Angels Don't Die

by Petrek, Soren

  The hydraulics on the back end of the plane opened slowly as the tail section lifted and the loading ramp lowered. The desert heat and oppressive sun came blasting into the rear of the cargo area as the group moved towards the back. They grabbed their gear and moved into the sunshine to stand next to their unmarked munitions crates that held the weapons that John had packed. While they weren’t in an obvious rush to get their civilian cargo off the plane, the copilot and navigator were understandably glad to see the last of the munitions crates unloaded.

  John, Madeleine, Jack and Karen followed the crates out into the sunshine. All four had wisely brought sunglasses as a defense against the sun.

  Immediately, a van pulled up. It was nearly a twin to the one they had in Missouri. Two burly men, unmistakably military in bearing, picked up the crates, slid open the back door to the van and packed them away out of sight.

  “Colonel, if you and your party would please take your seats we can be on our way,” the slightly older of the two men said in a strong British accent. All eyes turned to Jack.

  “Semi-retired, my ass,” John murmured to Madeleine, as he realized the soldier was not addressing him.

  “He still has a lot of pull with the right people in MI6,” Madeleine said.

  The group piled into the van. The driver reached for the air-conditioning switch.

  “Perhaps it would be best to start to acclimatize to the heat and just roll down the windows. It will make us blend in a bit more and I'm sure the accommodations Colonel Teach has arranged won't have central air-conditioning,” Madeleine suggested.

  “True. Let's take the heat, kids,” John said with a laugh. It’s not even mid-day yet, and I know it's going to get worse before it gets better.”

  The van driver drove out of the airport gate with a casual wave of his credentials. The guard at the gate barely looked up as he waved them through.

  “Most of the security, you don't see,” the driver said in explanation. We've been watched since we left the hanger. I doubt IDs have been made, but the four of you don't look much like terrorists. They probably think you just hitched a free ride, like some higher-up owed you a favor and a free plane ride.”

  “Good thinking, man,” Jack said clasping the man on his shoulder. “The less attention we attract the better.”

  “Yes sir!” came the brisk reply.

  Madeleine watched as the driver made his way through the narrow streets, confidently heading towards his destination. She noted that the driver was doubling back, making every effort to detect any trail or confuse any followers. She doubted that it was necessary given their unremarkable arrival. She assumed it was MI6 protocol and it was the driver’s duty to deliver his passengers unharmed and undetected.

  The passengers all looked out the window, taking in the scenery. The older architecture of an ancient desert city mingled with modern buildings, spoke of the country’s past and future simultaneously. The palm and olive trees together with western landscaping seemed to fit in with the wide variety of people they passed on the street. The cultural diversity was reflected in the shops and markets. The country was so different from home that they each wondered how they would find Tracy in this city, let alone this country among people that couldn't have looked more different than themselves.

  Only Madeleine's confidence grew. As a child, she had spent time in her mother’s native Algeria. The smells were the same, the dress, the clothing and color of the people's skin. Madeleine was confident that with the proper attire and attention to her mannerisms and speech, she would be able to move around freely.

  The van entered a modest middle class neighborhood and stopped in front of an aging, whitewashed home.

  “Here are four sets of keys,” the driver said to Jack as they slid open the side door, motioned for the occupants to disembark and ushered them towards the door. Jack led the way and soon all four were inside. Their crates were neatly stacked in the dining area, away from the line of sight from any window.

  “Best of luck sir,” the driver said, saluting Jack.

  “What are your orders?” Jack said.

  “We never saw any of you and know nothing of this.”

  Jack and John returned the men's salutes as they quickly left. The entire trip had taken less than thirty minutes from the plane to the door, including the departure of the British soldiers.

  “Everyone take a room and inventory what's here,” Madeleine said immediately after the soldiers left. “We have to determine what additional supplies we have. Try to find a map of the city and the surrounding area.”

  The home was small and part of a duplex where the lower unit was empty. Madeleine moved towards the kitchen and was through the cupboards and drawers in a few minutes. Karen took one of the two bedrooms, while Jack and John swept the living room, bathroom and second bedroom.

  Jack and Madeleine took extra time examining light fixtures and the single phone on the side table in the living room. Jack took a small device from his pocket and moved around.

  “Expecting listening devices?” John said.

  “I don't trust anyone. Even our friends will spy on us. Jack, John, Karen, come over here and sit down,” Madeleine said, motioning to the kitchen table. The ceiling fans located around the apartment had been turned on and the room began to cool slightly.

  “Jack, you go first. We need to know how our old friends can help us,” Madeleine said pulling four glasses and a bottle of wine from one of John's carefully packed crates.

  “John and Karen, it must be obvious by now that I’ve been involved in MI6, in various capacities since the war. The military branch Madeleine and I worked for, the Special Operations Executive, became MI6, and I’ve remained involved with them to a degree. At first, I was told to keep an eye on Madeleine after the war. They came to me after we were married and made it clear I had no choice in the matter. They don't like assassins who don't or won't continue to work for them,” Jack said.

  “Assassin?” Karen said. “You were an assassin, Madeleine?” Karen's said, her eyes wide in disbelief.

  “Yes, Karen. I was recruited by Jack's people after I volunteered for SOE duty. I was trained to work behind enemy lines. I was and am very good at it. I killed the worst of the worst, the Gestapo, and particularly the SS.”

  “Madeleine is being humble,” Jack said, looking Karen squarely in the eye. “You may have read in the old newspaper stories about the French Resistance after the war, about l'ange de la mort, the Angel of Death.”

  “That was you?” Karen said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “The stories said you killed hundreds.”

  “Well since today is a day for truth,” Madeleine said glancing at Jack, “I killed thousands. I destroyed troop trains, leveled buildings and the rest either one by one or in groups. I was always alone. Always hiding, always fighting for France to be free,” Madeleine said.

  “It's all true,” John said.

  “Quite simply, Karen, there may be one or two others on the face of the earth who could do this job even half as well as Madeleine. I swear it,” Jack said.

  Reaching out in reassurance, Madeleine took Karen's hand. “I'm sorry if I've frightened you or damaged our friendship. Every night, alone in the dark with my thoughts, terrified of discovery and capture, I came to understand who I was and what I was capable of. That part of me was awakened in pain and suffering, but it was always waiting inside me. When you told me Tracy was in trouble, none of you could have stopped me. I'd be here. Hopefully, the violence of this mission can be kept to a minimum. But whatever it takes, I will find Tracy and bring him back to you.”

  Karen reached across the table and clasped Madeleine’s hand. “Thank you,” was all she could manage through her tears.

  “Tomorrow we go shopping and prepare our next move. We all need some rest,” Madeleine said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next day, Madeleine and Karen studied a map of the area that had been
left in the safe house by Jack's people. While the women perused the maps, over cups of lethally strong local black coffee, Jack and John carefully unpacked the munitions crates they'd brought along. Madeleine glanced at the contents of the crates as they were unloaded. There were a large number of weapons stored inside, along with explosives, ammunition and many other instruments of war. It was only when a large sniper rifle was removed from the bottom of one of the larger green crates, did she turn her full attention away from the maps.

  “Is that the Russian one I wanted with the larger scope?” Madeleine asked.

  “Yes it is, and it’s a nasty one. I actually had it in the back of my gun storage area. I found it for sale openly in Saigon, brought it home with me. They don't make many like these,” John said.

  “That's a Dragunov SVD. Impressive,” Jack said.

  “I modified the clip so that it fires the same steel jacketed projectiles with the flash suppressor,” John said.

  “Can it be modified to fire automatically without an operator?” Madeleine asked.

  “I guess so. Why would you need that?” John asked.

  “The situation might require it,” Madeleine said.

  “Well, I suppose so, and the 50 cal. machinegun can be. It's been modified to self-feed a large ammo belt. That's the one I thought you wanted for diversion, if necessary,” John said.

  “Yes, but situations change. Now it's time for Karen and me to go shopping. Don't worry, we know your sizes,” Madeleine said.

  Madeleine and Karen walked towards a local market looking very much like tourists. They wore large hats, walking shoes and American sunglasses. Karen even carried a camera and took pictures as they strolled along. When they reached the open part of the market, they noticed several modest clothing stores lining the streets that led to the square.

  “Madeleine, all of this is new to me. You and Jack talk about weapons and tactics, like you're talking about what to cook for supper,” Karen said.

  “All of that became second nature to me years ago, but it has been a long time since I was in the field,” Madeleine said placing a hand on her friend's forearm. “I’m confident that we’ll be successful and find Tracy. You should be too.”

  “I feel like I'm useless here,” Karen said lowering her head.

  Madeleine reached down with her hand and tenderly lifted Karen's face up and towards her own. “I know John taught you how to shoot. I know you’re brave. I am a good judge of that, as is your own husband. When the time comes, stick close to me. Do as I say, and be prepared to kill, if you have to. That's easy to say, but these terrorists will never release Tracy alive. There are many tensions here in Palestine among so many different factions. Things happen in war and killing witnesses solves many problems.”

  “I knew it might come to that, Madeleine; I know that if I'm near John he'll try to protect me instead of himself and that could get him killed. I couldn't bear that I was the cause,” Karen said.

  “John and Jack are predominately soldiers and fight in a different way than I do. It would be best if you’re with me, now, how about that shop?” Madeleine said gesturing to a brightly colored store. “I need to buy a Hijab and a couple of shawls, and some things for you too. We'll find the men's clothes elsewhere. Israel is fairly western, it's just easier to blend in when the clothes you’re wearing are sold locally. It’s like wearing blue jeans and t-shirts at home.”

  “What’s a Hijab?” Karen asked.

  “The scarves many Arab women wear to cover their heads,” Madeleine answered.

  “Oh, I like those. Does it have to be black?” Karen said.

  “No, they come in many colors and designs. I’ll need a black one for surveillance work, but you should buy what you like,” Madeleine said.

  Madeleine and Karen shopped in several stores and in the open market. They brought their purchases back to the safe house, along with some fresh fruit, vegetables, and lamb for their evening meal.

  “Karen, normally I would cook, but I have to prepare to go out tonight and look around a bit,” Madeleine said.

  “Where are you headed, Madeleine?” Jack inquired.

  “I want to find the Mossad’s headquarters. I just want to get a look at it from the street before I decide what to do,” Madeleine answered.

  “Do you know where it's located?” Jack said

  “No, but you do,” Madeleine said smiling. “Even a semi-retired MI6 agent has that information.”

  “Yes, I do,” Jack said with a grin. “But promise not to go inside tonight? The British government stressed that they did not want us to initiate contact with the Mossad. I'm lucky to get the information I'm getting. Frankly Madeleine, it's because of you they are willing to stick their heads out. They gave you so many medals after the war; they feel a sense of duty to you, as long as you act independently.”

  “Oh, the British and their war heroes,” Madeleine said unable to keep some satisfaction off her face.

  “But there is something I must tell you in private,” Jack said, looking at John.

  “No problem at this end. If I need to know, I trust you'll tell me when the time is right,” John said.

  Madeleine and Jack walked out into the cooling night air. The sun was starting to set. The flame of the sun mellowed and grew into a blood red ember.

  “Madeleine, although the official head of the Mossad is publicly known for political and international issues, the real leader is kept a secret. Many governments do this. The bureaucrats run all the governments of the world anyway,” Jack said with a smile.

  “So what is so secret you couldn't say it in front of John and Karen?” Madeleine said, turning and placing her hands on Jack's slender hips.

  “MI6 knows, unofficially of course that the real power at the Mossad is a shadow minister with incredible sway with the Knesset and Prime Minister Meir,” Jack said.

  “The Knesset, the Israeli parliament?” Madeleine interrupted.

  “Yes,” Jack said putting his hands on Madeleine's shoulders. The real head of the Mossad is Berthold Hartmann.”

  “He lives?” Madeleine gasped. “How long have you known?”

  “I was just briefed, just within the last day.”

  “You picked up that information on your walk?”

  “No, we have a few men on the ground here. We met briefly in a bar on the edge of the market square. It's not confirmed and the information may be old. It's the last good intelligence MI6 has. At Hartmann’s age, he could have died by now. He'd be in his early 80's. He was already in his mid-twenties when the First World War started,” Jack said.

  “I didn’t think my intuition was failing me in my old age,” Madeleine said with certainty.

  “Your old age? You are more beautiful to me every day, Madeleine Toche,” Jack said reaching down to cup her face and kiss her.

  “Me? Every shop clerk, hatcheck girl, secretary, that you come across, looks you over. Then they hear that British accent and they're instantly in love,” Madeleine said giving Jack a tender punch in the shoulder.

  “Well, such beauties as we should survive to live a long life then,” Jack said with a chuckle.

  “Are you worried about me on this mission, Jack?”

  “I always worry, even when you drive to the store. But you are the best at what you do. The best the world has ever known. The SOE were the best. You were our best. You’re little different than during the war. We both still do physical training that's never been a limitation for you,” Jack said.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the field. I feel confident, but time has a way of wearing down your resolve,” Madeleine said.

  “All those years trusting only yourself, your conviction and courage is something that surrounds you like an aura, it became part of you. I have no concerns.”

  “You have none at all?” Madeleine said.

  “Only for the enemy,” Jack said without sarcasm. As he held Madeline tight he was able to feel the hard core of iron she always see
med to have. It was one of the things that made him both love her and respect her.

  “We better get back inside,” Madeleine said. “I have to gear up for later. I’ll watch the Mossad building for the next few nights. Your men on the ground here need to find me at least one or two known PLO bases of operation. I'll have to get inside to get the information or at least a lead on where they have Tracy.”

  “British Intelligence also believes that they may be holding him for something later. There’ll be a war here soon, Madeleine. It might be days, weeks or months away, but they won't waste a valuable asset until they see if he can be of any strategic use,” Jack said.

  “Just like we would,” Madeleine said.

  Jack just nodded as they turned to walk back inside.

  Well past midnight, Madeleine moved cautiously through the dark streets toward Mossad HQ. Her familiarity with memorizing maps, entrance and exit from target areas was honed long ago. She wasn’t wearing her tourist clothes, nor the black head scarf and long caftan-like dress she planned to use as a disguise to help her infiltrate a PLO operations center. She was back in the field and needed to be as camouflaged as possible. She had on dark, loose fitting pants, a black shirt, and light hiking boots. She didn’t expect to see any police patrols and if she did, they would never see her.

  Madeleine wanted to see her old friend again, and hoped he would be an ally. She was anxious to make contact with her old mentor, Berthold Hartmann. They had developed a bond during the relentless training he put her through. He was then the most dangerous man she had ever known, a decorated German officer from World War One. His family was massacred by the Nazis for their Jewish heritage, despite his stature as a war hero. After that, Hartmann became a terrorist and assassin in his own country. He worked for the British, the Russians, any allied country that required his skills. He was chosen because of his experience to train an SOE recruit to be an assassin inside France. It was Winston Churchill’s idea. He wanted to strike at the heart of the enemy. In his own words, he wanted… to ‘set Europe ablaze’. Out of hundreds of SOE candidates, Hartmann had chosen Madeleine. He had chosen well.