Reading such documents was always sobering.
However, I’d been over the identical paperwork many times before, so I quickly signed my name at the bottom of each page. Mitchell, though, took his time and read the legalese before taking a pen and scribbling his own consent on the signature line.
Once these preliminaries were taken care of, and Legal had gathered up all the signed documents, Grogan cued up a set of PowerPoint slides from his laptop, projecting them on the screen at the end of the room.
The title slide had the words, Plan of Operation (POA)—Operation Clear Signal, in bold type in the middle of the page. Below this title were three bullet points: Players, Places, Protocols.
Grogan followed this same basic outline for each briefing; only the mission title changed. As to why he began each point with the letter P, no one knew for sure, although someone once told me his four children all had names beginning with the letter P.
Even though I knew who the Players were, I was anxious to get to the Places and Protocols of the mission.
However, I was reluctant for Grogan to proceed without knowing what had happened to Carlton. With that in mind, when he clicked over to the Players slide to begin the briefing, I interrupted him.
“Just a quick question before you begin, Admiral.”
At that moment, the door to the conference room swung open and Carlton and Salazar walked in.
They were not alone.
Trailing in their wake was Olivia McConnell.
* * * *
It took the latecomers a few minutes to be seated at the table.
Salazar and Carlton sat down beside Grogan, one on the left side of him and one on the right, while Olivia chose a spot next to Katherine at the end of the table. As Olivia was removing an iPad from her briefcase, she glanced up at me, but, when she noticed I was observing her, she quickly looked away.
After everyone was seated, Grogan said, “What was your question, Titus.”
“Never mind,” I said, looking directly at Carlton, “it can wait.”
Carlton gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
“Let’s proceed then.”
When Grogan clicked his remote presenter, a photograph of Ahmed filled the screen.
It wasn’t necessary for me to see a photograph of Ahmed. His image was seared on the frontal lobe of my brain forever.
“Our number one player in Operation Clear Signal is Ahmed Al-Amin. Since we identified him as the shooter in the Simon Wassermann murder, the Agency has received a Presidential Directive authorizing his apprehension.”
Grogan recited Ahmed’s resume. It included all known assassinations, plus his affiliation with Iran and Hezbollah as a contract killer. Then, he gave a brief biographical sketch of Ahmed, noting he grew up in Damascus and had worked for the Assad regime at one point in his not so illustrious career.
“We have to assume when Al-Amin arrives in Venezuela, he will be identifying himself as Alberto Estéban Montilla, the name on the Venezuelan passport he picked up during his stopover in San José.”
Grogan looked down at his blue binder for a moment. “Here’s our second player.”
A composite of three different shots was projected up on the screen. All three were pictures of the iPod guy either on the dock in Limón or on the yacht itself. The largest image was the one I’d just seen of him in the RTM Center.
“An hour ago, we identified this man as Javier Flores. He’s a resident of Costa Rica. Katherine’s people are still pulling the threads on this one, but he seems to have some connection to the Zeta cartel. Presently, he’s on his way to Venezuela in the company of Ahmed. More on that in just a moment.”
A photo of Ernesto Montilla was displayed next to Javier Flores.
“As you can see from this photograph, there’s a strong resemblance between Ernesto Montilla on the right and Javier Flores on the left. We believe Flores will use Ernesto’s passport to enter Venezuela as Ernesto Montilla.”
Grogan turned to his left and addressed Carlton, “You wanted to speak to the issue of Javier impersonating Ernesto?”
Carlton nodded. “Yes, but I’ll wait until you get to the intel section to do that.”
“Right.”
Grogan pointed his remote mouse at the screen. “Our last player is Roberto Montilla, the father of Ernesto and the assistant secretary in Venezuela’s Ministry of Trade and Commerce.”
Montilla’s photograph was a headshot, the type of image usually included in a press packet. Along with the photograph, there was a newspaper clipping showing Montilla receiving a commendation from the Venezuelan president. It was the same newspaper article Mitchell and I had discovered in Ernesto’s belongings.
Roberto Montilla appeared somber in both photographs and looked to be in his early fifties. In the publicity shot, he was modestly dressed and had a drooping moustache and graying sideburns. Judging by the size of the Venezuelan president standing next to him, Ernesto’s father was of average height.
“Although we believe Ahmed has now assumed the name of Alberto Montilla, there’s no record of an Alberto Montilla in Roberto’s family history.” Grogan paused and looked over at Katherine. “Ms. Broward will be briefing us about the senior Montilla later.”
Katherine nodded at him, and then she looked over at me and smiled.
It was a nice smile.
I smiled back.
Olivia was not smiling.
* * * *
Grogan clicked on a slide showing the outline of a human figure. The figure had no discernible features, but underneath the icon were the initials UAT.
“I would be remiss if I failed to mention this player. He or she is the Unidentified Assassination Target, our UAT.”
Grogan addressed me. “Douglas tells me you’ve never had any doubt Ahmed was on his way to Venezuela to carry out a hit. The rest of our operations team concurs with your assessment. However, at this moment, the UAT remains just that, an unknown. I believe C. J. will give us the assessment about Ahmed’s target as we get deeper into the briefing today.”
Salazar gave an affirmative nod.
Grogan displayed the words Data Analysis on the screen.
Grogan turned to Katherine. “Ms. Broward, please proceed with your data analysis of these players.”
The moment he sat down, Katherine stood to her feet.
“When my analysts studied these four players, several questions emerged.” She looked around the room slowly, as if she wanted to make sure she had everyone’s full attention.
She did.
She continued, “Do these players know each other? If so, how did they become acquainted in the first place?” She intertwined her fingers in front of her. “How are they connected with each other at this very moment?”
Katherine touched her keypad and an airline passenger list appeared on the screen in front of us.
“According to these airline records, four years ago, Roberto Montilla, accompanied by his son, Ernesto, arrived in Damascus to meet with various officials in the Syrian government. This meeting was in conjunction with his trade ministry position, and the visit was widely reported in both the Venezuelan and Syrian newspapers.”
She showed excerpts from the newspapers with headlines touting the benefits of a trade agreement between the two countries.
“As you can see from these photographs, during his time in Syria, Montilla’s translator and escort was this man, Marwan Farage, a known Hezbollah operative.”
Katherine picked up a laser pointer and pointed it at Marwan Farage. A red dot appeared on his forehead.
When she continued, there was a note of excitement in her voice. “What we discovered was that Marwan Farage is the cousin of Ahmed Al-Amin.”
While I managed to stifle the exhilaration I felt at hearing this news, Mitchell reacted with a loud “Yeah,” and I saw the female analysts at the other end of the room giggling.
Katherine pulled up the next slide.
It was a grainy photograph, probabl
y shot with a long-distance camera, of a slightly younger Ahmed and his cousin, Marwan. They were exiting a mosque with two other unidentified Arabic men.
“Ahmed was also present in Damascus during the time of Montilla’s visit. That’s when this photograph was taken.”
The next shot was of Ernesto and Ahmed Al-Amin in front of the same mosque. In this photograph, Ernesto appeared to be carrying a prayer rug.
“Furthermore,” she said, “when the older Montilla was making the rounds with Syrian trade officials during the day, the younger Montilla was being entertained by members of the Farage family at the same time.”
Mitchell leaned over and whispered, “Nice call.”
I looked over at C. J., because I thought he also might like to acknowledge I’d been correct in my assumption that Ernesto had become radicalized while in Syria with his father.
However, Salazar’s eyes remained glued to the screen. Obviously, unlike Mitchell, he preferred not to compliment me on my astute observation.
Following her display of photographs, Katherine presented financial records revealing how Montilla had begun receiving substantial amounts of money when he returned home from his visit to Syria.
“We believe these funds either came directly from Hezbollah or from someone in the Syrian government as a way of rewarding Montilla for his help in facilitating the construction of two storage facilities at Maracaibo and Cumaná. We’ll be discussing the technical aspects of these construction sites later. However, it would appear the money he received has been used by Montilla to finance Ernesto’s education in the States and to pay for his daughter’s private schooling in Venezuela.”
Katherine smiled. “As this data indicates, we found the connection between Ahmed and the Montillas. They became acquainted with Ahmed Al-Amin while in Damascus, and the older Montilla has been on Hezbollah’s payroll ever since.”
She nodded at Grogan and sat back down.
“Excellent work, Ms. Broward,” Grogan said. “Now, we’ll get the intel assessment on these players from C. J. and Douglas.”
Even before Carlton stood to his feet, I knew he wouldn’t be using the remote presenter, nor would he have any slides to present. When it came to an intelligence briefing, he did it the old-fashioned way, he relied on documents with the word CLASSIFIED stamped across them.
Now, he picked one up from the pile in front of him.
“After being notified of the Presidential Directive, the National Security Agency expedited my request for Roberto’s digital communications for the past year. What proved most interesting was a series of recent emails between Roberto and Ahmed. In them, Roberto referred to Ahmed as his brother and addressed him as Alberto. The subject of their emails was Alberto’s upcoming visit to Venezuela in the company of Ernesto.”
Carlton placed the document back down on his stack of classified materials and carefully aligned the edges of the pile before continuing.
“It’s evident from these emails Roberto expects Ahmed and Ernesto to arrive in Venezuela together. Thus, it’s my opinion that Roberto has an asset in Passport Control who will clear Javier Flores and Ahmed through customs.”
Carlton nodded in my direction. “As you suggested, Titus, we believe Ahmed is bringing Javier as Ernesto’s doppelganger in order to deceive Roberto into believing his son is still alive and well.”
As Carlton resumed his seat, I muttered, “And what happens to Javier Flores after he’s no longer useful to Ahmed’s plan?”
Grogan acted as if he hadn’t heard me and motioned for Salazar to give his assessment.
I saw no blue binder for Salazar to consult, nor were there any documents stamped CLASSIFIED in front of him.
I didn’t take that as a good sign.
Salazar stood to his feet and pointed toward Mitchell. “As I told Ben this morning, I’ve instructed my people in Venezuela to leave no stone unturned when it comes to digging up intel on Roberto Montilla. Right now, Wylie is reasonably certain it was someone in Montilla’s office who obtained the false passport recently delivered to Ahmed in Costa Rica. He gave me a list of possible names, but ...” Salazar spread his hands out in front of him in an apologetic gesture, “I’m sorry; I must have left that document on my desk.”
With a bit of fanfare, Carlton lifted up his stack of documents and pulled out a sheet of paper. Then, he slid it across the table toward Salazar, who quickly picked it up.
“Oh, yes. Here it is.” Salazar looked over at Carlton. “Thank you, Douglas.”
Carlton nodded and Salazar proceeded to read off a list of names—all of which meant nothing to anyone in the room—and then he went on to give his own opinion about what Javier Flores might be doing once he showed up in Venezuela.
Since Flores’ background indicated some connection to the Zeta drug cartel, Salazar focused in on those connections. However, the details of Salazar’s presentation ended up dissolving into an oozy mass of unintelligible speculations.
By the time he’d finished spouting off, I was thinking about telling the DDO I wouldn’t work with Salazar, especially if he named him as the field officer for the mission.
However, a few minutes later, after Paul Grogan had revealed the details of his next presentation point, I changed my mind and decided that even if Cartel Carlos ended up being my handler in Venezuela, I would have to see the operation through to the end.
Chapter 30
Grogan clicked forward to the second point in his presentation, but, before calling attention to it, he glanced down at a message on his mobile phone. Then he took a large gulp of water from the bottle in front of him.
Finally, he said, “The next briefing point is Places and our first stop will be Margarita Island.”
He projected an aerial shot of Isla de Margarita on the screen.
Margarita Island, off the northeastern coast of Venezuela, was about an hour’s flight from Caracas. I’d never visited the island before, but I knew it was one of Venezuela’s top tourist attractions because it had miles and miles of white sand beaches.
“A few hours ago, the operational team in the RTM Center determined El Mano Fierro was on course for Margarita Island, and I’ve just received confirmation the yacht’s captain has requested berthing privileges at Porlamar on the island’s eastern coast. The yacht should be arriving at the Concorde Marina in Porlamar by five o’clock tomorrow evening.”
My heart rate increased momentarily.
Unless something changed in the next twenty-four hours, Mitchell and I were headed to Margarita Island.
The next slide showed a modern, Caribbean-style hotel completely surrounded by palm trees and situated on a promontory overlooking an endless horizon of blue ocean and stark white sand.
“This is the Wyndham Hotel and Conference Center, located a few miles from downtown Porlamar, and one of the most luxurious hotels on the island. It will also be the site of the Caribbean States International Trade Conference due to begin on Monday morning.”
Grogan turned from the screen and addressed Katherine.
“Ms. Broward, since the identities of the conference attendees are relevant to the rest of this briefing, would you tell us what your analysts have uncovered about those scheduled to attend these meetings?”
Katherine remained seated at her computer and read off the names of those who would be attending the conference. The list included at least ten heads of state from the Americas and the Caribbean Basin, along with a dozen other foreign dignitaries from around the world. She also noted an unknown number of advisers, banking officials, economic officers, and embassy personnel were expected to attend.
She glanced over at Mitchell and me. “What may interest the two of you is that Roberto Montilla, in his position as a trade minister for the Venezuelan government, is a member of the steering committee and is responsible for organizing this conference. Of course, that means he’ll be attending the meetings. He’s also scheduled to speak at one of the seminars on Monday.”
She leaned
in toward her laptop, typed in some keystrokes, and said, “Roberto will arrive at Del Caribe Airport in Porlamar around ten o’clock tomorrow morning, just a few hours before Ahmed arrives in port. We have no idea where Ahmed will be staying, but Roberto is booked into a suite at the Wyndham.”
Grogan turned and addressed Mitchell and me. “Before I have the division heads discuss the intelligence implications of this information, I want to call your attention to some other locations pertinent to this briefing.”
He replaced the Margarita Island slide with a collage of photographs.
“First, we’ll look at the storage facilities being constructed by a Syrian holding company in Maracaibo and Cumaná. Ms. Broward referred to them in her data analysis because Roberto Montilla is facilitating all the documentation involved in getting them built in Venezuela.”
This was my first chance to study the buildings Carlton had mentioned to me a couple of days ago, but there wasn’t much to see. The photographs could just as well have been taken of any large construction project anywhere in the world. The only anomaly was the high concrete wall—at least twelve feet tall—around the perimeter of the property.
Grogan pointed out some features inside the warehouses that Agency analysts indicated were consistent with a chemical weapons storage facility.
He said, “There’s been a slowdown at both construction sites recently, but no one’s sure what to make of that. Since work stoppages are a fairly common event in Venezuela, it might not mean anything. At any rate, we’ve estimated these units are only a few weeks away from completion.”
Grogan went on to explain that Ahmed had marked the two construction sites on one of the maps found inside the Durango with an X. Then, Grogan put up the map of Caracas I’d removed from the car’s glove box.
“Besides locating Maracaibo and Cumaná on a map of Venezuela,” he said, “Ahmed also placed these X’s on a Caracas street map.”
Grogan circled one of Ahmed’s X’s with his laser pointer. “This is the Avenida Francisco district. It’s mostly apartments, with a few restaurants and small retail shops nearby. Wylie says it’s a high traffic area because of all the high-rise apartment buildings in the area.”
Two Days in Caracas Page 21
