<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #8080FF">010900May15Z Jerusalem, Israel</span></span></span></span><br/>Zachariah Souad stood at the window of the office building overlooking Yafo Street in the Beit Ya'akov district of Jerusalem. He contemplated the actions of the<span style="font-style: italic">brotherhood</span>. He believed in the cause and knew this was the right action. Even today, the day he would send warriors into harm's way, he had subtle doubts about his decision. But it was the right move. He turned around, reached for a cigarette from his gold plated case. He tapped out the small white paper cylinder and placed it between his lips. He then reached for the golden lighter and burned the tobacco in his cigarette. He looked up at the only other man in the room, his Chief Operations Officer, "Oz, send in Azriel. We need to do this now."<br/><br/>"Yes, sir," Osmond Hannah, an Assyrian from northern Turkey responded as he left the room to retrieve Azriel Halevi, one of their finest assassins.<br/><br/>Within a few minutes, the two men entered the room. Zachariah sat behind a desk. He had a very dour look on his face, appearing as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Oz Hannah took the seat next to the desk and began to speak. "Azriel, we have a job for you," the operations officer was just as gloomy as the boss. This would be the last time  during the conversation he would call him by his name. Both men may have been wearing suits earlier, but no coat and no tie, just an opened collar white shirt; sweat permeated the arm pits of both in the mid afternoon heat. "Whether you accept this job or not, you must know that you can never reveal to anyone outside this room what I am about to tell you." Most missions from the office of the Soldiers of Christ bore the same relevance of clandestine attitudes.<span style="font-style: italic">Don't tell anyone or risk punishment of death.</span>It was a warning that did not require verbalization. They all knew it.  The office itself appeared as a transportation company providing long haul to anywhere in the Middle Eastern Region.<br/><br/>"Your target for this operation is a high value target (HVT) in the Syrian government," Oz allowed the words to hang in the air for a few seconds. "You are traveling to Syria for this one. Your handler goes by the name Farid Al Hammasa. He is currently in Damascus with two surveillance teams. They are gathering information relevant to your mission. Due to the sensitivity of this operation, they cannot complete the mission for you. They can only gather information and pass it on to you through Farid."<br/><br/>"You will travel from here to Larnaca, Cyprus. You will receive papers identifying you as<span style="font-style: italic">Malik Topçu</span>, a photojournalist from Bursa, Turkey. You are covering the Syrian Civil War for<span style="font-style: italic">Today's Zaman</span>." Everyone in the room knew Today's Zaman was a daily periodical published in Istanbul. "You will be given cameras and access to papers, tools and the necessary identification." Oz lit up a cigarette. It was an American Marlboro. He enjoyed the flavor. The corner store sold them along with other European cigarettes and cold drinks. He blew the smoke up into the air and flicked his ashes into the large glass dish at the corner of Zachariah's desk.<br/><br/>"From Cyprus, you will enter Turkey at Icel. Yes, a beautiful city lined with beaches and beautiful Turkish women. But you aren't there for the scenery. Your contact in Icel is a woman who goes by the name,<span style="font-style: italic">Pinar</span>. You will find her at the Gondol Titel Sitesi." Oz displayed a photograph of Pinar.<br/><dl class="codebox"><dt>"Pinar" | <a href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="var spoiler = this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('dd')[0]; if ( spoiler.style.display == 'none' ) { spoiler.style.display = 'block'; this.innerHTML = '-'; } else { spoiler.style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '+'; };">+</a></dt><dd style="display: none;"><a class="postlink" href="http://beauty-around.com/images/sampledata/TURKEY_WOMen/birche.jpg">[ img ]</a></dd></dl>"She will provide you with transportation to the Syrian border and support your cover while you are in Turkey. She is one of ours. We have arranged for you to have a Landrover utility truck. You will drive from the Turkish border to Damascus. As you will know, ISIS and the Islamic Front control various portions of the route between the Turkish border in the north and the capital city in the south. You will need to take extra precautions. Transporting weapons will get you into trouble."<br/><br/>Oz took a drag on his cigarette, exhaled the smoke, looked at Zachariah and back at Azriel. "With that said, you will not be taking firearms into Cyprus or into Turkey. We cannot jeopardize you being compromised by the Turkish police or by any of the soldiers in Syria. We have taken the liberty of transporting a few of your notable weapons to Syria ahead of time. You will need a shovel once inside Syria."<br/><br/>"A cache point has been created for you containing your weapons and ammunition at this coordinate," Oz handed Azriel a slip of paper identifying the latitude and longitude where his weapons are buried. The scrap of paper identified the weapon cache at 33°42'14.3"N 36°33'15.1"E at the end of a ridge in the Al-Qutayfah District north of Damascus. Along with the slip of paper, Oz handed Azriel a telephone enabled with GPS, Google Maps and contact numbers pre-programmed.<br/><br/>"If you look through the phone, you will find Pinar's number as well as your contact, Farid Al Hammasa in Damascus. That is not his real name. A cover assigned to him by this office. He and the surveillance teams have been in country for the past year collecting intelligence on the target." Oz took another drag on the cigarette. "Which leads me to identifying your target."<br/><br/>Oz leaned in towards Azriel, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. His eyes dead serious, peering right into Azriel's eyes. "If for whatever reason, you believe you cannot complete this task, everything I have spoken to you must be erased from your memory. Do you understand? You can never tell anyone about this." Oz sat back, flipped over a photograph laying on Zachariah's desk allowing Azriel to see who his target was...<br/><br/><br/><dl class="codebox"><dt>Target Photo | <a href="javascript: void(0);" onclick="var spoiler = this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('dd')[0]; if ( spoiler.style.display == 'none' ) { spoiler.style.display = 'block'; this.innerHTML = '-'; } else { spoiler.style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '+'; };">+</a></dt><dd style="display: none;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/7d/Bashar_al-Assad_%28cropped%29.jpg/330px-Bashar_al-Assad_%28cropped%29.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/>Dr. Bashar Hafez al-Assad, President of Syria</div></dd></dl><br/><br/>"From here on out, your target will be identified as<span style="font-style: italic">The Lion</span>, in English. You will never speak his name in context with your assignment. You are welcome to engage any of the secondary targets on your list, if given the opportunity, but DO NOT jeopardize the mission or pursue secondary targets until after the primary has been eliminated. Is that clear?"<br/><br/>"I am providing you a ticket on the ferry from Ashdod to Limassol, Cyprus. You will need to arrange transportation from Limassol to Larnaca. Your drop is in a locker at the Larnaca Main Harbor; bin number 33." Oz handed him the key. "You will board the<span style="font-style: italic">Mediterranean Eagle</span>which sails out of Larnaca daily at ten hundred hours. It docks in Icel, Turkey seven hours later." Oz took an additional drag on the cigarette and exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. "If there are no questions, you can depart when you are ready, Malik Topçu." Oz allowed a brief smile upon uttering Azriel's cover name.<br/><br/>Zachariah who had been silent during the mission briefing stood, extended a hand to Azriel. "Best of luck to you, Mr. Topçu."