by Belle Ami
“The ladies do like light eyes, but they’re a pain in the ass in Damascus.”
Yitzak led him into a technology center where three people were working on computer screens. “Nira, Daniel, and Ben, I want you to meet our new team leader, Cyrus.”
A petite brunette with a sharp vulpine face stood and shook his hand with a firm grip. “Aryeh spoke well of you.”
Cyrus noted the wariness in her eyes. She looked him over as if sizing him up. Good, she’s loyal to Aryeh and resistant to me, just as it should be. “Thanks, Nira, a good word from Aryeh means a lot to me.”
She nodded and looked away.
He shook hands with Daniel, a stocky, dark, guy with a perpetual frown. The man’s grip was like shaking hands with a rod of steel. Cyrus could picture Daniel easily twisting a man’s head off his neck with his bare hands. Daniel grunted his greeting. Not too friendly.
Cyrus made a mental note to spend as much time alone with each player on the team as possible before they left for Beirut. He needed to get a heads up on the way they thought and how they operated personality-wise. He didn’t have much time to interweave himself and become part of the fabric of the team, but he was determined to gain their obedience.
After the introduction to the quiet man, a curly-haired guy with a big smile on his face stuck out his hand affably. “Heh, Cyrus, Ben here. Don’t let these surly folks get to you. We all know the Ramsad drafted you to take over the team. Aryeh is the best judge of people I know. If he thought well of you, it’s good enough for me.”
Cyrus had read up on all of the members of the team, and he knew that despite Ben’s nice guy persona, he was a deadly assassin. A risk taker who walked toward danger and would take a bullet for his team. He was jokingly referred to by his teammates as mal’akh’ hamavet, the angel of death. His cherubic face was a complete contradiction of his deadly reputation.
Cyrus looked around. “So where’s Elon and Ash?”
“Ash is out on the shooting range and Elon’s in the beehive, our sensitive compartmented information facility. He’s analyzing encrypted data coming out of Lebanon. He wanted to have a report ready for you.”
“Excellent. Yitzak, why don’t you show me around the complex and then I’d like to speak with everyone at once. Give everyone a chance to speak their minds.”
“Sounds good. How about lunch time? If we can, we like to break together. When we’re not away on an operation headquarters sends us a secured catering truck, if you can believe it?”
“We’re Jews; it’s all about the food. Mossad knows which perks are important.”
Cyrus followed Yitzak out a rear door. As far as the eye could see there were orchards of dates, oranges, and lemon trees. The scent of citrus permeated the air.
“Who tends the orchards?” Cyrus asked.
“We all pitch in, but headquarters sends a crew to maintain it. Our fruit adorns the desks of most of the government honchos.” He rubbed his hand over his shaved bald head and smiled.
“I’m going to bring a bag of fruit home,” Cyrus laughed. “Finally a perk I can share with my family.”
“Almost better than shekels in your pocket.”
“Can’t say that my wife would agree. I think she’d prefer the shekels.” Cyrus’s gaze swept to the fence line. “Tell me about our security?” He asked.
“We’re secured by a defensive fence system which incorporates anti-cut and anti-climb features, anti-ram vehicle protection, and video monitoring and intrusion detection capability. Everything we have is the latest technology designed to prevent a breach.”
“What about safety from a drone attack?”
“We’ve got aerial detection too. Nothing and no one is getting in or out of here without setting off an alarm.”
“Good to note. Why don’t you show me around the rest of the complex.”
Yitzak and Cyrus rode ATV’s to an outbuilding that housed a fitness center, swimming pool, and indoor shooting range. No expense was spared to keep the Kidon team ready. They were set to go at a moment’s notice. Although it was the planning of every detail and their preparedness for every contingency that made the team so successful. Every move of a Kidon operation was planned and acted out in advance. Cyrus was plenty worried this time they were walking into a hornet’s nest and wouldn’t have that luxury. There would be no testing of different scenarios or possible outcomes for this mission. The Electromagnetic Pulse attack was an imminent danger and close to implementation. Not to mention he was the only one privy to the real purpose of their mission.
They left the fitness center, and Cyrus followed Yitzak down a dirt road. A succession of muffled shots rang out from the outdoor shooting range, which was surrounded by a concrete sound barrier. The barrier kept the noise level to a minimum. They left their ATV’s parked in the dirt and walked to a gate. Yitzak punched in a code. The gate swung open.
“Ash is our resident sniper.” He studied Cyrus a moment and added, “He’s the guy who took out the assassin in Switzerland who Soleimani sent to kill your daughter.”
Cyrus grimaced at the reminder of how close he’d come to losing Cerise. “I can’t wait to thank him.”
They found Ash with sound suppressor headphones on his ears. He lay stomach down in the dirt; eye pressed to the telescope of a rifle. He was shooting at a metal pop-up target, and with each round he fired, the ping of the bullet hitting metal rang out. Cyrus was impressed, even at what he figured was a thousand feet, Ash never missed. Ash caught sight of them and released a breath. He lifted the headphones, and the heavy metal sound of Metallica blasted out.
Yitzak cringed. “I swear, Ash, your eyesight may be perfect, but you’re going to be deaf from listening to that shit so loud. Meet Cyrus, our new team leader.”
A spiked haircut made Ash looked like a perennial teenager. His muscled arms sported an array of tattoos. Cyrus was curious about their symbolism and made a mental note to later ask him about them. Only the fine lines around Ash’s eyes dispelled the notion that the seeming boy was a man. He shook hands with a firm grip. “Shalom, welcome to the farm.”
“Thanks, Ash. That’s some fine shooting you were doing.”
“Yeah, Aryeh is always reminding me to focus on the shooting and not on the politics when I ask too many questions. He says we all have our talents and figuring out the higher up’s reasons for doing things isn’t one of mine.”
Cyrus laughed and patted Ash on the back. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone. I question a lot.” He gazed seriously at Ash. “I want to thank you for saving my daughter and her great-grandparents’ lives in Switzerland.”
“Believe me, taking out that mother was my pleasure. I wish I could have taken out Soleimani too.”
“That’s a hit we’d all like to make.”
“Yeah, one day I’m going to make it.”
“You know I could use a little target practice. Let’s shoot some rounds tomorrow.”
“You call it. I’ll be there.”
“Hey, Ash,” Yitzak said. Head back at one for lunch. Cyrus wants to talk to the whole crew.”
“Okay. See you later.” He placed his headphones with their pounding music back over his ears and returned to the dirt and began firing. The metal target began to dance again with each round.
“Man, he’s really good,” Cyrus said.
“He’s the best.”
Once back at the farm’s headquarters, Cyrus met Elon, who looked anything but the nerd he was purported to be. He had the black horn-rimmed glasses going for him, and the unruly curly brown hair of an absent-minded professor, but that’s where the nerd thing ended. Elon was built and had to spend hours in the gym to maintain his body builder physique. But Cyrus quickly got the Brainiac side of him, Elon cut through analyses like a shark fin through water.
“Do we know what cover Aryeh is operating under in Beirut?”
“He’s using one of his many passport identities. He’s a German banker named Franz Stark. It’s a clean guise. Mos
sad created a bank in Switzerland with office space, staff, and vaults for private secured banking. Aryeh is an officer of the bank. He enjoys immense deference no matter where he travels.”
Yitzak broke in. “Cyrus, none of us believe for a minute Aryeh is a traitor. If he took the diamonds, it’s for a good reason. He’s on to something.”
“I think you’re right, Yitzak, but the higher-ups have given us a job. We are to find Aryeh and bring him back to Israel. That’s what we’re going to do.”
Yitzak nodded. “We know the shtick. But we want you to know how we feel.”
“Your feelings are duly noted.” He looked at his watch. “I’m anxious to assemble the whole team. Let’s head back to the computer center.”
The catering truck was a virtual miracle. Somehow Mossad managed to serve up everyone’s favorite foods. Cyrus figured their dossiers were pretty complete. The chef, learning of Cyrus’s food preferences had even made a Persian chicken stew for him. Yitzak and Ben set up a portable table in the center of the computer center, and everyone pulled up a seat. He joined the others at the table. The team’s lunch hour was filled with schoolyard wisecracks and joking.
Ash dug into his burger. “Nira, don’t you ever get bored with all those grains and veggies? I swear you’re wasting away.”
She punched him, nearly knocking him out of his chair. “Does this feel like the punch from someone wasting away?”
Daniel licked his fingers from his brisket sandwich’s drippings. “Why don’t you two just get it over with and get a room.”
Nira shot him a look that dared him to continue. “You’re such a meathead, Daniel. Why the hell would I need an overactive teenager with a gun? We all know Ash gets off on guns, not women.”
Ash grinned, taking no offense. “Believe me, baby, guns aren’t the only weapon I’m packing.” He raised his eyebrows and waggled them like Groucho Marx.
Nira dropped her eyes to his lap. “Looks pretty small to me.”
The guys all exploded with laughter, hooting and whistling.
Ash’s comeback was quick. “He’s not loaded. Watch out when he is, or are you afraid you might find something too hard to give up?”
Yitzak was laughing so hard tears ran down his face. “Will you two put a muzzle on it, I’m having trouble digesting my food with all your sexual innuendos. Besides, Cyrus probably thinks he’s inherited a team of depraved teenagers.”
Cyrus put up his hands. “Don’t drag me into this, Yitz. I’m the only married guy here. My days of sexual conquest are long over, but I’m not so old that I can’t remember what it felt like to be always on the prowl.”
Ben grinned. “Sorry boss, but we’re a horny bunch, I’m afraid.”
The team grew silent and stared at Ben. He’d called Cyrus boss, and Cyrus knew he’d crossed some forbidden line. “Oh, come on guys. Face up to it, Cyrus is our new team leader, and I for one don’t have a problem with it. Get with the program.”
Ben might as well have lit a match to a fuse. Everyone joined in hurling insults at him. Yitzak finally raised his hands for quiet, and everyone groaned but settled down. “Cyrus knows how we all feel about Aryeh. No one is probably feeling more out of place than he is. He needs to know whatever our complaints we’re still a team, a finely oiled machine. Once he turns the engine over we’ll all work to whatever end he demands.”
“I appreciate that, Yitzak.” Cyrus stood and placed his hands on the table and took a moment to look at each team member. “I want to make it completely clear to all of you, I’m not trying to win your affection or replace Aryeh in your hearts. I’m here to do a job, the one given to me. I know each of you will give me your best because I’m sure as hell not going to take any less.” It was time to get down to business. He turned to Elon. “Tell me, Elon, does Aryeh have anyone he can trust in Beirut?”
“He does. He has an intimate relationship with a journalist living in Beirut. Zara Zayani is a reporter working for Le Figaro and runs their ad hoc Beirut office. She also happens to be an agent for the DGSE.”
Cyrus absorbed this tidbit. “Interesting that she’s an agent for the French intelligence service. You said intimate, explain.”
“I can’t say for certain, but they’ve experienced quite a few close calls together which coincide with terrorist attacks in Paris, Brussels, and Morocco. I’m pretty sure saving each other’s life is part of their connection. Those kinds of bonds in the world of espionage create a certain amount of trust. He would in all likelihood enlist her help.”
“Okay, so the first thing we’ll need to do is set up surveillance on Zara.” Cyrus’s gaze swept the table for their reaction.
Yitzak shook his head. “Like I said finding her won’t be a problem, but getting anything out of the lady she doesn’t want known is a losing proposition. She’s good at keeping her cover, and she’s wired into Hezbollah.”
Daniel interjected. “She’d better be good playing with those animals.”
Cyrus stroked the shadow of a beard on his face. He had forged a close bond with two American FBI agents, Cass and David. He understood loyalty. Aryeh would most likely behave in the same manner. Four months ago when Layla was kidnapped in New York Cyrus had turned to Aryeh for help. The Kidon leader had met with him but denied his request to become part of the rescue team. In the end, Aryeh had taken out the terrorist that was about to shoot Layla and him. If Cyrus could chose a friend or a brother it would be Aryeh. There’s said to be a code of honor among thieves, and the same could be said of some spies, even if they were on different teams. “Aryeh’s not married, right?”
Nira answered. “Nope, no relationship in Israel. But he’s pretty cagey about his personal life.”
Cyrus remembered the rambunctious guy who’d plowed through lunch with gusto and passion. “Seemed like a guy who enjoys the finer things in life when he’s not working.”
Ben laughed. “That’s Aryeh, for sure. Outside of work, he acts the bon vivant. But when we’re involved in an operation, he’s a perfectionist. A real stickler, he dots his I’s and crosses his T’s. He accepts no less from his team.”
Cyrus nodded. “Okay, hypothesize with me. What would make a guy who’s risked his life time after time for his country suddenly steal fifty million in gems from his country and disappear in Beirut? Find me the answer to that question, and we’ll find the man.”
Cyrus looked around the room at each team member. They all looked upset, but not one of them looked as if they knew the answer. “Remember our job is to recover the treasure and bring Aryeh home. If we can clear his name, you bet I’m going to do it. My wife and I owe him our lives.”
Yitzak looked at everyone at the table. “We all worked that operation, Cyrus. We know what went down.”
“Then you know I want him found and safely brought home. I know you guys keep your family off limits, but in this case, we need to rule out any possibility of blackmail. Everyone has an Achilles heel. I want a complete dossier on everyone in Aryeh’s family tomorrow.”
“Cyrus, whatever the top guns are saying, Aryeh is no traitor. Each one of us on the team would stake our careers on his loyalty. Trust me, there’s a reason he took the diamonds, and it’s a good one.”
“I hope you’re right Yitzak.” It killed him not being able to confide in the team their real mission. He hoped the old fox at Mossad headquarters would okay his confiding in them once they were safely ensconced in Beirut. Whatever the Ramsad decided he felt confident the team would respond to his leadership. The sooner they got to Beirut the better.
Chapter Three
Beirut, Lebanon
Aryeh had perfected the ability to disappear in a crowd, despite his formidable size. Killing in close quarters and getting in and out of unfriendly places without being apprehended by the authorities required Ninja talent.
Most of the time due to the nature of his work, his face bore a scowl, but tonight beneath his blond beard, Aryeh smiled. Known as the Paris of the East, Beirut was a five-th
ousand-year-old party town, and although his purpose for being in Beirut was serious, he enjoyed a good party.
The driving bass and drumbeat of pulsating music electrified the pale hair on his muscled forearms causing them to stand on end. He was hungry, and the perfume of exotically-spiced foods made his stomach grumble. He appreciated Beirut and all it offered. It was the Holy Grail of cosmopolitan assimilation where the oriental and occidental worlds mixed like a perfectly concocted cocktail. The religious fanaticism of Iran and its proxy Hezbollah was invisible on the streets of the capital.
The young and old, the wealthy, and the not so wealthy, tourists and locals, friends and foes, spilled into a cobblestoned Makdessi Street from the bars and restaurants that lined the Hamra district. Neon lights blazed advertising food and drink. Aryeh navigated through the crowd that ebbed and flowed through the streets like a ballerina through the corps de ballet until a young man bumped into him and fell backward. In an obvious state of inebriation, the boy clutched his head, shaking it, his dilated pupils oscillating. Bumping what seemed to be a well-dressed European businessman, must have felt like hitting a brick wall. Aryeh picked him up as if he was a feather, righting him on his feet. The young man apologized profusely in a slur of Arabic.
Aryeh answered in fluent Arabic. “A bit more caution, my friend. Too much liquor is a recipe for disaster. Tomorrow is another day, and you don’t want to end up in a pool of vomit. Do not offend the holy prophet.”
“Yes, Sayed.” The boy attempted to bow and nearly fell over again. Another boy, presumably his friend, grabbed him by the arms and the pair stumbled down the street laughing.
Aryeh brushed off his sports jacket and walked on. In Beirut, the Qur’an’s suggestion from the Surah Al Maaida to avoid intoxicants wasn’t well observed. It was ten days before Christmas, and celebrations were in high gear. Lights and decorations lit the streets, and Nativity crib scenes were prominent in the public squares. His walk from his hotel had skirted Martyr’s Square and the Muhammad al-Amin Mosque where a gigantic Christmas tree twinkled with lights. Lit in a public ceremony that included a fireworks display and a Christmas concert it attracted large crowds of Lebanese Christians. However, celebrating Christmas was not on Aryeh’s agenda tonight.
