A few feet further into his approach, he noticed another room to his left. The door was open. Peering his head around the corner once again, he only saw a bedroom. The bed appeared to be kept and orderly. A bit further down the hall would be the last room on the right. He had to be there, thought Kadir.
Moving ever so quietly, Kadir reached the final room. His heart began pumping faster, and his breathing quickened a bit in anticipation. The door leading to the room appeared cracked, approximately one-third of the way open. With his gun in the left hand, he leaned forward careful to not move the door further. He did not want to alert his target.
Michael, instantly recognizing that the intruder had entered the room, slammed the door violently against him. Michael was unsure who the individual was. If he could question the assailant, rather than kill him, he might figure out his motive.
Kadir, completely caught off guard, slammed into the wall. Michael instantly sprang from behind the door and powerfully struck Kadir in the forehead. Hearing a knock on the ground, Michael determined the intruder’s weapon hit the floor.
As Kadir regained his footing, his left elbow inadvertently moved the light switch upwards. Both men would now see each other clearly.
Kadir observed Michael’s pistol. Using both hands, Kadir lunged toward Michael and captured his left wrist.
Kadir’s weight and thrusting motion turned Michael as his left arm hit the wall. Using a knuckle release technique, Kadir applied pressure with his thumbs in between Michael’s center knuckles. Michael’s .380 dropped to the floor moments later.
For the next couple of minutes, intense hand-to-hand combat ensued between the two men. Exchanging short thrusts, jabs, elbow strikes and body punches, neither man gained the upper hand. Michael and Kadir moved from the hallway to the living room as Kadir began retreating ever so slowly.
As Michael entered the living room, he quickly employed a round kick and swept Kadir’s legs. Kadir fell to the ground. Lunging forward, Michael jumped onto Kadir and attempted to assume a ground strike position, used predominately by mixed martial arts fighters.
Before Michael settled atop, Kadir reached into his pocket and pulled out a long nylon cord. As Michael’s momentum stalled, Kadir attempted to loop the cord around Michael’s neck. However, Michael wedged his right hand under the cord preventing the makeshift noose from tightening.
Michael’s breathing intensified as he furiously began punching Kadir in the head with his left hand while moving his right hand upward. This caused Kadir’s hold to come undone.
Michael’s last punch knocked Kadir to his side. As the men rolled, Michael took the cord and was now underneath Kadir in a semi rear naked fighting position. With Kadir’s back on Michael’s chest, Michael applied the noose onto Kadir.
Kadir, already severely bruised with mild concussion symptoms, fought Michael as long as he could. However, Michael’s grip was too strong. After some time had passed, Kadir took his last breath. He now lay dead on the floor.
Michael got up, took some deep breaths and returned to the hallway. He gathered his .380 and quickly moved toward the front door. Sensing the killer’s accomplice nearby, he exited the front door and saw Yaffa’s van out of the corner of his right eye. He began to sprint toward the dark vehicle.
Yaffa was stunned. As she looked at the man from approximately fifty meters away, she knew Kadir failed. Without hesitation, she shifted her vehicle into reverse and quickly turned left onto the intersection.
Michael returned to the apartment. Having caught his breath and now compromised, he dialed Elif’s cell number. Help would be on the way soon, she promised.
In the meantime, he would ponder the significance and timing of Laura’s message.
Kenema, Sierra Leone – November 4, 4:00 PM
Manjo took a liking to Sheikh Cissi and his loyal deputies. Spending the last couple of days at the Mosque did him some good. He had the opportunity to read the Quran, converse with others, and simply escape the harsh realities of living in his desolate and poor village. He was making new friends and enjoyed his new experiences.
However, the anger and frustration of losing his father did not go away. He often wondered why the rich western nations could not fight the Ebola outbreak with the same determination and ferocity as killing Muslims throughout the Middle East and Africa. This perplexed the young man.
The Americans were spending billions of dollars hunting and killing Muslims in Iraq, Afghanistan, Yemen, and elsewhere. The French were in Mali doing the same against forces loyal to Ayman al-Zawahiri, Al Qaeda’s leader since Bin Laden’s demise.
America should do more to help his beloved country save lives, Manjo thought to himself. Sheikh Cissi was all too happy to reinforce these ideas in him.
In one of Sheikh Cissi’s meeting rooms tucked away inside the Mosque, the two continued their dialogue.
“America picks and chooses the weak and suffering. They and her allies do not support Muslims. Look at how they are slaughtering Muslims around the world. Innocent children and mothers are being killed by drones. And they do not support us here while Ebola takes our families and neighbors,” said the Sheikh in his deliberate and thoughtful tone. He continued.
“Join us Manjo. Leave the village and stay in Kenema with us. You are welcome here.”
“I will Sheikh Cissi. Thank you,” said Manjo with a joyful look on his face.
He and Sheikh Cissi’s discussions made a lasting impression on the confused young man. There was a sense of community here not unlike his village to the north. Additionally, loyal followers of Sheikh Cissi shared a resentment toward the west, which he now developed.
Sheikh Cissi was pleased Manjo would remain. Another ‘recruit’ he thought to himself, if time and circumstances allowed it.
Mossad safe house, Iskenderun, Turkey – November 5, 2:25 AM
Elif arrived after having quickly made her way from Arsuz to Iskenderun.
“What happened, Michael?”
“Someone tried to kill me, Elif. Who else knew I was here?”
“Just Nanook and Walid, myself and Tel Aviv, of course.”
“How well do you trust Nanook and Walid?”
“Enough to know they were not behind this, Michael,” said Elif passionately.
“Well, someone knew I was here. If not them, who?”
“The only place I can think of is Hatay. Maybe someone there recognized you?”
“No way, Elif. I’ve never been to Hatay or this country for that matter,” said Michael.
“Let me check around Michael,” said Elif as she began moving toward the dead killer.
Elif proceeded to stand over Kadir’s lifeless body. She took a few pictures of his face.
Pulling up his long sleeved shirt, she noticed the tattoo of a black and green serpent on Kadir’s left forearm. Then she lifted his shirt and checked for body markings on the stomach and chest. Nothing.
She instructed Michael to help her flip him over. Raising the shirt on his back, she found more tattoos. They were symbols of the Turkish underground, as Elif had seen them before. A contract killer, she thought to herself.
After a few more clicks from her smartphone, Elif had compiled a set of photos she hoped would identify the man. Soon, she would send them to her handlers in Tel Aviv for identification. First, however, she would call her associates.
“Nanook. Get to the safe house right away. Bring Walid.”
“What is going on Elif? Are you, all right?”
“I am. Just get moving. I am leaving with our guest. You have your keys?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Bring a cleaning kit and body bag. Dispose of the body right away. Check the hallway and living room for blood stains.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call in a few hours with an update.”
Elif hung up and turned to Mi
chael.
“We need to leave at once and go back to my place. Gather your stuff and let’s go.”
Michael appreciated Elif’s confidence and orders. She was calculated. Here, Mossad was in charge, and he was along for the ride. She knew the lay of the land, the people, and was clearly prepared for some unforeseen tactical setbacks.
A few minutes later, Elif and Michael left. Heading toward Arsuz, the two proceeded to give each other an update of their earlier communications.
At approximately 3:15 AM, Nanook and Walid arrived. Dressed in gloves, and two bags full of cleaning supplies, they found Kadir’s body lying in the living room. The coloration of his neck indicated he was strangulated.
Thirty-five minutes elapsed and the two men departed. Just before exiting the residence, they put on ski masks. This would ensure their anonymity just in case alerted neighbors awoke and witnessed their departure. Despite their van’s proximity to the apartment and the poor lighting, they could not take any chances.
Using a carpet they brought with them, the two men moved the body inside the truck. Their next stop would be the Iskenderun Fish Harbor, a facility of three hundred various boats, and just a few miles away.
Turning left from Ataturk Boulevard onto Sahil Yolu drive, Walid parked the truck. Nanook exited the vehicle and moved toward one of the fishing boats in the marina. As Nanook began walking, Walid reversed the truck and drove off. Turning right back onto Ataturk Boulevard, Walid moved south to the rendezvous point.
In a few hours, Kadir’s body would find itself at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea.
Arsuz, Turkey - 5 November, 8:10 AM
Michael awoke. After sleeping for several hours, he was ready to get started. Sitting up on Elif’s tan microfiber couch, he gathered his thoughts.
He noticed the beautiful room filled with plants and pictures of the Mediterranean. The local art decorated along the bright walls added a rather scenic touch and soft side. Nestled along one of the walls he saw a bookcase and wandered his way toward it. Elif’s books would indicate her interests, he thought to himself.
Elif walked in.
“Interested in my collection, Michael?” asked Elif.
“Yes. What do you enjoy reading?”
“Ever heard of Nazim Hekmet? His poetry is inspirational and beautiful.”
Michael smiled and said, “No. I have not had the pleasure.”
“You will find him on the top shelf.”
Unable to read Turkish, Michael moved toward Elif. The two needed to devise the plan to free Haris from Syria.
“I’ve made contact with a friend in Europe. He assures me he can get the missiles here within a couple of days. Where do you need them?”
“Can you get them here?”
“Let’s find out,” as Michael dialed Paul’s number.
“Paul, good morning bud. Can you get the equipment to Iskenderun tomorrow night?”
“Not sure. Did you find out where the weapons are going?”
“Yes, to the YPG fighting Islamic State in Aleppo.”
“Can I call you back in a few?” asked Paul.
“Yep. Standing by.”
Paul called Jurgen right away. He asked the pilot if he could move the equipment to Iskenderun, Turkey. Wavering, Jurgen told him he could file a flight plan quickly and get to Larnaca. He could not guarantee Iskenderun.
“How much time do I have to get there?” asked Jurgen.
“Tomorrow night.”
“That won’t happen, Paul. The Turks require more time. I can get to Larnaca as early as this evening. Will that do?”
“I will call back shortly Jurgen.” Click.
“Michael, I cannot get the equipment to Iskenderun by tomorrow night. But I can get it to Cyprus today in a place called Larnaca.”
Michael muted his phone and turned to Elif.
“I can get the equipment to Cyprus tonight. But a delivery tomorrow won’t happen.”
“Where in Cyprus?” asked Elif.
“A place called Larnaca.”
Elif turned to her phone. Pulling up Google maps, she entered the location. Seeing Larnaca along the south coast of Cyprus, she then calculated the nautical distance. One hundred and sixty-five nautical miles separated the city from Iskenderun. Larnaca also had a port. This could work she thought to herself.
Elif’s mind raced with scenarios. After computing the distance, she determined the route could take approximately eight hours traveling at twenty knots. This was certainly achievable if calm seas prevailed. Elif then had to check the sea conditions.
Using a website specializing in sailing weather forecasts, she studied the projections for the next two days. After observing surface wind conditions, wave heights and directions, and surface pressures, Elif made the decision.
“Michael, we can make this happen. I will send a crew to Larnaca right away. They should be there before nightfall.”
Trusting Elif’s calculation implicitly, Michael turned his attention back toward Paul.
“Paul. Move the equipment as soon as possible. We will have someone meet your people in the port of Larnaca tonight. I’ll send the details over later.”
“Okay. Good luck Michael. Let us catch up when you have time. Stay safe my friend.”
“Absolutely brother.”
The plan was coming together. Michael would have his missiles in Larnaca tonight and Elif’s associates would get them to Iskenderun tomorrow.
Elif offered Michael some coffee. Genuinely thankful for her hospitality and decisive decision making, he looked forward to her home brew.
“I need to take care of a few things, Michael.”
“Where are you going?”
“Into Iskenderun. I need to prepare our transportation for tomorrow. Stay here and get comfortable. I’ll be back soon.”
Michael smiled and asked, “Isn’t that what you told me last night?”
“Mossad owns this building. I promise. No surprises.”
The down time would allow Michael to update Langley. His working plan and the developing situation with Haris were a top priority.
Before that, however, he would send Laura a short message.
He wanted to stay connected with her despite the newness of their relationship. Sending a short note while away would show he cared. He would make her feel special even if thousands of miles away.
Hi, Laura. Thanks for your message earlier. Are you back in Arlington or still in New York? Things here are hectic and I’m trying to sort out the mess. What kind of food would you like for dinner when I get back? Something Middle Eastern, perhaps Israeli, to remember the trip? Take care. Safe travels. Really looking forward to seeing you again. Mike
Turning his attention back to Langley, Michael would now update his superiors.
Freiberg, Germany – 5 November, 10:20 AM
Situated on the border of the majestic Black Forest Mountains, with the Schlossberg Hill to the west, residents of Freiberg, Germany went about their business. Hikers were ascending the Schlossberg, nearly one thousand five hundred feet in height, while tourists rode the nearly four-kilometer cable car from Gunterstahl to the Schauinsland Mountain.
Near the Historical Merchant’s Hall, an iconic red building first constructed in the 14th century, Markus was finishing his morning cup of coffee and fresh brötchen. He adopted the cultural ritual known to all Germans as a young teenager while working as a tour guide.
Markus already spent the morning preparing his team at the warehouse. Approximately five kilometers south of Freiberg along Route 1, and just north of the town of Brand-Erbisdorf, the AT-4s were loaded and prepared for transport. All Markus and his team needed now were instructions.
“Markus, good morning, it’s Paul.”
“Good morning.”
“We are a go for movement. Move to the ai
rport and proceed to hangar seven. I will be there at one o’clock.”
“Okay. Will you have time to stay for a while?” Always the social German, Markus invited his longtime associate despite the urgency in Paul’s voice.
“Not this time, Markus. I am sorry. See you in a few hours.”
“All right Paul. One it is at hangar seven.”
Markus’ short drive to Brand-Erbisdorf meant he and his team would be departing within the hour.
The AT-4 missiles, along with other Soviet era military equipment, had been located outside Freiberg since 1994. One of a dozen similar sites within Germany, these weapons caches were the product of an elaborate CIA operation implemented after 1993.
Spearheading the operation were Markus and his then young CIA colleague, Paul Hernandez.
Soon after the Soviet Union ceased its fifty-year existence, criminal enterprises began emerging from former held territories. One such place was Ukraine. There, Viktor Mogilevich began amassing a fortune sending weapons and equipment to war-torn Africa, among other places.
William Jefferson Clinton, the nation’s 42nd President, authorized the clandestine program after seeing a sharp uptick of African warlords. Determined to reduce the transfer of Ukrainian stockpiles, he directed CIA to begin acquiring them directly from inside the new Republic.
Clinton’s attention focused on one such warlord, Charles Ghankay, a ruthless guerrilla fighter trained by the Libyans, and founder of the National Patriotic Front of Liberia (NPFL).
Charles Ghankay and Viktor Mogilevich were business partners. Charles delivered millions of dollars of diamonds and currency in exchange for Viktor’s armaments. The relationship endured throughout the First Liberian Civil War, which ended with the death of an estimated 600,000 people.
During the operation, Markus and Paul would periodically enter Ukraine and procure mostly small arms munitions and shoulder fired rockets, such as the AT-4. Posing as arms dealers with clients in South America, the two successfully purchased thousands of weapons and prevented their entry into war-torn Africa.
Into The Shadows Page 6
