VENGEANCE REAWAKENED
Page 26
Nathan’s bruised face lit up. “Thank you so much for coming, dear heart! And for the treat! The staff here is wonderful, but the food…not so much.”
He lay in the hospital bed at an elevated angle. A soft blue cast over bandages covered his right hand. He wore a light-blue hospital gown and, for medical reasons, accessorized with no glasses or earrings.
Molka placed the bag on the little table next to the bed. “Olavo said to tell you to get better soon, and he’s very sorry about what happened.”
“Aww. How’s he doing?”
“Good,” Molka said. “Even with all the money we gave him, he’s staying in Esperança with his nice family. He wants to use some of the money to make a difference there by helping others.”
“A good man, that Olavo.” Nathan swung the table over his stomach into an eating position, opened the food bag, and looked at Molka. “You don’t mind if I eat, do you?”
“That’s what I brought it for.” Molka moved to a bedside chair to Nathan’s left and sat.
Nathan removed the hummus container from the bag and placed it on his table. “When are you flying back to Brasilia?”
“As soon as I leave here and meet Maximilian to turn the equipment in and drop off my rental car. Then I have a 5PM video conference from the basement with Raziela to be debriefed on the task.”
Nathan removed the lid from the hummus container and smiled, and then assumed a serious face. “Raziela called to check on me this morning. She said Cardoza and that son of a—and Abreu were both dead. True?”
“Yes,” Molka said.”
Nathan smiled again and used a plastic fork from the bag to take a bite. “Ohhhh….” He rolled his eyes in pleasure while he chewed and swallowed. “Ok, so, dish the details on how the bad guys died.”
“Raziela will have to fill you on those if she chooses. I’m not allowed to discuss completed tasks per my non-disclosure agreement. Sorry.”
Nathan grinned. “I understand…Project Molka.”
Molka grinned. “Well…Project Nathan, you did your duty for the program. Now you can crawl back into your cozy, safe, little embassy cubicle and keep your head down very low so that the next time some Counsel recruiter comes sniffing around looking for suckers, they won’t be able to find you. And I kind of envy you for that.”
Nathan swallowed another bite. “No more cubicle hiding for me. I actually decided yesterday to stay with the program. Even with a somewhat mangled hand, I still think I have a lot to offer. Raziela agrees.”
Molka’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. What made you change your mind?”
“You. You inspired me to step up and do something greater with my life. Something not so self-centered.”
“I did? Wait.” Molka leaned forward. “No, no, no, no. Pro tip: Please don’t lay that responsibility on me. If you end up hating it, you’ll end up hating me.”
“It’s too late. Raziela said you’re a legend within the program.”
Molka flashed a surprised face. “She did?”
“Yes. And legends carry the responsibility of being inspirational. For good or bad.” Nathan grinned again. “So, you may as well just own it.”
CHAPTER 57
Presidente Juscelino Kubitschek International Airport
Brasília, Brazil
4:04 PM
Molka exited the airport terminal front entrance with her carry-on bag slung over her left shoulder containing her purse, tactical clothes, and old pilot’s watch.
Before she could pull her phone from her track suits’ front pocket and call a rideshare, she found herself facing the waiting Geller with his arms folded across his chest. He dressed for action in his black polo shirt over dark gray tactical pants and black tactical boots. Tactical sunglasses sat perched atop his head, and a large black tactical watch dominated his left wrist.
And flanking him stood the two serious-faced, younger Hispanic women from embassy security outfitted in their blue uniforms complete with blue patrol caps and holstered sidearms.
“Well,” Molka said. “I was about to say I don’t need a VIP escort to the embassy because I’m taking a rideshare to the apartment, so I could change first, but I believe you have other plans for me.”
Geller presented Molka a solemn face. “I’ve been ordered to escort you to the embassy and confine you in the Counsel office until further notice.”
“For what reason?”
“I haven’t been told,” Geller said.
“Confine as in imprison?
“The ambassador calls it an unofficial-official confinement.”
“Same thing,” Molka said with a shrug. “The ambassador ordered this?”
“No, it came from Tel Aviv. Highest authorities. You must comply. No exceptions.”
Molka raised sarcastic eyebrows. “And we must always comply with orders from the highest authorities with no exceptions, right?”
“Our car is parked pretty close.” Geller led the way, with Molka following him and the two security officers following Molka.
Halfway to the blue embassy car, Geller spoke to Molka over his shoulder. “I’m sorry this duty fell to me, Molka. I don’t like it at all. But it’s following the orders we don’t like which maintains discipline.”
Molka smirked. “Ha. You sound just like Azzur.”
“Who’s Azzur?”
Molka shrugged. “No one anymore, I guess.”
CHAPTER 58
Secret Counsel Medical Facility
Somewhere Outside of Tel Aviv, Israel
10:17 PM
The young male nurse approached the older, female supervising nurse working at her office desk. “Problem with patient seven.”
“What is it now?” the supervising nurse said.
“He’s begging for a cigarette again.”
“The doctor said no. Cigarette privileges are to be earned as rewards, and he hasn’t earned a reward yet.”
“You know, nicotine addiction is no joke, especially for people as addicted as him. And he’s supposed to be here getting un-crazy, not driven more insane. How about just one cigarette for him?”
The supervising nurse resumed her desk work. “The doctor said no.”
The young male nurse exited the office, moved to patient seven’s door, unlocked it, and stuck his head inside the room. “My supervisor said no.”
The young male nurse shut and re-locked the soundproof door, muffling Azzur’s agonizing screams.
CHAPTER 59
Counsel Basement Office
Israeli Embassy
Brasilia, Brazil
5:26 PM
“Now, what’s the official word about my unofficial-official confinement here?” Molka asked Raziela after Molka concluded her video conference report in graphic detail about the facts of the Fantasy World meeting massacre.
All the facts except her killing Abreu and Cardoza.
She left those out because the previous night when she messaged Raziela that Cardoza was killed at the scene from a car bomb placed by Abreu, Raziela didn’t ask for any details on the car bombing or exactly how Abreu died. She just commented on the irony of Abreu and Cardoza both planning to use the meeting to kill the other and both succeeding.
Therefore, she joked, she couldn’t add them to the ever-growing body count in Project Molka’s program file.
Molka let Raziela’s assumptions stand.
But Raziela knew what Molka knew.
Which was Molka had asked for a very worthy ass to kick on her next task, and that meant permanently kick. And for all her troubles, she ended up getting two.
Thanks for having my back, Raziela.
Halfway through Molka’s report, Raziela started typing on her laptop, and if her multitasking distracted her, the immediate reply she gave to Molka’s ending question didn’t indicate it. “Your unofficial-official is definitely official. I was notified last night after I reported Cardoza’s status. I couldn’t get any more information, though. Possibly something you did on a previous task
come back to bite you? But I’m flying home tomorrow, and I’ll go see the department chief and get some answers.”
“I hope so,” Molka said. ‘This basement isn’t smelling any better.”
Raziela looked up from her laptop. “There, I just finished writing the conclusion of my report of this task to the Counsel. Would you like to hear it?”
“Does it say I completed my task successfully?”
“Yes.”
Molka yawned. “Then, no, I don’t want to hear it.”
Raziela grinned. “You’re so silly.” She viewed her laptop screen again and read: “It was inevitable that two thug gangsters like Abreu and Cardoza operating in the same city—even if they worked together for a time—would eventually go after each other. And in this case, they both got each other. And Rio de Janeiro and Brazil and the world as a whole is a little safer and better place to live after their departures from it.” She looked back to Molka. “What do you think?”
“I like it,” Molka said. “You’re a fine storyteller.”
“Thank you.” Raziela grinned again. “And there’s good news too. A very grateful Major Fernandes has agreed to present that story to the Brazilian president which will mesh nicely with our country’s confidential report to him about Cardoza’s criminal past.”
Molka smirked. “And I’ll bet the Brazilian president will feel his reelection campaign dodged a major explosion when Cardoza exploded.”
“Undoubtedly. And it also assures your role in the incident will never be revealed or even investigated.”
“This all sounds too good to be true,” Molka said. “Which is why I sense an ‘In spite of that; notwithstanding, and all the same,’ warning from you coming for me.”
Raziela fabricated a cheery smile. “In spite of that; notwithstanding, and all the same, for all your future tasks, I would appreciate it if you would consult with me before making unscheduled removals. That way, I won’t have to conclude my report with a less than favorable review of your performance.”
“In other words,” Molka said, “if it happens again, you’ll make sure I’m removed from the program or worse.”
Raziela nodded. “I’m so happy we understand each other, baby sister.”
Molka smirked again. “And I’m so thrilled about that, older sister.”
“Please, call me big sister, not older.”
The basement door opened, and multiple people descended the steps. The ambassador—wearing another sharp suit and another nervous smile—led two other dark-haired and clean-shaven men in their 30s dressed in less sharp suits.
They entered the comms room and stood behind Molka.
The ambassador spoke. “Molka, these men would like to talk to you.”
Molka turned in her chair. “About what, sir?”
Raziela’s face came closer to the screen. “Yes, about what, Mr. Ambassador?”
One of the men spoke up in Hebrew. “You’re to come with us, Molka.”
“Come with you where?” Molka said.
“To the airport,” the other man said. “You’ve been ordered out of the country immediately.”
“I’m her supervisor,” Raziela said. “Please tell me who you’re with?”
They each produced an ID card.
Molka had seen their type of cards before. “IDF Military Police?”
Raziela spoke up. “Please hold those cards to the camera so I can see them.”
The men complied.
After a moment’s examination, Raziela said, “I’m sorry, but the military has no jurisdiction over her. She’s a civilian employee of the Counsel.”
The ambassador’s nervous smile widened. “Raziela, please do not interfere. I have already verified their request with Tel Aviv.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Ambassador, I can’t condone anyone taking one of my people anywhere without giving me good reason.”
The first military policeman spoke up. “Our orders are to remove her from this embassy and take her to the airport without delay.”
“I’m sorry,” Raziela said, “but you need permission from the Director of the Counsel’s office to do that. And I would really hate to see you two men get in serious trouble for violating protocol.”
“Our orders came from the prime minister, who is the Director of the Counsel’s immediate superior, who is your immediate superior. Correct?”
The ambassador spoke again. “And as I said, Raziela. I verified that order.”
Raziela spoke. “May I ask if her flight’s destination is Ben Gurion?”
The second military policeman answered. “Yes, it is.” He pointed at Molka’s carry-on bag sitting on the floor next to her chair. “Is that yours?”
“Yes,” Molka said. “And I’m taking it with me.”
“That’s fine. Grab it, and let’s go.”
Molka stood and slung her bag.
As the military policemen led Molka from the room, Raziela yelled into her microphone: “Molka! I’ll have a Counsel attorney waiting for you when you land! Before then, admit nothing, deny nothing!”
Molka remained silent in the backseat of an embassy car driven by an embassy employee with one military policeman seated beside her and the other in the passenger seat. The 15-minute ride back across the Ponte das Garças bridge to the airport did not end at the main public entrance, though. Instead, they passed through a locked private gate, which led to a small apron adjacent to the area serving commercial flights.
The smaller apron parked several mid-sized jets with Brazilian government insignias and two green and gray camouflaged military aircraft.
At the far end, with its nose pointed toward the runways and twin engines running, waited a sleek, white IAI Westwind business-type jet bearing Israeli Air Force markings.
The vehicle parked aside the aircraft’s extended airstairs. Molka exited with the military policemen into the warm, windy day and the high-pitched whine from the jet turbines.
The military policemen bracketed Molka from the vehicle, up the stairs, and into the aircraft’s cabin outfitted in two rows of light gray leather seats. They pointed Molka to the first forward-facing seat, asked her to place her bag in the overhead, and fasten her seat belt.
She complied.
They moved to the seats behind her and buckled in.
Within moments, a crewman closed the aircraft’s door, and the aircraft taxied toward the main runways.
A few minutes later, they were airborne.
And within a few minutes after that, another dark suited man approached Molka’s seat up the aisle from the rear. He was balding and smaller and older than the other two and carried a silver laptop and small folding table.
He sat in the rear-facing seat across from Molka. “Good afternoon, Molka. I’m Schilt, from the Office of the Prime Minister of Israel.”
Molka spoke. “I’m not going to make any statements. But can you tell me the charges?”
“This will explain.” Schilt unfolded the small table, placed it in front of Molka, placed the laptop on the table, and opened it.
On screen appeared a live video view of the prime minister’s face. “Good afternoon, Molka.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Prime Minister.”
“I apologize for the abrupt nature of your departure. It was done because I need to get you home as soon as possible.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Molka said, “but before you have your say, I’m going to give you mine. Which is this: even though he’s now dead, I think the deal you made with the Russians about Cardoza was disgusting. Disgusting for our country and disgusting for justice and especially disgusting for the Harlev family’s memory and a lot of other people who died that you don’t know about.”
A small smile creased the prime minister’s lips. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Molka. Including your strong-willed—and sometimes defiant—attitude. Which I see can be defiant to a fault.”
Molka folded her arms. “I have many faults, sir. Please go ahead and have your say now.�
�
The prime minister’s smile faded to somberness. “Our country is on the verge of descending into a major national crisis.”
“What kind of major national crisis?” Molka said.
“It’s too sensitive to be discussed even over this secure video feed, so I’ll personally brief you as soon as you get here. But you must understand one thing above all: if this major national crisis can be stopped, only one person in the entire world can stop it. And that one person is…Project Molka.”
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A Word from Fredrick
THANK YOU for reading VENGEANCE REWAKENED! We are now six books into this journey of fast paced action-adventure PROJECT MOLKA novels, and I hope you’re still enjoying the ride as much as ever!
I’m definitely enjoying writing this series! And you have my undying gratitude for your support and my promise to write the best books I can for you!