The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  Burly whistled. “You don’t ask for much, do you? I’m still ticked off about your trip to Berlin without telling me.”

  “I got good intel for you,” Sofia retorted. “Can we stick with the business at hand?”

  “Fine,” Burly replied angrily. “But you’re suggesting that we spy on a private citizen of an ally. If we’re caught—”

  “We do it all the time,” Sofia said. “If there’s a threat, we need to know about it. The threat is confirmed.” She felt anxiety rising and fought it off. “Listen to me, Burly. This is the third bombing in Latin America we know about where Klaus was present to observe. He has no interest in that part of the planet. He wants to strike Russia and/or the United States.

  “I think he’s been less aggressive coming after Atcho because Al-Qaeda has been holding him off. They’re the ones who keep sending him on these observation missions. Why would they do that?”

  Burly grunted. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  Sofia ignored the jab. “Multiple reasons. Buenos Aires was a Hezbollah-backed attack, but they arranged for Klaus to observe. He’s Al-Qaeda. The mission was arranged through the Tri-Border Region where Hezbollah and Senderos share relations. The first bombing in Lima last month was Senderos, and so was this one. Klaus’ presence there had to be arranged through Hezbollah, meaning that it is cooperating more and more with Al-Qaeda. A logical conclusion is that both organizations seek areas of cooperation and want to extend relations into the Muslim communities in South America. Are you with me so far?”

  “That’s a little hard to follow, but it makes sense at this point,” Burly said. “Go on.”

  Across the room, Horton sat down in a chair, leaned back, and extended his legs, then stared at the ceiling, expressionless.

  “In Buenos Aires, the target was the Israeli Embassy,” Sofia continued. “The cathedral and school were collateral damage. Last month, the target in Lima was a television station. This time it was the high-rise headquarters of the Peruvian Central Bank. They’re learning to strike strategic commercial and communications assets—targets that do more than kill people in the immediate vicinity: they disrupt economies. The bombs are getting bigger, and so are the targets. This latest one was a quantum leap.”

  “Agreed,” Burly interjected. “Where are they going with it?”

  “Burly,” Sofia said, her voice hollow, “Klaus was studying the effectiveness of delivery systems. The vehicular bombs keep getting bigger and bigger. Think of the devastation if one or more of Klaus’ nukes had been in those trucks.” She took a deep breath. “Al-Qaeda is planning something bigger than we’ve ever imagined. It intends to use Klaus’ bombs, and I doubt the target is in South America.”

  Burly remained quiet a moment. “You know that getting into Riyadh isn’t easy. You’ll need visas and they don’t take tourists. Maybe someday they will, but not now. Arranging your travel will take some time—we’re talking days, possibly weeks.”

  “Work your magic,” Sofia cooed. “This should be high priority. You got your contract with the CIA, right?”

  “I did.” Burly let out a resigned sigh. “I’ll have to do some arm-twisting to arrange that travel.”

  “Then do it. Take it to the president. He already knows who Klaus is and what he can do. Remind him that sources inside the Saudi police have assisted in keeping Yousef beyond our reach already.”

  “Right. Out.” Burly clicked off the line.

  17

  Horton looked grim when he swung by Sofia’s hotel for the drive to the airport. They met in the lobby.

  “You’re in an unusual mood,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Our trip got nixed,” he responded.

  Sofia’s eyes widened in anger, and her nostrils flared. “What happened?”

  “You ain’t gonna like this,” Horton said, opening his palms in a defensive gesture. “Don’t shoot the messenger. The CIA pulled its support. The Germans did too. My boss reversed his approval. I’m supposed to give you a message. This comes from whoever Burly worked with in DC. He said you won’t be allowed into Saudi Arabia. If you go there, you’ll be deported back to the US. Atcho is on his way back home. Burly said you should meet him there.”

  Sofia stared blankly at Horton, the flush of anger draining into dread as she struggled with the inevitable.

  “We could get this guy,” she rasped, her voice shaking. “I feel it. Yousef is the key. When we get the goods on him, he’ll work for us, and he knows where Klaus is.”

  “I know, little lady,” Horton said in mock solemnity, a twinkle returning to his eye. “I agree with you. I’m on your side.” He rolled his eyes to one side and scrunched his lips together in an expression of jovial skepticism. “I have to say I thought the CIA lettin’ you traipse into the Kingdom and spy on a Saudi citizen was a long shot, but I didn’t want to say nothin’.” He rubbed his balding head. “I value my scalp. My guess is the president didn’t jump up and down with enthusiasm either.”

  Sofia stared at him, expressionless.

  Horton held her stony gaze, his own face frozen in comical indignation.

  The corners of Sofia’s mouth crinkled slightly in a suppressed smile. Then she burst into quiet, involuntary laughter.

  “Does anyone get to stay mad around you?” she said, then cuffed his shoulder. “I’m not ready to be pleasant.”

  “Well, ma’am, I got an idea.” He looked around as if checking for anyone who might overhear them. “Let’s you an’ me go into one of them lounges across the lobby and down a bottle of Conee-yak. You know that’s my favorite liquor. I’ll call Ziggy and tell her to come pick us up off the floor when it gets late. Then she can truck you up to your room and drive me home. By tomorrow afternoon, after the hangover, we’ll both feel better, and I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  Sofia stared at him. “Major Horton, are you making a pass at me?”

  Horton chuckled. “You ain’t never met Ziggy, or you wouldn’t ask. Besides, I know Atcho, and I’m partial to my hide. You could use a friend right now. I thought I was one. We won’t talk high principles ’cuz I ain’t got none.”

  Sofia grabbed Horton’s shoulder and tugged him. “I could use a strong drink right now.” She started across the hotel lobby. “Let’s go. You’re paying.”

  18

  “That was more like it,” Klaus told Yousef enthusiastically on greeting him at the front door of Yousef’s house. He embraced his portly friend and kissed him on the cheeks. “We killed some infidels.”

  “And did damage to Peru’s economy and weakened its president.” Yousef smiled warmly and led him into the courtyard. “That was the main objective, and the Senderos were happy with the technical solution you provided.” He signaled to his servants to bring tea.

  “I didn’t do much,” Klaus replied, taking a seat on the couch. “They were competent with the explosives configuration. I showed them how to stabilize the platform better and how to shape the charge to accomplish their objective. They had most of it figured out and wanted confirmation.”

  “Well, they are lifelong friends now. We have a staunch ally in South America, thanks to you.”

  The tea arrived, and both men sat quietly while a young boy poured it. After the servant had retreated from the courtyard, Klaus leaned forward. His eyes burned with enmity.

  “Now, tell me. What’s the big target?”

  Yousef smiled benevolently. “I said I would tell you on your return, and I will.” He held up a hand, palm facing Klaus, face solemn. “First, you must promise not to breathe a word to anyone. I am allowed to tell you only for the purpose of managing your impatience, but then you will leave Saudi Arabia and not return until after the mission, and perhaps not until months or years after that.”

  Astonished and almost angry, Klaus leaned back. “You said the attack wouldn’t take place until February. That’s seven months away. Where will I go? What about my bombs?”

  Yousef leaned forward in a placating gest
ure. “You have them in a safe place?”

  Klaus nodded.

  “Leave them where they are. You can make one trip back to Riyadh to retrieve them when the time is right. We’ll make the security arrangements to get you to your destination.”

  “Meanwhile, what? The camps?”

  Yousef assented. “Our recruits need to know what you can teach them.”

  Klaus sat quietly, his eyes flickering as he studied Yousef while controlling his own annoyance. “Let me hear what the target is.”

  Yousef shook his head. “You must agree first and swear an oath never to speak of it. You will be held to it.” He gazed steadily into Klaus’ eyes. “You know what that means.”

  Klaus leaned forward and dropped his arms between his knees. He held Yousef’s gaze. “And if I don’t agree?”

  Yousef breathed heavily. “No one will blame you, my friend. You have done much for Islam. I will place your personal funds in a bank of your choice where you can access them. Your balance is over four-and-a-half million dollars now. And you are free to retrieve your bombs.

  “However, habibi, think carefully before acting. If you choose that path, our association ends. We cannot provide you safe passage out of the Kingdom or into any country. Al-Qaeda will no longer support you, and I will not be allowed to be your hawaladar.”

  Klaus regarded Yousef with an expression indicating he had anticipated that response. “Those are tough conditions.”

  Yousef sighed. “You’re an unusual fighter for Islam,” he said. “Your training in the Soviet Spetsnaz makes you more of a lone actor than we usually see. That’s not a criticism. It’s a fact, and your talents are extremely valuable. But we’re not looking for individual hits, despite how large they might be. We look at a longer strategy. Once your bombs are proven in action and we can reproduce them reliably, they will fit in.”

  Klaus looked around at the swaying palms and babbling fountains, the spray falling like diamonds in the sunlight. He exhaled.

  “Can’t I at least kill Atcho?”

  Yousef frowned and shook his head. “Too much risk right now.”

  Klaus leaned back against the couch, his hands cupping the back of his neck and his legs splayed out in front of him. He stared up at the blue sky.

  “All right,” he said at last. “I swear on all that’s sacred to Islam that I will never mention the target until you direct me otherwise. I will go to the camps in Sudan and train Al-Qaeda recruits until I am called for this great mission.” He glanced at Yousef. “Does that satisfy?”

  Yousef nodded.

  19

  Austin, Texas

  Late September 1992

  Sofia watched through Atcho’s conference room window as a metallic-green compact rental car stopped at the security gate below. A guard approached the window and spoke with the driver briefly, then checked a clipboard and waved the car through. It traveled a short distance to a parking lot and slid into a space. Then Burly’s bulky, balding figure squeezed out of the small vehicle and headed toward the building carrying a valise.

  Atcho stood next to Sofia, also watching Burly’s arrival. “Are you still mad at him? It’s been two months, and he’s a good friend.”

  “I know,” Sofia sniffed. “But I can’t let him off the hook so easily. We could have had Yousef and maybe Klaus by now. What’s he doing with that tiny car?”

  Atcho chuckled. “He’s on his own dime. And I don’t agree that we would have caught those guys by now. With or without Burly, your mission in Saudi Arabia would have been scrubbed. The director was never going to sanction that, and if he had, the president would have had his neck. Anyway, Burly wouldn’t tell me on the phone why he’s here.”

  “Don’t worry.” Sofia kissed Atcho on the cheek. “I’ll be good.”

  They watched Burly enter the building before turning from the window and taking seats at the conference table. Sofia poured coffee from a pitcher and added cream and sugar.

  A few moments later, a secretary showed Burly into the room and closed the door, leaving him alone with Atcho and Sofia. They rose to receive him.

  Burly greeted Atcho amiably, and then turned to Sofia. “You still mad?” He exaggerated a look of anxiety.

  “Depends on what you have to tell us,” she said with a pert smile. Then her expression warmed, and she extended the cup to him. “Your coffee, sir, just the way you like it.”

  Startled, Burly took the coffee and grinned. “A peace offering?”

  “A truce, until I hear what you have to say.”

  Burly groaned. “Fair enough.” He glanced around the room at the Western art on the walls and a bronze cowboy-on-a-bucking-bronco statuette on the table. “I’m always amazed at how a lifelong Cuban adapted so well to life in Texas,” he told Atcho, then addressed Sofia. “We’ve located Klaus. Will that do?”

  “What? Where?” Sofia replied, startled.

  Atcho’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise he showed no expression.

  Burly moved toward the conference table. “I’ll show you.” He sat down and took a key from his pocket, then unlocked his satchel and pulled out another bag, which he proceeded to unlock as well. He looked up and caught Atcho’s questioning glance. “The travails of carrying classified material,” he muttered. Then he took a quick look around the room. “This is still a secure facility, right?”

  Atcho nodded as he took a seat next to Burly. “We have our defense department contracts.”

  Sofia sat down on Burly’s other side.

  “We believe this is Klaus,” Burly said, extracting a photo from the file folder. “This was taken a few days ago by Mossad at one of the camps in Sudan. It’s a bit grainy, but the agent on the ground assured his headquarters that this is our guy.”

  He turned to Sofia. “That was good information you got from Rawley. I passed it on to the Israelis, and they located him.” He paused. “I didn’t shoot down your mission to Riyadh, but I didn’t give it much probability of being cleared either. You must have anticipated that.”

  Sofia stared at him, then sighed and nodded in acquiescence. “Every time I try to do things by the book, I get shot down. That’s why I go off on my own.”

  “Please don’t do that this time,” Burly replied. “Eitan Chasin’s man in the field got this for us. He put his neck on the line—for real. Need I say more?”

  Sofia shook her head. “Just so we get Klaus. What’s the plan?”

  Burly chuckled. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m a bit off the reservation myself this time. I knew that the CIA higher-ups would nix your request for intel support in Saudi Arabia, but I keep my backchannels to members of the Mossad. They kept an eye on Yousef in Riyadh, watching him and monitoring his communications. One call came through that helped in finding Klaus. So, your conclusion that Yousef is Klaus’ conduit to Al-Qaeda is confirmed, and now we know Klaus’ location.”

  “Okay,” Sofia cut in. “I’m properly chastened and you have my thanks. Again, what’s the plan?”

  “Israel’s going to mount an operation to grab him. Obviously, since he has nukes, Israel feels threatened.”

  “The world is threatened,” Atcho said. “Why doesn’t the US go after him?”

  Burly shrugged. “For the same reasons Sofia goes rogue. Bureaucracy. Al-Qaeda isn’t perceived as much of a threat. Osama bin Laden is seen as a rich kid with a fortune to spend who likes toys that go boom.”

  “What makes anyone think Mossad can mount a mission before Klaus disappears again?”

  “The Mossad is a bureaucracy too,” Burly countered, “but because they’re so much smaller, they have to conserve resources, including manpower. They have their own challenges with intransigence, inertia, and careerism, but not as severe as in the CIA. They eliminate as much risk as possible and have backup plans on top of backup plans to ensure success.” He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “Frankly, they have an enviable record.”

  “I want to be there,” Atcho said.

  Sofia’s
eyes flashed.

  Burly nodded. “And they want you there to confirm they’ve got the right guy.”

  “This is insane,” Sofia said as she paced in their bedroom.

  “No more insane than your intent to go to Saudi Arabia. My presence is sanctioned.” As he spoke, Atcho stuffed articles of clothing into a light bag.

  “By Mossad, not the US.”

  “By the people who are running the mission.” Atcho’s impatience flared. “They’ve done all the prep work, and my only task is to confront Klaus after they’ve nabbed him.”

  “You’re going into Sudan,” Sofia stormed. “That’s a hotbed for terrorists. If you get caught, the things they’ll do to you would be beyond imagination—except they’ve already done them: beheadings, hangings, crucifixions…” Her voice trailed off.

  Atcho tried awkwardly to comfort her. “I’ve seen as bad,” he replied gruffly. A scene replayed in his mind of a fellow prisoner being bayonetted next to him and left to bleed out while Cuban guards stood around and watched. “I know what to expect from evil people.”

  Sofia’s expression softened and then became stoic. She crossed the room, embraced Atcho from behind, and buried her head against the back of his neck.

  “I know you do,” she whispered. “I want you home, safe and sound.”

  Atcho turned to wrap her in his arms. “I’ll be back. Make sure I have you and Jameson to come home to.”

  Sofia held him closely and then pulled away, the fire back in her eyes. “What do you even know about Sudan?”

  “Not much,” Atcho admitted, “but I’ll be with people who know it intimately.”