferring with fellow politicians about the best way to placate the ambassador was routine.
A buzz broke his attention. A small red light flashed. It was the driver’s way of letting Straudner know they were within minutes of their destination. With a sigh, the politician collected his documents and filed them in his leather satchel. Moments later the door opened, and he was greeted by a tall, muscular figure dressed in a gray suit and wearing sunglasses.
Monti, his driver, looked like a hit man from a ‘B’ movie. Still, he possessed two things Oskar Straudner valued highly ─ his loyalty and discretion. Monti had witnessed too many of the politician’s more secretive and morally questionable affairs over the years and was stalwart in maintaining his master’s privacy. This particular meeting was one of these affairs.
Monti parked the car at the private end of a paid parking area wedged between groups of high-rise buildings. He could easily explain himself to any colleagues who might see him ─ a surveillance team or security force doing routine probes or hired agents from one of his several enemies.
Monti gave a bow of respect to Straudner after checking the immediate vicinity for possible threats or observers. Partially closing the door, the driver calmly indicated to his master his awareness of a possible threat. A short distance away, it looked like a young romantic couple was heading for their car. As the couple neared the limousine, they were suddenly joined by another man who appeared to be about the same age.
Monti reached casually for his .45 caliber automatic. Straudner likewise leaned back and gently fingered the shotgun under the seat. Luckily for Straudner, most assassins were accustomed to a target being helpless after disposing of the protective detail. In this case, Monti might pose an immediate deterrent, but the aggressors would find the true battle once inside the backseat.
Without even the slightest upward glance, the young trio continued past the limo and out onto the main road. The driver waited a few more moments then opened the door. Straudner emerged from the backseat, straightened himself and with a quick nod to his driver started walking.
Moving out of the parking lot, he turned south and started down the street. He was dressed casually in his cream-colored sports jacket, tan slacks, and a white collared shirt, blending well as he strolled about the influential areas of Buenos Aires. He wasn’t a trained operative by any means, but in the years of playing backroom politics, he had acquired an instinct and taste for intrigue. He stopped every so often to look at window merchandise. The reflection from the windows gave him the ability to observe anyone behind him. He had found this tactic most useful when being tailed by dubious figures.
He had passed three different shops along his randomly chosen trail, taking a moment to catch any suspicious movement. When he was satisfied he was not being followed, he made directly for a s
mall watchmaker’s shop tucked neatly into a corner along a small side street. Entering the shop he was met by a kindly old man of near-walrus proportions who lurched out of a chair far too small for his frame and shuffled over to the young politician standing in his doorway.
“Ah, Sẽnor Straudner,” the kindly old man opened with respectful grace and charm. “It is always so good to see you.”
Placing a hand on the old man’s bicep, the young politician looked at him with the affection a child would give a grandparent. “It is always an honor to be received by you Herr Laudman.”
The old man nodded back happily. Straudner changed from an affectionate to a more serious look. “Herr Laudman, forgive me my abruptness, but have my guests arrived?”
The old watchmaker, with a more serious look, replied, “They arrived 15 minutes ago. As you instructed, I have accommodated them accordingly.”
“Good. What was your assessment of them? Did they give you any reason for concern?”
The old watchmaker shrugged. “They are not assassins and have no intention of killing or threatening you. However, all of them are definitely professionals, and you would be wise to be cautious regarding anything you say or accept.”
“You have the room monitored?”
“As always,” Laudman replied. Waving his hand, the watchmaker led the politician behind his counter through a labyrinth of small tables and workstations where employees busily worked, ending at a nondescript, weathered door in the corner. Laudman lumbered slowly down a narrow, wooden stairway. Reaching the bottom, the two men continued down what looked like an old secret passage for the underground resistance. Given Laudman’s background, Straudner often wondered if it wasn’t originally used for that purpose.
Chapter 17
Before Argentina, Ulbrict Laudman had served as a devoted servant to the People’s State of East Germany in the secret intelligence organization known as the Stasi. His career began in the mid-seventies working in the foreign office in operations focused largely on the Scandinavian countries. His penchant for languages and his aptitude for intelligence and paramilitary work led him to be transferred into the then growing special operations department. He spent the final decade of his career working overseas in Africa and South America augmenting the Soviet paramilitary and covert missions.
When the cold war ended and East Germany ceased to be, Laudman found himself confronted with two serious dilemmas: he was suddenly out of a job with an organization that no longer existed and, with all he had done throughout the eighties, he had become a target of interest. Several NATO countries wanted him to answer for his crimes.
Desperate to escape and with few options, he landed in the most unlikely of places. Eyren Straudner, Oskar’s uncle, was at one time a target for assassination by Laudman. Eyren, a most forgiving man, recognized that the former Stasi officer had only acted on orders when attempting to kill him, and an espionage expert with his vast experience could be useful in the future.
As a committed communist, Laudman would have found an executive position in a large corporation utterly distasteful, especially if it was with a powerful bourgeoisie family of deep-rooted old money. Eyren found the watch shop was far more acceptable to the old Marxist. It also helped that Straudner now had a quiet and unassuming place to conduct discrete affairs of business that were also protected by a professional spy.
Laudman had access to several additional rooms in his small shop that were ostensibly used for private showings and quiet auctioning of highly expensive antique watches to wealthy collectors ─ at least that was the official story. In reality, some of the ‘auction’ spaces were set up with anti-bugging equipment, security cameras, and hidden escape exits. The Straudner family did not use the watch shop often, but they infused Laudman’s business with funding to ensure he could afford the latest in security systems in the event they were needed.
Before entering the meeting, Straudner wanted to observe who he was about to meet. The watchmaker led him to a small two-way mirror. Pulling back the curtain the two men found themselves looking into what could have been an old English drinking parlor. Nicely arranged furniture could accommodate one big informal meeting or several smaller ones going on at once. Three people; two men who appeared to be of Middle Eastern extraction ─ military types by the watchmaker’s assessment ─ and a woman who was fair, elegant, and definitely of European old money occupied the room.
The two Middle Easterners sat adjacent to each other on separate couches while the young woman moved around the room sipping a glass of wine, admiring the various art pieces on the walls and the displays of artifacts scattered among the tables. Both men observed the trio for several minutes before they were satisfied there was no obvious threat.
Still, the politician had concerns and ordered Laudman to take the necessary precautions. Nodding obediently the watchmaker disappeared behind a corner. Straudner walked down a separate corridor leading to a solid oak door.
Taking a minute to straighten his clothes and fix his hair, he was looking quite professional when he strode through the door. His entrance was received with mild interest. The two Middle Eastern gentlemen maintained their seats on the couches, and the young woman took only a slight look at Straudner before resuming her interest in the room’s decorations.
As a veteran politician, Straudner was neither insulted nor intimidated by this behavior. Assuming this was either a tactic of people determined not to be cowed or professionals unimpressed with a small country politician, Straudner played his role accordingly. He was interested to see where this little act was going.
Moving to a table housing the libations, he picked up a small glass and a bottle of Tennessee Wild Turkey. Pouring himself a drink, his attention was broken by a feminine voice. “Thank you for taking time from your schedule to meet us, Herr Straudner.” He looked up to meet the gaze of the woman. She was an alluring beauty dressed in a dark black jacket and a knee-length skirt that was tailored to fit her figure.
“We realize you are taking a significant risk by your very presence here,” she continued. “If it were not such an exceptional chance for you and your family to benefit greatly, we would not even consider putting you at such a risk.”
“But you have, and here we are,” Straudner replied neither amused nor taken in by the young woman’s attempt at charm and flattery.
Realizing the politician was unaffected by placations to his ego, the young woman became more serious. “Let me get right to the point. I am Selena de Alvarez. I represent a concern that has growing interests in South America. Interests that greatly involve your country.” She turned her focus to the two Middle Easterners. The larger of the two gave an approving nod for her to continue.
It was apparent to Straudner that she had been chosen to conduct the negotiations, but the Middle Eastern gentlemen, particularly the larger of the two, was clearly in charge. He said nothing letting the young woman continue. “The consideration is that your country would be ideal for a larger picture strategy. Which makes it imperative we have powerful allies.”
The politician settled in a nearby leather chair continuing to nurse his drink. Selena de Alvarez continued, “For that, we would like to enlist your support in our endeavor.”
“And what support would that be?” Straudner took a sip of his drink.
“To help us change the powers in control,” she said gently, almost casually.
Straudner stopped focusing on his whiskey. He slowly placed his glass on a nearby table and was now looking squarely at the young woman’s face. At this point, his mind was a battleground between his survival instinct telling him to end the meeting at once and his ambition for advancement and power that told him to stay. The next words spoken by anyone other than him would determine which side won.
“I realize what I’m proposing is quite an unusual concept. Under normal circumstances your most logical reaction would be to bolt for the door,” she added. “However, if you understand the picture, I think you will f
ind that such a notion is not wholly unreasonable. Since you control the environment we are discussing, you really have nothing to lose by hearing us out. And why pass up an opportunity to build your family’s legacy?”
Nodding, Straudner waved his hand for her to continue. She described the general plan of creating a destabilizing wave of communist terrorism that would eliminate any challengers and produce the political environment needed to justify the emergence of a powerful leader. She explained the plan to eliminate the left-wing radicals with an equally developed right-wing opposition that would materialize to combat the threat and help pacify the country outside the use of government forces. She avoided discussing the weaknesses that could threaten the plan but was not so vague that her briefing sounded like an exotic conspiracy theory.
Colonel Qalmini watched in silence. Turning his gaze every so often to his compatriot, Major Essouri, he checked on how he thought the negotiations were going. The small major indicated a positive assessment of the Contessa’s handling of the situation.
Qalmini had fretted about his decision to bring the Contessa into this part of the operation. She was supposed to handle the left-wing aspect only. Involving her in too many fields served, in his mind, to expose them to unnecessary risk. Let not the left hand know the actions of the right was how he wanted to manage this mission. A woman who is supposed to be an operative to their phony communist menace should not be in the company or exposed to the intended icon of the opposition they were proposing to build.
It was a risky decision, but one he felt he had to make given the immense significance Straudner played in the whole operation. With such an important recruitment, he understood the necessity of having the overture made by someone who the politician could relate to. An old money Spanish aristocrat seemed a far better fit than an Iranian soldier.