by David Berko
“You hear that?”
“Hear what?” Azriel tried to discern what she may have heard. Yet he came up blank until it became real obvious.
Incoming streaks of blood suspended in mid-air straying across their path prepared them for the victim it belonged to. A slayed guard with a charred breastplate where a blade carved out a gushing lesion tumbled out from an airlock.
“Weapons!” Esther hissed the command.
Azriel subconsciously drew his gun from the hip in a nanosecond to cover the angle on where the body originated from.
Esther took caution to analyze her instruments. They indicated there only was one life form. It couldn’t mean the dead guy. Could it?
Suddenly another person climbed through the opening. Neither one of the two junior cadets fired though. The stranger had an insignia on his shoulder that Esther and Azriel were familiar with.
“You’re one of us?” the boy asked.
The man wearing a combat suit only worn by operators from Mossad’s special task force clamped his jaw. “What do you think?”
Esther put her arm out to block Azriel. “Is he here?” she asked the other agent.
“Seth? Yeah.”
“We can’t let him stop those shuttles from taking off.”
“That would be up to this young man, now wouldn’t it?” the much bigger and more imposing one of the three stated.
--
Chapter 7
Berlin, Germany
There were no dry-runs to prepare for this. You either succeed or fail.
Baruch checked in at a security stop dressed as Amalia. His ankles wobbled a little on their stilts as they were unaccustomed to the practice. The guard made some remark about wearing heels before he let the agent go with a half smile and a drifting stare that followed Baruch until he disappeared from eyesight.
He didn’t have to go more than ten paces in the government building before the comments started. People noticed him with wide-eyed recognition. A few women offered their congratulations.
Why the hell would they be congratulating me? he wondered. And then Baruch remembered Hans’s remark on his pooching midsection.
One matronly woman tried to strike up a conversation. The last thing Baruch wanted. He smiled and nodded. When the annoying intrusion to his focus finally shut up he interjected in German, “I’m sorry, I wish I could chat. I just got back...” he whipped his head around in the direction he had come from to aid in communication.
The government worker made a thinking face before asking, “How was Barcelona?” Apparently she didn’t know how to read Baruch’s not too subtle body language to cease and desist.
“Great,” Baruch answered.
He knew he needed to interface with Seth soon. The interior minister would be leaving at nine, which was very soon.
Baruch made a trip to the women’s room. It was so foreign for him to push against the door that had the symbol of a woman in a dress on it. But today he was Amalia. If he had clearance into the government building, the bathroom full of stalls certainly wasn’t off-limits. The female-in-pretending moved towards the mirror to adjust a few things.
She pulled out a phone from her purse and dialed her partner. It’d be easy to make a phone call to another agent who masqueraded as her lover.
“Wendel? Hi, it’s Amalia. Will you be at your office soon?...Yeah, I just got here…”
A few office workers came and went. All of them politely said hi to the fake Amalia who couldn’t be bothered to pay them any attention.
The phone call didn’t last long. There would soon be a reunion. Sofia Keller would get in her limousine. Then the chain reaction would start. In the meantime, Amalia the interior secretary had a personal effect to give Keller.
…
What a trip to Barcelona revealed to the interior ministry of the Fourth Reich strengthened a longstanding premonition: the jews had spooks in Spain. Not just that though. Something was underfoot.
Sofia Keller dressed in her dark velvet slacks, white suit with black cardigan. She had somewhere to go at nine that morning. Upon opening the door from inside her executive office a familiar face greeted her outside.
“Goodmorning Amalia.”
“Were you briefed on today?” she asked.
“Do you have it for me?”
The interior minister accepted Amalia’s purse which she exchanged for an identical one she handed to the phony secretary.
Baruch took it and gave Keller the a-okay symbol.
The German leader gave it right back. Then the woman with blonde hair clutched Baruch by the elbow and said in a stern low voice, “Good luck agent.”
Amalia thought better of it. “You’ll need that more than me.”
--
The CoverGirl crossed her legs and twitched at the mouth. Something she did when she felt uncomfortable. The last hour had been just that. The exhilaration of being with a man younger than herself had left. Josh made it clear any extracurricular activity wouldn’t happen.
At least the farther west they flew darkness surrendered to the daylight.
Josh analyzed the miles of sky laid out before them. “No discs this way,” he solemnly remarked.
“What’s this way, anyways?”
“Answers.”
This peeved Esmeralda enough to wallop him across his shoulder. “Be specific honey.”
“We’ll find your son, plenty of bad guys,” he stopped to dwell on something, “and possibly have time to stop them.”
Esmeralda didn’t blink. Her tactless mind dumbly asked, “Who?”
“Hold on, we have an incoming transmission.”
The Viper agent sweated the details on the order which he switched toggles in and the buttons he pushed.
While he busied himself making preparations to answer the communication the model watched with obvious fascination.
Josh noticed her stare and supplied the answer, “Gotta cover my butt. I’m not from around here, remember?”
Esmeralda’s eyes quickly shifted to the floor. “Yeah.”
“Where is my son?”
“I told you earlier he’s a detainee, remember? That should’ve given you a nice clue to his whereabouts.”
“My Damion?!”
Josh put on a headset and flipped a microphone in front of his mouth in advance of his reply. A hair- raising vocoded voice played over the radio. Its message didn’t entirely surprise Josh.
“Citizen of unidentified vessel, where are you travelling?”
“To visit my son in Sector Five.”
An uncomfortably long time lapse made both characters in the flying car extremely unsettled.
The radio crackled again. “What’s his name?”
He was prepared for this question. The agency gave Josh a name of a real person who lived in S5 who could be used. Josh boldly tried it, hoping he wouldn’t be caught in his bluff. And it worked by all appearances. The eerie voice waived them on.
“We’re gonna be watched from here on in,” Josh somberly said after he closed the channel.
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s my job to figure it. He or it didn’t buy it.” And at that, Josh steered the craft off its course in a more northern direction.
“Will that really do any good?” Esmeralda commented on his flying.
This tipped the taunt scale in the negative direction. “It can’t hurt,” he fired back, glaring a little.
“How do we get my son out of there?”
“I know someone. He said he would help.”
--
Chapter 8
Masada, Israel
The trio stood a long distance away from Seth Markov on a vast installation designed to get lost in. The biggest terminal with the most gates where the thirty shuttles of great deception waited for their mysterious payload would be the battleground.
A silent emergency signal broadcasted after the artificial gravity had been knocked out along with failing life support systems acro
ss various decks. Security guards hustled to respond to the crisis.
But they were looking for one man. That was the problem. One guy who knew how to be a chameleon and get the job done.
As the trio got underway in the strangely empty corridors near the bottom of the space station Esther spoke to the man that had just joined them. “How well do you know Seth Markov?”
The man with a sturdy frame, plain features, buzzed hair, and a square jaw answered, “He’s a slippery son of a bitch. I should know. Did a lotta missions with him in my time.”
He started a new thought. “I know how he thinks though. We can corner him. Make no way for escape.”
The other cadet who hadn’t spoken in a while surprised the others by adding to the discussion, “And I’ll finish him off!”
The man laughed. “I like you kid, my name’s Baruch.”
“Azriel.” The boy held out his hand to shake the other agent’s.
Esther swiftly jumped in the middle of things. “Maintain focus,” she ordered.
The female junior cadet’s actions knocked Baruch off balance. “I’ve never worked with a woman in the line of duty before,” he smiled with a chuckle.
This sexist comment rankled Esther. The type-A, strong-headed alpha dog cadet certainly didn’t appreciate being talked down to. She may have been young, but for what she lacked in years she more than made up for with a ceaseless supply of fortitude and assertiveness.
Pretty soon a closed door stopped the progress made by the three. Baruch held one finger up for patience. He stepped aside to find what he thought should be there. An access console. The agent quickly worked to hack the hardware into thinking the group belonged on the other side.
Azriel thought out loud. “I haven’t learned to do that yet.”
Esther put a hand on his shoulder. “You will,” she made the assurance.
Plates, screws and things that were in the way piled up on the floor. Baruch cut a few wires. He stripped the ends of two and crossed the strands.
“That should do the trick,” he said under his breath.
The door apparently heard him, opening apologetically. As soon as it did though it revealed guards lying in wait for the intruders. The fastest reflexes would prevail in a skirmish.
Before Azriel could even draw his weapon Baruch had already taken down the guard on the far right. Esther ended the other threat with a headshot. When the assailant hit the floor his gun went off. It missed the three Israelis wide however.
Baruch relaxed a little by rocking his shoulders. “Nice shootin’,” he complimented Esther.
Azriel hated being the odd man out. The guy along for the ride...that’s what it felt like here . There was a large chip on his shoulder. However because the way he was programmed it became instinctive to avoid an emotional response. That helped him out in a big way.
Without gravity the journey took much longer than it should have. The Mossad agents pointed their bodies like scuba divers to pass through the environment. Each held a gun in one hand while the other was tasked with forward movement.
“We’re nearing a lift,” Baruch said. “We’ll be able to get up to the right level real quick.
“Level six is what we need, correct?” Esther confirmed.
“Yes.”
“Do you think the lift works?” Azriel wondered.
Baruch answered him without any delay. “No.”
“How can one guy sabotage so much so quickly?” Esther asked the rhetorical.
They had arrived at a row of cylinders. A bluish glow lit up the dark silhouettes that were approaching. Nothing appeared to be working just like Baruch deduced. For good measure he smacked the up arrow. Nothing.
The oldest and most experienced in the group went back to work again to get them in business. He clawed at the raised screw heads on the edge of the aluminum door, trying to pry it open. The greater the tug he imposed it coincidentally responded with creaking. Baruch’s muscles flexed a great deal under the strain. Something had to give.
Clink! The sound of victory. Baruch threw back the door with tremendous force. He was first to rush in and open the trap door in the roof of the lift. There would be no need for climbing gear since the artificial gravity had been decommissioned until further notice.
Azriel went first. He was given a leg up from Baruch followed by his partner Esther. The man kind enough to assist his teammates onto the roof soon joined them himself.
A long thick cable reached to the upper heights of the dark shaft. It guided the drifters to the level the action was on.
No one bothered to keep a floor count. They wouldn’t stop until they got to the top.
--
Talking on the phone as Amalia’s love interest could’ve made him puke. Getting kootchie-koo with Baruch? Repugnant.
At last it was getting close to the point of no return...the drop. This roller coaster ride had Seth in the first car about to crest the tallest hill on the journey. The best part about these moments were they didn’t last long.
Seth Markov left Mr. E’s looking dapper like the commissioner he impersonated. He dressed in pleated grey wool trousers with a lightly starched dress shirt with French cuffs topped off with a tight-fitting checked sports coat.
He avoided public transportation knowing a BOLO was out for him. Even under disguise he still wouldn’t chance it.
Normally the nippy bone-chilling air of Berlin would’ve gotten to him. Used to a Mediterranean climate and then suddenly being thrown into a cold ice box like Germany should have made him react like the frog tossed into boiling water. But it didn’t. The implications of his missions brought the blood to the surface. Hot flashes were regular. Plus it didn’t help Seth also wore the stuffy outfit for Sofia Keller’s limo driver under the Wendel husk.
Along the way he said a few meaningless sentences out loud just to synchronize his synthesized voice. The first few words felt incredibly weird and unnatural. The more he practiced however it became easier to embrace this new person for the day.
The fake Wendel got into his workplace no problem without raising any suspicion. He even went to his office and pretended to be doing a task. Apparently there had been a meeting he was scheduled to go to. Finding an excuse to be absent wouldn’t be easy. Someone caught him fleeing to the motor pool and stopped him.
“What’s the hurry, Wendel?” his colleague asked.
“My landlord just notified my place has been broken into,” he lied.
“Oh my god!”
“Take good notes for me,” Wendel joked.
A utility closet provided the perfect spot to change identities yet again for Seth Markov. He came out wearing what Dimitri would have worn had Baruch’s bullet not exploded through the man’s gray matter and out the back of his skull.
The imitator left the changing room quietly. Next he needed to get keys.
“Carriage is ready for its rider. All things look good on our end,” Tyrone Banks communicated to Seth.
“10-4.”
Seth paused halfway through a vestibule with white pillars at the corners to the four-way intersection. He looked up at the chocolate-colored cathedral ceiling. The decor of the government building was stately. Tax dollars hard at work.
The limo driver noticed the time however and walked fast. He arrived in a locker room. Seth got in and deposited something. Turning around, the driver stopped at the window. His manager mumbled a hello and returned with keys.
“Danke.”
Seth pushed against the door that led into the garage. The vehicle he’d take was easy to spot. Long, black, and with little flags on top...there was no question Sofia Keller rode in it.
The engine turned over with a mighty roar. An easy push of a button and the pretend Dimitri had the vehicle in D. It headed towards a ramp with speed. He wasted no time to be at the south entrance Sofia would exit from.
This was it.
--
He had already made a trip to the Ozarks not long ago. In his occupa
tion it didn’t allow for passengers, yet he had four that haul. Two of them Scorpion scumbags, the others were prisoners. Now that he had paid off an IOU to the thug Henry he was bound to no one. In the sports world that made him a free agent.
Archie was no athlete though. He lived to fly trucks, to deliver cargo. It took a special someone to spend hours alone in between brushes with civilization and conversations with strangers. He didn’t have any family. No one to come home to at the end of the day. He only had one person to look out for.
Archie had a big heart however. Despite his eccentric behaviour and bizarre tendencies, he truly cared about the human existence--finding good in the world.
It became increasingly hard to do business in such dark times though. But even so, the trucker found there were still plenty of like-minded individuals who hadn’t gone down the drain like the American government had.
Shortly after he had left the Ozarks to go on more runs he got contacted by some people who were very interested in two individuals that may have been on his rig. They explained there had been hostages taken. A rich man and a scientist were missing. All the clues led to him.
Archie volunteered as much information as they needed. Not expecting this response at all, Sentinel who had reached out to Archie also brokered an agreement with him for additional help.
“Whatever help and service I can be to you, I’d be much obliged,” the trucker had told Sentinel.
The Free Republic of North America’s intelligence agency (Sentinel) would need him to get an agent and Damion’s mother into a black site location. Since he flew over restricted airspace before and landed near the installation, they were hoping he could do it again.
