The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  “He learned that from hiding his identity in Cuba’s prisons for nearly two decades, and then being forced to be a sleeper agent in the US for the Soviet KGB for seven years. He had no one to rely on but himself. He’s been incredibly effective—”

  “I know. I read the CIA dossier on him. Sad what happened to his family. Castro took everything from them. What are you going to do now?”

  “I’ll raise it upstairs and see what happens. Our president knows him and what he can do, so we have a good shot. What about you?”

  “Operating Atcho’s way is outside the Mossad’s modus operandi, but we’re better positioned to support him—our undercover guys are already placed in the Tri-Border Region. They could insert him, but if he trips up, they could be exposed. That could ruin years of asset development in that area. I’ll push my boss, but I can’t promise anything. Even if I could get it done, it could take a few days, and he leaves in two. We’re on the other side of the world. That means he could go within thirty-six hours from now. That doesn’t give us much leeway.”

  “Keep me posted. I’ll do the same.”

  Atcho and Sofia rode home in silence. When they arrived, Isabel had already put the children to bed and sat alone in the ground-floor living room, watching TV. She sensed the tension when they entered.

  “I have to speak with Sofia,” Atcho told her brusquely. “We’ll go downstairs.”

  In the lounge, Atcho crossed to the entertainment center at the far end of the room and felt along the wall behind it until he found a button. When he pushed it, the console swung away, revealing a room stocked with weapons, ammunition, water, food supplies, and other items required for an emergency.

  They stepped in and closed the door, and Sofia whirled on him. “How could you do this again?” Her cheeks flushed with anger and her eyes flashed. “We’re in no immediate danger.”

  “That we know of,” Atcho responded, holding his own irritation in check. “We don’t know Klaus’ location or plans.”

  “Good point. So, what do we do if he comes here while you’re gone?”

  Startled, Atcho stared at her, then broke into an involuntary laugh. “Who are you, and what did you do with Sofia?” He reached up and caressed her cheek. “I’d pity Klaus in hand-to-hand combat with you, but I’ll read Ivan into the situation and get him to increase security around the house. I’ll tell him to put a tail on you when you’re out and about. When are Isabel and Kattrina going back home?”

  Sofia’s expression had morphed to sheepishness. “They leave in a few days. I’ll hate to see them go.” She reached up with both arms and hugged his neck. “I’ll worry about you, and there’s not much I can do to help you from here.”

  Atcho embraced her. “Are you kidding? You’ve got the biggest job of all—keeping those kids upstairs safe and making sure I have a home to come back to.”

  He brightened. “My gut tells me I’m yesterday’s news to Klaus. He still wants revenge, but he wants his major strike against the US just as much. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be tooling around in South America. He’s not going to waste another bomb on me—he’ll try to get me another way, another time.”

  7

  Eitan hurried into Jaron Bryk’s office. Mossad’s head of operations looked up with feigned annoyance.

  “Do you ever set an appointment, knock, or wait to see if I’m busy?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Eitan responded while striding across the room with an attitude that belied his apology. “We need fast action.” He related his conversation with Burly, Atcho, and Sofia.

  Bryk leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “If we support Atcho, we could blow some assets. If we don’t, this Klaus character could do incredible harm to us. Is there another way?”

  Eitan sighed. “Probably, if we had time to ferret out all the risks and planning factors. We don’t. Klaus could strike anywhere at any time. We have to find him and get those bombs away from him. Atcho knows his mind and is the best chance we have of getting him soon.” He glanced out the window, continuing to think out loud. “The undercover assets in the Tri-Border Region must be protected. What do you propose?”

  “That we detach two of our covert guys to insert Atcho. Spanish is his first language, and we can build a cover story that puts him working for Castro—the Senderos will like that. I’ll go down to run the op…”

  Bryk listened intently as Eitan explained his plan. When he had finished, Bryk contemplated a few moments before speaking.

  “We’ll need a longer-term plan in case Atcho fails. I’ll handle that. Before exposing the undercover assets, I’ll need minister-level approval and probably the prime minister’s too. My boss will have to inform them anyway, since we’re talking about a nuclear threat. I’m sure the PM will want to confer with the US, so I’ll get a briefing prepared.” He shook his head. “We’re talking bureaucracy. This could take a few days.”

  “That might be all the time we have.”

  “I know.” Bryk leaned over his desk, pressing his fingers into his forehead. “Let’s do it this way.” He lifted his eyes to meet Eitan’s. “Fire off a warning order to the case officer in the Tri-Border Region and tell him to extend it to the undercover guys. You go down there ASAP, but don’t do anything until you hear from me. I’ll get our director to speak with the head of the CIA and tell him our plans and status. Let your counterpart at the CIA know, so he can prepare. What’s his name?”

  “We call him Burly. Can I pre-position our undercover guys in Lima?”

  Bryk took a deep breath. “That’s even more risky. They’ll have to explain their absence from the Tri-Border Region and their presence in Lima. Can you live with just the warning order until we know when and how they’ll link up with Atcho?”

  Eitan nodded, his reluctance evident.

  “Then go. I’ll move things along here as fast as I can.” He lifted the phone and punched a button. “Get me an appointment with the boss,” he said, then turned back to Eitan. “I’m on it.”

  8

  Two days later, Klaus and Yousef once again settled on the couches in the inner courtyard of Yousef’s palatial mansion. A light breeze floated through the palm trees, and the fountains babbled. Yousef’s servant hurried away for tea servings.

  “We need you to return to Lima.” Yousef’s face tightened in anticipation of Klaus’ reaction. “That’s where the next strike will be. We want you to observe again.”

  Klaus took in the implications, expressionless. “Do you think I’m a trainee?” he said at last. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “No, no, no.” Yousef extended a fleshy hand, palm out, to assuage Klaus’ irritation. “You know that part of every successful operation is exploitation—extending the effect. The Senderos did that in Lima. They’ve been in running gun battles with the government all over the city since the attack on the television station. A major crisis is brewing there.” He nudged Klaus. “The next attack will be huge. We want to see the effect first-hand.” He smiled enigmatically. “Think of it as a rehearsal for a future strike.”

  Before Klaus could respond, Yousef reverted to a businesslike demeanor. “We have another reason for sending you.”

  The boy with the tea tray appeared, poured the hot liquid into little glasses, and handed them to Klaus and Yousef. The aroma of mint floated on the vapor.

  “You know we’ve made inroads with Hezbollah in Argentina,” Yousef resumed after the boy had retreated.

  Klaus acknowledged his words with a nod.

  “We want to establish a presence in Peru as well. Islam has been there since 1560, but the Catholic Church persecuted it almost out of existence. The faithful claimed to convert, but they secretly kept Islam alive. It resurrected in 1948 thanks to Palestinians and Lebanese fleeing the Arab-Israeli war. Both Sunni and Shia are there, and we think we can use Senderos to recruit Muslims into their cause, and then convert the effort to jihad. The organization’s leaders have already met you. This will be a second contact. You ca
n stick around awhile afterward.”

  Klaus, leaning back in his seat, now studied Yousef with steady eyes. “Do I have to stay there?”

  “Go in early, watch the big event, and stay a few weeks afterward. Make contact in the Sunni community beforehand and meet with them after the explosion to show solidarity with Senderos. We will make good Muslims out of the communists after we kill the Great Satan. You are going to play a big part in that.”

  Klaus rested his chin on his chest and gazed at Yousef. “Do I have time for a stopover in Texas?”

  Yousef frowned. “We would rather not risk the mission. As soon as you return, we will start preparation for your operation. Believe me, it will be worth the wait.”

  Klaus groused, “You can’t tell me anything about it now?”

  Yousef shook his head. “I don’t know anything about it, but Osama bin Laden sent a personal message to beseech your patience.”

  Klaus folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “Give me something,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been babysitting at the camps in Sudan for more than a year—most of those recruits are only good for cannon fodder. I didn’t join the jihad to go on a world tour or watch others carry out operations.” His eyes flashed. “You want me to wait until next year for my next mission? Allah give me patience.” He looked up at the ceiling and then glared at Yousef. “I have a right to revenge. I’ll leave Atcho alone for now, but I want to take care of him personally. Meanwhile, let me send someone to take out his wife and son.”

  Yousef peered at Klaus, then poured himself another glass of tea and stirred sugar into it. He shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch and fixed his eyes on Klaus again.

  “We are not ready for highly visible killings in the US,” he said. Then his face broke into a benevolent smile. “The operation has to be clean. No beheadings, no yelling ‘Allahu Akbar,’ or anything of the sort. If you can make it look like an accident untraceable to us, that would be perfect.”

  “There was a man in the camps. The Soviets had trained him to spy in Texas. Supposedly he looks, acts, and sounds like a Texan, and he won’t hesitate to kill. I want him, and he’ll need a team who can watch Sofia at her house.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “You’ll handle it for me?”

  Yousef met Klaus’ anxious eyes with a look of benevolence. “If you can hold your impatience in check, that’s the least we can do. I will coordinate through Kadir, our friend in Berlin. He is familiar with the parties in Austin and will know how to direct the team. That way we keep the plan as far away from here and Osama as possible.”

  Klaus stood and looked around the courtyard, taking in the palm fronds swaying in the breeze and listening to the fountains’ musical notes. Then he turned back to Yousef. “When do I leave?”

  9

  Lima, Peru

  Late June 1992

  Atcho spun on the ball of his right foot in the waning light of dusk, then crouched low, extended his left leg, and swept the feet from under his first assailant. The other attacker grasped at the empty air formerly occupied by Atcho’s upper body, lost balance, and fell into his partner. The first one pushed off, leaped to his feet, and stood back in a fighting stance while studying Atcho, who had backed off a safe distance to prepare for the next onslaught. The man remaining on the ground sprang up, and Atcho noted that both were agile and physically fit trained fighters. He looked for an escape route but, seeing none, waited to see which man threatened first.

  The attack had occurred within minutes of leaving Jorge Chavez International Airport. Atcho had arrived dressed down and immediately altered his clothing to blend in with the general population. He had thought he had done well, but something must have stood out.

  Intending to find a cheap room in a downscale place to stay, he had headed toward the town’s poorer areas, but was attacked immediately upon entering the edge of a slum. The assailants had chosen a place where foot traffic was light, and their initial assault had driven him into a vacant building, dark and out of sight.

  One of the men moved in. The other stood his ground but blocked the exit. Atcho prepared to fight.

  As the first man edged in, Atcho half-crouched, ready to deliver a blow.

  “Eitan sent us,” the man hissed in Spanish. “We’re here to help.”

  Startled, Atcho stared at him while holding his stance. “What?”

  “Eitan and Burly sent us. Don’t fight. Follow us.”

  The man straightened and stood watching Atcho. He was tall and lithe with deeply tanned skin, a narrow face, and dark eyes.

  “You can call me Jaime,” he said, then gestured toward his companion. “You can call him whatever you want to. I call him Danilo.” He chuckled. “It means ‘God is my judge,’ and that keeps him in a sober mindset.”

  In the half-light, Atcho could see only that Danilo wore loose clothes over a medium build. He said nothing, keeping a wary eye on Atcho.

  “We can’t talk here,” Jaime said. “We’ll lead you to a safe house.” He grinned. “Look hurt. Stagger a little. Keep a distance, but don’t lose us.”

  Atcho remained silent, still crouched, ready to fight, and keeping a close eye on both men.

  “I hear you prefer Glocks,” Jaime said. “I’m going to reach to my belt, pull one out with two fingers, and hand it to you. It’s fully loaded, and if we don’t measure up, you’re free to use it.” He moved one hand to his side.

  “Put it on the ground and back away,” Atcho growled.

  Jaime complied. Atcho picked up the pistol, checking the magazine and chamber before sliding it in his belt.

  “Lead away.”

  Atcho sat on a wooden chair at an empty table with Jaime and Danilo in the kitchen of a sparsely furnished safe house. A lone clock ticked above a refrigerator humming in the corner. A lightbulb hanging from a bare wire provided the only light. “Why didn’t you just come up and talk to me in the street?” Atcho asked. “I wouldn’t have attacked.”

  “We couldn’t know that,” Jaime said. “You were in a strange city, alone, and as far as you knew, you were on an unsanctioned mission. You had to figure that someone might be watching you, and we had to see it that way too. Fortunately, you walked straight into a part of town where we could make it look like a mugging, and no one was going to interfere.”

  “From what I’ve seen of Lima so far, that’s easier to do than walk into a safe area.”

  Jaime nodded. “Sad but true.”

  Atcho considered Jaime’s words. “Are you telling me that I now have support? From whom?”

  “Mossad at your service, for what it’s worth.” Jaime grinned, and Atcho noticed the wild look in his eye. “Out here in the field, we can be crazy. Especially him.” He gestured at Danilo.

  Atcho scrutinized Danilo. “Does he talk?”

  Danilo scowled.

  “Sometimes too much,” Jaime said with a laugh.

  He stood, moved behind Danilo, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You can come out now.”

  Danilo jumped up, whirled behind Jaime, threw a chokehold around his neck, and jerked his head down.

  In a flash, Atcho sprang to his feet, pulled the Glock from his belt, drew back the slider with a metallic click, and trained it on the two men. They looked at him and burst into laughter. Danilo released Jaime’s neck and the two shoved off from each other jovially.

  For the first time, Danilo spoke. “You can fight and use a gun. That’s good to know.” He extended a hand to Atcho. “In our world, we like to know all we can about anyone we meet, especially if we’re supposed to work with them.”

  Atcho accepted the handshake with uncertainty. “Should I be amused or angry?”

  Danilo crossed to the refrigerator. “Sorry. We don’t have a lot of time to size people up. You left the US without touching base with either Eitan or your guy Burly. You want a beer?”

  Atcho nodded. “One of those two guys was supposed to get back to me with a cover story,” he groused. �
�Neither of them did. I figured I was on my own.” He sat back down at the table, and the other two men followed suit.

  Danilo slid the cold beers across the table. “They both tried to reach you on your cell phone in Austin, but their calls went straight to voicemail.”

  “Damn cell phones,” Atcho growled. “Austin is in hilly country and reception is spotty. I should have guessed.”

  “They spoke with your wife on your landline,” Jaime cut in. “She couldn’t reach you either.”

  “Regardless, we’ve never met Burly or Eitan, and don’t want to,” Danilo said. “I’m sure neither of them uses his real name. Our commo with them comes through our handler in the Tri-Border Region. My cover story is that I’m a Senderos fighter willing to cooperate with the Islamists to bring down Fujimori’s government.

  “Jaime’s is that he’s Lebanese and a member of Hezbollah. He’s here to offer support to Senderos and help connect it to the Muslim community. For this mission, he speaks no Spanish and I speak no Arabic, so in public we’ll communicate in broken English. By the way, we both speak Spanish and Arabic fluently, and either of us can pass for an Arab or a Spaniard. For this mission, I’m a Peruvian from the far north. We were here a few weeks ago in our aliases and made our way up the Senderos chain, so we can get back in without difficulty.

  “Our story is that we were both in Cuba for training and brought you back with us. Your cover is that you’re a mid-level instructor in guerrilla tactics for the Cuban Army. The tale goes that Castro had come to our site to observe training. He had been impressed with the June 5 bombing in Lima and the running gunfights since then. When Castro heard that I was from Peru and Jaime was from Hezbollah with an interest in Peru, he asked to meet us. You introduced us, and he immediately assigned you to come as his emissary to offer training and tactical assistance.”

  Atcho sucked in his breath. “That might work. Won’t Senderos check?”