Angels Don't Die

by Petrek, Soren

  “You said he was working for the Mossad,” Jack said. “Any help there?”

  “I just don't know yet. Everything there is so tense; nobody wants to be the first to fire a shot in anger. I can't imagine that they'd bend over backward for one American agent,” John said.

  “No, their reputation is that they do not negotiate with terrorists. Their agents know that and often fight to the death to avoid capture. But given the gamesmanship that's going on over there, they won't be in a huge hurry to kill an American, and that will buy us some time,” Jack said.

  “When do we leave?” Madeleine asked.

  “As soon as possible,” John answered.

  “I’m ready right now,” Karen said.

  “Karen, you can't go. You’re not trained. Who's going to take care of Sam?” John said.

  “John Trunce, you think you can stop me from coming you're wrong. My uncle Bill can watch Sam. I'm assuming we're going to do this as quickly as possible,” Karen said.

  Madeleine caught John's eye and nodded her assent. “John, you and Jack couldn't look less Arab or Israeli. You’ll stand out and it’ll be hard for the two of you to move around without attracting attention. I will be the person on the ground collecting information and sending the appropriate message to Tracy’s abductors. With the right clothes, I’ll blend right in. The rest of you have to remain behind the scenes until we’re ready for the final rescue mission. We’ll need maps and a place to stay, preferably a safe house, so that we are inconspicuous. We’ll probably need a couple of safe houses. We won’t want to stay in one location too long. There's no telling how close the enemy might get. One advantage we have is that both Jack and I have contacts in the region. Many of the children I helped escape the Nazis are in Israel and keep in touch. Also, there is one man I must try to find. If he’s still there, his help would be invaluable.”

  “Madeleine, he must be dead by now,” Jack said.

  “I'm not so sure, perhaps. But it's worth a try.”

  “He was very active in Israel following the war. But then my sources say he just fell off the radar screen and disappeared,” Jack added.

  “If he lives, I'll find him,” Madeleine said.

  “I don't doubt it for a minute,” Jack said, laying his hand on hers.

  CAPTER SEVEN

  Berthold Hartman sat comfortably in front of a fire, deep below Mossad headquarters in the heart of Jerusalem. His office was several floors below an unremarkable office building designed not to attract attention. The room was dark and mirrored his mood. He sat in the light of a small lamp and stared into the fire. Although he was nearing 80, he was the true leader of the Mossad, the Israeli secret police. He should have retired years ago and passed the responsibility off to others, but recent tensions and the instability of the region had made it hard for him to let go.

  He re-read the report concerning the captured American agent and then crumpled it up and threw it into the fireplace. Something nagged him about the agent's name, although for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was. It was either age or too many faces throughout the years that had started to rob him of his innate capacity for recall.

  He mused that he would probably die at his desk. He had never taken a second wife and started a new family after losing his to the Nazis so many years ago in Germany. Somehow, it wouldn't have felt right in the face of his personal torment at their death. He had been a decorated German officer in the first war, but it had not protected them. They died, gassed with millions of others. His anguish at their deaths had led him to unspeakable acts of terror. He killed indiscriminately, including women and children when they were in the way of his revenge. He struck at every target available. He'd lost himself and would never fully find his way back. All he could do was to help to create a strong Jewish state where families could protect themselves and be safe. It was a penance he couldn't have been more serious about.

  The war seemed long ago and the Jews, struggling to create a new Jewish state, had slowly rediscovered the normal routines of daily life. Many had children and grandchildren now. He often wondered what had become of the lone assassin he trained. She had become so deadly that she became known as the Angel of Death. He hadn’t seen her since the end of her training and the long siege of her mission. He hoped she had found love and satisfaction with work and family after the war.

  Hartmann remembered how he had planned for a career as an attorney. That goal had been disrupted by the First World War, but he kept that promise to himself all those long years ago in the Kaiser's trench with the mud, the rats and the rain. He had earned the Iron Cross 3 times, only to come home one day, after the Nazis rose to power, to find his medals stolen and his wife and daughters gone. His loyalty to Germany meant nothing. The memory of his trust in Germany tortured him and turned him into a monster.

  After the war, the establishment of a Jewish state was Hartmann’s life. He devoted himself fully to it. He would do anything to spare future generations of Jews the fate that had befallen his loved ones. It had been a hard struggle, but he ruthlessly employed whatever tactics were necessary to accomplish his mission. He and his fellow terrorists targeted everyone that got in their way, the British, Americans, the Palestinians, it didn’t matter.

  A side door opened and a young woman entered, carrying a tray and a sheaf of papers under one arm. She moved gracefully, the lines of her body indicating hard training and field work. She was no secretary.

  “Just in time, I was getting hungry. What’s on the menu today?” Hartmann said with affection, momentarily escaping the darkness of his thoughts.

  “Well, it looks good enough. I know the vegetables come from one of the kibbutzim, the chicken too.”

  “I never got to have that life, Ariel,” Hartmann mused, referring to the Israel communal farms.

  “Sir, I worked on one for several summers and I've smelled enough manure for three lifetimes,” Ariel said.

  “So it's the Mossad for you then? Who knows, you might get to worry in front of this fire someday,” Hartmann said kindly, pulling a side table over towards his seat.

  “I can't think of more important work,” Ariel answered, placing the tray next to him.

  “Is there anything new in that pile of reports?” Hartmann said, gesturing to the documents under Ariel’s arm.

  “There’s a little more information about the American agent. I met him a couple of times socially when he was with Rachel. I hate to think of him in the hands of the PLO,” Ariel said.

  “We can't move yet, and I expect they'll make some kind of demand, eventually or tip their hand. When they do we’ll be ready. The agent was in our care and in our country. Under normal circumstances we would have reacted already,” Hartmann replied.

  “I agree, there’s no negotiating with terrorists. But they do understand an eye for an eye,” Ariel said.

  “It may be up to the Americans to decide. I'd be happy to step aside and let them get their man,” Hartmann said.

  “I'm not so sure the Russians would be too keen on that idea,” Ariel responded.

  “Nothing’s changed since the war. The Americans and the Russians keep playing the same game, while the rest of us sit by and wait to be called upon,” Hartmann said. He reached over and took Ariel’s hand in his. “I meant to tell you, I'm very sorry about Rachel. I know she was your friend. She was a good agent and loved her country.”

  “She was a good friend, and I know she wouldn't want agent Trunce left in the hands of the PLO. They are violent, poorly trained and use terror as if it’s the only tactic they understand,” Ariel said.

  “Almost every similar organization over time has started that way,” Hartmann said. “When I fought for an independent Israel after the war, few of us had any training. I led many missions where I was more concerned about my comrades making mistakes and getting killed than the execution of the mission itself. We had little time to train anyone. We just had to make do.”

  “You were successful, and th
at's all that matters, sir,” Ariel said.

  “Yes, you're right. Victory has a way of justifying the means. Let me know what's happening with the agent. There's something about the American agent that I'm missing. Some link to the past I just can't grasp. I feel wary, and it’s not just the coming war with the Arabs, that’s inevitable. It's something else altogether,” Hartmann said.

  Ariel left Hartmann with a quick nod. She was his personal attendant and also one of his bodyguards. He was a hero of the Jewish people, and had been long before she was born.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Madeleine, John and Jack sorted through several weapons John kept in an expanded storm shelter in his back yard. It had been renovated and expanded to accommodate several storage lockers and a gun range. Few people other than himself had ever seen the extent of the collection of firearms and explosives he kept in anticipation of some future event only he could foresee.

  “This will have to be done quietly, John. But I think it's prudent to be prepared with some automatic weapons and at least one sniper rifle,” Madeleine said.

  “I agree,” John said. “I also think it would be best not to use American-made weapons in case we have to leave any behind. I'd rather not start an international incident, at least not one that looks like it was started by the US.”

  “We both worked with Russian weapons during the war,” Jack said casually. “And I’ve kept current on the newer models.”

  “How current, Jack?” John asked.

  “I'm semi-retired from MI6. Sort of a consultant, you might say,” Jack said with a glance towards Madeleine.”

  “You and MI6 can have your 'cold war', Jack,” Madeleine said.

  “You knew, Madeleine?” John said.

  “Of course I knew. It was just an unspoken understanding. Jack is no longer in the field, but learned many secrets during the war and the ensuing years. That information is still valuable and classified. The Brits have a thing for old soldiers, John. It's about loyalty. There have been so many defections from both sides over the years. I guess you could say that Jack has been instrumental in turning a Soviet agent or two,” Madeleine said.

  “Mostly old soldiers like us, tired of the lack of promise the People's Revolution delivered. Only the party favorites seem to enjoy any privilege. It was just a switch from one kind of oligarchy for another,” Jack said.

  “Is there anyone at MI6 that we can use for information?” John asked.

  “It’s hard to say. Maybe a man or two on the ground, but no one will want to do anything official. Britain has its interests in the area as well. I don't care about my position. I've done my duty. I just don't want to see any more casualties than necessary,” Jack said.

  “While you soldiers are discussing strategy, mine is simple. I will infiltrate and gather information. I speak fluent Arabic. My mother's family is from Algeria. I will just need to find the right person at the right level. I've done it many times,” Madeleine said.

  “I almost hate to ask, then what?” John said.

  “I go get him and take out anyone who gets in the way,” Madeleine said casually breaking down a pistol, checking the action. “John I appreciate your keeping my pistol in such fine working order.”

  “A Welrod is a legendary weapon, deserving of tender loving care,” John said.

  “The assassin's pistol,” Jack said. “I hoped to never see that in your hands again.”

  “You put it my hands the first time, Jack,” Madeleine said without reproach. “I wouldn't pick it up again for any other reason.” Madeleine raised the weapon to arm’s length, remembering its balance and feel. “John, I'll need an automatic or two as well. A .45 is too clumsy; anything silenced is best for me.”

  “I've got a couple of OSS High Standards, HDM,” John said.

  “They’re only .22 calibers,” Jack added.

  “If it gets to the point where something bigger is necessary, we might as well bring out the heavy artillery. It won't matter then. This mission will have to be a smash and grab. I think some direct persuasion will work best with terrorists. They are still feeling their way around the mess brewing in the Middle East. If they’re not sure who it is that is pursuing them, they will be less likely to execute a prisoner. They won’t want to bring down too much heat until they know who they’re dealing with. Their uncertainty and fear will be our biggest ally,” Madeleine said.

  “Madeleine, should we see if that Welrod is still accurate?” John said, gesturing towards a shooting range adjacent to the gun cabinets. Fifty feet away, a body target was attached to an impact wall for collecting bullets. John handed Madeleine a .32 caliber bullet, which she inserted into the gun’s magazine. She operated the single bolt and raised the pistol in one fluid motion, firing without hesitation or a pause to steady her hand. The bullet hit dead center, a bull’s-eye in the middle of the target's heart. She quickly checked the action and magazine to make sure the gun was unloaded.

  “Seems to work just fine,” Madeleine smiled, handing the weapon back to John for loading into the cases they planned to use for transporting their weapons. “I'll leave you men to it. I have to make plans with the employees so that we can leave. John, this mission needs to be accomplished within two weeks at the most. Do you have a plan for getting us over there unnoticed?”

  “We’ll have to travel in a cargo plane. It won't be very comfortable, but I know a couple of old fighter jocks, working their way towards retirement, that would be willing to let us hitch a ride, no questions asked. They won't say a word. We’ll have to scrounge vehicles when we get to Israel, Range Rovers or Jeeps are all we’ll likely find, and neither is very large, so we'll have to travel as light as possible. We’ll have to be mobile since we don’t even know what city or military facility Tracy is being held in,” John said.

  “I think I can manage a place to stay,” Jack said. “MI6 has safe houses throughout the region.”

  “Ok. I see you have everything in hand. I'll see you both shortly,” Madeleine said walking up the stairs.

  Once Madeleine was out of sight, John turned to Jack and asked, “Jack, just out of curiosity, how long has it been since she fired that Welrod?”

  “Since 1944, if you can believe it.”

  John shook his head in disbelief. The men busied themselves with wrapping their weapons in soft oiled cloths, carefully packing them into the sturdy wooden cases they’d selected for transporting their ammunition and arms.

  “Jack, you know I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. I'm sorry.”

  “These are the lives we've chosen, John. You saved Madeleine’s life and brought her back to me. That makes us family, and you know how important family is to her, and to me,” Jack said. “There's a connection between Madeleine and Tracy. Maybe it’s because Yves was killed by the Nazis at about Tracy’s age. Regardless, if she had found out on her own that Tracy was abducted, she would have gone after him already. At least this way we have a chance to help her, to give her support and backup. She is cautious, always was, but this one’s different. They have taken someone near and dear to her heart. The world may have forgotten what she is capable of, but I’m afraid that has come to an end.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tracy paced his cell over and over again. He’d been moved from one location to another twice. This was his third cell and the accommodations hadn’t improved. He had three concrete walls and a heavy iron door. The boredom of the long days of solitary confinement was only broken up by the meals his guards brought. He slept or exercised most days, or read a copy of the Quran his captors had given him. So far he couldn’t find anything in it that justified terrorism or Rachel’s death. Nevertheless, he studied it intently.

  There was no street noise or anything identifiable that helped him guess his location. He recalled a long flight of stairs from the floors above. His captors had roughed him up a bit but hadn't employed any of the heavy torture he had been trained to expect. He’d be happy to tell them everything they wanted to know, b
ecause, he knew absolutely nothing. The PLO knew he was an American agent and he guessed that they would use him for leverage or for some other unknown purpose. He tried to keep a positive frame of mind, expecting that his usefulness would be for a prisoner exchange. His jailers had ceased to beat him after the first couple of days. They still taunted him about Rachel’s death, but there was little he could do for now. Revenge would have to wait.

  Three floors above Tracy’s cell, two men sat dressed as businessmen, sipping coffee on an open veranda and smoking cigars. The building was used as a storage facility for goods transported in and out of the country. It was a legitimate import-export company, and had been in Achmed Sacari’s family since before he was born. Like many Palestinian businessmen, he hoped getting the Jews out of his homeland would only improve his business. Because of that, he had joined the PLO early on.

  “And the American, he suspects nothing?” Sacari said to his first Lieutenant, Ismael Nasab.

  “No sir. As instructed we feigned interrogation to keep him off guard. There's no way he could know our plans for him,” Nasab said comfortably seated in Sacari’s office. The beautifully decorated room opened onto a rooftop deck that could be used for entertaining or business meetings. The furniture throughout was handcrafted out of mahogany and fit well with the opulent décor.

  “Our Syrian friends, and their Russian counterparts, have expressed the need for the utmost secrecy. The war against the Jews will start soon. They will be attacked by Syria and Egypt simultaneously. We must have a means to influence the threat of American assistance to the Jews once we’ve attacked on both sides at once. The Jews will be surrounded; however the Americans have vast resources and can airlift in supplies and arms. We would like to discourage them from doing that in any meaningful way,” Sacari said.