CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1) (4 page)

BEIRUT, Lebanon - 1993 

American Embassy

It was 20 minutes later that they arrived at the Embassy building, without any further untoward incident.  There, he first met with Richard Darwin, the Beirut Station Chief and the Deputy Station Chief, Ignatius Brasconi.

“Welcome to Beirut, Jonathan Bradley. I believe you have had your first taste of what the normal life is like in this unpredictable city,” Richard said to him lightly, watching Bradley with keen interest, as they shook hands.

The Station Chief, Jonathan observed, was in his early fifties, of medium built, gray-black thinning hair, and sharp light blue eyes – his trained body language showing the outward signs of a man of ease, behind his hard interior. 

Darwin was the longest-serving Station Chief in this strife-torn city and had seen it all.  He was held in esteem for his interrogation skills.

“Yes, Sir.  But not unlike what we have been instructed about and told to expect.”

“You will experience a lot worse once on the job, Jonathan.”

Then turning t
o
Brasconi, the station chief said, “Ignatius has been with me for a while longer than the other Agents. He will introduce you to the other Staff and brief you about your immediate assignment.  You are taking over from the outgoing Case Officer, Robert Armstrong.  You already know that?”

“I have been so briefed, Mr. Darwin.” Bradley answered.  He glanced at the brown folder with his name written on it, containing his dossier, lying atop his superior’s desk.

“Good.  We meet every morning at 8.30 AM in the conference room, unless you are involved in a covert field operation, which would keep you away from reporting personally.  In that case, I would need you to submit the daily reports at the earliest you are able to.  Meantime, you will stay in touch on the phone with Brasconi here and keep him informed,” he paused to continue, “In the event of any emergency, you will have direct phone-line access to me and Ignatius, and next to the PRO and our Secretaries. 

“As for your duties, you will be briefed and instructed by the outgoing Case Officer & PRO, Robert Armstrong.  You will relieve him after he has brought you up-to-date and you have had the turnover meetings with his contact-agents and possibly the cold-meetings to re-connect with past agents.”

“I understand that, Sir”.

“I am sure, you do. Once again, welcome aboard, Jonathan.”  He extended his hand to Bradley, which the latter took, and later left the Station Chief’s office.

Following the afternoon work break, he was introduced to the Embassy staff consisting of several Cover Officers like himself, the Secretaries, Cryptographers and Clerks, all the individuals he would be interacting with.

Later, Bradley was shown to his living quarters in the Embassy housing compound where the rest of the American staff also lived, some with their wives and children.

Next morning, Bradley went to Robert Armstrong’s office room on the fifth floor of the Embassy building to begin his first day as the CIA operative in Beirut.

The outgoing agent, aged about 47 years, with regular and distint features, looking tanned and displaying an amicable nature, was temporarily assigned to PRO duties as he was being rotated out until his next posting. 

During the first week, Jonathan went through the files – personal dossiers, case documents, intelligence records and contact--reports, photos, pictures and notes concerning the relevant case-studies and the individuals he would be handling or trying to establish contact with. 

One of the cases meant interacting with the MI6, the British Intelligence Agency.

He used some of his free time in making the acquaintance of the local staff recruited by the Embassy such as, the consular secretaries, clerks and others handling the U.S.A. travel and visa requirements of the Lebanese people.

In a few months, Jon Bradley would be befriending the beautiful young Christian Lebanese Secretary, Brigitte Fawzi, working in the consular section, a twenty-five year old single woman, fluent in French and English.

Their intense relationship would last until the end of his second tour in Beirut, ending under tragic and unexpected circumstances.

As a Case Officer, Bradley’s most difficult task was to recruit a local person as his agent and afterwards to control him or her.  Some came in willingly, including the frequent walk-ins, while most had to be worked over or coerced or seduced.  But, in every case, he had to make sure that the source had a genuine reason for coming over.  Both the case officer and the agent knew each other by their code names or aliases only, to safeguard their personal safety and the disclosure of the intelligence operation.

To familiarize Bradley with his outdoor routine, Armstrong started taking him to the usual haunts in downtown Beirut, the Hamra Street in Ras Beirut, the Gemmayze street, the Corniche and other places, visiting the popular hotels, restaurants, cafes, bars, galleries, sports and  beach clubs.

These locations were frequented by all levels of diplomats, journalists, reporters, spies, informants, undercover terrorists and the like for their morsel of stories, information, disinformation, gossip and self-indulgence.

Finally, it was time for Armstrong to make his first turnover of an important agent to Jonathan. 

The three of them met over dinner at the Bedford Hotel situated close to American University of Beirut, Pigeon Rocks. 

Salim Khalaf (his alias), a handsome Lebanese, about 5.7” curly-haired, dressed in a green polo-shirt and blue jeans, was already sitting at one of the tables before the American case officers reached there.

He appeared slightly apprehensive and tensed, watching them approach him, while intently observing the tall figure of Jonathan.  But Robert’s friendly hug and Bradley’s open, warm disposition put him at ease, as they both shook hands like old friends.

“So, Thomas (Robert’s alias),” Salim spoke with the Lebanese Arabic accent, “is this Marc (Jonathan’s alias), who you said will be taking over from you? I hope he is as good as you are.”

“Not to worry, Salim.  You’ll be alright. He will handle things right, just the way it’s between us now.”

Bradley had studied in-depth Salim’s personal biography appearing in his dossier, and Armstrong’s personal evaluation about his agent, including summaries of intelligence reports coming from this source.

“I assure you of that, Salim,” Jonathan said quickly, “And I can already see that we have got on to a good start.”

“I am glad to hear that, Marc” Salim was smiling, apparently his initial apprehensions cast aside.

“Now how about celebrating?  Arak, Italian wine or Champagne, Salim?”  Robert offered to lighten the environment.

“Why not Champagne, Thomas?” ‘And you, Marc?”

“Champagne would be just fine.”

They carried on a small talk about the present political situation in Beirut while they had their drinks over the dinner course. 

There was no serious discussion about their covert operation at this meeting, since they would meet again before Jon took control of the agent.

Salim was one of their important assets for he worked undercover for
'MOKAFAHA'
and was able to access crucial intelligence from inside his Anti-Terrorism Unit and deliver information and communicate warnings on the activities of the warring factions of the PLF, Hamas, Hezbollah and the  other Islamic-Jihadist groups operating in Lebanon.

He was a willing target for recruitment and had been cultivated over a period of two years by Robert. More than monetary benefits, Salim sought a better life for himself and his small family in the USA. The discreet arrangement being that over a period of time, the Embassy would provide U.S.A. immigration papers for his family to leave first and he would join them later.

It was, however, agreed between them to maintain the existing locations of the two “dead drops” for their clandestine communication.

The next meeting of a more clandestine nature would be at the safe-house, and they set up a date for it.

Moments before they parted, Jonathan passed on a U.S.A. travel brochure over to Salim, quietly saying, “Compliments from Langley.”

Salim appeared cheerful, nodding his thanks, glanced at the picturesque booklet and transferred it to his trouser pocket. Afterward, he watched the two Americans leave the restaurant.

Over the next two years, besides cultivating one “walk-in” into a useful intelligence source, and a high profile “agent” from the Lebanese Christian Phalangists Political party, Bradley conducted and took part in covert field operations thwarting plots against the Embassy in Lebanon and even venturing into Damascus, to release western relief workers taken hostages by Syrian rebels.

Robert Armstrong left Beirut two weeks later.  Salim said his final goodbye to him at a farewell dinner at the Beirut’s Strand Café.  He would next rotate between Kuwait and Dubai.

Jonathan Bradley plunged into his work.  It was April in Lebanon, when the day was warm and dry and the evenings long and cools at 19–25°C.

Through his links with agent Salim, they were able to prevent the kidnapping of his Station Chief, Richard Darwin, by a last minute change of the venue of his meeting with Wilson Macleod, the Head of the American University. Both escaped possibe assassination by a rebel Phlangist  group.

    Another instance was that Salim’s advance intelligence information about the possible suicide attack by two Jihadists from a Hamas group of militants on the British Consulate building.  

First, the Jihadists plotted to fire a stinger missile blasting through the entrance checkpoint and immediately follow up by ramming an explosive-laden vehicle deep into the main entrance. 

MI6 agents from the British Embassy coordinated with the Lebanese Security Forces to foil the planned attack.

On route to their target, the Jihadists unexpectadely found the roundabout barricaded by heavy construction machinery vehicles. 

As they slowed down, two cars on either side of the road overtook them.  Then two more came up from behind.  Before they could judge the situation and react, both terrorists were shot dead whilst seated inside the moving car.

    There were dangerous places to be avoided in Beirut and Lebanon, particularly by the American and European nationals, such as the city of Tripoli and the Hezbollah controlled Beqa’a Valley, parts of south Beirut and northern Lebanon, and areas bordering Syria. There was often cross-border firing and air-strikes by the Syrians.

Rockets continued to be fired from southern Lebanon into northern Israel increasing the conflicts in the Gaza West Bank, between the Hamas and Israel, while the latter retaliated by air strikes and occupying the Palestine territory.

Actually, Jonathan Bradley found that no place was really safe in Beirut, or for that matter in Lebanon.  Public demonstrations, sudden roadblocks, kidnappings, car bombings, frequent armed clashes between militants, targeting particular individuals or venues, settling family and sectarian disputes by

Violence, often at the cost of the innocent lives of the bystanders. This had become the way of a normal life for the people of this region.

Jonathan Bradley lived and operated under such unpredictable conditions until his rotation to Saudi Arabia, to complete his next tour there. 

Finally back again in Beirut, where he was put in charge of tracking down an elusive international arms trader, an alleged undercover Hezbollah terrorist, who masterminded terror strikes and suicide bombings both in Lebanon and abroad.

This last tour in Beirut almost ending with his active career in the CIA, would entail crossing a deceptive path, also involving the Mossad spy network, by challenging his wits to undo the strands woven by the femme fatale MI6 operative, Claire O’Neal, and the deviously charming Lebanese Christian warlord.

Yonkers - NYC, 2006

Saturday - 3.05 AM

At the Terror-Cell Crime Scene

When Jonathan Bradley and the three FBI men arrived at the location of the terror crime scene, thirty-five minutes later, they saw that the uniform police officers had secured and cordoned off the place from the public.

A path from the edge of the cordon (CAP) had been cleared, through the front-door, after that route was photographed and physically examined for any evidence.

One of the police officers was keeping a log of whoever entered and left the crime-scene area.

    The few late-night crime reporters and crew-members from two popular national T.V. channels were jolting among the early morning crowd of spectators, trying to gather whatever first bytes of news they could for their early editions, before they were given the official version.

    Jon recognized some of them from investigating previous cases.

    The moment the reporters saw the FBI Agents coming, they attempted to rush forward shooting out questions at them.  They were, however, stopped and pushed back by the group of uniform police officers controlling the scene.

    Detectives and police officers were seen talking and questioning several willing witnesses probably people living in the neighborhood who might have witnessed something or heard the sound of the firefight taking place inside the rented premises.

    Bradley also noted with satisfaction that a plainclothes police photographer was video-filming the people crowding outside the detached housing block.

    Inside the two premises, detectives from the NYPD Major Crime Scene Unit, and the staff of the Identification Unit, and the K-9 dog-handlers team, and the FBI investigators from the Counterterrorism unit were already working the various stages of the crime scenes.

    Upon entering the ground floor living area, Jonathan observed the mess that had been created – bullet-ridden and blackened walls, chunks of plaster fallen to the floor, the overturned and broken pieces of furniture, frames  and fixture,  the flying glass pieces strewn all over the floor, and the still lingering smell of cordite in the air.

    In the midst of this mass of destruction was the body of one of the Jihadist.  It lay crumpled on the floor riddled with bullets and clothes drenched in blood, within the police inner cordon.

    Then the FBI team walked up the steps of the stairway to the upper floor. 

    The scene there was more or less the same, but showed having suffered severe destruction, including the four glass windows shattered inwards, a ceiling fan twisted and hanging dangerously over the floor.

    Angling against the blood splattered walls beside the gaping windows were the two bodies of the would-be suicide bombers.

    The fact that the FBI anti-terrorist unit under Bradley’s charge had been keeping the terrorist cell under surveillance for a few months now, he and his FBI colleagues were in the know of what had actually taken place here. 

    Therefore, they would let the site examination continue in the normal manner, and then the FBI would take charge of further investigation in the order of priority.

    On their way down from the upper floor, they met the NYPD’s Captain of Police, Frank Barros.

    “I saw you arrive, but I was holding a brief with my Lieutenants to access the situation after I had looked over the crime scenes.  It’s quite a mess that these religious loonies have left in here. What about the press?”

    “Frank, not a word now.  It’s too early for that.  The FBI will schedule a press conference later in the day. You can say a few words then,” Steve Turner said to Barros

    Then turning towards Bradley, “I guess you two have met before.”

    Frank and Bradley nodded in acknowledgement, smiling grudgingly, though. 

    Both were not on very friendly terms as the NYPD and the FBI, while crossing in their line of work sometimes rubbed shoulders in the wrong way.

    “Jonathan Bradley is in charge of this particular investigation, so let us cooperate since it’s a serious matter of homeland security.”

    “Steve, I can promise you that my men and I will not be a source of impediment in this investigation.” He glanced at Bradley as he said this, and the latter held his gaze with equal politeness.

    They were interrupted by one of the police officers stopping by them. “Excuse me, Sir,” he addressed the Captain, “There is something that you need to see.  We have found quite a cache of weapons.”

    The four FBI men exchanged glances.

    “OK.  Lead the way,” said the Captain of Police.

    They followed the police officer to the small store-room located next to the kitchen.  In there, one police officer from up the hideout in the ceiling was handing down the haul of arms to another officer standing below on the floor.  There was already a substantial pile of weapons next to his feet.

    When the final count was taken, the cache of weapons included four ready suicide vests, six AK-47 assault rifles, two

RPG-7s, six hand grenades, C-4 plastic explosives and several handguns like the Glock-18 and Berettas, removable silencers and boxes of ammunition.

    “A haul large enough to start a mini war,” the police chief remarked.

Bradley was mulling: That too, despite our surveillance; the credit goes to the terrorists’ resources and ingenuity in planning the bombing of two Synagogues in the heart of the metropolitan city.

    “If anyone wants to know, this whole episode is a fall-out of a gang war between drug-traffickers trying to control their territories. Alright, Frank?” Steve Turner incited the police captain.

    “Is that so? That’s not going to be a secret for long. The reporters have their own means of finding out the facts,” Barros remained unconvincing.  

    “Not unless someone in your department leaks it out first.  So far it has been a closed kept investigation and surveillance between the local NYPD Counterterrorism Unit and the FBI.”

    “Now it appears you guys have goofed it, and my people have to pick up what’s left here,” Barros said sarcastically.

    Not wanting any more war of words, Jonathan interrupted, “Steve, shall we go over to the crime-scene at the other side of the house? I hear that the landlord’s body has been found there.”

    “You go ahead,” Frank Barros told them, “I’ve already been there, but my men are still working the site.  I am leaving now. I will be in my offic
e
later if you want me.”

    While Special Agent, William King, chose to remain in the area to supervise and to be accessible to the FBI investigating team, Bradley and the two other FBI officials continued to proceed next door.

    As they approached the entrance to the house, they saw the Medical Examiner coming out of the living room. 

    “I am finished here,” the older man, the medic in his late fifties, informed them, “and at the other place too.  You can have my preliminary report at the downtown office. For the autopsy reports, you will have to wait until Monday or so.”

    “Any specific observations for now?’ asked Steve Turner.

    “For now, the three deaths at the first site are from multiple bullet wounds and the one here is from a bullet wound to the head. I can speculate the timing of death in all four cases to be between 1.00 AM and 2.00 AM.”

    “The bodies can be cleared now,” the M.E. added as he walked towards his car.

    When they walked into the dead landlord’s living room, they found it sparsely furnished with a set of three + two leather sofas, a piece of oriental rug in the center of the floor, and the walls bare except for the framed photograph of the Mecca-Medina, the holiest pilgrimage shrine in Saudi Arabia for the Muslims. 

    The place showed no signs of disturbance, but the Identification staff was moving about the place.  

    On the first floor, They observed the man’s body lying flat on the ground on its back facing the window, apparently flung there by the force of the bullet striking the center of his forehead.  

    His eyes were wide open and staring, and blood had collected around the back of the head.  Glass pieces were strewn over the body and around it on the floor.

    Coming down into the living room, they joined William King, who was with a group of the FBI investigators comparing notes with the NYPD detectives and the uniform police officers who had responded to the dispatch calls and had first assessed the crime scenes.

    After listening to them discuss for a while, the Special Agent In-charge, Steve Turner, turned to William King, “When can we have the first information report?”

    “I believe the M.E. and the photographers have left.  They are now removing the body bags.  Fingerprinting, firearms and ammunition forensics, and collecting other physical evidence would probably go until the end of the day.  But the first crime scene report is more or less available to us.”

    Turner glanced at his watch and declared, “It’s almost 5.00 AM now.

    This place is as good as any to hold a preliminary debrief.”

    He then looked around at the others and continued, “Jonathan Bradley here takes charge of the overall investigation.  This case is his.

    “What say you guys report to him at this place at 7.30 AM after breakfast? By then, we ought to know more about the investigation.”

    Their affirmative nodding, gave him the consensus. “Ok then.  7.30 AM it is, for the preliminary debrief.”

    The group dispersed as Bradley and Steve headed for their cars.

“How is Samantha doing?”

“I guess she’s making progress.  Only yesterday I had a talk with her Psychotherapist.

“Hope she gets better soon.  Give her my best wishes.”

   “Thanks, Steve.  I will