by J E Higgins
Outside, Dayan and the radicals had lined up against the window panes facing the large meeting room. When they were all in position, the order was given. In one motion Dayan, Culper, and Gold rose to look through the windows. Yari Sholman kept watch. Seconds later the office erupted in gunfire as the men sprayed the room.
Bodies fell instantly as 5.45x39mm bullets ripped into one screaming man after another. Men tried to escape but were cut down by Gold who kept his aim on the area near the door. Recognizing Straudner from his surveillance photos, Dayan sought the politician out among the crowd. He saw him, already wounded, crawling around on the floor. Taking aim, the Israeli fired a burst that landed directly into the back of the politician’s head. Straudner dropped limply to the floor. With the bolt of the rifle locked back revealing an empty chamber, Dayan dropped his weapon to the ground and reached under his shirt. Producing a grenade, he pulled the pin, flipped out the spoon and released the handle. Counting two seconds for the cook-off, he launched the explosive into the office. At that moment, Dayan and the radicals took off running. A second later, they felt the force and sound of the grenade as it exploded behind them.
Out front, the sound of bullets firing caught the attention of the security men. Even the loud sound of the lawn mower did not entirely conceal the noise being made out back. For the party attendees, they simply thought it was some practical joke or children’s firecrackers. However, the officers, with years of experience in the police force, recognized the sound of gunfire. Turning abruptly, they listened in confusion to the deadly, appalling detonations. Clearly disordered by what they were hearing, it wasn’t until the distinctive sound of an explosion echoing from the backyard caused them to move. Reaching into their jackets, the guards grabbed their weapons as they sprinted toward the sound.
With attention turned from them, the Colombians reached under their large shirts and grabbed the small caliber pistols tucked in their belts. Gripping the .22 caliber Sig Sauer pistols, they pursued the security men. The guards slowed up, their instincts initially clouded by their need to react. The Colombians quickly closed the distance leveling the silenced weapons at their quarries’ heads. The resultant sound was a whisper from the silencer and the subsonic ammunition. The scrape of metal on metal was a louder sound as the slides pushed back to re-cock and eject the casings.
Two of the three guards dropped to the ground instantly, as the small chunks of lead tore into their heads lodging in their brains. It took the third guard a moment to realize what had happened. He turned just in time to see the muzzle flash and the blast that tore into his eye socket.
Leaving the lawn mower running, Ripley raced to where the Colombians had just killed the three men. The party attendees were in a state of confusion following the blast. Unaccustomed to warfare, they were not sure what to make of the alien noise from the explosion. The crowd standing petrified gave Dayan and the radicals’ time to gain ground and make it to the front of the manor. It wasn’t until a woman, seeing the sprawled bodies of the three guards, screamed loudly directing everyone’s attention to the sight. The chaos began with people running wildly in all directions attempting to flee.
The Israeli and the radicals met the rest of their team and ran to their vehicles. Seeing people desperately making for their cars, Dayan worried they’d soon clog the streets trying to escape. Grabbing the rifle off Sholman, he leaped onto the back of the truck and sprayed gunfire over the heads of the fleeing people. Fearing they were being shot at, those heading for their cars stopped immediately and took off running down the street in the opposite direction.
Emptying the rifle, Dayan dropped it to the ground as he dived into the back of the truck. Gold had already slipped into the driver’s side pulling the gearshift into drive. They had left the engine running to facilitate their escape. Pounding on the cab, Dayan shouted they had everybody. The truck screeched as it pulled from the curb and rapidly accelerating down the road; the car carrying the Colombians and Ripley close behind.
Gold pressed down on the horn with his free hand trying to clear the way through the people running in the middle of the road. He pressed his foot to the gas with every intention of running them down, if necessary. The horn blowing sufficed to get the stragglers to dive out of the way.
The truck sped along the road leaving Dayan and the other two radicals grabbing onto anything that kept them from sliding around. Behind them, the second car kept pace. The police were expected at any time. Given the light number of patrols in the area, they believed they would be dealing with single patrols. It was likely the patrols were just now receiving word of the attack and trying to figure out where and how to react.
After getting a considerable distance from the manor, Dayan banged on the back window of the cab, shouted for Gold to slow down. It was unlikely the police had enough information yet to know how to respond, but a lawn truck racing away from a terror attack would definitely be a tip-off. The radical slowed the vehicle to the legal speed. The car behind them followed suit.
It turned out to be a smart move. Seconds later a police cruiser, sirens screaming, flew right by on its way to the manor. As Dayan had predicted, it passed without the slightest interest in the yard crew cruising down the street.
Turning off onto another street, Gold began driving toward the planned switch-off point. Ten minutes later the vehicles pulled onto a quiet side road, two lanes wide and deserted. They drove up in front of a house where they knew the owners would be away for the next few days. Exiting the vehicles, the team walked casually down the road in groups of two to avoid attention. Gold and the radicals wanted to burn the vehicles and destroy evidence. Dayan and the mercenaries cautioned against it, warning that setting a fire would take time and really attract attention. Instead, the mercenaries’ grabbed bottles of chlorine from the back of the truck doused the insides of the truck and car.
One hundred meters down the road was a house with two cars parked along the street. With no fanfare, the team casually slipped into the cars as if visiting friends living in one of the houses close by. Dayan and the radicals slipped into one car, while Ripley and the Colombians took the other. Dayan and the radicals drove off first. The next car left a few minutes later. They would meet at a designated rendezvous point.
Chapter 57
The sleek, bluish-gray yacht was waiting at the marina when Illana Muricia drove up. It was the first thing she recognized. She had taken a cab after dumping the car she used for the truck transaction. After she delivered the vehicles, she had taken a few days to tie up some loose ends before attending her next meeting with the Contessa. Notice for the meeting came with a disposable phone she had been given just before embarking on her latest task. That morning she received a call. The Contessa had told her the place, time, and name of the boat, The Lady Queen.
Painted proudly in gold lettering, the Lady Queen was glowingly displayed on the rear of the yacht. Armed only with a small, black knapsack, Illana slipped through the gated door attended by a large, dark-skinned man dressed in khaki trousers and matching buttoned shirt. He looked Illana up and down before opening the door and allowing her to enter.
The wooden boards of the dock were brand new ─ appearing to be only a few days old. Muricia walked down a small stairway, then the length of the dock. There were few ships in the marina at that time. It was probably why her new employer had chosen it. The yacht was modest. It was seaworthy and definitely provided the comforts essential to one of the Contessa’s status. But it was not nearly the extravagant floating mansion so common among the oligarch elites in South America. It had one main floor, consisting of a kitchen and living quarters below the steering room. It was small enough to be managed by a single person but could easily accommodate two.
The Contessa was waiting at the steering station when Illana approached. “Come aboard,” she called as she descended the ladder to greet her. With a shrug, Illana entered the craft. She was met by a beaming Contessa who took her by the shoulders.
&n
bsp; “Where is the menacing security detail from the house?” The college student asked looking around to see that the rest of the ship was devoid of any other humans.
“They fulfilled their duties for my time here,” the Contessa replied. “I like to move without a large entourage. As we have previously discussed, I don’t like to keep too many people too close to my operation.”
“So, who all works for you?” Illana seemed unsure of the situation.
“I’m building,” replied the Contessa. “You proved your abilities perfectly and will be my right hand. In time, we will solicit the use of people as needed to fulfill services to clients. I don’t like having established organizations. I work with people as needed and dispatch them when not needed.”
Illana cocked her eye slightly, “So, where does that leave me?”
The Contessa sighed. “I can’t go it entirely alone. You will help, so I am able to more easily handle complex situations. My need will for you be a constant so long as you are up for the task ─ like recently.”
“I guess the question is, what now?” Illana asked looking around.
The Contessa smiled. “We leave. A coup is about to happen in this country. I will very soon become a liability to those who are the key to orchestrating it.”
“We’re leaving on a yacht?” the college student was slightly confused.
Nodding her head, the Contessa turned to take up the rope connecting the ship to the pier. “I find yachting our way to another country vastly more discrete than taking a private jet that is more easily monitored. It’s also the reason why I don’t have a crew and entourage. I like a low profile and not much tying me down should I have to move quickly. Right now, I can abandon this ship and disappear if the need should arise. If I only have you, then we can move more quickly than if I have a staff of people who could betray me or suddenly have to be accounted for in my plans.” She started up the ladder well toward the steering room.
Illana nodded slightly. For being so young, the Contessa clearly had an instinct for her chosen associate. As they had previously discussed, a lot could be learned while working for her. The engine came alive as the ship started out of the dock.
“Did you take care of your commitments?” the Contessa called down as she steered.
“I’ve got nothing here holding me if that’s what you’re asking?” Illana replied.
“Good,” the Contessa shouted back, “because we’re not coming back here anytime soon. This boat ride is ending in Brazil.”
Illana wasn’t surprised. She suddenly realized her future from here on out was unpredictable. Stepping on the craft, she had made a decision. Her future was with this woman she hardly knew and a world that offered absolutely no certainty.
Qalmini was on the phone with Major Akim discussing plans for the next movement into Uruguay. It was a welcome bit of news to hear the major discussing the confirmation of the trucks. The major gave a coded but detailed report of the situation having compensated for the previous mistakes. Qalmini relaxed as the Major explained his preset reconnaissance security teams near the border to root out any ambushes or vigilante groups that might prove troublesome. It had worked. So far, every deterrent had been mitigated, and the operation was still functioning. The vigilantes would no longer be a threat, Straudner was continuing with the mission, and the Israelis had seemingly been neutralized as a serious threat.
The major was in the middle of his briefing when one of Qalmini’s security detail charged into the office. Not wanting to cut off the Major during his brief, Qalmini violently waved his hand, beckoning his unruly subordinate to leave. The subordinate’s face was grim, and his complexion pale as he nervously waved his hands, he was determined to obtain his master’s attention. Exasperated, Qalmini pressed the palm of his hand over the speaking end of the phone and growled, “This better be damned important!! Because what I’m in the middle of sure is!”
Gulping nervously the subordinate pointed toward the computer atop the desk. “I think you need to see something, sir. It has to do with Uruguay and affects you.”
Perplexed, Qalmini followed his subordinate’s direction. He bent down to press in the security code for his laptop. Typing in Uruguay news, he observed the screen for only a few seconds before his jaw dropped, his face turned pale, and he sank into his seat. As he continued observing the screen, his eyes widened. The whole time, the phone remained wedged in his ear with Major Akim still talking away.
Pressing his hand firmly to his mouth, Qalmini clicked on a television news recording. A well-groomed young man was speaking into a camera. Standing outside an affluent-looking neighborhood, he spoke about the recent terror attack in the community. In it, several high-ranking officials of both police and military had been massacred along with the prominent politician and business mogul, Oskar Vlak Straudner. The reporter pointed out that no group had claimed responsibility, nor had the police any definite leads other than it appeared to have been a well-planned operation carried out by professionals.
Qalmini didn’t have to speculate. He realized in an instant who it was. The Israelis had found his Uruguay proxy. His mind raced as he tried to think of a last-minute way to mitigate the disaster. In the end, his conclusions were all the same. He suddenly realized that Akim was still talking ─ delivering his plan for the evening’s movement. Qalmini bit his lip as he fought hard not to say what he was about to. Finally, he cut his subordinate off. “Major,” Qalmini said, the bitterness in his low sounding tone was all too apparent. “Cancel the movement.”
“Cancel, Sir?” The reply from Akim was that of complete confusion.
Qalmini continued viewing his computer screen as if waiting for some miracle to occur ─ that Straudner would somehow emerge from the dead, or at least a report stating reports of his demise were premature. There was none. He spoke to the waiting and confused Major Akim. “Yes. Effective immediately, the entire operation has been canceled. Again, the entire operation is canceled. I’ll give you further instructions later. As of now, initiate dismantling protocols and fall back to exfiltration plans.”
“Exfiltration? Sir, we’re pulling out altogether?” the major asked again, still in utter disbelief.
“Yes, that is the order.” Qalmini felt the words leave his mouth as if he were eating dirt. “The operation is done. We’re leaving, going home.” With that, he hung up and raised his head from the computer to focus his gaze on the subordinate before him. “Call my security chief and begin exfiltration procedures immediately.”
The subordinate nodded, his face still fixed with the same nervous look. He turned and started to walk out the door leaving his master alone to stare at the view outside the window and reflect.
Chapter 58
The Montevideo pier was bustling as workers strove to hurry and finish the last of their work. No one was paying attention to Dayan, Ripley, and the Jewish radicals strolling through the collection of cargo boxes and dock workers. The Colombians had made different arrangements with some of their old contacts from their paramilitary days. Once confirmation of their bonuses and the rest of their pay had come in, they went their separate ways.
The assassination had taken place only a few short hours before. In that time, the team had dumped the cars, changed clothes to something more in common with merchant sailors and started on foot through the harbor. Cohen had contacted a sea captain sympathetic to their cause who offered passage out of the country. After a high profile killing, staying in the country for even a day would be too risky. The captain and his ship were scheduled for a port in Morocco. It was a place Dayan and the others felt was an appropriate distance to be for the time being.
At the north end of the harbor, on peer 34, they found The Queen Beth docked and being loaded with several large crates of cargo. The customs inspector was too focused on examining the crate manifests to give any notice to the men walking toward the vessel. Dayan and the men, in turn, did not glance in the inspector’s direction, but kept a steady pace as the
y passed him.
At the gangplank, they were met by a pudgy man in his early sixties. “You must be Micha’s friends,” he said with a wide grin spread across a pleasant looking red face. “I’m Charlie Murcher, captain of this rusty old tub.” He leaned forward and extended a massive hand toward Dayan.
Dayan had been given the name Murcher as his contact on the docks. Taking the captain’s hand in a tight grip, Dayan shook it firmly. “Thank you. It is nice to meet you, sir.”
The captain chuckled. “I imagine it will be even nicer for you to be on board.”
The relieved looks from the team said it all. They followed the captain up gangplank. Halfway up, the captain turned to Dayan, who was right behind him. “Micha is waiting for you in the galley. He wants to see all of you right away.”
“When do you cast off?” Dayan asked, anxious.
“We are loading the last of the cargo, and everything has been cleared. We will be shoving off within the next hour if all goes well,” Captain Murcher reassured Dayan and his team, who were about to be the most wanted men in South America.
The men were led down the walkway and through a rusty steel door that led through a labyrinth of endless compact, darkened gangways, finally arriving at a door. With a powerful turn of a lever, the Captain opened the screeching steel barrier into a large, lighted room with a few long tables surrounded by chairs.
It was the ship’s mess. Sitting at one of the long tables leaning against the bulkhead was Micha Cohen. He was talking to someone sitting across the table who Dayan had never seen before. Seeing the men enter, Cohen sprang to his feet and started over to them. It was strange to see the katsa dressed in jeans and a gray knit sweater, with a pair of rubber boots completing the strange attire. In his hand, he carried a brown leather briefcase.
“We will be leaving shortly,” he said. “Captain Murcher is a longtime friend and ally whom I’ve worked with for many years. He is no stranger to our work, and he knows how to be discrete.”