by Ken Hansen
“Nothing worth reporting. Seems to be what she says. Hard to say about how deep her Vatican ties go, though. She’s been there quite awhile now and keeps getting promoted.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Why not a thing. Listen, the boss needs to talk to you. Said I should transfer you. You need anything else?”
A few seconds later, Deputy Undersecretary Blount said, “Huxley, what are you up to?”
Huxley’s eyes narrowed. “Uh, investigating the Ramat David incursion.”
“Yeah, I know that. Why is Ken Mayer asking?”
Ken Mayer—the number one asshole from his CIA past. Why, indeed? “No idea. What did he say?”
“It’s not what he said, but what he demanded. Wants the whole Ramat David file.”
“You giving it to him?”
“What is there to give? Haven’t had a report from you yet. You getting anywhere?”
“Hard to say.”
“Yeah, well, if I hear it from the CIA first, you’re going to have something hard in your backside. Care to share?”
“I would if I had something tangible. Just a bunch of false leads so far.”
“You getting along with the Israelis?”
“Of course. They’re my best friends.”
“OK. Don’t screw it up. If Mayer wants your ass, I can’t cover for you. Too much baggage there.”
Chapter 12
In the small hours of the next morning, Anwari ran his thumb over the switch on the remote in his pocket, but left it in the off position. No accidents. Timing is critical. “We sure the vault area is still clear?”
Two Arab men dressed like Italian businessmen stood in the stairwell with him. One of them, Dracoratio, turned his head slowly toward Anwari. “Does it matter?”
“Of course. Allah does not want us to kill innocents.”
“It will be clear. We distracted the night clerk for 15 minutes at least—you know that. You need to focus, Anwari. In one minute, this goes down. No hesitation. Is the bomb ready?”
Anwari pulled out the remote and flipped the switch. A red light appeared. He showed Dracoratio the light and nodded.
“Good.” Dracoratio turned to the door and opened it a crack. “He’s five doors down. We’ll need to play this well. Anwari, stay here until we drag him back.”
“You’ll incapacitate him?” Anwari asked.
Dracoratio nodded and smiled. “Let’s go.” Dracoratio draped his arm over the other Arab’s neck, and the two walked through the door. Anwari held it open a crack to watch. Dracoratio stumbled down the hotel hallway, the other Arab barely holding him up. He was singing badly in Italian. The huge man by the door stared at the two, his right hand reached behind his back and stayed there.
Now ten feet away and yelling “Ciao,” Dracoratio opened his palms toward the man so he would see they carried no weapons. The other Arab’s hands were also open. The huge man relaxed a bit. Dracoratio let go of the other Arab and stumbled into the wall and to the ground five feet from the huge man. The huge man did not move to help him. Dracoratio wavered on his hands and knees for a few seconds, giving the impression he just might vomit some of the liquor from his belly. “Una sigaretta?” he slurred, looking up at the huge man. The huge man said nothing, but shook his head.
“Scusa, scusa,” the other Arab said as he lifted Dracoratio up to his feet. Just as he reached his feet, Dracoratio stumbled again, this time right toward the huge man. As he moved toward him, Dracoratio lifted his left arm, hand open but back from the wrist. At the same time, his right arm dropped to his right pocket. Anwari heard a quick whooshing sound, almost like someone quickly exhaling hard out of a mouth not quite ready to whistle. The huge man began to fall, but Dracoratio and the other Arab caught him and dragged him back into the stairwell. Anwari saw the man’s face up close and recognized Mr. Riese. He looked like he was sleeping, except he had a hole the size of a dime in his forehead, blood oozing out of it.
“You killed him,” Anwari said.
Dracoratio smiled. “I told you we would incapacitate him.” Dracoratio’s expression turned serious. “Now, time for a little boom. I’ll signal you.”
All three men put on masks to fully cover their heads. Dracoratio and the other Arab headed back to the door, this time with AK-47s in their hands. When they reached the door, Dracoratio signaled and Anwari pressed the red button. They were nearly 80 yards away through 5 floors of concrete and steel and wood, yet Anwari heard the explosion and felt the building rattle. So did the occupants of the room. A middle-aged man opened the door, saying “Mr. Riese…” but he fell silent as the nozzle of the AK-47 touched his forehead. Anwari heard only the familiar shriek of a young girl as the door to the room closed behind the two intruders.
Hours later, Dracoratio and the other Arab sat across the steel table from Anwari on steel chairs, the straps of their AK-47 rifles slung around the tops of the chairs next to them. Anwari’s rifle rested on the table to his right. A clear plastic tube a little over a half-centimeter in diameter lay on the table, connected to a small metallic cylinder. They were in a cement-floored canyon, the walls of which were the many twenty-foot high steel shelves running in parallel rows nearly the 200-foot length of the room. Each shelf contained palettes loaded with boxes marked with Italian words, such as ammoniaca, cloro candeggina, and acido sulfurico. Overhead lights illuminated the little sitting area while the rest of the warehouse remained dark.
Anwari looked at the Arab leader opposite him. “Have you heard from Pardus yet?”
Dracoratio let out a breath that vibrated with a deep, tumultuous, vibrating tone, like the sound one might expect to hear from a dragon ready to breathe fire on its prey. “No,” said Dracoratio in his gravelly, breathy voice. “Be patient. It is only 5 a.m. Let him sleep.”
“How bad were the girls hurt? Do they need medical attention?”
“The 12-year-old tried to grab my mask and pull it off. She got what she deserved. She will survive. Might have broken her nose, but she was still breathing. The bleeding has stopped. The younger one came quietly after that.”
“How about the wife?”
“She will awake soon enough.”
Anwari nodded. “Is Rosenthal talking yet?”
“Have not tried. That is for Pardus. I think the chemist will respond to our leverage over his family.”
“Won’t Rosenthal assume you’ll just kill them all afterwards anyway?”
Dracoratio grinned. “We wore masks. He shall believe we can let him go at any time. He just has to give us a little information and he and his loved ones are on their way home. He does not know where he is because he was blindfolded himself. We leave nothing to chance.”
“I get that, but then why the explosive? I don’t think you needed me on this. I just made a bunch of noise for nothing.”
“Misdirection. Always get them looking for something else. You bomb the area of the hotel safe while we depart the hotel out the back door and nobody notices us. They figure the action is yet to come. We get here before they even know what they are looking at.”
Anwari nodded. “Seemed to work.”
“Yes, and it helps with the press, too. Pardus was explicit—he does not want this kidnapping hushed up by the government. Hard for them to do that when a bomb goes off. He said you would understand.”
“I guess so,” Anwari said. “You going to?”
“Going to what?”
“Let them go.”
Dracoratio gave him a long, cold stare. “Not my call. Hold on.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was a flip phone just like the one Anwari had destroyed before he left Israel. “Yes, we have him. No problems. Safe made a noise and everybody ran toward it. Had to eliminate the BG—your new tube device worked to perfection. Anyway, we have them all and no glitches. What is next?” He listened for a few minutes. “Got it.” He looked at Anwari and grinned. “Yes, he performed well. He will do. Certainly.” Phone in hand, Dracoratio stretched
out his arm toward Anwari. “He wants to talk to you.”
Anwari snatched the phone. “Hello?”
“Excellent work, Abdul. You know what is next?”
“You want me to find Huxley?”
“Yes. Ensure he makes the connection. It is pivotal.”
“What about the scientist and his family?”
“Dracoratio will take care of them. He can ship them out of the country and back to a safe facility. Then we can convince the Jew to cooperate.”
“You going to torture them?” asked Anwari.
“No need. We will separate the family from him, and the good scientist will not know what to believe. We might have to hurt him a little just to make it real. But I do not think it will take too long—maybe a week.”
“Then you’ll release them?” Anwari asked.
“We shall have to see what is in the best interests of Allah, my friend. Nobody will get hurt unless they must for the cause.”
Chapter 13
When Huxley reached the entrance to the Vatican Museums, he saw the long line of tourists. He took out his cell and called Signorina Sonatina D’Amare. “I’m just outside. I think it may be easier for you to leave the building than for me to enter. Are you ready? Great, see you soon.”
He looked up and saw Anwari, his piccola coda, listening to a tour guide, who held a red flag over her head. “That’s right, sir, if you would like a tour, come with me and you can get right in. It is only twenty Euros more and you avoid the two-hour wait.”
Anwari looked up at Huxley, feigning surprise. “Mr. Huxley? Mr. Chris Huxley? You too are visiting the Vatican art?”
“Yes, it is very unexpected, isn’t it? What brings you to Rome, Abdul? You look a bit ragged, even for an old Afghan soldier.”
“Well, I am a consummate tourist now, Chris, and this is one of the greatest places in Europe, don’t you think? Anyway, I thought I was safer travelling as a tourist than fighting in the mountains of Afghanistan, but now I am beginning to wonder.”
“What do you mean?” asked Huxley.
Anwari shook his head. “Terrible. Haven’t you heard the news? A bomb went off at the New Colossus Hotel. I think I would rather be in a hazard zone where I can protect myself with my own weapon than in this city unarmed.”
“Anybody hurt? What was the target?”
“TV said some Israeli chemist’s bodyguard was killed. The chemist and family are missing.”
“Any more details on the chemist?” Huxley asked. Anwari shrugged his shoulders.
Sonatina walked out of the museum entrance and began looking around. “Shit,” Huxley mumbled. “Excuse me, Abdul, thanks for the info. Enjoy your tour.”
Huxley walked quickly over to Sonatina. “Buon pomeriggio, Signorina! Thank you for coming.” He placed his hand to his heart. “Unfortunately, I must now be the ugly American and apologize for standing you up. I just heard about an explosion at the New Colossus Hotel and I need to see if there is any connection. Please accept my apologies.”
“But of course, Mr. Huxley. I understand completely.” She paused for a second and then added with a smile, “You most certainly should get your ugly American body over there.”
“Oh, I am crushed,” Huxley said, feigning pain by placing both hands to his heart. “Could I make it up to you by amending the time of our date?”
“Our date?”
“Uh, our meeting, I mean. Could we meet for dinner tonight instead?”
“You must think I have no life.”
Huxley bowed his head slowly. “Again, I apologize. I did not mean—”
“And you might be right. Could you pick me up here at seven?”
“Excellent.” As she began to turn, Huxley added, “Oh, Signorina, do you have any information you would like to share with me now?”
“And miss an expensive dinner on an ugly American? Non possibile! See you tonight. Ciao!” She turned, flashed a smile and her pass at the guard, and reentered the museum doors.
Smiling as he shook his head once, Huxley watched her disappear through the doors, and then turned and pulled out his phone as he walked toward the cabstand on Viale Vaticano. A few moments later he was speaking with Captain Yadin of Aman. “Captain, I thought I would update you on my progress.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve got a dead end on the contacts list, unless you know where I can find the 17th Earl of Oxford.”
“Oxford?” Yadin asked.
“Never mind. Bad joke, and it’s rubbish anyway, as the English would say. I’ve been following a potential lead relating to an archaeology student without much luck so far. I’m in Rome.”
“Rome?”
The excited tone in Yadin’s voice told Huxley what he wanted. “Yes, and now I hear that an Israeli scientist and his family have been kidnapped from a hotel in Rome. You know anything about that?”
Yadin said, “So you are calling for information again instead of giving it out?”
“I just gave you what I know. What do you know?”
“We just heard ourselves. His name is Jacob Rosenthal.”
“You seem to be a step slow,” Huxley said. “Now you are going to tell me that he was working with the Israeli Air Force.”
“How did you…?” Yadin asked. “Yes, he is employed by a local defense contractor. That is all I am at liberty to say.”
“And he was working on a project at Ramat David?”
“I cannot say. What do you think?”
Huxley replied, “I would say he was the target of your little incursion there, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably unrelated.”
“You really believe that? Have you heard any demands from the terrorists yet?”
“No. We don’t even know for certain that he was kidnapped. But we cannot find him, and he doesn’t answer his phone.”
Huxley looked around. Anwari had gone away. “OK, what was he working on at Ramat?”
“I already told you, I can’t tell you where he works.”
“So he was at Ramat.”
“If he were there,” Yadin said, “I would not be in a position to confirm that.”
“And his vacation itinerary was on the list that was accessed?
“Yes.”
Huxley grinned. Interesting he would admit that. “So why is this chemist so important?”
“I am not in a position to tell you that.”
“Well, thanks for all of your wonderful insights on this, Captain.”
“Huxley?”
“Yes?”
“This is even more important than either of us thought. We need to find this scientist soon. That is all I can say…here.”
Tilting his head slightly, Huxley squinted into the distance. “Okay, I think I understand.” All he can say here? He looking for another way? “Hold on a sec.” Huxley quickly thumbed through the photo library on his cell. Bingo. “Captain, I seem to recall that you mentioned you have an interest in American cowboys. I just remembered that I have a few pictures that might interest you from my visit to the cowboy museum in Oklahoma. I know this is a personal matter, and, if your agency is like ours, you are not supposed to handle personal matters on your agency phone. Do you have another cell where I can text the pictures?”
Yadin did not hesitate. “Sure. I have your number. I’ll send you a text and you can reply to it and send me the pictures.”
“Sounds good. I will speak with you when I have more. Please remember to keep me informed as well.”
Well, that was curious. Huxley had pegged Corpuscle Face as the hard-ass, play-it-by-the-book man. It now looked like Aman had him down as a more flexible resource. No doubt Aman wanted an off-the-grid channel of communication on this. No way Yadin would be flying solo here. It was a way the spy agencies sometimes operated so they could keep certain intel out of the official sharing arrangements to avoid disputes with their own fellow agencies—in this case probably the Israeli Air Force. He wanted to tell Huxley something that Aman thought co
uld only be shared informally. He would have to wait for that text to know more.
Meanwhile, Huxley had other resources that could fill him in. He called for help from the home front. The phone rang six times before she answered. “Hey Kira, how are you doing this morning?”
She spoke slowly, “You do know that I actually need sleep to function, don’t you?”
“Sure, but I’ll bet it’s a beautiful day in the District. Why not make it an early one and enjoy the sunrise?”
“I didn’t get to bed but a few hours ago.”
“What, up partying again?”
“Yeah, that’s me, the party girl. Funny how my computer and I have such a blast together every night.”
Better leave that comeback alone. “Okay, well, now that you are up at, hell it is already past six am there, can you track down some info on an Israeli scientist for me? Probably need to get to the Defense Intelligence Agency folks and try the CIA.”
“I think I know the drill.”
“Of course. There might be something in our own database, but I doubt it. The scientist’s name is Jacob Rosenthal. He was just kidnapped in Rome along with his family. I think this is all connected with the incursion at Ramat David. I need the info yesterday or I wouldn’t be calling you right now. Really. See what you can find.”
Kira perked up. “Got it. Thanks for the new project. I was beginning to get bored.”
“Glad to help. I also need you to get me hooked up with the ROS, the anti-terrorist unit of the Carabinieri in Rome. They’ll be called in. I want to talk to the officers in charge of the hotel bombing/kidnapping. Call me soon.”
Huxley hung up and noticed the text his phone had received while he was on the call. The short message read: “Here’s the number. Have a meeting now. Send me the cowboy pictures and call me in a few hours so we can discuss them.” Huxley texted the pictures and saved the number under “Captain Yadin, Home.” He hoped he’d like the “home” version of Captain Yadin better than the “work” one.
Not an hour later, Huxley was in the thick of the kidnapping investigation at the New Collossus Hotel. “Nothing was taken from the bank vault?” Huxley asked, raising an eyebrow to Lieutenant Patismio.