Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1)

by Dana Arama

  We didn’t answer him. Both my aides held him on either side, and I stood before them. We didn’t even look at him. We had quite a bit of experience in causing fear on whoever needed it. The silence was just the beginning. He would ride waves of pleasure and suffering, of attention and disregard, of being high on drugs and desperate from their withdrawal.

  All this. Until he collapsed.

  We went up to the apartment. Each month, as part of my precautionary rules, I rented myself a new apartment. The authorities hadn’t picked up on it yet. Nor had my annoying uncle. This was another one of my side actions he didn’t know of. In the apartment lived four Eastern European women who worked for me entertaining men. I am sure that when they had dreamt about starting a new life in America this is not what they had in mind. But to make a dream come true one has to work, and this work suited them. Besides the fact of the matter was that life in America was expensive and they had to pay.

  The apartment was magnificently big. Persian carpets dulled the noise of anything that might fall suddenly. Things like that happened when a customer preferred rough sex. The girls were pretty and available, and the drinks were already poured out into glasses. The kid was given a glass of whiskey and, with a little encouragement, drank it down to the last drop. I chose two of my favorite girls and went into the bedroom with them for a couple of hours of pleasure. I knew that outside my guys would keep on investigating and would get every detail I needed out of the boy.

  ***

  “Jonathan Niava, because you managed to get into my files and told others about it, you have ruined my transaction and now you will have to pay dearly for my losses.” I sat opposite him in a comfortable lounge chair. We had sat him on a simple wooden chair.

  “To pay?”

  His clouded drunkenness had dissipated and now he looked shocked. Still not scared, like those who have never encountered violence and are not aware of what is about to happen to them. I smiled at him, “It is your lucky day and you can make amends for the damages you have caused me. You have one advantage that the others don’t have.”

  “What is the advantage?”

  “You are Jewish. You are Israeli and my clients especially like Israelis.”

  “Clients?” he repeated after me, not quite comprehending the trouble he was in. He really didn’t understand. This is how it is with law-abiding citizens that find themselves involved in things that don’t concern them. The truth of the matter was that I preferred to deal with those who understood when to be afraid, rather than those whose fear paralyzed them. I felt a lack of cooperation on Jonathan’s part, as well as betrayal. He was supposed to beg for his life now. He was supposed to do anything besides sit there, frozen. That was no fun. I decided to shorten the procedure.

  “You told Alex here that you saw the names of the weapons and the sites. You are a smart boy. You must understand that my clients are a Muslim terrorist group. I think an ISIS cell. You will be handed over to them and they will use you as they see fit.”

  At long last, a reaction. His face took on a frightening pallor. I was afraid he would have a heart attack before I managed to finish the deal.

  Just as I was starting to enjoy myself, to dominate his brain, I received a telephone call.

  Aldo answered and handed the phone over to me. “Boss, it’s Dubroshin...I am here on the trail of the blonde bitch who is sniffing after you. She is sitting with a man we don’t recognize. I took a picture of him and passed it on to our security center and they say he was seen at the casino this morning.”

  “Did you check who served him?”

  “Yes. I questioned her as well. He asked about drugs and she told him to come back this evening.” He hesitated before he asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Finish off whoever you need to.”

  “I think you need to finish off the three of them, but not now. I want to know what their interest is in you.”

  “Just make sure that the waitress who talked won’t talk again and don’t take your eyes off them. I want to know where they go and with whom they are meeting up.” With that, I disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Aldo.

  My nerves were on edge and with them also my interest. For me this was part of life’s game. I preferred to carry on following them, so I could be the hunter rather than the hunted.

  Laura Ashton,

  A pub in Philadelphia, November 11, 2015, 4:15 p.m.

  His body language showed that he wanted to get things moving. He had glanced at his watch twice already and checked his messages on his phone numerous times. Considering the circumstances, it was absolutely understandable. On the way here I read that he was a combat fighter, the kind who pursues contact with the enemy. The interesting bit of information was that he was supposedly an agent for the Israeli Mossad but quit when his wife was killed in a terrorist attack in front of his eyes. It had happened quite a few years ago, but most probably he burned out after the fact. That was also very understandable, but it was just a news item. Information from the CIA showed that it couldn’t be certain that he actually had quit. I understood the pressure that must have put on him, to lose someone in such violent circumstances. That was why I had taken him to the pub. I wanted to see how he would react, because if he managed to hold out, he was the perfect person for me. I was a little disappointed that he felt a bit uncomfortable now. I reminded myself that uneasiness did not always indicate a loss of control.

  “How are we going to follow the money trail?’ he inquired.

  “We have already started doing so. Actually, when Murat arrived in the country he was flagged as a ‘troublemaker’ and he became a target to be followed.” I could tell him that that was when I first found out about Gail’s questionable social contacts. I could have shown him a photo of her from the FBI file, in a very revealing evening dress, one I would never have believed she would have worn, with Murat’s arm around her shoulders. Gail Ashton, an outstanding physics and chemistry student, hanging around with a charming playboy criminal with close ties with to the world’s most renowned mafioso. I could have revealed all of it, but I chose not to do it at this point.

  “The tracking stopped shortly after he started working for his uncle in his legitimate business,” I told Guy. “We didn’t have a reason anymore.” I didn’t tell him that while the official tracking had stopped, mine had only begun, because it was my sister in the picture with him. “The tracking stopped but has now been renewed. At least we are not starting at point zero, because we have had already a few entries about his whereabouts. Right now, his bank account, his uncle’s and the casino’s are undergoing forensic analysis. We are searching for large amounts of money entering into one of the accounts recently. So far the reports haven’t found anything like that.”

  “And if it was in cash?”

  “At the same time, we are looking for an amount he used to buy the equipment. That doesn’t exist either.”

  “Could it be that this deal Murat Lenika is trying to close has something to do with the robbery in Germany a few months ago? A container of new sniper rifles was stolen from there,” Guy said.

  That was a piece of information I wasn’t even sure that the CIA knew about. I assume he released that information only because Jonathan’s life was at stake. What did that mean about Guy? That he was losing control or that he didn’t care what his bosses in the Mossad think?

  “A robbery of sniper rifles. Mmm. I need to check if we have information about the subject,” I said, reaching for my phone to text my assistant in the office. I said, “This story is going to be complicated. Murat Lenika is the descendant of the Albanian mafia boss. He is also trying to get his hands into everything. If he has also attempted trafficking in drugs, it would make sense for him to pay drug money for the firearms. We should know about it soon enough.”

  “If it took me half an hour to find out that he is dealing drugs in the c
asino, I am sure someone in your team must know about it.”

  Guy was not stupid, and I had to be very careful if I wanted his help. He was right, I knew that Murat Lenika had wanted to become a distributor on a large scale long before this affair started, but I didn’t admit this to Guy. Instead, I stated, “The difference between someone who deals in his casino or wants to be a large-scale distributor is huge. It is almost the difference between personal use and commercial use.”

  “Or between a retailer and a wholesaler…” He looked at me and added, “Or the difference between someone who closes a complicated transaction and someone who hosts people in his casino and offers them drugs.”

  “Exactly. And the one who knew if he had become someone substantial in the drug market, the one who knew how the transactions were settled and with whom, would be Zorro.”

  “Where can Zorro be found?” he asked.

  “The last time we had heard from Zorro was from Colombia, over a year ago. In a closed party given by the head of the cartel. This is information we managed to get from someone we managed to smuggle in there. By the way, not many people associate with both the Colombian cartel -- the FARK -- and with the Mexican cartel, but Zorro does. Generally, a meeting between them had potential to end in world war, and those who had contacts with one could not associate with the other. I took a small sip of my whiskey. I wanted a moment to think about how I was going to recruit him to my personal mission without him knowing it. “We will need to go to Miami. There’s a strip joint that Zorro used to own, five or so years ago.”

  “That doesn’t sound very helpful.”

  “Listen,” I stared hard at him, to preempt any defeatism that could lead to hopelessness. “There isn’t anyone in all of the security agencies who knows Zorro better than me.” I could tell him that I knew Zorro even before Zorro was given the nickname. I could tell him, but I waited with this information for a more suitable time.

  “I expected to hear the end of that sentence. I am wondering what you aren’t telling me,” Guy said.

  “The rest of the sentence is that, with that fact in mind, I am the best person to help you find Zorro, and if I say we have to start in Miami, then your only question should be when are we leaving.”

  He smiled. “I have a feeling that something else is hiding here, more than the dynamics between a woman of the law and a man of crime.” And as if he realized that I wouldn’t answer him, he asked, “Where do you know Zorro from?”

  “Do you know the origin of the nickname?” I thought that this was the time to reveal some information, enough to arouse his curiosity, yet not enough to deter him.

  “No. Do you know?”

  “Like The Legend of Zorro. Our Zorro is an undefeated Olympic fencing athlete.”

  “I assumed something of the sort, though the competitive part doesn’t go with the character.” He glanced again at his watch, then said, “The fictional Zorro was a lone wolf.”

  “Zorro is definitely competitive … as I said, an Olympian.”

  “So Zorro competed?”

  “Yes. And excelled, too! Was the object of everyone’s jealousy.”

  “Did you know Zorro from the competitions?”

  “I -- was considered very gifted and was on the American team. Zorro was gifted as well, and on the Soviet team. We competed together quite a few times.”

  A puzzled look crossed Guy’s face. He was glancing again at his watch and cell phone, which lay open in front of him, but still listened to me. “Competed against each other? Was there a co-ed competition?”

  “This is no time for modesty. So I will say honestly that, back then, we could have beaten many of our opponents, regardless of gender. Certainly myself, and especially Zorro, who was known back then as Alex Romankova.”

  Guy’s cup was halfway to his mouth when the realization hit. He asked, “Is Zorro a woman?” He put his glass down. “Romankova is a female surname in Russian.”

  I said, “Correct. Whereas in Israel you are named after your father. It would be Romankov. And then you lose the Russian identity.”

  “So, you competed in fencing? It’s not a sport I understand too much about.” He glanced at his cell phone, agitated. I smothered a smile. My scheme, prodding him to ask for an alternate plan, was starting to take effect.

  “It is hard to understand the rules.” I answered, with studied calm. “It is hard to follow a match, as they move quickly and proceed according to very specific rules. Fencing is divided into three categories. Fencing with a foil, an epee, or a sabre. In the past, the sabre was heavy, which made fencing with it more aggressive, faster. It involved more physical contact between the competitors, and so it was considered a sport for men only.” I finished my drink and stared, contemplating the empty glass.

  In order to test him, to ensure that he was the right person for my private operation, I continued with the tiresome and unnecessary explanation. “It wasn’t until the Eighties,” I babbled on, “that women were allowed to compete, and even then only with the foil. When I first began to compete internationally, it was already common practice to find women athletes in fencing.”

  My cell phone vibrated on the table. I read the new text: ‘A suspicious car was found. Disappeared in an underground parking lot. We are trying to locate the owners. Without betraying that I’d read the message, I continued. “Zorro may be the most talented fencer I’ve ever seen.” I smiled, and added, “And she may be the most beautiful fencer of all.”

  “About the ‘beautiful’, well…I look at you and you are also very beautiful. But why ‘may be’ the best?” he inquired.

  “Because in all the championships we competed in, our results were close. Very close. Probably because we both had what it took to compete in the field.”

  “And that is?”

  “Aggressiveness, agility and a cool temperament. We both had it in abundance and yet, I never managed to beat her. The last time, the difference was so slight that the judges argued between themselves for over ten minutes. In the end they decided that the victory was hers. I knew that the next time we met, I would win. I knew it and I needed it, like someone drowning desperately needs air, and yet feels the earth slipping from underneath him. But the next time never arrived. I was left with the unknown.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t really know. Something strange happened to the Russian team. I think the government decided that some oligarch would take control of the team and something didn’t pan out there. Long story short, Zorro never participated in the competition and didn’t continue competing and I never got my chance to beat her.”

  “What happened to her after she stopped competing?”

  “This is where her life became interesting …” Before I managed to finish my story, the cell phone gave a single ring. I grabbed it and answered, “Ashton.” After hearing what they had to say I said, “Damn!” and hung up.

  The look on Guy’s face silently asked all the questions and I assumed that the look on my face gave answers he didn’t want to hear.

  “What happened?” He was clearly worried.

  “We tried to follow the tracks of the laptop but lost the signal somewhere between New Jersey and New York.”

  “I assume you are looking for his bag, right?”

  “Large forces… We aren’t sparing a single expense.”

  “And Murat Lenika’s phone?”

  “He uses disposable phones. He buys new ones constantly. He is the prince of crime, born into these kinds of habits.”

  “What about the street cameras”

  “They thought that maybe they found the car, but it entered an underground parking lot and hasn’t been seen since. They may have left it there or changed cars. At the moment we are trying to find a connection between the owner of the car and the owner of the property there. If we find them, we will continue our search th
ere.

  “I can’t carry on sitting here without doing anything. What’s happening with the investigation into the hostile factors towards Israel?”

  “A special unit is already working on it, but as you most likely know, there are many agents who fit the description, who are hostile towards Israel. I think we should face facts.” I stopped with a dramatic pause and stared at him, then said, frankly, “Our time is limited. The boy is in real danger and we -- you and I -- really need to think outside the box.” I used his words to make him think it was his idea.

  “So, you suggest we leave now to try and find Zorro?”

  “That is exactly what I was planning to do. Because none of her club workers would agree to talk to a representative of the law, both of us should go. You are definitely not a law representative and I… Well, I have a history with her that can be proven.” I laid a hand on his and added, quietly, “If we do it unofficially, we could get information out of them willingly or unwillingly.”

  I raised my hand and attempted to catch the waitress’s eye to signal for the bill, but by the amount of beers on her tray, it seemed she was too busy to make her way over.

  Guy noticed that as well and without hesitation, put down a fifty-dollar bill and mumbled, “The tip’s included. Let’s go.”

  On our way to the car I casually added, “This is not going to be a day trip. Would you like to pack an overnight bag?”

  “I will, but more importantly, I must inform my brother and sister-in-law, Michelle, where I am going.”

  “Yes. It’ll make it easier for the official channels. They need not worry about someone else disappearing under their noses.” I took out my cell phone and dialed. “Speaking of official channels,” I said, casually, “I need your passport number to allow you access to certain places.”

  Murat Lenika,