Deadly Ties

by Aaron Ben-Shahar

  Avram used to sit among the kids in his white shirt and glasses, both cheeks of his buttocks spilling over the small children’s seats there. Little Bonnie was embarrassed by his father’s attendance, all the more so as the other dads were burly, suntanned men with stern faces. But then again, those dads never made time to rejoice with their kids.

  ‘That business with the mongoose did save face for Avram,’ Bonnie remembered. The orchard not far from their home had a family of mongooses burrowed deep inside a hole in the ground. One morning, Bonnie and his family were sitting down to breakfast when screams came all the way from the henhouse. Avram rushed outside, Bonnie immediately behind him, only to see a mongoose holding Kat in its mouth. Avram began running after the mongoose and grabbed it right at the mouth of its burrow. The mongoose was so scared, it dropped Kat, which, save for a few scratches here and there, survived the ordeal intact

  Bonnie, who was very proud of his dad, told all his friends about his act of bravery. ‘Yeah, dad,’ he repeated the word, for he had referred to Avram as dad for most of his life. ‘Maybe I was being too hard in him.’

  The village road that meandered between the houses ended near the last house and turned into a dirt road that crossed wheat fields laden with sheaves of grain. It was almost harvest time. The fields stretched as far as the hill, which Bonnie came to know as ‘Squill Hill,’ for they bloomed each year right before the first rain. In this capacity, they were harbingers of fall. The large bulbs retained their moisture by shrinking over the summer months, so the moment the first real rain came, they quickly shot their long, white, scented flowers as far up as possible.

  A stone structure stood at the top of the hill, crowned, as it were, by a blue dome. It consisted largely of a tall white tomb that faced south. The Muslims had consecrated it long ago, believing Sheik Al Hamid was buried there. He was a known commentator of the Quran.

  The tomb was sacred to the Jews, as well, who believed it was the burial site of one of the prophet Hosea’s disciples. Hosea, whose own tomb was in Safed, was among the ‘twelve prophets of the Bible.’ Devotees of both religions, emboldened in their belief as to its significance by virtue of its facing south, embraced the site. For the Muslims, this meant it pointed to Mecca. For the Jews, Jerusalem.

  Quite surprisingly, both faiths coincided rather than clashed. The followers of both persuasions respected their counterparts and shared the site. The Muslims would come to worship during the holy month of Ramadan, whereas the Jews usually came during Shavuot, the equivalent to Pentecost. An ancient oak tree grew right next to the domed tomb. The Jews had a legend, according to which the oak was planted by one of the priests at King Solomon’s temple, who had been tasked with bringing over to the then Kingdom of United Israel the cedars designated for the Temple. The Muslims, on the other hand, said the oak was planted by one of the successors of the Prophet Mohammad, whom he had sent to conquer the land for Islam.

  Certain botanists, cynics and true to form, claimed that the oak tree was only a few hundred years old. Nevertheless, they still gave it the respect they believed it was due and crowned it ‘one of the three oldest trees in Israel.’

  It was this oak that Bonnie was walking towards now. He and the tree were old friends. Whenever he was need of solace or peace of mind during a time of tough choices, he would make his way to the tree and draw the serenity he required, which the tree seemed to impart along with its wisdom of years. Upon his arrival, Bonnie cleared some space off the acorn-covered ground, rolled over the coat he had carried with him, laid it out and stretched across. ‘The earth is still warm.’

  Whereas the fields reminded him of Avram, Squill Hill reminded him of his mother. She was the one who had introduced it to him early in his childhood. Each springtime, they used to cavort among the anemones that had taken over from the squill. ‘I miss her so much.’ He recalled their parting on her deathbed, her constant love and support throughout his life, and dwelled on that letter inside the white envelope. ‘That letter... It changed my life.’

  The letter certainly had disrupted his life and had him embark on a quest to regain his peace of mind and the secret of his very existence. In the wake of this pursuit, he had traveled all the way to Claudia in Thessaloniki, then to that enchanted house in Sithonia, where, right by the bay, he had come into being.

  The tree’s serenity flowed into him. As he began smiling, those feelings he would have from time to time, of anger and disappointment over his mother’s behavior in that secluded villa, changed into acceptance and he was even pleased for her. ‘After all, I always believed each and every person has the right to break with the norm. at least once in their life, and do something out of the ordinary, some act that would change the course of the rest of their lives.’ Bonnie realized that had been his mother’s choice.

  ‘But what about me? Did Mom have any right to conceive me there by that splendid bay? She had to live by her decision her entire life, so now it’s my turn? And what about my father?’ This was the first time he ever referred to that Iranian man as ‘father.’ ‘It is safe to assume he doesn’t even know he has a child, let alone an Israeli son and a cabinet member of the Zionist government of Israel at that... and had he known, would it have made him anxious? Curious? Indifferent?’

  A faint sense of excitement crept up Bonnie’s back. ‘Come to think of it, who is this man my beloved mother spent the night with at that glorious place? What sort of person is he? What does he actually look like, as one cannot really tell from those doctored photos of his that made the papers once in a blue moon. What is the color of his eyes?’

  Bonnie knew Mossad had an extensive dossier on Mehdi. ‘The file they have on him surely has in store up-to-date images.’ Nevertheless, true to form, Bonnie decided not to entangle Israel’s intelligence service in his own life story. ‘I must get all the answers myself.’

  The rustle of the oak’s leaves grew louder. ‘What are they telling me? Yeah, sure, I could not avoid the question. “I didn’t seem to have any other choice,” he spoke out loud, partly to himself and partly to the green foliage. ‘I had to raise my hand in favor of eliminating him. For starters, objecting would have been met with all eyebrows raised. Besides, truth be told, I didn’t see the connection at that moment. It still hadn’t registered that the objective of the hit was my own biological father.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Can I really give my consent to the elimination of my own father? What would Mom have to say about that?’ He recalled the desperate letters his mother sent to all the hospitals in Thessaloniki in her attempt to retrace that fling, the escapade of a lifetime. His anger, frustration and disappointment have given way to wondering, acceptance and empathy.

  ‘Who am I to cast my vote to have the love of my mother taken out?’ Bonnie closed his eyes, his certainty and resolution engulfed by the warmth and love of the old oak’s leaves.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mehdi set the operational basis for operation ‘Queen of Vengeance’ at Kuala Lumpur, the capital of Malaysia, and for good reason. Although it was far from the ultimate objective at Lagos, Kuala Lumpur had its own advantages.

  For one thing, Malaysia was a country consisting of two territories separated by a waterway. One part was in the Malayan Peninsula, and the other comprised the northern part of the island of Borneo. Malaysia had a border with Indonesia, Thailand and Singapore. Mehdi considered these unique traits and multiple borders an advantage.

  Very early on, when the decision was made to embark on the operation, Mehdi also determined to keep it as far away as possible from Iran. ‘I do not trust the intelligence coverage by Iran’s intelligence services. I’ve witnessed Mossad penetrate my country’s most sensitive places, only to be discovered far too late after the fact, rather than in time.’

  He also immediately dropped the idea of establishing an advance post in an African country, for he knew that everything in th
is continent was for sale and that Mossad and other intelligence agencies had the whole of Africa covered and leaking like a sieve for them. Europe had never been an option to begin with, as Iran was not well-liked there, not one bit, let alone its subversive activities, thereby rendering European intelligence services that much more suspicious and alert when it came to any step taken by Iranian nationals.

  Malaysia featured yet another advantage: it had a large majority of Muslims and a standard anti-Israeli policy. ‘Such a hostile atmosphere will make it even harder for Mossad to operate there,’ he thought.

  Operation ‘Queen of Vengeance’ was a personal issue for Mehdi. If it were in his power, he would have called it operation ‘Vengeance of Queen Suheil,’ but he knew better. ‘Giving it a personal touch would not go down well with the powers that be,’ he reasoned. ‘Besides, this name would be too long.’

  Another thought that gave him pause was ‘Why is it that they assign names to military operations, anyway? There is probably some reason that has to do with psychology, an image thing and morale. Fact is every organization does it.’

  He decided on this operation the moment he learned about the fire at the family khana. He didn’t need any proof to know it was arson. Likewise, he didn’t need any inquiry to learn who the perpetrators were.

  ‘As sure as the sun rises in the east and fish swim in water, revenge will come, and it will come down hard and painful. This will be the vengeance of Suheila and Ali, and family and me personally. They went too far this time.’

  ***

  The two Turkish merchants came to Mydin, Malaysia, by flight from Bangkok, Thailand, and from Mydin, they boarded a connection to Kuala Lumpur via Singapore. They checked into a room in a small hotel in the center of Malaysia’s capital city and entered a real estate agency they happened to see, the third they had encountered.

  “We’re looking for an office we can rent for a year,” the two told the realtor, who seemed drowsy. “We come from Turkey, where we have a spice business, and we would like to set up shop here.”

  The realtor could not be less surprised, as Malaysia was one of the world’s largest tea exporters, as well as a major producer of spices, notably fine, world-renowned pepper. The two new clients and the realtor proceeded to arranged for a meeting the following day, during which he would show them a selection of options.

  The two merchants went to town, supplied themselves with maps of the city at the local tourism bureau, and found the capital’s large flea markets quite impressive. “Almost like the ones we have in Istanbul,” they told the realtor the following day.

  They spent most of that day looking at various properties until they made their choice and informed their realtor. It was a rather shabby-looking office over on Raja Solan Street, a far cry from the famed ‘Petronas Towers,’ known primarily for their height and unusual architecture. ‘Better far from the madding tourists and electronic surveillance,’ the two merchants thought. They picked up two workmen from one of the markets and asked them to have the office cleaned and fixed up. They also picked up a few old pieces of furniture still in pretty good shape at one of the flea markets.

  The two merchants had memorized their instructions: no contact with Iran’s embassy in Kuala Lumpur, no contact with any foreigners, especially friendly ones, no new offices, for they might be under surveillance or monitoring, no custom-made furniture.

  The office was relatively secluded, but just to set the minds and the curiosity of the occasional passer-by or distant relative at ease, they hung a sign in the local language and in English, ‘Tea and Spices Export Office.’

  As soon as they got organized, they sent Mehdi a coded message via a satellite phone, updating him of the beginning of the first stage of the operation.

  The phones Mehdi and ‘the Turks’ used cost a fortune and were the first of their kind in the Revolutionary Guard, as they featured a special type of software: a unique scrambler whose designers swore could not be cracked. Any message relayed using these phones was scrambled according to a highly complex algorithm, as was any word uttered over the phone. Everything was also simultaneous unscrambled so that it might be intelligible too.

  In addition, the two ‘merchants’ and Mehdi agreed on code words for emergency situations, which were also supposed to be relayed via the scrambler.

  ‘This time, those bastards will not get the better of us,’ Mehdi told himself.

  ***

  The operation’s core personnel comprised only three people, who also finalized its principles: Mehdi, the chief; Zephyri, one of the ‘Turks’ and one of QF’s most skilled ops men; and Mustafi, the other ‘Turk,’ QF’s top specialist on explosive devices.

  Mehdi knew them both personally. He had already worked with Zephyri on a number of operations in Europe and Africa and had come to appreciate the latter’s courage and loyalty to both the organization and to Mehdi himself personally. Zephyri was a man after Mehdi’s own heart: silent and professional. He couldn’t be more suitable to this operation.

  As for Mustafi, it was rumored he had a special sense of smell for explosives, that he could discern a mile away between a fragrant rose and TNT secreted within a seemingly innocuous postal envelope. Mustafi himself knew that an explosives operative does not get a second chance, and he taught his subordinates this all-important lesson, which life had taught him.

  One morning, Tehran police called him to inspect a parked motorcycle near the address of one of Iran’s top nuclear scientists. He ordered the premises be sealed off and asked they wait for him. This was the exact same time his wife was in the midst of giving birth in their bedroom. Through his wife’s screams and cries, he called one of the members of his team and asked him to go and inspect the motorcycle for the police. But the friend who took over for him lacked three things: a keen sense of smell, minimal caution and the blessing of Allah, and so his body shattered along with the suspicious motorcycle, their fragments scattered for miles.

  Shocked, Mustafi promised to take revenge. This appealed to Mehdi, as he was fond of vengeful people, knowing full well that they exact the most ferocious and most determined payback. This was exactly the sort of man he was looking for to man Operation Queen of Vengeance.

  ***

  According to principles of the operation, as laid down by the three, the entire building that housed Israel’s embassy in Lagos, Nigeria, had to be completely demolished by means of a powerful explosive device. Furthermore, boobytraps had to be placed en route to the embassy, and finally, the highest possible number of casualties among the embassy staff and everyone around was a highly desired outcome.

  The plan had another ace up its sleeve, which shall be revealed later on in the story, so as not to reveal too much this early, for it constituted the basis for the whole operations.

  The three had a steel-hard pact to maintain the highest compartmentalization. This meant they would not rely on assistance from Revolutionary Guard HQ or any other official Iranian body. They further pledged not to communicate with Iran’s embassy in Kuala Lumpur in any way, and to adhere to the strictest precautions.

  One month after Zephyri and Mustafi established their outpost in Malaysia’s capital, they met with Mehdi for lunch at a restaurant downtown. Keenly aware their adversary could easily use cellphone as listening devices and even relay the recorded conversations via satellite, each removed the batteries from his own cellphone.

  During their meeting, they concluded it was time to move on to the next stage of the operation. They also agreed to purchase satellite images of Lagos from a specialized company headquartered in Geneva, Switzerland, with an emphasis on high-resolution images of the city’s main buildings. As well as purchasing an accurate map of the city’s roads.

  At Mehdi’s suggestion, they agreed to send his own personal photographer there under the guise of an innocent tourist. He was to take photos of the Israeli embassy building from every
angle possible, as well as the adjacent buildings within a radius of about five hundred yards, just to be on the safe side. The rest of their meeting focused on concluding all the other technical details of the planned operation.

  Their last decision, right before returning the batteries to their cellphones, was to meet up again a month later, also in Kuala Lumpur, as far away as possible from Tehran.

  ***

  On the morning of April 21st, Mehdi received a call from Revolutionary Guard intelligence chief, telling him of the news. Essentially, this was merely routine update passed on to a select group of seniors.

  “We received a report that earlier this morning, at half past six local time, a hit was carried out at Kuala Lumpur. We have no further details at this moment. We’ll keep you posted when we have more information.”

  Mehdi, a courageous man with ice in his veins, felt his knees shaking. Ever since the news of the family khana set aflame, he had not felt so helpless and beside himself as he did just now. ‘Where did we go wrong? How could Mossad play us like that again?’ he asked himself.

  Two hours passed until he received another routine update from his intelligence chief, who wasn’t in on operation Queen of Vengeance.

  “The Malaysian security authorities are reporting that earlier today, at six thirty am, two gunmen on a BMW motorcycle shot a man dead right on Kuala Lumpur’s main road. Their target was Fadi al Batsh, chief rocket engineer for Hamas.”

  Mehdi received this update with mixed emotion. ‘I am so glad none of my men were involved. Nevertheless, the target of this hit must have been different. There’s no doubt in my mind.’ He ordered Zephyri and Mustafi to leave Malaysia’s capital city “this instant.”