When Shadows Collide (An Arik Bar Nathan Novel Book 1)

by Nathan Ronen

  “Do you know where Iman al-Uzbeki is?” Arik yelled after him, but Sir John shrugged and kept walking.

  Bar-Nathan was angry at himself. Sir John’s overly pleasant manner toward him had numbed his constant suspicious in regard to British intelligence services. He had been so pleased that the Brit was cooperating with him and asking for his help that he had fallen into Sir John’s pleasant honey trap, despite the fact that the man was as cold as ice; the word ‘spontaneity’ was simply not a part of his vocabulary.

  Arik walked toward the embassy vehicle waiting for him at the corner of the street, thinking to himself, Thus ends another day of work. With no praise, no handshakes, no thanks, and definitely no medals. He examined the facts, calculated the angles, set the trap, and tried to do his best. It didn’t always work out. The shadow people did not do their work for recognition or formal acclaim. Some people joined the service out of a sense of duty, while others did so out of a desire to do good and banish evil.

  Arik Bar-Nathan had joined the service because he truly excelled at hunting people. However, at this stage, the fatigue of the chase was overcoming him. His tortured mind allowed his thoughts to drift away from the cold mathematical pattern characterizing him and drift down more primal paths in his subconscious, allowing him to briefly glimpse the impossible demands of the line of work in which he had chosen to entrench himself.

  On his way to the airport, he opened the car window and allowed the cold wind and the tiny droplets of rain to prick his face. Suddenly, he felt old and tired. And yet, abruptly, he smiled to himself. There was a ray of light in the darkness of his existence, which was waiting for him at home. One big ray of light and two little ones.

  ***

  Arik didn’t know that with Sir John’s help, the wounded Ali Baba, limping and bleeding as if he had escaped the site of the attack in Golders Green by the skin of his teeth, would arrive at the Iranian Embassy in London. From there, Colonel Rizkawi smuggled him out of Britain in a private air ambulance to the Iranian Embassy in Albania, a country where no one asked any unnecessary questions.

  Impoverished Muslim Albania, located in the heart of Europe, gave the Iranians free reign in return for appropriate bribes to its leaders. And indeed, the fulcrum of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard’s European activity had shifted to Tirana, the Albanian capital.

  However, neither Israeli Arik Bar-Nathan nor British Sir John properly appreciated Colonel Rizkawi’s suspiciousness and sharp intelligence.

  After Arik’s phone conversation with Rizkawi twenty-four hours earlier, the colonel hurried to send his people to the end of the street near the embassy, where they found the bodies of Ali Baba’s men in the Mitsubishi Fuso Canter truck. They wondered where Ali Baba had disappeared, fearing that the Israelis were holding him prisoner.

  The version Ali Baba told Colonel Rizkawi the next morning, about managing to flee the scene of the terrorist attack across from the Jewish center in Golders Green, did not align with the timeline. It also raised Colonel Rizkawi’s suspicion. In addition, Ali Baba arrived at the agency with his wound already bandaged, after receiving medical treatment. He claimed he had escaped the site of the attack to go see a local doctor who was a collaborator and had tended to his gunshot wound. However, the congealed blood on the dressing made it clear that it was an old wound, sustained at least twenty-four hours ago.

  Rizkawi did not trust Ali Baba’s story. Therefore, he instructed his people to thoroughly interrogate him. He also needed to explain to his commanders in Iran how a sum of 200,000 pounds had been invested unsuccessfully in Iman al-Uzbeki, whom at this stage they already suspected of being a double agent for the Mossad. Rizkawi saw this as an excellent opportunity to conceal the fact that he was a gambler who had lost some of the money given to him by his bosses in a casino owned by the Russian mafia.

  Arik was not aware that it was actually the smug conversation he had initiated with Rizkawi regarding the bodies in the pickup that had served to seal Ali Baba’s fate. In addition, it also put an end to Sir John’s ambitious plan to infiltrate the senior leadership of global Al Qaeda. On the other hand, unintentionally, Arik had managed to sow a seed of doubt between his two enemies, the Iranians and Iman al-Uzbeki.

  ***

  In Birmingham, fugitive Iman al-Uzbeki was sitting in his safe house. He lit himself a hashish cigarette and, as if mesmerized, watched the big screen of his TV, which was showing the site of the Shiite suicide bombers’ battle in the Golders Green neighborhood in London. He savored the bystanders’ tortured, bloodstained faces, conveying shock, sadness and terror. He just didn’t know that it was all staged.

  He was so wrapped up in this orgy of death and blood that he did not notice the entire scenario had been set up by McBrady and his team’s psychological warfare department. They had provided the cable network a clip edited for their benefit, a false newscast comprised of scenes of victims and wounded bystanders obtained from previous incidents and various other sources—‘fake news’ at its best.

  The anchor dramatically announced that the police was seeking the terrorists’ leader, who had apparently been injured in the exchange of fire but had managed to escape. It had all been done in order to glorify the actions of the wounded Ali Baba, as a background to his escape to the Iranian Embassy in London. At that stage, Iman al-Uzbeki swallowed the bait. He only hoped that his deputy would manage to reach the Iranian Embassy, where he would certainly receive assistance in escaping the country.

  McBrady and his people knew precisely where Iman al-Uzbeki was hiding, but the British did not find it beneficial to arrest him at that point. They had no legal proof linking him to the explosives. The only offense for which he could be prosecuted was entering the country with a fake Pakistani passport.

  The furious Israelis, who would have happily eliminated him, had already left Britain in a cloud of disappointment. Therefore, McBrady waited for another violent opportunity in the future to put an end to him.

  ***

  Iman al-Uzbeki’s cell phone rang once and was still. Half a minute later, it rang again twice and ceased before ringing again, three times.

  Iman retrieved a prepaid phone he had dismantled from its hiding spot, inserted a battery and a SIM card, and called the only phone number with which it had been programmed: Colonel Rizkawi’s cell phone at the Iranian Embassy in London.

  “Where are you?” Rizkawi yelled at him, obviously angry.

  “On a coffee break,” Iman said serenely, surprised by his agitation.

  “I heard they eliminated your entire operation while you ran for your life. Is that true?”

  “You’re saying too much over the phone,” Iman admonished him.

  Rizkawi was unimpressed, and continued shouting. “I thought you were a serious professional, but ultimately, it turns out you screwed up big time in Morocco and now here in London as well. But you took care to pocket major sums from us. My bosses at home are starting to think you might actually be an undercover agent for the Americans, or maybe the Israelis. We want our 200,000 pounds back!”

  Iman al-Uzbeki was confused. Ali Baba told him he had received 50,000, while Iman himself had only gotten 5,000 pounds in cash when he arrived in the UK. Where is the rest of the money?

  “What are you babbling on about? I saw the attack in London on TV with my own eyes, across from the Jewish Community Centre in Golders Green. There are plenty of mangled bodies there and lots of blood spilled!” Iman raged, forgetting all about the proper procedure for talking on an unsecured line.

  “What kind of Mickey Mouse program did you watch that on? Are you stupid or just pretending?!” Rizkawi yelled in uncontrollable rage. “What are you even talking about? It was all one big fake show. It was a planned ambush where all your people were slaughtered before they could fire a single bullet!”

  “What? … And Ali Baba?” Iman stammered.

  “He arrived wit
h a wound from a pistol shot and was flown to our facility in Albania for interrogation.”

  “Ali Baba’s being interrogated? Why is that?” Iman al-Uzbeki asked angrily.

  “Because I think he lied to us. And maybe to you too, unless you were co-conspirators.”

  “What conspiracy? What are you even talking about?”

  “We need to meet,” Zirkawi said. “Can you come to me?”

  “Of course,” Iman said, feigning calm. “I’ll let you know the moment I arrive in London. At the moment, I’m with the shahids, coaching them in preparation for the next stage of the plan.”

  Colonel Rizkawi sensed that al-Uzbeki was lying. He was an experienced interrogator and, even on the phone, could detect the change in a suspect’s intonation. The arch-terrorist was frightened. It was clear to Iman al-Uzbeki that if he entered the Iranian Embassy in London, he would emerge in pieces, packed up and frozen in liquid nitrogen, in black bags that would be dispersed over the waters of the English Channel to serve as shark chum. He knew he had to vanish from British soil immediately. After the conversation, he took apart the phone he had used, crushed the SIM card with his foot and flushed it down the toilet.

  Now those hunting him down also included the Iranians. He did not like the idea of the predator becoming the prey.

  It was time to flee once more. Venezuela was no longer an option. The close cooperation between Iran and Venezuela was dangerous; he might end up getting extradited.

  He decided to confuse anyone who wanted to follow him, booking tickets west under the name of Venezuelan Ambassador Alí Rodríguez Araque. The ambassador was seemingly returning to Venezuela, using his diplomatic passport; however, al-Uzbeki had already decided he would disembark in mid-route and backtrack through Pakistan, using several fake passports in his possession. The time had come to shed the character of religious teacher Ali Hassan Baraqat.

  In the meantime, the Tora Bora caves in the mountains of eastern Afghanistan would serve as a safe refuge until he figured out exactly what was going on in London. He would then re-emerge with the prepared, concealed bomb and the explosive vests, surprising them all.

  At the moment, he was afraid that the Iranians who had hired him as an independent contractor to carry out a terrorist attack suspected him of being an Israeli agent. He would have to clear his reputation and his good name, which, up till now, had been those of an impeccably reliable and professional terrorist.

  * * *

  83ECHELON, originally a secret government code name, is a surveillance program including signal intelligence collection and analysis operated by the United States with the aid of Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and the United Kingdom, also known as the Five Eyes.

  Chapter 63

  The Orchid Resort Hotel in Coral Beach, Eilat

  The Orchid Resort Hotel is located at the very tip of southern Israel near the border with Egypt. It is positioned on the side of a red granite desert mountain, by the coast of the Red Sea, overlooking the Gulf of Aqaba and the Edom Mountains. The hotel consists of villas built in a Thai style within a jungle of tropical greenery enclosing the public facilities, dining rooms, and the giant pool.

  Arik chose the hotel due to its proximity to the coral beach, one of the most beautiful marine nature reserves in the world, which included colorful underwater gardens where visitors could observe the marvelous, multi-colored world of coral, fish and an astonishing variety of unique sea creatures. He knew Eva was fond of diving and therefore booked a scuba-diving tour with a guide for her at the local diving club.

  After an exhausting interval in which he had been far from his family and a long period of separation, Arik decided to pamper his family. He booked the large, luxurious Chao-Phraya Villa in the Siam Wing, an isolated suite with a private pool and a giant balcony with a floor of narrow, synthetic faux-wood boards. The entire villa offered a breathtaking desert view of red granite mountains on the other side of the Red Sea, its name based on the reflection of the red mountains in its waters.

  His office manager Claire had a cousin who had just concluded her mandatory military service and was living in Eilat. Claire recommended they hire her as a live-in babysitter during their vacation, which would allow them to rest and rejuvenate as a couple.

  After a pampering breakfast, the babysitter disappeared into the hotel’s playroom with the children, Leo and Ethel-Hannelore. The adult Bar-Nathans drove to their room in the three-wheeled motorized vehicle called a ‘tuk-tuk,’ and entered their suite’s outdoor Jacuzzi. It had been quite a while since they’d had so much time for themselves. Eva asked Arik whether he would give her a gentle massage with lemon scented L’Occitane body lotion, which she loved.

  The villa’s architectural design provided them with absolute privacy. Arik hung the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Me too.” She gave him the special look that made him feel entirely naked.

  They lay that way, side by side, for a while, caressing each other and gazing wordlessly into each other’s eyes. Before they knew it, they found themselves making love like they once had, a lengthy, tempestuous, and satisfying encounter. Afterwards, they fell asleep on the lounge chair, exhausted.

  When they woke up an hour later, the sun was already high in the sky. It was dangerous to stay under the scorching sun, and so they went in to shower together, continuing their canoodling there as well. At long last, they were experiencing moments of deep affection and quiet physical intimacy. Such moments reminded them of the period preceding Eva’s fall in Paris, whose consequences had dimmed the sun of their marriage, turning it into a combination of habit, obligation, and tense friendship, along with rare moments of hope.

  Those moments at the Orchid Resort Hotel reminded them of what they once had, imbuing them with the hope that perhaps the love and good friendship they had shared could be reconstructed. They walked on the beach, their feet wading in the cool, clear water and talked. Many days had passed since they had had a truly intimate conversation about themselves and their plans and about what they had been through. It was also the first time that Eva thanked Arik for his willingness to leave his work, which, for him, was much more than just a job, but rather resembled a secret male fraternity of sorts, for her sake.

  When they returned to their villa, they found the babysitter already putting the kids to bed for their afternoon nap. They ate lunch on the beach at the Last Resort Restaurant, which offered a variety of fish and fresh salads, drinking an excellent Israeli Gamla Chardonnay with a fruity flavor.

  Their vacation proceeded quietly. Eva and Arik read, ate, and made love. They spent time on the beach with the little ones and visited the large marine aquarium. They had all the time in the world to rest and dive together in the wondrous marine nature reserve. At night, they walked on the beach in the light of the full moon, holding hands and laughing once more in each other’s company as they once did.

  “Do you think they’d rehire me at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem as a guest lecturer?” Eva surprised Arik with a question he wasn’t expecting.

  “I thought that, at the moment, the children were fulfilling all your needs,” he replied hesitantly.

  “I’m talking about the upcoming academic year, which starts in October,” she replied assertively. “I need an intellectual challenge that consists of more than dealing with poop, pee, food, showers, and bedtime. I hope you don’t have a problem with that.” She gazed piercingly into his eyes.

  “Definitely not,” Arik said. “Quite the opposite! But I’m sure you know you’d have a two-hour daily commute to Jerusalem. Why don’t you try Bar Ilan, or Tel Aviv University? There’s a train that goes there from the Yavne West Station.”

  “I was hoping we’d move back to Jerusalem,” Eva said.

  She loved the city and the cosmopolitan campus atmosphe
re at Mount Scopus. She yearned for the view reflecting through her window on campus, allowing her to look down on the stunning landscape of the Old City and the spires of the churches belonging to various Christian denominations, which competed with each other through the size and presence of their structures. Especially prominent on the deforested peak of Mount Moriah was an immense, flat clearing called the Temple Mount. On one side of it stood an ancient monumental Muslim structure generally called the Dome of the Rock. On its other side was an enormous mosque with a green dome, the Al-Aqsa Mosque, considered to be third in importance within Sunni Islam, after the Great Mosque of Mecca and the Prophet’s Mosque in Medina, Saudi Arabia. The tall, ancient walls around the Old City, built in the Ottoman style from layers of large chiseled limestones with a yellowish hue, were breathtaking, especially in the morning as the sun rose. She loved the view from the eastern side of the campus, looking down on the hills of the Judean Desert, with a large blue blotch at their center. This was the Dead Sea, the deepest place in the world. At the edge of the landscape towered the Moab Mountains, from which Moses, the first prophet, had looked down upon the country to which he led his people but would not enter.

  “I’m not rejecting it out of hand, but we have to talk about it,” Arik said, trying to stall in order not to ruin the pastoral honeymoon atmosphere. Nevertheless, when they sat down for dinner at Ginger Asian Kitchen, a restaurant next to the hotel, he brought up another loaded subject that had been on his mind for a while.

  “There’s something that’s been troubling me for a long time. I wanted to talk to you about a bris (circumcision) ceremony for Leo.”

  Eva looked surprised. “As a modern, liberal person, I didn’t think it bothered you that Leo wasn’t circumcised. He’s almost three years old, and I object to circumcising minors, without Leo’s consent, since he has autonomy over his body. Also, even if I become convinced that it’s important, I’m not willing to have the circumcision done by a religious official.”