by J E Higgins
“What do the other documents say?” Cohen interjected. “One is not in Portuguese.”
The Negress pulled a list of PDF files. “These, I couldn’t read,” she said as she placed the cursor at the first listed file and clicked it.
A document flashed onto the screen. The Israelis identified the writing immediately, it was in Farsi.
“You can read that sand nigger shit?” the Irishman blurted out.
“Yes,” Dayan replied, his eyes lighting up as he began to read.
“My God!” Cohen exclaimed, his eyes growing wide with surprise. “This is an outline of strategic movements for these forces.” The old katsa slowly turned to face the younger Israeli.
Dayan’s face was intense. “The opening line states a plan for mobilizing forces into Uruguay.”
Beckoning the Negress to scroll down further, the Israelis marveled as they began to read further. It was ostensibly a blueprint for taking over a country. Dayan waved his hand in the air looking bewildered. “They can’t think a bunch of mercenaries from around South America is going to simply take a country without a serious fight.”
“No,” Cohen said. “They most certainly have plans to have greased the inside for this. Like any good coup, they need chaos and people on the inside for their operation to have any chance of success.”
Reading over the first phase, they were amazed at the elaborate nature of the plan. First, setting up a left-wing guerrilla insurgency to shake the current government and cause instability to pave the way for an eventual military coup.
“They have a whole fucking training camp in Argentina for this,” Dayan exclaimed with surprise. “They hired an entire mercenary corps to manage this. Who the fuck is this Contessa?” A name that appeared in several paragraphs. “She seems to be running this made-up guerrilla force for the Iranians.”
“Well, that explains the other properties,” Cohen said with a sigh. “And luckily, that means the camp we just infiltrated is only hosting the Arab force. This other camp is just a decoy element that apparently is already operational.”
“Wait a minute,” the Negress suddenly chimed in. “There has been a lot reported about an outbreak of violence going on in Uruguay. Some left-wing terror group has been waging a violent campaign down there. If I’m hearing you right, you’re saying all this activity is fabricated by Iran?”
The Israelis nodded in an almost synchronized manner. “Yes, my dear,” Cohen replied. “Apparently, the plan is to create mass violence to justify a military response that would inevitably lead to seizing control of the government. Nothing gives greater support to a military coup from all the right power brokers than a communist menace.”
“Here’s something,” Dayan pointed his finger at the screen. “Operational contact has already been made with domestic allies. You were right, they do have people working from the inside,” Dayan continued to read. “Have reached out to elements of the far political right; they have been enlisted.”
“We need to see what else we have.” Cohen was adamant. Dayan nodded. The Negress went through a series of other documents. They turned out to be mostly training reports discussing the progress of the Arab forces and a few plan annexes. Then they came across a document that they had hoped to find. A document marked: Report on meeting with a domestic contact.
Opening it, they read what was, in fact, a record discussing a meeting to recruit a contact. The report listed no names but did state that the recruited party was political, not military, and holds a position as a member of the Uruguay House of Deputies.
“Well, not enough to give us a target,” Dayan rubbed his hand across his face with exasperation.
“No,” replied Cohen. “But it does give us a trail to follow. A right-wing politician does narrow the field greatly. Not to mention that it will be easier by just looking at who is stoking the flames to take remedial action in light of all this violence.”
“Then what?” Dayan asked, still exasperated. “I mean even if we do find out who this guy is, what are we going to do? It sounds like this whole thing is well underway. It’s not like we can simply expose this plot by leaking information to the press.”
“You’re right,” Cohen replied. “It means, we kill’em.”
Dayan’s eyes widened as he stood erect to face the katsa. “Say that to me again.” His voice was low and his gaze focused.
Cohen disregarded the operative’s glare as he continued his attention on the computer. Dayan was adamant. “Say that to me again!” His voice was deep and stern.
Cohen turned his head slightly to see the younger man’s face out of the corner of his eye. “When we find out who we’re looking for, take it as an automatic that they’ll have to be taken out ─ killed.” The katsa spoke as if the conversation were perfectly normal.
It was all the young operator could do to stand there and not stare coldly at the old katsa. The tension in the room was becoming all too apparent. Plūcker tapped the shoulder of the Negress and beckoned her to follow him. Carefully, she rose to her feet.
“This looks like a Heeb thing,” Plūcker said, as he and the Negress started for the door. “You boys can read that raghead shit yourselves. We’ve got a bar to tend to.” Plūcker and the Negress were already out the door before he was even finished speaking, leaving the Israelis on their own.
Cohen was still focused on the computer documents. Dayan was now pacing back and forth as if expecting an immediate explanation.
“Run the part about the idea of this assassination concept again,” Dayan demanded.
Realizing the subject was not going to end, Cohen turned to face the young commando. “Well, what else did you think we were going to do? Magically find evidence to blackmail them? Besides you’ve assassinated foreign nationals many times before in foreign lands. Why should this be any different?”
“I killed terrorists, soldiers, and spies. I have never had a mission to eliminate an elected official of a national government halfway around the fucking world,” Dayan said incredulously.
Cohen waved him off. “It’s Uruguay that we are talking about. You’re acting like we’re killing someone in England, Russia, or some other major power with a long reach. Last time I checked, Uruguay was not exactly a power player on the international stage.”
By now Dayan was beginning to question his own sanity. He started to pace and marveled at the old spy’s miraculous calm. “We’re still taking on a massive responsibility no matter what country. And I might remind you, all of this is being done entirely without sanction from our government. We are ostensibly mercenaries working in a rogue capacity.”
Cohen rubbed his face. He now turned to face the commando. “Kafka, I understand the gravity of the situation. If we fail anywhere in South America, we will be going away and will never see the sun again. However, I’ve been at this game for a long time. I’ve done hundreds of operations on behalf of the Jewish State that, if caught, they would have completely disavowed me. So, to hell with this government sanction crap. Now, as to your sanctimonious display about killing South American politicians, kindly remember we’re trying to stop perhaps our greatest enemy from gaining a dangerous foothold in the Western Hemisphere. They have the means to spread their influence in our best ally’s backyard if they succeed here. So, yes, I’m aware of the ramifications of what I’m asking. However, I am even more aware of the greater ramifications if the Iranians win. Which means we do what we must to see this through.”
Dayan still wasn’t happy about the idea. But, the old man had made his point. The discussion was over and the research continued.
Ali Anwar al Qalmini rubbed his brow as he puffed feverishly on the fat Meduro wrapped Cao cigar. The bad news seemed to be bombarding him non-stop. First, it was the report of the camp infiltration by this mysterious force that seemed to have raised all hell and then simply vanished. Then, there was the report of Elloy Mendoza’s campaign to avenge the attempt to assassinate him.
The seasoned covert soldier
thought the brash and very public disposal of a popular local Rabbi and young female volunteer was excessive, bringing attention that they could not afford. Now, the more recent report he had just received about the Bogota incident and some obscure private intelligence company was completely over the top.
“That fucking asshole couldn’t have quietly abducted them off the street so we could interrogate them in some remote location. No, he let his God damn Latin machoism get in the way and turned this into a Wild West shootout for the whole world to see!!!” The Iranian chewed on the butt of his cigar. His heaving emitted thick clouds of smoke that quickly permeated the room with a near suffocating smog.
Leaning back in his seat, Qalmini glanced up at the images of Major Akim, standing at the corner of the big oak desk that separated them. Nouri al’Marak Surriman stood back leaning against a near wall. Both were struggling to maintain a professional bearing despite the smoke from their boss’s cigar.
“Who do we think did it?” Qalmini asked tapping his fingers against his desk.
“Was it some reconnaissance mission by local police? Guerrillas perhaps?” Akim replied.
“Neither,” Surriman interjected. “If the authorities were so sure about us, they would have sent in a full attack force, and we would all be in handcuffs right now. They sure weren’t guerrillas given that the infiltration team Major Akim engaged with seemed to have planned their insertion into our camp rather well. They bypassed our perimeter by going through the river, our weakest point, and maneuvered past our security patrols to get into our facility area. I would also point out that whoever killed Major Essouri did so with precision. That is not something you would see from a jungle guerrilla.
“As for the assault, it was organized, professional, and well led. However, the enemy struck the camp before they were even really close enough to breach the fence. It was meant as a decoy to distract us from the infiltration team. It was too undermanned to have been any serious threat. To maneuver that skillfully with such good command control, assaulting from two points with good coordination, requires intelligence. But to maintain cover till they had breached our lines does not add up. Could this be part of a bigger mission? My guess is the full attack at the end was a decoy to allow our infiltrators a diversion to escape.”
Qalmini thought the young Arab was making sense. “Then we assume professional operators.”
Akim said nothing. He maintained a stoic gaze. Surriman replied, “Possible, but I think it’s someone else. If they were government, we would be exposed already. Even a foreign power, if they knew about us, would have shut us down at once or pressured the Brazilians to do it. We’re still in operation. But we have someone else involved who has been onto us for a while. From the look of it, they don’t really know what our intentions are yet. Hence, their need for taking such a risk in trying to obtain documents as opposed to just gathering intelligence through observation.”
Qalmini discarded his cigar and opened a window ─ his subordinates appreciated the change. He sat back in his chair as he rubbed his tongue over his teeth. “Then it’s a safe assumption we are perhaps dealing with an independent group of what, vigilantes? If so, our Cuban friend just attacked the best avenues we had for tracking them down. It appears this Rabbi in Buenos Aires and the intelligence firm in Bogota were most likely the means by which these new adversaries discovered us, or what they were able to find on us. Now, where do we go from here?”
Chapter 29
Oskar Straudner rolled the fat Monte Cristo between his lips as the news report splashed across his computer screen. The headline stories all focused on the terrible bombing at the union rally in downtown Montevideo ─ the assassination of Elonzo Mazzina, the president of the PIT-CNT, the massacre of his entire entourage and several hundred other deaths, involving nearly a thousand people.
Things could not have been better, he thought, reading the details with a sense of jubilation. Laudman had executed the operation perfectly. The overall objective was to create the appearance of a right-wing movement emerging as a response to the outbreak of left-wing terrorism, paving the way for new leadership in the labor movement.
Recent meetings of the Ministry of Interior resulted in a hardline refusal by the administration to take stiffer measures against the terrorists. Straudner had guessed this would happen. Some right-wing vigilante mayhem was required to create all-around panic. The Iranians had deferred to his better grasp of the political situation.
Straudner had begun planning months in advance ─ after his first meeting with his new foreign backers. He had sent Laudman to ply his trade, organizing all the necessary preparations. In truth, he would have carried out the operation whether the Iranians agreed or not, knowing that a response to the terrorism would be needed to get the whole country on edge. This planned response helped secure his own power base for when the coup was actually executed. However, it was still wise to let his backers believe they were holding all the control.
He reviewed the mission in his head. Laudman had recruited his operatives from intelligence and military units in Mexico and Guatemala. These organizations tended to do side work for various criminal organizations and, occasionally, other foreign powers. The van was placed at the rally, weighted down heavily with dynamite. The bombing was planned, using a high-grade Semtex. It had exploded close to the edge of the tightly packed crowd. Reviewing the day’s activities in his home office, Straudner settled back onto his cool leather couch savoring his success.
The old Stasi man had pointed out that the success of the operation lay in the skill of hiding behind simplicity. The explosive used was dynamite, conveniently stolen from local mines and construction sites. After all, to be too organized, professional, and sophisticated, would be too suspicious and defeat the intended purpose. The operatives hired for the assassination team on Mazzina had carried out their mission with brutal efficiency. Then all the participants involved had been quickly and quietly whisked out of the country on a waiting cargo ship, heading for somewhere in Central America; the same way they had been brought into the country. There was no record of entering or exiting ─ no trace for anyone to investigate.
The next part of the plan was to bring the hysteria of these attacks to a boil. That came in two forms: first, a note attached to the knife that was grotesquely plunged into the eye of Sẽnor Mazzina, which when translated into English read: Soldiers of Retribution. This alone had the media of Uruguay and, by extension, neighboring countries, in a frenzy discussing who this group was. Second, was the sudden and mysterious arrival of a manifesto that was presumably from this group to the Chamber of Deputies? In it, the group claimed responsibility for the attacks against the PIT-CNT. They called it a reprisal for the outbreak of violence by the left-wing terrorists that had gone unchecked. The attacks against the unions were for their quiet support for this radicalism. In it, they promised that if the government, led by a former Tupamaro continued to protect these terrorists, the citizens would handle the reprisal themselves.
The Manifesto had been composed almost entirely by Straudner. He had taken the step to specifically not dispatch the manifesto to the leadership of his own National Party. He felt it would look too suspicious to some and too politically partisan for others. Instead, the manifesto found its way into the hands of Hecktor Ramon, the leading figure of the more moderate and politically influential Colorado Party. Placed in such a compromising spot, Ramon had to make his discovery known. Now it was causing virtual panic amongst the lawmakers.
Straudner basked in his own self-adulation over his brilliance. He had come from a meeting earlier where he played his part of concerned politician well while inwardly relishing the fallout as his colleagues deliberated nervously over how to handle the situation. The Soldiers of Retribution group had carried out two massively devastating and very public attacks. The politicians were now beside themselves trying to explain where they had failed. Had they been too slow in forcing stronger military and police response? Or, perhap
s, should they have authorized the suspension of civil liberties to more easily curtail the movement of these radicals? Aside from interjecting a few of his own concerns to add to the fervor, Straudner was content to sit back, play his role, and watch the results of his plan unfold. He was aware that in the end, it was going to go as he had planned.
Now, back at his mansion relaxing in the comforts of his private office, he entertained himself by watching the clouds of grayish-blue smoke rise from the tip of his cigar. The clouds danced about in a hauntingly beautiful display of ghostly images before vanishing into the atmosphere. His mind was awash with visions of what the future would look like once he was in control.
Under his leadership, he intended to create a bastion of power that would make Uruguay a serious player in the Western Hemisphere. His contacts with the soon-to-be reigning hegemon in the Middle-East would prove to be a most valuable ally ─ far beyond their current support. His intention was to milk them for their connections well beyond his current borders helping him negotiate the way to the most favorable trade deals with numerous overseas nations. He even intended to exploit Iran’s relations with Pakistan, a mercenary state, when it came to selling nuclear technology. The ambitious politician would leave a legacy of greatness in his stead. This legacy would more than make up for the carnage and destruction he had thus far orchestrated.
Solomon Gold’s attempt to do something in the service of the Jewish State had not only ended in embarrassing failure but now the old man, Rabbi Abraham Kovinski, was dead as a result. This was all very sobering not just to him but to the members of the Guardians of Israel who sat around wallowing in mixed feelings of remorse, guilt, and helplessness.