by Jon F. Merz
The Cairo Connection
A Lawson Vampire Mission
Jon F. Merz
Contents
Disclaimer
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
About the Author
Also by Jon F. Merz
Copyright © 2017 by Jon F. Merz
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Disclaimer
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.
1
London, 1981
I was sitting in an old pub outside of Grosvenor Square, the sort of place that looked like a stereotypical English pub, with dark walls, leather seats, high-backed booths, and all sorts of framed prints from a bygone era of British Colonial history. Bric-brac from old military campaigns when the British Empire was a global force decorated the walls and signs of various old regiments adorned every free bit of space. The customers ranged from pipe fitters to old veterans to a few new wave punks with purple mohawk haircuts. It was the sort of place that you could reminisce and simultaneously disappear if you wanted to.
I was over a decade out on my own. Ten years wasn’t a whole lot of time, especially in the Fixer service, but I’d been handling cases on my own for some time now and felt like I was seasoned enough to handle pretty much whatever was thrown my way. I was also young and cocky. I’d killed some bad vampires in the past decade and felt that I’d lived up to what had been expected of me since graduating from both the Service training and the intense mentorship program I’d been a part of prior to gaining my independence.
Zero had been my mentor for years once I’d graduated. That’s how the Council ensured that new agents were given the best of both worlds: top shelf training combined with actual field experience watching another seasoned agent show them how things were done in the real world. No sense just plunging the new graduates right into the thick of shit - that didn’t help anyone and sometimes got a new agent killed at the expense of what the Council had just invested in their training. It was far better for all involved to do it this way.
I had some leave coming up due to the fact that I’d just completed another assignment and I was sitting in the pub wondering where I wanted to go. I was tired and in need of a break. The weather in London wasn’t helping my mood. Since I’d been here for the past few weeks, it had rained almost nonstop and the few hours that it hadn’t poured or drizzled, it had remained a steady, pervasive depressing gray. I was beginning to forget what the sun even looked like.
But the beer was good and bitter and as I stared at my pint before me, the evening hour chimed over to five o’clock and I was thinking about maybe ordering a nice juicy steak to go with it when the door opened to the pub.
I was seated at the bar and used the mirror running behind it to covertly check to see who was coming inside. It wasn’t paranoia; it was just simple tradecraft. And I’d been doing it for so long now that it was an instinct instead of an obvious habit.
This time, however, I did a double-take.
Zero had just entered the pub.
He slid into position next to me and ordered an ale. While the bartender pulled the draught for him, he turned his head and clapped me on the shoulder. “How are you, Lawson?”
I smiled. Over the years of his mentoring, I think Zero had developed as deep an affection for me as I had for him. You couldn’t teach a new kid the type of stuff we were doing without some sort of bonding occurring and Zero had taken me under his wing to show me how things really worked in the field. He was a legend in his own right, with a ton of high-risk ops successfully completed. I’d been lucky to draw him as my mentor instead of someone else who didn’t care half as much as Zero did.
The bartender put his ale in front of him and Zero took a long drag on it, smacking his lips as he put it back on the bar. “Damn, that’s good.”
I held up my glass and clinked it against his. “Here’s to old friends.”
“Cheers,” said Zero. Then he drank again, looked around and nodded at the back of the bar. “You wanna grab a booth?”
“Sure.” I slid off the stool and we headed to the back of the pub. I deferentially gave Zero the seat that faced out toward the rest of the bar so he could watch the environment. Not that I couldn’t have handled it, but he’d been my superior and it just felt right doing that.
“What brings you to London?” I asked when we were both sitting. “I heard you were over in Iraq of all places.”
Zero nodded. “I was. Now that everyone’s cuddling up to the regime over there, we needed to make sure our interests were being well-represented.”
I leveled a finger at him. “That dude’s going to be trouble one day.”
“You’re telling me.” He sighed. “But since he’s at war with the Iranians, that makes him everybody’s new best friend. Enemy of my enemy and all that bullshit. You know how it plays by this point.”
“Yup.” I paused. “So?”
“So, I’m done and thought I’d fly back through London and see my old apprentice. Not that I can call you that any longer.” He smiled. “I’ve been hearing good things about you, Lawson. The sort of things that make me proud of what you’ve accomplished. You’ve done good.”
“Thanks to your tutelage,” I said. “This isn’t the sort of job that’s very forgiving of mistakes and I’m grateful I seem to have made a lot of mine while still under your care.”
Zero laughed. “Just don’t start thinking you won’t make any more of them. The day you do that is the day you make the worst ones of all.”
“Noted.” I took another sip of my beer. “But you didn’t come back through London just to see me. You taught me too well for that excuse to hold any water, pal. Now what’s up?”
Zero sipped his ale. “I understand you’ve got some leave coming up.”
“Yeah. I’m in desperate need of a vacation. Been working in the midst of this gray piss of a city for too long now. I’ve got to get some place warm and sunny. I feel like my skin is turning the same color as the sky around these parts.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Zero. “A vacation is always a good thing. You know where you’re going yet? Made any plans?”
“I was literally sitting at the bar giving it some serious thought,” I said. “I’ve got to decide soon though. Travel plans and all.”
“Sticking around Europe?”
I frowned. “Probably not. Thinking about the Caribbean maybe. This time of year the beaches ought to be packed with lovely ladies tired of the winter cold and gloom.”
“No doubt,” said Zero. “What about the Mediterranean?”
I shrugged. “I’ve heard good things about Santorini. I could maybe head there. That’
d keep me closer to the action just in case I get a recall.”
“And it’s close to Africa,” said Zero.
I chuckled. “I’m not going on a safari. The last thing I want to do is head into the jungle under canopy. I’d look even more pale at the end of two weeks than I do right now.” It always amazed me that people who have never been in the bush somehow thought that being in the jungle meant you were tanned. The truth was that the foliage in the jungle could be so thick that you’d often come out without any color whatsoever simply because the sunlight couldn’t filter down to the ground. I’d been in jungle so thick that you’d swear it was midnight when it was actually noon time.
“Didn’t mean jungle,” said Zero. He leaned forward. “What would you say to Egypt, though?”
I leaned back in the booth. “Egypt? Why would I want to go there? Not too keen on pyramids. Great stuff, don’t get me wrong. It’s just I don’t know how many bikini-clad ladies I’m going to find strolling through Giza. And my keen intellect tells me damned few.”
Zero grinned. “That’s probably an accurate assessment.” His face turned serious. “But I’m wondering if you’d be willing to do it anyway.” He held up his hand. “And before you make your decision, I’m not asking you as your old mentor; I’m asking you as a friend.”
“Give up my leave?”
Zero nodded. “For reasons I’ll explain, I’m going to ask you to let everyone in the Service think that you’re taking your leave as planned. And then I’m going to ask you to pretend that you’ve gone off on vacation when in reality, you have not.”
“You want me to lie,” I said. It wasn’t a question, it was just the fact of the matter. If I was picking up what Zero was putting down, then he was most definitely asking me to lie.
“I do,” he said. One of the things I’d always appreciated about Zero was that he never bullshitted me. If a situation was crap or if you’d done a shit job at a task, Zero would just let you know right away without any extraneous drama and bullshit. A lot of people couldn’t handle that level of truth, but I loved it. There wasn’t any whining, no excuses, just the simplicity that you fucked up, next time don’t and get your shit straight. It saved a helluva lot of time.
“Break it down for me,” I said.
Zero leaned forward, his eyes roving over the interior of the bar as he did so, carefully cataloging everyone and everything in it in case anything changed while we were talking. “I’ve got a situation. I found a thread a few months ago and I’ve been tugging at it ever since. What I’ve found isn’t good. And I need to resolve the situation without any official interest in the case.”
“Off the books?”
“Exactly,” said Zero. “I need someone I can trust watching my six on this and you’re the only one that can do it and do it well.”
“Thank you.”
Zero waved his hand. “You know it’s not a compliment, Lawson. It’s just the damned truth. You’re a good agent and I want you with me on this.”
“Egypt, huh?”
Zero smiled. “If we get it all done as quickly as I think we can, you’ll still have plenty of time left to go skirt-chasing anywhere you like. I’ll even cover the tab.”
I eyed him. “Do you know how much I’m capable of drinking?”
“Unfortunately, I do,” said Zero with a laugh. “Helsinki, remember?”
I laughed as well at the memory of that trip. But I quickly got serious. “If we’re going off the books on this, what are the ramifications if the Council gets wind of it?”
“For you? Official reprimand, possibly suspension from the Service. For me? Who knows? Censure. Internal investigation. Probably death.”
“Ouch,” I said. I fell quiet for a moment and took a long drag on my beer. I wasn’t exactly crazy about doing something unsanctioned by the Council. I’d been out on my own just long enough to enjoy my work and start developing my own way of doing things. To put that at risk wasn’t exactly my idea of career advancement.
“I’m putting you in an awkward spot,” said Zero. “And I won’t blame you if you turn me down. I’d be hard-pressed to agree to go along with a crazy plan if you’d approached me to do something similar.”
I looked up at him. This was the man who had taught me how to be a Fixer in the real world. What he’d shown me had already saved my life a few times over. How could I turn my back on him when he needed me most?
I hoisted my glass again. “When do we leave?”
2
Zero flew out ahead of me to lay the groundwork for the op as well as make sure that if anyone was following us, it wouldn’t appear that we were traveling together. We had no way of knowing if we had any ticks, but it’s just a good general rule of thumb to always assume someone is watching you. That way, you don’t go screwing things up by thinking you’re clean.
I mooched around London for another day, filed the necessary paperwork for my leave, which stated I was heading to Santorini, and telexed it over to the Council in Boston. Once I got approval back, I packed up my gear and headed to Heathrow.
At the Egyptair counter, I bought a one-way ticket to Cairo with cash and hung around the departures terminal, poking in the duty-free shop and watching the flow of people around the airport. Back in those days, it was a hobby of mine to see how many spooks and terrorists I could spot. Anyone who has ever received some sort of military or espionage training generally has a few things that will make them stand out from the rest of the people around them.
One of them is an apparent nonchalant sense of acute awareness. People who are oblivious to the threats that routinely circulate around them, by and large, tend to head right for their destination without so much as a second thought.
But spies and operators and terrorists and assorted other criminals are always aware of the potential for surveillance by friendly and hostile parties alike, so their antennae are always up. Instead of heading right for the parking garage and walking directly to their car, they’ll loiter at the coffee stand. They’ll sit down and read a paper or a book while perusing the scene surreptitiously. They’ll pretend to make a phone call unexpectedly, hoping to catch someone in midstride behind them.
To anyone not in the game of cloak and dagger, it won’t even register. But those trained - to some extent - will always be able to recognize someone who is pretending to be oblivious but is actually astute to the happenings around them.
So, it’s kind of fun hanging out and spotting the players from all manner of teams. And back in 1981, it was a whole smorgasbord of rogues. Irish terrorists just back from trips to West Germany to secure funding via the Bader-Meinhof Gang, Soviet KGB gumshoes entering Great Britain wearing awful counterfeit loafers and suits that harkened back to the age of Disco, British MI-5 agents loafing about trying to put names to faces of all the bad guys, and CIA case officers who either looked like college professors or preppy students straight off the Yale campus trying to chase down Soviet secretaries and flip them. And then you had the seedy Middle Eastern types who wore suits as bad as the Soviets with dark sunglasses and thick mustaches and either worked for some radical Islamic terrorist group or the Israeli Mossad.
Like I said, it was an all-you-can-eat buffet of smoke and mirrors. Sometimes the players were acquainted and then things got really comical as you watched them try to play it off like they didn’t know each other. It got painfully awkward. Of course they all knew who they all were; most of the time they’d had each other under surveillance for years and had elaborate dossiers and pictures of everyone.
Luckily, I didn’t show up on any of the registries. And I doubted any of the groups represented even had a clue that there existed a vampire intelligence and special operations service. If they had, then I might have definitely been in danger.
Bored as I was, I could have screwed around with some of the dead drops I would routinely come across. Most of the times, these places were marked with chalk smears. Different colors of chalk meant different things. One color to sig
nify the drop was “loaded,” meaning it had something inside. And another color to designate it was now “unloaded,” or that the material had been picked up. And then different services would use different colored chalk. At one point in the Cold War, it was considered a gross breach of etiquette to use another service’s colors. I refrained from tampering with them, tempting as it was. Back then, the Cold War was heating up and the last thing I wanted to do was contribute to a potential nuclear armageddon. That would have had grave consequences for my people as well. Plus, it wasn’t very professional.
When my flight was finally called, I headed to the gate, did a quick stop-and-check behind me by using a sunglass shop that had great mirrors for patrons to check their look. The only guy I saw was a bored-looking MI-5 type loitering some distance behind me. I disregarded him and moved to the gate, got checked in, and boarded the plane.
The plane was an A300B4-200, which held several hundred passengers and looked fairly new. I settled into the first class cabin and reclined almost immediately. While the rest of the passengers boarded, I familiarized myself with all of the exits and emergency egress points in case of an incident. Hijackings were still fairly common and as each passenger came on, I scrutinized them to see if anyone set off my alarm bells. Fortunately, the flight looked fairly harmless aside from the disgustingly fat dude with greasy hair who plopped himself down a few rows away from me and promptly started trying to get membership into the Mile High Club with one the stewardesses. She sighed and promptly left him behind, coming over to me and asking if I was all set.
Her smile told me that she wouldn’t necessarily have minded joining the Club, if she wasn’t already a member, but just not with the mascot from Sea World. I wondered if she was going to be anywhere near Santorini in the next week or so? I’d have to see about that before I disembarked.
