The Burgas Affair Read online

  The Burgas Affair

  A novel by Ellis Shuman

  The Burgas Affair

  By Ellis Shuman

  Kindle Edition.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Copyright 2017 Ellis Shuman

  Cover Design by Louis Rakovich

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Certain liberties have been taken with regard to the very real terror attack at Burgas Airport in July 2012 and the portrayal of the suspected terrorists.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  On July 18, 2012, a terrorist’s bomb rocked a tourist bus at Burgas Airport, killing five Israelis and their Bulgarian bus driver.

  This is a fictitious account of the attack and its aftermath.

  Dedicated to the victims of the Burgas bus bombing.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading

  A word from the author

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  Prologue

  When she came to, she was lying on broken pavement with a heavy weight strapped around her waist. A quick glance made her stomach drop. There was no mistaking the tiny wires, the thick strips of duct tape, the packed charges. She instantly recognized the apparatus for what it was—an explosive device likely to detonate at any moment. She gasped, realizing her life was in imminent danger.

  Her vision partially cleared. Pedestrians were gathered at a distance, staring and pointing before backing off somewhat, ready to flee the scene. Traffic on the busy street came to a halt. Passengers spilled from the doors of a long, noisy tram and raced for safety. A siren sounded somewhere, growing louder by the second.

  Where was she? Her mind was blank.

  This can’t be happening! How did she get here? Who had strapped on the explosives? She shook her head, sure she was imagining her predicament and it would all vanish like the last vestiges of an extremely gruesome nightmare. She blinked back tears but when she fully opened her eyes, she was still on the ground. A nervous policeman held back the crowd and barked into his radio.

  “Help me,” she groaned, lifting her arm. Then, seeing that motion shifted the bizarre contraption attached to her body, she settled back, not willing to trigger a fatal explosion. She looked down again at the protrusion of colored wires and switches. The belt tightened. She took several deep breaths in attempts to calm her racing heart. The onlookers were shouting at her; their language was foreign. She cried out to them in desperation, in hopes they would take immediate action to prevent the impending mass-casualty event. Didn’t they realize their lives were threatened as well?

  With growing acceptance of what was at stake she knew, instinctively, there was nothing she could do. She was about to die.

  1

  July 18, 2012

  The airplane banked to the left, tilting its wings as it began its final approach to the landing strip. Leaning across his sleeping partner, Amit glanced through the small window at the sea, at the crusty whitecaps and the sudsy waves rushing to the shore. The water was dark, full of mystery and menace. This sea deserves its name, he said to himself. The Black Sea—black as night, black as oil, black as ink. Black and infinite. But wait! There atop the waters he spotted a small boat, a dash of bobbing color. And then he saw another vessel, this one with bright sails flapping in the late-afternoon breeze. A speedboat rapidly approached the other boats only to circle round them before it was lost from view. The sea may be black, he thought, but as the plane descended, it didn’t appear as menacing as he had originally observed.

  A rumble below his feet indicated that the landing wheels were dropping. Amit turned to his sleeping wife and tenderly touched her bare shoulder.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said. “We’re about to land.”

  “What? We were just taking off a minute ago.” Esty yawned, stretching her arms as much as she could in the confines of her seat.

  “Well, we’re here now. And we’re going to have a great time. The time of our lives.”

  He was amazed Esty had been able to nap while he hadn’t been able to close his eyes for a moment during the two-hour flight from Tel Aviv. He was so excited, so eager to begin their long-awaited vacation that not even the airline magazine with its colorful descriptions of sights worth visiting could attract his attention. Was Esty excited as well? Would she be as tired on this trip as she seemed at home, or would she get a second wind to make the trip truly enjoyable? He hoped her pregnancy wouldn’t hinder their weekend getaway.

  Their honeymoon had been postponed many times. Soon after their marriage the previous summer they had checked out the possibility of an extended tour of Tuscany, but that plan was abandoned when they considered the expensive prices of hotels and car rental. And then, his demanding position as project manager at a high-tech company in the midst of an intense software launch took precedence over personal vacations. Meeting the deadline of preparing a marketing budget was cause for postponing a short interlude in Paris. Plans for a week on a Greek island, their ideal vacation, had fallen victim to the pressures of the launch. The repeated cancellations had caused quite a bit of friction at home. At one point, Esty came right out and declared, “It looks like we’ll never go on our honeymoon.” And then she added, “Or maybe we’ll only go after our children have grown up and left home.”

  In the spring, Esty had gotten pregnant. This was something they had been anxiously anticipating, as both of them were eager to raise a family. “A boy and a girl,” Amit had said when they first became engaged, convinced this was what
Esty wanted as well. “At least two of each,” she retorted. When she announced that her period was late, and later, that the home pregnancy test was positive, she couldn’t hide the smile from her face. “We’re on our way,” she said, proudly waving the small plastic indicator.

  The baby was due in September, leaving open the question of when Esty would eventually return to her teaching position. She was ready to leave the classroom as soon as possible, so right after Amit proposed the July vacation—the realization of their honeymoon dreams—she informed the school principal. “Oh, by the way, I’m not sure about next year,” she had added, and that was that.

  “Bulgaria could be fun,” Amit had told her as he scanned through the options listed on his laptop screen. “These days, Israelis are avoiding Turkey for political reasons. Everyone’s going to Bulgaria instead.” He glanced at the sofa, where she sat patting her growing belly—a sign they needed to make a decision very soon. “It’s cheap, there are plenty of beaches and good food, and it’s not too far away,” he stressed.

  “I thought we were talking about Greece, about lying on the hot sands on one of the islands.”

  “Islands are islands. I want to make sure this trip is really special. Bulgaria will be fun! You’ll see.”

  “Are you sure this time our vacation won’t be canceled at the last minute?”

  “I promise. You deserve this. We both deserve this,” he’d said, going over to the sofa to kiss her forehead. “I’m so excited about traveling abroad! We need to go now, before it’s too late for you to fly.”

  The airplane’s wings leveled off, and they descended quickly. The flight had been uneventful. And short. But not too short for Esty to take a nap. He held her hand and continued to stare out the window. The plane dropped from the sky. Their postponed honeymoon was about to begin. Bulgaria was mere minutes away.

  * * *

  A tall, lanky man paced back and forth from one side of the Burgas terminal to the other. He glanced frequently at the electronic arrivals board and repeatedly consulted his watch. He wore plaid shorts and an Adidas T-shirt. The visor of a cheap baseball cap lay low on his forehead; a long blond ponytail emerged from its back. The man shifted the weight of his bulky backpack and headed toward the counter of a rental car company.

  The plane should have landed by now, he thought. How long would it take for the passengers to disembark, to make their way through customs, claim their luggage, and head for the bus? It will all be over very soon, he told himself, fighting off the urge to simply drop his backpack and run for the nearest taxi.

  He fingered the mobile phone in his pocket, awaiting the final instructions. He was instructed to leave the backpack in the baggage compartment of one of the buses, but which one? If he left the bag near where they were parked now, it would be suspicious. Someone would call security. Well, they would if they were smart. But he couldn’t take any chances. This operation had to succeed. And for it to succeed, he needed to follow orders.

  An elderly woman approached him, mumbling something unintelligible. He ignored her words and walked away. He must avoid human contact, not form any sort of impression on anyone waiting in the hall. He couldn’t allow himself to make a mark in their memories. To them, he must remain a nonentity, someone who was never there. A smile crossed his lips with the thought of the devastating power he carried on his back.

  The top line on the digital arrivals board listed the flight that attracted his attention. Arriving from Tel Aviv, it should have landed already. He checked his Rolex watch again. It was an expensive gold extravagance he had hesitated to purchase. But when wearing the watch, he felt strong, invincible—someone to respect. He wore the gold watch. He was the man.

  The plane was ten minutes late, almost fifteen.

  Bulgarian gibberish blared out of the loudspeakers. He adjusted his bulky pack and headed toward the terminal’s entrance doors, a vantage point from which he could observe the parking lot. Taxis waited with humming motors, the greedy drivers ready to snatch the first visitors to emerge from the building. At the far side of the lot a number of buses were parked, their motors idling softly. That was where he would go when he received word. That was where he would leave his backpack.

  He wondered where the other men were. He tried to spot their small white Fiat, but the vehicle was nowhere in sight. They were probably parked around the corner. There were two of them, light-skinned Arabs who spoke English with a pronounced Arabic accent. They controlled everything, pulled all the strings. But they had paid him well, so he had no reason to question their intentions.

  He paced the short length of the terminal complex. He passed the counter of the car rental agency, the small shop selling sundries and local newspapers. He reached the door to the restrooms, but despite a growing need to relieve himself, he spun around and glanced again at the glass entrance doors. A single security officer stood there, smoking. The officer seemed slightly bored, more concerned with his cigarette than with his afternoon duties. The tall stranger continued to circle the hall.

  What was delaying the plane?

  It would all be over soon, he told himself, once more staring at the electronic list of arriving flights. And then he could leave Bulgaria for good. His wife and child waited patiently for him halfway across the world, without a clue as to what he would do for a rich paycheck. This was simply a job for him, extremely well-paying employment. Unlike his employers though, he was not ideologically involved in any worldwide struggle. He was merely a mule, paid to make a delivery of volatile goods. And he would soon complete his role in the operation.

  He was ready for this to end. It was time to go home.

  * * *

  Ivan Antonov smoked his third cigarette as he waited impatiently by his bus. The flight should have landed by now. The group of passengers he was to transport to Sunny Beach would emerge from the terminal any moment. The minute they showed up he would toss the cigarette and smile at them. Smile, always smile. That was the best way to assure getting good tips when they reached the hotel.

  The bus’s baggage-hold doors were opened wide, making the vehicle seem much larger than it actually was. Plenty of room was available; all the baggage would fit. The group was supposed to be 42 adults and some children. None of them should have more than one suitcase; after all, it was a group arriving for only four days on the Black Sea beaches.

  This was a much better gig than driving a regular route on the narrow streets of Burgas, Ivan thought to himself, pleased he had taken the initiative to work instead for the charter company. There were positive and negative aspects of his new position. On the positive side, he was able to work with tourists. Usually that meant transporting groups of rowdy Russians or noisy Ukrainians from the airport to the resort hotels, but occasionally Westerners visited as well. Ivan liked nothing more than the opportunity to practice his English, to demonstrate to his passengers that despite his appearance, he was an educated man. Driving tourists around the city proved that he was on his way up in the world.

  On the other hand, the work was seasonal. In the summer months, he could take his choice of the many available short-term assignments, but in the winter, when the cold Russian winds bore down on Burgas transforming the Black Sea into a stormy, dangerous whirlpool, tourist arrivals were few and far between. If only he could afford to work solely in the summertime, he thought. A job that would require working just six months a year. The rest of the time he would vacation at some luxurious, sunny destination.

  Ivan had never taken a trip outside Bulgaria. His journey to Bucharest as a precocious six-year-old didn’t count. He had few memories of traveling with his family to the Romanian capital, where his father had attended a pharmaceutical conference. As an adult, and certainly since marrying Anna, he had never traveled farther than Sofia. What would it be like to visit Paris or London?

  Ivan sighed, realizing his aspirations to see Western Europe were just wishful thinking. He took a final puff on his cigarette. Only one was left in his pack.
He didn’t have time to search for a kiosk where he could buy more. Better to do that after he had delivered the passengers to their Sunny Beach hotel.

  * * *

  “There it is,” Esty said to her husband, pointing to their bright-red suitcase as it emerged from the dark tunnel onto the conveyor belt. She shifted her weight, resting one hand on her enlarged belly. She needed to sit down. And she had to pee. She was tired, despite her nap on the flight. She hoped their hotel-room bed would be comfortable, but that really didn’t matter. In her present state, she was capable of sleeping anywhere.

  As Amit hurried forward to snatch their luggage before it disappeared from view, she looked for somewhere to sit. She collapsed onto the metal bench she found. From a distance, she watched him pull out the collapsible handle and wheel the suitcase around recklessly with little regard for the other passengers gathered near the baggage carousel. He raced to her side.

  “Are you coming?” His smile was part enthusiastic anticipation of their vacation but also part annoyance at her struggle to get up from the bench.

  Amit didn’t appreciate what it meant to be pregnant, Esty thought, waddling after her husband as he made his way through the crowd. He was constantly in a hurry; he never slowed down to walk by her side. And when he did, it was always grudgingly. Couldn’t he show a little more concern for what she was going through?

  They both wanted this baby, she knew, but sometimes Amit had a hard time demonstrating his willingness to share the burden. She was the one who suffered; she was the one whose body had extended far beyond its normal proportions in order to make room—in a very strained, physical sense—for the future addition to their family.

  Esty refused to imagine what her baby would look like, even though the doctor had informed her the newborn would be a girl. Choosing a name before the birth would be tempting ayin ha’ra, the evil eye. Knowing the baby’s sex before the birth was not what she had wanted, but Amit had been anxious to learn this information. He was ready to paint the small bedroom in their apartment in pleasing pastel colors, to furnish it with a crib, and to stock up on baby clothes—all in shades of pink, of course. She had reprimanded him when he returned home one evening with oversized packages of Pampers.