The Council of Ten

by Jon Land

  Annie nodded. “Yes. Huge ones. The bigger the better. Price is of no consequence.”

  “Price is always of consequence.”

  “Not for this man apparently. Supply is far more crucial. By my estimations he has already obtained a hundred or more planes capable of airlifting thousands from one continent to another.”

  “I’ve never heard anything like it,” Ellie responded, her spine prickling a bit. “But where does the Council come in?”

  Annatoly smiled. “Like one of my girls’ customers, you see only the surface. Go beneath it, dear.”

  “All right. Where are these planes, once obtained, being stockpiled?”

  “No one city or country. Spain, Italy, West Germany, the Middle East, South Africa. The choices are obviously more strategic than random.”

  “Toward what end?”

  “Use your imagination.”

  Ellie thought briefly. “Some sort of armed invasion, I’d guess, but of what?”

  Annatoly hesitated. “The transports are required to have long flying ranges.”

  Ellie felt chilled. “America? Someone’s planning to attack America?”

  “Not just someone, dear.”

  “The Council! You have evidence of their existence, don’t you, Annie?”

  “Nothing concrete, dear, only the threads I have given you. The entire operation has been handled with a degree of tact the likes of which I have never seen before. Additional information doesn’t seem to exist. All dead ends.”

  Ellie nodded. “That would figure. It’s the way the Council has always operated. Even this much of a lead is unique.” Then something occurred to her. “But it can only mean one thing.”

  “What?”

  “A paradox, Annie, and not a pleasant one. The transports, if the Council’s behind them, indicate they’re surfacing. But I’ve always been certain that they wouldn’t surface until they have the means to implement their master plan.”

  “The transports?”

  “A part of the plan surely. The Council is like a hydra: many heads working as one, but in separate directions at the same time. The transports are a place to start, though. This Frenchman, who is he?”

  Annie pulled a piece of paper from her suit jacket and slid it across the table. “His name is Lefleur. I’ve written down his address in Getaria. If he’s part of the Council, of course, you don’t expect him to talk or to know enough to help you even if he does.”

  “No,” Ellie said. “But there’ll be another level he can pass me onto. Sooner or later I’ll reach the body of the hydra itself.”

  Annie was about to speak, but she stopped when a gush of cold wind poured through the bar’s entrance along with a pair of uniformed Czech security police dressed in gray-green ankle-length overcoats. The two men flicked snow from their shoulders and closed the door behind them. Their breath was still misting. It was as though the cold of the night was draped about them.

  Annatoly immediately switched her speech to Czech and changed the tenor of the conversation to small talk. It took only seconds for the security police to pick her out and approach. She saw Ellie stiffen.

  “Be still,” Annie warned. “Just a routine visit. I know these two. They come by occasionally so that I can remind them that all the benefits of the house are free. Just follow my lead.”

  The two officers reached the table. The taller one pulled off his gloves and glanced briefly at Elliana.

  “Good evening, Comrade Annatoly,” he greeted her.

  “Good evening, Colonel dear,” Annie returned, stroking the man’s ego and smiling in a way that promised a more passionate stroking from the hostess of his choice if he played his cards right.

  “I see business is good tonight.”

  “Not especially.”

  “Pity, though there are those in the establishment who feel your operation borders too much on capitalistic exploitation.”

  “Yes, and many of them are my best customers, including some of your fellows, Colonel dear. The right product for the right price has nothing to do with capitalism. Demand must be met. It’s good for the soul.” She followed the lead soldier’s eyes toward Elliana. “I was just interviewing this one for a possible position. After all, the demands of the holiday season are almost upon us. What do you think, Comrade Colonel dear?”

  The soldier grasped Ellie’s chin and tilted her face toward his. She felt bile rise in her throat.

  “Interesting,” the soldier said, evaluating her. “Perhaps too worn, too tired, but you know what they say about experience.”

  “Yes,” Annatoly replied. “I’m a believer in experience myself. Is there any particular one that would interest you gentlemen this evening?”

  The soldier’s attention was still riveted on Ellie. “Your papers, may I see them, please?”

  Without hesitating, Elliana produced them from her purse. The lead soldier looked them over quickly.

  “Yes,” he said, folding them and sticking the sheets into his pocket. “I’m afraid you must come with me.”

  Ellie’s eyes turned to Annatoly and saw the feigned rage in them immediately. “You bitch!” Annatoly cried. “I knew you were hiding something!”

  Suddenly Annatoly was across the table shaking Ellie at the shoulders. Ellie played along, cowering and shrinking back in her chair. One of Annie’s hands slipped lower and slid what felt like a pistol into the pocket of Ellie’s overcoat. Its weight was reassuring and she saw Annatoly’s eyes meet hers, warning her. Obviously she had picked up something and now Ellie’s lack of a gun had been taken care of.

  The lead soldier eased Annie away from the table. The mock struggle had forced half of her fake mustache down her lip.

  “You can have her back when we’re finished with her, comrade,” the soldier said.

  “Keep her for all I care,” shot back Annie, spitting at Ellie.

  The one called colonel beckoned Ellie to rise. “Please do not make a fuss.” He held her shoulder and she stood up without protest.

  In fact, she had no intention of resisting. It seemed logical that the soldier wanted her only for the services that Annatoly indicated she could render. But Annie’s eyes had told her something when they met hers. Obviously Annie had noted something about the soldiers’ demeanor that suggested this visit was not routine.

  Ellie’s hand crept into her jacket pocket and felt for the reassuring steel of the gun. She recognized its shape as a Beretta .25 caliber. A woman’s gun. Not much stopping power. She would have to be accurate if she was forced to use it.

  “Which station?” Annie asked, as the soldiers walked on either side of Ellie toward the door.

  “K Square, of course,” said the lead soldier. “As usual.”

  They turned toward the door again. The crowd that had been viewing the proceedings with restrained interest turned back to their glasses or companions, the excitement apparently over. Annatoly, meanwhile, held her ground, knowing that Ellie could deal with these men quite easily. There was no reason to protest further.

  She had started to say good-bye when the lead soldier stiffened and swung, hands tearing under his own jacket and coming out with a machine pistol. Ellie didn’t notice the second soldier as she dove to the ground, but she was certain that he, too, had a similar gun ready and the sound of two rapid spurts confirmed this.

  Annie dropped as well, or tried to, but the fire tore into her head and torso. She screamed, a scream that died horribly in mid-breath as death claimed her and she lay still on the floor, her white suit a mass of blood and her mustache now all the way off along with her hat to reveal a slicked-down man’s hairstyle.

  The soldiers had gone for her first because Annatoly was known to carry a gun while in the bar and was thus more of a threat. Of course, they hadn’t known she had slipped the gun to Ellie.

  By the time they turned their guns Ellie had the Beretta out and was squeezing the trigger. It had an easy catch and the shots flowed swiftly. She put two into the chest of the lead
guard, then two into the chest of the second, finishing each with a single bullet to the head, as she lunged back to her feet.

  Her ears burned with the wailing sound of screams. Those patrons who had not rushed for cover now rushed for the exits. A random smattering lay twisted and bloodied, several dead from the first wild bursts fired from the soldiers’ guns.

  Ellie kept her calm as the bodies charged for the door around her, and she leaned over the lead guard to retrieve her papers. They were wrinkled but fortunately free of blood, and, grateful for the crowd, she fled with it into the street.

  People made the best cover, according to the popular teaching, and they would have this time as well if the men across the street hadn’t had their eyes trained especially for her. Their bullets cut an indiscriminate path through the crowd as everyone emerged from the bar. All around her bodies toppled. Ellie dove with them to the snow, the only difference in her case being that no blood pooled under her onto the white powder.

  Even in that short moment, she was able to consider what she was facing. The men had fired from across the street, from behind cover. They hadn’t entered the building at the first shots, and this patience indicated professionalism, as did the fact that they had not revealed themselves now even after their target was apparently killed. They were waiting, which meant that Ellie could do nothing but remain prone with the cold numbing her face. She was facing the street but could see nothing, no means of judging their numbers or positions. She felt for the Beretta, which was clutched in her left hand by her body and was cooling in the snow. It was an eight-shot weapon. Just two left to use.

  Of course, the enemy across the street, however many there were, would not know that. If she had a full clip and they exposed themselves, they’d be gunned down and they knew it. So they waited. Stalemate.

  Yes, they were pros and obviously they knew she was one as well. Behind her, no one attempted to use the front door to the bar as an exit any longer. The distant wail of sirens found her ears and Ellie knew that only minutes remained before the Czech police swarmed over the area. The shooters would have to make their move before then.

  Ellie considered their options, tried to put herself in their places. One would venture out at the last instant, a potential sacrifice. To kill him, she would have to reveal her position, and then the others would have her.

  The sirens screamed closer. Ellie fought not to let her rhythmic breathing give her away.

  She heard the man coming before she actually saw him. Snow crunched in the street. She listened to his heavy shoes sliding through slush. Still, she didn’t see him. To move her head or even her eyes would be too much of a giveaway. Patiently she waited for him to pass before her line of vision.

  Ellie saw him at last as one does a character on a movie screen, limited by the screen’s confines and the director’s mind. He was coming straight for her holding some sort of automatic weapon. Who are you, she wanted to ask? How did you know I was here? Who sent you?

  He drew within twelve yards, easily her killing range. As she acted, it was with the knowledge that she would have to move and keep moving. The others would be waiting just for this.

  Ellie fired from the ground, using the motion as distraction as well as defense. There was no sense saving a bullet, so she pumped her remaining two into the approaching figure. The gun slid from his hands and he crumbled to the snow.

  She was already on her feet starting to run when the powder broke his fall. There was motion across the street and then snow kicked up to the sides and before her. Ellie kept running, doing her best to avoid the machine gun’s spray. She stopped suddenly and dropped behind a set of garbage cans. Bullets clanged against them. Then the shooting abruptly ceased.

  Only one shooter remained now, she realized, and his clip had been exhausted.

  Ellie was running again, putting distance between her and the second man while remaining as close to the buildings as possible. To get her now, he would have to expose himself. The advantage swung at least partly to her.

  The machine gun bursts started up again, and between them Ellie could hear his heavy shoes crunching snow. A bullet smacked into a brick wall just ahead of her and fragments burned Ellie’s face and pounded her shoulder. The shooter was good. He wasn’t rushing. He knew he still had her.

  Ellie ducked into an alley. It was the logical move, the expected one. Reach the next street ahead of her pursuer and go for cover. Just what he would have expected her to do.

  But Ellie stopped ten yards into the alley and reversed her path. Then she pressed herself against a building and waited. An instant later his shadow preceded him across the front of the alley. He tried to slow up at the last instant, as if sensing the trap, but it was too late.

  As his shadow crossed fully in front of the alley entrance, Ellie threw herself into motion. She slid against the ice for an instant, but her charge was still committed. She hurled herself forward toward the spot where he would first appear.

  He saw her too late to fire and by the time his finger squeezed the trigger, Ellie’s hand had locked on the barrel and forced it downward. A short burst coughed up snow at their feet. The man tried to pull his machine gun up, and Ellie let him. In fact, she joined his motion, angling the butt so that it struck him under the chin hard and snapped his head back.

  The blow crunched teeth but didn’t slow him down. When Ellie tried to use the butt a second time, he darted inside her strike and cracked an elbow against her sternum. The padding of her heavy jacket kept her from losing her wind, and she tilted her grip on the rifle to allow a clear shot at the man’s groin with one of her legs.

  The man seemed to sense her action, and when she snapped her knee upward he grabbed it and lifted, throwing her off balance backward to the street.

  He fights like me, she thought. A shadow of my every move!

  Now he had complete control of the rifle as well as position. But instead of firing, he brought the weapon down butt first in the direction of Ellie’s head. She twisted quickly to the left and the butt sank into the snow. Wasting no time, she latched onto the stock and lashed upward with a pair of violent kicks to his midsection and head.

  The man recoiled and smashed back against a small dumpster.

  Ellie rose to her knees and brought the gun up toward him. He rushed her, and with no choice she squeezed the trigger.

  Nothing happened. The gun had jammed. No wonder he hadn’t fired it when he had the chance.

  The man was lunging for her now, coming headlong through the air. Ellie saw the knife flash in his hand and she got her arms up just in time to lock on the hilt and keep the blade from piercing her throat.

  Ellie knew she couldn’t compete with the man’s brute strength for long. She had to take a chance. So when he shoved down for her throat again, Ellie tried to pull his wrist away with her left hand as she angled her right elbow up for his face.

  The pain came simultaneously for both of them. Ellie felt the sharp blade slice through her coat and nick her shoulder. She screamed as her elbow impacted and shattered the man’s jaw and cheekbone.

  He groaned in agony but somehow righted the knife into another strike. Ellie had no choice now. Whatever thoughts she might have entertained of interrogation were lost in her concern for survival.

  She rolled out from under the man as he twisted the knife for her again. She found the hilt at the same time and drove it sideways and up. The blade penetrated his lower abdomen and made a neat slice all the way across to his small intestine. The man’s body spasmed in agony as hot pulsing blood steamed from the gash. He collapsed with his face a frozen mask of terror, his feet twitching only once before death claimed him.

  Breathing hard and grateful that none of his blood seemed to have splattered over her, Ellie turned the man over.

  His hat had come free and she could see his long hair and beard of the same color. The tight distortion of death made his features virtually unrecognizable, but …

  I know this man. I’m
sure I know him.

  Ellie stared at the face closer and felt a shudder surge through her. She knew this man all right. They had met twice before, once in Greece and once in Egypt. Not as rivals, though.

  The man was Israeli.

  He was Mossad.

  Chapter 11

  ELLIANA SAW THE SUBWAY entrance just up ahead. It had been an hour since she had killed her assailant and her route through the streets had been deliberately slow. She had to learn if there were more, if she was being followed. They might have been biding their time, waiting for her to leave an opening. With this in mind, Ellie had baited several traps, but so far no one had bitten. Just two of them, four including the soldiers … There should have been more.

  She could not recall the name of the man she had killed. He was about her age, a skillful operative. She tried to tell herself that he had gone freelance, but it didn’t wash. Only two people, Isser and Annatoly, knew she was coming to Prague. Since Annie had slipped her the gun, Ellie felt that she could rule her out as a suspect. That left Isser, chief of the Mossad. But if he had wanted her killed, there would have been no reason for him to wait until she reached Prague. No, he would have had plenty of other opportunities without the presence of so many random factors.

  Someone else, then. But who? Obviously the party must have wanted Annatoly eliminated as well. And if it was Mossad, they would have known that two men would never have been enough to finish her, even with the help of the Czech security police pair.

  Not Mossad, but some force that had infiltrated Mossad… .

  Ellie cringed as she knelt in yet another alley waiting to make her move for the subway. The Council of Ten. If they had surfaced at last in an attempt to kill her, then she was finally closing on them and they were panicking. Annatoly’s words about the transports gained new meaning. Yet, there was no one to whom she could take the news without considerable risk. How could she know how deep Mossad had been penetrated? More, what reason did Mossad have to listen to her now that she was an outsider? Contacting Isser directly was her only hope, but how could she know when he would be available?