CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
San Francisco, October 10th.
Andrew Cunningham arrived on flight VS020, landing at 10.30am pacific coast time. Mike and Jim were there to meet him. In the terminal they confined the conversation to greetings, waiting until they were on the road in Anna’s Chevy blazer before discussing business.
Andy broached the subject as Jim drove south.
‘Now, Mike, what is it that you want?’
‘More than you may be prepared to countenance.’
‘That depends, do I smell some excitement?’ Andy Cunningham’s grin was predatory.
Mike nodded. ‘You do. I guess the best thing is to tell you everything and then see if you are prepared to help.’ He told Andy about his connection with the Blood of Shatila’s activities, the airport massacre, the hijacking and the killing of his brother Alan, the recent bombing of a passenger flight and his conviction that more atrocities would follow if this organization were not stopped.
‘We have a secure training base here, and we have reliable intelligence on where their headquarters is. The first phase will be Jim and I going in to do a recce. Then, second phase, we will act as pathfinders to bring in a strike team. Third phase we stamp them out. The fourth phase will be a tactical withdrawal.’
‘So, what exactly do you want from me?’ There was business here as well as friendship.
‘I’ll need somewhere between a dozen and two dozen good men, together with the necessary equipment and someone to plan and execute the strike. I don’t need cowboys.’
‘You need one less, I’d like to volunteer.’
Mike shook his head, ‘No, I can’t accept, you are a friend; I wouldn’t feel right involving you at the sharp end.’
‘No involvement, no help.’
Jim said nothing; this was between his boss and the client.
‘Look Mike, I’m not going to send men in on an operation like this without being present myself,’ Andy stated flatly, ‘I’ve never done that before and I’m not going to do it now. You wouldn’t either.’
Mike stared hard at Andy. Gradually his face relaxed. Andy was right, and he would be an excellent man to have on such a mission. ‘Okay, you win.’ Mike stuck his hand out and Andy shook it warmly.
‘So how do we get the rest?’ Mike asked, ‘we can’t just place an advert in the press, we’d attract unwanted attention.’
‘Yes, and you’d get all the psychos and fringe riff-raff. The only way to do this is on the grapevine; spread the word quietly amongst a few of our old pals. The word will soon get round, and we’ll start to get calls from guys whose track record we already know. In fact, there are a few guys already on my books who are suitable and who could start to spread the word. What did you have in mind as a suitable fee?’
Mike shrugged, ‘I don’t know what the going rates are. Funding this is not a problem, you tell me; I can make the money available.’
‘Well, the money should be payable in three parts, an up-front payment, a day rate or daily fee, and an end of contract bonus. Provision should be made for payment to be made to next of kin if necessary. I can handle all of that for you. For now we just have to set the rate at a good enough level to make it attractive to the right guys.’
‘Right,’ Mike thought for a moment. ‘How does this sound? Ten thousand dollars up front, a thousand a day for thirty days and ten thousand end of contract bonus; payable in any preferred currency, and in cash or bankers draft.’
Andy looked at Mike in disbelief. ‘But that’s fifty thousand a man. It will come to a huge sum.’ It was the first time Mike had ever seen Andy’s composure slip.
‘It’s a big job,’ Mike countered.
‘Yes, but for fifteen guys at fifty thousand each, that’s seven hundred and fifty thousand total, and then there will be my company’s commission, air travel and other costs in addition. You’re looking at a total expenditure of a million dollars US.’
‘Well then, as these guys are going to put their lives on the line, double it. A million dollars is not worthy hire for the guys who are going to avenge my brother. Piat et Cie, Geneva will make two million dollars available, tomorrow.’
Andy still could not take it in. ‘But you can’t spend money like that... can you?’
‘I can, and not even miss it, give me your company’s account number. I’ll have the money, plus a fifty percent margin for contingencies, transferred to your account by key tested telex by tomorrow midday. Anything else you need, just bill me. I’ve known you long enough, I trust you to do what is necessary. Jim, I want you to go back to London with Andy after your break, help him with the vetting.’
Andy looked helplessly at Jim.
Jim shrugged. ‘Don’t argue with him, seems he’s got more money than sense, and as far as I can see he isn’t short of sense.’
‘Right then, let’s put the word out to the streets.’ Andy dug out his laptop and his mobile ’phone and emailed his secretary to get in contact with the ex SBS members of his staff. Between them they would know where to find some useful bodies.
‘Equipment,’ Jim reminded Mike.
‘Oh yes, and we need training equipment stateside.’
Andy nodded and opened his private phone index. Ten minutes later he had an email response giving him three names with three fax numbers and three ’phone numbers. One could supply weapons, silencers, ammunition and night sights, another could supply Klepper canoes, oxygen re-breathing apparatus, dry diving suits, flippers, masks, waterproof diving watches and compasses. The third could supply surveillance equipment and burst transmission radios. All of it was to be ordered by fax to the order of Andy’s company. Andy would arrange collection and delivery to a place where they could transfer it to their own vehicles. There would be a ten per cent handling charge on top of rental.
‘Great. That leaves me free to organize the training base here. And don’t forget to bill me for any extras.’
‘Fear not, I’ll invoice for everything we get as we get it.’
The three men, good friends already and becoming better, turned off the blacktop their business completed in outline before they had reached Anna’s house. ‘Come on, there’s cold beer inside,’ Mike said as they pulled up on the grass outside the old house. He didn’t have to say it twice.
Zurich, October 10th.
Najib Shawa gnawed his fingernails all the way on the rail link from Kloten airport into the centre of the city and walked out of the Bahnhof, the main railway station, into the Bahnhofplatz where he found a taxi to take him to the Hotel Zurich. Wanting his meeting with George Liani to be discreet, he had adopted the same strategy as for his previous meeting with Ben Levy and had booked the same interconnecting rooms.
The head concierge, recognizing him from his previous visit as a liberal tipper, was very obliging, and had his bags delivered quickly to his room. Najib handed over his passport as required by Swiss law and filled in his registration card. Within five minutes of registration photocopies of Najib’s passport were faxed to Bat Yom Import and Export. The head concierge, like head concierges everywhere, had a nose for money. This one was Jewish and was now receiving payments from Ben Levy.
George Liani, ever careful to avoid being compromised, checked in to another hotel altogether. He made his way to the Hotel Zurich, went straight through the foyer to the telephones and rang the room Najib Shawa had booked for him.
‘Mister Shawa?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wait there.’
George Liani went up in the lift two levels above Najib’s floor and walked down the fire stairs to Najib’s adjoining room. The oily smile, and the limp, handshake provoked the same reaction in George Liani as in everyone else, dislike and mistrust; but George Liani was desperate for funds – he would not be here otherwise. Swallowing his dislike he sat down at Najib’s invitation to see what he might be able to gain.
Faced with George Liani’s stony stare, it took Najib some time to get to the point. Eventually, aware that George Liani
was becoming restless, he approached the subject. ‘I… er, I understand that the meeting in Damascus did not bear fruit.’
‘No.’
‘Mmmm, I see… er, well, what was the problem?’
‘The target was impossible and the price unrealistic.’
‘I see, how much were you offered?’
George Liani told him. Najib had difficulty containing his delight; here was confirmation that Abu Asifah was creaming off money for himself.
‘Well, it’s not the money that counts, it’s the cause.’ Najib gave the same excuse as Abu Asifah and got the same reply.
‘It’s your cause not mine.’
‘Oh no my brother, our cause, the Islamic cause; I begin to think you have not been given the full picture?’
George Liani’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing, but Najib knew that he had his full attention.
‘Your action would be the signal.’
‘Signal? For what?’
‘The signal that will start the Jihad.’
George Liani’s body stiffened. ‘I know of no Jihad.’
Najib knew that he had him. ‘That was a bad mistake on Abu Asifah’s part. He should have trusted you of all people. If he can’t trust you who can he trust?’ Najib saw no harm in giving Abu Asifah another stab in the back.
George Liani grunted and scowled. ‘Jihad? What Jihad? Why haven’t I heard of it?’
‘It has not been announced yet; as a key figure you should have been consulted.’
‘Consult me now.’
‘Yes, that is why we are here.’ Najib’s mind was racing. He had George Liani on the hook. He needed to strike it home, to get his agreement. His crafty mind went into overdrive. George Liani was a fanatic, ‘So tell him what he wants to hear,’ he thought.
‘We have lost our faith,’ he began.
‘Yes.’ George Liani nodded his agreement; his eyes showing fervor.
‘Our problems are of our own making, we have strayed from the path.’
‘Yes!’ The word was uttered with force. His eyes flashed. ‘Our ways are not the ways of Allah. All of Islam is lost and at fault. We must return to the teachings of the Koran, we must get back to the fundamentals of Islam!’
Najib nodded vigorous agreement. ‘We must destroy Israel, in a Jihad that will unite the Muslim nations; the people will see the truth. Islam will expand and conquer the world as it did after the True Prophet’s teachings became known.’
George Liani’s eyes blazed with fanaticism but his face remained stern. ‘Yes! It shall be! It shall be done in the name of Allah! Allah Akbar! God is Great!’
‘But I shall need funds.’
Kensington, London, October 11th.
Andrew Cunningham stayed a day at Anna’s house, planning finer detail of the operation with Mike and Jim, then he, Jim and Dawn returned to London. Together with Jim and his existing staff, he began the job of vetting applicants the morning after his return from California. Five potential candidates had picked up the word on the grapevine already, and had made themselves available.
Big John “Digger” Trench was an SC1, the same as Jim Savage, and had spent time as one of the specialist instructors whose job it was to put Royal Marines candidates through the SBS selection course at Poole in Dorset. He was the first one in. Six foot six in his socks, everything about him was long; long muscular arms, long muscular legs, a long muscular body and long years of practice at extremes of endurance. Digger’s job in Poole had been to drive men beyond their physical and mental limits and de-select those without the right temperament. He pushed them through feats of endurance they could not have imagined. A tough, resilient and determined man, one trained to go forward no matter what the odds or what the setbacks.
Jim knew him, and so did Chalky White, the ex-Royal Marines physical training instructor, and as they knew him well it was fitting that they should give him a hard time.
‘What-ho, Digger, didn’t ever expect to see you with a spare tire,’ Chalky said for openers. He received a glare for his trouble that would have frightened lesser men to death. It left Chalky totally unmoved.
‘Never mind, Digger old son, if you don’t do too well I’ll fiddle the figures for you, seeing as I know you,’ he continued quite unabashed, ‘an’ Jim here will turn a blind eye, won’t you Jim?’
Jim made as though looking through Nelson’s telescope, blind eye closed. ‘I see no ships.’
Digger picked Chalky up, and sat him on a vaulting horse. ‘You’ll get a better view from up there,’ he said with a mean grin, ‘mind you don’t fall off and hurt yourself.’
Chalky grinned happily back. Years ago he and Digger had earned their wings on the same parachute training course at Abingdon. Chalky put all his weight on his hands on the end of the box did a handstand then back flipped onto the mat.
Digger sniffed and looked at Jim. ‘Huh. Always was a show-off,’ he said scathingly.
Jim smiled and savored the insults. ‘Okay, Chalky, let’s see if the old feller has still got what it takes,’ he said, and Chalky started Digger off on the Canadian Air Force fitness test. He went from that to the firing range and did the press-ups, sit-ups, and five rounds into the target routine. As a marksman he put every round within the inner circle in close knit groups of less than one inch. Even the cynical Chalky was silenced.
Digger looked at him. ‘Saved you the trouble of fiddling the report, Chalky old son,’ he said with a wink.
‘Yeah well, it ain’t over yet, Handy Andy is about to knock the stuffing out of you,’ Chalky replied, and led the way into the dojo area.
Andrew Cunningham did his best to do as Chalky hoped, but as Andy remarked to Chalky afterwards, it was like trying to fight a tree.
The next applicant was totally different. Small, wiry, and formerly from the Glasgow district of Blackhill, the area where Glasgow council put its problem tenants, Wee Willy Anderson had grown up in a world of hard knocks, no hope, and football. Nothing the world could throw at him could disillusion him; he had no illusions. He was inured to it all. Mentally tough, but not physically big, he had been picked on during his first days in a barrack room and had been given a split lip and a black eye. In the middle of the night Willy had got up, had taken the big iron bucket of coal from next to the stove and, swinging it round and round to gain momentum, brought it crashing down into the face of the man who had picked on him.
The damage done was considerable. A broken nose, broken cheekbone, three teeth knocked out and a fractured jaw.
‘Ifn ony’v yez wants tae hiv a crack ut me, ye’d best be ready tae gae wi’out sleep,’ Willy had remarked laconically. No one bothered Willy Anderson again. The bully recovered in Haslar Royal Naval Hospital and applied for immediate service discharge. Willy Andersen earned his Green Beret, did his time in a commando unit, volunteered for training as a swimmer canoeist, passed the selection course and qualified as a SC3 rating. Jim Savage had been his instructor. In addition Wee Willy had spent a long time working with Andrew Cunningham in the Fourteenth Intelligence Detachment, or “the Det.” in Northern Ireland. He was well used to clandestine operations. Willy too passed all the tests, and like Digger was accepted as part of the team. He was another hard man, but of a different sort.
The third candidate came from a similar background. He was ex SAS, and like the other two candidates before him, Dave Prendergast had been in action for a large part of his life. He had served in Muscat and Oman. Seconded first as an instructor by the British Government, he had gone on to take a well-paid job as an officer-mercenary in the Sultan’s forces. With the subjugation of the warring tribes in the western district of Dhofar his job had become boring; mere garrison and patrol duties in a hot and uncomfortable place. He had resigned his commission, paid his last cheque into his offshore account, and had rung Andrew Cunningham to find out if anything interesting was afoot.
‘Well, it just so happens that there is a job in the planning and preparation stage, come in and talk to me about i
t,’ Andrew told him, and made a note against his name: Jumpmaster for the HALO drop.
He was the next one to go through the testing procedures. Not known to Chalky and Jim, and not ex-marines, he was spared the insults, but was subjected to closer scrutiny. As a former SAS trooper, his performance was ultra-critically assessed. But even though they would have dearly loved to find an SAS man wanting, neither Jim nor the acid Chalky could fault his performance.
‘Welcome to the team,’ Jim said, grinning and shaking the hard dry brown hand offered to him.
‘Thanks, glad to be on board,’ Dave smiled, and gave a mock naval salute.
The fourth, Alan Fields, better known as “Seedy”, was an explosives expert. Trained initially as an “AE” or Assault Engineer, demolition, cutting charges, booby-traps and mines were among his specialties. His best mate, Patrick Murphy inevitably known as “Spud” and also originally an AE, had sussed that Seedy was up to something and wangled himself an interview too, becoming the fifth candidate. And so a steady trickle of men came through the doors of Andrew Cunningham’s premises. All were known by name and by reputation to Andrew, Jim or the unimpressionable Chalky White. If they had not been known, if they had had no track record, they would not have been invited to come forward for the selection tests. Of all the men attending only two failed the tests, and they failed because they were unfit.
One of these was just back from a round the world sailing-trip, and had not been for a run for months. The second was keeping three girlfriends happy, and had done all his recent training in bed; ‘Doing horizontal jogging,’ as Chalky put it. He was exhausted more than unfit. Both would have been liabilities and were honest enough to admit it.
The rest all passed with flying colors. All had been entitled to wear parachutist’s wings, and had High Altitude Low Opening jumping experience. A one-day trip out to the free fall club used by Andrew was sufficient for him and Jim to see that none of the selected men had forgotten their expertise. The following day Jim assembled them for their initial briefing, and Andrew produced different club class tickets to San Francisco.
The men were ordered to fly out by separate routes.
Zurich, October 12th.
George Liani left the Hotel Zurich the way he came. No one had seen him arrive and no one noticed him leave.
An hour or so after obtaining George Liani’s agreement Najib phoned down to the concierge. ‘Would you order me a cab please?’
‘Certainly sir when for and where to?’
‘At reception in ten minutes, going to the Baur au Lac.’ Najib gave his destination without thinking. He could not know that Ben Levy’s office would know his destination before he got there. In the cab his mind replayed his conversation with the Turkish fundamentalist. He was pleased with his handling of the situation. He thought it masterly, Abu Asifah would be furious. Najib pondered on his enemy. Abu Asifah was still a threat, but the Jew Levy would help get rid of him, whilst he Najib, with the help of the Turkish fanatic could get rid of some prominent Jews. He thought of Abu Asifah bragging about his target and wondered if it was possible. And claiming the start of a Jihad? Maybe that was over doing it, but, feasible or not it was the stuff of dreams for the people he was going to see. They would pay, and pay well for such a scheme. If it was possible well and good, if not he should be able to siphon off enough funds for it not to matter.
He traveled the full length of the Bhanofstrasse to the Burkliplatz, where the driver dropped him at the world famous Baur au Lac hotel. He paid the taxi off and went into reception. The people he needed to see about the funds stayed only in the best places. Najib Shawa had a good room at the Hotel Zurich; his contacts had the best suites at the Baur au Lac. There was no comparison.
All the suites on two floors had been taken in the interests of security. Large men in suits guarded the access points at stairs and lifts, and Najib had to endure the indignity of a thorough search before being allowed to pass. As a mere petitioner for funds he was kept waiting for two hours, which gave him more time to think about his pitch.
The meeting was held in one of the suites, the controllers of the funds, five in total, were seated in an arc at a large table. Najib was obliged to stand to present his petition. He had decided to go for broke, to grab their attention at the beginning. After the expected formalities had been exchanged he dropped his bombshell. There was silence. The silence went on and on. Najib allowed it to continue, giving his audience plenty of time to digest his words.
Eventually the centre figure at the table leaned forward. ‘It is not possible, it is the heart of Israel, it’s too well guarded.’ His tone was almost one of wistful regret, and told Najib what he needed to know.
‘I believe it can be done, my organization has succeeded in every mission it has undertaken. I can find a way; Allah will show me a path.’ Najib was carried away with the grandeur of the idea and he had heard plenty of Abu Asifah’s ranting. He had not given too much thought to its achievement. That was the job of others.
A member of the panel sitting next to the chairman leaned forward. ‘Suppose a way could be found, what would you see as the result?’
‘The whole of the western world would be shaken to its foundations. The world’s press would have a field day. The world would have to take notice of the plight of my people.’
There was a murmur of agreement around the table. The chairman of the funding committee beckoned the members either side of him to move closer. They leaned over as he spoke in hushed tones. ‘The state of Israel would be paralyzed for days, on its knees and at the mercy of its enemies. Such a blow from within could enable attack from without to succeed where it has previously failed. A Jihad, announced on the success of such a blow, would ignite the Muslim nations and rid us of this thorn in our side for good.’
Four heads nodded in agreement.
The first man spoke again. ‘What would you require from us?’
‘Merely the funds.’ Najib was shrewd enough to know that the members of this funding committee might be more willing to risk the money if failure could be laid at the door of others. He went on with his pitch, which was not very modest. It was apparent from his submission that the idea for the strike was his own idea, Abu Asifah was not mentioned in connection with it, and it was inferred that the efficient Turkish believer was a close colleague of Najib’s. His enthusiasm for the plan, together with the high profile of the chosen target, made a big impression on his audience, but he did not get an answer. He was told to wait outside. An hour later he was told to come back in a day’s time.
Big Sur Coast, California, October 13th.
Mike and Anna had been busy. Mike made a trip to a local sawmill and placed an order for sawn and planed lumber. He went into Carmel and purchased tools, nails, screws and paint from a hardware store.
While he was away Anna removed a load of junk from the two sizeable store rooms at the back of the house and, sweeping clean all the dust and cobwebs, made preparations for the construction of two temporary ranch style bunk houses. The main house would accommodate the first arrivals until the bunkhouses were finished, and the kitchen and dining room would serve as cookhouse and mess-room.
Anna volunteered her services as cook and steward. She wanted to be close to her man until the business was finished. This was a way to achieve that aim and it would have the practical value of leaving the men free to concentrate on their training.
Both Mike and Anna went up to San Francisco to meet the first members of the team, and had no trouble at all in spotting them as they came into the arrivals area. There was an air of competence and a controlled presence about each man that proclaimed that he was different.
‘That’s them, the bunch together,’ Anna said, ‘I’ll bet you.’
Mike nodded, ‘I won’t bet you different.’ He walked over to them.
Several pairs of eyes locked onto his approach.
Mike endured the scrutiny. ‘I’m Mike Edge; I guess you’ll be the guys I’m ex
pecting?’
‘Dave Prendergast; pleased to meet you.’
‘Digger Trench - heard about you from Jim.’
‘Name’s Willy, Willy Anderson, guess you’re the boss?’
Mike smiled. ‘The name is Mike; this is my partner Anna Sutherland. Mike made the introductions. All the men looked quietly at Anna and each politely shook hands. There was no preening, no smart-assed remarks, no attempt to make an impression. That impressed Anna much more than anything else would have done.
Zurich, October 14th.
Najib was summoned early in the morning, a good omen he thought. This time he was not kept waiting, but was ushered straight into the suite. At the meeting he was surprised to find two extra persons present, persons to whom his financial contacts were most deferential. One wore a loose black turban and a long black coat over a collar-less shirt and baggy black trousers. An Afghan Mullah, Najib realized, but what was he doing here? The second man was in loose white robes and his head cloth was in the style of the mountain tribes. He had a long thin face, long thin curly beard, and deep set hooded eyes. These eyes bored into Najib from a solemn humorless face.
Najib felt a sudden stab of fear as recognition dawned. This man, a Saudi, a multi-millionaire, controlled a huge international fortune and a worldwide network of terrorist cells. Najib was offered a chair. He bowed, uttered the ritual courtesies, and sat down arranging his robe comfortably while his brain raced furiously. What necessitated this man’s presence here, and why a Mullah? He knew the Sudan panel member, the Iranian and the Yemeni representatives, these men represented governments; but the others? The bearded man leaned over and spoke quietly to the mullah who looked surprised and then nodded vigorously. Both of them looked at Najib, both with a cruel smile.
Najib knew that he was nearly there.
The Saudi businessman asked questions and covered much of the same detail that Najib had given at the first meeting. ‘Yes, he could put into effect this devastating attack. Yes he believed it would be severe enough to paralyze Israel; cut off the head of a snake and the body might thrash around but it was no longer in control. Then the tenor of the meeting began to subtly change as the Mullah asked questions.
‘Yes it could be a signal.’
‘For a Jihad?’
‘Ah, yes. It could be seen as a call to the faithful. I, of course could not make such a call, such a call would have to be made by a proper religious authority. But I should deem it a great honor to give the signal for it to begin.’ Najib’s brain was racing. Was this going out of his control? Carefully guessing the point of view of each of his questioners, Najib told each what he wanted to hear. He was employing his skill and craftiness to secure funds, but in the process he sensed that these people had another agenda, something undisclosed to him but very important to them.
So he asked for ten million dollars, five more than the actual requirement; and he got it. As he left the suite at the Baur au Lac he had difficulty containing his glee. He should worry! It would take him time to launder his extra millions, and he looked forward to a little luxury in Switzerland whilst he did it. Smiling to himself he returned to the Hotel Zurich.
On collecting his key he was surprised to be given a note. He had a colleague waiting in the foyer, a colleague from Bat Yom Import Export.
Big Sur Coast, California, October 14th.
Mike collected the lumber he had ordered, and all the necessary materials. Thanks to Spud and Seedy’s construction expertise the bunks were completed during the morning of the first day and, before sitting down to a pleasant lunch in the shade of the deck, the men went off for a quick swim in the surf. For half an hour they yelled and fooled around, pitting their strength and endurance against the big waves and then, ravenously hungry, they came up to the house to eat the food that Anna had prepared. They tucked in with evident appreciation. Ice cold beers washed down the excellent meal, and then they set to work painting. After supper they made benches and a long table. By the evening of the first day the basic requirements of a temporary training camp were all in place.
The following morning the men took the Chevy Blazer and went into town. Willy, Seedy and Dave went to a furnishing store to purchase mattresses, pillows, a fridge and a freezer.
Mike, Spud and Digger rented another Blazer, went to a camping supplies store for sleeping bags, and to a big supermarket for supplies and more beer. It took them several trips to ferry their purchases down to the house by the beach, but by the evening of the second day all the mattresses and bedding were installed in the bunkhouse, all the food and beer either in the freezer or the fridge or in the store room.
The advance party had everything ready. They awaited only the phone call that would tell them the rest of the occupants were on their way.
San Francisco, October 14th
Mike and Digger met Jim, Dawn and Andy at San Francisco airport, then worked in relays with the Chevy Blazers taking the new members from the airport to the house by the beach. On arrival the new team members had a quick stroll round to stretch their legs, and Andy, who had been before but only for a meeting, had a good look round to get the measure of the new facilities. He declared them fit for purpose.
Chalky White, with characteristic bluntness, commented, ‘Yeah, very scenic but where’s the nearest nightlife?’
Mike put a stop to that line of thought immediately. ‘The nightlife comes after this operation. From now on it’s all work and no play; anyone who doesn’t fancy it, leave now.’
No one moved.
Chalky grinned, ‘what the hell, I need a rest from drinking and chasing women anyway.’
The general laughter at his obvious lie destroyed the awkward silence, and going into the new bunkhouses, they all picked a bunk, stowed their kit and sat down to the huge piles of food Anna and Dawn had laid out buffet fashion on the big trestle table. It was a cold buffet and the better for that in the Californian heat. After they had eaten, and drunk a couple of cold beers, they opted for an early night, the best cure for jet lag. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.
It started at 05.30. Pulling on shorts, sweatshirts and trainers, Mike, Andy and Jim joined the ex-special forces men outside on the dew-soaked grass. Andy called for everyone’s attention.
Listen up; how many of you speak Arabic?’ Several hands went up, including those of Jim and Dave Prendergast.
‘That all?’ A few more hands went up hesitantly.
‘Ah’m a wee bitty rusty ‘n ma accent’s nae too guid,’ Willy Andersen said. Among the laughter a few men nodded in accord.
‘Well, the job will require a knowledge of Arabic; some of you are fluent and will take the point when it’s needed. The others need to brush up so as not to be caught out. From now on only eastern Arabic will be spoken at this location. Mike Edge here is an Arabist specializing in the Middle East. His Arabic has been used in Palestinian communities and contains local idiom. Copy it as best you can.’
‘Salaam Alekhum.’
‘Alekhum Salaam,’ the response came back.
‘Aiwa sedigi,’ ‘Yes friends,’ Andrew continued in Arabic, ‘Chalky will be in charge of fitness training.’ A groan went up from those who knew him. ‘Over to you Chalky.’
Chalky gave them all a wicked grin. ‘Shukran, sedigi.’ Chalky’s Arabic was amongst the rusty group, but he struggled on determinedly, using English where he couldn’t remember the Arabic words or usage, knowing that the more he used Arabic the quicker it would come back to him. The result was a hotchpotch that had the team in fits of laughter.
‘Ah shit, mush tamaam, I’ll have to give the pep talk in English to start with,’ he said, with an apologetic glance at Andrew.
Andrew nodded, trying not to laugh. ‘It’ll come, Chalky.’
‘Okay, warming up exercises first, then we have a training circuit to set up. Today we do one circuit and go for a run along the beach, on the hard sand. Tomorrow we do two circuits and run on the hard sand, the day after that we do three circuits
and run on the soft sand. After that it will start to get just a little tougher - we do it in full kit; that means full rucksacks and carrying weapons, ammunition and full water bottles. At the end of each run we will swim for half an hour and then breakfast will be served. This will be the routine every morning. Any questions?’
‘Aye, an whut’s efter ra breakfast? Dae wuh git tae gae back to ra bunks?’ Willy Andersen enquired.
Jim grinned. ‘Only if you break a leg, otherwise it’s weapon training, unarmed combat practice, free-fall parachuting at Wheelers Field and tactical movement by night as soon as it gets dark.’
‘Bloody hell, it’ll be like being back at Lympstone,’ moaned Seedy, ever the humorist.
‘No,’ Mike corrected him, ‘the pay is better.’
There was laughter and general agreement.
‘Right ho, all together in time with me, follow my example.’ Chalky began with stretching routines for arms and shoulders, progressed to trunk, and finished with legs. Then he began warming up exercises, again in arm, trunk and leg order. ‘Come on you guys, work at it!’ Chalky raced round demanding the last ounce of commitment from men who were already working hard, and he got it. Some labored breathing was heard.
‘Okay, all stop, deep breathing exercises commence.’ They all stood, feet apart, hands on hips, and filled their lungs with the fresh sea air, their rate of recovery giving the better indication of their fitness.
The circuit started with a short jog, and then they stopped to do thirty press-ups. They jogged some more to where Chalky had them lash the steel bars he was carrying between pairs of trees well above head height.
‘Chin the bar twenty times,’ Chalky ordered. Immediately afterwards they ran a little further to a big log lying on the grass. ‘Jam your feet under the curve of the log, knees bent and do thirty sit-ups, on your feet, run this way, stop here and do thirty squat-thrusts.’ The panting men all placed their hands on the grass and began to pump their legs back and forth, bringing knees up to their chests, causing already tired abdominal muscles to protest.
‘Run some more, stop here, thirty star jumps, commence!’ Chalky squatted on the ground and leapt as high in the air as his legs could power him, throwing his arms and legs wide as in a star. The others followed suit. They ran on to a long shelf of rock.
‘Now, feet up on the shelf, do twenty press-ups and then deep breathing exercises.’ Chalky set the pace. Jim, Andy and the others kept up. Mike was experiencing some difficulty, but he kept up. After two minutes deep breathing they set off at a fast pace along the hard sand. It was three miles there and three miles back. They all earned their breakfast.
After breakfast Mike called for attention and began a lecture to explain their proposed operation. Jim took one of the Chevy Blazers and drove to a hardware store. There he purchased a roll of fine mesh chicken wire, a bundle of bamboo canes, some black polythene sheeting and some hessian sacking. He also bought some big round pumpkins and squash from a roadside stall. The wire, canes, and polythene sheeting were for the construction of hides, the hessian for camouflage. The pumpkins and squash would be used as targets when the firearms arrived.
In the afternoon Jim gave a refresher course on the construction of hides, SBS style. He did it in Arabic and the guys began to find words coming back to them from old campaigns. Look for a dip in the ground,’ he said, ‘there won’t be time to dig holes and hide masses of soil. It needs to be long enough and wide enough to accommodate you and your kit. When you’ve found a suitable place, remove the surface cover carefully peeling it to one side, like so.’ He began to cut away the rough turf and scrub from the dip in the ground. ‘It could just as well be rubble and concrete,’ he commented, as he worked energetically away. ‘Then you put the canes in place, bending them into a convex support structure like this.’ He demonstrated. ‘On top of the canes place the wire mesh, followed by a layer of polythene and then replace the removed surface cover on top of the lot, like so.’
The men looked on as Jim put the finishing touches to the hide. What had been a concave dip in the ground was now a slightly convex hump. It looked solid and a part of the terrain. Jim lifted the mesh at one end and propped it open with a bit of stick. He lay down and wriggled backwards, feet first into the space he had created, and lowered the end gently down. He had been swallowed up by the landscape. ‘Walk round and have a look from various angles,’ he suggested from his place of concealment.
Mike was impressed. ‘If I didn’t know you were there I’d never guess it in a million years.’
Jim emerged grinning, ‘An Argentine soldier stopped his armored personnel carrier yards from me in the Falklands, he got out, walked over and pissed a foot from my nose; he’d been drinking wine. Gave me a nasty turn; I thought a section of troops was gonna winkle me out, but it was only the driver splashing his boots.’
There was laughter at the anecdote; they all had stories they could tell.
‘Well, it illustrates the point,’ Jim said, ‘on this type of operation camouflage and concealment is the best form of defense. Better to come and go unseen than to have to fight, which brings us to the hessian. Just before we go in we’ll need to get a supply of genuine rubbish as piled up in the Beirut streets, and sew and stick it on to hessian squares. Then if we need to we dive into a dark corner, deploy the rubbish covered squares and look like any other old pile of refuse. A pile of refuse with a sting though, we’ll be carrying silenced weapons in case anyone tries to look too closely.’
Mike was surprised at the simplicity and the ingenuity of the technique. As the training continued, he felt his confidence growing. In Andy Cunningham and company he had acquired real valuable assets.
Zurich, October 14th.
Ben tapped Najib on the shoulder as he read his note. Najib started as if he had received an electric shock.
‘My friend, I see you have my note, let’s go up to your room and we can discuss the figures as you requested.’
Ben’s words gave Najib time to regain some of his poise. ‘Y-y-yes, good idea,’ he stammered, trying to suppress a look of pure loathing.
Ben took a grip on his elbow and steered him firmly to the lifts. Two other men from the foyer joined them. As the lift doors closed Najib opened his mouth to protest. One of the two passengers cut him off before he could utter a sound. Grabbing a fistful of Najib’s shirtfront he jammed him into a corner of the lift. Najib looked to the other passenger for help. He looked indifferently back. Both were Mossad and were working for Ben.
Never a physical person, Najib was easily kept on the defensive. He stuttered and stammered trying to reconcile conflicting thoughts. What was the Jew Levy doing here? How did he know that Najib was in Zurich? How much did he know of his business? The Lift doors opened and he was given the bum’s rush along the corridor to his room. ‘The key Najib,’ Ben demanded, keeping the pressure on.
Najib fumbled in his robe and produced the card key he’d picked up at the desk. Ben slammed open the door and the Mossad agents shoved the panicking Najib through it. Ben followed them in like a charging bull.
Najib was backed into the dressing table, his knees buckled and he sat heavily onto his assorted toiletries. He was not comfortable and the Jew Levy was nose to nose with him and snarling like a wolf.
Ben signaled to one of the Mossad agents. The man stepped forward drawing a large black IMI Desert Eagle .44 Magnum automatic from a shoulder holster. Taking a silencer from his leather jacket pocket he screwed it onto the muzzle of the automatic. He pressed the silencer into the centre of Najib’s forehead. Najib went very still.
‘This team will put a soft nosed bullet through your brain and, after dark, dump your carcass into the Limmat. It may be found in a couple of weeks half way down the Rhine or it may reach the North Sea. I don’t care which. Or you can tell me what you know.’ Ben’s eyes bored into Najib.
Najib realized he could be living his last moments and his sly brain made the necessary accommodations.
> ‘My friend, why the high drama? You know that I am keeping you informed of events, surely? Call your man off.’
‘Talk or die now.’ Ben made no sign to his operative.
‘Yes, well, I’m here on business as you may suppose.’
‘Blood of Shatila business?’
‘I was on my way to fax Bat Yom Import Export when you so rudely hustled me up here.’
‘Really.’ Ben’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
‘Truly, truly I was.’
The second Mossad agent spoke. ‘You have been to the Baur au Lac. We have made extensive enquiries; the guest list is most interesting.’
Najib swallowed hard, desperately trying not to let his fear give him away.
‘Get to the point.’ Ben nodded at the agent with the gun. He ground the silencer hard into Najib’s forehead forcing him back to the mirror.
Najib winced, but he was gaining time. ‘Tell the Jew enough of the truth to be believable, but not enough to prejudice the grand plan,’ he thought, ‘if I am careful in what I say, I can get myself out of this situation. I can manipulate events to my advantage later.’
‘Abu Asifah is planning another operation,’ he said, ‘I am merely here to arrange the funds.’
Where?’
‘Aah...’
The agent with the gun thumbed back the hammer.
‘Inside Israel; I was going to advise you, I really was.’
‘What is the target?’
‘I’m not sure yet, I am trying to find out for you,’ Najib lied glibly.
Ben pointed at the bed. ‘Bring a pillow.’
It was passed to the Mossad agent with the gun. He put it over Najib’s face.
Najib’s arms waved frantically and muffled squeals came through the pillow.
Ben Nodded. The pillow was removed.
Najib’s face was white and greasy with sweat. He panted to regain his breath. His brain was racing, could he bluff? What would the Jew believe? Would the Jew Levy risk a killing in a Zurich hotel? Would he kill a valuable inside source?
‘One more time Najib, What is the target?’
Najib gambled. ‘Truly, I don’t know, I’m not permitted to know,’ Najib said in a shaky whisper, ‘I’m only involved in provision of funds.’
Ben’s mouth was dry. ‘When is the attack to take place?’
‘Not yet, I believe it’s in the planning stage.’
‘Will he lead it himself?’
‘He will claim so,’ the sneer in Najib’s voice was profound, ‘but be assured, the job will be set up and carried out by another - as have most of his achievements in the past.’
‘Who?’
‘Well, I’m not sure, I can’t...’ Najib’s voice tailed off as Ben’s eyes bored into his own.
‘You don’t help me, I don’t help you. Abu Asifah becomes a leader of world renown in your place. If you want my help to oust the man who has taken your position in the organization you founded you have to deliver.’
Retribution Page 25
