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  Assassins Betrayed

  ASSASSINS BETRAYED

  A Novel

  By

  Robert Cuma

  ASSASSINS BETRAYED

  Other books by Robert Cuma

  THE TAIPEI CONNECTION

  ASSASSINS BETRAYED is the second book in a

  continuing series of spy novels by the author. The hero,

  Steven Cross, continues to fight, in a most unorthodox

  manner, the evils within the world of espionage.

  Dedications

  Buppy, your time with us was short, but you gave us so much joy and love while you were here. You will live forever in our hearts. And may the rest of your journey be a peaceful one.

  © 2009 Robert Cuma. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

  transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  First published by AuthorHouse 10/12/2009

  ISBN: 978-1-4490-1470-4 (e)

  ISBN: 978-1-4490-1468-1 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4490-1469-8 (hc)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2009908817

  Printed in the United States of America

  ASSASSINS BETRAYED

  A Novel

  By

  Robert Cuma

  1 - Friendly Strangers

  _____________________

  As the sunrise was just coming over the peaks of the Alps, a light snow was beginning to fall. It was a chilly Italian morning and I was perched atop a hill surrounding a small valley. I was well camouflaged with my white ski attire and brandishing an extremely accurate military sniper rifle with a high-tech scope. A well-hidden chalet was situated at the bottom of the hill with no other houses around. It was the perfect place to hide from the rest of the world and an ideal setting for an assassination.

  For three days now, I sat there waiting and watching for the most opportune time to hit the target. Today was that time. My car where I slept each night was parked about two miles behind me, gassed and ready to go. My plan was to take the shot, drop the untraceable rifle and drive about twenty miles to Bergamo, Italy. There I would dump the car and take a train heading south. Keenly, I watched the chalet through my binoculars observing the people coming and going. By my estimation, the target was expected to leave his sanctuary any time now.

  The target, Ricardo Bono, was a notorious underworld figure who dealt in the world of opium trafficking. My covert assignment was to remove him from power by killing him. I don’t take assassination orders lightly. It is imperative that I assure myself that the hit is justified. I had been observing him for several weeks and he was as mean as they come. About two weeks ago, I deliberately ran into Bono in a restaurant in Milan. He travels with an entourage of downright despicable thugs, the type that take ice cream away from little kids just to watch them cry. He has a wife but the way I saw how he treated her, she would probably be better off without him. When I sat at a table near him, his goons grabbed me and threw me out of the restaurant into the back alley. They told me no one gets close to Mr. Bono. I also checked with some other operatives in southern Italy and they assured me he was on top of the heap of heroin kingpins. It all added up, this creep should go down.

  One would have to wonder why a super spy like me is sitting on this frozen hilltop in the Italian Alps ready to kill some drug lord. Well, I asked the same question of my handler, Dean Grimes, the Director of the CIA, back in Washington. Dean gave me that speech about how beneficial our services are to come from outside of the drug world and dispose of one of their contemptuous leaders. I knew better. He owed his counterpart in the Italian government a big time favor and I was the one chosen to fulfill the payback. After making my decision on the hit, I calculated it should be carried out today and I was ready. Sitting in a snow bank, shivering with a runny nose with little cover, made me want to get back to my operations in Taipei where the weather was warm and the women were warmer.

  Just then, the target emerged from the chalet and began to make his way toward his waiting limo. I put Bono in my sights and waited for the right time to take the shot. His wife inadvertently stayed between him and my rifle all the way to the limo. There was no way I was going to make her part of the collateral damage on this job. At that point, I knew the hit would have to wait for another day. Oh well. Bono was scheduled to be there for ten days anyway and all I had to do was freeze for another day or two. But at that moment, as the couple got into the limo, kaboom! The car exploded sending it twenty feet into the air. Pieces of metal and plastic were falling all over the place. Somebody beat me to the punch and in doing so also killed Bono’s wife along with some of his bodyguards.

  As I was about to exit out of there, the mountains began to shake around me from the enormous blast. Uh-oh, avalanche was my first thought. I started to run toward my car when the ground beneath my feet began to disappear as snow came sliding down from the top of the mountains in a huge mass. My first thought was correct. The next thing I knew I was being carried by the rapidly moving snow right into the valley. Being tossed about by the quick moving avalanche, I lost my rifle, my jacket and other belongings as I rode the wave of endless snow to the bottom. I stopped falling right at the entrance to the chalet. The snow covered the debris of the car wreckage and half of the people around the place. After digging my way out, I decided to vacate the area in a hurry. I started to run down the secondary road to the main street, which was about two miles away. I heard the wailing sirens of the Italian police coming up the road. Immediately, I dove into a snow bank off to the side as not to be seen by oncoming police vehicles. They passed in a hurry and I was up and running again.

  Arriving at the main road, I tried to get a lift from a passing car or something. After about five minutes of walking fast with my arm out trying to flag down the cars as they whizzed past me, one finally stopped to pick me up. It was a four-door car and I jumped into the back seat in a hurry. The two young men in the front were Italian and feeling no pain from drinking wine out of the obvious half empty bottles in the back seat. They didn’t have much to say except their destination was Milan. The driver offered me a sweater and I gladly accepted it. While the duo headed for Milan at an unrealistic speed, I curled up in the seat and tried to get warm. Italians love their cars and love to drive them fast. I realized that in the avalanche, I lost all of my identification including my passport with the covert name of Victor Jordan inside. I had three euro in my pocket and nothing else. I could not tip my hand to anyone around Italy because this assignment was supposed to be extremely covert. I couldn’t even reveal myself to the American Embassy since assassinations were conducted under total deep cover. Assassinations were right up there with Black-Ops, the other deep cover group that overthrows small countries and topples immovable leaders at the will of the Agency. The Agency and the CIA are used synonymously with Washington insiders. Besides, everyone in the State Department knew me by my real name, Steven Cross, and I had no justification for being in Italy. However, I had one shot to escape out of here and that was to contact Dean Grimes in Washington.

  As we rolled down the autostrada (Italian highway) at breakneck speeds, I gave some thought to the events that put me in this situation. My operations in Tokyo and Taipei were going well. I had been promoted to Station Chief of the Far East with an office in Tokyo and a covert operation in Taipei. The Agency had more of an interest in the covert operation rather than normal spy operations in Tokyo.

  _______

  Over the past year, my trusted team had all settled into their new surroundings in Taipei. Linda Hart and Cathy Wong, my two female field operatives, had rented a nice condominium in downtown Taipei. Mike Strong, a senior operative, was about t
o marry one of the daughters of our key man in Taipei, Tao Li. Mike, for the time being, lived with another operative who had been with me for many years now, John Adler. The last member of my team was on loan from Israeli Intelligence. Her name was Hannah Schad and she lived with Linda and Cathy.

  It was more than a year ago when we were running an operation out of Taipei from our safe house when a group of terrorists, with the help of a Chinese warlord, blew it out from under us. We struggled for a while but soon after we gained the upper hand with the help of a Colonel Frank Miller.

  Miller was commanding a group of U.S. Special Forces in the region. Throughout our long intensive ordeal, Miller and I became the best of friends. Out of the notorious group of terrorists we eliminated, two are still at large. The most sought after one in the world today is a terrorist called Abdullah Azure. Some time ago, he broke away from the PLO with a small band of followers. He continues to disrupt world peace no matter what the cost. His whereabouts are unknown at this time. The other individual is the president of a sleazy firm known as the Hightower Corporation. His name is Phillip Moody and he is well wired into U.S. politics. Hightower has a government contract that has been under investigation by the FBI for some time now. The politicians in Washington keep this organization functioning and nobody knows why.

  _______

  When this job came about, I couldn’t turn it down since Dean Grimes was the man who set me up with my cushy position in Taiwan. He also proved to be loyal to my team and me. However, as far as my team knew, I was going to Italy for a conference on behalf of the Agency. I was supposed to be meeting with my counterparts from some of the European nations to discuss world affairs in general. Grimes had been adamant about me taking this job without any support. He told me that it shouldn’t be too difficult for a professional like me. Besides, I figured it would be an easy task - until the car bomb went off. Now I had to get out of the area and call Grimes. My two Italian friends got me to Milan in one piece. They dropped me off at the main train station in the downtown area. One of them asked, “Where are you heading?”

  “I’m trying to go south.”

  “You look like a man on the run. Let me offer you some money,” as he handed me fifty euro.

  “If you give me your address I will send it back to you.”

  “Nonsense, I’ve been where you are many times in my life. Take the money keep the sweater and good luck. Oh, by the way, in twenty minutes on track five there is a local train to take you south. It should be a safer trip for you.”

  I thanked them for everything and the two moved on. I don’t think they were in any shape to give anybody, let alone the authorities, my description. Besides, I thought they were sincere with their offer of help. I went into the station and found a pay phone. I was finally starting to relax a little since Grimes was going to take care of things. So I thought. Once I got him on the phone he said, “I heard all about it. Be careful what you say.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Watch the news and get back to me in forty-eight hours. Disappear until then.” He hung up the phone.

  I quickly found a restaurant in the station with a television turned on. I sat down and ordered a coffee. My Italian was still rather good after not using it for many years. I asked the waitress to turn on a news program. When she did, I watched in amazement as the announcer began to talk about the terrorist attack in the Alps earlier today. She continued with, “The prime suspect in the case is an American born terrorist by the name of Victor Jordan.” They had a blow up of my phony passport photo all over the screen. I looked over to another TV set and there again was my picture. No wonder Grimes cut me loose, the whole country is looking for me. I paid for my coffee and left rather quickly. Glancing over my shoulder while walking toward the train platform, I couldn’t help notice that the waitress was talking to an Italian police officer and pointing in my direction. I hastily ducked into a northbound train as the cop began to run toward me. The train wasn’t moving. I immediately went out the other side between the train cars, jumping onto the tracks and over to another platform trying not to attract too much attention. Once on the platform, I noticed the sign--track five southbound local. The train was ready to leave shortly so I quickly got onboard. If the cop didn’t figured out my maneuver, I would be safe for the moment. Once on the train, I instantly went into the nearest restroom. I stayed there until the train started to move.

  After it was well out of the station, I emerged from the restroom and took the first inconspicuous seat I could find. My mind was going a mile a minute. I could blend in with the Italians fairly well since I have a dark complexion and speak the language. The only problem was my attire. I was still wearing ski pants and the red sweater the crazy driving Italians gave me. The train was warm so I removed the sweater to reveal a rather normal shirt. I kept the sweater over my white pants and tried to get some sleep. The conductor came by and I bought a ticket to Florence, which by this local train would take about five hours. The conductor shook his head after I refused to take the express train at the next stop. I told him I would like to take the scenic route. I had a good friend in Florence with the American consulate there and I was sure he would help me, at least with some money. I wanted to call him but the train phones were too expensive. After buying the ticket, I only had six euro left.

  Then I noticed a girl sitting in the seat across from me gabbing away on her cell phone. After she took a break for about thirty seconds, I asked, “Excuse me, Signorina, may I use your phone for a quick call?”

  “You are American, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. You see I lost my baggage and I need to make a very important call to Florence.” She jumped out of her seat and sat down next to me.

  She asked, “Do you know how to make a call in Italy? I can dial the number for you.” Her English was flawless.

  I had to ask, “Where did you learn to speak English so well?”

  “I was raised in the States and I moved back here with my mom about five years ago.”

  “Are you a student?

  “Oh yes, I go to the university in Florence.”

  “I’ll bet you are an art student.”

  “Not really. I’m studying psychology and social science. My doctorate will be in psychology.”

  “My goodness, I thought you were in high school. How old are you, if I may ask?”

  “I’m twenty-three and you may not ask,” as she began to smile. It was a pretty smile to go along with her great looks.

  “That’s what happens when you get old. You can’t tell the age of the young people anymore.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet you’re not so old.”

  “Well, we really don’t have to talk about that. Do we?”

  “You can keep it as your little secret. I’m not here to embarrass you.”

  “Thank you, now how about that phone call?”

  She handed me the phone and again asked, “Do you want me to dial it for you?” I thought for a moment and decided it would be better if she made the call to the consulate.

  I said, “It would be very kind of you to make the call but I don’t know the number.”

  “Well, that’s a big help. Can you give me a hint?”

  “I’m trying to call the American Consulate in Florence. I have a friend there and he may be able to help me.”

  “Okay, that’s a start.” She dialed information, got the number and quickly called the consulate. She asked, “Could you tell me his name or should I try to guess?”

  “Ask for Roger Woods.” When the operator answered the phone, the girl asked for Roger and immediately handed me the phone. Something told me that this girl was quite sharp. She didn’t ask any forwarding questions, did what I asked and didn’t want to talk to Roger.

  Roger answered his phone and said, “Woods here, may I help you?”

  “Roger, it’s me, can you help?”

  “You’re too h
ot. I can’t help you.”

  “Can you just give me some money?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s too risky. You have to get off the phone, now!” Then he hung up. I sat there for a moment dazed with the phone in my hand. The girl took the phone from me and quickly broke the connection.

  She asked, “Are you okay? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

  “Oh, I’ll be okay.”

  “What are you going to do now? It’s none of my business but if you need some money I have some.”

  “It’s not the money. It goes way beyond that.”

  Just then, the train made a stop. The girl looked a few cars ahead and said, “The police are getting on the train. We better leave now.” She grabbed my arm while getting her bag and off the train, we went. I tried to say something but I figured this would be the best alternative for now. The train had stopped in a small town about fifty miles south of Milan. We walked rapidly to the main street of the town until we found a men’s clothing store. I didn’t say a word as she brought me into the store and started to take things off the racks in a hurry. After she felt that she had enough clothes for me, she ushered me into the dressing room.

  Then she said, “Try these on and get something nice to wear.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Let’s say I have a hunch about you. Now get changed and hurry. I’ll be waiting outside. Or would you rather I dress you, too?”

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” It took me just a few minutes to find several nice outfits. I chose one to wear. She had good taste in men’s clothes.