Read Games of the Hangman Online
Authors: Victor O'Reilly
Games of the Hangman (40 page)
Routine
observation was kept through a miniature lens mounted at the end of a
fiber-optic cable that would
peer
periscope style
through the roof of the blind.
The
incoming pictures could be monitored on a pocket-size television.
The technology had been adapted from that
used in microsurgery.
The first
figure emerged from behind the clump of bushes, followed at twenty yard
intervals by the others.
In single file
they headed for the wood.
The picture on
the screen dissolved into an out-of-focus blur for a few seconds before
sharpening again into close-up.
Kilmara
felt the same shock that had struck him at the first viewing.
The face on the screen was not human.
He was looking at the body of a man and the
head of some monstrous, unrecognizable animal:
fur and matted hair, short, curving horns, a protruding muzzle fixed in
a snarl.
It was an image from a
nightmare.
The camera
surveyed each figure in turn.
Each wore
a different and equally bizarre mask.
They vanished into the wood.
"Two suicides by hanging and the accidental death of the
headmaster," said Günther, "and now this?"
"Well, at
least we now have a pretty fair idea of what happened to Fitzduane's
goat," said Kilmara, "but dressing up isn't a crime."
"So you
think all is in order?"
"Do pigs
fly?"
*
*
*
*
*
The camp was
more than two hundred kilometers south of
greenery now submerged in a forest of prefabricated single-story barracks,
concrete blockhouses, weapons ranges, parade grounds, and assault courses.
Two
four-meter-high barbed-wire fences secured the perimeter.
The outer fence had been electrified, and
watchtowers equipped with KPV 14.5 mm Vladimorov heavy machine guns were placed
at two-hundred-meter intervals.
Missile
batteries augmented with mobile radar-guided four-barreled ZSU-4 antiaircraft
guns guarded the approaches.
The cam could
hold as many as a thousand trainee freedom fighters, and over the years since
its construction many times that number of members of the PLO, the Polisario,
and the myriad other violent groups supported by Colonel Muammar Qaddafi had
passed through its gates.
Slightly
depleted by a steady drain of fatal casualties experienced in live-ammunition
training, they emerged after intensive indoctrination in guerrilla tactics and
terrorist techniques, including refinements such as constructing car and letter
bombs, concealing weapons and explosives aboard aircraft, getting the maximum
media reaction from a terrorist incident, torture, and the handling and
execution of hostages.
The instructors
were proficient, experienced, and impersonal.
They lived apart from their trainees in luxury air-conditioned
accommodations outside the camp.
The
languages heard around their Olympic-size swimming pool amid the clinking of
glasses, the laughter, and the splashing were those of
and
There were
other such camps in
Germany
Camp Carlos Marighella, named after the
Brazilian author of one of the most famous urban terrorism handbooks, had been
chosen because it was isolated and secure, and the project had the personal
support of Muammar Qaddafi.
Since he
overthrew
senile King Idris in 1969, Qaddafi had provided money, arms, sanctuary, and
training facilities for just about every terrorist organization worthy of the
name.
He had provided active support for
the team that carried out the Olympic Games massacre in
He had provided the PLO with a yearly allowance of forty million
dollars.
He had offered a million
dollars for the assassination of Anwar Sadat of
He had invaded
He had fought with
He had repeatedly invaded
He had fomented unrest in the
He had given financial assistance to the
Nicaraguan Sandinistas, Argentina's Montoneros, Uruguay's Tupamaros, the IRA
Provisionals, the Spanish Basque ETA, the French Breton and Corsican separatist
movements, and Muslim insurgents in Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, and the
Philippines.
He had provided military
assistance to Emperor Bokassa of the
African Republic
He had been behind the blowing up of a Pan
American plane at
in which thirty-one passengers burned to death.
He had provided the SAM-7 heat-seeking missiles with which a Palestinian
team planned to shoot down an El Al jet taking off from Fiumicino.
He had been an active supporter of the OPEC
raid in
The man who
had selected
satisfied that he had made the right decision.
His every need was being met.
Qaddafi had even offered a bonus of ten million dollars upon successful
completion of the project.
At the end of
their private audience he had presented the man with a personally autographed
copy of his
Green Book
on the Islamic
Revolution — and a check for half a million dollars toward initial expenses.
In
was known as Felix Kadar.
It was a name
of no particular significance; in other countries he was known by other
names.
In the files of the CIA and the
U.S. State Department's Office to Combat Terrorism he was known only by the
code name Scimitar.
The man had no
particular political views or commitments to any specific ideology.
He had been baptized a Catholic, but on
occasion he wore the green turban that signified the pilgrimage to
He had indeed gone there.
He had been one of the planners of the
assault on the Great Mosque and had been agreeably surprised by the inability
of
own forces to dislodge the intruders.
In
the end, the assistance of the French government was called for:
the Gigene, the highly specialized National
Gendarmerie Intervention Group, came on the scene — and the raiders died,
leaving the Saudi royal family much shaken and the man in the green turban one
million dollars richer.
The man had
long since conceived the outline of the idea.
It had struck him that unrest in the world presented an unparalleled
opportunity for commercial exploitation.
At Harvard, studying for an M.B.A., he had written, as he had been
trained to, the business plan.
It
featured a specific financial objective; the acquisition of a personal fortune
of one hundred million dollars within fifteen years.
More than
twelve years had passed, and he was still only halfway to his objective:
he had averaged something over four million
dollars a year, taking the rough with the smooth, so a straight-line projection
pout him something like forty million dollars short by the close of his
allocated period, May 31, 1983.
Clearly
something would have to be done; a bold stroke was called for.
Allowing a surplus for inflation and unforeseen
expenses, he would aim to clear fifty million dollars from one major action,
and then he would retire.
He would be
two years ahead of schedule.
Felix Kadar
had another motive for wishing to achieve his financial objective ahead of
time.
He had made a specialty of
carrying out his work through different organizations and under different
identities, and he was expert in modifying his appearance and personality.
Nonetheless, it seemed to him that it would
only be a matter of time before one of the Western antiterrorist units started
putting the pieces together.
And, he
admitted to himself, he had allowed his ego to get
he
better of him recently.
He had played
games with the authorities.
In the
knowledge that he had never been caught or even arrested and was soon to
retire, he had deliberately increased the risks of living on the edge.
That must stop.
Mistakes would be eliminated.
*
*
*
*
*
The
seventy-one men and women in the attack force were all known to him either
personally or by reputation.
He had
compiled a list of suitable candidates over the years and had made full use of
the extensive files of terrorists maintained by the KGB.
He kept up the friendliest of relations with
Ahmed Jibril, the Palestinian ex-captain in the Syrian Army who was one of the
KGB's most active agents inside the various Palestinian movements.
He used
fingerprints and other personnel data accumulated in the KGB and his own files
to vet each candidate rigorously.
Kadar
was particularly concerned about infiltration — a specialty of the
Israelis,
many of whom spoke Arabic and were in appearance
indistinguishable from Yemenis and North Africans.
The classic ploy of the Israelis was to
substitute one of their own for one of the fedayeen killed or captured in action
against them.
It was not so difficult to
do, and hard to detect when the Palestinians were scattered among a dozen
countries.
Today Kadar believed he had
caught such a man.
He was not absolutely
sure, but then he didn't have to be.
Within the camp Kadar's will was absolute law; he was judge, jury, and,
if it so pleased him, executioner.
The assembled
terrorists were drawn up in two ranks in a semicircle facing Kadar.
It was night, and the dusty parade ground was
brightly lit with powerful floodlights, though Kadar himself was in
shadow.
To one side a shapeless figure
was spread-eagled against a metal frame embedded in the hard ground.
Kadar was
further concealed by an Arab headdress made of camouflage material; his mouth
and nose were covered, and his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.
Though some of his people had worked with him
before, none had ever seen his face or knew his real name.
They knew him as a hooded figure, a voice,
and a consummate planner.
The
implementation was almost always left to others.
"Brothers and sisters," he said, "followers of the
Revolution.
For years you have
been fighting to destroy the Jews and to free your native land.
You have fought in many glorious battles and
have killed many of your enemies, but always final victory has eluded you.
You have been cheated out of what is your due
not just by the accursed Israelis but by the support they receive from godless
might of Western imperialism.
You have
been brought to this camp to train and prepare for an action directly targeted
at the soft underbelly of the decadent West.
Your deeds will echo around the world, and the pain and shock of the
rulers of the West will be terrible."
There were
shouts and applause from the guerrillas.
Several fired automatic rifles in the air in a display of
enthusiasm.
Kadar thought he had spent
enough time on the ritual condemnation of
It was time to deal with more practical
matters.
Terrorists — at least Kadar's
pragmatic kind — didn't fight on idealism alone.
They liked to be paid in hard currencies.