Patriots & Tyrants (3 page)

As the car wound its way up the drive its headlights fell over Nouri and the two Chechens. The driver ground through the gears quickly and brought the vehicle to a stop in the middle of the drive. "This would be the man with the details," Nouri said as Hakim Tehrani left the car and approached their position.

"Vadim, Deni, this is Hakim Tehrani, one of my oldest and most loyal friends. We fought together to bring about the Islamic Republic of Iran sixteen years ago and if Allah wills, we will help you to bring about the Islamic Republic of Ichkeria."

Tehrani nodded to the Chechens and said, "Allah wills it. I have what you need."

Withdrawing an envelope from his pocket, he opened it and slid out a dozen pictures. "You can see here," he said moving to stand in between the Chechens. "Fully automatic Kalashnikovs, each with multiple magazines, fragmentation grenades, and this makes me most proud, M18A1 Claymore mines complete with remote controls and straight from the United States."

He finished flipping through the photos and handed them to Nouri.

"How many are there?" Vadim Baktayev asked.

"Just over six hundred rifles, two thousand magazines, thirteen hundred grenades, and four hundred and fifty mines. There is also nearly ten-thousand rounds of ammunition that can be purchased for an additional amount."

"An additional amount?" laughed Nouri. "I do love these Americans."

He looked to the Chechens with a question on his face. Both men nodded their agreement with what they had just seen. "Good," continued Nouri, "then Hakim will send word that we will take it all, the ammunition, too."

Tehrani nodded and smiled broadly. "Allahu Akbar."

"They will be here this evening," Kafni said hanging up the car phone in the back of the limousine. "They will be arriving directly at the site by a sea plane. Nouri, Tehrani and two others are aboard, the Chechens apparently."

Okan Osman nodded. He was a slender man of Arabian descent with a shaved head, a tightly cropped goatee, a broad chest and an intensity in his eyes that radiated a readiness found only in a professional soldier. "Good," he said. "My men will be ready."

"I am sorry that this operation came at such short notice, Commander, but surely you understand the need for secrecy," Kafni said.

"Our enemies do not send us prior warning when they are going to attack. Lotar Eilat soldiers must arrive at their station within seven minutes of being called up. Once there, they have another seven minutes to dress and arm themselves. That is a total of fourteen minutes to leave our families, our homes, our places of work, or wherever else we happen to be. We are used to getting ready in a hurry, Mr. Kafni."

Kafni nodded. "Good. I am very glad to hear that. Mossad has been tracking this organization for nearly a decade. Catching these men here will be like striking the head off of a serpent, the body may remain and may even twitch a little, but ultimately it is useless."

"These terrorists always seem to grow new heads," Osman said.

"Not this one. Sa'adi Nouri is a financier of terrorism primarily. With him in custody, the corrupt relationships he has built his wealth on will retreat back into the Iranian collective…"

"And pop up somewhere else in another form to strike at us again," Osman interrupted.

Kafni nodded solemnly. "Yes, probably so, but that is the way these things work, until the world at large becomes more aware of what these despotic regimes are up to anyways."

Osman ceded the point with a grimace.

"Once things start happening we will not have a lot of time," Kafni continued. "This needs to be handled by a small team. I will need one of your men to pose as my driver and another as my bodyguard when I arrive at the buy."

"One of my men has been your driver for the last two weeks," Osman said.

Kafni looked through the deeply tinted glass that separated the passenger compartment from the front of the limo and raised his eyebrows.

"We are volunteers, Mr. Kafni," Osman continued. "We have jobs outside of our duties as soldiers. Your driver, Mr. Nazari, is one of my best men. If something can be driven, flown or otherwise operated then he is the man for the job."

An impressed smile spread across Kafni's face. "I don't suppose you have any professional bodyguards in your ranks, do you?"

"No, but I will fill that role for you. My deputy commander will lead the unit when it is time to move in."

Kafni nodded his approval. "Hopefully this mission can be accomplished without a shot having to be fired."

The limousine bumped as it rolled off the smooth pavement onto the roughly hewn gravel driveway of the half-constructed hotel sitting at the base of a small range of hills that separated Israel and Jordan. Kafni turned in the leather seat and looked over his shoulder out of the back window. In the distance behind them the white concrete buildings of downtown Eilat were dwarfed by the dun colored mountains of the Sinai that rose behind it like a consuming tidal wave. From here, three different countries could be seen; Egypt, Israel and Jordan, their borders marked only by rusted barb wire fences and by markers set for a barrier that was to be constructed at some point in the future on the Israeli side.

Turning around and righting himself in the seat, Kafni looked through the side window towards the Gulf of Aqaba. In the distance, large yachts sat peacefully anchored in the deep blue water for the evening and graying freighters sat abandoned on the Jordanian side which had become a dumping ground for aging vessels in recent years. He looked back to Okan Osman who sat across from him holding a Galil SAR machine gun. "Your men are in place at the hotel?"

Osman pushed a clip into the weapon and said, "Yes. Everyone is in place and out of sight, even from the air. I have eight men inside the hotel compound."

"Good. Our first priority must be to cutoff their access to the sea plane. Without it they will have no way to escape."

"I have a three man team on a speedboat anchored half a mile west of here. As soon as the plane is down and the occupants off, they will move in and block the plane."

Kafni acknowledged the plan with a quick smile as the stretched Lincoln Continental turned sharply and stopped beside three metal sea containers. The window that separated the driver's compartment from the passenger's retreated with a hum and Altair Nazari looked over his shoulder. He was a clean shaven man with a full head of curly black hair, formal dress and a trim physique toned over decades of military training. "Last radio contact from our lookouts along the Jordanian coast puts the plane touching down in about five minutes, Commander," Nazari said without the slightest hint of any accent.

"Good," said Kafni even though Nazari had been addressing Osman. "Myself and Commander Osman will stand about ten yards in front of the containers that hold the weapons. Nazari, I want you to turn the car around so that the rear passenger side door is facing us and then stay positioned on the drivers side of the car in case we need to make a quick exit." Nazari nodded and shifted the vehicle back into drive as Kafni opened the rear door and stepped out followed by Osman, who charged the Galil and secured the weapon by a shoulder strap.

The construction site behind them consisted of a concrete shell of a building that stood eight stories high on one side and five on the other, metal re-bar sticking out in various places and rectangular holes where windows would eventually sit. Somewhere inside, hidden between the half-constructed pillars and the roughed in floors was a team of heavily armed IDF counter-terrorism soldiers awaiting orders.

When completed the hotel would be the most luxurious property on the shores of the Gulf. It would feature nearly five-hundred five star rooms, four pool areas, six bars, three full service restaurants and two ballrooms for large gatherings. On the two miles of beach owned by the property, positioned directly in front of the hotel, was a deep water pier that extended nearly half a mile into the Gulf and would allow eventual guests to dock boats, yachts or sea planes. This evening the pier would host a Grumman Albatross flying boat that had once belonged to the Pakistani Air Force but was now the property of Sa'adi Nouri.

Straightening his shirt against the stiff breeze blowing off of the Red Sea, Kafni looked like a typical playboy tourist common to the area at this time of the year. While most of the world endured cold spells and freezing rain, the southern Negev was a balmy eighty-one degrees in the departing sunlight. Standing five yards behind Kafni, Osman wore black but casual clothes and stood seriously with his machine gun in a stance that communicated his boss was not to be messed with. Nazari leaned against the roof of the limousine and watched the areas to their east carefully. While the roads and waterways behind them were being watched by trained soldiers, the Jordanian side of the small mountain range was a wild card. They could no more predict what was over it then they could surveil it without causing an international incident.

The drone of two nine cylinder radial engines proceeded the appearance of a white plane with blue Arabic markings as it rounded the end of a distant mountain range and turned inbound, its propellers made invisible by speed. The aircraft straightened and began its descent into the Gulf.

"Here we go," Osman said.

Six minutes later the plane turned sharply and came to a stop at the end of the pier, its engines slowing to a sputter and the whirling of the propellers abating. As the door to the cargo compartment opened, two camouflage-clad guerrilla fighters stepped off, one carrying an AK-47 and the other armed with only a pistol that was seated in a holster on his hip, in his hands were two leather bags the size of bowling balls. The Chechens were followed closely by Hakim Tehrani who made brief eye contact with Kafni as he walked quickly up the pier like a whipped hound. The last man out stopped at the hatch and rested his arms against the plane's hull as he leaned out and looked towards the beach with a crooked smile. Though he had never seen the man in person, Kafni recognized Sa'adi Nouri from numerous photographs he'd seen over the years. Removing his hands from the edge of the hatch, Nouri strode forward confidently, his thickly moused hair barely moving in the high breeze.

Osman raised his hand to his face and stroked his goatee nonchalantly as he said, "Team One advance," into a microphone hidden in his shirt sleeve, signaling the speedboat to move in behind the plane.

The two Chechens stopped five yards in front of Kafni and eyed him with a distasteful look as if the Jew stunk. Tehrani arrived beside them and stood with his eyes to the ground, examining Kafni's shoes.

"Mr. Goldman," Nouri announced loudly shouldering his way between the Chechens. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Yasser speaks so highly of the equipment you sold him that I had to come down and check out your capabilities myself seeing as it was my money he paid you with."

"You will not be disappointed," Kafni responded. "Do you have the money?"

"Yes," Nouri said waving a hand toward the bags the younger of the two Chechens was carrying. "Six million American dollars. Payment in full."

"The merchandise is here in these containers," Kafni said with a smile. "But I'm afraid this is as close as you will get to it."

The roaring sound of an engine filled the air as a white speedboat with orange and black stripes skidded across the water and turned to an abrupt stop thirty yards behind the sea plane. Three men inside stood up, Galil assault rifles held at the ready.

"Friends of yours?" Nouri asked with a sneer as he looked over his shoulder.

Osman raised his rifle as Kafni said, "You're all under arrest!"

The older Chechen raised his Kalashnikov in response, locking eyes with Osman.

"No one has to get hurt!" Kafni yelled, holding up his hands. "We have a team of soldiers in the building behind us. Drop your weapons and come quietly!"

The din of helicopter rotors became suddenly audible as two sand colored Cobras shot over the mountain range. Simultaneously, a loud hiss filled the air and a white smoke trail accelerated from the starboard side of the sea plane towards the speedboat. "Did you really think it was going to be that easy?" Nouri yelled as the RPG struck the boat and an orange fireball engulfed the soldiers. Flaming pieces of fiberglass filled the air and rained down into the ocean. The helicopters opened fire on the building sending a barrage of small missiles into the concrete structure, flames roared from the open window holes and chunks of concrete thudded onto the ground. The helicopters continued to fire as heavily armed men began to jump through the building's openings in an effort to escape the inferno.

Kafni dove to the ground as Osman opened fire at the Chechen, three loud pops filled the air as the man's camouflage jacket exploded red. Hakim Tehrani stooped his shoulders and moved away toward the sea plane in a frenzied run.

"Vadim!" the younger Chechen yelled as he rushed to catch his comrade before he could fall to the ground, dropping the leather bags and drawing the pistol from his belt. Osman fired another three round burst out the advancing Chechen drove his comrade to the ground and the rounds sailed over their heads. Raising his pistol haphazardly, the Chechen fired two shots and blood erupted from Osman's right thigh. He fell to the ground, his legs knocked out from under him by the close range impact. Nouri pulled a nickel plated pistol from under his shirt and began firing towards the limousine. Nazari took cover as the bullets pinged against the black metal body and exploded the deeply tinted windows.