The Montevideo Game

by J E Higgins

  But the obvious problem still remained. The Israelis had succeeded in delaying the operation. Now, with the Cuban’s assassination, his intelligence connection was gone. He was operating blind against the Israeli threat. His options were limited. The only recourse was to reach out to Iran’s intelligence sources in the region. The risk, nonetheless, was all too apparent. If MOIS or Pasdaran intelligence organs became involved in this operation, it brought a severe risk of attracting the attention of the western intelligence services. The American government would definitely move to neutralize it. Or even more troubling was the possibility of being exposed, embarrassing Iran internationally.

  The Iranian pondered the situation. The Israelis were a threat, yet so far they had not succeeded in stopping the operation. Every derailment had been fixed, destroyed vehicles had been replaced, and Major Akim, in conducting a review of the engagement at the border, offered valuable recommendations for addressing future encounters with the local militia. In addition, the Israelis had suffered severe losses, and their supply and intelligence organs had been neutralized. It was conceivable, Qalmini thought, that they could still carry out the mission without the risk of involving Iranian intelligence.

  Straudner was another matter. Predictably, the politician had heard of the skirmish at the border. He had assumed, correctly, it was the first wave of the support force that had been hit. As it was a meeting requested as opposed to a demand to sever ties at once, Qalmini figured Straudner was still inclined to carry out the coup. The politician knew it was the local peasants who had somehow obstructed their force; he knew nothing about the Israeli menace. Keeping it that way seemed the most prudent way to handle the current situation.

  However, the politician was neither a soldier nor an intelligence operative and was not one to understand the complexities of military operations. It would be necessary to provide assurance that the fiasco at the border was a setback that could and would be controlled in the future.

  Leaning back in his chair, Qalmini sighed. He was in a dangerous game with too many assumptions and not enough certainty. As a soldier and an intelligence operative, one who had long lived in the shadows of the covert world, he was all too aware that gambling in battle was never a good practice ─ and he was gambling.

  Chapter 55

  The Saratoga Manor looked innocent. Surrounded by similar tasteful houses located among the vast expanses of manicured lawns and foliage, it hardly seemed a suitable for nefarious dealings. Which was, most likely, why Oskar Straudner had chosen it for his final planning meeting. Dayan casually glanced at it through the window of the blue Datsun pickup as he drove by. It had been his third actual recce of the place. Each trip was in a different vehicle, and his personal appearance had been subtly altered each time. Between his review of the existing documents for this mission and his own personal intelligence collection from visiting the scene, he had learned several facts.

  The police presence in the neighborhood was sparse. Many had been reallocated to the neighborhoods and colleges suffering riots and turmoil; however, the ones that remained were vigilant and professional. The Israeli got out of his car during his first recce and was casually walking down the street pretending to look for house numbers. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before a police cruiser pulled up directly behind him. The cops had already exited the vehicle with the one on the passenger side taking a defensive position while the other came closer but maintaining a safe distance. They were not amateurs. They had responded so quickly it confirmed a note made in Rios’ report ─ the neighbors in the area were mindful of strangers. With the recent violence, everyone from police to local residents was on edge waiting for the next attack.

  To avoid any further run-ins with the police, Dayan stayed mobile by driving the area and exploring the various routes to get a firsthand feel for what was going on. And, to identify potential problems that would likely have to be dealt with when trying to make a getaway. During his drives, he encountered road construction in two places that was extensive enough to negate the use of those routes during a hasty escape. He also noted the general patrol pattern of the police, estimating the number of patrol cruisers, each staffed with two officers. Landscaping crews were the most frequent personnel present throughout the day but in unpredictable locations. Dayan thought the police might use the landscaping crews as cover throughout the day.

  Dayan also found at least three roads in remote locations that the police rarely patrolled. There was a collection of houses from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth century that currently housed members of the newer professional class: university academics, lawyers, tech company entrepreneurs, and the like. Different from the more developed estates of the older moneyed elites, these professionals were less observant of their surroundings. They had not lived in their homes as long and did not have the closer connections apparent in other parts of the neighborhood. The Israeli believed it would be a good place to stage vehicles to aid in their escape.

  After the mercenaries had been given time to consider the future aspects of the operation, a few opted not to continue. Oskar Perez and two of the Colombians decided to take what was owed them and leave. This left Darren Ripley, who continued to have reservations, and two other Colombians. The team was stretched dangerously thin to carry out a mission that could easily become complicated.

  There wasn’t enough time to recruit more mercenaries. Even if they wanted to, with Plūcker gone, they had lost their means of vetting people. Since the mission was a high-level assassination, good professionals would likely have similar opinions to the ones that just quit. That left only one option ─ the young Argentinian radicals, the Guardians of Israel.

  After the Mendoza killing, the police were looking for possible suspects. Unlike the movies, Gold and his accomplices were not told to lay low. Instead, they were told to keep to a normal routine and not arouse suspicion by suddenly disappearing or taking any action that would look suspicious. He had been hanging out and working on his usual routine as the Israeli katsa, Micha Cohen, had instructed. Buenos Aires had been heating up since the Mendoza killing that not only resulted in the death of a prominent business financier and a car bombing in the business district, it had also ended with the deaths of several active and former Argentinian police. The incident was being handled with intense personal interest.

  When Gold was contacted by Dayan, he was surprised, nervous, and excited all at the same time. The Mendoza killing had been a sobering experience for the young man and his group. Yet, he experienced a certain adrenaline rush he had never felt before. He felt it during the gun battle at the building and, then again, when speaking to the Israeli and thinking about the possibility of repeating something like it.

  Gold brought Yari Sholman and Ira Culper with him. They had been part of the Mendoza hit team. Gold had reached out to them at Dayan’s behest. Besides Gold, Dayan had assessed Sholman and Culper as the most capable to help carry out the next mission. With the explanation that what they were being asked to do would guarantee they would never be able to go back to their old lives, he would have found few other volunteers.

  Solomon Gold was breathing slowly, but deeply, as he looked out his window. The objective seemed ominous to him, like a fortress housing a crime lord or evil dictator. It was extremely intimidating thinking about where he was, and what he was there to do. He was still in shock from being contacted by the Israeli commando.

  Sitting in a truck next to the man who had disposed of Elloy Mendoza, Gold was quietly breathing and rerunning the plan over and over in his head. The last few days had been spent going over the plan, rehearsing the actions with a makeshift mockup of the location. It had all been very professional and serious.

  The added bonus of working with Dayan’s mercenaries ─ hardened professional soldiers with considerable experience ─ made the radicals feel like serious covert operators. It was the life Gold always wanted. The plan had been rehearsed and contingencies discussed over and over. It w
as now to the point where Gold felt it was the only thing in the world he knew. When Dayan finally explained to the radicals the reason for the attack ─ stopping Iran from orchestrating a coup ─ it was all the radicals needed to know.

  Now, sitting in the passenger seat of the large hauling truck, Gold once again looked out the window at the houses before him. It was strange, he thought, how he never envisioned doing something like what he was about to do in such a peaceful and serene place. Sitting next to him, Dayan stared intently out the front window as he drove. Neither man spoke during the entire drive. Looking out the back window, Gold saw his two friends and the Welshman, he knew as Darren Ripley. He guessed the three of them were feeling the same way.

  Along the sides of the truck hung beaten metal signs with the words Santo Brothers Yard Maintenance. Finding that yard and landscaping crews were a common sight in this elite part of town, Dayan planned for his team fit right in as a yard crew. Raizza had managed to procure an old flatbed hauling truck along with an assortment of used yard tools and equipment. It all helped to give the appearance of a small crew that had been in the business for quite some time. A small white Datsun with the same company information and logos painted on the sides was driven by the two remaining Colombian mercenaries.

  Driving up the street, the mercenaries kept to a moderate pace to not attract attention. The neighborhood was quiet. There were only a few locals about ─ walking or tending to chores around their houses. The tension in the truck heightened as Saratoga Manor came into view. Despite numerous rehearsals and a live range firearm practice, the sight of the manor brought a sudden reality to the whole thing. For the radicals, it was the nerves they remembered when they carried out the Mendoza kill. For the mercenaries, it was the realization they were about to commit an act that would be an act of terrorism. The idea that no one was going to simply walk away from this was sinking home to everyone.

  Approaching the manor, Dayan saw the gathering of people, mostly women, congregating out front. He took particular notice of three suited figures standing together. He presumed, from their posture, they were security recruited for today’s festivities. The fact they were not making any attempt to blend in with the more casually dressed party guests, Dayan assumed they were off-duty policemen hired for the day, not professional bodyguards.

  “All I see are women,” Dayan said, turning to Gold. “That means the men, our targets, are probably meeting somewhere inside.”

  Gold nodded nervously. He was about to yell back to the occupants in back, relaying what he was told. He was stopped by a sharp look from the Dayan. The truck pulled up to the curb far away from the collection of cars. They didn’t want to be blocked by any late arrivals parking close to them. With all the polished, upscale vehicles on display, it was unlikely anyone would even consider parking next to a dingy yard crew truck.

  The truck halted. Immediately, the three men in the back began unloading equipment. Dayan and Gold jumped out of the front, moving to assist. Dressed in stained, greasy jeans, T-shirts, and having neglected hygiene and a shave, the team looked every bit like a crew of yard workers.

  As predicted, the men Dayan identified as security began moving toward them, their jackets remaining open. As they got closer, they shouted to the yard workers demanding to know what they were doing. They were met by the Colombian mercenaries who, by now, had exited their car and moved in between the two groups. As they approached the security men, they informed them they were scheduled to do a job at the manor today. Dayan could see the outline of guns ─ they were submachine guns. He immediately recognized the HK SP5K models. They were the modern updates of the older MP5K models used so extensively by executive protection and counter-terrorist units throughout the world. Judging from the length of the magazines, it was easy to guess they were sporting fifteen round magazines, rather than the thirty. Clearly, the concern for discretion outweighed the more prudent decision to carry the maximum ammunition load.

  Dayan and the others continued unloading equipment from the truck. The guards, by this time, were frustrated and confused. They didn’t want to let these men start working during the party. However, it was evident by their hesitancy they hadn’t been given any schedules or itinerary to verify the presence of the yard workers. To add to the frustration, Ripley set up the lawn mower and commenced mowing the yard. This action furthered the uncertainty of the guards, who were now trying to control the situation. The yard workers continued. They completely ignored the guards, who were still being kept at bay by the aggressive Colombians who demanded that their people get to work.

  As the lawn mower roared to life, Ripley began cutting the lawn. Dayan gave a quick nod to the Colombians, and he and the Jewish radicals grabbed up bundles wrapped in blankets and plastic covers and started for the back. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the guards, expecting them to follow. Instead, they remained together dealing with the Colombians, who were still being belligerent. As he suspected, they were policeman sticking to their initial training and experience. They opted to remain together while dealing with a hostile situation.

  Dayan and the radicals continued to walk to the manor past the collection of guests who carried on as if the yard workers didn’t exist. Rounding the corner, the four men found the back of the manor virtually deserted. The only people there were another suited guard and a couple of teenage girls sitting in chairs giggling with one another.

  The four men were at the back of the house before the guard realized they were there. Quickly, he rushed over to stop the greasy looking men. Dayan and the radicals carefully laid down their bundles as the guard approached. His eyes darted between the guard and the two young ladies.

  Coming up to them, the guard demanded to know why they were there. Walking up to him, Gold began to explain a similar story that the Colombians were telling the guard’s compatriots out front. Dayan walked alongside as Gold continued. When he got within arms distance, Dayan moved off to the side of the suited figure. Gold kept the man’s attention on him, as Dayan slowly neared. The guard realized the Israeli was behind him when he tried to turn and was stopped by a hard, thrusting force of cold steel into the side of his neck. With a long thin screwdriver, Dayan stabbed the guard in the soft tissue precisely where the neck and shoulder meet.

  The guard’s eyes widened in terror as he realized he was about to die. Almost instantly, blood sprayed from the wound ─ it was a gory version of a water fountain. The guard choked as he took his last breaths. He crumpled to the ground gasping, his heart pumping a few more times before finally running out of material to pump. Dayan was mindful of the two young ladies who had seen the incident.

  He was not the only one who had been watching the girls. They no sooner leaped from their seats when Yari Sholman charged and pointed the Sig Sour 22 directly in their faces. His index finger pressed against his lips, as he held his gun close to the terrified young ladies. Both girls whimpered as they remained frozen with terror. Waving his gun as a command for them to rise, Sholman started walking backward keeping watch on the girls as he beckoned them to follow.

  Slowly, the two young ladies did as directed. Dayan walked over to a door leading into a small storage room. While Gold and Culper busied themselves unwrapping the blankets and plastic sheets, they ordered the ladies inside. They quietly shut the door and leaned a chair under the knob to keep it secured.

  Dayan and Sholman turned to see a pile of compacted AK-74 rifles laid before them along with several magazines of ammunition. The two radicals loaded the magazines into the rifles as they passed them and spare magazines to the two standing men. Because they anticipated being within close proximity to their targets, Dayan had Raizza obtain rifles in 5.45x39mm caliber, instead of the more common 7.62 caliber models. At closer ranges, the smaller rounds would have more impacting velocity and tumbling effect. The smaller rounds were more lethal in close quarter situations where they had no chance to confirm the kill.

  With all four armed, they tied handkerch
iefs around their faces and began to move around the manor.

  With weapons held at the ready, the four men slid slowly along the manor wall keeping low to avoid being seen by anyone looking out the windows. It was the noise of men, several of them laughing that told Dayan he was near his target location. From a large, open window, the four men could hear men’s voices. The conversation became more audible as they neared the next window.

  Chapter 56

  Oskar Straudner had seized the moment. The tray of whiskeys in the far corner of the office had been well attended to by the gathering of police and military officers. Their manner had eased upon hearing the politician deliver his plan to seize the country and give the security forces a free hand to crush the radical leftists. After the recent bombing in Salto, the patience of the officers had worn thin, and they demanded action. The bombing had resulted in the deaths of over twenty people including the Salto Diocese Archbishop, Juan Abdora.

  Drawing on his Ashton cigar, Straudner viewed the faces of everyone collected around him. They looked like loyal supporters, a look he had come to recognize when working among the political sharks. At this point, he was sure of every man in the room.

  “My friends,” he said quietly, but in a tone presenting a commanding presence. “Today we begin the journey to bring stability to our homeland.” He rose to his feet, a glass of gin raised high in his hand. “I want to make a toast to patriotism.”

  The men in the room rose in chorus, glasses raised in a similar fashion. “My friends,” the politician began with a beaming grin spread across his face, “to Uruguay.”

  The men started to echo Straudner’s words when many stopped. Their grins turned to looks of horror. “Assassin……,” a man cried before the room exploded with broken glass and the deafening sound of gunfire.