by J E Higgins
No one said anything for several moments. Plūcker broke the silence. “Given what we know so far, our boy seems to look like a pretty good fit.”
“Well let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dayan said hesitantly. “I don’t want to start grasping at straws.”
“Straws are all we have right now,” Cohen replied. “What do we know of this Mr. Straudner?”
Plūcker shrugged his shoulders and went to his computer typing in the name. The computer screen was covered with the politician’s articles, reports, and speeches. As the three men gathered around the computer, they began pointing out random articles.
Oskar Straudner was becoming more interesting as they read the articles. A biography and other documents were also posted: the fortune the man controlled, his international business dealings and, most importantly, his long-established government connections. Particularly interesting were his connections with the country’s security elements.
Plūcker leaned back in his chair. “All right, if we have nothing else to go on, I’d say he’s our best lead. If I were a cop and this was a crime novel...”
Dayan was leaning back against the wall. “This leaves us with a new problem. We don’t have Rabbi Kovinski to tap into anymore. And with GAI apparently out of business, we don’t have any intelligence assets.”
“Can we perhaps find Ms. Rios?” Cohen said to the young commando. “I mean her office may be gone but not her network.”
“We don’t even know if she’s alive after that attack,” Dayan responded incredulously. “If she is alive, she’s in hiding and probably not in business anymore. Or, if she is, seeing how we were most likely the cause of her current situation, she is probably not going to be inclined to want anything to do with us.”
“In the absence of any other options, Cohen shrugged, we have to try.”
“I’ll make inquiries,” Plūcker offered. “My connections in the Bogota streets are better than most state intelligence services. If she’s alive, I can most likely find her. But after that convincing her to help is going to be your problem.”
The Israelis agreed. It was their only viable option.
Chapter 31
The recent bombings in Montevideo stirred boundless anxiety in the country. Qalmini read the latest news articles online discussing the state of hysteria with a sense of accomplishment. The pressure on President Jose Mojica was becoming intense. Things were falling into place.
Tapping his fingers on his desk, he looked up to see Major Akim standing attentively on the other side. The large man had been quietly waiting for some acknowledgment from his commander.
“The temperament in Uruguay is reaching a boiling point,” Qalmini opened. “Now, the question is where are we with the mobilization of our troops?”
Akim cleared his throat before speaking. “Our recruits have responded well to the training. They are ready to be mobilized upon order.”
“Logistics and transportation?” Qalmini began. “That was being coordinated by Major Essouri. Now that he’s gone, what problems will we have?”
“None,” Akim replied. “His death was unfortunate. However, he had planned everything out and made all the necessary preparations beforehand. Our young Arab, Surriman, is doing all the groundwork to prepare for the mobilization and housing of our troops. He has arranged contacts to obtain various types of hauling trucks that will meet our people across the border in Uruguay.”
“Then in small informal convoys, they will be driven to Montevideo and drop off our people in warehouses in certain parts of the city closest in proximity to strategic areas. During the last few months, we have been slowly and discretely provisioning the locations with all the necessary materials to support the men for several days until it is time to mobilize.”
“No one is suspicious of the large numbers of hygiene supplies and bedding being moved to these locations?” Qalmini asked.
“The materials are being purchased by our import-export front companies. Everyone we deal with assumes we are going to move the merchandise across borders or overseas. So, nothing really appears out of the ordinary.”
“And our elements will be sent to the countryside?” Qalmini tapped his fingers.
The Major continued. “The forces will be somewhat smaller, so we can move them to old farmhouses. Many who inherited small family farms with no real economic future were happy to sell and didn’t ask many questions. We were able to buy them very cheaply. The support materials will be dropped off by trucks. They will have manifests to take the material to supposed mining camps.”
Qalmini nodded with approval. “We need to have our people in place so when our friend instigates his takeover we’ll be ready.” He looked down at his computer screen. “I don’t trust our friend, and I want to make sure we are in a strong position, so he’ll have to deal with us and honor our agreement whether he wants to or not.”
Professor Raphael Patrica hated grading papers. Like most academics, he found it both time consuming and tedious. After so many papers on the same general subject, it was monotonous. He often wondered, after about the fifth paper, if there were any original thoughts left. They all tended to say the same thing over and over again. In his mind, he joked to himself, could they make the cheating less obvious by using a different scammer. He knew better, yet the lack of originality was depressing nonetheless.
“Ah’hem.” His thoughts were interrupted by a manufactured cough. He looked up to see the woman he had met many months ago. He knew her only by the name ‘Reina’. The Contessa Selena de Alvarez glided forward into the professor’s office. It didn’t surprise her in the least that nothing had changed since her last visit.
With eyes widened, as if seeing some mystical deity before him, the professor rose excitedly to his feet. “My dear, it is so good to see you!” He started to come around from behind his desk, but stopped short when she raised her hand in protest.
“Please Sẽnor,” the woman he knew only as Reina said. “My feet are tired; can we please sit?”
“Oh..oh, yes, of course, we can,” the professor replied, moving back behind his desk and sinking into his familiar chair. He was somewhat puzzled by the sight of a plastic bag clutched in the woman’s hands. He had failed to notice it or the wonderful aroma coming from it earlier.
The Contessa was aware of the professor eyeing her bag. She said nothing of it as she moved to take a seat in one of the guest chairs on the other side of the desk. The look of jubilation in his eyes told her all. “I have been so pleased with your work,” the professor spoke up almost immediately. “I mean, the revolution seems to be in full swing.” His voice lowered as he grew concerned over prying ears.
“Yes, it is. I and the revolution owe you a great debt for helping us set it off,” the Contessa replied quietly. She watched the professor. His eyes were wild with the youthful excitement he remembered from his revolutionary days. “We are gaining momentum.”
“I see it. I see it all the time. Students here are constantly discussing the rebels. The newspapers are writing about our exploits,” the professor said. A slight drop of perspiration slipped off his head. He was in his element ─ the revolution, the intrigue. “Police have asked around trying to acquire information that could help identify the rebels. They asked me, and I said nothing. I acted like I was as surprised by the rebellion as anyone else.”
“You are a good fighter Sẽnor Patrica,” the Contessa replied, again in her quiet tone. “I came here to discuss plans for expanding the revolution and thus beginning further recruitment.”
“The rebellion has gained many supporters,” the professor said. “I have been cognizant of the need for potential recruits. You see, I anticipated that we would be having this meeting someday.” Like last time, the young woman was dressed in a gray T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots; attire that drew no real attention. She’d be seen as just a student meeting with her teacher.
“Well, I’m glad that you have been so diligent,” the Contessa picked up her p
lastic bag and set it on top of the desk. “I thought our meeting would look less suspicious if we were enjoying a casual meal together.”
The professor watched as she peeled down the plastic bag to reveal two plastic containers. The aroma was strong. “I hope you like Thai food,” she said as she handed one of the two containers to the professor.
Obligingly, he accepted it. “Thank you, I haven’t eaten all day,” he said as he popped open the container and began devouring the tasty collection of meats, vegetables, and noodles. He was particularly taken by the strong taste of curry and savoring each bite. “How many recruits do you need for this next wave?” the professor asked between mouthfuls.
Leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs she replied, “Keep the numbers small, maybe twenty.”
The professor gave her a bewildered look. “Only twenty. I could find you almost a hundred at this point.”
The Contessa shook her head. “No, we don’t need that many or the attention that comes with transporting that many, especially with more prying eyes than before.”
“Oh, yes, of course. You are correct,” he replied, embarrassed that he came across looking like such a novice in a world he should have been familiar with. “We must maintain security and discretion at all times.”
The Contessa nodded slowly. The professor began to feel a stiffness in both his neck and face. Thinking it was a kink, he attempted to move his head to limber up. The stiffness persisted, becoming more painful. Soon his arms and legs began to spasm. Feeling more embarrassed than concerned, he fought to get his body under control. It was to no avail. The muscles across his entire body tightened all at once. He looked across the desk at the woman who calmly sat watching him. Seeing her calm demeanor, he wondered if the pain and contractions were all in his mind.
The professor sank from his chair onto the floor where he thrashed around like a fish. Casually rising to her feet, the Contessa, in her calm and tactful manner, walked over and slowly closed the door. She returned to see the professor contorted with his back arched. His eyes were wide open, and his face was turning a dark shade of blue, as he began to succumb to asphyxiation. He attempted to call out for help, but the muscles around his larynx prevented that. A few minutes later, the professor was a corpse on the floor.
Observing his body, the Contessa felt a professional sense of satisfaction with her work. The food had been laced with the powerful neurological toxin, Strychnine. A poison derived from a plant grown in tropical environments and resembling mandarin oranges. Their blossoms, every bit as lethal, have an odor that resembles curry power. She had mixed a large number of ground blossoms in the curry rich meal before bringing it to the meeting.
Satisfied he was dead, the Contessa picked up the plastic containers and stuffed them back in her plastic bag and slipped out of the professor’s office. So late on a Friday afternoon, the campus was nearly deserted. No one would find his body until next week.
Chapter 32
Alyssa Rios shuddered at the knock on her door. Glancing at Malia, who had a look of horror on her face, she reached for her gun and held it tightly to her body. She angled the weapon in the direction of the entryway. For a moment, there was silence. Both women stayed focused on the door, thinking it might have been a person with a wrong address. Then the knocking resumed, this time harder and with the confidence of one who knew they were in the right location.
Malia’s employer clutched her firearm tightly in the tactical pose she had learned years ago at Quantico. She had used this pose many times in her law enforcement career. With no side windows to see who was at the door, the two women could only wait. The pounding continued, loud and hard. The person outside had no intention of leaving.
Finally, a woman, perhaps in her late forties emerged from an upstairs room and quickly came down the staircase. Rushing to the other women, she whispered. “Sẽnor Genti is in position across the street.”
Rios sighed with relief at the news. Sẽnor Esteban Genti was a former sniper with the Colombian army. He had seen action many times, both in the jungles fighting guerrillas and in the city, when he was a part of joint counter-narcotics operations with the US As a side business, he took money under the table to ply his trade and provide additional security for legitimate business people who were threatened by the country’s more violent criminal elements. Holding a small mobile phone, the older woman handed it to Rios.
“Esteban, are you there?” She asked nervously.
“Yes, Sẽnora,” replied the man. “I have your knocker in my sights. Stay to his left when you engage him. I’ll watch for your signal.”
Feeling a sense of assurance, Rios started toward the door. Carefully, she wrapped a hand towel around her gun. If it were an attacker, the towel would mask the gun. He wouldn’t notice the gun immediately and try to take away her only protection. This way, she still had a chance. If attacked, she could use her gun and shoot him while he was on top of her.
The banging continued, loud and hard. Rios approached the door. Behind her, Malia and the older woman followed, each having acquired some instrument to use as a weapon. Positioning herself to the left, as instructed, she prepared to open the door. The two other women had taken up defensive positions in a corner off to the other side.
With a deep breath to calm her nerves, Rios reached for the knob and, with a twist, opened it wide. With her gun, wrapped in the towel, she was prepared. With the door flung open, there in the doorway was the man she knew as Mr. Herron.
Standing her ground, the seasoned former drug enforcement agent studied the man before her. How did he find her? What was he here for? Could he have been the one who sent the attackers to her office, because she had become a loose end? These questions raced through her mind as she quickly made an assessment.
Realizing what was going on, Dayan stood still and maintained a casual manner. He was cognizant of the fact she was deliberately avoiding being lined up with his frame. It could only mean a sniper had positioned himself across the street and possibly had his sights on him. Looking down at the towel clutched tightly to the woman’s body, he figured she had a gun. In any case, he was fully aware he was the one in danger if he made the wrong move.
Watching Mr. Herron, who had extended his arms and pressed his hands against the sides of the door frame leaving his jacket open to show he had no gun within easy reach, Rios was satisfied she was not in immediate danger. Keeping her gun on him, she mouthed to Genti, “it’s OK.”
“May I come in?” The Israeli asked quietly.
Rios stepped back into the house, keeping a good distance between her and Herron. Entering slowly, the Israeli was quick to notice the two other women standing off to the side. Both women were clutching pieces of furniture they obviously intended to use as weapons if needed. They looked terrified at the thought of possibly having to do so.
“I’m shutting the door now,” Dayan said. His hands were still up and away from his body. “If that’s alright with you.”
Rios nodded. Turning slightly, the Israeli pushed the door closed quietly. He turned back to face the former head of what had been GAI. Her posture had not changed. Her weapon was still fixed on him, and her expression was one of grave suspicion.
“How did you find me?” Rios snapped.
“You’re not the only intelligence service I employ.”
“Why are you here?”
Dayan lowered his arms. “I still need your services.”
The woman glared at him. “My business is in shambles. My office is now rubble. Someone sent professional killers after me. And somehow, I think it has something to do with you. Or maybe those killers were sent by you. Are we loose ends you now need to clean up?”
“I didn’t send any killers,” the Israeli replied quietly. He was keenly aware that the other two women stood ready to pounce on him at any moment. “And if those who attacked your office were because of me, then I’m sorry. I can offer some compensation.”
Rios said nothing. She st
ood looking the man over trying to analyze the situation. Finally, she spoke. “What sort of help do you still need?” Her attention was slightly diverted by the shocked look from the other two women ─ they looked as if their boss had just lost her mind.
Dayan sighed. “I need you to spy on someone ─ a politician in Uruguay.”
“I’m on the run right now.” She was exasperated. “How do you expect me to complete such an assignment?”
“You have built a good business in a risky line of work,” the Israeli replied. “A line of work that requires flexibility and adaptability. Your networks are still in existence, and I doubt you just discarded your lists of contacts.”
“Suppose you’re right,” Rios said. “Why would I continue to work for you? Part of being flexible is also knowing when to walk away. And, everything says I should walk.”
“I agree. I would tell you that you should point to the door and tell me to leave at once. However, you’re going to need seed money, and I’m willing to pay a great deal for what I’m asking ─ one and a half million US.”
Rios glared at Mr. Herron for what seemed like forever. “You have that kind of money to just throw around?”
The Israeli chuckled. “You know I do. I have paid you hundreds of thousands so far for your services. As desperate as I am right now, and for the quality of work you have delivered, I believe it would not be unreasonable.”
“How do I know you were not the one who tried to have me and my people killed in the first place?”
“How do you know the attack on your office had anything to do with me?” Dayan replied, maintaining his calm demeanor, despite the hostility surrounding him. “My other resources allowed me to find you here in your safe house. I would have had the resources and certainly an easier time to kill you here.”