by J E Higgins
Gold and his team silently marveled at the Israeli commando who now led them. He was the type of fighter they imagined they wanted to be. He was experienced, methodical, and showed no hesitation when carrying out his mission. Solomon Gold had grown up aspiring to be this type of man. He, like the others, was determined to prove themselves this day.
That was the driving force that had pushed them to take the Israeli’s training seriously and work to maintain their goal of professionalism. Gold had felt shame when he froze up watching the Israeli so easily kill the first guard. Even though he had quickly rebounded to fulfill his responsibility, the very idea that he had even for a second frozen in the midst of battle was totally unacceptable. Looking at the faces of his compatriots, he realized they had felt the same inadequacy when comparing themselves to this commando. From that point forward, he was determined to prove himself by being the ultimate professional carrying out a mission.
It had been an hour since they had entered the building when a small handheld radio on top of the security system cracked to life. “Base, base, do you read? Over,” a gruff voice called in a commanding tone.
The young team paused in confusion. The Israeli raced to the radio and took it in hand. Thrusting it toward Gold, he growled, but in a whisper, “Answer them!”
Taking the radio, the radical steadied himself before pressing the talk button. “Yes, we read you.”
The gruff voice responded, “We’re coming in. We’ll be at the building in less than five minutes. Is the perimeter clear? Do you see anyone suspicious in the vicinity?”
Gold momentarily hesitated looking to the Israeli for an answer. “Yes, yes, everything’s fine.” Looking at the monitor, he saw nothing that would be suspicious. “All looks good ─ there are only a few people on the streets and none look to be doing anything strange.”
“Good,” the gruff voice replied. “We’re coming in.”
The radio went dead. Dayan looked around the room. The faces of his team had turned pale. “Keep your cool guys. Remember, don’t fire until you see Mendoza.”
All heads nodded. Turning to Gold, the Israeli gave him a cold, serious look. “Is your girl in position?”
Gold looked down at the video screen showing the sidewalk in front of the building and the buildings directly across the street. Giving it a quick scan, he looked back up at the commando and gave a sharp nod. “She’s up for this. We’re all trusting her, and she’ll come through.”
Dayan pulled his cap down over his face until only the slit revealing his eyes was left. The rest of the team followed suit as they pulled their balaclavas over their heads. Their moment had finally come.
It seemed like years. The excitement was building in the young radicals. Within minutes, the camera screen showed a convoy of four Suburbans driving down the street. A few seconds later, they were pulling up directly in front of Bolivar Investments & Acquisitions. Breathing among the young radicals was becoming quicker as the moment approached.
Gold and Dayan watched as the doors of the vehicles opened and several athletic looking, suited figures jumped out. The bodyguards formed a perimeter around the convoy. No weapons could be seen, leading Dayan to believe they were all carrying handguns with the sub-machine guns and shotguns still tucked in the vehicles. A few minutes later the back door to one of the Suburban’s opened to reveal the short and distinguished frame of Elloy Mendoza. The Cuban slid from his seat onto the sidewalk, well dressed and carrying himself as the ever-important corporate executive.
With his attention focused solely on the building before him, he started to ascend the stairs. He was soon flanked by four of the detail, leaving the rest to stand guard over the convoy. Dayan’s information proved correct ─ the main force stayed until Mendoza was inside the building. Only then did the convoy leave. This meant they would probably have to deal with the larger force, once the convoy heard gunfire from inside.
Viewing the video screen, Gold watched with anticipation. The four suited figures placed themselves in a diamond formation surrounding their charge. Mendoza walked up the stairs at a leisurely pace. The arrogance of the Cuban and his dire need to maintain appearances seemed to cause consternation among the men trying to protect him.
Dayan held his weapon tight. As he shifted glances between the door and his team, he could see the sweat soaking through the brows of their balaclavas. “It’s just another training exercise,” he whispered to help calm their nerves. “You’ve shot these weapons several times and know they work. You’ve heard the sound of the guns firing and know what to expect.” He couldn’t tell by their masked faces if his words were having any effect.
Lined up opposite the security station where they had propped up the dead guards, Dayan had positioned the four men near the corner in a side lounge ─ they had shadows and furniture for cover. It wasn’t much, but it would add to the response time of the bodyguards. Dayan hoped the several weeks of mundane routine had served to dull the guards’ reactions.
The team had been arranged in rows of two, with the first two kneeling on the floor behind a velvet couch. The next two were a few feet further back behind some plants and tall lamps. They remained standing, ready to provide backup fire. The Israeli and Gold remained at the monitor behind the desk watching their target nearing.
Chapter 51
Mendoza and his entourage were on the last few steps before gaining the hallway and reaching the door. Tucking the weapon tightly into his shoulder, Dayan couldn’t help but feel the awkwardness of the solid wooden shoulder stock of this old weapon. It wasn’t the type of weapon he normally used. The wooden stock was not alien to his experience, but his preference was for the newer rubber framed fiberglass systems he usually dealt with. Still, he had managed to use the weapon successfully during practice.
The Cuban was now at the door. Gold gave an alert just seconds before the doorknob began turning. Dayan and Gold tried to hide as best they could by ducking behind the control system. It was too late to remind everyone not to fire until the target was inside the room. Both Dayan and Gold could only hope that no one fired early. The continued nervous breathing did not leave either man with much confidence.
The door opened slowly. Immediately, the first two of the entourage walked in. Not expecting anything inside, their attention was focused on making way for their employer. Mendoza followed directly behind them. It took the guards’ seconds after they turned to notice the blood-stained corpses sitting on the chairs, and then the masked gunmen in the corners. By then it was too late.
The members of the team who had knelt down opened fire. Their weapons exploded in a barrage of gunfire as they sprayed the doorway with a hail of bullets. But, in their excitement, they failed to take aim. Their bullets whipped around wildly managing to hit everything except their quarry. The instincts and training of the bodyguards quickly kicked in as they dove to move their charge out of the line of fire and grab for their weapons.
Realizing the situation was about to turn into a gunfight, Dayan drew his weapon. Emerging from behind the security desk, he had a calmness that defied logic and deliberately took aim. His first two shots caught the first guard drawing his weapon. Two direct taps into the guard’s chest and heart cavity caused him to drop the gun he was lifting from his holster. Dayan’s next rounds caught the head of another guard coming through the doorway. It was his luck none of the guards seemed to be wearing body armor. Looking around, the commando realized that aside from the two kneeling down, no one else on the team was firing. “Start shooting, God Dammit!!” He shouted to the near-catatonic young men watching.
Lifting his weapon, Gold lined his sights to where Mendoza was curled up in a corner with one of his bodyguards attempting to shield him. Belching off a few rounds, he watched the bullets tear into the torso and head of the bodyguard. The guard’s body slid down on top of a frantic Mendoza, who was now trying to crawl toward the door.
Outside, sitting in a coffee shop at a small table, a young woman of no mo
re than nineteen years of age sat watching the activity at Bolivar Investments & Acquisitions. A longtime friend, Reima Caulter had agreed to help with Gold’s plan. Nervous though she was watching the gun battle, she took a deep breath and pulled a small, disposable phone from under her coat. She had been instructed to wait until the shooting started. If the guards around the vehicle convoy moved toward the building once the battle had commenced, she was to push send for a pre-dialed number.
A loud echoing explosion suddenly startled the guards. Dayan wasted no time. Ordering his team forward, the six men quickly charged for the door. By now Dayan’s team had regained their faculties, the Israeli’s training began to settle them. Three of the men took to the doors where they found themselves staring down at a stunned group of suited figures lying prone on the stair steps. A giant black cloud permeated the atmosphere along with a powerful burning smell.
Directly across the street, an inferno was burning wildly over the remnants of a car. The car, which had been stolen a day earlier, was wired with several sticks of dynamite. It was driven to the location by the four men now with Dayan. At the same time, Reima made her way to the coffee shop to continue sketching while she waited.
The car exploded, rocking the entire neighborhood and creating massive destruction. Startled to near panic, the young girl edged her way out of the coffee shop and saw the destruction just up the road. Turning the other way, she started down the street, walking as fast as possible, trying not to look obvious.
Gold’s team went to the door immediately. This time, they took careful aim and began firing down at the guards below. Dayan grabbed Mendoza by the back of the neck as the Cuban attempted to slither away. The Israeli glanced at Gold, who had knelt down right next to him. The glance asked only one thing ─ who was to finish the job?
Gold looked down at the man who had commanded the brutal death of Myra, an innocent young girl. Even though his nerves were getting the better of him, he knew the deed had to be done by him. Forcing the Cuban onto his back with brute force, Dayan pressed against his neck and arm. Gold seized the other arm, pinning Mendoza down. Reaching for his knife Gold looked down at the squirming man now threatening greater reprisals if they killed him. Gold held the knife to the man’s face. But suddenly he froze, unable to move any further.
Sensing the young man’s problem and being pressed for time, the Israeli grabbed his own double-bladed knife. Gripping it tightly, he looked down at the Cuban until their eyes met. “I could kill you quickly and easily, but then you could have done the same for Myra.”
The Cuban gave Dayan a puzzled look. Gold remained frozen. The Israeli raised his arm and in one fast, precise move he drove the knife directly into Mendoza’s eye socket. Clear liquid burst from his eye and was followed by a rising sea of blood that poured from his head onto the floor. Gold fell back onto the floor aghast at what had just happened. The Israeli pulled the knife violently from the Cuban’s socket. Mendoza screamed a curdling cry of immense pain as he proceeded to flop about on the floor like a fish out of water.
Gold tried to recover as he watched the violent display. Deciding Mendoza had paid enough given the time they had, the radical raised his sub-machine gun and fired. The Cuban’s head exploded in a volcanic eruption as blood and brain matters sprayed everywhere.
“Fall back!!” the Israeli shouted. “Fall Back!!”
Gradually everyone began picking up and moving down the hall toward the back door. Two of the young assassins shut the front door and slid the bodies of Mendoza and one of the guards up against it to provide a hasty blockade. Then everyone started out the back. On the way out, the Israeli gave a quick glance at the monitors to see if anyone was coming up the back alley while the rest of the team gathered up their knapsacks. The monitor showed the alley was deserted. Flinging the door open, the radicals began slipping through the door in rapid succession. Dayan was the last one out. He pulled a stick of dynamite from his jacket pocket and proceeded to light it. It fizzled in his hand as the burn ate through the foot-long cord. Throwing it over to the security station, he raced down the hall. Sprinting the ten or so meters across the small back room, the Israeli practically dove out the door. Bursting through the fire escape door, he caught the tail end of his team.
The assassins were now running down the back alley, adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Seconds later, they heard another ear-shattering boom. It was the dynamite destroying any possible recording that the cameras may have caught of them. At the edge of the alley, Dayan stopped everyone and ordered them to stuff their weapons and additional magazines into their bags. After doing so, they raised their balaclavas and headed to the main roadway. Walking at a brisk pace, they made their way up two blocks. People, who had heard the explosions began to muddle the streets. Confusion abounded everywhere, and in the distance, the police sirens and other emergency responders were becoming louder.
Finally, they saw a parked small, green van. Knocking on the side door, it slid open revealing a tall, lanky figure with a crop of sandy blond hair that hung around his head like a bird’s nest. The lanky figure said nothing. He just jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Dayan had insisted that the getaway driver not stay sitting in the driver’s seat waiting. Hours of just sitting would eventually attract attention.
Piling into the vehicle, everyone scrunched up against the walls of the van. Gold was the last one in, sliding the door closed. The van lurched forward out of the parking lot. It was a virtual mortuary as everyone sat in silence. Once on the main road, the driver turned on the radio, at Dayan’s request, to help provide a semblance of normality.
It was less than two minutes before the team heard the familiar sounds of police sirens screaming past them on their way to the scene of the carnage and mayhem they had just created. Dayan caught Solomon Gold staring at him. The young man said nothing, he didn’t have to. His facial expression said it all. He had been the one who wanted to inflict the painful death on the Cuban. He wanted to get the needed justice for Myra. But, at that moment, he was too scared to do so. The radical’s look was one mixed with gratefulness for the Israeli doing what he couldn’t and humiliation at the thought that when the time came, he couldn’t avenge Myra.
Chapter 52
The Candelaria Church of Rio De Janeiro is truly one of Brazil’s great historical treasures. Outside, the castle is grayish brown brick with white trim. Inside, it is a majestic, palatial creation of masterful design. Even for the Muslim, Ali Anwar al Qalmini, it was a breath-taking experience to walk among the long-standing monuments and feel the history. However, tourism was not his purpose for today’s engagement. Walking slowly to a polished, mahogany pew located in a deserted area of the sparsely populated holy site, the Iranian sat down. He leaned forward to give the impression of concentrating on his prayers. The men of his security detail fanned out in an arbitrary looking pattern encircling their charge but still maintaining enough distance to not attract unwanted attention.
He waited patiently, admiring the stained glass windows of the cathedral ceilings that allowed a heavenly light to brighten the otherwise gray gothic setting and the huge, lighted altar at the front of the building. The altar was the front piece to highlighting a large, emboldening picture of the Christian deity guarded by angelic lights. It wasn’t long before a gorgeous woman walked past him making her way to the altar. He directed his eyes toward the ceiling to avoid staring at the golden-haired beauty, elegantly dressed in a white sports jacket, matching skirt, dark stockings, and black heels.
The Contessa Selena de Alvarez was as punctual as ever, even on short notice. To avoid any suspicious looks, the Contessa played the role of a good Catholic as she went before the altar and genuflected while making the sign of the cross. Turning, she made her way back up the aisle until she found a seat in the pew directly beside the Iranian. Illana Muricia followed the Contessa and assumed a seat directly in front of her employer.
In desperation, Qalmini had reached out to con
tact the Contessa. Their business had previously been conducted either in Paraguay or, more safely, in Argentina. The Iranian, however, feared the recent repercussions of Mendoza’s assassination and the discovery of the Israeli terrorist compromised either location. The extent of the Israeli network was as of yet, unknown, thus an uncompromised location was needed. Qalmini decided Rio De Janeiro would be far enough from previous meeting places to be a safe alternative. A veteran intelligence officer, accustomed to secret meetings, Qalmini tended to disapprove of religious sites as spots for meetings. Though they may offer certain protections ─ such as a general location where all sorts of people could congregate and meet randomly, they also allowed spies and secret police to just as easily follow and observe unnoticed. Given the limited time and the idea that such a well-visited historical site would be discrete and provide security for their meeting, he concluded it was an acceptable risk.
Qalmini came straight to the point. “Forgive the suddenness. I know this meeting was on extremely short notice.”
“I also noticed that it is not being held in our usual meeting place in Buenos Aires,” the Contessa replied, her eyes focused straight ahead.
“Recent developments have occurred that make Argentina untenable at this moment,” the Iranian answered.
The Contessa sighed, “You mean the recent assassination of our Cuban friend?” she smiled. “I doubt he is the reason for your sudden message to meet you here.”
Qalmini grimaced. “We have had a considerable setback. Our forces were stopped at the border by a group of saboteurs.”
“So, you want me to find these saboteurs for you,” the Contessa nodded slightly, “since your previous contact is no longer available?”
“We know who the saboteur is,” the Iranian sighed with bitterness. “They not only succeeded in obstructing our initial force set to go to the city, but these bastards destroyed the trucks we spent months procuring. Right now, we have no means of transportation once inside the country.” Qalmini was careful not to mention Uruguay by name. “We need vehicles and fast.”