Kenema, Sierra Leone – November 2, 8:45 AM
Manjo finally awoke. Nearly twenty-four hours after his father’s death, it was time to get up. Still angry, he decided to leave his village and travel to Kenema. It was only a few hours’ drive and the time away would do him some good, he thought.
Manjo, like everyone else in the village, was poor. Accustomed to a lifestyle that afforded few luxuries, Manjo’s next task was to get his old pickup truck running again. He last used the truck five weeks ago while delivering a crop to the Kenema farmer’s market and was concerned the battery might be low.
The truck’s engine started and with a half of a tank of gas, he departed his village.
Manjo’s trip to Kenema would be arduous due to poor road conditions. Paved roads did not exist in most places, another indication of Sierra Leone’s weak economy and lack of infrastructure. Dirt roads were the norm for villagers living in rural areas.
The landscape was magnificent. Sierra Leone, a tropical climate with four distinct geographic regions, is a beautiful country ripe with natural resources and foliage. Manjo’s trip included breathtaking views of several plateaus plush with dense trees; however, it offered little comfort. He cherished the countryside for as long as he could remember while accompanying his father to Kenema to sell the family’s crops. He would now make the trip by himself until a child entered his life.
A few hours later, Kenema was in sight. He knew he was close as the garbage piled along the dirt road became more prevalent. Residents and those surrounding the city did not have access to efficient garbage disposal methods.
Nearing the outskirts, Manjo finally reached a paved road entering the northern part of the distressed city. As he drove, he thought a visit to the nearest Mosque might provide some inspiration and solace. He was Sunni Muslim by birth but rarely engaged in its practices.
Sierra Leone is predominantly a Sunni Muslim country. Some estimates indicate eighty percent of the population practice the faith. The religion entered its way into Sierra Leone in the early part of the 18th century and continued its growth despite British colonial efforts and the introduction of Christianity.
As Manjo entered Kenema, he recalled a non-denominational Mosque, common in many parts of Sierra Leone, near the farmer’s market just a few blocks from his normal setting. Manjo had noticed a rise in the Sunni Muslim population in Kenema recently and wondered why. Today, he was determined to find out.
The Kenema Central Mosque was warm and inviting. Manjo entered as men gathered for their routine prayers. Manjo estimated there were fifty men inside. However, a Sunni Muslim by birth, and not versed in the practices of his faith, he was unsure what to do next.
In the distance, Sheikh Sahr Cissi noticed Manjo. He moved toward the stranger.
“As-Salam-u-Alaikum,” said the Sheikh.
“Hello. My name is Manjo, and it has been a long time since visiting a Mosque. I am not sure what to do next,” he said half-smiling and visibly uncomfortable.
After exchanging some pleasantries, the Sheikh asked if he would join him in his office. Manjo politely agreed.
After nearly an hour in the Sheikh’s office, Manjo became restless. He genuinely enjoyed meeting the Sheikh and was grateful for his hospitality. An invitation to return the following morning was a pleasant surprise. However, he was unsure and thought the Sheikh was a little too intrusive.
As Manjo stood up, he asked the Sheikh one final question.
“Sheikh Cissi. Can you recommend some reading from the Quran to help me find peace?”
“Of course, Manjo. You may want to start with Quran 29:2-3 which reads, Do men think that they will be left alone on saying ‘We believe’, and that they will not be put to the test? And certainly We tested those before them, so that God will differentiate those who are true from those who are false.”
The Sheikh believed this was an appropriate verse to get him started. Manjo was confused and vulnerable. Little did Manjo realize the Sheikh’s true intentions were to steer him toward a more radical way of thinking.
Mossad safe house, Iskenderun, Turkey – November 4, 7:00 PM
Elif returned from her coffee run carrying a hardened black briefcase and a bag full of local pastries and bread. She was unsure if Michael and her colleagues were ready for dinner as it was still early.
An upscale apartment in the center of Iskenderun offered Mossad an ideal location. Most residences in the building were affluent local businesspersons and shop owners. Security was good, but not overly elaborate. This reduced the likelihood of arousing nefarious individuals in the area.
Elif spent several hours at the small complex each week. This ensured surrounding residents knew her and found nothing out of the ordinary even when entertaining visitors. For all they knew, Elif was the owner of a thriving tourist business, which shuttled tourists to and from the Bagra fortress and Iskenderun Museum of the Sea, among other locales. Her clients included some of the top corporate leaders in the Middle East and celebrities from across Europe. Some of her best clients even stayed there instead of nearby luxury hotels, or so her neighbors thought.
From time to time, and after each client’s trip ended, she would let the cleaning service come in. This added to the illusion that her trade was as a successful tourism operator.
Elif lived outside Iskenderun in the town of Arsuz, approximately twenty miles to the southwest and just two hundred meters from the coast. It was a majestic location and ideal for her. As a single woman, it was safe and since Mossad owned the property, a location where she always felt secure. It provided the ideal spot when she needed to relax and decompress from her dangerous duties.
Her property manager was a retired Mossad officer, who also served as a contractor there. It was also part of the retirement package for the former intelligence analyst, which included a suite on the sixth floor overlooking the Mediterranean. By all accounts to the outside world, the Erdinc Apart Otel condominium was an upscale location in the region serving those seeking a more rural environment than Iskenderun offered.
Michael entered the living room as he heard Elif arrive. He could not really sleep, but the quiet and dark room offered some much-needed mental relaxation, even if for only an hour.
The operation report from CIA just two days earlier, coupled with information from Mossad, was a bit much. Even spies feel overwhelmed from data at times. Memorizing safe houses, contacts, frequencies, and emergency numbers was no easy task.
After Elif and Michael had engaged in a few minutes of pleasant conversation, it was time. Elif directed her associates to leave the room and wait for her in the vehicle. These contractors, though trusted implicitly by Elif, did not have a need to know regarding some specifics of the operation. Mossad, like all other credible intelligence agencies, limited the access to information for security purposes. In this situation, the need to know was limited to just a handful of intelligence officers.
At 7:10 PM, Elif opened the briefcase. Inside was a secure laptop Mossad used for a variety of communication methods. Its military grade capability included secure web searching, using open sources and high-frequency communications, among other capabilities, including an incredible 528-bit encryption link with Tel Aviv.
“At seven-fifteen PM we’ll open our chat and wait,” said Elif. “My contact knows me as Ayse.”
Michael looked into her eyes and gave a sign of approval as he sipped his Turkish coffee.
A few minutes after 7:15 PM, the first message hit.
Good evening Ayse. I only have a few moments.
Hello, Haris. What can you share?
Shirazi wants to attack America using a bio-weapon.
How and when?
I need to leave Ayse, too dangerous for me.
Can you provide specifics of the attack?
Not now, need extraction. Much turmoil here. Can you arrange to meet me along th
e border?
Probably, but what about the attack?
I will know more this evening and will tell, but only in person. Can you get me out of Syria?
Is the attack imminent?
No, but soon.
Michael leaned forward and asked Elif if she could get them across the border.
“I believe so Michael, but it may take a few days.”
“Can you make it within forty-eight hours?”
Elif let out a deep sigh and nodded her head.
“Convince the source we can meet him in a designated location in two nights. It’s your call where we extract him. I need to speak with him immediately,” urged Michael.
Elif turned away and began to think. In just a few moments, she conducted intelligence analysis of her own and compared several hypotheses.
Elif had to make a significant tactical decision without formal input from Tel Aviv. Her tradecraft always permitted for substantial independent thought and action regarding her assets. However, this was a bit more complex due to the potential deployment of biological weapons.
The asset inside Islamic State was reliable, and their relationship existed for many years. Nevertheless, if he felt compromised or ready to leave, the parameters of the operation needed adjustment. Additionally, a successful biological attack against the United States would be devastating, regardless of the casualties. The psychological impact would be massive.
This development had the making of an international crisis and could jeopardize relations with the west.
She imagined if such an attack occurred what her superiors in Tel Aviv would think. Would they reward her for urging the asset to remain in place even if his intelligence was poor or the attack failed? Would they discipline her for sitting on intelligence to see if it was actionable? Worse, would her services as a Mossad agent abruptly end?
Not knowing the details of the attack or its potential magnitude, complicated the decision-making process further. However, the risk of delay was too great despite the complications of planning and executing an extraction in forty-eight hours.
In a few moments, her mind became clear. Elif turned back to the screen and began typing.
We will get you out of there in two days. Can you transmit again tomorrow evening?
Yes, thank you, Ayse. Till tomorrow.
Till tomorrow.
Michael turned to Elif. “What can I do to get this moving, Elif?”
“How about some AT-4 weapons that would go to the YPG in Aleppo?”
Without missing a beat or asking why, Michael simply asked, “How many do you need?”
“Twelve will do, and I have just the person who can move them. We will use the shipment into Syria as a way to extract Haris.”
The two had little time to make the extraction work, but forty-eight hours was sufficient to plan the operation and secure the AT-4s. The job would be complicated but both were crafty and had contacts that could expedite this unforeseen chain of events. However, Michael and Elif needed to report to their respective headquarters soon. This was highly actionable intelligence requiring immediate reporting.
Elif left the safe house shortly after Michael assured her he could secure the missiles. Her first priority was to contact Raif. Tel Aviv would follow. Michael, on the other hand, would call Paul Hernandez, a longtime friend at CIA. He would be in a position to identify a stockpile of AT-4s and more importantly, help move them.
Ankara, Turkey – November 4, 8:20 PM
Dabria entered her apartment in the suburbs of Ankara. She reached into one of her drawers and pulled out an untraceable cell phone purchased just one month ago.
After dialing the number and finally connected, a deep voice answered.
“Hello, Dabria. It has been a while. Do you have something for me?”
“One of the men whose picture you sent me in September is here in Turkey.”
“Where?”
“He arrived at Hatay this afternoon. I believe he may have traveled to Iskenderun.”
“You know what to do Dabria?” asked Nasir.
“Yes.”
“When can you do it?”
“Very soon, I hope.”
“I will wait for your call Dabria. Goodbye.”
Dabria’s conversation with Nasir was short. It had to be. American drones collecting intelligence, while simultaneously hunting high-value targets for kill strikes, patrolled Yemen continuously. As the commander within Al Qaeda’s branch in Yemen, Nasir was at the top of the list. He knew this all too well.
Evading a squadron of drones with shoot to kill orders required Nasir’s sparing use of cell phones. Most communication methods with subordinates or assets were by way of the courier, a technique Nasir directed months ago. Nasir learned this through years of precision drone strikes delivered by American military forces. They killed hundreds of his fellow jihadists, and more were likely in the future, despite increased security protocols.
Couriers reduced the likelihood of operational compromise and detection. However, they were ineffective abroad. It simply took too long to move orders and instructions, unless, of course, routine financial transactions were the effort.
The electronic intelligence (ELINT) collection capabilities of the United States are massive. Satellites, drones, piloted aircraft, ground-based systems, and even unattended ground sensors will record anything they target, if deployed correctly. Each day, countless computers at the National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland process terabytes of data received from sensors throughout the world.
Yemen is crowded with these sensors, and suffered its first drone strike in 2002. This occurred after President George W. Bush authorized the global war on terror in response to the September 11th terror attacks in 2001.
Dabria’s next call was to a shadowy individual living in Adana, Turkey. Using the same phone, she dialed the killer’s number, a contractor who MIT used in sensitive domestic operations.
“Kadir. This is Dabria. I have a contract for you. But it must be executed before the morning.”
“That will double the price Dabria, who is the target?”
“An Israeli Mossad agent who just arrived this afternoon,” said Dabria.
Dabria was unsure if the stranger was Mossad or how long he would remain in Turkey. However, a quick strike now using actionable intelligence gave her the best opportunity to accomplish her mission. She had to entice Kadir knowing his disdain for Jews.
Kadir thought quickly to himself. An Israeli Mossad target? Now that would be a first.
“Where?” asked Kadir.
“Drive west and into Iskenderun. I will send the address. He should be alone.”
“That is what you told me in Istanbul a couple of years ago,” Kadir reminded Dabria.
Kadir referred to a contract awarded to him in the summer of 2012. There, Kadir’s target was a leading human trafficker in the country with links to the Serbian Mafia. Turkey had become the launch point for transporting victims from Eastern Europe into the Middle East; as Syria had simply become too unstable in recent years.
The individual ran a horrific and psychologically tormenting business, mostly exploiting young girls and children. Kadir enjoyed killing the man. Children were always off limits while Kadir earned his living as a contract killer for hire with MIT. He believed that no respectable criminal in his profession would exploit children for illicit activities or subject them to ghastly abuse.
However, when the time to kill the degenerate arrived, Kadir found him in the company of another woman. She was not a young girl, and Kadir assumed she was either a local prostitute or associate of the trafficker. After all, a man who engaged in the exploitation and sale of children could never have a relationship with a woman, Kadir thought to himself.
After deliberately entering the living room, lit by slow-burning candles, Kadir fir
ed three rounds of hollow point 9 mm bullets into the man’s skull. The target never knew it was coming. His companion would be next, though not part of the contract. A few seconds later, she lay dead.
Kadir could not allow her to identify him. In his line of work, no witnesses would remain alive. The risk of capture was too great. Poor intelligence from Dabria would contribute to the woman’s death, an unfortunate victim of bad luck and circumstance.
Not at all pleased with Kadir’s reference to Istanbul, she urged him to get moving.
“Payment will be made once I receive confirmation from the local police,” said Dabria.
“Iskenderun is only two hours away. I will be ready by midnight,” said Kadir.
The assassin became eager at the prospect of killing the Jew, who was not welcome in his beloved republic.
Berlin, Germany - November 4, 6:30 PM
While dining in the Matte district in Berlin, Paul Hernandez enjoyed his dinner from Hugos, a top French Mediterranean cuisine located on the fourteenth floor of the Inter-Continental Hotel. Joining him were his wife, Anna, and daughter, Alexis. As Paul devoured his Saddle of Limousin lamb, a menu favorite of local patrons, his cell phone buzzed.
“Paul, it’s Michael. Can you go secure? This is hot.” Paul quickly realized this was not a social call.
“I can, but give me a few minutes. I’m out having dinner with Anna and Alexis.”
“Thank you, brother. On an operation now. Standing by.” Click, Michael was gone.
Anna knew it was coming. Observing Paul’s facial gestures, her husband of twenty years would be leaving soon. At this point of their marriage, she was numb to it. Married to the Chief of Station for CIA in Berlin meant rewards, but the occasional call ending dinner still annoyed her a bit.
Paul urged Alexis and Anna to remain. Anna did not need convincing. However, Alexis, a high school senior, was still getting used to her father’s professional responsibilities. He assured Alexis he would be home within a couple of hours. They were very close, and tonight she wanted to play a new composition from the family’s violin.
Into The Shadows Page 4
