“That’s because it’s heavy.” The Man from Paris turned to face Baghdadi, and said, “Enough of the questions. We both know the protocols here. We are allowed to know what we need to know and nothing more.”
Baghdadi nibbled on his lower lip. He did not like it when infidels not in tune with his religion or ideology spoke to him in such blistering manner. This man was a mercenary with no religious core and his values no doubt stained by his greed. Nevertheless, he would follow the commands of Ahmed Jaziri.
“Why are you taking me to Jerusalem?” the Man from Paris asked him. “And not to Tel Aviv?”
“How stupid can you be?” Baghdadi admonished harshly. “You don’t just drive into Tel Aviv with an explosive device tucked behind your seat. Certain measures must be taken to assure that the operation succeeds. To do this we must get you and that device through the proper channels that circumvents Israeli authorities.” Then the Arab shook his head in disbelief and added: “Fool.”
The drive for the rest of the way went in silence with neither man speaking to one another, though the tension inside the cab remained thick. What had been established, though not outrightly, was that neither liked each other due to their differences. One performed his duties strictly for profit, whereas the other did so in the name of Allah. But their differences didn’t begin or end there, either. One was clearly Muslim while the other person had Celtic or Gallic ancestry, which was far from Muslim tradition. Even his skin color was testament to his religious beliefs, probably Catholicism, that were not completely welcomed in such a land. And to people like Baghdadi, his deep-rooted hatred was based on age-old intolerances that simply fueled tension between these two men. The Man from Paris cared little about the Islamic faith because money was his apparent god, something he could feel with the tips of his fingers as he peeled away bills from a cash wad with relish.
Baghdadi’s lip nibbling turned to the biting of his inner cheek, the man fighting for calm. Once the mission was complete, he told himself, he would never have to see or deal with this man ever again. He hoped that whatever was in the suitcase would do its job and the operation done with.
One blow in the name of Allah, he thought. A triumph that would make the people throughout the Middle East rejoice.
Whatever it was inside that suitcase, he further considered, better have clout.
In silence, the two drove onward towards Jerusalem.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mossad Headquarters
Tel Aviv
What sparked the research into the chatroom was the dialogue of Saheem Baghdadi who, of course, went under an assumed name. And when the Mossad attempted to trace the chatroom’s point of origin, they had been led to several counterfeit IP addresses. But due diligence eventually led them to an indisputable point of origin located in the West Bank. Once discovered and Baghdadi’s identity was confirmed, teams were assembled to maintain an ardent watch over the Arab from foot soldiers to high-flying drones.
Mossad operatives stayed close whenever Baghdadi was outside his base of operations—so close, in fact, that the extremist was at times within arm’s reach of operatives who were willing to abduct, and then mine, the terrorist for valuable intel. But that scheme immediately went to the wayside when the Mossad intercepted three encrypted communications in as many days from a principal under a fictitious name. That principal had turned out to be Ahmed Jaziri, a terrorist financier who outlined Baghdadi’s course of actions to escort a player into Tel Aviv. No name had been given—only that the man was from Paris and that he would be carrying a suitcase. To determine the validity of the operative, however, the suitcase in his possession would have the special markings of three sixes on it.
Baghdadi’s goal: meet this Man from Paris at a particular set of coordinates far from central areas (given in the message), take him to a safe house, then come up with a scheme to circumvent all obstructions and get him inside Tel Aviv. The Man from Paris would do the rest. Then in a postscript, Jaziri added: In the days to come, the Middle East will celebrate in the aftermath of Tel Aviv’s destruction. Allahu Akbar!
That was all Efrayim Leibowitz, who was the manager of the Mossad’s Metsada unit, needed to see. It was also the last of Jaziri’s three messages that had been forwarded over the past few days, and the one that fully urged an immediate mobilization to locate and acquire the target that would be Saheem Baghdadi. The bonus, of course, after learning of the Man from Paris, would be his capture, as well.
Once Baghdadi had been found and tracked, the Mossad continued to monitor Baghdadi’s accounts and chatrooms, with the man foolishly boasting about a victory over Israel and a triumph in the name of Allah. Online views from the Middle East went from the thousands to the tens of thousands, which were monitored by intel agencies across the globe. But the Mossad kept this information close to the vest in fear of misappropriation since Israel liked to handle significant problems on their own.
So, on the day that Baghdadi was to actually meet the Man from Paris, the Mossad had utilized a drone to keep watch of Baghdadi’s truck movement during a nighttime surveillance mission, which followed Baghdadi approximately thirty miles from Jerusalem, and to an obscure desert location. Through infrared means, the drone was able to pick up two heat signatures.
Once Baghdadi was on the move, so was Efrayim Leibowitz and his Metsada unit, who were better known as the shadow group of Kidon, an elite assassination team. Throughout the tracking operation, Leibowitz remained in constant communication with the Comm Center in Tel Aviv who directed Leibowitz’s kill squad as to the course Baghdadi was taking. From a
