CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
1866 Words
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The Gulfstream hurtled towards the capital of Israel, barely a one-hour flight from Baghdad at the jet’s top speed. Reid could not help but pace the aisle; there was little else he could do until they landed.
Maria ended her call and announced, “The embassy is cleared out. The evac didn’t take long; there aren’t many people there this time of night. Additional troops have been called in to create a perimeter, and EOD is en route.”
“Israeli authorities are searching for any suspicious persons within remote-detonation range of the embassy,” added Strickland. “If they’re there, they’ll find them.”
“Good,” Reid muttered as he paced.
Maria frowned. “You say that, but it doesn’t seem like you’re all that pleased about this.”
“I just can’t help but wonder why,” he said. “Why the embassies?”
She shrugged. “Why did Al-Qaeda bomb the embassies in Kenya and Nairobi in ninety-eight? We’re not talking about people that think the same way as we do, Kent. We’re talking about terrorists whose goal is to hurt and kill; fanatics that think they’re doing their duty to God.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, “I know that. It’s just… that man, Tarek, he said something else that I can’t get out of my head. He said that an arms dealer visited their compound, promising the Brotherhood something new. Something that not even Hamas had. Plastic explosives aren’t exactly cutting edge. It feels like there’s more to this.”
“Whatever it is,” Strickland offered, “it would have to be small enough to smuggle over the border. We’re not talking tanks or anti-aircraft missiles here. But anything that small—like mortars, or even some new style of RPG—would take fifty or more in concert to do even close to the damage they did in Iraq.”
“True,” Reid agreed. “And bin Mohammed was wealthy, but not nearly wealthy enough to afford even a small warhead. Unless this Libyan cut them some sort of deal?”
“We don’t have enough info to make that guess,” said Strickland.
“Any chance the CIA has a bead on big-time Libyan arms dealers?” Reid hoped.
“They’re looking into it,” the younger agent told him, “but so far it’s a shot in the dark. We’d need more information…”
“Wait a second.” Maria snatched up the tablet that held the case files of their op and swiped her finger rapidly across the screen. “When I was on the trail of the Israeli journalists, I remember reading something… Ah! Here it is. Yosef Bachar, the Israeli that died in the embassy explosion, wrote an expose seventeen months ago about Hamas. They had purchased several unmanned drones with the intention of using them to drop bombs on their targets. But they couldn’t just smuggle the drones into Gaza; they would have been discovered. So instead they had the drones disassembled, and they had an engineer on the other side to put them back together again.”
“But it didn’t work?” Strickland asked.
“It almost did,” Maria said. “But at a random checkpoint, a soldier who was studying engineering just happened to recognize the parts for what they were. Bachar was along for the raid that discovered their plot.”
“Drones,” said Strickland thoughtfully. “This Brotherhood, they were ejected from Gaza by Hamas. Maybe they feel that they have something to prove—to succeed where Hamas failed.”
“Hmm.” Reid stroked his chin. It made sense, and it would bring the Israeli journalists’ kidnapping full-circle if Bachar was the one that broke the story. “Let’s not take any chances. Alert the authorities in Jerusalem to keep an eye on the skies.” Reid very much doubted that the Brotherhood was going to detonate in the middle of the night, but if they realized that their plot was discovered they might get desperate. “And tell them we’ll be there soon.”
*
It was after midnight by the time the three CIA agents arrived at the established perimeter around the US embassy in Jerusalem, but the flashing lights of emergency vehicles lit up the night as if it was day. Military, fire, rescue, police, ambulances—there was no shortage of personnel on-hand to combat whatever threat might initiate before their eyes.
But to Reid’s relief and chagrin in equal measure, there did not seem to be any immediate threat.
The three CIA agents were led to the cordoned perimeter by a uniformed IDF commando, a stoic member of the Israeli Special Forces who said nothing but a gruff “this way” as he directed them towards a waiting black van. The sliding door of one side was open, and inside was a mobile command center, complete with a computer array and two swiveling chairs bolted to the floor.
A woman emerged to greet them—though “greet” was hardly the most appropriate way to describe it. She regarded each of them in turn, her gaze resting at last on Reid as she said, “Agent Talia Mendel, the Institute.” Her English was flawless and only lightly accented. “You are the agents that called this in?”
“We are,” Reid confirmed, extending his hand. Agent Mendel did not take it. “Our intel suggests this embassy would be the Brotherhood’s next target.”
“Based on what, precisely?” Talia Mendel folded her arms over a collarless faux leather jacket. Her black hair was short, in a style most Americans would call a pixie cut, and swept across her forehead over a pair of equally dark eyes. Below that, her mouth was set in a straight, dissatisfied line.
“Interrogation,” Reid answered simply. “A detained member of the organization suggested that one of the Israeli journalists that were kidnapped was being used to smuggle members into Israel. After the bombing in Iraq, the embassy seemed the most likely goal.” Even as he explained it aloud, he could see in the woman’s eyes how it sounded to her—like he had leapt to a conclusion that was only obvious to him.
“EOD has nearly finished a preliminary sweep,” Agent Mendel told them. “Of course it will be hours until the building is clear, but nothing has yet been found.”
“Did you have them check the basement level?” Reid asked hastily.
“Based on your information, that was the first place they checked. But no bombs. Our forces are sweeping the area in a six-block radius, but nothing has been found.”
A man from inside the van called to Agent Mendel in Hebrew. “Excuse me,” she said curtly as she climbed back into the van. “I will keep you updated.”
Well, Reid thought, I guess I don’t know Hebrew.
“Suddenly I’m not so sure we have this right,” Maria murmured.
“It has to be here,” Reid insisted. “Nothing else fits.” He didn’t admit it out loud, but they hardly had enough information about the Brotherhood to try to fit any other pieces together.
“Did she say she was from ‘the Institute’?” Strickland asked.
Reid nodded. “She’s Mossad.” The full name of the Israeli organization responsible for covert operations and counterterrorism was HaMossad leModiʿin uleTafkidim Meyuḥadim, the translation of which was “the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations.” It was one of the most clandestine agencies in the world, allegedly responsible for a number of secret anti-terrorist raids and dozens of successful assassination campaigns. It’s commonly known name, Mossad, was simply short for “the Institute.”
He could guess at the reason for Talia Mendel’s seeming irritability. Though the embassy was technically considered American soil, US-Israeli relations dictated that the smaller nation lend a hand during a crisis such as this one. But Reid imagined that the Mossad agent had better things to do than oversee a search in the middle of the night for bombs that may or may not exist.
“What if we beat them here?” Maria suggested. “What if the Brotherhood hasn’t had a chance to infiltrate the embassy? After all, we nailed their hacker.”
“Then maybe we stopped this thing before it ever started,” Strickland offered hopefully.
Reid didn’t add anything, but he shook his head. He had to think. Maria was, as usual, correct; they had ascertained the identity of the cybercriminal that had gotten the Brotherhood into the US embassy in Baghdad. What sort of plan would they have had to get into this one? If the insurgents were expecting a raid on their compound, they must have been equally expectant to lose their Tunisian accomplice.
Tarek said the Israeli would get them to where they needed to be. The Brotherhood had bombed an American-owned site in Iraq in order to take out specific targets. While the Islamic group certainly had more than their fair share of disdain for the Israelis, what would be the purpose in taking out the embassy here? The only thing that came to mind was their mention of a “divine purpose,” which he had interpreted, along with the clue about Israel, to mean a strike against Jerusalem; yet the more he thought about it, the more he came to realize he may have drawn the wrong conclusion about the Brotherhood’s intent.
“I think I know where I went wrong,” he told his two teammates. “The embassy in Baghdad wasn’t their actual target. The congressional delegation was.”
Maria understood immediately. “Agent Mendel,” she said sharply.
The Mossad agent appeared in the doorway to the van, one eyebrow arched questioningly. “Yes, Agent…?”
“Johansson. Are there any scheduled visits from American heads of state to the embassy? Let’s say over the next four or five days.”
Mendel narrowed her dark eyes. “I can make a call.”
“Wait,” Strickland interjected. “That would mean the embassy here might not be the target at all. The venue wouldn’t matter; the target would.”
Reid almost swore aloud at his overzealous guess. “It could be anywhere in the country.”
He would be useful, to get them where they needed to go. Those were Tarek’s exact words. What if, he thought, their Israeli hostage was worth more than just getting them over the border into Israel?
“The journalist, the one still remaining,” Reid said suddenly. “What’s his background?”
Maria took out the tablet and scrolled through her case notes. “In the audio feed just before the bombing, Bachar said that his friend Avi Leon was ‘not so lucky.’ So I would assume the remaining journalist is Idan Mizrahi, the youngest of the three. Let’s see… he started out as a photographer, and later became a political photojournalist after he met Avi Leon, who was something of a mentor to him. The two did plenty of work together. I don’t see much else that’s noteworthy… uh, before all of that, it looks like he did a few years with the Israeli Navy—”
Reid looked up sharply. “The Israeli Navy? Where was he stationed?”
Maria scrolled further. “A few places. But he spent most of that time repairing ships in Haifa.”
Reid frowned. He knew of Haifa as a culture-rich port city about eighty miles northwest of Jerusalem, but little else.
Luckily, someone did. “I’ve been to Haifa,” Strickland said. “It’s the main port of call for the Sixth Fleet.” To Reid’s blank expression he added, “The primary presence of the US Navy in the Mediterranean and African coast.”
“A ship,” Reid said slowly. He glanced up at Maria; judging by her expression, she was thinking the same as he was. “Just like…”
“The USS Cole,” she finished.
“Sorry?” said Strickland.
“Before your time,” Maria replied by way of answer. “Back in 2000, an American destroyer was bombed in a harbor at Yemen. Seventeen sailors were killed.”
“The terrorists used a small fiberglass boat loaded with C-4,” Reid added. The same MO as the embassy bombing. “Al-Qaeda later claimed responsibility…” He trailed off, putting things together in his mind. “What if Strickland is right and the Brotherhood has something to prove? They acquire drones where Hamas failed…”
“And they sink an American ship where Al-Qaeda failed?” Maria said.
Agent Talia Mendel cleared her throat loudly. The three CIA agents had nearly forgotten she was there. “Tell me, does the CIA always work on this sort of wild conjecture?”
“It’s more or less how we got here,” Strickland admitted.
“It’s worked out pretty well for us so far,” Maria said shortly.
“We need to get a helicopter to Haifa,” Reid told the Mossad agent, ignoring the attitude. “Alert the port for suspicious activity, and find out if any American ships are docked there.”
Mendel scoffed. “Do you truly think that this is the target?”
“It’s our best ‘wild conjecture,’” Reid said challengingly. “Are you going to get us a chopper or not?”
The agent chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Fine,” she said at last. “But I am coming with you. I’ll need to see this for myself.”
- Writer
