Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1)

by Dana Arama

  “Yes, as soon as I’d received it. I’m getting closer.” He sounded impatient and tired. Maybe also disappointed.

  Guy Niava,

  A farmhouse in South Carolina, November 16, 2015

  The calm voice of Miss Siri told me that my destination was at the end of the pathway on the left-hand side. She said that I still had a mile until I reached my destination. “I have to get rid of my cell phone and of my other devices I have on me,” I notified Laura. “I am approaching my destination.”

  “I don’t like the fact that you will be unreachable.” I heard the dissatisfaction in her voice, but she knew that it was the right thing to do, “The last satellite photo shows that there is a one-story building and a barn at the back. The thermal devices show that there are two people. There could be animals in the barn or more people. If only we could send a helicopter to watch over you…”

  “That is not realistic for the current situation,” I interrupted. We had already been through this about five miles ago and there was no use rehashing the subject.

  “I know.” I heard her sighing, as if something inside of her refused to let go. In the end she merely said, “Good luck,” then ended the call.

  Just before the exit, I signaled left and carefully turned. The ticking of the signal reminded me of an innocent children’s nursery rhyme. It calmed me. The sky above me was cloudy and looked like a grey reflection of the ploughed fields below. It looked as if it was about to rain. Would I be able to return with Jonathan? I switched off the cell phone, took the earpiece out of my ear and put them both on the seat beside me. If I got out alive, they would serve me afterwards. If not… Then it wouldn’t matter if they were found.

  The road was dirt and had been well compressed from all the wooden wheels of old carts, bicycle wheels, heavy car and truck wheels and thousands of steps which had walked up and down the path. On the side of the path were lingering puddles from yesterday’s stormy weather. The family farm at the end of the road looked very innocent. No one would ever think that it belonged to a terrorist, a megalomaniac, who had, with his massive amounts of money, planned a massive attack to kill thousands of innocent people.

  I took out my special glasses, the ones with the cameras in them, and put them on. My older brother stared at me from the reflection. Would Jonathan be here? The chances were very slim and still, it was worth the risk that I was entering into a trap. I continued driving at about 15 miles per hour, then slowed down even more as I approached the house. I opened the window, searching for signs of life. A sudden dust cloud, a noise from another engine, the sounds of horses galloping or whinnying in the silence around me, or maybe even the cocking of a gun, a whistle of a bullet or the crackling noise of a two-way radio, but all was quiet. Had I arrived at the right place?

  I parked the car on the left-hand side, in a stretch of dirt between the house and the huge barn and for a moment I had a good angle. I could see them both. One of the curtains in the house was carefully pulled aside. I opened the car door and stretched my legs on the hardened ground. A short guy walked out of the house. He looked like a mass of muscles, with an automatic rifle in his hand.

  “Hands up!” he shouted at me. He was very muscular, and he had a swastika tattooed on his chest. The rest of the tattoos on his arms told me that standing before was a hostile Nazi. I had not expected that. Even though cooperation between Aryan factions and anti-Israeli terror groups was not impossible, it was not very common. After all, even the Aryans were heretics and therefore needed to be annihilated, and, on the other hand, the Muslims in America were foreigners and were worthy of being eliminated as well.

  I raised my hands in response but stayed behind the opened car door, which gave me relative cover. “I want to see my son!” I declared.

  I heard the laughter of a man coming from within the house and then a tattooed man emerged. His bald head was covered with a baseball cap, which gave him the appearance of a good boy, from the neckline up. Below, his body was fully tattooed, leaving no bare skin.

  “Welcome Professor Niava.” He beckoned me to enter the house. “Your son is not here, but you are.”

  “I have come to set my son free. You promised me you would set him free then.” I remained in my place.

  “So… the thing is that right now your son is in good hands, elsewhere. A lot more interesting there, where all the action will be. There will be no action here.” He adjusted his cap on his head and continued, “He is in the hands of another faction planning a large operation. We have received orders to kill you as soon as you arrive, but here, as you can see, we are still chatting. Do you want to know why?”

  “Why?” I asked, as expected of me.

  “Because we are a different faction with other motives.”

  “Where is the faction who is holding my son?” I used his terminology. There was something not quite clear here. I realized that he had no idea who he was dealing with. Yassin Graham was not ‘another faction’ of an Aryan anti-Semitic organization. He was fanatic Muslim whose main purpose was to kill as many heretics as possible, those who didn’t practice Islam.

  “I will be happy to tell you as soon as we get some information out of you,” he answered mysteriously, vaguely, as expected from someone who doesn’t know what he is talking about. “Or maybe with your connections, you will give me the information I need, or because of your importance to Israel they will give us information to release you.”

  “What information do you want to know?” I wondered what their motive was, but it definitely wasn’t the time to persist with my questions.

  “Did the Israeli Mossad participate in an invasion of a Mexican civilian by the name of Raphael Igiaris, also known as El Desconocido?”

  I wondered if this was a game they were playing with me. Did they know that I was the ‘Mossad who visited there’? I felt my hair stand on edge, as it always did when I was in danger. I asked myself if they’d been in the jungle, and if they’d seen me down there. I replied quickly, “I don’t know. How could I know? I am just an Israeli citizen. The Mossad doesn’t tell me what they do…”

  “If you don’t help us get this information, you will die here and now because you are not helping us at all,” said the tattooed guy in a disappointed tone.

  “What information do you need?” I asked quickly. “And what are your motives?” I diverted the conversation to another angle.

  They looked at one another and smiled. “Aside from wanting to get rid of all the foreigners and get good drugs cheaply, we have long term motives,” one of them said, walking up to me. The second guy said, “Motives shared by Mr. Graham, Raphael Igiaris and with us.”

  “Long term?” I repeated his words, hoping to get him to explain a bit more.

  “Reorganizing the future of America!” answered the short one with the rifle, with pride.

  “And the other faction, the one holding my son, do they have other motives? Short term?”

  “The other faction belonging to Mr. Graham, is busy at the moment in an interesting venture you will hear about in the next couple of days,” answered the bald one, who was the taller one of the two. His answer was even more vague than before, and from it I understood two things: That he wanted to appear more involved in the plans than he really was and that he was unaware that Mr. Graham was actually Yassin Graham and that he was a devout Muslim.

  Instead of answering, the shorter one holding the rifle signaled me to start walking towards the house, but the taller one stopped us. “Hey, what is that suitcase in the car?”

  “That is the suitcase that controls the Israeli satellite.” I turned to him and explained simply, “That is why you agreed to exchange me for my son.”

  Once again, they exchanged looks and the tattooed guy took the suitcase out of the car. “It wasn’t us who agreed to the deal with you. I need to check if the suitcase has any value for us.”

 
“It is worth a lot of money,” I responded quickly. “Much more than a boy who knows nothing about life.”

  “Come on, come on!” the short one with the rifle commanded me and pointed towards the door of the house.

  I counted twenty paces till the entrance and two more men inside the house. The house itself looked as if it had been in dire need of restoration for many years. Under the window opposite the door, there was a wide crack which started as a slight crack and widened so aggressively that it had been stuffed with newspaper, probably to prevent the cold evening air from coming in. The room itself wasn’t very big and, despite the window that let the daylight stream in, the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling was switched on.

  On the right side of the room, there was a kitchen with rough wooden shelves, which held only two pots on them and underneath, a dirty sink. Next to the kitchen was a door, probably leading to the bathroom. On the other side of the room was a hallway, which most probably led to spare rooms. I hoped they were empty of people. In the room was a green couch which had seen better days and on it, stretched out, were two men dressed in camouflage clothes and high boots, their hair cropped short and a two-day beard stubble lining their faces. By the way the couch was indented, they were heavier than they seemed, or the couch was in very bad condition.

  The only thing connecting modern life and what was going on inside the house was a computer screen, which stood on a peeling wooden table.

  “If lucky, then lucky to the end…” said the tattooed guy behind me. “In addition to the Israeli scientist, we have the suitcase containing the operations of the Israeli satellite. Turn on the computer. I want to see what he has to say about this suitcase.” He laid the suitcase next to the door and walked into the room.

  All four men turned towards the computer screen, including the short one with the rifle who was standing a foot away from me slightly to my left. It shouldn’t be a problem to take hold of the rifle and spray everyone with bullets. But I first wanted to get as much information as possible about the current situation. One of the guys got up from the couch, sat by the table and turned on the computer. His fingers ran nimbly over the keyboard and I gathered he was their tech guy. After a mere few minutes the camera started to work. The tattooed one signaled the tech guy by patting his shoulder lightly to move over and he immediately sat down instead.

  “Hello, my friend,” a familiar voice sounded. Immediately, the smiling face of El Desconocido appeared on the screen. “How are plans coming along?”

  “Not bad at all. We have a good feeling we will be able to get one of our men into the White House.”

  The internet couldn’t have been very good, because the picture on the screen froze and I froze with it. They didn’t ask about him. He was running them. The connections here were becoming more and more threatening and I knew I would have to do something about it. While the cyberman tried to reconnect the communication, I injected a few drops of poison into the sweetness opposite me.

  “You are aware that Yassin Graham is a Muslim who is using you to carry out a terrorist attack against Christian Americans like you?”

  The bald guy turned his head to look at me and didn’t say a thing. I saw in his eyes that he was thinking about what I’d just said. When the communication was reestablished, he leaned back and looked at El Desconocido, “Do you know, now that I think about it,” I heard suspicion in his voice, “Why do you want him there when he is threatening to close down the border?”

  “I want to kick out the existing people there now. It is not a matter of ideology for me. These are personal reasons, exactly like the task I gave you. How is it coming along?”

  “It is coming along even better than we thought.” He’d liked Raphael’s answer because he leaned forward towards the screen, as if to share a secret. “I have not only brought you the Israeli scientist, but I also have the suitcase that operates the Israeli satellite. I am sure that it will help you with your revenge.”

  “Like a command center?” El Desconocido’s voice was full of admiration.

  “I think so,” the tattooed guy answered hesitantly and then with confidence said, “Here, look for yourself…” and he turned the screen and himself towards the suitcase.

  I quickly lowered my head. I didn’t want to be in the frame of the camera and in El Desconocido’s view. Any recognition now wouldn’t be a good thing. The only good thing would be a single shot to the head without torture as per the M.O. of the Mexican cartel.

  “Open it,” said the voice of the cartel man on the computer screen. The tattooed guy once again turned the camera towards him and nodded. Then he ordered the tech guy to place the suitcase on the table and open it. My fingerprint, imprinted as it was on the locking system, could be my death warrant. They wouldn’t hesitate to cut my finger off, place it in ice and send it together with the suitcase to Mexico. In that case, I wasn’t sure I would prefer to be joined to my finger.

  The cyberman placed the suitcase next to the computer and leaned over to try to understand the opening mechanism. A few long minutes passed, and they watched him silently. The rifle behind me changed angles and now faced towards the floor. If I killed them now, I would lose my connection to Jonathan. If I don’t do it now, I would lose my life. The dilemma was a short one, because the tech guy deciphered the mechanism and turned to look at me. “Come and put your finger here,” he ordered. He took a step left and then the camera lens caught me in the frame. He immediately recognized me. I saw El Desconocido’s eyes open wide in shock, along with his mouth. That was my cue to start the action.

  I took a quick step back and to the left, grabbed the gun from behind me and at the same time kicked the short guy who held the rifle. He doubled over and let go of the rifle. The guy who had been sitting quietly on the couch got up with a gun in his hand, and prepared himself to shoot. That made him my first target. The first burst of fire from the short-barreled Uzi hit him in his left side under the lungs and a bit above the heart. He was blown back by a rush of blood that sprayed all over the cracked wall and on the window behind him. The window was also hit with a few bullets, then shattered outward into the dirt and grass.

  From inside the computer screen, El Desconocido’s voice rang out, “Take him down immediately!” He was screaming. Because his facial features were distorted and his yelling mouth open, the gap between the voice that was heard from the screen and the picture grew longer. It was almost comical.

  I quickly pinned myself to the wall and threatened all the rest of the people present. It wouldn’t work if they all decided to move simultaneously. I could spray the room with bullets hoping to hit some of them, but not necessarily take them out. They froze momentarily, but the voice from the screen ordering them to kill me startled them back into action. The short guy started towards me together with the tech guy. I took a shot at the area between them and the short guy got kicked once again. This time he was ready for it. He pushed my leg and took a step back.

  That was enough for me to aim my rifle at him. The tattooed guy yelled at the short guy, “Kill the son of a bitch!” From the corner of my eye I saw him get up from where he was sitting and point a black gun towards me. By instinct, I turned the barrel towards him and pulled the trigger. That was the last burst of fire, followed by the empty sound of metal clanging on itself with no bullet to pass through the barrel. There was no bullet stuck, just an empty bullet casing. I looked around and when I saw that there was no other cartridge in the vicinity, I threw the rifle aside. The short guy, clearly a skilled fighter, took advantage of the new situation to rush me with all his weight. This time, his short stature gave him an advantage of steadiness.

  His skull hit me hard in the ribs and pushed me back, and I stumbled towards the kitchen. The edge of the wooden shelf hit me just behind my temple. If we’d been in a cartoon movie, birds would have been tweeting round my head, but this was no animated movie. The short guy continued his attack
. He sent his elbow back, drawing energy from his broad shoulders to the tips of his fingers. He tightened his fingers into a fist like a lethal sledgehammer.

  In other circumstances this punch could win a match, but these weren’t the right circumstances. I was taller than him by at least eight inches, and I had longer limbs. I managed to shove his punch away from a distance. I quickly bent my knees towards his chin, and my large hands wrapped themselves around his head and forced him downwards, towards my raised knee.

  He’d made his first and last mistake. My hit was accurate. I heard a nauseating crack and then silence. His nose had been driven into his skull. He died immediately. El Desconocido’s face froze on the screen. When our gazes crossed, he pointed a finger across his neck as a threat to slaughter me and I knew that he wouldn’t rest until he’d hunted down the Israeli Mossad and me specifically. As if to confirm my fears, he said, “You have no idea how many resources I am going to use to hurt you and your country!”

  In two long paces I reached the screen and, without answering him, I turned off the computer. I once again looked for a new cartridge for the rifle, this time with more care but I couldn’t find one. I decided to take the rifle with me just in case. My fingerprints were on it and, together with the dead bodies strewn all over, it didn’t look good. Quickly, I disconnected the computer from its charger and tucked it under my left arm. I grabbed the suitcase with the same hand. I put the empty rifle in my right hand. It might be helpful at some point. I opened the old door but remained inside. If there was another force of fighters outside, they might try to shoot me, but I was received with a blessed silence. Despite the silence I made my way towards the car at a quick sprint.

  Once there, I got in immediately, started the car and drove away. Only when I’d made it to the main road did I put my hand to the source of my pain behind my temple. The blood on my fingers told me that I had escaped there with a lot of luck. I stopped at the first gas station I saw. The dizziness rushing through my body was a combination of lack of food, sleep and an excess of adrenaline. Maybe also the knock on the head. I went to the bathroom to get cleaned up and wash my head. The blood had almost stopped flowing, but the pain was getting stronger. At the convenience store next to the gas station I bought a bar of chocolate and a cheese sandwich, along with a lemonade. I wolfed down half of the chocolate bar before I even sat back down in the Volvo and soon felt much better. Before I began to make my way back north, I pulled out my cell phone and my earpiece from under the driver’s seat and switched them back on.