“I might visit a few friends.”
“Don’t think so,” said Summer and Chuck in unison. “Jim said to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t visit any of your usual haunts.”
“Did he now?” was his reply.
“Got a bunk with your name on it. Right beside Chucks.”
Zhang suddenly appeared at the open aircraft door, a US Customs Agent right behind him. “Welcome home,” he said.
The US Customs agent walked on board after Zhang. Outside three of his cohorts were opening panels; a fourth was leading a drug-sniffing dog through its routine. “Good evening,” he said. “We are spot checking. You and your passengers have been selected for the full search.”
The agent looked up to the cockpit, than the rear of the aircraft. “Just the three of you?”
Eian nodded. “Just us three lost souls.”
“No problem. We should have you out of here in ten or fifteen minutes. Could I get each of you to exit the aircraft and stand in front of your luggage?” After they departed, the agent proceeded to search the aircrafts galley.
Each stood by their luggage as the handler allowed his dog to search the aircraft. Satisfied, the handler directed the dog to their luggage.
Eian turned to Summer and Chuck, just out of earshot of one of the agents checking the aircrafts wheel well. “I hope we don’t encounter this group when we come home with all of our goodies.”
The lead agent walked over to them, handing Eian, as the pilot, an official looking piece of paper clearing them. “You are good-to-go my friends. Enjoy Philadelphia.”
Eian thanked the agents as they departed. He then turned his attention to Zhang. “Lets get the hell out of here.”
“I have transportation waiting for you,” pointing over to white mini-van, his crew already waiting inside.
Summer looked to the van, and then to Eian and Chuck. “Looks like its going to be tight squeeze gentlemen. I’m up front, shotgun.”
In minutes they were off to the warehouse.
They only had 11 days to work their magic.
The clock was ticking.
CHAPTER 33
Bern, Switzerland
Yuri and Lana were able to reach Bern in only 60 minutes using the A1 Motorway. Of course, Lana insisted on driving, reaching speeds in excess of 150 kilometers per hour over the flawless Swiss highway. It would have been higher but the Embassy vehicle started to shake and rattle at 150, causing her to drop down to the posted speed limit of 120. To cover the same distance back home in Russia could have taken them hours due to the atrocious state of their public roadways. It wasn’t uncommon for a driver in Russia to carry two or three spare tires if traveling long distance.
Lana pulled up the granite circular drive that announced the Hotel Weiss, one of the area’s top hotels. A uniformed valet opened the door for her, holding out his white gloved hands for her keys.
“Herzlich willkommen,” he said with a smile, welcome.
“Are you sure about this,” said Yuri, noting the extravagance of the exterior. “We are supposed to be operating a little more discretely. Maybe a budget hotel would better suit us?”
She ignored him as she allowed the bellman to remove their bags from the back seat.
The bellman then pointed to the trunk.
“Do not open the trunk,” she commanded. That is the last place she wanted exposed. She would have to resuscitate the poor man if he saw their weapons cache.
Yuri shook his head. “Are you sure about this?” She leaned into Yuri as they walked up the red velvet carpeted steps, arm-in-arm. “We have 50,000 euro’s in our bag and I have no intention of returning… most of it.”
ENTERING THEIR SUITE, a complimentary chilled bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket on the nightstand.
Yuri handed the bellman a 10 franc tip while Lana popped open the champagne. “Tomorrow we start work. Tonight we have a second honeymoon.”
The bellman smiled as he winked at Yuri. “Have a great night, sir,” closing the door behind him.
Walking down the hall the bellman heard glasses clink and loud laughter. He reached for his phone as he approached the elevators, texting a message to his contact:
They have arrived.
CHAPTER 34
Hotel Weiss: Bern, Switzerland
It was a long and tiring day. Chuck, Summer, and Eian had departed over twelve hours ago. Soon after, Jim and Nora scouted possible locations for a nighttime approach of the museum. They double-checked and triple checked avenues of approach and escape. After lunch they drove to Zurich, and hopefully away from prying eyes. They sought to acquire some common tools, and shop for black clothing for each member of the team. Driving to Zurich made sense so no aspersions would be cast upon them if the same products were purchased in Bern, so near where a robbery was committed. They made it back to their suite in time to shower and collapse into bed.
Jim lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t stop his mind from playing possible entry points into the museum over and over again. He nudged Nora. “You awake.”
“I am now,” was her sarcastic reply.
“I can’t sleep,” said Jim.
“Well, try harder. It’s almost midnight.”
On the nightstand, Jim’s cell phone rang unexpectedly.
He looked at the caller ID but it was clear. “That’s strange,” he said. “Nothing is showing.”
“Answer it,” said Nora, “it might be from our people in Philly.”
“Hello,” he said hesitantly. He heard several metallic clicks, then a ping. He held his hand over the phones mouthpiece. “Sounds like an old-fashioned scrambler.”
Nora was still in bed, resting on her elbow. She silently mouthed, “Are you kidding me?”
“James Dieter?” inquired a strong male voice on the other end. For the moment Jim couldn’t place the accent.
“Yes,” he replied.
“I am a ghost from your past, my friend.”
Jim still had no recollection of the voice.
“Jim,” said the voice, “Its Benny. Benny Machaim.”
Benny Machaim paced the sparse confines of his office, at least sparse by Israeli definition. As head of Mossad, Israeli intelligences equivalent of the CIA, he could have chosen anything he wanted. He preferred a simple gunmetal desk, small wooden conference table that sat five, and a large coffee pot. The room was complimented by two pictures hung on the wall detailing his prior exploits as a Shayetet 13 commando, an elite naval commando unit of the Israeli Navy, often compared to the U.S. Navy SEALs. Standing five foot five, he was lucky to have passed the minimum height requirements of the commando. With his barrel chest and head shaven bald, he was frequently compared to the American actor, Yul Brenner.
“Benny,” he replied a bit surprised. “How are you, my friend?”
“I am, as you Americans are fond of saying, busy as usual.”
Jim was considered a Friend of Israel due to the assistance he and Nora had previously provided, returning lost diamonds and gold to its rightful owners, Holocaust victims. It is a status very few are able to achieve.
Nora held up her hands in a what gives pose. Jim looked to his wife and hunched his shoulders. He continued: “I’m surprised you still remember me.”
“Don’t be silly. How could I not remember you and your lovely wife? The two of you helped us right some wrongs committed a long time ago. We will never forget you. It’s funny but I was just speaking with our mutual friend, Solomon Nubelman. You remember Solomon?”
“Of course I do,” replied Jim. “You helped him with his hit list.”
Benny ignored the comment, pressing on. “He still lives in Salzburg with his family, living each day like it is his last. Still strolls along the Salzach River every day.”
“I’m sure Solomon is enjoying those grand kids.”
Benny interrupted him. “His granddaughter just had her first. He now has his first great grandchild.”
“He must be very happy
, indeed.”
“For all the poor man has been through, yes he is. To see your own parents die in a concentration camp, his father in his own arms. However, he saw where the Germans hid their diamonds as they abandoned the camp. In addition, he used his money to get even. But enough of the reminiscing, Mr. James Dieter. This is a serious call.”
Jim looked to the clock once more. It read midnight. “It must be something serious for you to call me at this hour of the night. What is it, one o’clock in the morning where you are?”
“Yes, it is. My work never stops, Jim. You of all people know that.”
Of course he did. Jim remembered one of his contacts saying Benny kept a cot in the office so he wouldn’t miss a thing.
“I hear you are working on recovering some artwork?”
Jim looked at Nora, then his phone, before replying. “Benny, you never stop surprising me. But to answer your question, yes. Paintings. Art that most thought was destroyed in WWII.”
Benny nodded in understanding in his empty office. “You must be talking about the Gurlitt collection?”
Jim was dumbfounded. “How did you know that?”
“What, I don’t have people too? What I can tell you is that little pig and his father stole more art than most of the top Nazi’s put together. Even Goring if you can believe it. We know Gurlitt was the top buyer and seller of art during the war. He worked under direct commission of Hitler himself.”
“I should have known you would be on top of this one. However, I can tell you this, there were four little pigs involved in the theft at the end of the war. The two Gurlitt’s, an American named Dolan, and a Russian named Petrov. The Russian took his cut not long after the four of them divided the treasure. He was caught smuggling it back to Russia by the KGB and shot soon after he identified his partners. His portion of the paintings wound up being confiscated and sent to a few different museums. I heard Stalin picked some of the choicest paintings to hang in his offices.”
Benny looked at the picture of his wife and two children on his desk. “And allow me to ask something: Why do you know so much about this particular theft?”
“That’s the reason Nora and I are in Bern. We are working a job for the son of the American from the war. The older Dolan died a few years back but not before relaying the story to his son. These are not the best of people.”
Benny shook his head in his empty office. “I have to question some of the people you are acquainted with, Jim.”
“No, you have it all wrong. He is not a friend nor an acquaintance. He sort of kidnapped my friend Eian. You remember Eian? He helped us on the last job.”
“Of course I do. He is an excellent pilot. However, you have to explain how he sort of kidnapped Eian? How do you sort of kidnap someone?”
“Long story, short version. Eian owed a lot of money to Dolan and then he roped Nora and myself into his spider’s web and it went downhill from there. All of that aside. You just provided me with an idea. An idea to help us with the art job. In the end its going to benefit some of your people from WWII. Well, a lot of your people from WWII.”
“For anybody else, yes, it would be an imposition. But for you my friend, the proverbial vault is open. What can we do for you?”
“Can we meet? Here in Bern?”
After an awkward pause, Benny replied: “I am not allowed in Bern at the moment. Something about the Swiss didn’t like something I did a few months ago. Seems I hurt them in the pocketbook. How about Salzburg?”
“Salzburg, Austria works,” replied Jim.
“Okay, Hotel Schloss Mönchstein. They have an excellent bar with a glass dome over it.”
Benny looked at his on-line calendar. “How about in four days? Say Thursday?”
“I have to move a few things on my schedule but I can make that happen.”
“Now for the reason I called. Two things. First. You have two Russian agents on your tail. They are staying in the same hotel. They go by the names Yuri and Lana Velismo. Married couple. They may be using an alias. Evidently your art job is gaining some notoriety.”
Jim looked nervously to Nora before replying to Benny. “I can’t believe this. We’ve tried our best to keep our job under wraps the best we could.”
“I think you have a rat on Dolans team. They in-turn are feeding info to the Russians. Of course we have the ability to intercept most of the Russian communications traffic. These games go round-and-round. So we are all one big happy family.”
“I owe you one for this. Thanks.”
“That’s not all. You may find yourself ever deeper in debt to me. I find myself visiting Iran tomorrow, of course undercover. They would never willingly allow me to enter. It seems the Russians not only have Yuri and Lana Velismo on your tail but they are importing some hit men from Iran to assist them. They just happen to be the same particular people I will be visiting tomorrow. They are some part-time art dealers who double as very nasty international hitmen. They are on our radar for some work they performed in the Sini last year. Killed a few of our people. So I find myself in the position to help not only my country but also my good friend, James Dieter. It is my hope to try and persuade them to back down from working with the Russians. If not, well another route must be chosen.”
“You mean they disappear?”
“Disappear is such a nasty word. Let us say they are going to meet some of their past relatives.”
“It does sound better when you say it that way.”
“Jim, a word of warning. It would seem that the word is on the street and everyone wants a piece of your little project.”
Jim just shook his head. “I can’t believe this. What ever happened to honesty among governments and thieves?”
Benny laughed aloud at the analogy. “That’s for politicians above my paygrade to decide. I work for the people. For my country. Definitely not for the money. With that said, I leave tomorrow. And I will meet you in Salzburg on Thursday.”
“Done. See you at the Hotel Schloss Mönchstein’s bar. Drinks are my treat. And be careful.”
CHAPTER 35
Tehran, Iran - 3:25pm
Benny and two of his top agents waited silently on a side street in a middle-class neighborhood in northern Tehran. They had flown in via Cairo that morning on forged Egyptian passports.
His two agents sat patiently on a stolen motorbike as Benny stood watching their targets only 50 meters from where he stood. He eyed a late-model white Renault with a middle-aged man and a younger woman in deep discussion. Benny was waiting for several people to leave the immediate area near the car. He was operating under orders to avoid injuring innocent bystanders. After several minutes, the street was clear.
Benny tapped the driver of the motorbike on the shoulder, indicating they were good-to-go.
The agent on the rear of the motor bike pulled a SIG Sauer P226 from a black backpack, handing the cloth backpack to Benny. He tapped the motorbike driver on his back, indicating for him to proceed at a slow, 15 kilometer per hour speed just like they had rehearsed the day before. Slowly they approached the Renault, the motorbike diver stopping adjacent the car’s driver. The agent on the rear of the bike aimed first at the passenger then the driver, a quick double tap for each, killing both instantly.
The agent on the rear of the motor bike quickly jumped down from the bike, scouring the inner area of the car, removing documents and a leather briefcase. Satisfied they had recovered everything, they promptly sped off in a cloud of smoke.
Neighbors in the immediate area clearly overheard the sound of glass breaking. Some of them even dared to rush out to see what had occurred.
An older woman draped in a black shawl cautiously approached the scene. She first viewed the driver’s side window broken. Then as she edged closer she saw two bodies, both slumped over, evidently dead. She kissed her prayer beads before waving to her husband who was still standing on their homes wooden porch. “Call the police,” she screamed.
HIS TWO AGENTS on the motorbik
e were clear.
Satisfied their targets were dead, Benny promptly walked to his awaiting car.
Within hours, semi-official Iranian news agencies were reporting the murders of a Lebanese art dealer called Habib Dawood with ties to the Lebanese group Hezbollah -- and his daughter, Mariam.
And there the story rested, until a flurry of activity on obscure social media accounts tied the hit to Mossad, claiming that the victims were not Lebanese, but rather one of the most important figures in al Qaeda -- Abu Mohammed al-Masri -- and his daughter, the widow of Osama bin Laden's son Hamza.
The original reports about the mysterious Dawood seemed suspect because there was no record of a Lebanese art dealer by the name of Habib Dawood, nor anyone with a similar spelling. Nor was there any eulogy in Lebanon -- for either him or his daughter. In addition, there was nothing in pro-Hezbollah media in Lebanon to verify the identity of the victims.
Twenty-four hours later an agency called Shamshad News, which described itself as an Afghanistan-based radio and television news outlet, also claimed that al-Masri had been killed in Tehran. But the Iranian authorities remained silent.
Within days of the killing unnamed Iranian officials said the Israeli Mossad did indeed carry out the attack.
It was noted that the dead were guests in Iran trying to assemble a group of art experts for a mission somewhere in Europe, possibly Bern, Switzerland, hoping to enrich the depleted al Qaeda and Hezbollah coffers.
Thanks to Benny, the only thing they would be enriching was the ground they were buried in.
CHAPTER 36
Jerusalem: Mossad HQ
Benny ensured his translators worked through the night on the documents his men had confiscated from the car in Teheran.
What they eventually uncovered deeply disturbed him, or at least, how it concerned his friend. He reached for his cell phone. In seconds, he connected with Jim.
“Jim, its Benny. I’m afraid I have some good news-bad news for you. Good news is everything went according to plan yesterday and you have no more worries from the targets in Iran nor Lebanon, at least not for the foreseeable future. But there is still time. They have long memories.”
Long Buried Secrets: James Dieter Book 4 Page 12
