CHAPTER TWENTY.
05.00 Shatila District, Beirut, Lebanon, 10/27/02.
As the first light, just before dawn, touched the tops of the buildings at the start of the second day, Jim saw movement right at the top of the ruined apartment block. A head and shoulders appeared over the parapet surrounding the flat roof. A second head and shoulders joined the first. The second man had something over his shoulder. Jim got his telephoto lens on to it and took a series of snaps. He thought the shouldered object looked familiar. Suddenly, as the man turned, Jim had got a good look. It was a hand held surface to air missile launcher. So the terrorists had an air defense capability too. That would rule out a rapid rope helicopter assault.
Jim and Willy, concealed in their hides, continued to watch as the guard changed every two hours. The guards were regular in their timings but sloppy in their manner, too casual, too confident, nothing had happened to alarm them in their West Beirut heartland for a very long time. Although Willy and Jim suffered as the heat of the day increased they didn’t emerge, even to relieve themselves, but answered the needs of nature into the plastic bags they carried for the purpose, knotting them and placing them where they would not be split open. Otherwise the smell and the flies attracted would cause them problems, could even give their positions away. They observed and made notes, trying to verify the suspected Achilles heel of the terrorist HQ. They knew that their lives and the lives of the rest of the team could rest on the accuracy of this recce. Continually Jim coded up and added information to the burst transmission radio message ready for it to be flashed into the atmosphere when they were confident that they knew how to penetrate the target.
7.00am. Athens.
Mike told a disappointed Anna, that he was leaving for Istanbul immediately. ‘No Anna,’ he said gently, ‘it would not be a good idea for you to come with me, nor is there any point in your staying here. Dawn has not shown up here, and even if she does she won’t find anyone – certainly not Jim.’
Anna pulled a face. ‘I suppose you’re right, but I am still worried about her. Perhaps I should stay here for a few days more, just in case.’
‘Well, that’s entirely up to you, but how are things at Technology Today?’
‘Fine, I’m in regular contact by ’phone and have dealt with any issues via email. I can do the same for a couple more days without any problem.’
‘Okay, are you coming to the airport to see me off?’
Dawn, her identity still concealed under her black chador, watched from her quiet alcove as Mike and apparently Anna, went to check out at the desk. Fully confident now in her anonymity, and under the pretext of picking through some tourist leaflets, she went and stood next to Anna at the desk. She heard Anna say, “I’ve got your mobile number but what’s the number at the Topkapi Saray?”, and watched from the corner of her eye as Mike wrote it on a hotel note pad. Then, the bill paid, she watched as they went out to a waiting taxi.
Taking the next cab in the line she told the driver, ‘Follow the cab in front, I’ve just missed my friends, they’re on their way to the airport and I have to say goodbye.’
Dawn, completely concealed under her silk chador, followed as Mike and Anna went to a check-in desk, she made a note of the flight number, and watched as they walked towards the departure point. Then she went to a monitor screen and checked the destination for that flight. ‘Istanbul’.
Quickly, she went to the arrival hall, to the hotel reservations desk. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but can you tell me if there are any rooms free at the Topkapi Saray Hotel?’
The lady on the desk looked blankly at her. ‘There’s no hotel of that name in Athens,’ she said, ‘it’s in Istanbul.’
‘Oh, so sorry, I must have made a mistake.’ Dawn hurried off, her mind working overtime. There was no point in staying in Athens, the Athens realtor had not recognized her photo of Jim and she had found the villa at Politia deserted. She had to find Jim, and Mike must lead her to him eventually. Her luggage could be retrieved from her hotel at a later date, and she could buy essentials here at the Airport shops. She saw no point in continuing to wear the long black chador now that Mike and Anna had left Athens. Folding the light silk carefully she put it into her bag, went to the Olympic Airline ticket desk and booked herself on a later flight to Istanbul. That done she started to buy spare clothes, toiletries and other items she would need for her trip.
10.00am. Athens.
Saying goodbye to Mike had left Anna feeling worried and sad. She felt sympathy for Dawn and thought how awful she must feel with all her world centered on Jim, not knowing where he was, terrified that he was in danger, and wondering if she would ever see him again. Giving her nose a good blow, she felt better and decided to stop for a coffee and check her messages. There was a message from Technology To-day regarding some decisions that needed her immediate approval. Anna had her laptop with her so she quickly finished her coffee and went in search of the airport business center.
1.00pm. Istanbul.
Mike flew into Ataturk Hava Limani, the airport serving Istanbul, hired a car and bought a good detailed map of Istanbul and the surrounding area. He drove to the Topkapi Saray, where the doorman had his car parked for him, and checked into the hotel. The girl on reception immediately gave him a note. It simply said “B&J” and gave a room number. Mike went to meet Ben and John before doing anything else.
Ben was agitated. ‘This man must be found. He must be located. What have you got so far?’
‘As I said, a lot of dead ends,’ Mike replied with a concerned look on his face. He described the early part of the trail that the Greek police had followed from the note to the farm and from the car registration number on the note to the hire car firm. That in turn had led them to the hirer, Andreas Kokalis, who had mysteriously vanished. He gave an abbreviated account of his own visit to Andreas Kokalis’s flat, and thence to his place of employment via the letter threatening Andreas with dismissal. Enquiries at his place of employment had lead to his girlfriend, who had supplied a name, George Liani, and a description. ‘And these’; Mike tabled the likenesses sketched by Anna.
Ben picked them up. ‘I’ll get these checked against our rogues’ gallery; anything else?’
‘Yes. Effi, the girlfriend, also showed me a letter that had come to Andreas Kokalis’s work address at the hotel.’ Mike explained about the tracing of the villa and the stroke of luck that the rubbish had not been removed. He told them about the cut and bloodstained clothing. ‘The trash was pretty smelly, but we got some good prints out of it, and hair samples and used toothbrushes. I’d like to have the prints and DNA checked against the samples I collected during the hijack, I’m pretty certain some of them will match and confirm that the villa was the base for the hijackers.’
‘So, they used this Andreas Kokalis and disposed of him?’ John asked.
‘Yes, as they did with Dimitris, the guy they forced to put the stuff on the plane, and as they did with his family.’ Mike took the police photographs, taken at the Kosovos farm, from the file and put them on the table.
John spoke quietly. ‘The clinical efficiency doesn’t stop there. I made some enquiries here in Turkey as you requested, used a bit of clout to get results from those prints you sent. I got the Turkish security people to do some checking of the records, just on the off chance, and one of the prints was matched to a body fished out of the Sea of Marmara...’ he paused and tapped the photo of the remains of Dimitris Kosovos’s family. ‘The man who did this was stabbed in the back and dumped in the Bosphorous. His fingerprint matched the one on the shotgun cartridge case at this farm. His prints turned up somewhere else - on a fragment of adhesive tape from the bomb which destroyed the jumbo jet over Iceland.’ He took a photographic copy from the file in front of him and handed it round. ‘Our experts say it’s a ten point match with the print on the cartridge case.’ There was a silence.
‘You were right Mike, John said, ‘dead-ends everywhere, quite literally.’
‘So wha
t now,’ Mike asked? ‘This information seems to point here to Turkey, but we don’t have a single concrete lead, nothing definite to go on.’
John cleared his throat. ‘I hadn’t quite finished. On the body found at the entrance to the Bosphorous was one overlooked item, a lapsed membership card for Galatasaray soccer club. It was in heat sealed plastic, with a photograph of the dead man, and undamaged by immersion. From the club records we’ve traced this man’s address.’ He put a photographic enlargement of the card on the pile in the centre of the table for Mike and Ben to look at.
‘So, let me recap,’ Ben suggested. ‘What we have to remember is that, according to information received, another operation is being planned by Abu Asifah. The man doing the setting up, and probably a large part of the execution of the plan, is this individual we now know as George Liani. He has to be found and he has to be stopped.’
‘So, what do we have on him?’
‘One, we have a name, probably false.’
‘ Two, we have a likeness.’
‘ Three, we have a location and address with which he is associated.’
Mike looked up, ‘We need eyes on the ground here in Istanbul. The only real lead is the address he’s associated with.’
Ben looked gloomy. ‘Yeah, it’s pretty tenuous, and we don’t have many people in Istanbul, there’s never been any need. Can we get any local assistance?’
‘I’m trying. I’ve already made contact with the Turkish Security Service,’ John said, ‘but this address is the only lead we have. Mike, I want you to try to pick up the trail from here.’
‘Yeah, well, we don’t want this man lifted by the Turks; we want to follow his trail until we know his intentions.’
Ben agreed. ‘That’s right, he may already have something set up affecting Israel, if so I want to know, and I want to know what. I’m going back to see what I can find out at that end. John, will you introduce Mike to your contact here?’
‘Yeah, okay I’ll do that on the way to the airport; then I’d better see if I can get some response from the State Department, the National Security Agency or anyone else. As far as I can see they sure don’t seem to be treating this as a matter of urgency.’
5.00pm. Hellenikon Airport, Athens.
Absorbed in making her purchases, Dawn mentally listed the things she had in her new carry-on bag. What she had managed to purchase would have to do. She knew she was cutting it a bit fine and hurried through the crowded departure hall towards the departure point. Suddenly, over the announcement system, in amongst a stream of Greek she heard her name.
Anna, having spent time catching upon Technology Today business, was just leaving the business centre. She heard it too. Startled she ran into the departure hall. The announcement came again in English; ‘Would Miss Dawn Saint-Pierre, passenger on flight TK850 to Istanbul, please report to gate twelve immediately.’
Anna, desperately pushing her way through the crowd, was just in time to see Dawn go through the passport and ticket check and disappear from view.
‘Well, I’ll be...’ Anna swore under her breath. So Dawn had been in Athens. Or was she traveling through? How did she know to go to Istanbul? All sorts of unanswerable questions ran through Anna’s mind.
She pulled out her mobile and rang Mike’s mobile number. It was switched off. She tried the Topkapi Saray Hotel. Mike had checked in but was not in his room. Leaving a message for him to call her she headed for the Olympic ticket desk and booked herself on the next available Istanbul flight.
5.00pm. Istanbul.
Mike, leaving the hotel with John, asked the doorman to have his hire car brought up. The doorman called the garage, the car came and John’s bags were loaded into the trunk. John gave Mike directions to the Turkish Security Office where the fingerprint from the cartridge case had been matched to the body found in the entrance to the Bosphorus.
John’s earlier contact with Turkish security proved valuable, a senior Turkish security officer welcomed them, a square, powerfully built man with a thick black moustache. Mike was introduced to him as the officer John was appointing to the case. They shook hands. John had advised the Turkish authorities they were looking for a man whose purpose was the escalation of Islamic Fundamentalism in Turkey. This was a very serious matter to the Turkish government and the word had gone out. Assist any security service which can help; do it under the guise of mutual anti-terrorist co-operation, but glean every bit of information you can.
The Turkish secret service man had meetings set for the remainder of the afternoon, meetings that he could not cancel, but promised to make time for Mike afterwards. John, having helped them to get acquainted, made his excuses and explained that Mike was driving him to the airport. Having seen John through to departures, Mike returned to the Turkish Secret Service offices. The stocky secret service man ushered Mike into a meeting room and began to explain the current state of play. He had already had a good look inside the flat of the man who had been fished out of the Bosphorus. The man now identified as Suleiman Yavas. He explained in heavily accented English that they had obtained a search warrant and, using a locksmith, had had a quiet look inside.
‘They are exactly what you say; fundamentalists.’ He produced a number of pamphlets and tracts, printed on different colored paper. ‘See, this stuff is against Government; computer and printer there, color copier, ink, paper, everything. Many, many pamphlets like this. But not working, I think. Not connect to power. Not, how you say, not for working?’
‘Stored?’
‘Yes, is stored. Not working print shop, temporary stored I think.’
‘Did you disturb anything? Could they be scared off if they come back and find things moved?’
The stocky Turk shook his head decisively. ‘No, very, very careful; take only few examples of pamphlets, many, many there, this few not be missed. Anyway we watch; no one come yet.’
‘Can I go see for myself?’
A cautious look crossed the Turkish security Agent’s face. ‘Mebbe... I have to get permission.’
‘Well, can you get permission now, it’s urgent?’
‘No is possible, mebbe tomorrow.’
‘Look, this is vital to my inquiries, can you please get permission today?’
The stocky Turk gave a helpless shrug. ‘Boss no ’ere.’
There was nothing Mike could do. Furious and frustrated he went back to his hotel and found Anna’s message waiting. As he turned from the reception desk with his key he noticed a figure sitting in a quiet corner of the foyer wearing a black silk chador. For a moment he was back in the hotel in Athens. There had been a woman in a black chador in the foyer of that hotel too; was it a coincidence? Mike didn’t believe in them. Was he getting paranoid? Probably, but in his business paranoids tended to live longer. He gave no outward sign that he had noticed her but made a mental note to watch out for her. Back in his room Mike tried to ring Anna, but she had not returned to her room at the hotel and her mobile was not responding. ‘Maybe in a bad signal area,’ he thought to himself. Well, he would try again later. Taking a shower to freshen up he toweled off vigorously, put on one of the hotel’s bathrobes and stretched out on the bed to do some thinking. Moments later he was asleep.
11.30pm. Shatila.
Towards midnight, in the last hour of the day, Jim and Willy carefully inched out of their hides, dismantled them, covered the traces of their visit, packed up their gear and headed for the pre-arranged rendezvous. Willy got to the rendezvous first. He crouched in the angle of a damaged wall in deep shadow and covered himself with his rubbish covered hessian cloak. He strained his eyes into the darkness through a fold in the hessian in the direction from which he expected Jim to appear. Suddenly he heard the scrape of boots and a rattle of rubble falling. Moments later a figure vaulted the wall and knelt down into a fire position. The figure was aiming a Kalashnikov, so it wasn’t Jim. Willy was so close to the man that he could hear his breathing. Slowly, and with infinite care he leveled his Welrod p
istol and eased off the safety catch. He wouldn’t fire unless he had to, but if he had to he couldn’t miss. Long seconds passed. Then with more noise a second man joined the first, and from the same direction. In low voices a discussion began between them in Arabic. Willy, with some knowledge of the language, strained his ears to pick up words that he knew. It seemed the first man thought he had seen something, although he wasn’t exactly sure what - a vague shape, movement, something that should not have been there. They waited.
Willy waited with them, keeping his breathing shallow and quiet. He was terrified that Jim was about to walk into an ambush.
Nothing moved in the stillness of the night. The two Palestinians, who had been out on a roving patrol, began to argue quietly. The second man suggested that it was a dog that his pal had seen. This suggestion was hotly denied. ‘Go and look, then, I’ll cover you from here, the second man said. His pal was not keen. ‘Wait a few more minutes, then we’ll both go,’ he countered.
‘Uh huh, but it’s probably nothing.’ A few more minutes went by.
‘Come on let’s have a quick look, and then we can go and have a smoke,’ the first man suggested. They moved off cautiously, but not very skillfully, making a considerable amount of noise.
Willy waited a few seconds, and then carefully eased himself into a position from which he could watch the departing pair. A voice whispered in his ear. ‘Well done Willy, I thought for a minute that you were going pot the pair of them.’ Jim had approached silently from an unexpected direction. Willy shook his head in a silent negative, and jerked a thumb in the direction of their route out. Jim grinned, his teeth white in the darkness and gave Willy a thumbs up. He led off whilst Willy covered him, and after a few yards moved into a deep patch of shadow. They both waited a few moments, and then Jim’s arm emerged from the shadows just long enough to give Willy the signal that it was clear. Willy moved out and on past Jim to a point twenty five yards in front of Jim’s position, whilst Jim took his turn at covering Willy’s movements. Leap-frogging each other in this manner, they moved parallel with the Avenue Camille Chamoun through the built up area towards the north.
Willy was moving up towards Jim’s position, when suddenly Jim’s right hand shot up in the stop signal. Willy froze and then eased himself into the shadowy arch of a doorway, thumbing off his safety catch. Nerves taut, he waited and watched.