“Thankfully, the screaming stops in short order as the judge falls to the ground and the flames spread quickly to his body. The Boss makes us stand and watch for a minute or two before we climbed back in the truck and drove off.
“You ever smell flesh burning? It’s so sickening sweet, it’s putrid. Anyway, we left the judge’s compound with the bodies still burning where they fell.
“Back at our compound, I asked the Boss Man why I needed to see that. You know what he told me?” Ron asked. Emil just looked at him blankly. “No guess, huh?” Ron asked again. Emil didn’t answer, so he continued.
“The Boss Man told me that he found he had the complete loyalty of the men who had witnessed a Bogota bar-b-que firsthand. They understood that would be their own fate if they were disloyal.
“That chilled me to the bone. It’s a horrible way to die. And here I was, working undercover against this guy. I was scared shitless, man,” Ron concluded, draining the last bit of water from his water bottle. He swished it around in his mouth and then spit it out on the ground.
“What do I care about the Columbians?” asked Emil snidely as he looked longingly at the wet spot next to Ron.
“Well…” Ron replied as he stood and walked several steps to his right. He kicked at the sand there exposing a car tire he had placed there two days ago. He picked it up and shook off the sand, then started to walk slowly towards Emil.
“No, no, don’t do this thing!” Emil coughed through his dry raspy throat. He tried to gain his feet, terrified that Ron was about to burn him alive.
“Yeah, I hate to think about how this is going to hurt you. But I learned from the Columbians that sometimes you have to take drastic measures to ensure that you get your point across. Those guys were beyond ruthless, beyond medieval,” Ron stated. He then flung the tire at Emil, knocking him back to his hands and knees. Ron returned to stand in the relative comfort in the shade of the outcropping.
“You’re just trying to scare me! You are not that barbaric! Besides what can a dead man tell you?” Emil tried to reason with Ron. Ron didn’t reply, but he did pull a large squirt bottle from the backpack. He turned and took several steps towards Emil.
Stopping a couple meters from Emil, Ron swung the squirt bottle up and squirted the liquid from the bottle onto Emil’s shirt. The liquid was gasoline.
“Whoa, ooooh, don’t do this! Please, they will kill me!” Emil squealed.
“WHO?” shouted Ron, “WHO?”
“They will kill me and my wife. I cannot tell you,” Emil cried.
“I will kill you if you don’t tell me. I can also promise that your wife will be safe if you talk. If you don’t, I promise nothing. Perhaps, I will let it leak that you talked to the Mossad before you were killed. What would your friends do to your wife then?” Ron stared at Emil with cold lifeless eyes.
“Please, my wife knows nothing!” Emil cried out, tears trying to well up in his eyes, but dehydration had set in and he could only manage one small trickle from his right eye. Ron thought that Emil looked pathetic, but his will was ironclad and steadfast. He squirted more gas on Emil.
“Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” Emil sobbed as he bowed his head.
“Who?” Ron asked curtly again.
“I don’t know his name,” Emil said without looking up.
“Bullshit!” Ron screamed and squirted more gasoline onto Emil.
“It true! It’s true!” Emil screamed. “I met him at the fish market three years ago. Right after Prisoner 64 was brought to the prison. He knew all about her. He knew all about me and my wife. He knew what I did in Russia for the KGB. Not even Mossad knows the real truth. They would have denied my relocation application. I had the records destroyed and paid bribes. Yet, still he knew!”
“Stop stalling,” Ron barked as he swirled the gasoline around in the squirt bottle.
“He offered me a lot of money to provide him with copies of the tapes when the prisoner was interviewed. The money has been a godsend. My wife is really sick. If we had stayed in Russia, she would have been dead years ago. The weather, it is very bad there.”
“Who?” Ron asked again as he swirled the gas in the squirt bottle once more.
“I’ve only talked to him by phone since that first day. The money shows up at my home by a package delivery company. Small bills. I have never asked the man’s name. It was such a simple task, and she isn’t even Israeli, she is a Palestinian for Christ’s sake! She is my enemy!” Emil cried softly.
“What number do you call to alert them to a drop?” Ron asked.
“The number changes every time. It comes in the package along with a phone card and the address of the drop point. I throw it away as soon as I use it,” Emil explained. “Here, I have the next one in my wallet.” Emil reached behind his back to pull his wallet from his back pocket.
“Slowly,” Ron barked and swung the gun up and pointed it directly at Emil’s chest. Emil continued, slowly pulling the wallet from his pants pocket and tossing it at Ron’s feet.
“I wait until someone comes to talk with her and then I copy the tape before it is sent to the Mossad. I drop it where I am instructed by the note in the previous package. It is never the same place twice in a row. I call and alert him to the drop, and the next day the money arrives.
“I can give the money to you, for your trouble! My wife needs me. She will be an invalid in not too many years, maybe months. She’s almost one now. We have no children. She will need me. I needed the money to care for her; that’s why I did it. I had no idea that you would be in danger. You have been a good friend. I wish you no harm. I will stop! I won’t do it again!” Emil offered.
“No, you won’t,” Ron stated with an air of finality, his eyes never leaving Emil’s face. He raised his gun.
“Wait!” Emil shouted. “He said he was part of the Brotherhood! The Brotherhood of the Sword! Ask Mossad. They are a very secretive and a very powerful group. They have infiltrated your government. They have bribed everyone. There is no one they cannot reach. They fixed your last election, for Christ’s sake!” Emil blurted out the information almost too quickly for Ron to comprehend.
“They fixed the American election?” Ron asked as he lowered his gun and gave Emil a hard look.
“Yes, the man bragged about it. Said they bought it, like one buys a car. He claimed they have bought men and women in powerful positions all over the world. He claimed that Europe was now a suburb of Arabia and soon America would fall. He told me I had better convert to Islam or I’d be beheaded along with the rest of the Israeli sheep and the infidels in the West,” Emil continued to explain the information he possessed.
“I’m not concerned with that crap,” Ron stated. “I’m here because of your betrayal of me and mine. The Arabs can dream all they want, but they won’t be conquering the U.S. anytime soon. Time’s up, Emil. I’m sorry you went bad,” Ron stated as he raised his gun.
“Wait, I have value! I know things! I was KGB! I’ve interrogated prisoners and not shared what I have learned with the Mossad. When in Russia, I was an interrogator for the KGB. I was a colonel.”
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” Ron asked bluntly.
“Why would I lie? You’re going to kill my wife if I lie. I cannot bear the thought!” Emil cried.
“Maybe, but you’ve admitted that you were a trained liar for the KGB. You’ve admitted that you spy for terrorists. You’ve caused the death of dozens of good Israeli soldiers, and you almost got me killed.”
“I never intended to cause you harm, my friend. It was just business. I needed the money,” Emil sobbed deeply.
“Yes, well, it’s just business,” Ron stated coldly. He squeezed the trigger and shot Emil in the head. Before Emil’s body even hit the sand, Ron had turned and walked away, leaving Emil’s body for the buzzards.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The limousine and its entourage of a dozen armored police cars and another dozen military transports
loaded with troops raced over the highway leading to Riyadh. Its arrival was timed to coincide with the start of midday prayers which the king was to attend with the crown prince. When the phone rang, its warble jolted the prince from his thoughts, and he stared at it for a moment. As was his custom, he let it ring several times. He never answered until he was sure the person calling truly wanted to talk with him, so he made them wait.
This phone was one of three in the limousine. The white one was a private line that was linked directly to his home. The blue phone (the public line) was used by friends and underlings for everyday matters. The phone currently ringing was green. It was an encrypted satellite phone, and only certain people had the number. Computers located in Switzerland received the calls, then rerouted the calls through a special phone system sending the calls through dozens of remote encrypted systems. This made the call extremely difficult, if not impossible, to trace before finding its way here.
Finally, he scooped up the receiver. “Yes?”
“I’ve done as instructed,” the voice on the phone said.
“Go on.”
“There is no evidence that the Americans or the Israelis visited our friends in the West Bank. The spent rounds found were Iranian; the one weapon found was of Czech manufacture; the gas used to sedate the troops was French; the anti-personnel mines were Chinese; the bootprints match the boot the German military issues; the motion detectors were Russian; and the infrared cameras were Swiss,” the voice on the phone ticked off the items that had been found and traced from the night of the attack on the farmhouse in the West Bank.
“There are no records of any black ops for the Israelis that were scheduled for the West Bank at that time. I’ve seen the secret files where Mossad operatives always list the different operations for the head of Mossad to review—nothing was listed. All signs say it was mercenaries working for the West, but I have no solid proof. The border guards claim that a General Ruben approved the vehicle’s entrance into Israel, no questions asked, except there is no General Ruben in the Israeli military or Mossad.
“The vehicle was a specially modified SUV with a special weapons package. When it reached the border, it was in very bad condition, heavily damaged. There were six passengers and all six were wounded. A couple appeared to be serious, but none of the wounds appeared to be life-threatening. There were several Kilauea computer boxes in the back cargo area, and they identified themselves as Kilauea Corporation employees returning from Jordan. They said that they were attacked while crossing the West Bank.
“We traced the vehicle to a point about a kilometer from the checkpoint where it was met by several other vehicles. We lost it there.” He stopped talking, waiting for a response.
“Continue.”
“Checking with my sources at Kilauea Corporation, they claim to have no knowledge of a group of employees having gone to Jordan. As for driving back through the West Bank, it is company policy to fly to avoid any possible interaction with the Palestinians. All employees fly to and from Jordan when required to go there. After asking several different employees who might know something, it appears that the name was used as a ruse and nothing more.
“There is also something else. Our friend, the warden, has disappeared. He provided the intelligence about the possible visitors, plus a good deal more. I have found no record of him being arrested by the Mossad or being sanctioned by them. They keep very detailed records. It was reported in the local papers, however, that Hamas has sent a letter stating that they killed him for crimes against humanity—something about his cruel treatment of prisoners. I’ve been unable to confirm the authenticity of the letter. Hamas is not being cooperative, but then again, are they ever cooperative?”
“Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
The prince hung up the phone.
Using mercenaries was an unusual move for the Americans. They typically used their own soldiers with their cowboy mentality and the arrogance that comes with it. Identifying themselves as Kilauea Corp employees was something different. That needed to be looked into. He’d instruct his man in Washington to do so. Steven Howard has been very vocal of late, voicing opposition to the new administration’s policies of tolerance. Could he have hired the men? It was not unprecedented. H. Ross Perot, the billionaire from Texas, had used mercenaries to rescue his people from Iran in the late seventies. Had Howard formed his own army? Or was this an attempt by President Starks to create trouble for Howard? After all, he was known to be considering having the man killed.
EPILOGUE
Bavaria had to be his favorite landscape in the world. It was absolutely beautiful! He marveled at the Alps as they peeked out of the clouds. Whenever he crossed a valley, he would get a glimpse at their peaks, blanketed in white. The forests were incredibly thick and lush. There was nothing like this in his homeland.
Here, the mountain streams were clear and cold, unlike the muddy brown Jordan River or the scattered watering holes. Everywhere he looked was like looking at a picture postcard of Paradise. Perhaps after the Caliphate was achieved, if he was still alive, the Brotherhood might let him live here among the towering trees and the vast snowy mountains.
There were seasons here. Snow in winter, warm, soft breezes in spring, and huge thunderstorms with flashing lightning and the deafening roar of thunder in summer. In the fall, there were crisp, chilly winds that mixed the brilliant colors draped across the hillsides. Every season had a different feel and was blessed by Allah with different colors and different smells.
Of course, he would serve Allah wherever he found himself, but it was just so much more beautiful here than the West Bank or Lebanon or anywhere in the Middle East for that matter.
After his successful assignment in the United States, his stock had risen with the Brotherhood. He had been provided with a new, royal blue BMW for his travels in Europe. He had picked it up in Zurich along with the Swiss passports that stated that he and the members of the cell were naturalized citizens of that country. It still amazed him how easily anything or anyone could be bought. The passports were supplied by a man in the Ministry of Internal Security—perhaps the very man that was in charge of stopping the illegal trade in Swiss passports.
The cell he was now in charge of was in Hamburg, Germany. Every member of the cell worked at the liquefied natural gas terminal where LNG tankers were offloaded. While he rested after the last mission, he had been instructed to study the construction of the LNG tankers along with the manual on piloting such a vessel. While doing so, he had learned from Pakistani scientists the best way to access the liquid stored behind the double walls of the tanker’s pressure vessels and where the structure of the super tanker was most vulnerable. If it was Allah’s will, Germany would soon suffer a similar fate as the Great Satan, America!
To be continued…
THE END
About the Author
Originally from Michigan, Author Cliff Roberts grew up in Dearborn, MI. Currently a resident of Florida, his interests include writing, reading, fishing, travel, great food, good friends, football, hunting, photography, spending time with his wife and grandchildren.
In addition to Cliff’s affinity for classic rock, he has a definite affinity for watching action/adventure movies and mysteries.
Cliff has lived on all four U.S. coasts—The Great Lakes in Michigan, the Down East Coast of Maine, the West Coast in California and the Gulf Coast in Florida.
He also enjoys NFL, UFL, UofM football, Go Blue AND Florida football-Go Gators! Plus Red Wing Hockey, Go Wings!
REPRISAL! THE EAGLE’S SORROW
Cliff Roberts’ latest book in the Reprisal! series—coming soon!
America Land of the Free
The Dawning of the day had arrived,
But on this Tuesday morn
Many innocent people would not survive.
So many family members live tattered and torn
On a day that we shall all forever mourn.
Our planes were de
stroyed,
Our Pentagon was hurt,
Our twin towers crumbled down to the dirt.
The cowardly acts of Osama Bin Laden and his men,
Hoped they could bring this great nation to an end.
Many brave men and women came to the terrorized sights,
To help where they could working long days and nights.
Rubble toppled on top of our brave,
Many more we were unable to save.
We gave our blood to help save lives
We dug deep in our pockets to help relieve some of the strife.
Now our mission must be
To protect the nation known as the land of the free.
It saddens us deeply to know more lives may be lost,
But our military must act at whatever the cost.
Our way of life shall never be replaced
By any terrorists, country, religion or race.
Those that are guilty will be found,
They will be tracked and traced and hunted down.
They all will be punished our president has assured,
For the loss of innocent lives America has endured.
As Americans we are all very proud of our land,
GOD BLESS AMERICA AND UNITED WE STAND!
Joyce Sanders
Oct. 11, 2001
Table of Contents
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
Reprisal!- The Gauntlet Page 21
