Last Op

Chapter 6

In the distance off the port side and thousands of feet below the modified 707, lights along the southeast coast of Cyprus twinkled like stars in the night. Within moments, the island was no longer in sight, the aircraft once again flying in total darkness.

Razzag Aknin reached overhead and jabbed at a button with a thick, stubby index finger, shutting off a small reading light. He readjusted his heavy-framed body in the plush seat, trying to get comfortable. Swiveling the seat around, he settled his eyes on Abu al-Massi (pronounced Ma-sigh), Libya’s Chairman of the General People’s Committee.

Massi sat near the front bulkhead, completely absorbed in reviewing official papers spread across a Formica-topped table.

Aknin leaned his head back, watching Massi through half-closed eyes. Being selected as the bodyguard for the chairman was a great honor. Only one other person was more powerful within the Libyan government than Massi: Chief of State, Tarek Masrata.

Masrata had two goals in mind when it came to Chairman Massi. The first was to train him on how to be adept in the political arena of the Middle East. The second was to mold Massi into a person who would invoke the word “fear” with just the mention of his name. Masrata accomplished both goals.

The upcoming meeting would be Massi’s trial run in the beginning episode for Libya to increase its power throughout the Middle East.

The aircraft had flown nearly eleven hundred miles when it started its descent. Its destination was the city of Aleppo, about ninety miles east of the Turkish border.

A double row of low-level lights guided the 707 to an isolated area behind a small maintenance building. As the engines began to wind down, double doors in the plane’s underbelly slowly opened. When they were fully extended, a hydraulically-driven platform lowered. A black, four-door Mercedes was anchored in the middle.

Bodyguard Aknin leaned out the plane’s exit door, feeling the brisk coolness against his leathery skin. He hustled down the stairs, holding an Uzi close to his body, then trotted over to the car, releasing the tie-down hooks. He watched closely as the automobile was driven off the platform then pulled in front of the stairs.

Stepping down onto the first step, Aknin said over his shoulder, “Sir, the car is ready.” Hearing Chairman Massi walk up behind him, he led the way down the stairs.

The Mercedes, with headlights off, gradually rolled to a stop on a narrow, deserted side street just north of the Grand Mosque of Zakariah. The mosque, one of the largest in the world, was situated in the center of the old city of Aleppo.

The front passenger door swung open and Aknin emerged. He walked a few paces away from the car, and scanned the area, even though a moonless night and twisting alleyways limited visibility. He cocked his head to the side, listening for the slightest sounds. Cautiously sidestepping back to the car, he remained vigilant as he opened the rear door.

Massi rubbed his fingers across the barrel of his Beretta. He slipped it into the leg holster, then exited the car. Standing briefly near the open door, he adjusted his “thawb,” a traditional ankle-length, long sleeve garment, similar to a cotton robe. Glancing overhead, he breathed in deeply, then looked at Aknin, signaling he was ready to go.

They had nearly two hundred meters to cover. By staying in alleyways of the souks, Aknin was confident he could control the security. The narrow streets were too small for vehicles, but he was armed and ready for any possible close encounters. He adjusted a jewel-encrusted leather scabbard holding his janbia, a short, curved-blade dagger, hanging from a belt around his loose white cotton shirt.

Once they turned down Souk Al Zarb Street, the shadowy form of the massive Citadel of Aleppo loomed before them. Sitting on a small, but steep mound, the citadel had been used for defensive purposes since the Bronze Age.

They followed a dry moat surrounding the site along Hawl al-Qalla Street, until reaching a bridge crossing the moat. They walked more quickly now, no longer able to hide in the shadows of the covered souks.

Aknin reached out, stopping Massi’s forward movement. “Sir, perhaps you should stay here while I check ahead.”

Massi nodded as he looked toward the entrance. The men he was here to meet may have brought their own entourage. He pressed his back against the stone bridge, which resembled a high viaduct with curved arches.

Aknin sidestepped up the wide stone steps. At the top was a fortified gateway, several stories high, its medieval architecture built with stone.

Reaching the main gateway, Aknin disappeared into the shadows. Within two minutes, he hustled back toward Massi’s location, giving a slight nod.

Massi took the lead. They passed through the entrance gate, then a set of large steel doors. Climbing a short flight of stairs, they went through another door before finally reaching their destination.

Massi stopped just inside the extravagantly restored throne room. Its main feature was the ornate, wooden ceiling, intricately carved with lavish shapes and designs.

Hearing Aknin close the door behind him, Massi quickly took in his surroundings. The two men standing near the far wall cautiously smiled. Similar to Massi’s black thawb,the two men wore white. A black, double-wrapped cord held a white headdress in place.

Massi stepped closer to Syria’s Jamal Assad and Algeria’s Malu Yacine. He studied the two men’s faces. His words, and the deep grating tone with which they were delivered, sent a chill through his co-conspirators. “The future of our countries is about to change, and we are about to change it.”

Still wary, Yacine and Assad kept their distance from the Libyan. What had been promised seemed impossible, but when the proposal had been presented to the Syrian and Algerian governments, it seemed their only risk would come in the form of money.

Assad stroked his dark beard as he questioned, “Can you tell us who? Who is the mastermind behind this?”

Massi hesitated before responding. “Victor Labeaux.”

“Labeaux?!” Assad gasped.

Malu Yacine stepped forward. “Everyone has heard of this man. But have you met him?”

Massi answered, “Yes. We have met.”

“And do you trust him?” Yacine asked.

“He and I have… an understanding.”

“An understanding? What is this understanding, or can you not tell us?”

Massi gave a wry smile. “He is very aware of my, shall we say, reputation, Malu. A very simple threat was enough for him.”

“You actually threatened him? One of the most feared terrorists in the world, and you threatened him?”

“I did.”

Algeria’s Yacine had yet another concern. “With all that money at his disposal, he could disappear… ”

“That will not happen,” Massi said with a raised voice, attempting to change the direction of the conversation. “If it will make you both feel better, Aknin and I will be going to England very soon.”

The statement caught both men completely off guard. Yacine finally spoke. “You are telling us that you will be participating?”

“Now do you understand why you must not worry? I have everything under control.”