Retribution

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  Silicon Valley, California, October 6th.

  Jim Savage arrived at the impressive modern glass clad Technology Today building, and was taken up to a large suite of executive offices. A very attractive secretary ushered him into a spacious and luxurious modern office. To his surprise he knew the man who came from behind the desk to shake his hand. He had met him before.

  ‘Hello again, Mister Savage.’

  Jim recovered quickly from his surprise, but, realizing that it had shown on his face, he used it to ask a question. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were based in London.’

  ‘Well, that’s quite a story, come and sit down and I’ll tell you what I need, and then if you’re interested I’ll explain my involvement.’

  ‘Okay, but first, thanks for putting me in touch with Andy Cunningham, you did me a real favor.’

  Mike grinned. ‘When I phoned him, he thanked me for doing him the favor. Maybe you should ask for a raise.’

  Jim grinned back. ‘Maybe I will in a few months, as it is I’m doing nicely thank you.’

  There was a silence for a moment as Mike gathered his thoughts. ‘I’ll come to the point right away. I’m after a terrorist group calling itself the Blood of Shatila. The same group responsible for the Heathrow attack as you will remember. I have access to some very good intelligence, but I want to verify the intelligence before I make a positive move. The only way to do the verification is by a covert reconnaissance. I remembered my conversation with you and that your background was SBS. I contacted Andy in the hope that you had gone to see him and found that you were on his payroll and possibly available for this job. Before I offer it to you I want you to know that it’s going to be dangerous.’

  The glint in Jim Savage eyes betrayed his interest. ‘Where will this operation take place?’

  ‘Beirut.’

  Jim’s smile became a grin. ‘Could prove interesting, what’s the time scale?’

  ‘I want you in at the beginning. It will be a two-man operation, to go in and do the reconnaissance and gather the information needed to plan the main operation. The next stage will be to insert a strong strike team; possibly to HALO them in to a suitable drop zone. We’ll have a little help from friends with the insertions and the recovery. I need your expertise to help me both to plan the operation and execute it. Are you interested?’

  ‘Well, I’d be happy with the recce job, that’s my trade, and I’d be happy to become a part of the strike team. But to train and lead a strike team as well you’ll need more than just me.’

  ‘Hmm, I suppose it is a bit much for one man to cover both requirements,’ Mike said thoughtfully. ‘Is there anyone you can recommend?’

  ‘Well, I’m not touting for business, but why don’t you talk to Andy Cunningham? When I went for my interview, there were a couple of useful hands around that I recognized. He must have the right types on his books.’

  ‘Yeah, now that you mention it, it’s obvious. I’ll talk to Andy. Anyway for now, if you’re agreeable, you’re on the payroll and there will be a good bonus in cash if we’re successful.’

  ‘There is one thing. I have a problem with the immediate start; I’m on holiday with my girl friend Dawn, she’s here in California, and I don’t want to suddenly leave her on her own.’

  Mike thought for a moment. ‘I might be able to provide a solution to that problem.’

  ‘Great, if you can arrange something I’m in the game. I presume I’ll be working through Andrew Cunningham?’

  ‘Yes, he has quoted an initial day rate for your services and I’ve agreed it with him.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’ Jim stuck out his hand.

  Istanbul, October 6th.

  The money George Liani had obtained from his previous activities had not gone very far. Setting up an underground press had cost him more than he had anticipated, and his smear campaign against the existing regime in Turkey was costing him a fortune.

  He badly needed more funds, and the phone call from Abu Asifah came at a very opportune moment. Having established that an advance was possible, he agreed to a meeting in Damascus in order to discuss terms, and to learn what was required.

  Booking himself on a flight to Damascus, he traveled using the documents he held in the name of George Liani. As far as he was aware no one had made any connections to that name and he didn’t have funds to spare with which to purchase a new identity. The identity of George Liani would have to do.

  California, October 6th.

  Anna sat at her desk acutely aware that Mike was ensconced in his brother’s former office with a tough looking character apparently specializing in security. If Mike was going into anything with this guy Anna wanted to get his measure. She was wondering how to get herself introduced when the phone rang. It was Mike. He solved her problem for her by inviting her to come into his office to meet his visitor.

  Jim Savage stood up politely to shake hands, his hand was dry, his handshake firm. He had a smile that started from within. Anna found that she instinctively liked him. He was quiet and had an air of competence.

  After the introductions, Mike explained that Jim would be working with him on the terrorist problem, that Jim was interrupting a short holiday with his girl friend Dawn in order to help him out and that they would be going somewhere quiet to develop their ideas. It would mean that Dawn would be left high and dry. Could Anna help out?

  Anna thought quickly. She reasoned that the more help she gave Mike the more indispensable she would become, and the closer she got to the work he was engaged in, the more difficult it would be for him to keep her at a distance.

  ‘So what are you planning?’

  ‘We have to plan a recce from the sea.’

  Anna made a quick decision. ‘Well, I have a place on the Big Sur coast, would that make a good base?’

  Mike considered her offer. ‘What is the place like? Do you think it would be suitable?’

  ‘Well, why don’t we all go down and have a look?’ Then, turning to Jim she said, ‘There’s plenty of room Mister Savage. You and Dawn could come and stay. I could spend time with her, and show her around. Would that be acceptable?’

  ‘I think so, but I’d rather she decided.’

  ‘Okay, where is she now?’

  ‘Sightseeing in Carmel, I’ve arranged to meet her there later.’

  ‘That’s great; we can collect her on our way down this afternoon.’

  Lebanon - Syria, October 6th.

  Abu Asifah was delighted with George Liani’s prompt agreement to attend the meeting. Wondering if the Turk was hungry for cash, he too made his preparations to go to Damascus. He could be there by the next day, even traveling by road across country. Abu Asifah had lost his taste for air travel after seeing the Icelandic air crash on television.

  The car he was in, escorted out of Beirut by two Land Rovers full of armed men, climbed the winding road from Baabda up to the pass between Jabal el Knisse and Jabal el Barouk. Up past stands of the now rare Cedars of Lebanon, past the pylons and cables of the deserted ski lifts, the small convoy ground its way up to the summit of the pass. The temperature in the morning at this altitude was decidedly cool.

  On the other side of the pass, they descended the steep road into the vast Beqaa valley. As they wound their way down the day warmed up, the sun got higher and hotter, and the still air of the valley bottom replaced the cool breeze of the mountains. The car had no air conditioning and Abu Asifah, his escorts and the drivers, began to sweat.

  The two escorting Land Rovers turned back, to await his return at Majdel Aanjar, just before the climb up to the Sahel plateau and the border with Syria. An armed incursion into the sovereign territory of the Syrians would do his cause no good at all. Abu Asifah and his driver passed through the military checkpoints as the road left Lebanon, entered Syria, crossed back into Lebanon again and followed the border southwest towards Jabal el Manzar. Then the road crossed again into Syria for the last time and began its descent i
nto the valley of the Nahr Barada, past orchards, gardens and vineyards irrigated with snow-melt from the surrounding mountains, the northern approach to Damascus, one of the oldest inhabited cities in the world.

  The car edged its way through the teeming streets to the famous Omayad Mosque, where Abu Asifah got out. The mosque was filling up with the faithful attending evening prayers. Abu Asifah slipped his shoes off, washed and went in to pray. He prayed for a long time, until the Mosque was almost empty and then, when his watch showed the right hour, he looked around for the man he was here to meet.

  Carmel, California, October 6th.

  Dawn sat at an open-air table at the sea front restaurant where she and Jim had arranged to meet. She had finished an iced tea, and was debating whether or not to order a second one when she saw Jim coming towards her table. She leapt to her feet and was about to run to greet him when she realized that he had company.

  Jim only got a decorous peck on the cheek before making the introductions. ‘Anna, Mike, this is Dawn Saint Pierre. Dawn, I want you to meet Anna Sutherland and Mike Edge.’

  ‘Well, let me order a bottle of wine while you put Dawn in the picture,’ Mike suggested.

  Over the wine, a delicious Californian Lytton Ridge Zinvandel, Jim explained that Mike needed his help with a special project and that he wanted to take on the job.

  Dawn looked a little crestfallen, and Mike quickly jumped in to explain that, if she were agreeable, all four of them would go down to Anna’s place on the Big Sur coast. He and Jim would spend a little of the time there making their plans, and Jim and Dawn would be able to spend even more time together than on the five day holiday they had planned.

  Dawn smiled her relief. More time with Jim was fine by her, and she had been enchanted by the coastal scenery on their drive North from Los Angeles. She would love the chance to stay and explore it.

  The wine finished, they made their way to Anna’s big Chevy Blazer, and headed south out of Carmel towards Big Sur. After returning Jim and Dawn’s hire car and collecting their bags, they made one more stop at a supermarket that Anna used regularly, to buy fresh provisions.

  ‘What’s the name of this place of yours?’ Mike asked as they cleared the edge of town and picked up speed.

  ‘If I told you the name you would be no wiser, and I’m not going to try to describe it to you. I want you to make your own acquaintance with the place.’

  ‘It must be quite special to you,’ Mike remarked, but Anna would be drawn no further on the subject, and they all fell silent looking at the scenery. To Mike, as a native San Franciscan, it was familiar ground, but to Jim and Dawn it was still fresh and new.

  Some miles before Big Sur Anna turned off the main highway. Mike’s interest sharpened, this was new territory for him. With the ease of one long familiar with the route, Anna swung the big 4x4 off the blacktop onto a forest road, and then after a mile or so, on to a narrow track which soon began to descend sharply through pine forest. Down and down they went, the headlights carving through the growing dusk, until eventually they reached a grassy meadow above a sheltered beach. Set back at the edge of the meadow against the trees was an old wooden house.

  Anna switched off the engine and the lights. They sat in silence for a few moments, their eyes adjusting to the darkness. Gradually the clouds parted and bright moonlight silvered the scene. Mike opened his door and got out. The others followed. Anna went and stood next to Mike and took his hand. Mike took a deep breath of clean sea air, silently absorbing the surroundings. The dark forest with the old wooden house nestling under it, the level grassy meadow, the beach, the surf, and the sea-carved rock formations, black against the silver sea.

  Anna waited, watching his reactions. It was the scenery that held his attention first.

  The two couples walked down to the water’s edge. They looked out at the big pacific breakers crashing onto the rocks, the flung spray flashing silver in the moonlight. The curve of the beach in the valley mouth, the cliffs on both sides, and the old house, a grey blur against the black of the forest. Mike was the first to speak. ‘What a beautiful place. However did you find it?’

  ‘I didn’t have to,’ Anna replied, ‘my grandfather left it to me. He bought the valley years ago, timber, stream, beach, all of it. It’s about a thousand acres altogether. He was going to log it, but he fell in love with the place and built himself a house here with his own hands. Come on; let me show it to you.’

  As the two couples walked across the grass towards the house its features became more distinct, a big single story house with a porch running the full width of the front, a deck at the side and additions made from time to time as necessity required at the rear.

  Anna unlocked the side door and switched on the lights. She walked over, stooped, struck a match, and lit the kindling in the kitchen range.

  ‘Mostly I use oil lamps for lighting, and the range for cooking, but there is a small hydro-electric system, driven by the stream, which enables me to enjoy the benefits of modern living; ’fridge, hi-fi and so on. Come on through and let me show you round.’

  She led them into the living room. It was a large room with a pine beamed ceiling. A big stone fireplace with a hearth made of old flag stones filled most of one wall. There were bookshelves everywhere, crammed with books; classics, biographies, poetry, plays, textbooks, modern novels, books of all kinds. Sure evidence of an active mind. The furnishings were genuine antiques, carefully chosen colonial American pieces, and suited the room perfectly; certainly evidence of inherent good taste.

  Two large double doors, half-paned in glass opened on to the porch and on either side of them two large picture windows looked out to the sea.

  ‘Through here is my study.’ Anna walked in to an adjoining room. It was furnished with a large antique desk but had a high backed modern swivel chair, upholstered in soft leather. On a side table were an up-to-the minute PC with its own high-resolution screen, keyboard and a color printer. The PC was linked to a satellite dish connection. On a set of shelves was a comprehensive set of software textbooks.

  ‘I can work from here just as well as from the office. In some ways it’s better. I don’t get so many interruptions.’ She looked at the others, ‘well, what do you think.’

  Dawn was enchanted by the location. ‘It’s beautiful, a lovely retreat, perfect for getting away from it all.’

  Jim assessed it from a practical viewpoint. ‘We could train a small army here and no one would know.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mike agreed. ‘And yet you’re in contact with the rest of the world if you choose?’

  ‘Yes,’ Anna patted the PC. ‘I can generate work here and download it to the office network. I have internet, I can access files on the office system, upload them, and work on them here; copy colleagues via E-mail, anything. But best of all, I can go for walks, do my creative thinking.’

  ‘Peace and quiet; that’s what appeals most,’ Dawn said, ‘and walks, just what I need to help me convalesce.’

  ‘Why, have you been ill?’ Anna asked.

  ‘She’s not long out of hospital,’ Jim answered for her. ‘She was injured in the attack at Heathrow, that’s how we met.’

  ‘The Blood of Shatila,’ Mike said, surprised, ‘you were a victim of them too?’

  Dawn nodded. ‘It makes me so angry, the senselessness of it. Not so much what happened to me, but the other poor people, especially that little girl; I still see her huddled little body in my dreams.’

  ‘We have good reason to remember those butchers too,’ Anna told her, ‘Mike and I were on the Olympic Airlines flight they hi-jacked. We had to sit there while they murdered Mike’s brother Alan. He was my friend and my business partner.’

  ‘Oh how awful for you.’ Dawn looked at Mike and then at Anna, ‘It seems we all owe them.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mike said, his face was grim, ‘that’s why we’re here. A better location for preparing a clandestine operation would be hard to imagine; and even harder to find.’

>   Damascus, Syria, October 7th.

  George Liani detached himself from the shadows at the side of the mosque and walked across to greet Abu Asifah like a brother. He led him into a small side room off the main arched dome of the Mosque where people could meditate quietly after prayers. The room was empty as the two men addressed their business.

  Sitting on the richly woven silk carpet, Abu Asifah took a map of Israel from beneath his robe and put it down in front of George Liani.

  Tapping the map he said, ‘I need a blow struck within Israel, a mighty blow, a blow to send shock waves around the world.’

  George Liani concealed his surprise well. To make any strike inside Israel would be no easy task. Israel was a nation which lived under constant threat, its population all served in the military from necessity and all could be armed in case of emergency. Still he needed funds badly.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Two million US Dollars,’ Abu Asifah told him, ‘half in advance, and half on completion.’

  George Liani’s face remained impassive. A million dollars in advance would solve his immediate problems and get things moving again. But the risks far outweighed the returns. Money wouldn’t save his cause if he were dead or in jail. ‘It’s not enough,’ he said, ‘not for a target inside Israel.’

  Abu Asifah looked affronted. ‘How much are you looking for?’

  ‘You can’t put a price on it.’

  ‘Well what about the cause?’

  George Liani shrugged, ‘It’s your cause not mine.’

  ‘Let’s look at the maps again.’

  ‘No, there is no point,’ and before Abu Asifah could argue, George Liani rose to his feet, left the mosque, and disappeared among the crowd.

  Big Sur Coast, California, October 7th.

  The morning was fine, clear and sunny. A cool breeze came in off the sea as Anna and her guests ate breakfast on the deck at the side of the old wooden house. In the fresh morning sunlight the situation was magnificent; the view out over the grass towards the beach and the rock formations of the Big Sur coast provided a perfect setting in which to start the day.

  The two girls had prepared the meal, chatting and getting to know each other better, and making plans for the day ahead. Mike and Jim had been banished to the wood shed at the rear of the house to split logs and build up the supply for the stove. ‘Go on make yourselves useful,’ Anna had instructed, ‘we’ll cook, you stoke.’

  ‘Well, we need to get fit, I suppose this will make a good start,’ Jim said laughing, as he and Mike went out stripping their shirts off as they left the kitchen.

  After breakfast Anna took Dawn on a walk down the coast to look for sea otters, leaving Mike and Jim free to discuss their plans for the reconnaissance of the Blood of Shatila headquarters. They went back to the wood shed and carried on chopping wood as they talked.

  They soon identified their first problem. Ben Levy could probably handle the supply of equipment for the actual reconnaissance and strike; but now they needed equipment with which to practice. They started by listing their requirements.

  ‘Why don’t we ask Andy Cunningham to supply it all?’ Jim suggested, remembering the weapon supplied for his last job. ‘He’s got contacts over here, and it wouldn’t look so odd if it was his company gathering up the kit.’

  Mike thought briefly. ‘Yeah, I need to talk to him about some useful guys for a strike unit. He may as well supply the kit too.’

  ‘I don’t see why not, he has contacts over here and he has ex-special forces guys on his books. But I guess he’d charge you plenty for that kind of service, it could cost a lot of money.’

  ‘Don’t worry, money’s not a problem,’ Mike told him, and went to the phone. Five minutes later he was talking to Andrew Cunningham in London.

  ‘Hello Mike, how’s it going?’

  ‘It’s going well, but I need to know if you can give me a little more help.’

  ‘What kind of help?’

  ‘Bodies and equipment.’

  ‘Not over the phone. I’ll come over on the next available flight. I’ve got your phone number and I’ll give you my flight details as soon as they’re confirmed, so that you can meet me at the airport.’ Andy hung up.

  ‘He’s coming over to visit with us to discuss our requirements,’ Mike said to Jim, ‘very professional, and very discreet.’

  Mike and Jim enlarged on their plans. They would require Andy to put suitable candidates through the same rigorous tests to which Jim had been subjected. Once passed fit they would come over to California. Mike and Jim would set up a temporary training camp for their use at Big Sur. Two weeks training together would weld the selected individuals together as a team. In the meantime, Mike would ask Ben Levy to get his people to look for an underground car park that resembled the one in Beirut. Whilst the recce was under way in Beirut the strike team would start to practice for the real thing, somewhere in Israel, under near-identical conditions.

  Syria - Lebanon, October 8th.

  Abu Asifah spent the night in a Damascus hotel room raging at George Liani’s lack of co-operation. Because of it, he was committed to a course of action that he could no longer achieve without risk to himself. Or on his return he would have to admit failure, and to Najib Shawa of all people. And he wished he could spend longer in Damascus. Any time spent away from the tensions of Beirut was a profound relief, and he needed time to think. But his escorts were waiting. He set off to return to Beirut, retracing his route along the banks of the river Barada, up through the orchards and gardens made fertile and productive by the waters running down from the high ridge of mountains to the northwest. After his ascent from the great valley of Beqaa, his escort of two Land Rovers picked him up at Majdel Aanjar, and escorted him back over the mountains and down into Lebanon. He ate his liver all the way.

  On arrival at the Blood of Shatila headquarters, Najib Shawa was waiting for him. The meeting got off to a bad start. Omitting all the usual courtesies, Abu Asifah launched the meeting with an imperious demand. ‘I need more funds. You are to provide them.’

  ‘Really, O great one, for what reason?’ Najib Shawa’s heavily sarcastic response did nothing to improve the tone of the meeting.

  ‘I don’t have to give you a reason; you already know that it is for an operation. That is reason enough.’

  ‘Not so. Maybe you are milking the finances I provide for your own benefit.’ Najib Shawa’s pointed remark touched a nerve. Abu Asifah’s imperious gaze flickered slightly, just enough to confirm Najib Shawa’s guess.

  In an attempt to regain the face he knew he had just lost, Abu Asifah tried to frighten Najib. ‘How dare you suggest that I, I Abu Asifah, I who have done so much for the cause, could be tempted by money?’ He rose to go to the door. ‘For that I will have you shot!’

  ‘Not if you expect more funds! I have made arrangements for my own protection, be assured! If anything happens to me, certain documents will be sent which will ensure no moneys are ever provided to you again. How will you fare then? Your star is already becoming dim.’

  Abu Asifah stopped, his hand on the latch, a murderous expression on his face. He needed the money to maintain his position, and only he knew he was siphoning funds off for his private use. How could Najib Shawa know? Did he know or was he guessing? There was no way of finding out; he would have to play for time.

  ‘Come, sit down, and tell me, is our mutual friend going to act for us again?’ Najib Shawa’s high-pitched voice was at its oiliest.

  Abu Asifah hesitated; he was not expecting the direct question, his own fault for omitting the niceties of normal Middle East preamble. He swallowed hard.

  Najib saw his hesitation and his discomfort. He pressed his advantage.

  ‘No? Too risky even for him is it?’ This was news indeed. His enemy had failed; his mission to Damascus had not been successful. Najib sensed a weakness.

  Abu Asifah tasted bile. His revenge, when it came, would be very sweet. He composed his features and r
eturned to his place opposite Najib Shawa. ‘I am setting up a strike deep into the very heart of Israel,’ he said pompously, needing to save face, ‘unfortunately I cannot lead this strike myself as I am too well known. I am using a trusted ally, one who has served me well in the past, to set the plan up.’

  ‘Who?’ Najib enquired mildly.

  ‘You don’t need to know,’ Abu Asifah replied curtly.

  ‘The Turk has refused,’ Najib thought.

  ‘How much do you need for the contract?’ Again Najib’s question was mild.

  Abu Asifah paused slightly, calculating. George Liani had refused two million; he might settle for three, almost certainly he would do the job for four million – twice what he had been offered. He should have at least a million for himself. ‘Five million dollars,’ he said without blinking; if George Liani would do it for three he could take two millions for himself.

  ‘I suppose you can’t tell me what the target is either?’ Najib said acidly. ‘You come to me and you demand five million dollars, for someone unnamed to attack something undisclosed, and you expect me to cough up that sort of money without question. What sort of fool do you think I am? What kinds of fools do you think my backers are? How can I be expected to raise such a sum on such a weak argument? It’s impossible; I won’t even attempt to do it.’ It was his turn to pretend to get up to leave.

  Abu Asifah had no options left open to him; he knew no sources for funds of that magnitude, he would have to impress Najib, to get the funds.

  Reluctantly, he told Najib Shawa his choice of target.

  Najib Shawa turned to look at him, shocked into silence. ‘It’s not possible,’ he breathed.

  ‘I believe that with the help of Allah, a way can be found.’ Abu Asifah felt he had regained face.

  Najib was not convinced. ‘Who gave you such an assurance?’

  Abu Asifah paused. ‘The brother in the cause from Turkey.’

  ‘So, I guessed the right man,’ Najib thought, ‘but can I believe that he would be so reckless? And believe it on the word of such as Abu Asifah?’

  ‘I know that one’s work.’ Najib Shawa’s brain was racing, all his cunning at full stretch. Such a coup would give enormous prestige to the movement; and to Abu Asifah in particular. Abu Asifah’s position could become impregnable if the scheme succeeded. Najib couldn’t allow that to happen, but he couldn’t deny funds for so prestigious an operation either. That would undermine his personal credibility. The pedigree of the mysterious and careful Turkish brother was impeccable, no grounds for withholding funds there. Could he circumvent Abu Asifah, sideline him? Maybe even use the situation to help get rid of this hated usurper of his position in the Blood of Shatila movement. Perhaps claim the credit for the coming operation for himself? On balance he decided he probably could.

  ‘I shall have to go to Zurich to arrange matters,’ he said, after what appeared to be weighty consideration, ‘but I think the necessary funds could be made available for such a bold operation. You are to be commended for your intrepid plan.’ Najib felt he was back in command; he stuck the knife a little further into Abu Asifah’s wounded pride. ‘Arrange for your Turkish brother to meet me in Zurich,’ he said, ‘perhaps I can persuade him where you have failed.’

  Abu Asifah nodded curtly. He had little choice, but vowed silently to himself that he would have his revenge.

  The meeting broke up and the two men went their separate ways, their mutual hatred greater than ever. But Najib was excited. He was sure his backers would go for such a strike. They would pay almost any sum to achieve such a blow against Israel, and there would be plenty of scope for Najib to make a profit.

  For such a target he could demand ten million dollars.