VENGEANCE REAWAKENED

by Fredrick L. Stafford

  “But people are starting to look at me oddly.”

  “Because you’re looking odd by not mingling. Go mingle.”

  “Ugh. Ok.” Molka stood and moved toward the small talkers.

  “Wait,” Raziela said. “Stand by.”

  Molka paused.

  “Ok, forget mingling. I have something very important for you to do.”

  “Ok.” Molka used a finger to push the earpiece in tighter. “I’m all ear.”

  “Funny. Now, be serious because this is VERY important.”

  “Alright.”

  “Casually move toward the buffet tent.”

  Molka did as she was told.

  When she got a few meters away, Raziela spoke again: “Now casually enter the tent. If there’s anyone in there, gently tap the microphone once.”

  Molka casually entered the tent. Except for two 25-meter-long tables still laden with food under glass covers, it stood empty.

  “No one inside,” Molka said.

  Raziela: “Good. But don’t talk again. Assume you’re being watched, and just follow my instructions. Now casually walk alongside the first table to its end.”

  Molka casually walked alongside the first table to its end.

  Raziela: “Now casually move to the next table.”

  Molka casually moved to the next table.

  Raziela: “Now casually walk alongside that table to its end.”

  Molka casually walked alongside that table.

  Raziela: “I see the desserts ahead. Slow your walk.”

  Molka slowed her walk.

  Raziela: “Now casually turn around and casually walk past the desserts again. A little slower this time.”

  Molka casually turned around and casually walked past the desserts again, a little slower.

  Raziela: “Stop right there!”

  Molka stopped.

  Raziela: “You see that crème brûlée cheesecake? If so, gently tap the mic once.”

  Molka saw the crème brûlée cheesecake and gently tapped the microphone concealed in her broach once.

  Raziela: “Casually move over to the service table and pick up a plate and a fork.”

  Molka: “Why do you—”

  Raziela: “Shhh! No talking! Just get the plate and fork.”

  Molka casually moved to the service table and picked up a clean plate and fork.

  Raziela: “Now casually move back to the crème brûlée cheesecake.”

  Molka casually moved back to the crème brûlée cheesecake.

  Raziela: “Now casually put a crème brûlée cheesecake slice on the plate.”

  Molka removed the glass lid covering the sliced cheesecake and used a serving spatula under it to casually place a slice on the plate.

  Raziela: “Hmm. Those slices are kind of small. Casually put another slice on the plate.”

  Molka casually placed another slice on the plate.

  Raziela: “That’s better. Now casually move toward the exit.”

  Molka casually moved toward the exit.

  Raziela: “Now casually step back outside and stop.”

  Molka casually stepped back outside the tent and stopped.

  Raziela: “Is anyone watching you? If so, gently tap the mic once.”

  Molka scanned the crowd. No one looked her way. “No one is watching me.”

  Raziela: “Perfect.”

  Molka: “Ok. Now what?”

  Raziela: “Now casually bring that plate down to me. I absolutely ADORE crème brûlée cheesecake!”

  Molka smirked. “Very funny.”

  Raziela’s LOUD LAUGHTER filled her earpiece.

  Molka smacked the broach microphone hard, moved back into the tent, laid the plate and fork on the table, exited again, and waited for Raziela to stop chuckling.

  When she did, Molka spoke: “I’m so glad you have time to play around.”

  Raziela: “I’m not playing around. I used humor to break the tension you were experiencing. Now you’ll be more relaxed tonight. Arch-criminals like Cardoza can sense—even on a subconscious level—if someone around them is experiencing any type of anxiety. And that will heighten their awareness—even on a subconscious level—that something might be wrong when you’re near them. And on removal day, we don’t want Cardoza’s awareness heightened in any way around you. We want him nice and relaxed. Do you now understand why I put you through that exercise?”

  Molka sighed, frustrated. “Yes. I guess. Whatever.”

  Raziela: “Don’t be mad at me, baby sister. I’m just trying to help you.”

  “I’m not mad, older sister.”

  Raziela: “Please call me big sister. Now go and mingle until Nathan brings Cardoza to you.”

  Molka moved back to the small talkers and engaged. And it wasn’t as awkward as she expected. Maybe there was something to Raziela’s psychology tricks?

  She even began to enjoy a conversation with two women about the food and fashion in Brazil when a younger guy hijacked the conversation by stating to Molka that he was an assistant in the embassy passport department.

  The women—who worked with him and heard it all before—departed.

  Molka stayed because, although an assistant in the embassy passport department sounded like a mind-numbing, repetitive, clerical job, surely the actual duties would be much more interesting than the title indicated.

  Wrong.

  Ugh.

  Mercifully, a few minutes into the man’s ponderous job description, salvation came from a shoulder tap.

  Molka turned around to Geller, wearing a nice blue suit.

  “Excuse me, Molka,” Geller said. “May I have a word with you about a security matter?”

  “Of course.” Molka smiled at the passport guy. “Excuse me.”

  Geller moved toward an unoccupied spot on the lawn.

  Molka followed beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I know that guy and saw the look on your face.”

  “Thank you, Security Director Geller. How goes the security tonight?”

  “Please call me Danny. Most of our work takes place before the event. The Brazilian president has an army of his security people inside and outside the compound. Right now, you’re probably in the most secure place in all of South America.”

  “Good to know.”

  “What did you think of the prime minister’s speech? I thought he was at his best.”

  Molka shrugged. “Well, I’m not a big fan of the prime minister, but I’m a sucker for a good old-fashioned patriotic speech on Independence Day.”

  “Me too.” Geller gave Molka another warm, but not flirtatious, smile. “I guess you don’t remember me.”

  “Should I?”

  “Six years ago, the Unit conducted a raid on an insurgent base in a remote desert location in a target country. I was part of a five-person team from the Combat Intelligence Collection Corps specially attached to the mission. I rode on a helicopter with a female pilot the Unit soldiers said had ‘the killing luck.’ And she looked just like you.”

  Molka feigned indifference. “Did she?”

  Geller continued. “The mission was scheduled to be on the ground for a few hours because this insurgent base had a treasure trove of intelligence. Then, one of my team members clumsily tripped a boobytrap that nicked an artery in their leg. A life-threatening injury.”

  “That’s rough,” Molka said.

  Geller went on. “The helicopter assigned for medivac experienced a mechanical issue and had to turn back. So the female pilot—who was waiting at another desert location to refuel before returning to pick up the assault teams—volunteered to fly the wounded soldier out, refuel again, and finish her mission. They told her no. There wouldn’t be enough time. The wounded soldier would just have to try and hang on until the entire force was ready to leave. But she went in and got the wounded soldier out anyway, in record time, too. And instead of disciplining her, I heard they decorated her for saving that soldier's life.”

  A sma
ll smile creased Molka’s lips. “Whatever happened to that wounded soldier?”

  “They fully recovered, are happily married to a beautiful woman, have three wonderful children, and now work as the director of security at the Israeli Embassy in Brazil.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Geller smiled again. “I never thought I would get the chance to thank you. So, thank you.” He offered his hand for shaking.

  Molka shook his hand. “I’m happy things worked out well for you.” She looked past Geller to see Nathan approaching her from across the lawn with Cardoza at his side.

  Geller continued. “If there’s anything I can do to help you while you’re here, just ask. I still hold a top security clearance. And I also have a lot of connections outside the embassy with some—let’s just say—very helpful people.”

  Molka smiled at him. “Thanks. I have to go now.”

  Nathan wearing a slim-fit white tuxedo with blue velvet lapels, a blue bow tie, and accessorized with blue-framed glasses and blue earrings—all the same shade of blue as the Israeli flag—offered an interesting contrast when he arrived with the much taller Cardoza dapper in an expensive, slim-cut, black silk suit, white silk shirt, blood-red silk tie, and black leather dress shoes.

  When the trio met near the Tier-2 guests seating, Nathan smiled and spoke in English. “Molka, you might be relieved to hear Mr. Cardoza speaks good English.”

  “Yes,” Molka said in English. “My bad Portuguese is very relieved.”

  “Mr. Cardoza,” Nathan said, “this is Molka. Molka, this is Gabriel Cardoza.”

  Molka offered her hand for shaking. “A pleasure, Mr. Cardoza.”

  Cardoza smiled, shook Molka’s hand, and spoke with heavily accented but clear English. “Likewise, Molka.”

  “Please excuse me,” Nathan said. “I need to find my suddenly missing band, which I hope is not smoking weed in the ambassador’s residence bathrooms.”

  Nathan departed.

  Cardoza smiled at Molka again. “May I suggest we sit at one of the empty VIP tables to have our discussion.”

  “Sounds good,” Molka said.

  They crossed the lawn, and Cardoza chose the front-most table closest to the stage that the president had occupied.

  They sat, and Cardoza favored Molka with another smile. But not a polite, perfunctory smile as the first two, though. It played more practiced with a looser jaw and a little sparkle added to his grey-brown eyes. A smile a man who lied to live and lived to lie would use to disarm his inquisitors. Or his victims.

  Cardoza initiated the conversation. “I understand you are touring the Israeli Embassies all over the world to make sure their Cultural Departments are functioning properly.”

  “Yes, I am,” Molka said.

  Cardoza’s disarming smile faded. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  Raziela’s voice spoke up in Molka’s earpiece again: “Smile perplexed and stay calm.”

  Molka smiled, perplexed and stayed calm. “And why is that?”

  “Such an important position given to a woman so young, and—dare I say—so beautiful.”

  Raziela: “Don’t look offended.”

  Molka smiled, unoffended. “Well, we’re a young and beautiful country.”

  Cardoza viewed Molka with an impressed face. “Nicely put.”

  Raziela: “Yes, nice work.”

  Cardoza spoke. “Your interest in having one of the favela artists I sponsor doing a mural here at the embassy thrills me beyond words, and there is nothing more I would love to do than to take you to see the Wall of Hopefuls so you can choose an artist that best fits your vision.”

  Molka beamed. “Great!”

  “And I know I agreed to do this when I received the letter suggesting it several weeks ago from the Cultural Department after Nathan’s visit. However, now you have caught me at one of the busiest times in my entire business career, and I just cannot see how I can spare you any more time at present.”

  Molka frowned. “Oh.”

  Raziela: “Oh, no.”

  Cardoza continued. “Perhaps, if you could contact me again in about three months, we could work something out.”

  A tough-looking Hispanic male wearing a dark suit and white earpiece approached the table at a fast walk. “Excuse me, Mr. Cardoza.” He held up five fingers. “We depart in five minutes.”

  Cardoza nodded to him. “Very well.”

  The man turned and left.

  Cardoza smiled at Molka. “Sadly, I must leave you now. I have a presidential plane to catch.”

  Raziela: “Hit him with the dismissive comment before he leaves!”

  “Before you leave,” Molka said, “I just want to tell you I’ve heard about the government here dismissively turning down your suggestion that your artists do murals on some of the government buildings. I think that’s a huge, missed opportunity of a very brilliant idea.”

  Cardoza’s disarming smile for Molka returned. “I believe your foreign service talents might be wasted on the Cultural Department. You should be in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs negotiating one-sided treaties favoring your country.”

  “Thank you,” Molka said. “I think.”

  “That was indeed a compliment.” Cardoza stood, and his face assumed an authoritative glare. “Here is how we shall proceed. You will join me for dinner tomorrow evening at my hotel in Rio, the Palácio, to discuss the project further. Then you will spend the night in one of the hotel’s best suites, as my guest, of course. The next morning, we will go to Esperança and view the Wall of Hopefuls, and you can choose your artist.”

  Cardoza’s confident assertiveness took Molka aback, if not impressed her. “Well, I appreciate your offer to take me to the Wall of Hopefuls. But I’m not sure if my schedule would permit having dinner the night before. I’ve—”

  Raziela: “Agree to it! Agree to it!”

  Molka continued. “What I mean to say is, I’ve got a very tight travel schedule. But…I think I can fit that in. I accept your invitation.”

  “Superb,” Cardoza said. “Please arrive at my office on the hotel’s 8th floor at 7 PM. Are you familiar with Rio’s Copacabana Beach area?”

  “No.” Molka smiled. “But I think I’ll be ok finding it.”

  “And would you like me to arrange your flight?”

  “The embassy will take care of that since its official business.”

  Cardoza smiled. “Mostly official. Until tomorrow evening, Molka.”

  Molka watched Cardoza depart and re-enter the ambassador’s residence. After he did, she glanced around to make sure no one else was near and spoke to remote Raziela. “Well, the hook is set. But for future reference, I hope you’re not going to be in my ear every time I make contact with the target of my task. Because it’s very distracting and very annoying.”

  Raziela: “Get down here immediately. We have a huge problem.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “What’s our huge problem?” Molka said when she entered the basement and spotted a light-blue oxford shirt and dark blue slacks wearing Raziela exiting the “toy closet” with a new boxed phone in her hand.

  “I’m leaving,” Raziela said. “And I’m leaving you in charge of the task.”

  “Leaving when?” Molka said.

  Raziela sat down in the first cubicle and started unboxing the phone. “Tonight. Now. A chartered aircraft is on route to collect me.”

  Molka moved to the cubicle’s entrance. “Where are you going?”

  “The US. One of my other projects needs my immediate assistance.” Raziela put the battery in the phone and started the device.

  “When did this happen?” Molka said.

  “A little while ago, while you were talking to Geller.” Raziela looked at the phone. “Good, the battery has some charge. By the way, about your talk with Geller. He could be a valuable recruited asset for you and—never mind. We’ll discuss that later.” She stood and removed a small white card from her front pocket containing a series of number
s. “That’s the combination to the safe back in the former station chief’s office. Take whatever cash you need. I think there’s about 50 thousand reais left inside.”

  “Ok,” Molka said.

  “And here.” Raziela removed her usual phone from her back pocket, tapped an app, and held the screen close to Molka’s face. “Stand still. I’m sending your face scan to Marvelous so they can use it to authenticate your identity when you use the Marvelous app.”

  “Ok.” Molka stood still for the scan.

  Raziela handed her phone to Molka. “I’m leaving this with you so you can monitor Cardoza through Marvelous and coordinate with Henrique. Henrique’s number is in the contacts under cleaning service. I’ve already informed him to be in place in Esperança Tuesday morning when Cardoza takes you in, but you’ll need to give him at least two hours’ notice before reaching the wall.” She removed another white card from her front pocket and handed it to Molka. “That’s the authentication procedure for using Marvelous.”

  “Alright,” Molka said. “What about my exit after the removal?”

  “You’ll have to use the fake panic attack ruse. As soon as you get to the hospital, sneak out of there, get to the airport, and get back here. I’ll tell you what to do then.”

  “And how will I contact you when the removal is done, on that new phone you just unboxed?”

  “Come into the comms room.”

  Molka trailed Raziela down the hall to the comms room door and entered into a small space with a line of five computer monitors under dust covers. She moved to the third one, removed the cover, and powered it up.

  While it booted, she tapped a message on the new phone.

  The notification chime sounded on Raziela’s old phone in Molka’s hand.

  Raziela said, “I just sent you the number of this phone. Never call me on it, though. It’s encrypted, but it’s a pre-Traitors’ version, and I don’t trust it for international calling. So we’ll communicate through this terminal.” She looked down at the ready-for-use computer’s blue screen displaying only a password login box. “This is for secure, encrypted video conferencing. Here’s the login password.” She reached into her front pocket and removed and handed Molka yet another small white card with a long series of numbers, letters, and symbols. “When you want to contact me, message me the letters VC, for video conference. I’ll message you back with a number. That number will be how many minutes it will take me to get to a secure terminal on my end and initiate the video conference. All you have to do is be logged in to this terminal beforehand and accept my video call when it comes in. Understand?”