Two hours went by and the car was announced as “good as new” by the mechanic who soon joined the celebration.
THE PRIESTS, HAVING SUNG most of the songs they knew and a few they didn’t, drove ahead of the Lada, leading Nora, Dan, and Jim to a shortcut through the mountain pass to a main highway. A heavy rainstorm gave them an opportunity to experience the Ladas wipers’ redistributing dirt and grime evenly across the windshield.
The priests in the Volvo either didn’t care or didn’t notice the rainstorm around them, and the taillights of their Volvo were barely visible as it careened happily back and forth across the road.
Finally, the Volvo stopped, and the priests got out in the middle of a road junction. Not that there was any worry. The roads were devoid of traffic. As they stood in the driving rain and the glow of the Lada’s headlights, the priests toasted the US, themselves, Lebanon and the church, before pointing them in the right direction and veering off back to the monastery.
Following their directions, and with no more bandits to harass them, in a little over two hours they would reach the Mediterranean Sea.
CHAPTER 78
SHINOT BERAT, LEBANON
After checking in to his customary villa overlooking the town center and the Mediterranean Sea, Mikel Drunz drifted off into a sound sleep; his first in weeks. The sound of water lapping against the beach below his villa might have aided some. On the other hand, maybe it was the thought that Mossad had squandered its two chances to eliminate him? The famed Israeli Intelligence Agency was usually good, very good, at eliminating their intended target. Moreover, he knew the bastards would keep trying until they succeeded.
He could continue to fight them or just up and disappear. He wisely chose the latter.
Mikel Drunz had an enormous dose of lady luck on his side to have escaped Berlin with his life. And he knew it. The two bastards on the motorcycle had planted a bomb on his limo in an attempt to kill him and when that did not succeed, returned a second time as he sat in the ambulance nursing his wounds. But, like a cat with nine lives, he lived, albeit, now with one less life. He acknowledged to himself that his presence in Germany was getting a bit too hazardous. He decided it prudent to move closer to his enemies in order to throw them off his scent. He had instructed his pilot to fly him in his company’s Gulfstream to Beirut. From there he hired a driver to take him for the short car ride up the coast to Shinot Berat, a shiny pearl of a town in a tired country.
He now stood on his balcony looking out at the ocean, nursing a cup of cappuccino from his in-room brewer, pondering his next step. He had come to the realization that someone had leaked information on his business dealings; of this he had no doubt. Now, how to deal with them?
He walked back into his room to change before his meeting. After stripping down he looked at his image in the full-length mirror, noting the extra weight around his midsection. He made a mental note to exercise more. However, for now he needed to dress conservatively for his meeting. He selected a striped tie to go with his white shirt. He hated to deal with Tanir Hafi; especially on his home turf. He was an arrogant bastard. However, Mikel needed him. For Hafi controlled his money, or more accurately, his access to it.
But that was soon to change.
MOVING ABOUT HIS mansion on the Mediterranean beachfront in a flowing white robe, silk slippers adorning his feet, Tanir Hafi rambled wildly to anyone who would listen. Head shaven bald, he barely topped out at 5 foot 2. Hafi was known for many years as Muammar Gaddafi’s man in the Middle East, that was, until the Libyan dictator was killed by his own people. Since Gaddafi’s death, Hafi had inherited most of Gaddafi’s terrorist stock and trade. In the meantime, he enriched the Gaddafi family Swiss Bank Account to the tune of almost $250 million. Gaddafi knew his time was near and had wisely shipped what he could via Syrian flagged vessels via Syrian ports. His old friend, Bashar Hafez al-Assad, President of Syria, made it look easy. That was, as long as al-Assad got his 10% cut. From Syrian ports, the product was trucked to Hafi’s heavily guarded warehouses in Shinot Berat, Lebanon.
Mikel Drunz knew when to shut up and when to allow him to ramble. This was definitely a rambling time. Mikel nodded to his friend as he patiently listened to his viewpoints on how to solve the world’s latest crisis. After several minutes Mikel held up his hands in mock surrender. “Might I ask a favor my friend?” Mikel asked. “I need a drink. One with liquor in it.”
Hafi stopped mid-sentence. He smiled. “You understand that I am not permitted such things.”
“But do the same rules apply to me?” Mikel smiled. “I am an infidel, after all.”
Hafi laughed aloud. “You are correct. I just might have some liquor in the cellar. Not mine of course. A friends…”
Mikel nodded. “I expected no less. And no matter. It’ll taste just as good.”
Hafi rang for his servant. “Get this Infidel a drink of whiskey from the cellar.” After the servant had left, he turns back to face Mikel. “I hear the Israeli’s tried to assassinate you in Berlin. Is this true?”
“News travels quickly doesn’t it,” he replies. “As you can see by the man in front of you, they missed.”
“Hafi laughs aloud. “Keep your sense of humor, you will need it. You know they will try again don’t you? They are like ticks. They embed themselves and refuse to leave until the animal is either dead or they have sucked its blood dry.”
Mikel nods.
The servant returns with a silver tray, upon it a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, two Baccarat crystal glasses and a Swarovski crystal pitcher laden with ice. Mikel helps himself, also pouring one for Hafi, handing it to him. Hafi nods his thanks. “I guess one can’t hurt,” he says.
“Watch out,” said Mikel, laughing as he did. “You are becoming like me, an infidel.”
“That time, my friend, has come and gone.”
Mikel raises his glass to salute his host, takes a sip, and places his glass on the table beside him. “I think the Israelis have found out about my arrangement with you,” Mikel said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Or shall I say my father’s arrangement with your father.”
“They are very good at uncovering things such as this,” replied Hafi knowingly. “This is the perfect transition for a subject that is very dear to my heart. So now I have a request of you my friend. You are a very hot commodity.” Hafi pauses and takes a sip of his drink. “I think it’s time you moved your father’s product. Like my father before me, I have guarded it with my life. Of course, he did it free of charge; I do it for my 10% cut. Even so, my family has guarded your families little secret since the end of WWII. Now the time has come for it to be moved.”
Mikel started to protest, but Hafi held up his hand to silence him. “It has been decided. Let us move on to another topic.” Hafi turned to one of his bodyguards. “Take Mikel’s bag to the guest room.”
Mikel nodded. “You are too kind my friend.”
Hafi laughed at him. “Nonsense. You will stay with me tonight as my guest. But first, let us have some dinner and I will regale you with some stories my father would tell me about your father, the crazy Nazi, Bormann, and some of the Vatican people who spent time here after the war.”
CHAPTER 79
SHINOT BERAT, LEBANON
Under the cover of darkness, an Israeli Navy Super Dvora Mark III cautiously approached the Lebanese coast, its motor silent as it drifted with the tide. At 90 feet in length, the Exodus was the latest generation of fast patrol boats and, if needed, capable of achieving speeds of up to 58 mph. ‘Easy to get out of trouble as quickly as they get into it,’ was its crew’s motto.
The captain of the Exodus scanned over his latest coastal charts in the boat’s pilothouse, prudently following the charts recommendations to stay at least two kilometers off the coast. At two kilometers, they were just out of range of coastal guns if spotted by one of the rag-tag militias or remnants of the Lebanese army.
Thanks to its low profile and heavy armaments, the Exodus was favored
by Shayetet 13, or Flotilla 13, an elite naval commando unit specializing in sea-to-land incursions similar to the US Navy SEAL’s. The unit is one of the most secretive in the Israeli military. On the Exodus stern stood four sailors near a slanted ramp for launch/recovery operations of a 15-foot Morena-class rigid-hulled inflatable boat, the sailors performing last-minute equipment checks for their brethren in the inflatable. In the inflatable boat sat Silverman and a crew of two Shayetet 13 commandos as it was pushed off the Exodus. Upon hitting the water, its electric Maglev motor immediately engaged allowing it to speed silently towards the beach.
On the Exodus bow, Benny Machaim, head of Mossad, waves to Silverman before turning to the boats captain. He points to the sky as he speaks: “Its 0100hrs and no moon. That is a good sign. Let’s move another kilometer further off the coast and continue to scan for any electronic signal emission in the immediate area. I want to see if there are any cell phones in operation.”
“Yes, sir,” replies the captain as he salutes Benny before moving off to the pilothouse.
Overhead, an Israeli Air Force Heron Unmanned Aerial Vehicle had been flying at 25,000 feet for almost four hours in order to provide a high degree of situational awareness in the area of operation. Under each wing a 100-pound Hellfire missile stood ready with 18 of its 100-pounds configured as a shaped charge that could completely demolish a single home or, if needed, a tank. At Ramat David Air Force Base in Northern Israel, two, fully armed F-16’s were also on a two-minute stand-by for support. This was a high-value target and they weren’t about to miss again, employing as many assets as they possibly could without garnering too much attention.
Silverman knew he was safe having operated with Flotilla 13 on numerous occasions and many inserts. He was going to be placed 100 yards from Hafi’s beach compound. From there he would make his way along the beach. Once he reached the exterior wall of Hafi’s compound, he was to use his Elbit Thermal Night Vision goggles to scour the area for the best place to penetrate the compound. In course, he was to use his Ruger Mark II sound suppression pistol and eliminate the two guards known to frequent the patio under the deck of the guest bedroom. Once inside the villa he was to positively ID Mikel and, if he could not capture him alive, eliminate him. In the event he could not penetrate the walls, he would employ a laser designator on his target and call in for a Hellfire missile strike from the Heron. Then back to the inflatable boat waiting for him on the beach, and from there, to the patrol boat and home. Total time of the incursion was planned for no more than two hours.
They were only 50 yards from the beach when a search light suddenly came on; the light was hidden inside of another beach house two doors down from Hafi’s, now focusing directly on their small inflatable boat.
“Shit,” yelled the commando operating the helm. “It’s a set-up.” He quickly turned the boat back around as 20mm shells started ripping through the water about them. The sailor initiated a zigzag pattern with his boat to make it harder to hit as the second commando swung around the boats .50 caliber machine gun and opened up on the search light. The commando managed to fire 20 rounds from his .50 caliber before he heard a loud pop, sparks flying off in many directions as the search light went dark.
On the patrol boat, the captain viewed what was happening and ordered both of his boats 30mm guns to open up on the enemy gun. Immediately, tracers lit up the night sky as a duel erupted between the patrol boat and the gun on shore.
Silverman and the two sailors in the inflatable raft were content for the moment as the 20mm gun was no longer focused in their direction, now busily dueling with the patrol boat.
After several rounds from the patrol boat, the on-shore battery was quickly silenced.
HAFI’s BEACH COMPOUND had been draped in complete darkness until the 20mm gun at his neighbor’s house opened up. Hafi reached for his Motorola Droid, immediately summoning all six of his guards to duty. He quickly grabbed an AK47 from under his bed before running down the hall to Mikel’s room. He banged on his door to awaken Mikel.
“What the hell is going on, Hafi?” Mikel answered sleepily from the comfort of his bed, still nursing his hangover.
“Wake up you fool,” Hafi replied. “We are under attack!”
Mikel perked up upon hearing the exchange of gunfire. He quickly jumped out of bed, only clad in his underwear he opened his door to see Hafi standing in the hallway in his robe and silk slippers brandishing an AK47. “What’s with all of the fireworks?” he said.
“It’s got to be the Israelis,” Hafi replied with certainty. “They know you are here you stupid bastard. I want your product out of my basement today,” he yelled at him.
“What?” he replied. “I don’t have the resources to accomplish it that quick. At least give me a few days. You must understand,” he pleaded.
Hafi brushed past him, walking to his balcony outside his bedroom. Below him he could see his guards running half-dressed to their posts. “I will give you 24 hours, my friend,” Hafi replied angrily, still looking at his men. “You have brought those bastards to my doorstep.”
Mikel realized he had no choice. He walked over to where Hafi stood on the balcony. He grabbed a rope cord from around the drapery. Before Hafi could react, Mikel had already wrapped the cord around his neck pulling it tightly, forcing his knee into the base of his back. Hafi dropped his rifle as he grabbed at the cord choking him, his body swinging from side-to-side as he tried to fight back. Mikel leaned into Hafi’s ear, whispering: “I hate to do this but you should have worked with me, Hafi.” After several more seconds he released his now dead body, it sliding to the floor in response. Mikel grabbed Hafi’s AK-47. He still had to deal with the bodyguards.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE Exodus was confident his people had silenced the on-shore 20mm as he eased his boat closer to shore. Just in-case he had his crew still manning their weapons. The Captain was worried about recovering the inflatable boat with Silverman and his crew. Upon seeing them skirting the waves, he turned his boat to sea, allowing him to recover the inflatable on the sterns slanted ramp.
Once safely aboard, Silverman jumped out of the inflatable.
“That was too damn close,” he shouted to Benny.
Benny patted him on the back in order to calm him down. “It was all necessary,” he said assuredly. “It had to be tonight, and it had to look like a real operation.”
“Next time, tell the Americans to go screw themselves,” Silverman replied. “Or better yet, do their own dirty work.”
Benny nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry my friend, in a matter of days the Americans will repay us in another way.”
CHAPTER 80
LEBANON
“Most excellent news,” said Sheik Nasrallah into his cell phone. “But we found no dead Israelis? No bodies? No evidence?”
He waited for his field commanders’ response. The Sheik nodded after hearing all he wanted to hear. “I want you and your men to continue searching,” he said before hanging up. He turned to his aide. “We must thank the American ambassador for his information on the Israeli’s little expedition on our coast. I can’t believe they would turn on one of their allies. But they have made a new one in us. I want you to call a meeting of our top commanders in one hour. We will meet here to discuss an era of cooperation with our new friends.”
CHAPTER 81
AMERICAN EMBASSY, TEL AVIV
“It was the only way,” said Ambassador Folkes to Benny as they sat in the Ambassadors well-appointed office overlooking downtown Tel Aviv. “We had to earn the bastards trust.”
“It was a close one,” replied Benny. “Even I found myself in the line of fire. The Hezbollah had a 20mm in the house right where we were landing.” He suddenly rose from his chair, walking over to where the Ambassador sat behind his desk. “But you are the one with, what do you American’s call them, ah yes, Kahunas. To place a listening device on the Sheik’s tapestry as you are admiring it. Right in front of him!” He was referring to the latest CIA ‘bu
g’, the size of a tick that the Ambassador had on his fingertip, touching the tapestry he so admired in the Sheik’s palace.
Ambassador Folkes nodded. “I couldn’t believe it myself. The bug is right in his main conference area. We’ve been getting a lot of good intel on this one. But like I said, we had to earn his trust by seemingly betraying our Israeli allies. We told them where and when you would attack this low-level scum, Tanir Hafi.”
A sudden knock on the door interrupted their conversation.
“I’m sorry about this, Benny,” the Ambassador said to his guest. “Enter,” he said in an aggravated tone.
His military aide walked in.
“This better be important, he said to the Air Force Major, the major walking over to the Ambassador, him handing the Ambassador a red folder with Top Secret emblazoned across its top.
He looks to Benny, his hand pointing to the chair in front of his desk. “This will take but a minute, Benny. Grab a seat.”
The Ambassador quickly read the one page message before handing the folder back to the Major, dismissing him.
“I hope it’s not bad news, Ambassador,” said Benny.
Folkes waited until the officer departed. He then reached down to his right, opening a large cabinet drawer, removing two glasses and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. He carefully poured some into each glass before handing one to Benny. “I’ve been saving this,” he said with a smile, “For a special occasion such as this.”
Benny took the glass offered by Folkes. “It must be big for you to open such a special whiskey,” he replied.
Folkes nodded as he raised his glass with the news. “We just intercepted a message that we both have been waiting many years to receive. The Sheik is calling a meeting of all his top commanders in one hour. We can nail the bastards and decapitate the whole organization in one swoop.”
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