MindField

by D S Kane

  “Ah, no, sir. But our foremost occasional ally is. We have uncovered a plot to assassinate the American president-elect. I’d like to expose this plot. We also have documentation that the president-elect is a traitor to his country. I’d also like to make this new information public.”

  “How are you proposing to do this?”

  “The same way Ben-Levy did. It worked then and it could work now.”

  After a longer than normal silence, the PM said, “You want to send someone to the United Nations? Ben-Levy would have been prosecuted here in Israel if he had not been assassinated on the steps of the United Nations after his speech.”

  “I’m looking for your permission. Ben-Levy ignored your threat.”

  “You cannot use Israel’s UN ambassador. We’re on thin ice with the UN right now.”

  Meyer let the silence sit. He’d anticipated every word of the conversation so far. But this was where he needed to be careful. He spoke more slowly. “I’d like to send Avram Shimmel. He’s been staff to the United Nations for almost two years and he has earned the respect of most member nations. Please appoint him ‘temporary assistant ambassador.’ If you tell me now that you will, then I’ll take responsibility for the outcome.”

  “Let me see if I understand. You want Shimmel to tell the world that the Russians want to assassinate the president-elect of the United States, who you have evidence to prove is a traitor to the nation that elected him?”

  “Almost. Try this: I want Shimmel to tell the world that the Russians have sent an assassination team to the United States to murder the president-elect of the United States, and that we have evidence to prove that the man the Americans elected is a Russian agent, and therefore a traitor to the nation that elected him.”

  Meyer waited through the silence that followed. Then the PM said, “Samuel, when Ben-Levy spoke at the United Nations, it was against my orders. But I was wrong and it ended up working. So, I’ll let you try. But if this fails, you will resign your position as director of the Mossad. Are you willing to gamble your future?”

  Meyer sighed. “Yes.”

  “Okay then. Go with God.”

  Samuel Meyer had a long record of hypertension. He’d been treated for this at the Ness Ziona Medical Center in Herzliya for several years. He thought his heart disease was a feature of his job. He took a few minutes to let his blood pressure fall back into the normal range. Then he tapped Avram Shimmel’s phone number into his landline and waited for the phone to be answered.

  “Shimmel.”

  “Avram, it’s Sam Meyer. I have received permission from the prime minister to appoint you temporary assistant Israeli ambassador to the United Nations.”

  “You what? Why?”

  “I want you to schedule an appearance at the General Assembly session now in progress. Schedule it for the earliest date available. Tomorrow would be best. I will send you the speech I want you to deliver. You will read it verbatim.”

  Shimmel had served within the Mossad eight years ago as a covert operative. Meyer knew that Shimmel understood the Mossad had the right to restore any former operative to active duty whenever they wished. There was no right of appeal.

  Meyer heard Shimmel cough. Meyer said, “You have no options.”

  “Are you sure you want me to deliver the speech and not our current ambassador?”

  “This order, just as I read it to you, came from the PM, not me. I’ll send you a package through the dip pouch tomorrow. It should be in your hands before dawn. You will do exactly as I just told you.”

  Meyer heard Shimmel sigh. “Yes, sir. Exactly as you have ordered.”

  Meyer terminated the call. Then he called his country desk manager for Israel’s relations with the United States to his office. “Shmuel, I have a set of files I want you to encrypt. Use the dip pouch to deliver the file to our embassy in New York. I’ll also send you another, much shorter document. Encrypt that also and address them both to Avram Shimmel, an overt of the Mossad.”

  Shmuel nodded. “I’ll start as soon as the files hit my inbox.”

  * * *

  When he arrived at the United Nations Secretariat building the next morning, Avram had an encoded message from Samuel Meyer waiting for him in his inbox. He followed the decryption process, running the message through a mask in his cellphone. Mossad communications were always overly encoded. The resulting text was a very short message:

  Israeli Consulate, New York City. Retina encoded.

  Avram took a taxi to the Israeli consulate at 800 Second Avenue and identified himself. The consulate was in an older skyscraper at 43rd Street, one block west of the United Nations. After passing through the security gate, he was met by a guard and admitted to a small room with gray metallic wall paint that prevented any tracking of electronic signals.

  He sat in front of a monitor and placed his eyes near a tiny lens embedded in the screen. He stood motionless until he heard a “beep” and the screen displayed “Recipient Identified.” The printer emitted three pages and a USB drive dropped from a reader/writer below the screen.

  Avram placed the paper and the drive in his lead-foil-lined attaché case and walked back to the United Nations. He took the elevator to the twenty-ninth floor, which he shared with the United Nations General Assembly administration.

  “Hello, Yi Shun. I’ve just been appointed to Israel’s ambassadorial department to the United Nations.”

  Yi Shun, a tall and very thin woman from Taiwan, simply nodded. “You may regret this. But, congratulations.”

  Avram smiled and nodded. “My prime minister has asked me to schedule speaking time at the earliest possible available time to introduce myself. When, and how much time can you make available?”

  She looked at the computer screen on her desk. “Tomorrow. A half hour, starting at two in the afternoon.”

  Avram said, “Thanks, Yi Shun.”

  Avram Shimmel walked to his own office and started practicing his speech.

  * * *

  Ann’s flight to JFK landed and she called Avram before she even debarked. She was dumped into voicemail. Damn! “It’s Ann Sashakovich. I think there’s going to be an attempt on Daniel Strumler’s life, probably tomorrow. I’m not exactly sure where it will take place, but I’d bet the farm it will be at the hotel where he’s staying. I’m in New York now. We need to talk. Call me back.”

  New York City was where she was born. Brooklyn was where her mother, her brother, and she resided, at a very old, brick, six-story apartment at 6701 Colonial Road in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. She was familiar with the city, but it destroyed her youth when her birth mother overdosed, her brother was strangled, and she was raped.

  Ann hated New York City.

  * * *

  It was a bright, sunny afternoon when the Cessna aircraft with Russian tail markings taxied the runway to the private air terminal at Washington Dulles International Airport. When the aircraft came to a stop and the rolling staircase was placed against the aircraft, Victor Kreslin signaled to his team and they moved to the exit in formation.

  There was an unmarked helicopter waiting to pick up the team at the private air terminal.

  Victor Kreslin and his team debarked the aircraft and trotted to the helicopter. They boarded, ready for transport into Washington DC. Soon, the chopper hovered over the rooftop heliport at the Russian embassy.

  Of the eight men under Kreslin’s command, Kreslin believed he himself was the most highly skilled in the killing arts.

  He sat in the helicopter’s shotgun seat and waited for it to complete its touchdown on the roof. Kreslin signaled his second in command, Igor Nelovich, to gather the men and prepare to debark. Then he said, “Nelovich, see to the weapons and ammunition.”

  Igor nodded. The platoon entered the embassy through the rooftop door and took the staircase in formation to the lobby.

  They all found seats in the Dodge Caravan owned by the embassy. Nelovich loaded the two large crates of weapons and one carton of ammunition i
nto the Caravan. Kreslin drove it from the embassy.

  Nelovich said to Kreslin, “Our primary objective is to kill the man as quietly as we can. Our best intelligence, received just before we landed, is that he remains in his hotel suite on the top floor of the Strumler Tower on Constitution Avenue. We’ll wait until night and use the darkness as camo.”

  Kreslin smiled and continued driving toward downtown.

  Chapter 43

  51st Floor, Strumler Tower Capital Hotel, Washington, DC

  November 21, 2:09 p.m.

  Daniel Strumler ate a toasted cheese sandwich overstuffed with heirloom tomatoes while he watched the afternoon news. A Fox News commentator said that the new Israeli ambassador to the United Nations was speaking about Strumler. During the presidential campaign, Strumler had told his supporters that he would rather develop jobs in America than ship arms to defend Israel.

  He feared this speech might be a vehicle for Israel’s payback.

  He immediately changed the channel to watch the speech.

  The man speaking dwarfed the two Israeli bodyguards at the edges of the stage. He was huge and his uniform couldn’t hide his muscles. But, since when did a diplomat wear a military uniform? Strumler examined the man’s face and decided that the man seemed too young to be a seasoned diplomat. I wonder if their new ambassador is former Mossad?

  He turned up the volume.

  “…for you today. First, I have urgent information concerning a set of messages Israel intercepted about a pending attempt to assassinate the president-elect of the United States. We discovered this intelligence threat while we were tracking Russian communications. As a result, I also have evidence to present. Convincing evidence. We have discovered that the reason why this assassination attempt is about to occur, is that the American president-elect is owned by the Russians and the Russians want to keep him from being arrested and tried as a traitor. Moving to the first of these items, here is the evidence…”

  As Strumler watched the ambassador speak at the United Nations General Assembly, his fear and rage turned to acid in his throat. He grabbed his ever-present bottle of antacid tablets and ate them like candy.

  The Israeli Ambassador continued his speech and Strumler rose and began throwing things around the room. Vases, lamps and even the remains of the toasted cheese sandwich and the plate it was delivered on—all went flying through the air.

  Secret Service and Strumler’s private bodyguards crashed through the door in response to the noise. “Sorry, sir,” said one of the Secret Service agents. “We heard the speech. We thought it might be some threat.”

  “Leave me be!” Strumler’s eyes were nearly popping out of his head.

  * * *

  Laura couldn’t stop crying. She sat frozen in her seat in the international terminal at SFO after her flight from Paraguay landed.

  She was still angry with herself for moving to Paraguay. She hated Frank Lucessi and Paraguay. But most of all, she now knew how dangerous she could be to others. Skorkin’s body was proof of that. Frank’s response of calling in a cleanup crew left her wanting to murder him. She had left him instead.

  Only one person she knew had been able to deal with her without triggering a potentially violent response.

  She had purchased a new cellphone at the airport. Now, she used it to called Ann. “It’s Laura. I’m back at Stanford. Do you still need a roommate? Paraguay didn’t work out. Anyway, call me back. Please. Call me back.”

  When she decided to return to Stanford, she had no firm direction on what her future would be. She knew it wouldn’t include studying art.

  * * *

  After Ann reached the United Nations Secretariat Building, she waited for Avram to return her call.

  She sat in the lobby of the tall building, her notebook computer on and plugged in, charging from a nearby wall outlet. Her notebook buzzed. She examined the screen and saw a backtrace she’d initiated while waiting for a taxi at JFK. The backtrace was covering all telephone calls made from Nikolai Puchenko’s cellphone and his landline. Since her first download of messages from the Kremlin, Ann had downloaded and installed a Russian-to-English translator app onto her notebook. The backtrace had intercepted a new message from Puchenko’s voicemail. She read the text:

  Puchenko, it’s your boss. Your ultimate boss. I have decided to send a small assassination team to terminate the existence of your American puppy. Do not have any further contact with the man. The team should be arriving in Washington any time now. I decided not to tell you until after they arrived and were on the ground. Don’t worry. I’ll not punish you for your own failure.

  Ann realized her vision of the events now in progress was incorrect. Damn! I’m in the wrong city! She exited the building and ran toward the street to flag a taxi.

  On the sidewalk in front of her, she saw a throng of people surrounding a very tall man. It was Avram! She scooted through the people flinging questions at Avram. When she was face-to-face with him, Ann yelled “Avram!”

  He stopped, and faced her. “Ann, what are you doing here?”

  “I left you a voicemail. Didn’t—”

  “I was speaking before the General Assembly.”

  The throng of reporters remained silent, focusing on the exchange between the two.

  “I’m on my way to Washington DC. Listen to the message. Decide how you want to handle the problem. I’m sure you’ll do the right thing. And, don’t worry, I’ll tell Cassie and Lee.” She backed away and headed to the curbside. She flagged down a taxi and bounced into the back seat. “JFK, any domestic terminal.”

  The cab rocketed up First Avenue toward the 59th Street Bridge.

  While the taxi driver drove Ann down the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, she called her parents. Cassie picked up the line. “It’s Ann. I’m headed toward JFK to take a flight to Washington DC. You guys all need to be in DC. There’s a Russian assassination team on their way to Strumler’s hotel to kill him. We need to save him so he can be tried for treason. Get yourselves from the United Nations to Strumler’s hotel in DC. Call me back when you’re en route.”

  She could see the terminals of JFK flashing by outside the cab’s windows. She packed away her phone and notebook. When the cab stopped, she tossed a Franklin to the driver and bolted from the cab.

  Inside the terminal. Ann approached a check-in desk and waited her turn in line. “Hi. I just received word that my mama had a heart attack. I have to get to Washington DC as soon as I can. Please sell me a ticket on the next available flight.”

  She offered her credit card, grabbed the boarding pass, and headed to the TSA precheck security gate.

  As she passed through security and trotted toward the departure gate, her cell buzzed. Ann stopped and pulled her cell from her pocket. She examined the screen while she ran. “Mom! Where are you and Dad?”

  “We’re in New York. We got your message. We also got a message from Avram. We’ll be meeting up at the private air terminal at JFK. He was able to muster fifty of the two hundred paramilitary he commands in New York at the United Nations. We also have Jon with us. Avram has a Cessna about to take off. Look, Ann, I’m not comfortable with you engaging in a military operation. Go home to Stanford and your studies.”

  “No way, Mom. I’m the best hacker you have available and I can help by telling you where the assassins are located in real time. Remember, I can hack them without a computer. Remember the Bug-Loks the CypherGhost fed me? So use me! I promise I’ll stay out of the line of fire.”

  “Ann, no. Avram called the Secret Service and they’re coordinating the op together. You aren’t needed. Let the professionals handle this.”

  Ann thought about her vision of pending events. It had reformed, revised to accommodate the new set of facts that had emerged. She was sure this new ability would stay with her. “If I’m close enough, I think I may be able to envision their conversations. Don’t know how it happened, but I’ll know where the assassins are. You need me.”

  She he
ard Cassie and Lee talking softly in the background. “Okay. But you’ll take orders from Lee and me. You agree?”

  Ann smiled. “Yes!”

  “We’ll meet you inside the Strumler Tower’s lobby.”

  She had become a member of the paramilitary team.

  * * *

  After Ann’s flight landed, she took a taxi to the Strumler Tower. Avram deployed Cassie, Lee, Avram, and two hundred mercenaries from the UN Paramilitary Force into strategic locations within the building.

  Cassie ordered Ann to sit in the stairwell on the 49th floor, out of harm’s way.

  Ann found no further trace of the assassination team. It made sense that the team would go dark before their op, so she was sure they had already assumed their positions within the hotel.

  She constantly monitored the security feeds throughout the hotel from her position two floors below Strumler’s suite on the fifty-first floor. Half of Avram’s paramilitary force was scattered through the hotel’s fire stairways. The other half were hidden within the four stairwells leading up to Strumler’s suite. Jon was with them. Cassie and Lee were at Avram’s command station in the hotel’s delivery platform behind the lobby.

  Now, all they could do now was wait.

  * * *

  Five hours ago, Victor Kreslin and his team arrived at Strumler Tower. The team had purchased a pizza from a stand nearby. One of his team mugged a pizza delivery worker and stole his hat and a pizza in a box. The team walked twenty floors up the staircase and the “pizza delivery man” knocked on a door in one of the hotel suites. When its occupant said he hadn’t ordered any pizza, the “delivery man” told the occupant, “Might be a mistake but the pizza is getting cold. You might as well accept the delivery.”

  The occupant opened the door.

  Kreslin’s team murdered the occupant and the occupant’s companion, who both appeared to be tourists.

  Kreslin and Igor Nelovich reviewed the plan as they waited for the cover of nightfall.