© 2017, 2015, Murray Eskenazi, Delray Beach, FL

All rights reserved.

No part of this material may be reproduced—mechanically or otherwise—without the author’s permission.

An Eye For An Eye

is a work of fiction. Many of the locales are real, but any similarities to actual events or to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9993067-0-3 (Paperback)

978-0-9993067-1-0 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control No.: 2017912386

Printed in the United States of America

To the Memories of my father Leon Eskenazi

and my brother Irving Eskenazi.

Although they are gone,

they are a constant presence.

A portion of the Arabian Peninsula where this story takes place.

Contents

1

2

3

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

1

Ma’arib, Yemen

Friday, 8 August

In the scrubby desert, a 40 foot long shipping container was sitting by the side of the road. Wind blown trash had accumulated on all sides. Wind blown sand then piled on top of the trash to anchor it firmly in place. The shipping container had come from China almost three years ago, fully loaded with AK-47’s, ammunition, and hand held rocket launchers. Like every other Chinese shipping container, it was used just once and then cast aside as useless. They were so cheap they weren’t worth the effort to recycle them or reuse them. So they just sat wherever they got unloaded and rusted away. Port areas and warehouse storage yards all over the world were filled with thousands of empty Chinese shipping containers.

This container was once painted green but the paint was flaking off under the constant sand blasting by the desert winds. Strangely, in the dry climate, because the paint was gone, much of the steel was covered with a thin layer of rust. The Chinese name of the company was painted on the sides in white paint that had mostly flaked off. The container had lain empty and abandoned until a week ago. That was when four Yemeni members of al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP, pronounced ‘A-cap’ for convenience) and a Palestinian bomb maker from Hamas had taken up temporary residence in the shipping container, converting it into a makeshift bomb school.

The impromptu schoolroom contained two folding tables, four hard shell air travel carry-on cases, detonators, hair-thin wires, eight cell phones and 24 kilos of Semtex explosive. Electricity for lighting was provided by a small gasoline powered generator outside the container. The Palestinian was teaching the Yemenis the fine art of committing suicide with home made bombs while murdering unsuspecting civilians. Each of the Yemenis was going to take a one-way airplane ride. The plan was to pack the bomb components in a hard shell carry-on. Under the fabric liner, a thin layer of 6 kilos of Semtex plastic explosive about 3 millimeters thick was to be molded to the inside contours of the outside shell of the carry-on luggage of each expectant Yemeni martyr. The thin layers of Semtex and the hair-thin wires would not get picked up by the airport security machines. One of the would-be bombers was to board a British Airways jumbo jet flight from Dubai to New York and put the case in an overhead compartment near the outer skin of the plane. Just before the plane landed, the Islamic hero would detonate the bomb blowing out the side of the plane and raining bodies and airplane pieces all over the non-believers below. If the plan worked correctly, three more bombs would also explode in rapid succession, one over London, one over Paris, and one over Washington. The bomb detonator would be triggered by a call from the cell phone of the martyr on the plane to another cell phone in the luggage.

The fact that the would-be martyr would also die was of no consequence since he was guaranteed a place in Paradise at the right hand of Allah (not to mention a busload of virgins for his eternal pleasure). What a propaganda coup would result when over 1,600 infidel passengers go to Hell on the same day within two hours of each other, and with luck, some more on the ground would die from the falling debris.

The fix was in with three airport security checkers who wanted to do their bit for Islam. Fortunately, one of the security checkers, while visiting a café in Dubai, couldn’t keep from boasting of his impending contribution to jihad
, and word of the possible attack got picked up by one of the CIA’s informers working as a waiter in the café. The waiter passed it on to his handler who in turn passed it up the line to his boss.

As a result of this report, an American undercover agent who was in Yemen on another assignment, was now sitting on a sand dune half a kilometer away observing the five men for the past three days. The American looked like a peasant goatherd, and he smelled like one too. Perhaps that was because he had a herd of 18 goats under his care.

Two nights earlier after the Yemenis and the Palestinian had left their shipping container schoolroom for the day, the American had snuck up to the container and picked the padlock securing the doors. Once inside he photographed everything with his iPhone.

There were four cell phones lying on the worktables in various stages of disassembly. He photographed each phone with his iPhone and then reassembled each cell phone. Once a phone was reassembled he could turn it on and get it to reveal its own telephone number. Then, referring to the photo of the disassembled phone, he took it apart again and arranged the component parts exactly as they were in the photo on his iPhone. He did this with each of the four phones on the worktables. Once he had all four phone numbers and he was satisfied that everything was exactly as he had found it, he exited. He replaced the padlock exactly as it had been placed by the Palestinian.

In the desert darkness the American climbed onto the roof of the container. Up on the roof he used a hand powered drill to drill a ¼” hole in the rusty steel and inserted a battery powered bug that would allow him to hear all that was said inside the container by the heroes of al-Qaeda. A piece of duct tape covered the opening and kept the bug and the battery in place. The bug could easily transmit as far as the scrubby dune where he was herding his goats. His iPhone would allow him to hear everything said inside the container.

The morning after he had bugged the container-schoolroom he walked into Ma’areb to the local souk
where he purchased four throwaway cell phones from four different vendors. He pre-programmed his four new cell phones with the four numbers of the bomb makers’ phones by entering the numbers in the speed-dial function of each phone. He chose the 8 key to enter the numbers because 8 is a lucky number to the Chinese. The Semtex, the carryon cases, the phones, the wires, and the schoolroom all came from China. It seemed to be a fitting relationship. All he had to do was press the number 8 on each phone for two seconds and the calls would be dialed to the phones in the carry-ons in the shipping container.

This day the American, who spoke Arabic fluently, was sitting with his goats in the dunes, an earbud in his ear attached to his iPhone, listening to the AQAP mujahedeen
playing with their toys. For their ‘final exam’ the Palestinian instructed each man to assemble his bomb. Assemble they did. Now he instructed them to arm their bombs with the cell phones off. The goatherd was listening to every word with his four cell phones arrayed in front of him. Each bomb was examined in turn by the Palestinian. Three bombs were satisfactory.

To the fourth man the Palestinian said, “Hassan, you are dumber than goat shit. The way you have this wired, the bomb will explode when you first turn the phone on.” Turning to the others he said, “Show him what he did wrong and how to do it right”.

As the Palestinian watched, the other Yemenis showed Hassan what to do and he finally got his bomb wired correctly. “Now” said the Palestinian, “you can all turn your phones on.” Proudly the four Yemenis turned on the phones in their carry-on luggage pieces.

The American goatherd waited 40 seconds for the bomb phones to boot up and establish a connection to the nearest satellite, then he pressed and held the 8 button for two seconds on two of his phones. Then he pressed the 8’s on the other two phones for two seconds. The four speed dial signals began the complex process of connecting to the four phones in the carry-on cases in the container.

The Palestinian was pleased. He said, “My Brothers, you have done well. We are ready to strike. On the second ring of each phone the bombs will explode. These four bombs will bring down the infidel planes and rain death on their cities. Our sheik,
Abdel Karim Washim al-Nasirah, will personally come to see all of you before you leave on your missions. Now I want you each to turn off your phones and carefully disassemble the last connection that we just made so that the bombs are safe to handle.”

Each Yemeni reached for his phone inside the carry-on cases. Two phones started to ring. Then the third. Then the fourth. The startled men froze for an instant. The Palestinian immediately realized what was going to happen and dove onto the floor just as two of the bombs went off simultaneously. The other two bombs did not explode because they had been blown apart by the first two exploding devices.

Two bombs were enough. Twelve kilos of Semtex exploded simultaneously. The shipping container was split open on all four sides and the ends were blown out as well. All five heroes of al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula died as martyrs for Allah. That ol’ Hamas bomb maker really knew his stuff.

The goatherd thought “That’ll fix ‘em”. Then he buried his four throwaway cell phones in the sand. He decided the neighborhood was too noisy for his goats and anyway it was time to sell his scrawny flock in the market and get the hell out of Yemen. He was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to accomplished the primary objective of his assignment in Yemen, but at least he managed to raise a ruckus before he left.

2

Jack

Silver Spring, Maryland

Tuesday, 31 March

I’m a light sleeper. Otherwise I’d be long dead by now. Under my pillow I keep a Browning 9mm Hi Power. 13 rounds in the magazine and one more in the chamber. It doesn’t matter where I am, if I’m breathing, the Browning is with me.

I was back from a mission to Yemen, on extended R & R, and safely asleep in my own bed in my own home in Silver Spring, Maryland. It’s a normal, solid, upper middle class ranch house, built on a concrete slab, essentially anonymous. The only thing different about my house is me
. I live alone and travel a great deal. My neighbors think I am a salesman for a hotel supply company so I am always traveling all over the world on an irregular itinerary, visiting hotels in many countries. It’s the perfect cover for a spy attached to an Agency group that is informally known as “The Fixers”. . . .

3

Jack

Langley, Virginia

Friday, 3 April

It had been three days since Laura invaded my life. Before she left my house that night I entered her Israeli phone number in my cell phone directory. She already knew my cell phone number from hacking into the Langley computer. If we were going to be doing an operation together we had to be able to communicate.

In my business there is lots of leeway for independent action when I am out in the field. Forming working alliances with foreign agents when I am not on an active assignment is not something I can do without approval from a honcho higher up the food chain.

Since you have been in my bedroom when I was naked, allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Jack Miller. Jack is my real name, Miller is not. I chose Miller because Miller is one of the most common occupational based names in the world and is the name I use most of the time. Every Western nation and religion has people named ‘Miller’. Using a false name protects my parents and me. I haven’t used my real family name in so long that I would not respond if someone called me that name out loud. I work for the CIA in a special group that “fixes” things, usually with extreme prejudice. Lately, almost everything I do involves some middle-eastern radicals who shout ‘Death to America’. . . .

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Murray Eskenazi was born in New York City and raised in The Bronx. He attended the Bronx High School of Science. He did his undergraduate work at Columbia College, majoring in mathematics and minoring in mechanical engineering. After Columbia, he obtained an MBA from New York University Graduate School of Business Administration, majoring in marketing and business law.

At Columbia Murray participated in the Swimming Team under the legendary coach Ed Kennedy. He also joined Psi Upsilon Fraternity. Murray has maintained a lifetime commitment to Psi Upsilon serving as President of the Columbia chapter alumni association and later as a member of the International Executive Council. For his years of dedicated service he was named an Honorary Life Member of the Executive Council. His commitment to Psi U continues today.

Shortly after graduating from Columbia Murray married Doris Sims, a University of Michigan graduate. They have two daughters: Lynn and Nancy; and three grandsons: Jake, Noah and Michael.

Doris and Murray moved to East Rockaway, NY where they lived for 53 years. For 41 of those years Murray was involved in local government as a volunteer serving on boards and committees and as an elected public official (Trustee and Deputy Mayor), occupying almost all of his spare time when he wasn’t earning a living. His most fun association was with the East Rockaway Fire Department helping to design and purchase the Department’s fire-fighting equipment.

In a varied business career, Murray began as an engineer in the Fleet Sales Division of Internation Trucks. He then went on to clothing manufacturing, running factories, and later designing and operating factories and warehouses. Finally, he spent 30 years as owner of a company providing medical and paramedical services to the life insurance industry. He is now retired, living in Delray Beach, Florida, where he hacks at golf balls for fun and exercise.

Murray is the inventor of Super Scrabble
and has three U.S. Patents to his name. He is a member of MENSA. Laughter is the elixir of Life.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A special thank you to my wife Doris, who has suffered through many, many years of my eccentric habits, late nights, moods, and just plain nuttyness. She has made me ‘toe the line’ many times and yet she seems to know when to let me run loose. Doris is a tough critic and a slave driver when it comes to my writing. Love is wonderful. Sometimes I wonder why
Doris loves me, but I am always grateful that she does.

Capt. David N. Orrik, USN (Ret.), a Navy SEAL, my oldest friend—going back to The Bronx High School of Science and Columbia—and the first person I trusted to read this manuscript. Dave’s comments have made this a better book, given it coherence and readability. Thank you Dave, you are a unique presence in my life.

Where would I be without the many friends who have taken the time to read An Eye for an Eye
and who have aided me with their insights and comments and helped me with the proof-reading? A deeply felt “thank you” is due to Dory Brodherson, Bob Brodherson, Bob Salem, Lenny Levey, Susan Creaturo (who really red-lined me), Eddie Creaturo, Hank Cohen. and Axel Heyman. My partner in Super Scrabble,
Bob Reiss, a prodigious author in his own right, and Harry Levy, author of several mystery thrillers, have both helped me through the travails of publishing this book.

I am sure I have missed some important people who have helped me, and if I have, I apologize for any omissions.

Writing a book is a humbling experience. I have looked at the same wall for hours on end and not once has the wall deigned to speak to me. But in the end, the wall came through. Thank you wall.

—Murray Eskenazi