Angels Don't Die

by Petrek, Soren

  ANGELS DON’T DIE

  Copyright 2011 Soren Paul Petrek

  All rights reserved.

  For Rachel Michele Petrek, Fighter

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  Remember me as you pass by,

  As you are now, so once was I,

  As I am now, so you must be,

  Prepare for death and follow me.

  Translated from the Tomb of Edward the Black Prince 1330 - 1376

  CHAPTER ONE

  The tinkle of the ice in his glass was the only relief from the Jerusalem sun Tracy could find as he huddled under the meager shade of the cafe umbrella. But he hardly noticed it. He reached out his hand and took Rachel's in his, amazed that after so many months of trying, she was with him.

  The couple sat outside a café watching the market area come alive. Vendors fanned charcoal fires, sending enticing smells into the air. Merchants raised awnings over small shops displaying everything from jewelry to clothes and spices. Farmers, who had been there since before sunrise, rearranged the produce remaining after their early customers had picked it over.

  “It's going to be busy today,” Rachel said, sipping an early morning cocktail and glancing out into the square.

  “Busy and hot,” Tracy said wiping his face with a napkin. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to this heat. You never even seem to sweat.”

  “You make me sweat,” Rachel flashed a seductive smile at Tracy, reaching out to poke his inner thigh with a sandaled foot.

  “You're just bad,” Tracy laughed. “But I'm not complaining.”

  “You did enough of that in training,” Rachel teased.

  “Well, it was like you stayed up at night thinking up different training tortures for me.”

  “My government wanted to make sure the NSA's best and brightest got a taste of real Mossad training,” Rachel said, giving him a lascivious wink.

  “Either that or kill their agent,” Tracy said.

  “Oh, you poor baby. Haven't I soothed your aching body?”

  “Well, you certainly aren't shy,” Tracy laughed.

  “Neither were you an hour ago.”

  “You shouldn't sun yourself on the patio in that tissue paper thing you call a bikini.”

  “You could have carried me inside, besides, it’s 1973 and all the girls wear them.”

  “At that very second, I probably couldn’t have carried you inside,” Tracy said leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. Rachel reached out for his hand, cupping it in hers.

  The smell of roasting lamb wafted over the table.

  “I'm hungry,” Tracy said, looking over his shoulder for the source of the delicious smell.

  “I’m hungry too, and that lamb smells wonderful. How about a picnic lunch? I'll get some kebabs and one of those little melons,” Rachel said gesturing towards one of the fruit carts.

  “Perfect,” Tracy said, starting to stand up.

  “You just rest yourself there. Finish your drink. You can buy a nice bottle of wine and we’ll eat down by the fountain.”

  “Nice, like expensive?” Tracy quipped. “The food will be a lot cheaper.”

  “Yes, I know,” Rachel said, gliding away from the table shooting Tracy a teasing smile over her shoulder.

  Tracy watched her walk away, her lean athletic body flowing into her curves. Her olive skin wrapped the present he knew he'd been given. He was in love. He’d never known a woman like her. From the first day they’d met, he knew she was something special. She was a merciless tease but tempered it with compassion and intelligence. He would never get tired of being amazed by her.

  As Tracy watched Rachel walk towards the center of the market, his eyes weren't the only ones following her. A young man on a motorcycle watched from the far end of the market as she moved forward. He wore blue jeans and a bulky jacket that seemed out of place for the blistering heat that was building. He fingered a small detonator concealed in his pocket, wired through a hole that led to an explosive charge wrapped around his waist. At the opposite side of the square, across from where Tracy waited, three men peered around a drawn shade in an empty shop and waited.

  Rachel stopped at the lamb seller’s kiosk and pointed towards the pieces she wanted. Immediately, the motorcycle began to move in her direction. Slowly at first, weaving through the crowd, looking for a straight shot towards his target.

  Tracy idly watched the motorcycle approach from the far end of the square. Motorcycles and bicycles were common place, but something about the way the man sat his ride triggered his instincts, and as he watched the bike move closer he felt a growing sense of alarm, and he stood. Tracy’s counter terrorism training focused his mind on the motorcycle. Increasing tensions between the Israeli and the Arab worlds led to more saber rattling and more attacks. He took a step forward. He needed to be sure. Without warning the bike's engine screamed as it shot forward, causing Rachel to spin in the direction of the sound. Her right hand jerked a pistol from the small of her back as she faced her attacker, turning her body in profile to the assault to make herself a smaller target. She shot a glance at Tracy as he ran towards her, a mask of resolve etched on her face. She fired twice at the motorcycle as it careened towards her; in death the rider's thumb depressed the detonator, shredding everything within twenty yards.

  Running at full speed, Tracy was hit by the blast and a shower of blood; the biker was vaporized as he was thrown back from the explosion. His adrenaline fighting his disbelief, he rolled to his feet; staggering forward towards the place Rachel had been an instant before. His clothing and face were crimson with the blood and bits of bone that had been his whole life just seconds earlier. The world was silent. His ears rang from the blast as he wiped his face to try to clear his vision. A sharp blow to his midsection and a gun butt to the back of his head stunned him, and rough hands dragged him out of the light and into darkness. A needle pierced his arm, and his anguished scream for Rachel died in his throat as the drugs took him away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Madeleine shoveled compost into the soil of her herb garden adjacent to the Cafe Provencal, her modest French restaurant. She had helpers who could have done the job just as well, but she liked the connection she had to the ingredients with which she cooked. The majority came from several outstanding local farms, but the herbs she tended to personally.

  She loved the feel of the sun on her back and shoulders. Missouri winters had always seemed too long, and they were even longer now as she approached her fiftieth birthday. She felt her age a little more each day as she carried out the physically demanding tasks of running a busy restaurant. She was lucky, though; her body had remained lithe and her black hair only hinted of the grey to come. Everywhere she went in the little town, men still stole glances at her.

  As today was Monday, the restaurant was closed, but as always there was work to do. The rest
of her staff was enjoying their day off. Her husband Jack was at his office as an executive for a liquor distributor in St. Louis. So many years of her life, during the war, she had been alone, and she didn’t mind it now. It gave her time to think, get some exercise in and have a cigarette without someone reminding her of their health consequences.

  She smiled as she lit up a Gauloise, pulled out of the pocket of her apron. Had it almost been thirty years since she last killed Nazis for the British Army and the French Resistance? That life had had health consequences too, deadly ones.

  As Madeleine smoked her cigarette, an all too familiar feeling swept over her, filling her with dread, erasing the feel of the sun and the scent of basil and rosemary. It was a premonition, and it hit her hard, wiping everything from her mind. She dropped her cigarette. She’d felt this many times before, but it had been years since it was this strong. Leaning on her shovel, she slipped down onto one of the timbers that held a raised planting bed. The women in her family all had the gift of clairvoyance to some degree. In her case, the strength of the vision depended on the closeness of the connection. The feeling held panic for her today, as she hadn’t felt it this strong since facing danger head-on during the war. Not knowing what was wrong or to whom some terrible thing might have happened was unbearable. Her incapacity lasted a second before she raced towards the kitchen door and the nearest phone.

  “Be there, be there,” she whispered to herself as she phoned her husband Jack. If her daughter was in danger or worse, she knew it would be news she couldn't face alone.

  “Teach,” came the immediate reply on the third ring. Madeleine's relief steadied her as she leaned into a cabinet, exhausted by the surge of adrenaline that accompanied her panic.

  “Jack, thank God. I just had a bad premonition. Something’s happened, I can feel it.”

  “Madeleine, call Marie,” Jack said referring to their adult daughter who lived and worked at Chez-Toche in La Ciotat France.

  “But it's the middle of the night,” Madeleine said half-heartedly. They both knew she would call. Jack never discounted anything about Madeleine Toche. Her premonitions were real, and when they came to Madeleine, they came to one of the deadliest assassins the world had ever known. Together, they had faced death during World War Two. Jack had trained Madeleine as an agent for the British Special Operations Executive. For three years she survived alone in occupied France, killing Hitler's elite. Only she knew how many.

  Their love survived the war and she gave most of herself to him. There were still parts locked away that he would never see, parts that were best left in the past, during a war defined by atrocity.

  “Call your mother. She’ll understand. I’m coming home immediately,” Jack said, hanging up the phone. After all these years, his voice still rang with command. She took comfort in it.

  Claire Toche heard the clang of the old rotary phone down in the office tucked back next to the pantry in the restaurant's kitchen. She glanced at her sleeping husband and muttered, “Don’t bother, I'll get it.” She marched down the stairs, through the dining room with all the chairs placed upside down on the tables so that the floors could be washed before lunch service. Picking up the phone, she prepared a stinging comment for the late night caller.

  “Maman! Is Marie alright?” Madeleine blurted.

  “Madeleine, what's wrong?” Claire said, concerned.

  “I had a bad premonition. Jack is fine. Where's Marie?”

  “Wait, I'll check,” Claire said placing the phone down on a cutting board. Claire was quite familiar with the Toche women's premonitions. She'd had several herself, over the years. As a rule, they were never treated lightly. Without bothering to cover her night dress, Claire pushed open the front door and ran across the square to the modest set of apartments in which her granddaughter lived. She simultaneously rang the doorbell and pounded on the door.

  A man's head popped out the upstairs window. An angry retort died on his lips when he saw who was standing below. Night dress or not, Claire Toche was not a woman you indiscriminately yelled at. If she was pounding on the door in the middle of the night in her pajamas, she had good reason.

  “Grandma! What are you doing here?” Marie said, throwing open the front door.

  “Your mother had a strong premonition something was wrong. We had to make sure you were alright.”

  “I'm fine. Is Dad okay? And Grandpa?”

  “Everyone is fine. Sorry to wake you, but these things can't be denied.”

  “We have to get up soon for prep anyway,” Marie said kissing her grandmother on the cheek.

  “You remind me so much of Yves. You love the business so much,” Claire said with a smile. “The people of La Ciotat will enjoy our little family restaurant for a long time to come.”

  Marie grinned having heard the story countless times how her mother had avenged her brother's death. His spirit was still very much alive at Chez-Toche. The customers often spoke of him to Claire and Jean-Pierre. After the pain of his death lessened, their love and memories kept him alive.

  “Your mother is still on the phone in the kitchen, I'll let her know you are safe. I've had these premonitions myself, but your mother seems to get the strongest ones. Something is surely wrong somewhere. I'll call around a bit later just to make sure.”

  Marie closed the door as Claire walked back across the street. Claire would never sleep now and decided to brew the first pot of coffee for the day. She worried about Madeleine and the part of her the war had awakened. She prayed that it was just a false alarm and that Madeline would continue the peaceful life she'd found in Missouri with Jack surrounded by good friends and neighbors, and enjoying the work of running her successful restaurant. As her kitchen filled with the aroma of fresh coffee, her mind kept returning to Madeleine’s premonition. She hoped there’d be an answer soon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  John and Karen Trunce sat at their kitchen table drinking coffee and glancing at the phone from time to time. The dishes were done, the yard immaculate and the garden weeded. Although they had both reached fifty, they were lean and tanned from chores and long walks. They enjoyed one another's company more and more as John had finally retired from the US Army Paratroopers, after thirty years and three wars.

  “Why hasn't Tracy called? He calls every week and he's more than a week overdue.”

  “Karen, I don't know. He's NSA, sometimes they don't keep regular hours,” John said without conviction.

  “He's only supposed to be training, not on a mission, if that's what they do. Why do all you Trunce men have to find yourselves in some kind of uniform?” Karen said, breaking eye contact, looking away, fighting her urge to cry, as she toyed with a cookie sitting on a plate in front of her. John reached over and squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her when he was unsure himself.

  “That was Tracy's choice. You know you can't talk him out of anything. He didn't just jump in without looking. When they recruited him out of college, I gave him all the information I had. I even got some old friends to fill him in on the real scoop before he made his decision. He was never going to stay in Patience Missouri and hide from the world, Karen. At least it kept him out of the draft. If he'd even thought about volunteering for ‘Nam, Joseph and I would have tried to stop him.”

  “I'm glad you're out,” Karen said.

  “Three tours is enough for anyone. I’ve had enough of war, and I’m afraid I've used up most of my nine lives.”

  “What do we do now? Isn’t there anyone we can contact?” Karen said.

  “We've both tried calling his apartment. He was training with the Mossad the last I heard. They aren't even going to admit he exists, much less take a message for him to call his parents,” John said running one hand through his hair.

  “Can you call someone?”

  “I'll try a couple of old buddies who went over to the spooks.”

  “I hate that word,” Karen shuddered.

  “Sorry, it’s just an old army nickname for the
intelligence community. I know a few men who are still active. It won’t be easy. I might have to twist an arm or two.”

  “Could Jack or Madeleine help?”

  “If Madeleine finds out that her godson might be in trouble, you might as well unleash the hounds of hell,” John said his voice thick with warning.

  “Oh John, it's been years since the war and her work with the Resistance.”

  “Karen, you know I’ve never told you everything about Madeleine’s work in France in those years because it’s not mine to tell. But she’s a professional of the highest caliber, despite her retirement these last years, and if I call her, you know she’ll come. But not yet. Not till we know more.”

  “Please find out as soon as you can. This whole thing is starting to scare me. Let's at least tell Joseph.”

  “You're right. He’d expect me to tell him as soon as I was concerned. Joseph and I trained Tracy out in those woods,” John said gesturing out the window. “He won’t be happy if I don't let him know. He's smart and levelheaded and that’s what we need right now. I’m sure he has a few contacts of his own. We'll find a lead one way or another.” John walked over to the wall phone, placing his hand on Karen’s shoulder as he walked behind her.