Retribution

CHAPTER TWELVE.

  New York, September 30th.

  The OPEC meeting was drawing to a close, much to the relief of the security professionals whose job it had been to keep a watchful eye on the delegates.

  Jim Savage was on his way with his delegate to Kennedy International Airport, his last trip on duty. Once on board the private jet the Sheikh would no longer be Jim’s responsibility, but Jim’s competence had not gone unnoticed.

  ‘Thank you for your efforts on my behalf, Mister Savage,’ the Sheikh said in his Eton English, as he stepped out of the limousine, ‘my secretary will write to thank your company for providing me with such competent staff.’ Smiling he turned and mounted the steps to his private jet as his secretary handed over a thick manila envelope.

  With a word of thanks, Jim slipped it into his inside jacket pocket and left the airport in the chauffeur-driven limousine. On the way back he stopped off to hand back his Smith and Wesson, together with its ammunition, to the arms supplier that Andrew Cunningham’s firm used. Riding into the big city, he took the manila envelope from his pocket and slit the top with his thumb. Inside was a wad of hundred-dollar bills. He counted them. One hundred bills - ten thousand dollars. Jim had never had that much money in his hand at one time before, and this was the bonus; he was due wages too. He lay back on the luxurious cushions and began to chuckle, then to laugh. He could cope with Dawn’s wealth now.

  Tel Aviv, September 30th.

  Ben Levy was not amused when the mail from Mister Omar landed in his tray informing him that the meeting was to be in Zurich. He didn’t want to leave Israel at this time, but decided that he must go. He had a hunch that ‘Omar’ was about to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

  The following day he made a pleasant flight between Ben Gurion and Kloten airports and took a taxi down the N1 autobahn into the centre of Zurich. The taxi dropped him off at the narrow set-down point in front of the Hotel Zurich, and he went into the large square foyer. At the reception desk he presented his reservation slip and was given a registration card to fill in. He made it out to comply with the details on his reservation slip and false passport; it wasn’t policy to use his real name on a trip like this. The receptionist retained his passport telling him he could pick it up later, and gave him the plastic card key to his room. He took the lift to the floor indicated on the card-key and stepped out onto the landing. Modern wood paneling in a bright orange-red color covered all the walls. He followed the number signs, found his room and went in. The door had hardly closed behind him when, with a slight click, the connecting door to the next room swung open and Najib Shawa, alias Omar, came through. He held out a limp hand.

  ‘Welcome my dear friend; I’m so glad you could come. I have coffee in my room, please join me.’

  Ben ignored the limp hand. ‘Give me a few moments to wash and freshen up Najib, and I’ll come through.’

  Minutes later Ben went through to Najib Shawa’s room. It was much larger than his room and had a corner position with views over the Zurichsee stretching away into the distance. Najib offered him a comfortable modern chair, some coffee, and began a long circuitous preamble in the Arab manner, gradually working his way towards the purpose of the meeting. Eventually he came to the point.

  ‘As I’m sure you are aware, I am a person of influence in our movement. It was I who saw the need for a higher profile for our organization. It was I who sought out the contacts with other movements and countries. It is I, who through my contacts am able to provide the all important funds. These facts should be recognized, but...’ He paused to mop his face, and then continued, ‘that recognition is being given to another.’ A look of poisonous spite crossed his features as the floodgates of his envy and his malice opened.

  Ben sat quietly, his face impassive but his mind racing. Here was a man whose hatred was blind, a man who could be used.

  ‘Are you claiming the credit for the airport massacre in London and for the recent hijacking, both carried out by the Blood of Shatila?’

  A hint of alarm flitted across Najib Shawa’s sweating face. ‘No, no, of course not, that was the work of the hothead element I oppose.’

  ‘Oh, silly of me, of course you deplore the media coverage and notoriety those brutal actions have given you?’

  Najib evaded Ben’s acid question. ‘I supply the funds, but the funds are being used, against my advice, for purposes which I never intended.’

  ‘No, of course not, you imported terrorist funds from Iran and Libya for the building of hospitals and kindergartens, and some nasty man bought guns and explosives with it while you weren’t looking.’

  Najib hurried on ignoring Ben’s heavy sarcasm. ‘It must be stopped, this hothead and his band of thugs must be removed so that I can exert my proper authority - in the political field, you understand.’

  ‘How do you propose to remove them?’

  Najib Shawa’s face was a study in malevolence. ‘All at once; and I want you to provide me with the means.’

  San Francisco, September 30th.

  Somehow Anna got through the service. The full impact of her loss had finally struck her. Alan was gone. Gone! Forever gone! She would never again see the kind and generous man who had given her the chance to show what she could do. Tears rolled unchecked down Anna’s cheeks. But even in her misery she was acutely aware of the man at her side, and surreptitiously looked to her right. His face was set and drawn and he was crying silently. He became aware of Anna’s glance and, reaching out, he took her hand. Clinging to this small comfort, they mourned the man they had both loved as a brother.

  Eventually the service reached the point of departure to the grave and the mourners stood and followed the coffin outside. In the bright sunlight the flowers glowed and the brass fittings gleamed and the mourners looked drab and sad. The solemn procession reached the Edge family vault and, with due ceremony, Alan Edge was laid to rest with his parents. The service ended and one by one the mourners drifted away.

  Mike stayed where he was and Anna stayed with him. Both were saying their final goodbyes, but Mike was also renewing his promises. He vowed he would exact retribution for Alan’s death, for all those so brutally butchered in the name of the Blood of Shatila.

  After a long painful silence, Anna and Mike turned away from the vault and walked together towards the gates. Mike spoke first. ‘We need to talk; I have some explaining to do.’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna agreed, ‘there are a few questions to which I would like answers.’

  ‘Will you come for a walk with me? ‘I feel the need to walk in the sunshine; we can talk as we go.’

  ‘Yes, today has been a black enough day; some sunshine and fresh air would be welcome.’

  Anna took off her hat and veil, and removed the black silk scarf at her throat. They took Anna’s car and after a while were at the eastern end of Golden Gate Park. They began to walk west towards the ocean.

  Mike reached out and Anna took his hand. It seemed the natural thing to do.

  ‘I’ll give you some explanations first,’ Mike said, ‘and then if you have any questions I’ll try to answer them too, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mike took a deep breath. ‘First some details about me. I work for the Government, I am a specialist in Middle Eastern affairs, and I am involved in the gathering and analysis of information. I spend a lot of time overseas in and around our embassies and consulates throughout the Arab world.’

  Anna nodded her understanding.

  ‘A few days ago, it seems a lifetime ago now, a batch of information was given to me by a colleague from another country. The material originated in a third country, one in which both he and I have a particular interest. The information was of such enormous consequence to us and to all the other western nations that I was asked by my boss to hand-carry it to Washington and to personally give an analysis of its content. I was on my way there when Alan spotted me at the airport.’

  ‘You were not very pleased to see him, as I recall.’ r />
  ‘No, I was using a false passport, traveling as a national of another country.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, US citizens are not particularly well liked by some of the Muslim nations at the moment, and, as it turned out it was a wise precaution.’

  ‘Yes I do see that,’ Anna said, ‘is that why you couldn’t do anything for Alan?’

  ‘Partly, but no-one could have done anything under those circumstances.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Anna agreed slowly, remembering the swiftness with which it had happened. They walked a while in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. Anna was first to speak. ‘The official at Beirut airport, he was too helpful, who was he?’

  ‘I don’t know him personally, but he works for a friend of mine, he was ordered to help you out of there as an inducement to get me to leave immediately.’

  ‘I thought he was too eager to help. You were ordered to continue to Washington there and then?’

  ‘Yes, taken there in fact by military transport.’

  Anna was silent for a few moments. ‘Well, it must have been important.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ Mike said, and left it at that.

  Galata District, Istanbul, October 1st.

  Suleiman Yavas, George Liani’s helper on the Greek operation, looked at himself in the full-length mirror. Tight white trousers, black silk shirt, white slip-on shoes of the finest calfskin, his gold plated bracelet, watch and medallion gleamed against his tanned skin. He nodded at his reflection, satisfied with his efforts. One smile and the stupid bitch who had allowed herself to become pregnant would be all over him, all over him and ready to believe anything. He picked up his white jacket from the back of the chair and draped it over his shoulders.

  Whistling tunelessly he set off to pick the girl up. Fingering the small ring box in his pocket, he strolled through the bustling throng in the Istichal Caddesi towards the northern entrance to the tunnel, one of the oldest subways in the world. The ring in the box looked superb, a diamond of quite respectable size set in gold. The gold was nine carat gold plating and the diamond was cubic zirconium, perfect in every way except for its origins. She would never know.

  Taking the subway southbound he emerged in the old port district of Galata, near to the North end of the Galata Koprusu, the bridge across the Golden Horn linking ancient and modern Istanbul. From there it was only a short walk to the girl’s home. Setting his features into a smile, he rang the bell, knowing that she would be anxiously waiting for him. His contrite phone call the previous evening had soothed her anger. His glib explanation of his rage, as shocked surprise at her announcement that she was pregnant, had allayed her fears. His veiled hint that he might accept his responsibilities had raised her hopes. His handsome appearance and smart turnout would do the rest, as it always had in the past. Soon she would be eating out of his hand.

  She was waiting for the doorbell to ring. Opening it at once, she flung her arms round his neck and hugged him fiercely, desperate to make up.

  He kissed her quickly on the cheek and led her out into the street looking at his watch. ‘We must hurry; I’ve booked a table at the Galata Tower Restaurant for eight.’

  The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, he had never taken her to such a place before.

  On entering the restaurant, they were shown to a table with a superb view. To the West and South were the waters of Haliç, the Golden Horn of antiquity, to the East the Bosphorous, and across its waters, Üsküdar on the shores of Asia.

  The setting sun slowly changed the appearance of everything, as the ancient buildings were stained first pink and then mauve by the evening light. As the light faded and the city lights began to twinkle in the darkness, the mystery and the history of this meeting place of East and West pervaded the atmosphere. A more romantic setting than this would be hard to imagine.

  Tel Aviv, October 1st.

  Ben Levy returned from Zurich in the crisp cool of the morning before the day began to heat up. His car met the plane at Ben Gurion airport and he was whisked away with an escort of his own men. They drove him directly to his office. Before they left the airport perimeter Ben was on the car phone to contact John Henderson.

  Mary put him through immediately.

  ‘Hello, John, I’ve looked at the merchandise our friend has for sale. I think we can do a deal with him. Would you like to come over, and I’ll tell you what’s on offer.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll be as quick as I can.’ John finished what he was doing and, with an instruction to Mary to hold the fort, he went to Ben’s office. Ben’s personal assistant, Rachel, a rather plain girl, a sergeant in the Intelligence branch of the Israeli Army, met him and showed him into Ben’s office. It was a large, airy room with a cool marble floor; comfortable bamboo framed furniture, original oil paintings of scenes from Israel on the white walls, and dominated by a huge leather topped desk.

  Ben came out from behind it, a serious look on his face. ‘Sit down John, sit down, make yourself at home,’ he said, waving in the general direction of a large armchair. Rachel, would you organize some coffee for us please, and bring it in yourself.’

  Rachel understood. Something very sensitive must be about to be discussed. Closing the door firmly behind her, she went off to make the coffee, leaving the two men to their discussions.

  John uncoiled himself into a big comfortable cane armchair, put his feet up on a matching stool and lay back. ‘Give me a kick if I nod off,’ he said, his sharp inquisitive gaze giving the lie to his words, ‘what did you get from your friend?’

  ‘Quite a lot! He wouldn’t give names but, he is so consumed with hatred and jealousy for this guy he sees as a usurper of his own position that he will entertain anything to get rid of him and his supporters – even asked me for help in doing it.’

  John’s eyebrows rose. ‘Well, well, prepared to do some dirty work for us, is he?’

  Ben nodded, ‘Yes, but it would be foolish to rely on him alone, we would need to ensure the success of any such attempt ourselves. They are using the underground car park of that damaged apartment building in Southwest Beirut. Our intelligence was quite accurate on that point. Apparently the place is well guarded and easy to defend, and we couldn’t get across that part of the town without a tremendous fight. Pretty near the whole of the male population is armed with Kalashnikovs and anti tank rockets. Any attempt at a direct attack and our targets would be warned off immediately. They’d be away into the warren of Beirut’s ruins before we would get anywhere near.’ There was a short silence as John digested the information.

  Then Ben spoke again. ‘Did you get anything from the Athens end?’

  ‘Yeah, I got the name of a police lieutenant who investigated a particularly nasty multiple murder. Seems it was associated with the hijacking. I want to put Mike on the ground in Athens to pick up the trail.’

  San Francisco, October 1st.

  It was obvious to Aaron Bloom, when Mike and Anna entered his office, that they were already friends; he decided that he approved. ‘May keep it all in the family, and that wouldn’t be a bad thing,’ he thought. He welcomed them both and then sat them immediately opposite himself at the conference table.

  ‘Let me explain how I have arranged matters,’ he began, ‘you two are the main beneficiaries. There are several small cash bequests and certain gifts to be dealt with, and I propose to deal with those items first. A plain statement that the balance of the estate falls to you two will follow, but without specific details. I shall then ask the other beneficiaries, none of whom are family, if they object to the rest of the will being read in private.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Mike said, and looked at Anna.

  ‘Fine by me too,’ she agreed.

  ‘Right, let’s get the others in.’ He pressed a button on his intercom and spoke to his secretary. A few moments later the door opened and a number of people were ushered in to take their places around the polished rosewood table.

  The first bequest was to
a local charity for handicapped children and was for one hundred thousand dollars. Mike blinked; Aaron Bloom had said small bequests; this was a large sum of money in Mike’s view. He began to wonder what Aaron Bloom considered a large sum.

  Alan’s housekeeper received another one hundred thousand-dollar bequest, together with life tenure of her apartment in the old Edge family home. There were several smaller bequests, of between fifty thousand and ten thousand-dollars, to employees and to small local charities. Then Mister Bloom made his planned announcement. There were no objections, and the smaller beneficiaries filed out looking pleased.

  Aaron Bloom looked at Mike and Anna over the top of his half-moon spectacles. ‘Right, he said, with evident relish, ‘now for the meat of the matter. Anna, you have a fair idea as to the company’s worth?’ Anna inclined her head in assent. ‘Mike, you must know that your brother built up a very successful business, but I don’t suppose you have any detailed knowledge of his affairs, am I correct?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve had the company’s accountant’s draw up a balance sheet of the company’s assets, together with the figures for the last three years, and from that an estimate of the company’s worth as of today’s date.’ He slid a sheet of paper across the table to each of them. ‘For now just look at the bottom line.’

  Mike looked. His jaw dropped. The figure was over three hundred and three million dollars.

  Anna was quite calmly nodding her head in agreement with the estimate. ‘Yes, that’s about right,’ she said.

  Mr. Bloom nodded and went on, ‘All of the shares are in private ownership, you, Anna, have ten percent of the share holding. Alan retained ninety percent in his own name. The terms of his will with regard to this share holding are as follows: he has left to you, Anna, thirty-nine percent of the shares in Technology Today Incorporated.’

  Anna gasped; as of now she owned forty-nine percent of Technology Today equity, worth over one hundred and forty-eight million dollars.

  ‘To you Mike, as his only blood relation, your brother has left fifty-one percent of the shares in Technology Today Incorporated.’

  Mike shook his head in total disbelief. He was now worth over one hundred and fifty four million dollars.

  There was absolute silence around the table as the implications sank in. Mike and Anna were shareholders in the company, but Mike had a controlling interest.

  ‘Now, there are some personal bequests, the family house in San Francisco is left to you, Mike, with the proviso that, as previously stated, your brother’s housekeeper, retains the use of her apartment in the house for life. You may wish to continue to retain her services?’

  Mike nodded silently. He was stunned.

  ‘As for other private property, your brother had an apartment in New York, a house in Aspen, and a cabin in Vermont. These are also left to you, Mike.’

  ‘Now we come to investments.’ Mr. Bloom smiled. ‘I pride myself that I had some influence here. First, blue chip shares.’ He slid another piece of paper across the desk to Mike. He and Anna looked at the list.

  ‘I have put the current values against the numbers of shares owned and then the value of each holding in the right hand column; the total value of the portfolio is in the bottom right hand corner.’

  Mike looked. Fifteen million, seven hundred and fifty six thousand, two hundred and one dollars.

  ‘And of course, there is income from the shares too in the form of dividends. The estimated income across the whole portfolio for this year is in the region of 4%, and then there is growth in the portfolio value of around 10%. Those figures are at the bottom left.’

  Mike looked at them; income of over a half million dollars, and growth of the portfolio’s value of over one and a half million dollars a year.

  ‘Of course, the income is before tax.’ Mr. Bloom pulled a face. ‘Next, there is the high risk portfolio.’ Another sheet of paper joined the small pile in front of Mike. It was a list of carefully researched and selected new small companies with high potential. Companies in biotechnology, computers, software, TV film production, marketing and so on.

  Mike already knew where to look for the figures: just over five million dollars worth of shares in companies growing at about 20% per year and producing an income of 16% per annum.

  He was shaking his head in disbelief when Mr. Bloom said, ‘Also there is this,’ and passed a large strong brown manila envelope across the table.

  In his late brother’s handwriting, across the front of the envelope, was the instruction: “To be handed personally to my brother, Cdr. Michael Edge, in the event of my death. Open in private.”

  Tel Aviv, October 1st.

  There was a knock at Ben’s office door and Rachel came in with the coffee. ‘Mmmm, that smells good.’ John sniffed appreciatively at the aroma from the cafetière.

  Rachel smiled at him. ‘Like to hazard a guess as to what it is?’

  ‘No need to guess, that’s Jamaica Blue Mountain, my favorite, I’d know it anywhere.’

  Rachel shook her head in mock amazement.

  Ben laughed. ‘His nose is the best sense organ he’s got, he can sniff out trouble, information, rats, all sorts of things, isn’t that right, John?’

  ‘Sure is, but especially good coffee.’

  Rachel left, a smile on her plain face, she had a soft spot for big bluff John Henderson. The two men sipped their coffee. Eventually John spoke. ‘We need to do a reconnaissance job on this Blood of Shatila headquarters.’

  Ben nodded in agreement, ‘Who would do it?’

  ‘Joint effort?’ The suggestion hung in the air for a few moments.

  Ben shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Our involvement in Lebanese affairs over recent years has proved to be an embarrassment. At the moment government policy is to keep out of it.’

  ‘Yeah, I have the same problem,’ John admitted. ‘State likes matters to be resolved, but without them getting their hands dirty.’

  ‘Terrified of the international press,’ Ben said with feeling.

  Yeah that leaves the problem back in our laps as usual. I wish Mike was here, I’d like his input on this.’

  ‘Well, he would certainly have the motivation,’ Ben remarked.

  ‘To do a recce? No, I want him to start in Athens.’

  ‘Well, to organize it then.’

  ‘Yeah, well, after all the crap he went through on the hijack, and losing his brother and all, I’ve given him a stretch of leave. He did a good job briefing State in spite of the stress of his brother’s murder. He’s at home in California at the moment.’

  ‘Well, we need him back. We need to collate what we have with what my contact has given us, and form a working basis for an in-depth reconnaissance to be done in the near future. We could ask Mike to organize the recce. If the recce confirmed what our friend Najib has told us, we could go ahead with a scheme to help Najib become the undisputed leader of the Blood of Shatila movement.’

  John nodded slowly, he put his hand up and wiggled his fingers, ‘Yeah, it would be great to have our hands up the back of his jacket.’

  The image, of Najib Shawa acting like a ventriloquist’s dummy, made Ben smile.

  Istanbul, October 1st.

  A good chilled white Villa Doluca wine was brought to the table and served. A dish of crudities, celery, cauliflower, spring onions and sliced carrots was placed before them, together with marinated olives and pickled sweet peppers. They nibbled at the starters for a few minutes, their differences behind them; the atmosphere becoming more relaxed.

  ‘Now,’ Suleiman thought, ‘do it now.’ He took the boxed ring from his pocket and held it ready. ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘What! What did you say?’

  With a theatrical flourish, the young man slid the box across the table.

  ‘I asked if you would marry me.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I’ve wanted that more than anything in the world.’

  The pretty, dark-eyed gi
rl looked at him speechless. This was the best moment of her young life. She opened the box and gave a sharp intake of breath. The stone in the ring flashed in the light of the candle on the table. She held out the box and the ring with her right hand, and she held out her left hand, fingers extended.

  The young man took the ring from the box, looked into her eyes and slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. In best Hollywood fashion he asked her again, ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘Oh yes, oh yes, I will, I will,’ the girl’s happiness was complete. For several minutes her attention alternated between her husband to be, and the handsome ring he had given her, but then she suddenly frowned.

  ‘First we must get our parents’ permission.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll go and see your parents after we have finished our meal.’

  ‘Oh, I think they’ll be pleased, they like you, my father is most impressed that you are studying at the Teknik Üniversite, and that your family is established in America.’

  ‘Good, that should make things easier, do we need to tell them about the baby yet?’

  ‘No, not yet, let’s get married first and tell them later. There will be much less fuss.’

  ‘Okay, then the sooner the better.’

  ‘What about your family? They’ve never met me. We can’t get married without them having met me.’

  The young man appeared to think hard for a few moments. ‘You could go over and visit them, if you like,’ he suggested.

  ‘Oh yes, we could,’ the girl said excitedly, ‘it would be a lovely trip, oh yes, let’s do it. Can we, please?’

  ‘No, no, I can’t - not yet. My finals are in three months. I’ve got masses of work to do. I daren’t take time off and miss lectures now. I’d fail my exams and I wouldn’t get my degree. We could go in three months time when the exams are over, though.’

  ‘Oh no, I’ll be getting big by then, I couldn’t bear to meet your parents like that.’

  ‘No one would know; how could they?’

  ‘Oh yes they would. They would; women look for the signs, especially when the wedding is in a hurry. Your mother and sisters would know immediately.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t want to go on with it, we’ll call it off. Just live together, if you like.’

  ‘Oh no, no that’s not what I want. I want to marry you, truly I do.’ There was anguish in her voice.

  There was silence for a few moments as the meze was served. Suleiman allowed the silence to grow.

  ‘Would they make me welcome if I went on my own?’

  Suleiman breathed a silent sigh of relief. ‘Yes, of course. They will be delighted to meet you after all that I have told them about you in my letters.’

  ‘What? I didn’t know you had told them about me, you didn’t say anything to me about writing home about me; you haven’t told them about the baby have you?’ The girl’s words came tumbling out anxiously.

  ‘No, silly, of course not, I’ve simply told them how lovely you are and how much I care for you. My mother and sisters are dying to meet you. You know how mothers and sisters are about these things.’ The girl nodded, but didn’t look completely convinced.

  ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do, we’ll ring my father, before we leave here if you like, then you can say hello to him over the phone, break the ice a little, as it were.’

  ‘When would I go?’

  ‘I’ll have to ask my father, but I’m sure he won’t mind if you go right away. He has a big house, there’s always plenty of room.’

  They came to the end of the meze. ‘Let’s go and call him now,’ the young man suggested, ‘before the main course arrives, he’ll just be getting ready to go to his office.’

  Filled with apprehension and an uneasy excitement, the girl allowed herself to be persuaded. They went to the phones and Suleiman made the call. With a feeling of profound relief, the girl thought his father sounded really nice. He had been surprised and delighted at their news. He had offered to meet her at the airport. He had said she could stay as long as she liked. He and the family would make her most welcome; said she must call him George. Happy and relieved, the young girl chattered away all through the main course, making plans for her trip. ‘I’ll need some new clothes, and a decent suitcase, my old one is a bit decrepit.’

  ‘You can borrow mine, it’s a big new one with a trolley handle and wheels; it’ll be easier for you to manage in your condition.’