by J E Higgins
With another sigh, the former law enforcement officer lowered her weapon. Whether he was the cause that led to the attack or whether he was the one who initiated it was now irrelevant. If a veteran operator had the means to send skilled assassins the first time, he could have easily sent them again to her less guarded safe house.
“Who’s the politician?” she relented. “And it’s two million US or use your other sources.”
The Israeli smiled. “Deal. The name is Oskar Vlak Straudner.”
Chapter 33
Straudner sat comfortably on the leather sofa in his private meeting chambers within his safeguarded Buenos Aires watch store. Directly across from him, sitting awkwardly on a similar piece of furniture was Ali Anwar al Qalmini.
The two men looked at each other in stone silence ─ as if locked in some testosterone induced battle of wills. It was anything but that. This was the meeting to finalize all the arrangements and planning. Everything had led up to this final moment. Everything thus far had laid the foundation. The two men enjoyed an unspoken recognition of the magnitude of what was about to be discussed.
The Iranian was the first to break the silence, while the politician nursed a small glass of single batch bourbon. “We have our militias ready. They will be deployed to strategic positions throughout Uruguay. It will be done slowly and methodically to avoid raising any attention. When the time is right, and you announce your takeover, they will be deployed in your support.”
“I see,” Straudner replied, uncertain.
The Iranian let his statement hang in the air until the politician seemed ready to hear more, at which point Qalmini obliged. “We can place a trained force of around 4,000 men in the country to ensure a stabilized transfer of power. They will have resources to sustain them for a period of several days. Now, sir, where are you with the government backing.”
Straudner took a sip of his bourbon before responding. “Well, it took some doing. The leaders of our security forces were not inclined to challenge the president or interfere with the civilian government. However, in light of recent events ─ attacks on the unions and the killing of the labor coalition president and his entourage, I have seen greater support among the echelons. They seem to like my idea of taking more aggressive action to combat the utter lawlessness plaguing our country and are falling in behind me.”
“So, we can expect strong support from the military and police?”
The politician smiled as he downed the last drops of his drink. “You certainly can. I have already been at a meeting where we discussed plans for the takeover. I have officers in the major military and police installations ready to move to assert command on my signal. I also have key officers ready to move in and arrest all political leaders who could pose a threat. In addition, I have trusted associates within the most financially connected of Uruguay’s elite society. In light of the attacks, they have given me their unspoken blessing which is sufficient for our purposes.
“When the time comes, I will announce the call for martial law in the halls of the Chambers. Upon that announcement, all forces standing by will mobilize and begin seizing control of the key installations. That is when your militia should move.”
“And how will you explain the militia to your conspirators?” Qalmini asked as he reached for a pitcher of water that had been provided for him.
“My fellow patriots have been informed that elements sympathetic to our cause have been organizing their own self-defense groups to combat the guerrillas. I have explained that I have reached out to the leadership of these groups for their support in establishing control.”
“And the commanders have accepted this?” The Iranian asked, surprised.
“Our military and police forces are small,” Straudner replied. “The 2,000 man force we have deployed to missions overseas makes them even smaller. We have less than 3,000 ground troops currently available. Even for a country as small as Uruguay, that would be insufficient to maintain order. The self-defense forces would help augment our forces.
“Besides, the commanders realize they’ll have enough trouble with just subduing the protests and rounding up the leftists. They would rather not be confronting an already armed group of vigilantes who are technically pursuing the same goals. Besides, as I have established myself as the only liaison, they will have to accept this significant militia force; it will secure my position as the guaranteed chief executive of this country.”
The Iranian was impressed with the politician and his operation. “Now, this leaves one other issue: the force that carried out the recent attacks against the labor organizations ─ a supposed response to the leftist insurgency. I imagine you have some acquaintance with The Soldiers of Retribution organization?”
“Possibly,” the politician raised his eyebrows. “They operate at my discretion in a way and can be stood down or called up as needed.”
Straudner wasn’t going to tell the Iranian that the whole organization was fictitious, and all the supposed members had already been ushered out of the country.
When dealing with a dubious ally, the politician had learned it was always better to have a card to play, even if the card really didn’t exist. As far as the Iranian was concerned, Straudner had a private army of his own embedded and able to be called upon.
Straudner continued. “I will also tell you that my men will retain control of the military bases. They know not to let the self-defense forces in. That includes our offices of intelligence and operational planning. I have connections inside the unions. They understand they are not to create any labor problems or protests during this operation unless I give instructions to do so. So, if you think you’re going to take over key locations of infrastructure support or government buildings and start dictating terms, I will bring this country’s economy to a halt.”
By now Qalmini was angrily tapping his fingers against the table as he listened to the politician lay out his own additional plans. The Iranian had anticipated this, though he still felt annoyed at the ideas. “Don’t forget, sir. We’ll have our own force both in town and locking down the countryside. If you think you’re going to just kick us out after all this, I would advise you to tread lightly.”
Waving his hand with a self-satisfied grin, the politician replied. “I don’t. I am fully aware that you will have a force well embedded in my country when this is over. I can only assume that that force will grow in the months following the takeover. I have no intention of reneging on our agreement. However, I will not be your puppet and will maintain my autonomy. We will have the ability to ruin each other if we attempt to betray one another. Our strength will be in our unity as a force. Neither side will have overwhelming control. You’ll have your foothold in South America. I won’t be able to get rid of you even if I wanted to. Neither will you be able to simply assume control and make me your puppet. I’ll plot my country’s direction without an overbearing Iran.”
Indeed, the politician had thought this out well, and the terms seemed reasonable enough. “All right,” Qalmini said. “So long as we get what we need, and that is in the works as we speak.” Qalmini pointed his finger warningly at Straudner. Straudner merely replied with a nod and a knowing smile on his face.
“My other concern is what is to be done about our leftist insurgency?” Straudner reached over a small table where a largely polished oak humidor sat. Opening it, he pulled out a short Montecristo and proceeded to clip the top and light it. He offered the Iranian a cigar, which Qalmini declined with a flick of his hand, remaining stoic. The politician continued, “We have to bring their campaign to a quick and successful end.”
“I agree.” For the first time, Qalmini leaned back in his seat. “Preparations are already in place to terminate their existence before the coup is executed. That way, they will not be a nuisance. We’ll have a decoy force that can be decisively eliminated by your security forces, so the credit will go to you.”
Straudner took a puff. “Good, I have to show something to the powe
r brokers and the elites to get them behind me.”
“I know,” Qalmini replied. “We planned for this.”
“Another thing we need to discuss,” Straudner said. “Something has to be done about our current president. I mean, he must be eliminated to create the necessary confusion and opening for my assured ascendance to the presidency.”
“He stays out in that little chicken farm on the outskirts of the capital with his lover.”
“Yes, and even in all this turmoil, he has refused protection. Killing him is not the problem. It’s who will do it? It can’t be one of our people. That would only make him a martyr and build a movement against me.”
This was nothing to the Iranian. “We have people affiliated with the guerrillas who can do it. The guerrillas will ultimately take the blame and give you even more credibility.”
Straudner raised his hand with the cigar in it and gave a half-hearted salute to the Iranian. His smile had mutated from a slight smirk to sinister.
Outside, unbeknownst to either man, a small vending truck sat just across the street from the watch shop. A dumpy, little man distributed food to a collection of office workers on lunch break, while his partner, a small middle-aged woman, sat off to the side pretending to tend the grill. Meanwhile, a hidden monitor showed images of the watchmaker’s store transmitted from a small camera recording everything going on at the front entrance.
Chapter 34
It was nearly dark when Elloy Mendoza walked out the front doors of his offices at Bolivar Investments & Acquisitions. His mind was on several things: his recent business dealings conducted for his cover as a businessman, communiques from Cuba ─ they were still not convinced the assault on him was somehow just an attack gone wrong by local hoodlums as he had originally reported ─ and an update on the Iranians who were getting ready to execute their operation. Wearily, he descended the polished, white marble steps of his headquarters. Flanking him on each side was an entourage of bodyguards.
Since the earlier attack, he had quit taking chances and had started employing a consignment of former and off-duty police to shadow him. It was risky, given his assortment of illicit business dealings, to have so many ears listening to him. However, he decided that the would-be killers he had previously encountered were still lurking about waiting to take their next shot, especially given the way he had exacted his retribution on the Rabbi and the young girl. It was either a good means of intimidation or an escalation of the war. The Cuban wanted no more overt violence drawing attention to him. Surrounding himself with police or former police ensured him the hoodlums would likely be deterred from any further attacks ─ at least for the time being.
In a small café, a little way down the street, Micha Cohen sat enjoying a small expresso as he watched the Cuban descend the stairs of the building and walk over to a row of polished black cars. The old katsa took a sip as he watched Mendoza slip into the back of a classic looking limousine. The small army of suited figures, who were flanking him, filed into the rest of the vehicles. Within seconds, the convoy pulled onto the main street traveling down the road passing the café where the katsa was relaxing.
Cohen sat calmly watching the vehicles go by. He continued to sip his expresso while taking up a copy of the local paper, considering what his next move was going to be. Mendoza was clearly the eyes and ears of the Iranian operation. The old spy wanted to assassinate him. Not just as a tactical measure to cripple the Iranian intelligence flow, but as retribution for killing Rabbi Kovinski. He knew vengeance was never a good thing to pursue in the world of intrigue. It was often costly in its execution and fruitless in its resolve. In his experience, revenge-driven thinking tended to be clouded and dangerous.
As much as Cohen wanted to liquidate the Cuban, his instincts wanted to kidnap him and pump him for information even more. The real problem was how to find out to what degree the Iranians knew of his existence. What had they found from their move on Kovinski and the community center? To what degree were they now aware of him, Dayan, Plūcker, and his office? They had found enough to discover Ms. Rios moving quickly to neutralize her. And why was it such an overt attack against her office when they could have discretely abducted her off the street or kept her under surveillance to see who she was meeting with? Nothing was adding up, and the old spy didn’t like it at all.
Still sitting at the table, it was all he could do to consider what options he still had at his disposal. His thoughts were soon interrupted by the presence of a figure standing directly over him. He looked up to see the tall, broad figure of a young man looking down at him. The young man was wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt that enhanced his muscular physic giving him a rather threatening persona. His facial expression was one of bitter intensity.
Solomon Cabriza Gold looked down at the older man, who was harmlessly enjoying a drink. By all accounts, he was just another person on the streets of Buenos Aires. However, though it had been only a brief encounter, the young man recognized the person sitting before him. He was the Israeli who had wandered into the community center earlier looking for the Rabbi ─ he was the Mossad man.
“I want to speak with you,” the young man said in a tone that spoke more of a command than a request.
Seeing the muscles tightening on the young man’s body, Cohen decided it was wiser to invite the young man to have a seat rather than try to shoo him away. “How may I help you?” Cohen asked with innocent politeness.
Wasting no time, the young man slipped into the extra seat across the table glaring intently at the foreigner. “I want in,” he replied in a low, growling tone.
“Whatever do you mean?” Cohen replied while maintaining the same innocent politeness.
“I know what you are, katsa. I know why you are here. And I don’t wish to have my time wasted on games. I want in!” The young man said with the same intense growl.
Waving his hand and shaking his head slightly with annoyance, Cohen tried to reject the young upstart. “I have no time for this!” he snapped. “Leave me alone! I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Elloy Mendoza,” Gold snarled. “You are interested in him. Israel is interested in him, and I am very much interested in him!”
The Israeli, again, waved his hand in an attempt to dispel the young man from further accusations. He was cut short by the young Argentinian who said quietly. “I was there the day Rabbi Kovinski received you. I also had friends outside his office when you and the Rabbi discussed threats to the Jewish people. I saw the files you and the Rabbi discussed regarding Elloy Mendoza. He is a Cuban spy who is helping someone who Israel is afraid of.”
By now Cohen realized two other tough-looking young men had come up behind him and taken seats at a nearby table. It was obvious from the nod given by the young Argentinian to them that they were all in league together.
“My friends also recognized you from that day sir,” Gold’s voice was low and harsh.
It was apparent to the old spy that any further attempt to deter the young toughs would be pointless. He also concluded that as angry as the young men obviously were, continued denial would only result in heightening their tempers and risking unwanted attention for him. Besides they already knew enough.
Chapter 35
The Contessa Selena de Alvarez sat enjoying the nighttime South American atmosphere. The sounds of nocturnal creatures, the light rustling of bushes from the gentle breeze blowing through them, and the landscape dimmed in the haunting beauty of the pale blue moonlight all mesmerized her. She had always felt at home in South America. It was unfortunate that when her business was complete, she would need to leave quickly. Part of surviving in her business was knowing how to move and when to leave before clients started to think of you as a liability. For the Contessa, that time was quickly approaching.
She heard a sound of thrashing in the bushes that was alien to the pattern she had been enjoying all evening. It was the sound of a person moving in the foliage behind her. Venzuelo Zamora was soon sta
nding next to her. His breath was hard, not from any physical exertion, but from the emotional pressure he was feeling.
“It’s a job. Don’t forget that,” the Contessa said coldly as if reading the mercenary’s thoughts. She was well aware of his current ailment. Though she had thought to offer something consoling or even share mutual regret, she could find none. Nor did she wish to divert him from his job.
“I still don’t have to like it,” Zamora replied with a twinge of bitterness in his voice.
Taking a sip from her bottle of water, the Contessa replied. “You stopped being a revolutionary before you took our money. You came to work for me because you decided to stop hiding behind the façade of being a revolutionary and admit what you really are.” Her tone, like her manner, was neither cold nor impassioned. Instead, it was passively indifferent, as if offering advice from a mentor to a novice. “And what you are is a mercenary who trained people you knew were going to end like this.”
“It’s that simple?” the mercenary retorted with indignation.
“It’s that simple,” the Contessa replied ignoring the implications of his tone. “So now, you will carry out what needs to be done. And you will let what’s about to happen, happen.”
“My men are already assembled and ready to move out tonight to the rendezvous point,” Zamora said with a grimace. “The rebels have all been collected at the camp except the Irishman’s team which is still in the city.”
“Is there any suspicion?” the Contessa asked in the same unconcerned tone.
“No,” Zamora replied. “They understand that they have all been gathered to be briefed on the next phase of our operation, receive instructions for their targets and celebrate their achievements for the revolution. As you ordered, we even distributed quantities of beer to ensure they will not be very alert.”