Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1)

by Dana Arama

  Guy Niava,

  August 2016

  “She didn’t have any other choice,” David Gideoni said, for the fifth time.

  “You are right” I agreed, for the fifth time. “She really had no choice.” We both knew that she did have a choice. She could have left everything and joined me in Tel Aviv. It was an option we had considered. Gideoni had heard me out, but he hated the idea, but in the end, he had come around.

  “She had to show that she was prepared to go all the way for his organization, just as she had to kill you, otherwise she could never have rebuilt her business. She wouldn’t have been able to save her people and he would have continued burning it down over and over again.”

  We were both watching her through the binoculars. She was so pretty and supple that it was hard not to look only at her and forget to look around as well. Behind us, we heard the voice of the tech guy on the mission: “They have arrived and are sitting at the table she has set for them.”

  “Is the bugging device in place?”

  “We have devices all over because we intercepted her cell phone and wired the whole restaurant with bugging devices.”

  “The suitcase, despite the changes we made, contains new technology. It is such a pity to lose it!” said Gideoni, for the fifth time. The times before he’d added a detailed explanation, which he luckily spared us from this time, maybe because a critical meeting was unfolding before our eyes.

  “The fact that a drug cartel can take revenge on a country is disgraceful,” stated someone behind me.

  I quietly answered, “They have too much money and a dubious sense of honor, which they feel the need to protect.”

  I heard Zorro’s voice in the earpiece, “Gentlemen, I represent a big organization interested in selling this suitcase he has in his possession.”

  “And I represent an organization happy to buy this suitcase,” said a male voice with a heavy accent.

  “But before the money, it is important for us to know what the head of your organization is going to do with this suitcase.” That was Zorro.

  A short little waitress approached and asked what they would like to order. Two men ordered water and Zorro asked for a can of Coke. The waitress walked off and the negotiations continued.

  “The head of the organization I represent wants to warn the original owners of the suitcase, not to interfere with his business and he also wishes to punish them for their insolence toward him.” Then she asked, “Can your organization meet these standards?”

  “Our organization performs operations no less complicated than this one,” the young man answered. “We will be happy to avenge on behalf of the head of your organization against the original owners of the suitcase.”

  The waitress reappeared, and soon there was the sound of cans being opened.

  “For us, revenge is a mission from Allah.”

  Zorro took a small sip and added, “By the way, I also have a personal interest, because my business has been burned down to the ground because of their interference.”

  “The connection has been made!” the tech man behind us announced happily. “They have received the order to go ahead with negotiations about the price. I am trying to locate the source.”

  “If so, we can begin the negotiations,” said the older man of the two men. “How much are you requesting?” asked the older man.

  “One hundred million dollars,” Zorro answered without hesitating.

  “She has also received authorization,” said the tech man.

  “Ten million dollars should cover the value of the suitcase more accurately,” said the older man.

  “Didn’t I already say that they had too much spending money?” I asked quietly.

  “That’s a very large difference of opinion,” Zorro stated.

  “On the other hand,” said the older man, “Think about the diplomatic complication that I have saved you from. We are taking all the risk upon ourselves. In fact, you should be paying us for the activity that we will carry out on your behalf upon receiving this suitcase.”

  Zorro’s cell phone received a text message, which showed up on our screen as well: Twenty-five million is the lowest bid. I am not willing to go any lower. They will kiss your feet for such an offer from you.

  Zorro read the message, smiled at the two men opposite her and said, “I understand that you have taken great steps to come all this way to obtain this suitcase and so I am prepared to take off five million dollars.”

  We heard the tense voice of the technician behind us, “Another message from the source… Good lord, give me another message.”

  “We are prepared to show our generosity and go up by another ten million dollars. Twenty million and that suitcase of yours will become a tool for revenge.”

  Zorro leaned back, smiled and took a drink directly from the can. “Gentlemen, we have but just one goal -- to cause devastation on the State of Israel. What is going to happen is that we will not sell the suitcase. We will do it ourselves and prevent you from taking the credit. Why should we waste our resources or take a risk if it is going to happen anyway?”

  “There is a connection!” The technician called out from behind me. “They have received the okay.”

  “Have you located it?”

  “I have located the source and the teams are already on their way.”

  In the restaurant the older man said, “I accept what you are saying and that is why I am prepared to add another ten million, but no more. That is our last offer.”

  Zorro smiled and held out her hand, “Gentlemen, it was a pleasure doing business with you. This is the bank account number. When we have confirmation, the money has been transferred, we will give the suitcase to you.”

  The older man took the slip of white paper from Zorro while the younger man took out a small laptop. When the older man put down the piece of paper, we saw it had the bank details. The young guy input the details by text message.

  Zorro text messaged: The extra five million you received I want in my bank account.

  The text back said: You’ll get it, you deserve it.

  We continued to listen to the conversation in the earpiece. “Where will the transaction take place?”

  “There is a VIP section in the car park of the Maritime Museum. Our car with the suitcase is already on its way there. It would be wise if one of your men would be there as well.”

  “We will, of course, have to check that we received the goods we paid for.”

  “Of course. I hope you have the right specialist.”

  “The switch has to be done before they arrive at the car park,” declared Gideoni. “Is that clear? And it must be a quick and smooth operation, before anyone manages to tell someone here that something has gone wrong.”

  Zorro received a text message: The cyber guy is on his way. He will be there in twenty minutes.

  “We have at least half an hour here before the suitcase reaches its meeting point and your man can authorize it. So gentlemen, would you like to order something to eat?”

  Gideoni said, “I want an online report. What’s happening there?”

  “The targeted car is surrounded by our vehicles. After the traffic light, there is a left turn into a quiet street. That is where we will create the crash.”

  “I love this moment, just before an operation starts…” He looked at me and said, “You could have been there. This was your choice.”

  I smiled at him, “May I remind you I am dead.”

  Time froze in the room. We heard the engines coming to life, the wheels turning, the calm breathing of the fighters just before the operation. A second later we heard the screeching of tires, the cars crashing, the curses of the different drivers, the cry of a woman injured. Calming voices, the phone call to the emergency hotline and informing them that someone had been injured in a car accident. The slamming
of doors and the words from Team A, “The activation has been set.” Then from team B a moment later, “We are getting away from the area.” Then, “They are continuing to the drop off spot.”

  Those of us in the room began to breathe again. At the restaurant, the gentlemen and the woman sitting at the table ordered coffee and chocolate cake with ice cream.

  “She’s mad about chocolate cake,” Gideoni noted with warmth. I thought that, despite the fact Zorro was tucking away that chocolate cake, she still had the most amazing body. I didn’t respond to Gideoni, because I knew he’d made this journey to the United States specially to see her, but she had other plans. One included me, and another included escaping back to Mexico.

  “What happens if the dummy briefcase doesn’t pass the expert’s examination?”

  “Then only half of the plan worked. At least we will have good intelligence from this new organization which has popped up right under our nose.”

  Twenty minutes later we received authorization that the dummy suitcase had been transferred to foreign hands, Zorro received confirmation that twenty-five million dollars had been transferred to a bank account in the Cayman Islands and that she was richer by five million dollars. The special device had been activated, and it had begun transmission. She shook the hands of the two men, got up, took another bite of cake and walked to Mercedes-Benz waiting for her outside.

  September 2016, Cape Canaveral, Florida, 9:07 a.m

  A tremendous blast shook the air and lit up the sky with orange flames. The Israeli satellite, Amos 6, became one big ball of fire and then crashed next to the Falcon 9 rocket. In a matter of seconds, the screeching of fire truck sirens could be heard.

  Thousands of kilometers away, in a secret facility in Tel Aviv, ten men stood watching the huge screen broadcasting the event. The familiar voice of the Israeli prime minister sound worried when he asked, “There weren’t any scientists of ours there, right?”

  “They were evacuated ahead of time,” a woman with a foreign accent answered from the other side of the room. “As soon as I knew when it was scheduled to happen, we acted accordingly.”

  “And the satellite itself?” he continued. “Did we manage to exchange it with a replica?”

  A male voice responded with a ‘yes’, and after a pause, added some more information as the prime minister had requested.

  At the other end of the room, David Gideoni stood behind the attractive visitor. “What are your plans now?” he asked, holding the everpresent whiskey glass.

  She raised her heavy glass, turned to him and took a sip of the rest of the golden liquid in her cup. Then she smiled at him and whispered, “Now, I have a date in Tel Aviv, and afterwards, who knows?”

  “Now that you are privy to one of the topmost guarded secrets in the country, who knows if you will be allowed to leave?”

  She replied, “After my date in Tel Aviv, who knows if I will want to leave?”

  Laura Ashton,

  December 2016

  “Laura Ashton?” The voice was male, polite and carried a heavy Mexican accent, evident even in those two words.

  “Speaking,” I answered and immediately sat up in bed. Gordon also sat up and grabbed his beeper from the bedside table. I shook my head at him, and he laid it back down. If it was an important message from work, his device would have beeped the same time as mine.

  My heart quivered. I feared this was a personal disaster and the feeling came true when the voice said, “It is about your sister…”

  “What happened to her?” I asked. Gordon sat down next to me and put his ear to the phone too.

  “Your brother-in-law wants you to know that she has had another breakdown.” He was silent for a moment before he continued, “Your brother-in-law said it is because of the holidays.”

  “Did he get to her in time?” I asked and sent up a silent prayer. Dear god, please don’t let her succeed in committing suicide this time… please keep her alive.

  “Yes, she has been admitted to the hospital and is asking only to see you.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  He answered, “A private hospital. If you agree to come, a private jet will await you at any airport you request.”

  “Of course,” I said and added, “Washington, I’m in Washington at the moment.”

  “The plane will be there in half an hour.”

  “So will I.” I hung up. Gordon hugged me and then said what I was afraid he was going to say, “You know it is a trap, right?”

  “Maybe.” I gave him a wry smile and added, “But she is my sister and I have to be there. Christmas has always been hard for her.”

  “They have already gotten back at Zorro. Burned her place down, sent a message that they will hunt down the Mossad agents. You are not immune, my love. Please don’t go.”

  I shifted in bed and turned to look into his eyes, I laid my hand on his cheek. “I am happy you are part of my life. I really am. It is important for me to tell you that, in case I don’t make it back.”

  “I am begging you… Don’t fall into their trap.”

  I hugged him and whispered, “My sister is calling for me. I have to go.”

  My heart felt torn. I wanted to stay safe in the arms of this amazing man, whose wonderful love had allowed me to regain my trust in humanity. But I couldn’t abandon her again. She would know that I would walk into danger with my eyes wide open, on the slim chance that it wasn’t a trap and she actually needed me. I needed her to know that I was willing to die for her, without hesitation.

  ***

  He stood, arms crossed, and watched her while she was sleeping. He let the tears roll freely down his face, without trying to hide them, which made him look more manly than ever. For a tiny moment I envied her. I also wanted a man to take care of me like that. I wanted a man whose face would crumble if I were in danger, who would cry if I came to harm. And then I remembered Gordon and the last weekend we had spent together with his family, and the warm feeling they’d given me, welcomed me with, the rolling laughter around the table, the farewell full of hugs and kisses and promises of many more get togethers. I remembered his face crumbling as I left the house the other night. I was happy for my sister.

  His tears stopped and he whispered, “Him, your uncle, hurt my girl.”

  I nodded without managing to stop my tears. That uncle of ours had deeply hurt the woman lying in front of us. My sister had grown up, but became a girl once again every Christmas, the little girl who’d lost her parents and stood helpless against a molesting uncle.

  “And that is why he will pay the price.”

  “You are planning on killing him.” There was no question in my voice.

  “If I kill him and if the world finds out that the head of a drug cartel killed the head of the Anti-Drug forces, he will become a national hero. I wouldn’t want that. I want the whole world to know that he is a pedophile bastard. I will ruin his reputation, his trustworthiness, and he will be a pariah in all circles.”

  We both looked at the pale woman lying under the white sheets, her wrists bandaged, and I asked, “What can I do to help?”

  He looked at me then turned to look at my sister once again, “Do you know the slave island affair?”

  “Slave island?” I asked not quite understanding, and then, sudden realization hit me. “You mean the Podasta affair?”

  “Exactly. I have already started publicizing what I know about this island of sex slaves. Boys who are sex slaves. The island that every sick pedophile loves to visit from time to time.”

  “How do you know that it really exists?” I asked.

  “It exists because I supplied them with drugs. You will soon hear about your uncle in the headlines. I managed to get some of my men over there and I will prove he has visited there as well.”

  I looked at him in shock and asked, “Do you realize that these ru
mors have affected the elections, right? You are aware that you are helping your enemy, the one who will build a wall between the United States and Mexico? You have helped him get elected.”

  He smiled a sad smile. “It turns out that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” He returned his gaze to my sister and added, “All the money in the world isn’t worth a single tear of your sister’s. Soon, that uncle of yours will die of shame.”

  I put my head on Raphael’s shoulder. He put his arm around me and hugged me. A single tear rolled down my cheek to land on his striped shirt. The enemy of my enemy had become my friend.

  The end

  Acknowledgments

  As always, my first gratitude goes to my daughter Kaylee, for giving up on mother-daughter time as I wrote this book.

  Thanks to my supportive family, who never cease to encourage and push me towards my goals.

  Thank you to all my friends for reading, correcting and giving me good advice. To Meital Pe’er, who lent personality, courage and depth to all the women who love pole dancing and the challenge of it. To Guy Mizrahi, the man without limits. To Motti Paz, who gave me hints to what is possible in every situation. To Silver, who’s second home is in the jungle. To Wiser, who taught me about parachuting. To Amir Shlomo, who told me about the secrets of the black ops world, and most of all to Moshe Shlissel, who granted me the gift of his experience and didn’t give in to me, even when I thought everything was perfect.

  To my editor and my close friend, Rina Brosh, who always insists on asking the right questions. It is the greatest privilege to have you in my life.

  Thanks to all those 150 people, family, friends, and strangers, who have supported me so I could bring this book to existence and publish it. You are the light of my life.