by Jack Freeman
Azar pointed to the bookcase. Going up to it Max pulled on the shelves until the case began to swing out revealing a solid steel door.
“Alpha’s in there. It’s some sort of safe room inside the safe house. Think he just got the call from Murphy and heard his plot had failed and then I heard my plot succeed as Murphy was blown to hell while live and on the air to Alpha.”
As they examined the door, Max shouted “Come on out Alpha. We can have a deal with you if you give up now.”
As he finished a shot rang out from behind and Azar crumpled against the safe room door. Max spun round and aimed a shot at a spot just above a man’s arm which was coming through the window to the outside and was pointing a small calibre Berretta at him. The arm whipped back and the Berretta fell to the floor.
“Azar, Azar,” cried Max, “can you speak?”
“Yes, I think its ok…the bullet hit my shoulder and I think it’s a small one.”
. “Yeah, gun looks like a .22 so you should be ok. I think I got him. He must have snuck out of an escape hatch from the safe room. I’ll just check outside to make sure he’s out of action.”
Max laid Azar down to nurse her shoulder and went outside. He was glad to see Jack with the remaining four Special Forces standing around the sprawled body of Alpha. Jack had taken off Alpha’s gas mask and now Max could be definite, despite the neat hole in the corpse’s forehead and the larger exit wound at the back of the head, that this was the remains of Comrade Alpha.
“He didn’t die happy, I’m glad to say. He heard that the main plot had failed and heard Murphy blown to bits,” remarked Max. “Ok. Let’s clear up and get out of here before the Italians start raising Cain. We’ll take the Inner Circle bodies to dispose of in a little piece of Italy that will be forever America, at least until the lease on the base runs out and I think it’s good indefinitely.”
He added, “Hey Jack! Good to see you’re still with us. What the hell were you doing, taking a nap in the middle of the firefight?”
“Ha,” replied Jack, pointing to a gash on top of his head which reached down his forehead to the left eyebrow, “That was thanks to one of those picturesque Italian red roof tiles. A tile from an outbuilding must have got dislodged by a stray bullet and fell off catching me one on the head. Sorry, I missed some of the fun while out of it. It sure hurts now, I can tell you. But hey, it’s only a scratch considering what could have happened. Next time, I’ll wear a helmet, for sure.”
A rapid search of the safe house yielded some useful lists of RPI contacts and hints of future plans involving assassinations of remaining figures from the anti-Mossadegh coup of 1953. Overall, however, the intelligence haul was thin.
“These guys play it all pretty tight” commented Jack, “They keep as much as possible in the head, no paper records. That’s ok, till the head is blown off.”
As Max laughed, a familiar voice called out “Drop the guns. I’ve got one of your Uzis here and it’s still fully loaded.”
It was Nasir.
“Shit, thought you were dead. I should have made sure,” muttered Max, dropping his gun.
“You winged me, you jerk. We should’ve bumped you off right after the Shah bomb plant. Thought it would be neater to do you and the girl together. Was pretty sure you were doubles but you were useful while trying to prove yourselves to us. Azar is coming with me. You are to call off your dogs for 12 hours and if I’m happy then I’ll let Azar loose. Any sign of chase or surveillance and she gets it. Slowly, if I can. I take it you rounded up the weightlifters and Ali?”
“Yeah. That’s right. They’re all safe and sound. If Azar is harmed, then they will pay first and then you, when we catch up,” replied Max.
“I’ll take that chance. Azar, gather up the weapons and come over here.”
Azar brought the weapons over to Nasir who placed them in a discarded shoulder bag and motioned to Azar to head for the boat ramp. He trained his Uzi on her back as she led the way with occasional glances at Max, Jack and the CIA men who were still standing around Alpha’s body. While she walked ahead, Azar held her injured left shoulder and tried to look weak while entertaining murderous thoughts.
At the ramp, Nasir took out an Uzi and threw the bag with the other guns into the water. He made Azar help him move the rubber boat down to the water. In the boat he found some twine and tied Azar up for the short journey to the launching area.
“Pity there’s no time. You are attractive ok. Small but well formed,” he murmured and squeezed her right breast through the rubber wet suit, adding, “These wet suits are sexy, ok.”
“Mmmm, you know I could help you in lots of ways, now, to keep Max and the crew back by keeping assuring them I’m ok, and later as a double agent for you. I still believe in the RPI cause you know, and I always admired your leadership. I could go with you in ways you’d like, later, out of this suit. Rape really isn’t that great pleasure-wise…”
“Play along with me and you’ll be ok. Though, I don’t really believe all that sweet talk bullshit. Just don’t try anything. Ok?”
“Ok. But think about it. I’ve got the keys for the front jeep that might be useful when we get on land over there in my belt pouch. See, I’m being helpful, already.”
The rubber boat sped back to the launching area and on reaching land, Nasir untied Azar and motioned her to walk ahead to the jeeps. Glimpsing back at the Isola he waved goodbye to Max and the others standing impotently on the landing. At the lead jeep, Nasir made Azar lean against the bonnet while he undid her pouch and took out the keys.
“Pity you can’t drive with that shoulder, Azar. There’s some bandages in the first aid kit. We’ll patch you up a bit when we stop next. I’ll have to do all the driving. You just sit tight in the front passenger seat. I’ll have the gun on my lap, pointing at you with the safety off. So don’t try anything.”
“No. Of course not. I do trust you, you know.”
The jeep soon left the main road and began climbing into the hills and then the mountains on the way to Austria. Nasir explained that from Austria they would go into Czechoslovakia where he would be made most welcome by the Czech Secret Service, the StB, and by their masters in the KGB. Sure the Sovs backed the Communist Tudeh party in Iran, but they would help the RPI too, against their common enemies, the Shah and the US.
Azar guessed that Nasir had not heard that the bomb plot against the Shah had failed and suggested they should celebrate the Shah’s messy end. Nasir admitted to being tired from the stressful day but elated too by the news that Azar relayed about the Berlin operation. He decided to check into a motel in the mountains and Azar could help him celebrate, whether she wanted too or not.
“Hmmm, that would be ok with me. And I do need out of this suit. When we get into the motel you can help me. My change of clothes is in the back of the jeep.”
Meanwhile, Jack and Max agreed that they would have to pretty much go along with Nasir’s demands for Azar’s sake. But not completely.
“Something Nasir doesn’t know is that we’ve got radio signal transponders on our jeeps. We can track his movements remotely from the USAF Veneto base,” said Jack.
“OK, lets get back there as soon as possible and figure something out”
The CIA special forces men swam out to get their boat and ferried Max and Jack back to the jeeps. They then picked up the bodies from the Isola.
On returning to the USAF Veneto base, the Inner Circle bodies were photographed and finger printed before being buried in unmarked graves by the CIA Special Forces in a distant corner of the airfield, behind a stand of pine trees and well out of sight of any roads or runways. The air base was effectively US sovereign territory and the Italians had no jurisdiction there so inquisitive civilians would not be coming around for the foreseeable future. The authorities put the evidence of a battle at San Sergio down to a Mafia-Camorra dispute and as no Italian citizens were reported missing and possibly dead, the mystery was not one the authorities need look into.
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br /> Max and Jack went to a monitoring room where technicians tracked the jeeps from the transponder signals.
“Ok, guys where is jeep with reference number AF926, right now?” asked Jack.
“Well, Sir, it’s on a minor road in the Dolomites, the BZ3851, about 20 kilometres north of Trento. Looks like they’re heading for Austria,” said the chief technician.
“I’m going after them. Get me a car with a radio telephone. You stay here Jack and coordinate things from this end. We might need an airstrike or paratroops dropped or God knows what before this is over,” responded Max.
“You’ve got it,” Jack replied.
“Sir”, said the junior technician, “they’ve stopped. Seems to be a motel up there at those co-ordinates. The Trentino Inn according to our maps.”
“I’ll get there in a couple of hours and scope it. If Nasir’s so tired he’s got to stop, maybe we can take him by surprise. I did wing him. Maybe he’s slowly bleeding out?”
Two hours later Max saw the Trentino Inn come into view through a morning mist mixed with snow flurries. He parked short of the Inn and checking his Parabellum approached the building through the trees and avoided the road. The jeep that Nasir had commandeered was still parked outside the Inn. The Inn was a low building of only one level. Max began peering into the windows of each room as best he could. All seemed normal as far as he could see until the last room when he was sure he could just make out through the narrow slit where the cheap curtains did not meet what looked like a foot protruding from the bathroom into the bedroom area. It was a delicate foot that looked familiar. Azar’s foot.
Max pulled out his commando knife and levered up the window enough to roll in and land heavily in the room on his side. He heard moaning from the bathroom and rushed in. There he first saw Azar sprawled naked on the floor on her front and then saw Nasir also naked, but in the bath, immersed in red water. From Nasir’s neck emerged the handle of a Swiss Army knife. Azar opened her eyes and grinned to see Max and forced herself to sit up.
“Shit Azar, what’s been going on here?”
“Don’t be mad, honey, I had to distract Nasir while I fished my trusty Swiss Army knife from out of my bundle of clothes from the jeep. So I let him help me out of my wet suit and promised I’d join him in the bath for a good time. The sap swallowed it. He got in the bath playing with himself, the jerk, and as I kneeled by the side of the bath I reached out for his cock with my left hand and began working on it. That really distracted him. When he closed his eyes and began moaning, my right hand stuck the knife in his neck as hard as I could, deep into his jugular. I think he maybe died of shock as he didn’t resist when I pushed his head under water. Then my adrenaline stopped pumping and I grew faint from my shoulder wound. Suddenly, a short nap seemed a real good idea and that’s all I remember till you came in the hard way.
“You did great, baby. No blood on the floor which is good. We can rinse out the bath with cold water. Always use cold water on blood. Many a murderer has been caught out by that and used hot water. That just doesn’t do it. Think we’ll load this bastard Nasir into the jeep and tip it over the edge of the road at some quiet spot. It’s a long, long, way down to the foot of the gorge.
Then its back to base to get you patched up properly. You are some girl, ok!”
He bandaged up Azar’s shoulder as best he could and then prepared to leave.
Max went out to get the Jeep that Nasir had commandeered and brought it near to the window of the room that contained Nasir’s corpse. Max went into the room through the window again. Going into the bathroom, he let the blood reddened water drain and thoroughly rinsed the bath and Nasir’s body with cold water. He then dried Nasir and clothed the body enough to look decent. While Azar got herself ready to leave the motel, Max manoeuvred the body out of the window and then into the front passenger seat of the Jeep. Azar left a “Do not Disturb” sign on the door and slipped out of the hotel past the deserted registration desk.
Azar agreed she could drive the other Jeep that Max had come in, a short way and they left the motel following the empty road higher into the mountains. At an unfenced parking spot Max turned the Jeep to face the gorge, stopped it near the edge of the void and moved Nasir’s body into the driving seat. He then jammed the accelerator down with one of Nasir’s shoes, put the Jeep in gear and leaning in to the cabin turned on the ignition. The Jeep leapt over the edge as Max fell backwards and after a pause there was a loud crashing noise from far below.
By this time, Azar had reached the parking area and Max joined her to take over the driving.
“Ok,” he said, “that’s Nasir out of the way. Good chance he won’t be found for months or years . Lucky it didn’t explode and attract attention. Now let’s get you back to base and patched up.”
On returning to the base, Azar’s shoulder was attended to and the raiding group enjoyed a delayed après-fight party with copious quantities of Prosecco, grappa and canapes. Jack was ribbed mercilessly for ducking out of the fight and was presented with a First World War Italian tin helmet for future use. The details of Azar’s dispatch of Nasir were glossed over but it was made clear that Azar had been heroic and she was showered in praise.
When Max and Azar got back to their room after the celebration, Azar was exhausted and now felt mostly relief at coming through an ordeal combined with a feeling of power again due to finishing Nasir’s life and firing weapons with intent, although she didn’t think she had killed anyone in the initial action. Her shoulder ached but she was alive and her brother would be set free, so a wave of well being washed through her. Max was lying on the bed, eyes shining and a compulsive smile kept breaking out on his face. It was clear that Max was very high. He had killed two of the Inner Circle and killing was still a huge adrenalin rush. He was obviously strongly aroused and she joined him on the bed and took him expertly in her mouth.
In his room, Jack took three supposedly super strength aspirins to dull the pain he had in his head from the falling tile and to pre-empt the additional hangover pain he knew he would also have later the next day. To his surprise, he quickly fell asleep and dreamed of Azar coming to his room and climbing his cot back in London. On waking, he shook his head and wondered, what subversion was one part of his mind engaging in against another. Sure, Azar was attractive. But she was a colleague, sort of and definitely a colleague’s wife. So, no buddy, no. It couldn’t be. End of matter. Deep six it.
As they flew back to London the next day, Max kept going over mentally the kills he had made at the island. Each one could have gone the other way. He must quit this way of living and stop pushing his luck. It would be nice to have confirmation that Murphy had bought it and wouldn’t be back, seeking revenge. In an attempt to distract himself from the intrusive thoughts of killing and being near death, past and future, he remembered how it had been last night with Azar and especially he remembered the salty taste of the final kiss.
Chapter 7. Return
On returning to London, Max and Azar resumed their lives as underground beat generation book sellers. It turned out that Alan had managed the store pretty well and relatively little had happened in their absence. Apparently the rising star of alternative psychiatry, Ronnie Laing, had come in with his colleague David Cooper, both very drunk at the time, but since there was now a large pile of copies of Laing’s book The Divided Self on the first table as one came in to the shop, the pair had been no trouble and had left the store happy. Fortunately, Alan was completely incurious as to what business had taken Max and Azar away and how exactly Azar had injured her shoulder. Max spoke vaguely of an accident involving a Vespa scooter in Italy and an attempted handbag snatch and Alan was happy to accept that explanation.
The main event for the bookshop in the weeks since the shoot out at the Isola San Sergio had been the arrival of the first issue of a new satirical weekly, Private Eye. Max saved a copy of the first issue in the hope it might be valuable one day. He predicted with certainty that the magazine w
ouldn’t last, particularly because of its amateurish layout, clearly achieved with scissors, paste and a clapped out typewriter. The libel lawyers could also be expected to bankrupt the magazine before too long.
Max and Azar frequented poetry readings in Soho coffee houses and early happenings in dim basements where naked girls hit each other with large fish and eels, while a goateed man in black stood on a chair and declaimed Rimbaud’s poem, Drunken Boat. They took in exhibitions by Francis Bacon and by the newly emerging Pop Art movement. They were often seen at Ronnie Scott’s jazz club, The Marquee on Greek Street. Max started meeting psychiatrist Ronnie Laing from time to time, as he had become intrigued by Laing’s idea that madness was a journey that could lead to great self insights. Max sought to understand his own switches from conformist, other directed, establishment guy to a beat revolutionary. How could this be the same person throughout? Azar poured cold water on such introspection. Just enjoy life and do your own thing, she suggested.
On November 3, late in the evening, near closing time, Jack Johnson reappeared at the bookshop as he had done around a couple of months previously.
“Hey,” said Jack, “Is it all clear here? How you make a living from this shop I don’t know. It’s always empty when I stop by. But I guess the Company retainer helps.”
“Ok. Ok. Let me lock up and pull the blinds,” replied Max “What’s happening in spook world?”
“Well, before you ask, we had nothing to do with Stalin getting his remains booted out of the Kremlin the other day. That shows everyone that little Krushchev really is the man in charge and Bulganin is out, and that’s the main thing from that. As you maybe guessed, we did have a hand in that little coup in Syria that has taken them out of the United Arab Republic and is a kick in the teeth for Nasser and his commie crew. We’ll be building up the Damascus station real soon. I have to say that we didn’t foresee the Sovs letting off a 58 megaton hydrogen bomb in the frozen wastes of Novaya Zemlya. Missing an advance warning on that one was a boo-boo and we got some flak from the bosses. Luckily, that wasn’t my department.”
