LOST AND LETHAL

by Fredrick L. Stafford

  “What’s in the case?” Molka said. “Time-sensitive documents of an impending terrorist attack?”

  Azzur turned into an alley, eased aside an open dumpster, stopped, dropped his window, tossed the briefcase into it, and drove on.

  Molka twisted around in her seat and gawked back at the dumpster. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because that briefcase does not hold anything of value to me.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “I would have no idea,” Azzur said.

  “Then who was this Walid?”

  Azzur flicked ash out the window. “A Counsel employee.”

  Molka faced the front again and folded her arms across her chest. “Then, I’m very confused. And a little upset. But whatever. I’m new around here. What’s next for me?”

  “You will go home and pack for your first task. You leave for Cyprus in the morning.”

  Molka flashed Azzur a confused face. “Wait. Did you say pack for my first task?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Didn’t I just complete my first task?”

  “No.” Azzur blew smoke. “You just completed your final training exercise.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fourteen Months Later

  Melbourne Hospital

  Melbourne, Australia

  “Excuse me, sir.” The young nurse shook Azzur awake.

  His eyes opened.

  He slept on the couch in the Melbourne Hospital Intensive Care Unit waiting room.

  Azzur squinted at the nurse. “Is Molka awake?”

  She offered a compassionate smile. “There’s no change in her condition. But there is a gentleman in the public waiting area who has asked to see you.”

  Azzur rose, left the restricted ICU area, and walked a white-walled hallway toward the floor’s public waiting area.

  He carried his usual fashionable brown leather jacket—which he had been using as a pillow—and his hair was mussed by sleep, and a beard shadow covered his face.

  Azzur turned the corner and approached the green plastic seated waiting area. A diminutive, older white man sat as the lone occupant. He featured thin receding white hair and wore a blue sports coat over an open-collar white dress shirt and blue dress pants.

  The man smiled at Azzur’s approach.

  He was the gentleman who had asked to speak with Azzur.

  He was Azzur’s department head in the Counsel.

  A man Azzur called chief.

  And a man Azzur also called his mentor.

  Azzur reached the man. “Please excuse my appearance, chief. I had no idea you were coming.”

  The man’s smile faded to concern. “In my 47 years of service, I have always made it a point to be at the hospital when one of our people is injured. Wherever that may be. Come sit.”

  Azzur slumped in the chair and stared straight ahead.

  The chief spoke. “I read your understandably brief report of yesterday’s incident. I can now confirm to you the attacker, this…Nurse Bandini, was acting with the tacit, if not direct approval of the GBR.”

  Azzur’s hands balled into fists. “Then, the GBR will be hearing from me soon.”

  “We will discuss that at another time,” the chief said. “Please elaborate on our project’s injuries.”

  Azzur continued to stare straight ahead. “A low stone wall shielded her from the grenade’s shrapnel. However, the detonation dislodged a large piece of the stone wall, which impacted the side of her head. Her skull was fractured, and a hematoma formed inside of it, putting pressure on her brain. They successfully operated to relieve the pressure, and she is now in a coma.”

  The chief’s face softened. “I had wished it would be less severe.”

  Azzur viewed the chief with bloodshot, moist eyes. “Her head is covered with a huge bandage, and the part of her face showing—her once beautiful face—is bruised and swollen beyond recognition.”

  “What is her current prognosis?”

  Azzur sighed. “When she awakens…if she awakens…they will know if any brain damage was incurred. I was told it would be judicious to prepare myself for the worst, just in case.”

  “But let us hope for the best case,” the chief said. “I crossed paths with our American friends Nadia and Warren at the airport when I arrived. They are very distraught. They wanted to stay here with you but have been ordered out of the country. They informed me the success of their operation here was entirely credited to the actions of our project.”

  “They told me the same thing,” Azzur said. “They said she performed brilliantly under near-impossible circumstances. And that she ran toward the attacker and saved their lives.”

  The chief grinned and patted Azzur’s arm. “And to think, she was the one you wanted to remove from the program after her first task.”

  “Yes.” Azzur sat up straight. “I now realize that was a very foolish and embarrassing request to make. You will have my resignation, of course.”

  The chief’s face angered. “I do not accept. And your selfish self-pity does not become you.”

  “Yes, sir. I am sorry. What are your orders?”

  “Earlier today, our prime minister called the Australian prime minister with a request. It was granted, and an elite protective team will arrive at this hospital within the hour to safeguard our project around the clock.”

  “From possible GBR retaliation?” Azzur said.

  “Yes.”

  Azzur’s hands balled into fists again. “I hope they do come.”

  “And if they do,” the chief continued, “the protective team will handle them. My orders are for you to check in to a nearby hotel. Get some rest. And then you are to remain here and keep me updated on her condition. And when she is ready. If she is ready. You will bring home our brave Project Molka.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Melbourne Hospital

  Intensive Care Unit

  Private Room

  Patient: Molka

  Am I alive?

  Am I dead?

  Am I dreaming?

  I still don’t know.

  I’m awake, but I can’t wake up.

  Total darkness.

  I can’t feel my body.

  And I’m in no pain.

  I’m just floating in the dark.

  All alone.

  No. Not quite.

  I heard Azzur whisper in my ear.

  He said, “Remember what happened in Turkey. So much went against you, and so many tried to kill you. But you did not give up on yourself, which is why you made it out alive. Do not give up on yourself now.”

  Turkey.

  Ha. If I never go back there, it will be too soon.

  I shouldn’t say that.

  I have nothing against Turkey.

  It was more about some of the company I kept while there.

  Turkey.

  My first task.

  Yes, so much went against me, and so many tried to kill me.

  And while I did make it out alive, I still haven’t gotten over what happened there.

  Maybe I never will.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fourteen Months Prior

  Paphos International Airport

  Paphos, Cyprus

  Tuesday 11:43AM

  “Last chance. Who are you? And what are you doing in Cyprus?”

  The light blue uniformed female passport control officer sat across from Molka at a small table in a cramped windowless room. She asked Molka those same two questions—in good English—for the third time.

  “As I said, my name is Molka. I’m a veterinarian. I’ve come to Cyprus as part of the veterinarian exchange program. I start working at the Paphos Animal Hospital, first thing on Monday morning.”

  The officer stood, picked up Molka’s passport from atop the table, and smiled. “We shall see. Wait here, please.”

  The officer departed and closed the door behind her.

  Molka—attired travel comfortable in a pale-yellow sundress, white canvas sneak
ers, a French braided ponytail, and her black-framed glasses—flew in almost 90-minutes earlier from Tel Aviv. The passport control line she waited in after exiting the flight cleared passengers ahead of her smooth and quick.

  But when her turn came, the young, blue-uniformed man sitting at a computer monitor behind glass, who examined her passport, picked up a phone and switched his voice from Greek accented English to pure Greek.

  Molka did not speak Greek, so she had no idea the man had called his supervisor—the female officer—who quickly arrived and escorted Molka from the line and into the small windowless room for an aggressive 45-minute interrogation.

  Molka told the officer exactly what Azzur had instructed her to say if questioned: she was a veterinarian who had come to Cyprus as part of the veterinarian exchange program. And she would start working at the Paphos Animal Hospital on Monday morning.

  The legend Azzur created for her cover story contained truth at its core. All good legends do, Azzur told her. She was a veterinarian, and she had come to Cyprus as part of the veterinarian exchange program. But she would not start working at the Paphos Animal Hospital on Monday morning.

  Instead, she would finish her real business in Cyprus—using it as a starting and ending point of her first task—and be long gone by Monday morning.

  But only if her legend survived the skeptical female officer’s verification.

  The door opened, and the female officer entered with a grimace.

  Molka responded with a falsified innocent smile.

  Her look doesn’t look good for me.

  The officer sat down across from Molka again, clutching Molka’s passport. “In recent years, your country has used our country as a base for covert operations against other countries without bothering to ask for our permission beforehand. This is quite impolite of your country. And we now aggressively seek to discourage it. The reason you were singled out for closer scrutiny is because you fit the profile of a foreign operative from your country.”

  Molka responded with a falsified shocked face. “I do?”

  The officer’s grimace reemerged. “Yes.”

  Molka said, “And do you personally think I look like a foreign operative from my country?

  I wonder what it’s like to be deported.

  The officer nodded. “I would bet my entire year’s salary on it.”

  “You would?”

  Hope they serve lunch in the detention center. Starving.

  “Yes, I would,” the officer said. “But I am glad I didn’t.” Her grimace morphed into a polite smile. “Because it would have been a tough year for me without pay.” She passed Molka’s passport across the table. “I am sorry we inconvenienced you. Welcome to Cyprus.”

  Molka retrieved her black, hard-side spinner luggage case, rolled out of the terminal to a waiting taxi, and handed the Greek-speaking driver a slip of paper with her destination’s address printed on it.

  The driver seemed pleased by the fare and started an hour's drive toward the island’s northwest coast.

  Upon arrival at the remote estate’s massive mansion with dark maroon roof tiles over bright white walls, Molka’s first impression determined that—although impressive—it blighted the setting. Which was the cobalt blue Mediterranean and a white sand beach fronting the luxury home and acres of manicured emerald grass stretching out behind it.

  In her humble estimation, the owner should have saved himself the high-priced construction costs and just pitched a tent on the beach, allowing himself to savor the gorgeous location for life.

  She would not be able to share her thoughts with the owner, though. For one thing, he was an associate. “Associate” being the unofficial name given to foreign sympathizers who provide discreet, invaluable assistance to the Counsel. And ultra-useful associates like him received god-like respect by the Counsel. He was also absent, as his wife and he vacationed wherever wealthy people who live in idyllic vacation spots go to vacation.

  But while away, he allowed his secluded property to be used by the Counsel as a staging area for a covert operation targeted at another country.

  Ha. The vigilant passport control supervisor should have been given a promotion based on her instincts alone.

  The taxi dropped Molka and her hardcase at the mansion’s front entrance and departed. She was the first of the team to arrive. Azzur informed her that he and several other Counsel employees would enter the country on separate flights later in the day.

  The estate’s aging woman caretaker greeted Molka at the door, took her suitcase, and in Greek accented, broken English said, “Your lunch is prepared.”

  Molka smiled. “Yeh.”

  Molka sat at a patio table on the mansion’s third-floor terrace devouring a delicious lamb and pork souvlaki with an unbelievable picturesque sea view.

  Wow. Would all her tasks start out so pleasant?

  She saved the last two bites for the owner’s dogs laying under the table at her feet: a pair of adorable white and brown purebred Kokoni. The poor dears shivered with distress—likely by their owners’ absence—but they’d quickly warmed to Molka. As all animals did.

  The caretaker woman reappeared on the terrace. “Any more to eat?”

  Molka smiled politely. “No. I’m fine. It was very good. Thank you.”

  “The man Azzur called. Be here maybe, one half hour, he said.”

  “Ok.” Molka patted the dog’s heads affectionately. “Would it be alright if I took them for a walk? I see they have a huge backyard to play in.”

  “Yes. That will be all right. I will get their leashes.”

  The leashed up, happy dogs knew the routine and pulled Molka out a huge rear glass door, across a massive pool deck surrounding a gigantic kidney-shaped pool, and onto the vast, flat manicured emerald green grass plain stretching out behind the estate.

  About 100 meters into the run, the dogs stopped to do their business.

  That’s when Molka spotted the black speck of a low-flying aircraft approaching the estate from the seaside.

  As it closed in, cruising at an altitude of no more than 20 meters, the black speck enlarged to a gray triangle and then formed a sleek, white, single-engine propeller-driven aircraft with fixed tricycle landing gear and a pointed chrome spinner cap.

  The aircraft descended even lower and buzzed over the mansion’s roof at high speed, climbed, and continued inland.

  Molka watched and smirked.

  Reckless fool.

  The aircraft made a hard-right bank, reduced speed, descended to about a 20-meter altitude again, and then headed back toward the estate.

  Now, where are they going?

  The aircraft lined up a landing approach on the estate’s grass about 300 meters to Molka’s right.

  Are they really going to land here?

  The aircraft descended to about 10 meters, leveled off, banked left, increased speed again, came around, and aimed its nose straight at Molka’s position.

  The dogs growled at the coming threat.

  The aircraft kept coming: distance 100 meters.

  The dogs barked at the coming threat.

  The aircraft kept coming: distance 80 meters.

  The dogs strained against their leashes.

  The aircraft kept coming: distance 60 meters.

  Molka released the leashes.

  The aircraft kept coming: distance 40 meters.

  The dogs ran for the mansion.

  Molka wanted to join them.

  The aircraft kept coming: distance 20 meters.

  But you can’t outrun an aircraft.

  The aircraft kept coming: distance 15 meters.

  Molka dropped face down in the grass and covered her head.

  BUZZZZZZOWWWWWW!

  The aircraft zoomed right over her.

  The slipstream flipped her ponytail onto her shoulder.

  Her dress hem lifted, exposing her underwear.

  Molka uncovered her head and raised her face.

  The aircraft wagged its win
gs and lined up for another grass landing 300 meters from where Molka lay.

  That time the landing was completed.

  The aircraft taxied to a stop about 50 meters from her and cut its power.

  Molka stood, pulled her dress back down, flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder, and strode toward the aircraft.

  The pilot’s side gull-wing door opened.

  Molka kept coming: distance 40 meters.

  A thin, dark-haired white male stepped out onto the wing.

  Molka kept coming: distance 30 meters.

  The man spotted Molka and hopped down to the grass.

  Molka kept coming: distance 20 meters.

  The man wore a white polo shirt, jeans, and white sneakers.

  Molka kept coming: distance 10 meters.

  Gray specks in his goatee aged him at late 30s.

  Molka kept coming: distance 5 meters.

  The man smiled. “You didn’t drop until the last possible moment. You have steel nerves, I’ll give you that.”

  Molka came to a stop in front of him.

  The man smiled again. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

  Molka smiled. “And neither can I.”

  She backhanded him across the face. Hard.

  The man’s head snapped to the side. “Hey!” He put fingers on his reddening right cheek. “My name is Uri!”

  “Who cares,” Molka said.

  “You should. I’ll be your pilot on this task.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Molka turned her back on Uri and headed toward the mansion.

  Uri trailed a step behind her. “Again, I’m sorry about that.”

  “Those poor dogs were stressed out enough,” Molka said. “The last thing they needed was to be traumatized by your crazy stunt flying.”

  Molka stepped onto the pool deck and moved to the dogs hiding under an umbrellaed poolside table. She sat in a chair, and the dogs jumped up into her lap. She hugged and stroked them.

  Uri sat on a lounge chair beside her. “I guess Azzur didn’t tell you about me.”

  Molka smirked. “No. He must be saving it as a surprise.”

  Uri sighed. “And again, third time, I’m sorry about that. Anyway, I’m the project’s only fixed-wing pilot. I’m not exactly a project like you, but I do fly projects in and out of, shall we say, rather tight spots. This will be my fourth time. How many tasks have you completed?”