by Dana Arama
“Murat,” The smile wiped clean off her face. “You need to speak with Murat Lenika, but he is not in at the moment. He was here and then left.”
“And when will he be back?”
“If you come back in a few hours there is a chance you’ll find him here.”
“And you are sure he is the person I need to talk to?”
“I am almost sure that he is the last person you would want to talk to.” Then she added in a whisper in my ear, “But if you have enough money, he’ll get you anything you want.”
“I don’t need it for myself,” I said with a serious face, “I represent...mmm… a certain character that likes his privacy. Are there gambling rooms where he can combine his pleasure in gambling and pleasure in women together?”
She smiled and pointed with her head towards the stairs, closed off with a golden rope, and said, “There, they have exactly what he is looking for.”
“Could you give me a tour?”
Fear mixed with doubt crossed her face and she looked around her. No one was nearby. Her gaze returned to me and she scrutinized me again. I didn’t fit the part, wearing my heavy leather jacket. I asked, “Did you expect to see a lawyer in a tailored suit?” I smiled. “The heavy gambler I represent is the antithesis of ties and suits. He doesn’t like anything too flashy, but he likes the good life. There is no way I can bring him here without checking out the place first.”
She stood frozen, without the ability to make a decision. I felt she needed an incentive, so I smiled again. “I will make sure he will ask for your services tonight. The tip will be in the three digits.”
The smile that spread over her face showed that there was more chance that actions would receive praise rather than punishment. She opted for the praise. In a voice filled with renewed boldness she announced, “Just let me put my tray down and I will get back to you shortly.”
She walked away and I prepared myself for scoping out the casino. To successfully tour in a place I wasn’t really supposed to be, I needed to gather intelligence, just as Jonathan had done the day before. The gathering of information was necessary for me to blend into the place. Often, doing less is actually doing more. More efficiently, more invisible to the eye, more part of the general scene. The idea is to go about it with certainty, to seemingly know what I am looking for as if I have done it numerous times before.
I started by looking at the security men to see who I would have to contend with if the tour didn’t go well.
The VIP guest rooms were full, but not with what I was hoping to find. They had drinks of the best kind in the world, Cuban cigars not allowed in the States, laptops for client use, and a variety of gadgets suited for the upper class. The rooms were painted a pearly color and the furniture seemed as if it was covered in gold. I thought that is how a jewelry room should look. After the tour, which revealed nothing, I left. I hoped to reach my brother’s home before the FBI agency took over the investigation and their house began to fill up with strangers. On my way back, I managed to talk with my boss again.
***
The way back to Philadelphia was filled with traffic jams because of two car accidents, and I only made it to my brother’s place around four p.m. There was total chaos. The investigators swarmed all over the place, a surveilling team had the phones tapped, Jonathan’s phone and computer were taken away for cyber experts to explore and my brother and Michelle, his wife were sitting on the couch, in total shock, in the middle of the living room. They suddenly looked so small and helpless that it broke my heart. After a short while men in suits came in and after a quick discussion in the kitchen, took over the investigation.
About ten minutes later, Laura Ashton entered.
I estimated that she was in her mid-thirties and looked as if she modeled for the International Intelligence Agency fashion magazine. She was a tall woman, with long legs, and her hair tied back. Dressed in a short skirt suit that fell a bit above the knees, a white ironed shirt and high heels. A pair of sunglasses, Matrix style, completed her outfit. When she removed them, I saw they hid under them a pair of magnificent blue eyes, which only further accentuated her lush red lips.
She made her way directly to me, held out her hand and introduced herself. “Laura Ashton, from the Strategic Coordination office, the DNI.”
I shook her hand, “I understand that you are aware of the kidnapping and of the list.”
She nodded. “And I understand you are looking for Zorro.”
***
I didn’t have time to notify them that I was going out and for how long or where. I was already striding behind Laura. She drove skillfully and in a short while we found ourselves on a side street in the center of the city, opposite an Irish pub that was open twenty-four hours a day. The air held the smell of cigarettes. It hung over the room from the night before, or from many nights before that too. The two men sitting at the counter looked like regulars. Immediately after us, a rough-looking customer walked in. He looked like he was a regular in many other pubs as well. We sat in the darkest corner we could find.
“What is your relationship to the kidnapped boy?” she asked, as soon as we sat down.
I knew that she was only testing me as the information was most likely already in her file. The information was all there and maybe much more, like my present occupation, but I cooperated. That is what office workers want – information. And Laura’s being practically shouted ‘office worker.’ Her pale complexion, her soft hands which clearly hadn’t used a gun in months. The perfume that she wore made a promise of relaxed days and wild nights. I could smell it faintly, even over the cigarette stench.
“I’m his uncle,” I answered. “His father is my brother.” My nephew, Israeli-born but American by upbringing. His life was in danger, and even though every minute was important, I had to slow down and cooperate because those were the rules of the game. I showed the utmost patience, because I had no choice in the matter.
“Why do you think Jonathan called you?”
“I guess because he understood that he had gotten himself in trouble and wanted someone to help him without judging him.” I shot her a look that was supposed to be a wry smile, “Something like a big brother, not like the responsible adult. Maybe the fact that I am only a visitor gave me that status.” In a moment of clarity, I added, “Maybe my job mentoring kids also prepared me for this honor. That’s what I have been doing over the last couple of years.”
“How long are you planning on staying here?”
“Describe what you mean by ‘here.’” I answered, trying to anticipate the answer she was looking for.
“Here, in the United States.”
“Not much longer.” I answered obscurely and added, “I want to return to Europe and travel… mainly to visit friends and then to my family. It should be before the school year starts, because my plan is to go home and train kids.”
“Train them for what?”
“Martial arts, but also survival training. How to light a fire out in the open, put up a tent… things like that. I think kids have forgotten what it’s like to be outside, in nature.”
“And your family lives in Israel?”
“Yes.” I thought of Hadas, no long among the living, except in my heart, but added, “My parents, another brother. We are a family of Israeli farmers.”
“Is that where your connection with nature comes from? Are you a farmer as well?”
“I have no choice, because it is a family business. But I am the black sheep of the family of white sheep.” I took a sip of the cool beer, “I assume every family has one like that.” I hadn’t offered to supply information about my being a Mossad agent and I wasn’t going to start now. Besides, the fact was that I’d honestly prefer farming to being stuck inside, sitting behind a desk with a stapler, a dress code and petty office politics.
Laura smiled and lowered her eyes for just a
moment, enough to let me realize that I had hit a weak spot. I asked, “Are you also the black cat?”
“Me?” Her smile was pretty, open and honest. “I am what is called ‘the next generation’ in the security forces of the United States of America,” she stated proudly. “My father was with the New York police department, my uncle in the CIA. My brother was in the Navy. So I inhabit the most natural of places for someone like me: the office that coordinates efforts between the different security forces.”
“It surely seems that way. Let’s get back to business.” I felt as if I had played the game long enough. “This casino and that character, Murat Lenika, what do you know about him?”
“I won’t try and make matters pretty.” Laura Ashton looked into my eyes seriously, and said, “Murat Lenika is trouble and he has been on our radar for a while.”
“What do we know about him? I took a symbolic sip from my beer and added, “I mean about the real estate property, where do you think he could hide the kid?”
“You sound like a security man,” She threw at me with a hint of a cold smile. “I expect you not to interfere with the ongoing investigation, okay? We are already working on it now. We have teams that are checking up everything we already know; we have taken out search warrants to search their estates and tapped all his phones which are known to us.”
That was only a small piece of the information that I wanted to get. The other part was the information about Zorro. I said, “I feel frustrated sitting here while the kid is being held by those scumbags.”
“We are already checking every avenue. Our people are checking out the cameras at the intersections, surrounding the place where Jonathan’s car was seen, and we are looking out for cars belonging to Lenika.”
“He has a whole fleet of cars. Just at the casino alone, I saw five vans.”
“You are right about that,” she cut me off. “He has a respectable fleet and I am not only talking about those that belong to the casino. He and his uncle also have some private cars. This will take some time, but we will find him eventually.”
“What can we do to shorten the procedures? How can we think outside the box?”
“What we are going to do is to try and follow the money trail. Murat Lenika is the son of Kiril Lenika, one of the bosses of the Albanian mafia in England. This mafia is divided into small groups, but his is the biggest, which means this is an up and coming mafia. It is establishing itself as one of the most dangerous. We still don’t know why, but a few months ago his youngest son arrived. Murat. Maybe to take over his uncle’s business. Kiril Lenika’s younger brother arrived in the States in the eighties and built an absolutely legitimate business. On the other hand, there could be something behind this story.”
“Who does he do business with and what kind of business does he transact?”
“So…. That is where the problem starts.” Laura sipped at her whiskey without really drinking it. “Each mafia has its own expertise. The Albanian mafia controls the smuggling of vodka and tobacco, stealing luxury cars, extortion and mainly slave trading, with the emphasis on trading women for prostitution, of course.”
“According to Jonathan’s files, they consisted of trading in weapons, and not just any weapons…” and after a hesitant pause I added, “Special sniper rifles.”
Laura stared at me and mumbled, “I understand that you’ve already had time to investigate in depth about this list.” She took a deep breath and continued, “I have to point out that the Albanian mafia definitely does not deal in firearms. That is the expertise of the Russian mafia, also known as the Red Mafia. With the dissolution of the Soviet Union, many army bases became markets for selling the firearms they had. Soviet firearms, Soviet soldiers, the Soviet mafia and no one dares cross their line.”
“And if we assume that there is weapon trading? What does it mean?”
“As far as I’m concerned, this poses an essential problem. If that is true, we are in for a war of extermination between mafias and your Jonathan is right in the middle.”
Her news didn’t cheer me up at all. I took a big gulp of the beer and asked, “What did you mean when you said we’ll follow the money trail?”
“I know that Jonathan is our first target. We have to find him healthy and in one piece and bring him home. But besides that, there is another target: to find the terrorist group buying the weapons, in order to prevent the terror attack.”
“Do you know who David Gideoni is?”
“I don’t know him personally. I just know he spoke to my superior.”
“Did Gideoni explain how complicated it might be? About the terrorist group?”
“According to what Gideoni explained to my boss, who explained it to me, there could be a massive attack. He spoke about an attack on several Jewish Israeli targets simultaneously and most probably on American soil.” Laura threw not more than a hint of a smile in the air between us, but it was enough to break her icy look. “A massive attack on our soil is something we cannot let slide quietly. Not only because of the damage it will cause, not even because of the memories of September 11th. We can’t allow it, because here, in the home of the free and the brave, we cherish the personal security of our guests.” Laura’s scornful look returned and with that, her alienated facade, then she added as an afterthought, “Speaking of our guests and their well-being, just a few weeks ago an Iranian official was assassinated. I could swear that if we added a beard to your face, lengthened your hair and dressed you in a jalabiya, you could be one of the French citizens suspected of involvement in this affair and who visited the hotel that very morning. Is it coincidental?”
Just as I was about to deny what we both knew to be correct, her cell rang and we both sat bolt upright. “Ashton,” she answered shortly and listened. After she hung up, she reported that there was nothing new. Jonathan hadn’t been found in warehouses by the port. They were still trying to locate a car belonging to Lenika with the help of the cameras. They were checking every vehicle found in the vicinity of the warehouses, and it would take time to go through them all.
I ignored her previous question and asked, “Why did we look there?”
“Because the uncle has a legal transportation business of relocations and furniture removal company. He works mainly on the Europe-United States shipping route. There are containers and warehouses, and there are also offices. Jonathan wasn’t found in any one of them.”
Murat Lenika,
Somewhere in New York City, November 11,
2015, 4:15 p.m.
The first time he asked, ‘Where are you taking me?’ he received a slap. I watched him through the rear-view mirror. He sat between two gorilla-like men, clinging to his black bag. “Aldo, check what he’s got in his bag,” I ordered.
Aldo snatched the bag away from the boy and silently opened it up. He pulled out the laptop, placed it on the van’s floor, and turned the bag upside down. A cable, a brown wallet and an object I couldn’t make out fell onto the van’s floor. Aldo picked up the wallet and obscure object and handed it over to me. I took only the wallet. I pointed at the object and asked, “What is this thing?”
The boy didn’t answer.
I signaled to Aldo with a slight nod of the head and he punched the kid in the face.
The kid put both his hands on his face, touching the spot where he was punched. He looked miserably at Aldo. He was trying very hard not to cry.
“When I ask a question, you answer,” I said quietly. “What is that thing that Aldo is holding?”
“It’s like a disc-on-key but with a very large memory chip.”
I opened the wallet and started emptying out its contents. There wasn’t much there. A hundred and twenty dollars, a student ID from a school in Philadelphia, a special pass from some local university and a state ID card. There was also a picture of him standing with his arm around a young girl’s shoulders. There wasn’t anyt
hing special besides the fact that the two of them were wearing identical white T-shirts with the Israeli flag on it.
I held the picture and weighed my options. If the boy was Israeli, he could be worth a lot to the terrorist group, but for me he might prove to be a piece of insurance, if that little hooker wasn’t enough compensation and if this deal became complicated. If my name came up as a problematic factor. Would he be worth as much as the weapons if I couldn’t deliver the sniper rifles? I wasn’t sure, but this deal could include the Russian mafia. A deal where I would be the liaison and earn the trust of both sides. The kid could be the bonus and compensation for any minor tangles in the plan.
“Boss,” Alex said from the back seat. “Maybe his laptop could be like a cell phone?”
“What are you implying?”
“I suggest taking the battery out. So no one can find its location.”
I nodded my head with a single movement, “Do it.” I said to Aldo, “Check his bag properly to make sure there is no cell phone there.”
He picked up the bag once again and looked in all the compartments. “No telephone, boss.”
“How come you don’t have a phone?” I asked the kid, “Who goes around without a phone?”
“I was in a hurry to leave my place,” he answered, quickly. He was a quick learner. It was better this way. He elaborated, “I must have forgotten it there.”
We parked the car in the underground parking lot of the apartment block. Aldo returned all the contents to the bag and gave it to me. If he wasn’t more obedient than stupid, I would shoot him. “What are you giving me the bag for? Give it to the kid, so that his hands are kept busy.”
“Where are you taking me?” the boy asked once again. I marveled. The kid had spunk. We had beaten him a little already. Not enough to break any bones, but his eye was swollen, and a handprint was clearly ingrained on his cheek. Usually by this stage, the kidnapped don’t dare open their mouths.
