The Libyan army soldiers were shocked by the sight of a shirtless, bearded, disheveled man of ash-gray complexion wandering alone in a remote area of the coast. The driver stopped the truck and the soldiers disembarked. They began to approach Joshua menacingly. When he showed them the Hebrew Bible, they pointed their rifles at him. Joshua tried to run, but he was quickly apprehended. While the commanding officer taunted Joshua by setting the Bible on fire with his cigarette lighter, the soldiers beat him to a bloody pulp. When they were done, they tied Joshua up, loaded him into the back of the truck, and brought their prize back to their base.
Joshua was tortured continuously by Libyan agents in an effort to make him reveal what he was doing alone wandering along the seashore. Again he remembered the Rabbi’s advice and refused to cooperate. Years of Nazi abuse had taught him how to endure pain. On the third day of torture, Joshua blacked out. The frustrated interrogators reluctantly called in the base physician, who ordered that Joshua be sent to a hospital in Tripoli. After a few days in intensive care, Joshua miraculously regained consciousness.
At that point, the Libyan government abandoned the idea of interrogating Joshua and opted to stage a show trial. Joshua was charged officially with spying for the State of Israel, a capital crime.
When the Prime Minister of Israel was informed of the upcoming trial, he ordered an investigation to find out who the man was. He was informed that no agent of Israel or even any Jew who had remained in Libya after 1948 matched the description of the alleged Israeli agent on trial. The Prime Minister was dumbfounded. Nevertheless, he ordered that all efforts should be made to help this unfortunate victim of Arab hatred toward Israel.
Despite attempts at diplomatic pressure and the efforts of several international human rights organizations, Joshua, in a mockery of justice, was convicted of spying for the State of Israel and sentenced to be hanged. The execution would take place in two weeks in Tripoli’s Martyrs’ Square.
16
After throwing his cylinder into Lake Kinneret, Ali Rajad drove north toward the Lebanese border. By nightfall Rajad had reached a rendezvous point two miles east of the town of Metulla on the border of Israel and Lebanon. There he was met by Ishmael Kalem and three other PLGA terrorists. The group crossed the border through a break in the security fencing while Israeli border forces were dealing with heavy Katyusha rocket fire on Metulla.
This diversion had been planned by Rajad in advance in order to ease his crossing into Lebanon. He had ordered a group of his terrorists to infiltrate Christian-held Southern Lebanon and set up a mobile rocket battery in the hills outside Kafr Kila. From this position they bombarded the downtown business district of Metulla. Not long after the terrorists began firing their rockets, Christian militiamen were alerted to the source of the attack by radio from an Israeli military monitor. The battery was targeted by 135mm howitzers, killing the entire PLGA squadron. This did not concern Rajad in the least. His men wanted the glory of fighting the Israelis and he gave them the opportunity to die as martyrs. He would arrange an honorable funeral for the men once he made it back to his base.
Rajad, who loved danger, decided that he and his guards would use the opportunity to scout out Christian militia positions in Southern Lebanon between the Israeli border and PLGA headquarters. Rajad hated the Christians as much as he hated the Jews. As he and his men hiked the hills of Lebanon, Rajad daydreamed of becoming Prime Minister of Greater Palestine, which would include all of Israel, Lebanon, and Syria.
After a day of traversing the challenging rocky terrain they caught sight of smoke billowing from the PLGA base. As Rajad and his men cautiously entered the main gate in combat formation, they realized the battle was already over. The entire area reeked of burnt flesh and expended munitions. Hovering above the mutilated corpses was a swarm of black flies, and wandering packs of jackals where already picking away at the cadavers. Kalem opened fire with his assault weapon, scaring off the scavengers.
One of Rajad’s bodyguards cried out, “How can this be? They are all dead, all of them!”
Kalem raised his arm and slapped him across the face, “Are you a woman? Get a grip on yourself!”
Then, turning to Rajad, he said, “It must have been Israeli commandos.”
Ali Rajad showed no hint of shock or surprise. He knew that the price of the game they played was high. Perhaps Kalem was right, and the Israelis had finally decided to confront them directly. On the other hand, Rajad had many enemies capable of wreaking havoc, including local rivals. Therefore, it would be dangerous to jump to conclusions.
Rajad said, “I want a complete investigation. We must be absolutely positive in knowing who is responsible.”
Kalem found a jeep that had sustained only minor damage, and they began to survey the base for clues. However, they found quickly that there was little information to be gleaned from the wreckage. Rajad’s guards left the base to question local farmers and shepherds, who told them that they had not seen any helicopters or military vehicles. One elderly Lebanese olive grower said that he had seen a lone man in full military gear walking away from the base.
Eventually Rajad was informed that a police station some distance away was holding an abandoned rental car. After handing the police chief the customary bribe, he was able to discover that the car was rented from Cedars of Lebanon Car Rental at the Beirut Airport, and that man who rented the car matched the description given by the olive grower and other witnesses.
Rajad and his crew drove the jeep to the car rental agency and went directly to the counter. Rajad asked the manager a few questions but he was uncooperative. Kalem, recognizing the need for more proactive persuasion, reached across the counter and began to squeeze the manager’s hand. The awesome strength of the Palestinian giant brought him to tears. He quickly produced a photocopy of the renter’s identification papers, a French passport bearing the name Claude Marchand. Appreciating the quality of the presumably forged passport, Rajad knew immediately that they were dealing with a professional. He would need to use his connections with KGB if he had any chance of determining the man’s true identity. Rajad and his men booked a flight to Libya.
Upon arrival at Idris International Airport, about twenty miles outside the Libyan capital of Tripoli, Rajad and his men were greeted by a large contingent of his local security force. Rajad entered his armored Lincoln Continental Mark IV and ordered his driver to take him directly to the Soviet Embassy. Once inside, the terrorist chieftain was ushered into an office on the lower level. There he handed the photocopy of the French passport to KGB station chief Igor Chertkov, with whom Rajad had a strong working relationship. He promised Rajad that he would get back to him as soon as he had something.
The next day a courier from the Soviet Embassy arrived at Rajad’s plush downtown office. He handed Kalem a thin yellow manila envelope which Kalem placed on Rajad’s desk. Rajad opened the envelope and began to read.
The envelope contained a short summary and even shorter dossier. The KGB had determined that upon forensic examination the passport appeared to be authentic. Initially the KGB had difficulty identifying its owner, as there were currently at least 4,000 Claude Marchands living in France, of which more than two hundred fit the approximate age and height listed on the passport.
Providentially, however, a KGB analyst in Moscow had recognized the photograph to be that of an American intelligence officer by the name of Ronald Fletcher. The brief dossier stated that Fletcher had been in the Green Berets, fought in Vietnam, and was currently serving as an education officer at the United States Embassy in Israel. It was suspected that he was a military liaison whose job was to coordinate joint activities and sharing of intelligence between the United States National Security Council and the Israeli military.
The report concluded that it was unlikely that one person acting alone could have caused the destruction of the PLGA base in Lebanon, but if anyone was qualified to execute such an operation it was Ronald Fletcher. His experience in differen
t roles of the military and intelligence services, including training in the use of a wide range of weapons and explosives, made him a unique threat.
Rajad stood up and walked toward the window, deep in thought. The name Fletcher rang a bell. Suddenly he remembered that on the plane from Beirut to Tripoli he had read an article in the New York Times International Edition stating that the American killed during the Netanya beach attack had been identified as Mary Fletcher. The article had mentioned that her husband was a member of the U.S. diplomatic delegation in Tel Aviv.
Rajad had no desire to have an ex-special operations soldier burning with revenge for his wife’s death stalking him for the rest of his life. He would need to call in the heavy artillery. He knew of one hired gun who, though incredibly expensive, always delivered results to complete satisfaction. It was well known that once this assassin accepted a contract, the target could already be considered dead.
Rajad told Kalem, “We need to call in Phillip John Hearns.”
17
On a tiny island off the coast of Costa Rica, Phillip Hearns sat in his library carefully reading over the KGB’s dossier on Fletcher. Ishmael Kalem had personally delivered it to Hearns’ estate along with the non-refundable ten-thousand-dollar consideration fee. While awaiting Hearns’ decision, Kalem sat next to the pool and stared at the vast Pacific Ocean. After several hours, Hearns informed Kalem that he would accept the contact. Kalem thanked him and began the long trip back to Tripoli.
Hearns had built up a reputation over the past few decades as the perfect contract killer. In the international underworld he was commonly referred to as the “Untouchable One.” Originally a sniper for the South African Defense Forces, he had honed his skills fighting in counterinsurgency units in Namibia. Later on he changed sides when the Soviet Union began bankrolling the rebels, finding that training guerilla forces was a much more profitable endeavor.
Hearns then used his contacts in the KGB to create a lucrative business importing Soviet arms to local warlords in central Africa. But he ultimately found international arms dealing to be dull. He missed the thrill of wading in waist-high mud, drenched in sweat in the scorching heat, and scoring a perfect kill shot at 300 meters. Having fluency in several languages and an uncanny ability to mimic accents, a KGB contact joked to him that he might be useful as a contract killer.
Soon after, Hearns set up shop in Prague and quickly built up a clientele of dictators, drug lords, and mafia types, anyone who had an axe to grind between London and St. Petersburg. As his reputation grew, he became more and more picky about his contracts. A few years prior he had entered semi-retirement and moved permanently to his private island in Costa Rica. Since then he had limited himself to just one or two jobs a year.
Hearns returned to his library and reviewed the file. The contract stipulated that Ronald Fletcher must die within one month. Hearns felt it was a relatively short period of time to plan a hit against such a formidable opponent. On the other hand, he understood the need, given that Rajad was a great personal risk as long as Fletcher was still breathing. Therefore, there was no time to lose. Besides, it was worth it. Hearns’ reward upon confirmation of the killing would be two and a half million dollars in cash.
Hearns knew it would be downright foolish to try to kill Fletcher in Israel. Israel’s security agencies would never rest if a member of the staff of the United States Embassy was murdered on their soil. And while there were ways of secretly getting out of Israel undetected, they were by no means foolproof. He predicted that in his quest for revenge Fletcher would soon leave Israel, and at that time he would strike. “Untouchable” Hearns credited his longevity in the highly volatile profession of contract killing to his determination not to leave anything to chance.
Since Rajad was in Libya, Hearns decided to focus his initial efforts there. He descended to the lower level of the villa where his wine cellar was located. Pressing a button hidden concealed behind a behind a fine burgundy, the wine rack shifted to the right. He then flipped the light switch, illuminating a vast arsenal of rifles, handguns, machine pistols, and ammunition.
Hearns pondered thoughtfully for a moment. Then he reached for a Dragunov rifle and scope. This was the standard sniper rifle of the Soviet Army, and Hearns had learned to appreciate its value against both Namibian rebels and South African Special Forces. Its reliability and accuracy made it Hearns’ favorite weapon. Next, he pulled out an Ingram MAC-10 submachine gun. It was compact and featured a built-in sound suppressor. Unlike a silencer, the sound suppressor kept noise to a minimum without slowing down the firing rate. Most effective at close quarters, the MAC-10’s ability to spit out bullets at over 1,000 rounds per minute made it almost impossible to miss, even when the operator was under extreme pressure. Finally, he selected a German Walther P38 automatic pistol and silencer.
Hearns had already ruled out employing his vast array of remote-controlled explosive devices and booby traps. Ronald Fletcher was too sophisticated an adversary. After reading about Fletcher’s impressive solo attack on the PLGA base, Phillip Hearns was not going to take the chance of being discovered and thus becoming a target himself. Fletcher was destined to die by perfectly aimed bullet in which there was no possibility of failure.
18
Fletcher spent a peaceful evening with Captain Franji at the militia command post in the village of Marjayoun, sipping Turkish coffee and tasting an assortment of baklava. The following morning, Ronald was escorted to the “Good Fence.” This was the unofficial border crossing between Christian-controlled South Lebanon and Israel. The Good Fence was used by Israel to transfer supplies to its allies in Lebanon, as well as to allow sick and injured Christians passage into Israel to access its medical system.
As Fletcher passed through security, he asked the Israeli Druze border guard to take him to Brigadier General Ofer Kahan, commander of the Good Fence program. Fletcher considered him to be an outstanding officer and a loyal friend. When the General saw Fletcher, he greeted him warmly and invited him for breakfast in the mess tent. The pair wolfed down scrambled eggs and toast, washing it all down with thick Israeli Army coffee known as “botz,” which literally means mud.
During the meal, the two warriors reminisced on old times. The General told Fletcher how sorry he was for what happened. He tactfully avoided the subject of what Ron was doing in Lebanon in the first place. When the meal was over, Kahan offered Fletcher the use of his personal car and driver, and Fletcher gratefully accepted. He slept most of the long drive back to Tel Aviv.
When he arrived at his apartment, Fletcher went directly to the bathroom and took a long, cold shower. He had become accustomed to taking only cold showers since his time in the Special Forces, and felt invigorated by the freezing jets of water. While he showered, he remembered the events of the previous day with some satisfaction. The violence he had perpetrated against the PLGA had been a positive act for society. Fletcher thought to himself, “Those terrorists were responsible not just for killing my Mary, but for the murder of hundreds of innocent lives. Someone needed to stop them. Because of my quest for revenge, many others will live.”
Fletcher got dressed and brought the knapsack laden with PLGA files to the kitchen table. He filled a mug with steaming hot black coffee and began rummaging through the documents.
Near the bottom of the pile was a disorganized folder containing handwritten notes. Ron noted that the writing matched a letter than he had spotted in the intelligence file Barnes had delivered to the airport. He remembered that it was the handwriting of Ali Rajad. Attached to the notepad was a cassette tape and a still image from a closed-circuit security camera of three men meeting with Rajad.
Browsing the notes, Fletcher quickly realized that he was holding the operational plan for the Netanya terror attack. In the folder there was also a map of Israel which indicated where the three cylinders were to be planted. He then walked over to his son’s bedroom and found a tape player. He popped the cassette in and pressed play. Recorde
d was the actual conversation between Rajad and the men in the photograph. Fletcher noted that only one of the men spoke while the others remained silent. The man spoke in Arabic with a distinct German accent. Fletcher looked again at the photograph. The men looked not just German, but actually stereotypically German. He was also struck by the sickly pale skin tone shared by all three men.
The entire meeting didn’t seem to make sense. Why would these men hire a Palestinian to smuggle cylinders into Israel? The German stated that Rajad was hired because he was the most reliable option. But judging by the placement of the cylinders, any tourist could have successfully executed the mission.
Moreover, if these three men were in fact German, they were probably East Germans. Fletcher was well acquainted with East German intelligence. The Stasi had a reputation as being one the most effective intelligence agencies in the world. They never would never have trusted a Palestinian to perform such an operation. And even if they did, it was impossible to imagine that they would cough up a hundredth of what Rajad was offered. Maybe Odessa, the organization that helped Nazis escape after World War II, had that kind of money. But as far as Fletcher knew, they hadn’t been active for decades.
Fletcher turned his attention to the cylinders. He had assumed they contained some sort of poison. But conventional poisons would be diluted to harmlessness in a major body of water. They were also too small to contain any sort of nuclear device. Polonium-210? That was about a billion times more lethal than cyanide. But creating Polonium-210 in significant quantities requires enormous resources and a nuclear reactor, and could probably only be achieved by a major superpower. Perhaps some sort of novel biological weapon?
Agent of Vengeance Page 14
