Terror Cell (Danforth Saga Book 2)

by Joseph Badal

  Finally, Frank huffed a loud stream of air, flung himself back against his chair, and rubbed his fingers against his scalp as though he was on a search and seizure mission for an evasive thought. “That’s it,” he exclaimed, “I’m ready. How about you guys?”

  Tanya nodded and said, “For now.”

  Raymond sighed. “I’ve got a ton of stuff I still need to go through; but what I’ve read so far should give us a broad brush picture.”

  Bob was about to tell them to proceed, when a loud knock sounded. Raymond went to the door and let a worker from the cafeteria bring in a wheeled cart of food. The man pushed the cart to a corner, told Raymond to call when they were done, and quietly exited. It took the team a couple of minutes to create sandwiches from the cold cuts on the cart. Then, while everyone else took their seats, Frank flipped off the overhead lights, turned on the projector, returned to his chair, and picked up a remote control device.

  A long list of dates, accompanied by a column of names and another column of terrorist acts popped up on the screen. At the top of the list, across the columns, were typed “23 December 1975,” “Richard Welch, CIA Station Chief Athens,” and “Killed by 17 November.” At the bottom of the list were Harvey Cornwell and Fred Grantham’s names, along with the date “26 July 2004” beside each. The words “Killed by” with a “?” filled the last column on the line.

  “You can see from this list that 17 November and Greek Spring have committed four dozen murders since 1975,” Frank noted.

  Bob scanned the list. In addition to the nine Americans the two terrorist groups had killed, there were other foreign diplomats, Greek Parliament members, Greek prosecutors, Greek drivers of political and military figures, and innocent bystanders.

  “But look what happens to the list,” Frank continued, “when we add all of the incidents which involve injury, but not death, for which the groups have claimed responsibility.”

  Frank hit the remote again. A second list showed on the screen. The Greek terrorists had proved themselves to be world class when it came to the number of attacks they claimed as their own.

  Bob shook his head. The number of incidents perpetrated by the terrorists were too many to believe that not one member of any of the groups had ever been identified by Greek authorities. If it hadn’t been for a fluke, 17 November would still be operating. He was about to express this thought, when Tanya said, “Check out the next list.”

  Frank again touched the remote and another list showed on the screen. There appeared to be at least fifty incidents listed there. Bombings, shootings, acts of arson, and rocket attacks directed against American business establishments: McDonalds Restaurants, Citibank offices, the Apple Computer office, Chrysler and General Motors dealerships, etc.

  “Something stinks about this,” Bob said.

  “To high heaven,” Raymond added. “You can see that 17 November and Greek Spring have been the most active of the groups; but they’re not the only terrorist organizations operating in Athens.”

  Another list came on the screen. Raymond pointed and said, “This is a summary, in chronological order, of all terrorist acts committed in Athens since 1975. You can see in the third column that Greek Spring has claimed responsibility for the majority of the events. But there are a bunch of other terror groups working the Athens area: Friendship Society—how about that for a name for a group of cold-blooded killers, Red Line, Rigas Feraios, Revolutionary Subversive Faction, Greek Revolutionary Nuclei, Greek Fighting Guerrilla Faction, ELA, Nihilist Faction, Anti-Establishment Nuclei, Class War Group, People’s Rage, People’s Revolutionary Solidarity, and Greek Anti-Military Struggle. At least two of the incidents are blamed on the international terrorist Carlos and ten or so of the incidents couldn’t be pinned on any particular group.”

  “So, we’ve got more to deal with here than the Greek Spring loonies,” Bob said.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Frank said.

  “I don’t know,” Tanya interjected, as she left her chair, switched on the lights, and began pacing the room.

  The men watched her circle the table. Bob knew that Frank and Raymond, like himself, had learned to respect Tanya’s instincts. She finally came to a stop and looked at Bob.

  “I think there are at least several dynamics at work here. First, notice there has never been more than one terrorist act committed on a particular day. If all of the groups that Raymond mentioned have been working independently since 1975, wouldn’t you expect that, on at least one occasion, two of the groups would have pulled off something on the same day. Hell, if there were that many groups operating in Athens at any one time, they would have been stumbling all over one another.”

  She hesitated and stared at Bob. When he nodded, she continued. “I’ll bet, at least in some of the cases, the members of Greek Spring called in the name of a fictitious terrorist group to confuse the authorities.”

  “That’s a hell of an assumption, considering you don’t have any evidence,” Raymond said.

  Tanya shrugged and returned to stand behind her chair. “The sheer number of active groups raises suspicion.”

  “Based on the Greek Government’s performance since Richard Welch’s murder, confusing the authorities wouldn’t have been too difficult,” Frank said. “The kindest thing you can say about the Greek terrorism investigation is it has been incompetent.”

  Tanya began pacing again. When she stopped this time, there was fire in her eyes. “There’s got to be a whole lot more to it than incompetence,” she blurted.

  The hairs on the back of Bob’s neck seemed electrified. He’d already considered what he thought Tanya was referring to, and that consideration made him sick. He knew there had been deep-seated anger, even hatred among many Greeks against the West ever since the CIA had orchestrated the overthrow of the Greek Government in 1967 and installed a Military Government under George Papadopoulos. The Military Government was itself overthrown in 1974 and Konstantinos Karamanlis came to power. In 1981, Andreas Papandreou, head of the PASOK Party, the Panhellenic Socialist Movement, became Prime Minister. Many in the CIA, as well as in Greece, believed that 17 November and Greek Spring’s memberships had come from the same anti-Military Government student organizations that also gave birth to the modern PASOK party. Bob let his suspicions ferment as he waited for Tanya to continue.

  “Frank, put up the next slide,” Tanya ordered, as she shut off the lights once again.

  The top of the slide read:

  Article by R. Jeffrey Smith, Washington Post Foreign Service

  November 3, 1999; Page A30

  The newspaper article followed.

  “Look at the highlighted sections,” Tanya said. “The first one makes it pretty damned clear that, despite pressure from the United States, some Greek political and security officials don’t share our goal of bringing the members of groups like Greek Spring to justice.” She then quoted from the article: “. . . some within the Greek Government may have sought to preserve its anonymity, possibly to hide past links to the organization by top Greek officials.

  “We’ve got dozens of statements from U.S. officials who feel that arrests of terrorists have been blocked by the local government,” Tanya said.

  “Anything else?” Bob asked.

  “Yeah,” Raymond said. “There’s plenty of evidence that the Greek police have conducted their investigations into terrorist crimes in an interesting fashion.”

  “For example,” Bob said.

  “A senior police officer on the scene of a shooting gave the expended shell casing to a reporter as a souvenir. Investigations are short-lived, and the police bend to political pressure and don’t dig too deeply.”

  “Not to mention the fact that there are supposed links between the terrorists and members of the ruling left-wing PASOK party,” Tanya added.

  “Any of this resonate with you?” Frank asked.

/>   Bob blew out a loud breath and rubbed his hands on his face. “It’s hard to argue against the accusation that these terrorists are being protected. One of the things I observed when I was stationed in Greece in the seventies was that there didn’t seem to be too many secrets. Gossip is a national sport. How these bastards could have operated in Athens for all these years without a single one of them coming under suspicion is beyond me.”

  Bob swiveled in his chair and faced Tanya, who had turned on the lights and retaken her seat. “Is it your theory that 17 November and Greek Spring are the only active terror groups in Athens?”

  “No, no,” Tanya said, “that’s not what I meant. I suspect there are several groups in Greece. I also suspect that some of the members of Greek Spring, for instance, belong to other terrorist groups. I just don’t believe that all the groups claiming responsibility for terrorist acts really exist as independent organizations.”

  “There’s another problem,” Frank added. “We know that none of the EA group have been identified; but even if they were to be, getting them convicted is problematical. When a terrorist is captured and indicted, pressure immediately builds from leftist members of Parliament, lawyers, and journalists. The judge often yields and the accused are acquitted.”

  Frank searched a pile of documents in front of him and pulled out a sheet of paper. “There have been several instances where judges, prosecutors, and jurors’ cars have been fire bombed. Defendants have been acquitted with no legal basis. The largest Greek newspapers belong to the Left. They often describe murders committed by terrorists as ‘legal executions.’”

  Bob raised his hands. “Okay, okay, I get the point.”

  “What now, Chief?” Tanya asked.

  Bob thought a moment. “Tanya, characterize the investigations for me, in addition to the incompetence of the Greek police.”

  “There doesn’t appear to be a central authority that has consolidated the information from each of the murders. No psychological profiling has been done. The only obvious common element associated with many of the executions for which Greek Spring has claimed responsibility is the same .45 caliber pistol.”

  “So, we’ve got a group of terrorists running around Athens murdering people, the Greek ruling party appears to be protecting them, and it is highly unlikely we’re going to get a lot of cooperation from anyone in the Greek Government. Does that about sum it up?” Bob looked at each of the members of his team, in turn.

  Tanya and Raymond nodded. Frank said, “This is going to be one nasty sonofabitch.”

  Tanya cleared her throat. “Well, there is one piece of good news,” she said. “Now that England has lost two of its own, it’ll throw the full weight of the British lion at the problem. We know the Brits won’t follow the Marquis of Queensbury rules. They know how to deal with this sort of problem better than we do.”

  “That’s because they don’t have to answer to the U.S. Congress,” Raymond said.

  “One other thing,” Frank said. “There’s an FBI counter-terrorism team operating in Athens. You’ll have to coordinate with them.”

  “The FEEBs,” Tanya said, with a mischievous smile. “You know how the boys and girls at the FBI love to work with us Agency types.”

  Bob groaned.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JULY 27, 2004

  Giorgos Photos stretched his long arms over his head in an attempt to loosen the stress-knotted muscles in his back and shoulders. He was tempted to look in the mirror on the living room wall, but decided what he saw there wouldn’t be good for his morale. He knew he looked older than his fifty-nine years. His posture was stooped and his unruly hair was as dry as straw and as gray as the sweater he wore. He allowed himself a moment of indulgence and wondered where all of this would lead him. When his comrades in 17 November shot the CIA Station Chief outside the man’s home in Old Psyhiko twenty-nine years ago, they’d started something he thought might bring down the Greek Government. Something that would lead to Greece becoming a Marxist state. That hadn’t happened. But he hadn’t given up the cause, despite the fact that he amassed a fortune from the robberies his group had pulled off and from the “grants” his benefactors from abroad had bestowed upon him. He had long ago reconciled personal wealth with trying to impose a Marxist regime on Greece. He and Greek Spring—he’d come up with the name because spring stood for rebirth, a new beginning—had killed their enemies at the rate of about one per year since then, and they’d engendered fear. However, he was feeling old now. Terrorism was a young man’s occupation.

  As he dropped his arms to his side, he turned and looked at the clock hanging on the wall above the sofa. Savvas Krinon should be here any moment now, he thought. He started to walk to the kitchen, when three knocks on the door sounded, followed by a pause, and then two knocks. He quickly went to the kitchen table and picked up the .38-caliber pistol. He padded back across the apartment to the door, removed the chain, and unlocked the deadbolt. He retreated three paces and shouted, “Come in!”

  The door opened a few inches and a man called through the space, “Take it easy, it’s me, Savvas.”

  Photos recognized Savvas’ voice. But he kept the pistol leveled at the door. He hadn’t survived this long by being careless.

  Thirty-year-old Savvas Krinon entered the third floor apartment off Athens’ Kolonaki Square. Krinon walked with a jaunty step. He moved and looked as cocky as Photos knew the man to be. His dirty-blond hair, shorn short to stand on end in a gelled butch cut, punctuated his brutish, compact build. His clothes—white Polo shirt, black slacks, and black Italian loafers—were stylish and expensive-looking. Photos met Krinon in the middle of the sitting room and embraced him.

  “Two for the price of one,” Photos said. “The CIA Station Chief and the top MI-6 agent in Greece. Savvas, you’ve made us proud. Someday you will be recognized by the entire Greek nation for your courage.”

  “Thank you, Giorgos. I am honored that you picked me to . . . complete this mission.”

  Photos released Krinon, tucked the pistol in the back of his belt, and walked toward a corner of the room. Krinon followed. Photos moved aside a heavy curtain hanging on a wooden bar suspended over the entrance to an alcove the size of a Pullman kitchen. The two men entered the tiny room. Krinon let the curtain drop behind them, while Photos switched on a radio on a small table by the right wall. He cranked up the volume on the old Sony receiver until it was loud enough to cover their voices.

  A red pennant hung on the back wall. At its center, “EA” was emblazoned in red in the middle of a gold star. Faded photographs of Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin bracketed the pennant. Below it was a picture of Che Guevara. Half-a-dozen rocket propelled grenades, a grenade launcher, ammunition for a variety of weapons, several pistols, and an AK-47 assault rifle rested in one corner.

  Photos and Krinon sat in front of the radio, their straight-backed wooden chairs only inches apart.

  “Any problems?” Photos asked, leaning so close to Krinon that, even with the radio blaring, he barely had to speak above a whisper.

  “Nothing.” Krinon snapped his fingers to indicate how easy everything went. “Pavlos brought the motorbike right up to the driver-side door. A child could have offed the Englishman.” Krinon laughed and added, “I was so close, I thought about tapping on the car window before shooting; you know, to see the surprise on his face.”

  Photos felt a sudden jolt of alarm. He knew Krinon liked killing. His bloodlust was a bigger motivator for him than the group’s mission. The man also loved to take chances, a risk junky. That could become a serious liability for everyone in Greek Spring. He would have to keep an eye on this loose cannon.

  Krinon must have noticed a change in the leader’s expression. He quickly covered, saying, “Don’t worry, I took care of business.” He spread his hands and added, “How do the Americans say it? As easy as one-two-three.” He laughed again.
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br />   “What weapon did you use?”

  Krinon smiled like a kid at Christmas. He patted the bulge in his jacket. “Our most faithful friend for all these years: the .45, of course.”

  Photos nodded. He looked away from Krinon and stared at his Marxist-Leninist shrine for a moment. He started Greek Spring nearly three decades ago, espousing the Marxist-Leninism he had studied and embraced so many years earlier in Paris. That dogma had become as irrelevant as the donkey cart. It was nationalism that resonated with the Greek people, and that was how he now justified to the media and the Greek people Greek Spring’s actions, and how he maintained his power base.

  “Okay, Savvas, I want you to stay out of sight for awhile. Go back to your icon painting. Play the good citizen.” Photos stood and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”

  After Krinon left, Photos moved stiffly to the kitchen table and rifled through a three-inch stack of notes and articles, putting aside information he would use to prepare the communiqué he would send to his favorite newspaper. A warm feeling went through him. Eleeneekee Aneexee, Greek Spring, included twenty-five members; but it had the influence of a much larger organization, thanks to its friends in the media and the government. Life was good, Photos thought, especially with the millions of dollars he had accumulated from the robberies the group had pulled off and from the “investments” his supporters in Iran, Iraq, Syria, France, and many other countries had sent him. Yes, life was good.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JULY 27, 2004

  Jack Cole waved at Bob Danforth’s secretary as he breezed by her desk and opened the door to Bob’s office.