by Jim Plautz
Agbu bided his time and finished high school, but never lost sight of his long term goals, to succeed where his brothers had failed and most important, to exact revenge on the Americans that had murdered his brother. Chemistry and Computer Science were his favorite subjects, but he didn’t see himself going to work for Monsanto. Within a year, he could make his own car bombs and timing devices and was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was and how much information was on the Internet. All he needed was the raw materials that were readily available from ETA sympathizers.
Agbu studied his trade for two years and after a long weekend of practice in the mountains blowing up trees, he was ready to demonstrate his skills on live targets. He had gotten to the point where he could plant car bombs and wire the ignition within minutes, but decided that method of detonation was too risky. He became an expert at constructing timing devices that could be detonated with precision, but his specialty was remote detonation devices’ using cell phone and radio signals that could be detonated on command. Agbu was ready to demonstrate his expertise.
Uncle Enrique took over for Anton as the local Basque cell leader. He was only five years older than Anton and had been Anton’s best friend. Enrique made a point of keeping an eye on Agbu and making sure that he finished school, as Anton would have wanted. Enrique knew that eventually Agbu would follow in his brother’s footsteps. There were few other choices in Vitoria-Gasteiz.
Agbu found Enrique at home, sleeping. “Enrique, come with me. I want to show you something.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow, Agbu? I’m tired.”
“No it can’t, the explosives are set to go off in 20 minutes.”
“What are you talking about Agbu?”
“Get off your butt and take a look. We need to hurry.”
Enrique was curious. “Okay, but this better be good.”
It was. Twenty minutes later their car was shook by an explosion as they drove past the headquarters of the Spanish security force. “What was that?” Enrique gasped.
“Just a test, no one got hurt unless they were sitting on the wrong commode. Let’s go see how our other experiment is doing.” Enrique was too dumbfounded to ask any questions.
They reached the train station at exactly 5:15 PM, just in time to witness a second explosion, much larger than the first. Enrique couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That’s one train that won’t be on time,” Agbu said with a smile.
“Let’s go, we have one more stop.” Exactly 10 minutes later they parked on a hill overlooking the main highway. Enrique watched as Agbu dialed a number on his cell phone and moments later the small military convoy destined for Barcelona exploded into pieces.
Enrique was stunned and held his questions until they were seated at a small Tapas bar on the outside of town. “That was absolutely amazing, Agbu, but why did you do it? What’s the point?”
“For one, I wanted to show you what I could do and that I’m ready to do my share. I’m not a kid anymore.”
Enrique grabbed Agbu by the arm. “I know you are ready, Agbu, you have been ready for some time. But Anton wanted you to finish school. He always regretted dropping out. What’s your second reason?”
“I wanted to show our people that we can fight for a Basque homeland without creating civilian casualties. I want to see the reaction in the newspapers tomorrow. Remember the car bombing two years ago when the judge’s wife and kids were killed. The newspapers blasted us and police cracked down hard on the ETA. What was the benefit of that?”
“I see your point. A bunch of us were forced to hide out in France for more than six months and the entire leadership of the Herri Batasuna, the ETA’s political wing, was sentenced to seven years in jail.”
“There is a better way to get what we want.”
“Who knows you did this?” Enrique asked. “Can anybody trace this back to you?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve been pretty careful. Anton had most of the explosives and timers hidden at our cabin up North; the rest I stole from you when I came to visit.”
“I was wondering why you visited me so often. You know, I thought we were missing some detonators, but I couldn’t be sure; you thief.”
They laughed, but Enrique added in earnest. “Let’s keep this between you and me. I’ll be your go-between with the ETA and get your assignments. The fewer people that know about you, the better.”
“Okay by me, Enrique. For now, you will be the only person that knows that I have officially become a Basque freedom fighter.”
“There is one person that you should get to know. I’m meeting with next week and he can help us. Why don’t you come with me and see what they have to offer?”
“Who is that?”
“It’s someone from a new group, supposedly with Al-Qaeda connections. They claim to have access to money and might be able to help us.”
“What does Al-Qaeda care about the Basque people? They are nothing but terrorists.”
“You’re probably right, Agbu, but let’s give them a chance. We might be able to work together. In the meantime, let’s keep what happened today just between us. I’m looking forward to reading the paper tomorrow.”
Carlos and Ambre left Saddlebrook and flew to Paris for the Christmas holidays before heading for Australia on New Years Day to prepare for the first leg of the Grand Slam. Their first stop was in Doha, Qatar, a small peninsula in the Arabian Gulf bordering Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. Carlos had received a sponsor’s exemption to enter the Qatar ExxonMobil Open. The 32-man tournament was a prestige warm-up for the Australian Open held two weeks later. Roger Federer was back to defend his championship.
There was no women’s tournament in Doha so Ambre used the time to work on her game. She had no problem finding practice partners when she wasn’t playing with Carlos. Nicholas Kiefer, the 2004 champion, was an old friend from junior tennis and became a constant companion on the outer courts of the Khalifa International Tennis Complex.
Doha has an arid, desert climate that was ideal preparation for the hot temperatures they would encounter in South America and Mexico in February. Ambre trained five hours a day and was getting into the best shape of her young life. Hitting with the men and facing their 125 MPH serves and heavy groundstrokes, was ideal preparation for the hard-hitting women that now dominated the women’s tour. Ambre wanted to be prepared for the Williams sisters, Davenport and the other big hitters that would be in Sydney.
Carlos was fully recovered from his leg injury and started to fulfill the promise that Sergio Brugerra and other tennis experts had predicted. He easily won his first two matches before getting beat by Carlos Moya in the quarterfinals. Moya’s conditioning and court coverage had fallen off slightly since he had briefly reached number one in the world, but he still had game. His serve and powerful forehand were the difference in a tough, 7-5, 6-4 victory.
Ambre and Carlos stayed in Doha another day to practice and then flew to Sydney, Australia where they were both entered in the Medibank International, the premier tune-up event before next week’s Open. Ambre had been fortunate that the Australian Tennis Federation provided her a wild card entry into the main draw. Few people outside of France had heard of her. That changed in less than a week.
Venus Williams was Ambre’s first round opponent. Williams exploded onto the tour with the biggest serve and hardest groundstrokes the women’s game had seen. Although plagued by inconsistency and the dominance of her younger sister, Serena, she still managed to win five major titles. Ambre looked forward to the opportunity.
Venus opened with a 118 MPH serve up the middle that was a sure ace, or at worse a service winner, against most opponents. It looked slow to Ambre after practicing with Kiefer and the other men in Qatar. Venus was surprised when the ball came back to her at approximately the same speed. She had trouble getting out of the way and was late on her forehand. Williams missed the return and many others in the next two sets as Ambre completely dominated the 1-hour match. T
he final score was 6-1, 6-2.
Ambre won her next two matches to reach the semis and the Australian press took notice of this beautiful, vivacious young woman with the big tennis game. Her tough, three-set loss to Australian Kim Clusters did nothing to dampen her growing popularity with the Australian fans. The match was televised nationally and Ambre showed everyone that she belonged, forcing Clusters to a third set tiebreaker.
Carlos, meanwhile, was cruising. He dropped only 18 games in four, straight set wins to reach the finals. Known primarily as a clay courter, his work at Saddlebrook was paying dividends. His serve was becoming a powerful weapon and his groundstrokes were flatter and more penetrating. Carlos net game was improving, but still a liability on hard courts.
Federer skipped the tournament after winning at Qatar so the Sydney draw was wide open. Waiting for Carlos in the finals was Leyton Hewitt, former Australian Open Champion. Carlos’ run to the championship ended quickly as Hewitt easily traded ground strokes and had the additional weapon of coming to the net when he got a short ball. Carlos got beat in straight sets, but was not totally displeased with his 2nd place finish. He was on his way.
Ambre and Carlos flew to Melbourne with new expectations.
Enrique and Agbu met with the Al-Qaeda leader and came away from the meeting with different impressions. Enrique was disappointed. It was clear that this group had no concept of Basque objectives and in the long run would only hurt their cause.
Agbu agreed, but was too smart to let his feelings show. The group was well financed and had access to sophisticated explosives and detonators, some of which Agbu only read about, but had never seen. The problem was the local Al-Qaeda cell had nobody trained to use these high-tech devices. It soon became clear that Agbu’s knowledge and expertise were valuable and provided Agbu with a powerful bargaining chip in his negotiations. Al-Qaeda agreed to obtain the sophisticated devices if Agbu agreed to train their young recruits in the use of this equipment. Agbu requested one other stipulation, which would have a dramatic impact upon his life and the lives of the Basque people.
Al-Qaeda had access to drugs shipped from suppliers in the Golden Triangle and offered to provide Agbu with a shipment on consignment as a show of good faith. Agbu eagerly accepted and a plan quickly fermented in his fertile mind. Traditional Basque fundraising sources such as extortion and kidnapping were drying up and Basque membership was dwindling. They were losing their fight for an independent homeland. Drugs meant money, and money would allow Agbu to recruit young men and women from both sides of the French-Spanish border.
“We need to work together for our common cause,” Agbu offered as the meeting was concluding. “We might have different objectives, but I’m sure there will be times when we can help each other.”
“Yes, let us work together to destroy this corrupt society,” the Al-Qaeda leader responded. At that moment the man’s cell phone rang. After a few moments, he looked up at Agbu and smiled, “Our friends in London have exploded bombs in the London subway system. Al-Qaeda has expanded its scope of operations. The infidels will no longer be safe in Western Europe.”
Agbu cared nothing about infidels and Muslim causes. The Basque wanted an independent homeland that straddled the Spanish and French border. Agbu also wanted to avenge the deaths of his brothers.
“Agbu, I don’t agree with us dealing in drugs,” Enrique said as they left the meeting. “Drugs are not something that we want in Basque country. You were wrong to accept their offer.”
“You are right, Enrique, we must not allow drugs in our homeland. We will distribute them only in the big cities outside our territory; Madrid, Barcelona, Lisbon, Paris and other cities where drugs are now prevalent. Profits will be used to build schools and create jobs for the Basque people.”
Enrique looked at his nephew with new respect. “Anton always said that you were the smart one in the family, and that soon you would become our leader. The time has arrived.”
Pete and Lisa took a week off from training after their success at the Orange Bowl to celebrate Christmas. The four of us flew up to Wisconsin to celebrate the Christmas holidays with Mary’s parents in Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin. It had snowed a week earlier and the kids drove up to Hurley to ski and snowboard. Mary and I prayed they wouldn’t break a leg or twist and ankle, but fortunately the only accident was when Lisa lost her balance coming off the chair lift and skidded into a group of college students.
“It was worth it, Dad. They gave us ski lessons and taught us how to snowboard. I told them we would take them water skiing when they came down to Florida for spring break.” Lisa was growing up too fast.
The hard work started the day we returned. Saddlebrook was closed for the holidays so Pete and Lisa practiced at the club under Gregg’s direction. They also used my Bally’s Fitness Center membership to work out mornings under the tutelage of a personal trainer. They took New Year’s Day off, but every other day was the same; two hours at Bally’s, including an hour of aerobics and an hour of weights and stretching, followed by two-three hours of tennis drills at the club. They broke for lunch and rested for a couple hours before finding a match against some club pro or college kid home for the Christmas break. It was getting tough to find them quality opponents.
Gregg talked them into entering a Pro “Futures” tournament played at the Hillsborough Community College tennis facility in Tampa located less than ten miles from home. “Believe me,” Gregg urged, “you will get all the competition you can handle. The prize money is only $25,000, but there will be a lot of good players. Gregg was the Tournament Director so there was no problem getting a wildcard into the main draw.
The Futures tour ($25,000 prize money) and Challengers Tour ($50,000) are roughly equivalent to the old Nike tour in golf. It’s the minor leagues of tennis, and a way to earn ranking points that are used to determine world rankings. The “points” are more valuable to an aspiring tennis pro than the money, because this is how you gain entry into larger tournaments. Each match is worth a point and a tournament win is worth between 55 and 85 points depending upon the tournament. It’s dog-eat-dog as established pros compete against aspiring hopefuls trying to build their game and reach the next rung in the tennis hierarchy, with the ultimate prize being the opportunity to compete in one of the four grand slam events. Andy Roddick started playing the USTA Pro Circuit at the age of 15. Donald Young made his debut in Tampa at the age of 14, losing in the 4th round.
As amateurs, Pete and Lisa could accept free entry into the tournament and reimbursement of travel expenses from a sponsor, but couldn’t accept prize money if they won. Free racquets, shoes and tennis clothes were also a no-no. Parents were not considered sponsors, so the kids had no problem in letting Dad pay their bills.
Gregg was right; the competition was a step up from what they saw at the Orange Bowl or the National Championships at Kalamazoo. Every player here had game. The sixteen hard courts were fast, and big serves were rewarded. Pete reached the finals before losing to a 23-year old former college player who had played #1 at Georgia. Pete failed to break serve, losing 7-5, 7-6. Pete was more disappointed that he lost than having to turn down the $1,000 runner-up prize money. $1,000 was not worth forfeiting the opportunity to play college tennis or compete in the juniors at Roland Garros. A month later Pete won his first pro circuit event, winning a small $15,000 futures event in Key Biscayne, FL. The prize money went to the runner-up.
Lisa didn’t have that problem, losing in the 3rd round to a 20-year old girl from Canada that simply overpowered her. Lisa came away from the match knowing she needed to get stronger to compete at this level. The next two months Lisa worked hard to improve her strength and conditioning, and was rewarded by winning a $25,000 hard court tournament in Jackson, Mississippi. The $5,000 first prize money was tempting until I told her that she could not change her mind about her amateur status once she entered a tournament. “You mean Paula Creamer and the other women golfers couldn’t accept the prize money when she w
as runner-up at the US Open?”
“You got it,” I replied, “and by the way, no more hard court tournaments for awhile. Let’s start getting ready for the French juniors.”
Chapter 22
The Australian Open