The Dreadful Patriot: A Thrilling Conspiracy Novel (Techno thriller, Mystery & Suspense Book 3) Read online

  THE DREADFUL PATRIOT

  Charles Z David

  THE DREADFUL PATRIOT

  Charles Z David

  Text Copyright @ 2016 by Charles Z David

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction and all its characters and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to real events, is purely coincidental. Likewise any depiction of Israeli governmental personnel or agencies is solely the product of the author's imagination.

  Contact: [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  The Dreadful Rocket Man

  The Dreadful Patriot

  Charles Z. David

  A patriot is someone who feels a strong support for their country (Wikipedia).

  Prologue

  September 11, Houseboat on Dal Lake, Srinagar, Kashmir, India

  The slim girl was swimming as fast as she could in an attempt to outpace the muscular man chasing her. She was trying to get to the houseboat that was just 20 meters ahead. He was rapidly closing the distance between them with long powerful strokes. She squealed with joy and excitement as she reached the wooden stairs leading from the tranquil, clear water to the deck of the houseboat and mounted the first step. Less than a second later he also mounted the same step and managed to grab her ankle before she could get to the third step. She fell into his arms and in Hebrew told him that she loved him although he swam like a whale while she could swim like a dolphin. They were too engrossed in each other to notice the two gunmen that were just stepping out of the door that led to the small kitchen of the houseboat. One of the gunmen pointed his AK47 at them and while shouting something in Urdu motioned them to get into the kitchen. The other gunman removed a long curved knife from the folds of his robe and wielded it in an arc that would have severed the girl's head had she not moved away fast enough. The muscular man spoke English and said that they had some money that they would gladly give them if they left them alone. The gunman with the knife pulled the man by his hair and pushed him into a flimsy rattan kitchen chair, pulled four strong nylon cable ties and secured his feet to the legs of the chair and his arms to the armrests. The girl, who at a closer look appeared to be in her mid-twenties got the same treatment, with some unnecessary pawing by the gunman. Her man who was in his late-twenties just grunted and swore under his breath but stopped when the gunman whipped him with the butt of his AK47.

  The first gunman looked at the handiwork of his mate and smiled and said in British accented English that they were not after small change when a real prize awaited them. He asked the young man what his name was and when he refused to answer he just smiled again, showing a set of perfect teeth that obviously were not his own, and waved a blue covered Israeli passport and simply read out the name – Zohar (Zorik) Shemesh. He then opened the second passport that belonged to the girl and pronounced her name – Inbal Sabatani. He said that if they behaved well and followed his orders no harm would become them but if they caused problems then he would inflict upon them so much pain that they would wish they had not been born.

  Zorik looked at Inbal and in English so that their captors could understand that he meant no mischief, told her to keep quiet and cooperate. They both hoped that the gunmen caught them in a random act against Israelis and were not aware of the fact that Inbal was the granddaughter of the Israeli Prime Minister from his first marriage and that her surname was that of her father who was married to the PM's daughter.

  Chapter 1

  One Year earlier, Late November, Vienna, Austria

  Dr. Ali Abdul Abadi emerged from the St. Stephen metro station in the center of Vienna. The first thing he saw was the famous St. Stephen cathedral all lit up and decorated with Christmas trees and surrounded by stands selling alcoholic punch, beer and spiced wine in ornamental cups and a few stands that displayed souvenirs for tourists. There was a pervasive odor of urine, originating from the horses pulling the colorful carriages that made their way slowly through the narrow streets of central Vienna. The customers were romantic tourists that were willing to overpay for the illusion of being like the nobility in the good old days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Ali couldn't understand why the municipality of Vienna that was supposedly run by level-headed politicians allowed this offense against the most sensitive olfactory sense. He felt that the odor could almost be compared to a chemical agent used for riot control. Surely, he thought, even in Isfahan where he came from, droppings and urine of horses, donkeys and mules were a thing of the past in the center of the magnificent town. Even in the artificial light he noted the big difference between the bright surfaces of the cathedral and the much darker parts that were still awaiting their turn, and the necessary funds, to be cleaned.

  The evening was very chilly, but Ali felt that he needed some fresh air, preferably odorless, as he had just returned from a lengthy preparatory meeting with the Head of the Iranian delegation to the International Atomic Energy Agency, the IAEA. Vienna that served as the IAEA headquarters was flooded by Iranian scientists, engineers, spies and well to do tourists after the signing of the nuclear deal just a few months earlier between Iran the 5+1 countries (US, Russia, France, China, UK and Germany). Ali was concerned about the instructions he had been given by the senior Iranian diplomat to categorically deny that any research and development that were related to weapons were taking place in his laboratory. He was directed to lie to his teeth in the meeting with the team of IAEA inspectors that was scheduled for the next day. The team of inspectors included professional scientists and engineers and was in charge of verifying that Iran was in full compliance with the agreement. Basically, Ali was an honest man who felt uncomfortable lying, but knew that he had to do it for his country. Few people knew of the top secret laboratory in which Ali served as the lead physicist of the small elite group that carried out complex calculations on solid state compression.

  Ali came from a very poor family that lived in a small village near Isfahan. In the old days of the Shah he would have been doomed to life as a peasant, or at most, as a petty merchant in the local bazaar, despite the fact that he excelled in his elementary school studies. Fortunately for him, the Islamic revolution afforded him, and several other brilliant students like him, an opportunity to gain a proper education. It turned out that Ali had an exceptional mind for mathematics and physics and was encouraged to study science at the local university. He was later sent to UMIST the famous university in Manchester, England, to obtain a doctorate in physics. After carrying out some ground-breaking research work he was offered an academic position at the same university and a chance to live in the UK. But he felt that his country needed him and that he had an obligation to the regime in Iran for giving him this opportunity. Looking at the horse drawn carriages a fleeting smile crossed his lips when he remembered his father admonishing him. This occurred when he was 10 years old an
d after he proudly told his father that he had saved the bus fare by running after the bus and his father slapped him and said that he could have saved more by running after a taxi.

  It was a cold Sunday night at the end of November and there were very few people walking along the streets reserved for pedestrians and in the large St. Stephen square. Nothing like the swarms of happy and smiling people he saw when he attended a conference in Barcelona just a few weeks earlier. He strolled along Kartner Strasse toward the Donaukanal that was part of the Danube River that flows through Vienna. He wasn't quite sure about the right way to the bridge so he looked for someone to ask for directions. He came across a bespectacled police-woman and in perfect English asked her if this was the way to the river. She looked him over and in stilted English told him he only had to follow Rotenturm Strasse for a few hundred meters and he would reach the bridge that crossed the river.

  Ali was so engrossed in his thoughts about the upcoming meeting that he did not notice the man who was following him. A young woman approached him and asked him something in German. He started to answer in English that he was not a local when he felt a drop of liquid in his left ear. As it was not raining he couldn't quite figure out where it came from. He scratched his ear to alleviate the annoying irritation the drop caused when suddenly everything went dark and he fell to the ground paralyzed. The last things he saw was the beautifully illuminated St. Stephen cathedral in the distance. He didn't notice the man rapidly disappearing down the street that led to the river.

  Security cameras recorded the whole scene but no one thought any foul play was involved as it appeared that Dr. Ali Abdul Abadi suffered a stroke. After all it was not unusual for a man in his sixties to have a seizure on a cold night, especially someone who was accustomed to a much warmer climate.

  ***

  One Year earlier, Late November, Barcelona, Spain

  Professor Ahmad Riza Kadoura attended a conference that was held at the main campus of the University of Barcelona that was right near the Barcelona Football Club, home of FCB the world famous soccer team. As a renowned analytical chemist Ahmad was invited to give a keynote speech at the opening session of the conference on "New Methods in Analytical Chemistry". He gave a rather boring monotonous presentation, much to the disappointment of the organizers that had read his scientific papers but had never heard him lecture to a live audience. He gave a very detailed description of the electrochemical device he and his students had developed to measure extremely low levels of uranium in drinking water. As it turned out, the data he presented showed that the analytical performance of the device was inferior to instruments that could be purchased for less than $100 from manufacturers in China. The polite applause at the end of the presentation attested to the good manners of the audience rather than to the new insights they had gained from the presentation. Ahmad was unaware of the fact and was convinced that his performance was brilliant and the applause was rightfully earned.

  The last session of the day ended in the late afternoon so it was already dark outside when Ahmad boarded the Green Line metro at Palau Reial station. As it was too early for dinner – no respectable restaurant in Barcelona fills up before 9 pm – he decided to go and visit the Sagrada Familia church before looking for a restaurant. He had read about it in his tourist guidebook and knew that it was one of the most popular tourist sites in Europe, second only to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. He was impressed by the four main towers that loomed over the surroundings. The church was closed to visitors so he first went to see the brightly lit east side of the church from behind the metal fence. After reading his guidebook he understood that it represented the birth of Jesus and the promise of Christianity. He then walked to the other side that was illuminated in a rather gloomy yellowish light and saw the scenes depicting Gaudi's design of the Last Supper and the crucifixion. After he had appreciated the genius of Gaudi's design he took the stairs down to the metro station. He entered the station and waited on the platform for the train that was headed to Placa Catalunya Square around which many restaurants were located. He didn't pay any attention to a heavily built man that was standing right behind him on the crowded platform. As the train approached the station the man gave Ahmad's back a small shove that sent him flying off the platform right under the wheels of the approaching train. The driver could not stop the train in time and Ahmad's head was severed by the train. In the panic that broke out the hefty man disappeared.

  The security cameras only showed a large man with a heavy overcoat and a scarf that covered most of his face and there was no way he could have been identified even with the most advanced facial recognition algorithms.

  Ironically, this whole scene happened less than 100 meters from the site where Gaudi, the legendary architect of Sagrada Familia, was run over by a tram some 90 years earlier.

  ***

  One Year earlier, Late November, Taormina, Sicily

  Dr. Mahmoud Al-Baida was a member of the elite science community of the Islamic Republic of Iran and in recognition of his service to his homeland's nuclear program was appointed as a senior member of the Iranian delegation to the IAEA in Vienna. He had grown up in a small town on the shores of the Persian Gulf where the weather was warm most of the year and could not get used to the harsh climate of Vienna. In late November he felt that he was entitled to a vacation and found a nice package deal in Taormina, Sicily. The short flight from Vienna to Catania was not very comfortable and the in-flight service was nothing to write home about. Within one hour after landing he was driving out of the car rental's parking lot in a Skoda Octavia station wagon with automatic transmission. He was smiling at his wife, Layla, and kept saying that they were very lucky to have received an upgrade from a small manual shift car to the larger Octavia. Layla was pleased that Mahmoud was so happy as she, too, was looking forward to the vacation in warm Sicily. The drive along the broad highway from Catania to Taormina was very pleasant but once they left the highway Mahmoud had to focus on the steep, narrow winding road that led to the center of the village. Although they were using a modern GPS navigation system they had trouble finding their hotel. They passed through the center of the village several times without finding the street that led to their hotel and because of the one-way streets had to go round and round in circles. After 30 minutes of wandering around they decided to use HUMINT rather than SIGINT – human intelligence rather than signal intelligence - and asked for directions, quite a degrading thing for a full-blooded Iranian macho man to do, especially one who considered himself as technologically savvy and brilliant. A polite shopkeeper told them that they had to drive through a narrow stone arch that they had passed by several times thinking that it was closed to vehicular traffic, and then take a left fork up a steep dead-end street to the hotel.

  They checked in to the hotel and while waiting for their room to be ready chatted with the owner at the front desk and asked about the sites of Taormina. The owner was very helpful and in perfect English told them they should leave their car at the hotel's only parking spot and just take a 10 minute walk to the center. He added that driving around Taormina was not recommended, something that Mahmoud had already figured out and that all the main sites were within walking distance. He suggested that they follow Corso Umberto, the main pedestrian street, and visit the Teatro Greco, the large ancient Greek theater that was built slightly after Alexander the Great defeated the Persian Empire.

  They strolled down the street and reached the theater and were greatly impressed by it. They were amazed to see that it still served as the venue for concerts and performances more than 2000 years after it was used for the very same purpose. They sauntered to the Piazza IX Aprile and found a table in one of cafés on the large terrace that was built at the edge of the cliff. The view of the village of Giardini Naxos and the shoreline way down below was beautiful. The sun was setting in the west and Layla said that she wanted to take a selfie photo of the two of them before it got too dark. They went to the edge of the terrace and leaned
on the guardrail. Mahmoud extended his hand with the mobile phone and tried in vain to take a photo with the two of them in the foreground and the view of the shore in the background. Layla suggested they ask someone to take the picture and pointed to a young man who just happened to be standing nearby apparently also admiring the scenery. Mahmoud asked the youngster if he could take their photo and the man smiled politely and came closer to take the phone from Mahmoud's hand. Suddenly he stumbled and accidently fell colliding into the couple. The guardrail was crushed under the combined weight of the three of them and the Iranian couple fell down the steep cliff while the young man managed to grab one of the poles of the guardrail and save himself.

  The police investigation of the terrible accident found no one at fault. The Taormina public works department was accused of not taking proper care of the terrace's guardrail but as it was run by a local prominent member of the Cosa Nostra no action was taken. The young man who was requested to take the photo was questioned but released after it had been established that he was an innocent Canadian tourist that simply wanted to help the couple. He did not mention the fact that Mahmoud's cell phone remained in his possession nor that his Canadian passport was a clever forgery. The bodies of Layla and Mahmoud were shipped to Tehran for burial. A post-mortem performed in Tehran found no foreign substances in their body and the story of the accident was accepted with some skepticism.

  ***

  One Year earlier, Late November, London, UK

  Dr. Mustafa Fahami sauntered down Gerrard Street in Chinatown. He was in no hurry and took his time to look at the display of cheap merchandize from China, imitations of famous Parisian designer clothes and accessories, typical London souvenirs and strange looking things in jars that were considered by some as food delicacies. Like many other people in London he was enjoying the sunny day that was quite unusual for this time of year. He had been suffering from a persistent ache in his neck and shoulders, probably brought about by the tension he was feeling that he attributed to his clandestine mission. He was sent from the uranium enrichment facility at Natanz to interview a former-Iranian physicist who was currently employed at the Atomic Weapons Establishment in Aldermaston. The ex-patriot was an expert on the physics and metallurgy of highly enriched uranium and was ready to share his knowledge, or so Mustafa was told. There were two reasons for his willingness to cooperate – money and fear. He was promised a considerable sum for the information and was threatened that his aging parents and younger brother would be placed in the infamous Evin Prison in Tehran where they would receive VIP treatment. In case he didn't understand the not so subtle threat his contact explained that in Evin Prison VIP stood for Very Intense Pain.