INFLIGHT: Book #2

By Paul Rodricks

About the Book Series,

INFLIGHT

Book #2

Ex-CIA Jon Bradley 3-Series Thriller

 

INFLIGHT, Book #2, continues with the action-oriented plot of dangerous and intriguing, multi-dimensional characters, revolving around a family sharing a terrorist bloodline, including their agenda of personal vendetta.

 Ex-CIA operative, Jon Bradley, is swept into investigating the sudden, brutal homicide of his mentor and friend, Eugene Lewek, the former Vietnam, CIA agent, suspected of being the local Mossad's Sayan asset, which leads him to question Joanne Ross, one of Lewek's last contacts.

 The latter, abandoned and abused as a child, grows up to be a narcissist psychopath, who is obsessed with discovering the identity and whereabouts of her elusive parents, both of whom have a shady past.

 Enters the scene, Khaleed al Abbasi, alias Pierre al-Khoury, the spurned son of the fugitive Hezbollah's mastermind, set forth on his agenda of family revenge.

 On the personal front, Jon Bradley assists the NYPD Sex Crime Division in the investigation and the arrest of the NBA celebrity, James Wainsford, the alleged rapist of his lady friend, Samantha Clarke, an attorney in the D.A.'s office.

 On the last day before exiting his FBI's Counterterrorism posting after being re-assigned to the CIA's Middle-East Division, Jonathan Bradley is drawn into a hostage crisis created by the homegrown terrorist cell led by Youssef Hariri, who is determined to avenge his father's death at the hands of the Mossad.

 Mohammed al Abbasi, in reality, Imad Darwish, a former powerful Lebanese Christian politician, and businessman, known by his infamous name of "Surq" – the Falcon, is presently active, moving from Iran to far-off African regions of Sudan-Uganda-Kenya-Somalia, inciting the tribes to sectarian infighting and revolts against the governments, facilitated by his illegal weapons and drugs trafficking.

 Jonathan resolves his true identity and plans to hunt down the mastermind. This, in turn, leads him to investigate the disappearance of the femme fatale MI6 field agent, Claire O'Neal – Jon's one-time lover – during his last operation, Mermaid, in Beirut, Lebanon.

 To summarize, the 3-part series of the Terror Bloodline abounds with terror-cell plots, personal conflicts, rape, vengeance, pedophilia, betrayals, murders, and illegal arms & drug trafficking, mingled with deceit and dangerous interplay by the FBI, CIA, Mossad, and MI6.

 

Fields of Action: Beirut, Lebanon - New York City - London - Jerusalem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Rodricks
• Release date: Mar 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201021832

Paul Rodricks

He is a keen researcher and investigator into many human-interest subjects, such as on genres: Thrillers+Adventure+Crime+Suspense. This has led him to pen for his valuable readers, fast-paced and adventurous tales about intriguing characters. Both real and fictitious. He has traveled extensively, which has given him insight into portraying his characters from ordinary folks to spies, corrupt politicians, criminals & killers, terrorists, and the like. His new sports thriller, Soccer Most Foul, depicts the scourge of matching-fixing plaguing the beautiful game. He is also known to write on Historical fiction and is an avid songwriter, Poet, and composer. He'd love to hear from readers. Invites you to visit his blog: PaulsWRITERSDIG7.blogspot.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

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Suqr – The Hunting Falcon

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IRAN

Tehran City – Milad Tower

Back in Tehran, traveling on a forged Spanish passport, Mohammed al-Abbasi found his mind wandering to the events he had planned in New York City, which would garner international attention, thereby etching another notch on his destructive agenda of terror exploits. In a way, this was becoming a cat and mouse game for him.

Now sitting in the lounge of his hotel room on the seventh floor of the Milad Tower, one of the tallest structures in the world, he was watching the panoramic view of the city-lights glimmer and the traffic lights streaming below against the mountainous backdrop.

Mohammed stretched his limbs as he felt relaxed sipping from a glass of ‎Hennessy Cognac, smuggled into his room by one of the hotel staff having black-market sources.

A few moments later, he found himself drifting into a rare, reminiscent mood; thinking back to what was it that had made his life change so much from a normal fun-loving Lebanese youth to eventually becoming a hated man and a fugitive, the notoriety he had gained today.

His father, Amin Darwich, was one of the powerful founding figures of the Maronite Christians political party - Ḥizb al-Katā’ib al-Lubnānīya –The Lebanese Phalanges Party – founded in 1936.

When Imad Darwish, now popularly known as Mohammed al-Abbasi, returned to Lebanon in 1976 from America, the country was already embroiled in a fierce civil war. The conflict would last for 14 long years, that is, up to 1990.

Meantime, many of his father’s businesses and assets would be destroyed along with most of the infrastructure, trade, and industries in Lebanon, while the party’s political influence went into decline.

Imad was a party member and he joined the Phalangists Lebanese Forces, fighting in the civil war against the Palestinians and Muslim factions.

At one time, his father held a government license to supply arms and weapons to the Phalangist army. That firm had now become defunct.

While still in the army, trying to revive this business, Imad found his task becoming less complicated and more lucrative by brokering deals with various infighting factions, buying and selling guns and weapons to all the sides involved in whatever the conflict or causes. Soon, having his hands full, he developed vested partnerships to harness the resources, among the Syrians, Iranians, and even the Russians and Ukrainians, for a full-time contraband gun-running from light to heavy weaponry.

Controls and embargoes did little to regulate the international arms trade, and there was a widespread clandestine flow of the arms and weapons in the black market, including government surplus stocks, and the factories manufacturing them in secret locations.

By the time the civil war ended, Imad Darwish had become a leading business figure in Lebanon, and an important member of the Christian Phalangist party and the community. All this time, he had been a pro-American and almost a pro-everyone else.

In the year 1992, during the presence of the Syrian peacekeeping troops in Lebanon his father, Amin Darwish, and mother were traveling with a top Syrian politician visiting Beirut when they were ambushed and killed by a group of rival Phalangists militia, who opposed the Syrian intervention in Lebanon, allying themselves with Israel.

That was the blackest year in the life of the young Imad. From then on, he would use all his efforts and resources to build up a reputation that only a few of his fellow conspirators could match.

He forever shifted his allegiance to the Hezbollah and their allies, doing their bidding and reaping a good harvest in return, against the enemies - the Americans and Israelis. Other than revenge for his parents’ killing and love for wealth and power, Imad Darwish had no ideological interests.

By the year 2002, he had come under the scanner of the intelligence agencies, some of which never felt shy of using his services, both as an ally and a foe. Imad never knew who would turn against him and when.

He could nowadays rarely visit his wife and his two college-going teenage girls, but it satisfied him that they were safe and well-provided for. It also pleased him that his first-born bastard son from his on-and-off relationship with the Palestinian woman; his dark beauty, letting him sow his seed in her ever-willing furrow, had taken after him and was now holding the reins of his various business fronts.

A brief interlude did occur in his life way back in 1998 when his love-life reignited. She had suddenly shown up in his world again, more ravishing than before. Mature and wise to the ways of the world. They were meeting after a long lapse of twenty-two years. Like her parents, she was in the British Civil Service, often rotating in the middle-east, now being posted in Beirut.

Again, as everything else now in his life, the secret encounters were like stolen moments to cherish and incentives to look forward, in a life plagued by unpredictable mélange of all sorts.

He hated to have his suspicions confirmed through his usual underground sources that the enigmatic Claire O’Neal was in reality a British MI6 spy.

Imad Darwish was not the person to give up easily. Three years later, he would ensnare her into a trap of her own making.

It was a long while, and the Cognac bottle was three-quarters gone before Mohammed al-Abbasi ordered for room service. He took a long cold-water shower to awaken and stimulate his body and senses. Then the rest followed.

Early next morning he was at the Tehran airport to catch the first 1800 miles one-stop flight, Tehran-Iran to Khartoum -Sudan, and soon to be en route to Uganda, Kenya and Somalia.

CHAPTER ONE

2006

Yonkers, New York City.

FBI Informant, Youssef Hariri

Monday - Morning

Youssef Hariri was highly distressed, demoralized, and at the same time extremely outrageous with the FBI, holding them responsible for the turnout of the disastrous events which led to the killing of his father by the Mossad when they raided the terror cell.

He was now full of remorse. He couldn’t believe that he, born of a race of the true believers of Allah, had collaborated with both the FBI and the Israeli intelligence - the sworn enemies of Islam.

The blood of his father’s death was equally upon his head. He had tried to make amends with his father if only to spy on his tenants.

Youssef was now convinced that his father had paid a heavy price to redeem his son. He’d immediately give up his present decadent and wicked lifestyle, and seek the tender mercies of Allah to walk in His righteous path.

Youssef had made up his mind. Only his ultimate martyrdom would truly evoke the Merciful Allah to absolve him of his past sinful life. He would become a Jihadist, and get his revenge on the Great Satan and its ally.

The Lebanese-American continued to reside in his city apartment since his father’s house was still cordoned as the crime scene area. Despite their alienation, his father had nominated Youssef as the heir to his house and the other property in Yonkers.

Youssef, however, planned to sell it all after the legalities of his entitlement had been completed.

Abdullah, the errand man in and around Yonkers, among the Arab communities, had interacted with Youssef as a low-level informant. He had no permanent residence. After his father’s death, Youssef asked Abdullah, the short, past fifty years something, near-bald, Lebanese man, to come over and stay in his Lower Manhattan apartment. Abdullah also served as a cook, which naturally took care of their meals.

They had been keeping to themselves, Youssef refusing to take calls from his usual wayward friends. In fact, he had removed the SIM card from his cellphone and switched to a new phone. He had also instructed Abdullah to turn back any visitors at the door by telling them that he was away.

On this Monday morning, the two of them had been sitting in the small lounge, looking out of the glass windows of the third-floor apartment, overlooking the busy traffic in the street down below.

Abdullah, Youssef declared firmly, I have made up my mind. I am going back to Lebanon. You can accompany me if you wish to. You have a family there, don’t you?

Yes. But haven’t been in touch with my family for years.

They were speaking alternately in English and Arabic. This conversation was a part of Hariri’s plan to mislead the clandestine eavesdropping and wiretapping equipment installed in his apartment. He had discovered that he was under surveillance even as he began his double-life as an intelligence informant.

All important conversations were carried out outdoors – in the park, street, cafeterias, and the metro. If at all it had to be in the apartment, then the exchange was in written Arabic.

Neither had he, his FBI control, William Bank, nor the Mossad Sayan, Shimon, contacted each other after the Mossad’s recent raid on the Yonkers terror cell. He knew they were lying low because his father was a collateral victim. The spies, however, would be watching his every move outside the apartment.

Sooner or later, they’d make contact offering excuses and sympathies and even monetary compensation. Having lived the lives, they do; Youssef was wise to their ways. Now, it was time for payback.

Taking a pad of writing paper, Hariri wrote on it in Arabic for a few minutes. There was a possibility that Abdullah was not a known face to some of the watchers. He had to risk him to make contact outside.

Abdullah was fluent in Arabic, being a native Lebanese. In his youth, he’d learned to memorize verses from the Koran. He was Mullah’s favorite student.

He now took pride in mentally learning by rot the whole written message within a few minutes and nodded bemusedly at Youssef.

Next, Abdullah went to the kitchen, burnt the paper note completely over a steel tray. He dumped the paper-ash into the wash-basin and opened the tap to let the water drain down the ash, leaving no trace of it. He would repeat this task a few more times.

Later, as the older Lebanese made ready to leave the apartment, Youssef said to him, Abdullah, we need to restock our grocery. On your way to the Mosque, leave a list of the items we need at our regular grocer and ask for door-delivery.

"Tayyeb, alright, ya Youssef. I should be back by afternoon. Ma’ah Salaama."

Inshallah. Fi Amanillah.

Half an hour before Abdullah left, Youssef had called the NYPD Mortuary office of the Chief Medical Examiner and was informed that the autopsy was yet to be conducted. Hopefully, as a next of kin, he could claim his father’s body on Wednesday or Thursday, if there was no objection from the NYPD investigation team.

Abdullah would convey that message to the Imam at the Anjuman Mosque, in addition to the secret contents of Youssef’s message.

Hariri would make his move only after his beloved father’s remains were interred.

CHAPTER TWO

New York City

Crossley Apartments

Monday – 3:00 P.M.

Elaine, the roommate of Samantha Clarke, had just revealed to him the name of the suspect, who, she believed had brutally assaulted and raped Samantha, his longstanding girlfriend. The alleged perpetrator was still at large.

Jonathan Bradley was taken aback, although he had heard that name mentioned before, he had not met the man in person.

For a few moments, he sat there looking thoughtfully at Elaine. Then, he remembered his promise to call Samantha after having gotten through to her roommate.

Elaine, however, appeared calmer than he had expected her to be, under the circumstances. Her pretty face looked grotesque with the bruises suffered to it.

Excuse me, I have to call Samantha. She’d be waiting anxiously.

Elaine got to her feet and said, I will go make some coffee for us.

Bradley nodded and started to dial Samantha’s number. She answered on the first ring.

He told her that he had finally managed to make contact with her roommate, and

was waiting to talk to Elaine about the whole matter. That he and Elaine would call her later. Jonathan was glad that Samantha finally sounded appeased after his call.

It’s Michael Cage’, Elaine had told him.

He was Samantha’s ex-husband. They were childhood sweethearts and had married a year after graduation, only to divorce a year later. Michael was now a Commissioned Officer in the U.S. Army.

Jonathan did not know the details of their separation, nor had he bothered to probe when Samantha first told him about her past.

Elaine returned with two cups of coffee, handed over one to Jon, and settled herself on the couch facing him across the coffee table between them.

Was it also Michael, who hit out at you?

No. That was Jamie... it was due to a misunderstanding between us, she said almost casually.

The extent of injury that Jamie had caused her belied her statement. There had to be more to it. What’s happening here, Bradley wondered?

What makes you suspect that Samantha’s ex-husband assaulted and raped her? She would have sensed that it was him since they were married before?

Maybe she is afraid of Mike, or maybe she isn’t so sure, which is why she did not want to mention to you that she suspected him.

Jon was finding it hard to understand.

Did Samantha tell you that she suspected it was her ex-husband who raped her?

No, not in so many words, but I knew she was holding it back from me at the time.

I know that they were once married. But, as responsible adults, we did not consider it necessary to exchange personal details of our past lives.

He stalked her, and I think they even met.

When did this happen? Samantha never once hinted at it or mentioned this. And, if she had suspected him, she’d have certainly named him.

I believe he wanted to get back to her but was posted in Germany for over a year.  He would call and come to visit her when he was on leave. But she was refusing to go back to him. This happened several times before the two of you got friendly. After that, he stopped coming entirely, and only recently did I catch him stalking her on her way back to the apartment.

Did she know? Did you tell her?

I certainly did. Perhaps, she knew that he was in town and they may have even spoken on the phone.

Why did not she or you tell me when all this was happening? We could have prevented the rape from taking place?

We thought Mike would lose interest and go away now that Samantha was friendly to another man. Being in the army, I am sure he must have found out that you are a government official.

Anyway, it is a serious matter now, and you will have to testify as a witness. You will also have to make a police complaint against Jamie.

Elaine immediately took affright at Bradley’s words.

Please, Jonathan, you don’t have to involve me or Jamie with the police. We will settle the differences between ourselves. Just this once, please Jonathan. I am sure Samantha will also agree with me.

"Understand, Elaine, that I cannot promise anything. The least I can do,

before going to the police, is to conduct my investigation of Michael Cage. I will also need to speak to James. Let me have his number and address."

She was reluctant to do so. Please... Jonathan, let it go...

Listen to me, Elaine. It’ll be easy for him after the first time. James must understand the far-reaching consequences of such grievous assaults. It’d do him good to learn to control himself now, then when he is behind bars.

Elaine gave him Jamie’s number and address. I’ll have to tell him that you wish to speak to him.

That’s fine with me.

Jonathan glanced at his watch, Elaine, I think I will leave now. Will you be safe?

Yes... Yes, Jonathan. She responded quickly, trying to convince him, I will take care of myself.

Call up Samantha. She’s waiting by the phone. She would want to know that you are safe and sound, Bradley told her as he walked to the door.

I will, Jonathan. You take care too. Elaine softly closed the door after him.

***

What was going on? Why hadn’t Samantha told him that she suspected her ex-husband of sexually assaulting her? Certainly, Samantha would have known, despite the mask, that it was Michael since she had lived with him before? Had he done it for revenge?

Could he believe Elaine? As a woman herself, Elaine understood the trauma a woman goes through after a horrible rape. Why was she telling him now, several weeks after the incident? Moreover, what was the cause or reason for the NBA player assaulting her so badly?

These thoughts were running through his mind, as he decided to visit the Crossley Apartments real-estate office located on the first floor of the building since he already happened to be in the area.

He walked into the office and asked one of the female clerks there to see the Manager or Supervisor.

I am Jonathan Bradley, he said, producing and showing her his FBI badge.

That got him a quick response as she hurried to enter one of the three cabins, and came out following a young man in his late-twenties.

The man walked briskly to Jon and offered his hand, I am Arthur Konige, Assistant Manager. How can I help you, Sir? he said cordially."

I am here for some information as part of my investigation into a case of a serious aggravated assault.

Does it concern one of our tenants, Sir?

Yes.

Then, we should talk in my office, the young manager waved Jonathan towards his cabin and they went inside.

When they were seated, Arthur said, Since you mentioned that you are investigating into a case of battery assault, would it relate to Ms. Samantha Clarke, the roommate of Ms. Elaine Townsend, renting the west side B2 apartment on the second floor?

That is correct. In whose name does the lease stand? I’d like to check the details of the Lease Agreement.

The NYPD detectives have been here asking questions and went through the Lease also. We could not do much to help them since the unfortunate incident did not take place here.

I am personally following up the case by interacting with the police. I am Ms. Clarke’s fiancé and I have been to this apartment several times before. It seems to me that you do not maintain a logbook for the guests or visitors.

We started with a reception lounge when the building was new. With the tenants-visitors hassle and increasing overheads, the management thought it best to skip it. But we do have an ex-service-man for night security. The security guard begins his rounds after 6:00 P.M.

"No security camera surveillance, I guess?

The man nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Can I look over the Lease Agreement folder of Apartment B2?

Seeing the hesitation on the part of the Assistant Manager, Jon said, I am not making it official. Just want to go through it briefly. That’s all.

Arthur got to his feet and went over to the corner of his cabin where stood the steel filing cabinet. From its second drawer, he took out a folder, glanced at the tag to verify the name, came back, and placed it on the desk before Jonathan.

Bradley looked up at him, saying, Thanks, Mr. Konige. I will be quick, and opened the folder.

Just then the desk phone started ringing. The assistant manager picked it up, and his mood changed as he listened for a few seconds before answering brightly, Yes, Mr. Wainsford, It will be ready by then. Thank you, Sir. Goodbye.

As he took his seat on the other side of his desk, he could not help holding back his excitement.

You know, Mr. Bradley, that was Jamie. He plays for the Brooklyn Nets this season. A real toughie. Shoots right. Going to be exciting just to watch him play.

Though Jonathan had overheard the name Wainsford being