by J E Higgins
With his eyes accustomed to the darkness, the sudden flash of surging white light came as a blinding force. Gold nearly fell over; he was overwhelmed by the powerful light. Then a deep, growling voice caught his attention. “What the hell do you think you are doing out here!?”
It took the radical a few moments to notice a darkened silhouette lining the bright flash before him. Another few seconds, his eyes adjusted enough to make the silhouette out as a large man, dressed in a navy-blue suit.
“I… I got lost in this darkness and, suddenly, had to take a piss,” Gold replied, playing the role of a dumb college kid wondering about. “I figured nobody would see me if I shot a load back here, ya know.”
“This is a respectable business neighborhood you’re in,” the large man snapped. “And you’re just wondering about here at night?” The man sounded suspicious.
Dancing about somewhat, like a normal teenager trying to play it cool, Gold responded. “Hey man, I came from the coffee shop down the street. They have this poetry reading once a week. My girlfriend’s into all that deep sensitive emotional shit. So, I spent the last few hours listening to a bunch glorified whining crap and now, all that damn coffee is taking its toll. Ya got what I’m saying?”
“Listen here you little punk,” the man growled. “Go find a toilet somewhere like a civilized person.”
From the sound of the man’s voice, Gold concluded that he was buying the story. “Well, you mind if I use yours really quickly?” the radical pushed.
Gold’s eyes had now adjusted. The man had also come a little closer to the stranger in the ally. The combination allowed the radical to catch a glimpse of a firearm tucked under the man’s jacket. The man also appeared to be a very athletic specimen. It was easy to see that he was part of the security apparatus they had to deal with.
“Get lost you little shit!” the guard commanded.
Raising his hands, as if offering surrender, Gold began to back away. “Whatever. I don’t want any trouble.” With that, the radical slowly backed away.
When the door shut, leaving him alone, and still in the pitch dark ally, Gold turned and began fumbling his way back out the way he had come in., He was breathing hard with adrenaline curling through his body. He had been amazed that he had seemingly pulled off his deception.
Chapter 45
Ali Anwar al Qalmini ruminated as he sat at his desk. The information reported back to him by Major Akim had not been good. The major reported that Surriman’s team had found the logistics source of their mysterious adversaries. Documents had been uncovered that proved they were on the right track. The hope was they had succeeded with this latest action in neutralizing them as a threat. It had been much needed good news.
Now the more recent reports, delivered by Surriman himself, described the latest gun battle. They had killed two of their enemies. Without time to examine the bodies at the scene, Surriman found some people with contacts at the city morgue. They confirmed two bodies: one found from the hotel and another from a car matching the one the enemy had escaped in. The car was parked a few miles away. Both bodies were Colombian mercenaries. The unidentified enemies were, therefore, still at large.
Qalmini was ready to accept this update assuming that the intelligence and logistics wings of their enemies had been wiped out. Surriman, however, reminded him that they could not be sure of that. The girl they had been watching had gotten away from them. She had been the Irish gun runner’s assistant in all his business dealings. This meant she could still possibly aid them. As for intelligence, Mendoza’s ill-advised purging had failed to kill the woman who headed the Guardian Angel outfit. She too was still at large. Whether she was still working in the service of these nameless enemies was not yet known.
What Surriman had managed to obtain from the Irishman were two names: Kafka Dayan and Micha Cohen. Both names, the Arab was sure were legitimate and Israeli. With little else to work with, Qalmini took a dangerous though necessary risk. Reaching out to the Iranian intelligence service, he inquired about these names. The response came with a litany of objections regarding this gross security breach. Still, the results were exactly as he feared.
Micha Cohen was a long-standing intelligence officer with the Israeli Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations ─ better known as the Mossad. What was known of him was a record that spanned the world including probable missions in South America. He was also suspected as the mastermind behind several assassinations carried out against Hezbollah leadership.
The report on the second name elicited even greater concern from the Iranian.
Kafka Dayan had served nearly seven years in the Israeli Defense Force where he held the rank of Samal Rishon. He was a platoon level non-commissioned officer until he was discharged. His military service had been entirely with the dreaded Shayetet 13, Israeli’s most elite naval commandos, a group with a savage and fearsome reputation. Shayetet 13 had a history of successfully executing some of the most daring and complex missions in the world.
Nothing was noted in the report regarding specific missions of Dayan’s ─ suspected or known. Israel closely guarded the secrecy of their special military units. It didn’t matter. Qalmini only had to think back through the last seven years of commando missions undertaken by the Israelis. He pondered recent encounters his own people had had with their shadowy enemy to analyze what capabilities he might be up against now.
Rubbing his hands, the Iranian recalled those events, calculating the dangers these Israelis represented to his operation. Already they had succeeded in creating enough trouble for the seasoned operative to break secrecy and reach out to his formal intelligence sources. His man, Surriman, had pointed out their adversaries were now on their blind side ─ whereabouts unknown, and their next move unpredictable. On the other hand, their intelligence network had been eliminated and their logistics source most likely neutralized. And, since Israel had so far not taken action, he suspected this might be a rogue outfit and not a sanctioned government mission. The whole situation had Qalmini feeling like he was gambling. He didn’t like carrying out a mission with such a threat looming, but the situation had developed too far to be stopped.
Since all the actions by the Israeli team had seemed to only affect Qalmini and his people, he decided not to apprise Mr. Straudner of the dilemma. From the documents and other information recovered at the Irishman’s place, it was a reasonable deduction that they had not yet found out about him. Besides, nothing is more difficult or irritating than dealing with a nervous politician.
Even with all the months spent trekking across South America, Dayan was unable to get used to the humid jungle environment ─ the night air was thick and muggy. The Israeli was continually pulling clothes off. The incredibly humid atmosphere dampened his clothing causing it to stick to his body.
Oskar Perez and the other South American mercenaries moved about silently as they unpacked their gear and weapons. Everyone was now garbed in dark green camouflage military fatigues, matching floppy camo-hats, and tactical web-gear secured from a source Raizza had inside the Brazilian army.
Raizza had proven to be a true protégé of her late mentor. In a very short time, she had procured a few boxes of ParaFAL M964 A1 rifles. For a long time, they had been the standard issue weapon of Brazilian paratrooper units. Now they were being phased out for upgraded A2 models. This left several warehouses full of these weapons still in good condition, gathering dust, forgotten by lazy supply officials. To everyone’s amazement, she even obtained three FN MAG M971 medium machine guns and a claymore mine.
The rifles were pulled from canvas bags and issued to each of the men. Many clearly showed wear from years of hard use. Despite this, Dayan and his men found them to still be in well-kept condition. Klaas Vanderhook began issuing magazines full of ammunition. The men loaded the magazines into their ammo pouches spread across their web gear. For good measure, they added a couple of clips on pouches that also fit their web belts, since no one knew what to expe
ct this evening.
Based on the conversation Oskar Straudner had with the Iranian, the Israelis were able to figure out the general time the Iranian parties would start coming over the border. Alyssa Rios, as part of her deal, had continued monitoring the Iranian camp and area near the border. Her sources had reported a collection of small hauling trucks being gathered at a deserted farmhouse not far from the border. This matched the timeline overheard in a conversation with the Iranian. Then, a few days earlier, a group of men, who looked to be Arab, arrived at the farmhouse. Micha Cohen decided this had to be the moment. Dayan agreed with him.
As the mercenaries collected their equipment and checked their weapons, a young man garbed in the clothes of a local peasant waited off to the side. He said nothing. As he sat quietly watching these camouflaged figures preparing for war, he was rubbing the neck of a little Australian sheepdog. He had met these hardened soldiers only a few hours before. Alyssa Rios, his employer, had instructed him to guide these men. The peasant was disguised as a goat herder. He moved between the woodlands that encompassed the largely uncontrolled borderlands between Uruguay and Brazil. He was vigilant in keeping watch on the activities of the suspicious Arabs.
Dayan approached the young man, who looked back at him with a distrusting frown. The Israeli understood the young man’s concern. The peasant made his living operating in the shadows and working through highly secretive and protected networks of communication. Now, he was meeting a group of strange men, dressed in combat fatigues and arming themselves in the dead of night. It couldn’t have been the most comfortable of circumstances.
“I appreciate what you’re doing for us,” Dayan said in soft, apologetic manner.
“My boss told me to,” the young man replied in a quiet tone. “I guess you should know. I’m a spy, not a soldier, and I really didn’t want to do this.” He stopped himself. “I just felt you should know where I stand.”
The Israeli nodded. “I appreciate your help and realize the risk you are taking exposing yourself like this. I don’t intend for you to fight, and I will let you go as soon as I don’t need you anymore.”
The peasant sighed as he looked around. “As I told my handler, I saw the Arabs at the farmhouse move out with all the trucks in a convoy to a road that runs along the border. They stopped at a point near a collection of goat trails coming from Brazil. In the last few weeks, I have seen men from that mining camp patrolling those trails. I am sure they intend to come through that way from the Brazilian side.”
“Good,” Dayan replied. “First, I need you to lead us to the trucks. Then I need you to lead us to the openings of these trails. As soon as I know all the avenues of approach, my men and I will take it from there.”
Looking somewhat nervous, the peasant nodded. “I will stay as long as you need me.”
“Hopefully, it won’t be for too long,” the Israeli responded, trying to add some degree of comfort.
By now, the mercenaries were dressed with full kits. They gathered around one of the two trucks that had carried them out here awaiting their briefing. Dayan, followed by the peasant, walked over to them.
The sun was setting. In another hour, it would be dusk. Dayan figured the Iranians would start moving their forces as soon as it got dark. Based on the reports delivered by the young peasant, it would take about four hours for them to wade through the trails and make it to the waiting vehicles.
With everyone gathered around, Dayan began his briefing. The truck convoy contained ten to twelve hauling trucks. He expected a force of no less than a hundred. His plan was to move quickly, neutralize the drivers, and render the trucks inoperable. Then, with the help of their young guide, they would move to the entry points they expected the Arabs to use and set up an ambush.
Everyone grimaced in near unison at the idea. They had done no prior reconnaissance. They had only been introduced to their intelligence source this very evening. And, as a force of only ten, they were badly outnumbered against an armed force of a hundred guerrillas.
Acknowledging their concerns, Dayan pointed out that their advantage was surprise. The Arabs were not expecting an attack and would not be capable of reacting, because they were hemmed in by narrow goat trails. There would be timed explosions and laying down heavy firepower early in the fight. That would be enough to confuse the enemy and send them retreating. If not, the combination of downed trucks and whatever casualties they could inflict would at least severely slow the Iranian operation down.
Chapter 46
No one liked the idea. As seasoned military professionals, they all agreed they were flying blind, counting on a lot of assumptions. Everyone wished they would have had more time in the field to do their evaluations and preparations. They emphatically expressed their irritation that they didn’t have a larger force for this operation.
“I don’t intend this to be a suicide mission,” Dayan stated in the best commanding presence he could muster. “Give them hell early on. If they drive through and press a counter-attack, we withdraw immediately. We’ll have done the best we could. And, I’ll pay an additional eight grand U.S. to everyone on top of what you’re already being paid for the additional risk I’m asking you to take.”
His answer satisfied his men enough to press on with the operation. Throwing off their field hats, the men quickly rolled black balaclavas over their faces. This was preferable to dealing with cumbersome camouflage face paint. The peasant couldn’t help but notice they were all wearing soft sneakers as opposed to the more typical combat boots.
“Sneakers and bare feet move more silently in the bush,” Dayan said, noticing the young man’s baffling look.
The mercenaries set off after making one last check of their weapons. The peasant took the moment to request a chance to tie his dog up and relieve himself before they departed. The Israeli gave a nod of approval. Racing down a small slope, the peasant came to the tree line. Placing the dog on the ground, he pretended to undo his trousers.
“Are you all right,” a soft feminine voice whispered nervously from inside the bushes.
“I’m fine, Eva,” he quickly whispered back. “But I fear these men will not be able to stand against these invaders tonight.”
“What are you saying,” Eva asked nervously.
“Take the dog,” the peasant replied shooing the dog into the bushes. “I need you to go to the village and tell them what is happening. Tell them they need to come here quickly.”
“Me!?” Eva yelped before stopping herself as she realized she was being too loud.
“You have seen what I have seen,” the peasant replied in a desperate voice. “You know the paths those foreign men were using. The ones we showed the patron. You know the base area where I said they would have to come out. Go and warn him now. Eva, I’m counting on you!”
Hearing the girl grab the little dog, the peasant started to back away.
“I won’t let you down my brother,” Eva replied.
He heard her carefully back into the bushes as he started up the hill. The mercenaries were completely occupied with their final preparations. The peasant assumed he and Eva were safe. He went to find the Israeli, who was making a few last-minute checks of men and equipment.
“Everything alright?” The peasant asked, coming up to the foreigner.
Dayan was fumbling with a pair of night vision goggles. “Well, they work, but I am afraid I am not familiar with them.”
The peasant didn’t reply. The Israeli turned to face him. “We step off in five minutes. We’ll need your help in taking out the drivers. Are you going to be good with that?”
“I have to be,” the peasant replied calmly. “I’ll be the only visible one there. If they see me, my life will be in danger,” Dayan nodded and returned to fixing his gear.
It was still a little light out when the team, led by the goat herder, stepped off. Having walked the land so many times at all times of day and night, the peasant was well versed in his direction. Not more than ten minutes lat
er, he led the mercenaries to a small ridge and cluster of trees. Carefully, they crawled up to just below the ridge break and hunkered down in a prone position.
They saw the convoy just below them. It was parked along a wide dirt road. Producing an ACOG scoping mechanism, Dayan peered down at the convoy. The trucks were parked ten meters apart. Everything was set up for the vehicles to be immediately ready to pick up and move.
The drivers didn’t appear to be professional soldiers. They were clustered loosely around the lead truck, enjoying cigarettes, sharing light conversation. The Israeli scanned the vicinity carefully looking closely for the presence of a patrol that might be keeping an eye on the surrounding landscape and the vehicles. After a few minutes of observation, he determined there was no patrol. The drivers clearly were unconcerned with any possible threats.
Dayan observed the AK-74 rifles collected in a corner away from the road. The drivers may not have been professional soldiers, but they were cognizant enough to stay close to their weapons and keep them out of sight on the off chance of a passerby. He concluded that these drivers were probably seasoned smugglers well connected to the black market. Dayan took that to mean that while they didn’t look it, they were at least staying somewhat alert to any possible trouble. It would not be an easy task neutralizing them.
Sliding back down the hill, Dayan and the mercenaries looked at each other. He could tell from their expressions, they had reached the same conclusion he had regarding the situation below. Observing the area around him, Dayan noticed that the ridge ran along the hill parallel to the road. He decided the best plan was to send a team of his men down the road, staying along the ridgeline. Some distance down, they would move down to the road. By then it would be dark. Coming back up behind the trucks, they could neutralize the drivers.