Operation Snowdrop

by Michelle Medhat

Pretty woman steps into the hallway. Her deep brown eyes flicker with laughing surprise.

  “Oh, hello.”

  Her voice is perfect Home Counties, just like Angie’s. I’d heard Sabena’s voice on intercepted transmissions, and it was harder, sharper, and with an almost rasping Sicilian tone.

  Knowing what the probability factor told me, I examine pretty woman’s face. Now I see the same high bone structure that defines Sabena’s striking features. Her eyes are deep brown, but not the darkest ebony of Sabena’s. Her mouth is wide, with the same full lips, but they don’t carry Sabena’s obligatory snarl. Those golden tresses must be either a wig or from the bottle. But her height and weight are about the same.

  I curse inwardly for not recognizing it sooner. True, the blonde hair threw me off, along with the fact I assumed Sabena was Eva Morricone and was in Florence. I’d made the first mistake in espionage. Never assume anything. Be ready for anything.

  Pretty woman in front of me smiles, delivering that same mysterious grin I got in the lobby.

  “I think this time…” Pretty woman shoots me a mischievous glance. “You’ve got the wrong room.”

  “I’m most dreadfully sorry. Jerry said he was in 601.”

  I fumble over my words and blast the woman with a salvo of my sparkling bright blues. Her brown eyes hold fast against my visual attack, and the tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her bottom lip.

  “But this is the fifth floor,” pretty woman says, amused by my predicament.

  “Oh, is it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Oh, so no Jerry?”

  “Obviously.”

  Pretty woman opens the door a tiny degree wider and I see into the room behind her. It’s small and empty. The dressing table holds a slimline laptop and scattered makeup items. The wardrobe is open, and I just about make out a sequined classy number hanging up. A pair of shoes, Louboutin’s, if I’m not mistaken, are lined up in the compact corridor. The bathroom door is closed. Wafts of expensive perfume fill the room.

  “Of course, there never was any Jerry, was there?”

  Pretty woman’s line stops me dead. Her mouth broadens into a wide crimson smile and she reaches out toward my neck.

  “I think I’d better go. This was a mistake.”

  I back away, but very strong arms sneak rapidly around me. They pull me over the threshold and into the room.

  “You have no idea how right you are.”

  Pretty woman thrusts me against the wall and deftly shuts the door with her foot.

  “Erm, I really should be going.”

  I struggle to get out my words. Pretty woman’s lips are upon me. Her hands are ripping at the buttons on my waistband.

  Is this Sabena? Or just some woman wanting to shag me? I don’t want to risk making a move and hurting an innocent woman who just wants a bit of rough fun. Of course, if this is Sabena, could I use it to my advantage?

  Pretty woman pushes against me, and I know I have to return the advances. I hate this bit of the job. Everything else I can rationalize away, the killing, the torture. I’m ok with it all. But this. I feel pretty woman’s lips slip down my neck, panting, her hands searching.

  And I feel like such a bastard.

  I’m so sorry, Angie. I love you. But this is work.

  I say it in my mind every time. It’s a kind of confession that carries with it automatic absolution for my sins.

  Or I like to think it does.

  I grab hold of pretty woman, lift her in my arms and throw her onto the bed. I climb on top. I don’t give her any time to move. I keep my jacket on, so I can reach my Sig if I need to. I still don’t know if anyone is in the bathroom, but right now, I can’t check. Just play this out, whatever this is, and see what comes next.

  “You’re a wild one, aren’t you?”

  I hold her arms vice-tight on either side and look down at her, smirking. She scowls. She likes to be in command. She likes to be on top.

  Again, a Sabena trait.

  “Is it your thing to grab unsuspecting strangers and try to seduce them?”

  “You shouldn’t knock on doors if you don’t want to know what’s inside.”

  Pretty woman sends me a dark glare.

  “And what exactly is inside?”

  I hold her wrists tighter, press my huge body heavily down upon her, and pin her to the bed.

  Beneath my body, she quivers, and I feel her legs open slightly.

  “Come in and find out,” pretty woman purrs.

  I sneer and move up her body. My jacket flaps open. Pretty woman’s eyes rest on my gun, but she doesn’t react. I look inside my jacket at the gun and turn back. Her eyes snap onto mine.

  She smirks and brings her knee up hard into my groin. It’s a good attempt, but my balls have taken hammerings before, and I don’t react instinctively the way most men do. I take the searing pain. I pull her arms up and grab both wrists in my one hand then delve into my jacket for my gun with the other.

  I point the Sig in her face.

  If this was just a woman looking to fuck a stranger for kicks, she would have shat herself. But pretty woman doesn’t flinch. She stares resolutely down the gun barrel as if she’s done it a million times before. She stares at me with a sense of mocking.

  I slip down off the bed and stand up. My balls still throb but I ignore them.

  I keep the Sig trained on the woman. Her eyes light up and she smiles.

  “Real clever,” she says, and shakes her head.

  “I could say the same about you. Quite some stunt you played with Eva Morricone.”

  “Got to keep you fucks on your toes,” snarled Sabena, happily rasping in her Sicilian accent. She doesn’t care to keep up the Home Counties persona now her cover is blown.

  “You’re certainly doing that.”

  “So, you’re taking me in? Good luck with that one, sweetheart. Half this hotel is Al Nadir, including that queer fucker you got my room number from. You won’t make it out of here alive.”

  I stare at Sabena, realizing everything is a setup.

  “When did you make me?”

  I refuse to give into the sudden fear I feel creeping through me.

  “Putney.”

  I tense my trigger finger. Had she seen Sam and me? Had she seen us in the Exchange café? I rack my brain to recall who’d been around us this morning. Mothers, teenagers, kids, elderly bookworms. I hadn’t seen Sabena’s new mask then.

  “I saw you at the station. You boarded the train to Waterloo.”

  Inside, I feel relieved. She hadn’t seen me and Sam together. But Sabena, of course, could be lying.

  “But you got on at Clapham?”

  “Oh come on, Kinley. You know how it works.”

  Of course. She’d moved carriages when the train stopped.

  “Why here?”

  “We got wind of an operation. Something about Florence. Summanus. Your name came up, and Sam Noor’s.”

  Sabena drops Sam’s name and tilts her head. ‘I’ve got all the cards,’ her eyes scream.

  “Summanus? What’s that?”

  I try for the ‘haven’t got the foggiest’ expression. Sabena doesn’t bite.

  “You know exactly what it is, and you want it. That’s why you’re heading to Florence.”

  I smile. Hook, line and sink her.

  She’s got it.

  The misinformation we put out on Summanus to smokescreen Snowdrop was the bait to lure in Sabena. Chatter confirmed Six wanted to get their hands on Summanus before anyone else did.

  “You know Sabena…Can I call you Sabena?” I don’t wait for her approval. “You’re absolutely right.”

  The egotist in Sabena sits back and grins, basking in her achievement. She pushes back on her elbows, pulls herself up the bed and tucks her long legs up underneath her body. She straightens her back, and cocks her head to one side, in a very enticing coquettish manner.

  “So, what happens now?”

  Sabena’s voice is rasp
ing, but the question holds a subtle inquisitiveness redolent of naivety. What the hell does she think is going to happen?

  Then her disposition flips, her eyes narrow, and their laser stare pierces me completely. I don’t doubt Sabena when she told me half the hotel was Al Nadir. I know that if I let off one shot, a barrage of bullets would come through that door, shredding me to pieces. Snowdrop would be blown away too and with it, my happy quartet’s chances of bringing down Al Douri.

  I don’t move my hand from the trigger. My Sig still points downward, trained on Sabena’s heart. I feel as if I’ve turned to steel. I know this can only turn out one way.

  Snowdrop has to start now.

  I’ll improvise on the mechanics, but essentially, the components are the same. Well almost. I can handle the rest.

  “Shoot me if you want. I’m sure I’d live long enough to see you ripped apart. Have you seen what, at close-range, a Heckler and Koch MK5 can do to a human? It’s not pleasant. Shame to do that to your gorgeous body. But do what you have to do, Mr. British fucking Intelligence.”

  I glance around the room. Obviously, she has cameras somewhere, but I can’t make them out from where I’m standing. In my peripheral vision, I see the slimline laptop lid is open. I back to my right and slide along the dressing table. My gun hand is stable and unwavering as I snap shut the lid on the laptop with the other hand.

  Sabena’s eyebrows rise, and she sneers with derision. She looks away, appearing bored, and reaches over to her phone.

  “Leave that! Hands in front of you.”

  Sabena draws her hands back in front, huffing like a petulant teenager, and stares at me with insolence.

  “For fuck’s sake, shoot me or shag me. But do something. God, you call yourselves action men? I’ve seen more action in a dead man’s boxers.”

  “Shut up.” I want her silent so I can assess my next move.

  “You’re going to pay for disrespecting me,” she replies. “If I want to talk, I will. Otherwise, I’ll scream, and it’s game over.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell you what’s happening. Really happening. Because you don’t know. You’re in the dark, Sabena. All your mighty intelligence and the most vital intel has evaded you. But I have it.”

  I deliver the line and watch Sabena’s reaction. She moves forward in an instinctive gesture. I’ve piqued her interest. Her psyche evaluation has Sabena down as being a psychopathic sadist and sexual predator, but she’s also narcissistic and believes it’s her inherent right to know everything and control everyone, except Salim, whom she deigns to accept as her master.

  Sabena doesn’t speak but edges closer. Her gaze doesn’t break mine. In her eyes, something feral flickers. I hold the Sig tighter and shift a little to the side.

  “Don’t move.”

  Sabena shrugs off the command and continues until she’s at the very end of the bed. She looks up at me with brown eyes, determined and dangerous.

  “Tell me what I don’t know,” Sabena snarls.

  I swear I can virtually hear a growl at the end of her question.

  “You want Summanus. We want Summanus. Personally, I couldn’t give a damn who gets Summanus. You want it? It’s yours.”

  “Very generous of you. But that tells me nothing.”

  Sabena swings her legs over the side of the bed. I don’t like the move.

  “Freeze, Sabena. I have a silencer in my bag. I’ll use it. No one will hear, and I’ll be gone.”

  “No one will hear, but they’ll sure as hell see. Do you think I’m completely stupid? Ears and eyes, sweetheart.”

  Sabena jerks her head over toward the ventilation slats. I can just about discern the glint of a lens. Sabena smirks, feeling victorious, and turns back to look at the painting hanging over the bedside. A montage of London with a central image of Big Ben. I keep my gun on Sabena but flick a look at the painting. Another pinhole lens in the center of the clock face.

  “I’m not sure you’d want your audience to know how inadequate you’ve been in focusing on the wrong intelligence,” I say.

  Sabena’s face flushes up crimson as anger ripples through her.

  “What the fuck do you mean?”

  “I mean, I want to deal. I’m sick of all these games we’re playing while those insincere, self-entitled bastards just sit and lap up the good life on taxpayers’ hard-earned cash. Ashton, Ludlow, Maide, Gibbs, they’re all in it for themselves. Ashton is such a prick. He’s obsessed with his looks, his fame, and how many column inches he gets in the dailies. He doesn’t care about you, what you’re doing, or what I’m doing. All he cares about is himself. He’s a selfish fucker, and I hate him. I hate all of them. I want to see them fall.”

  I speak fast through gritted teeth and off-load my pent-up fear and anger, and self-hatred for leaving my wife and daughter, into a package of utter venomous fury against the British establishment.

  My outburst throws Sabena off guard. Stunned amazement floods her face. But within seconds, she regains her cool and regards me with hostility again.

  “So you want to be on our payroll? That can be arranged. If you live beyond today. It all depends on the intel you have.”

  I nod. My Sig is still on Sabena, but I show her I’m easing up on the tightness of its hold. She takes the gesture with cagey acceptance.

  “I want more than that, Sabena. I can’t bear being in this game anymore. They make out you’re the villains, but their ME9s, their false flag operations, are much worse. We’re manipulating the British public, making them subservient to a cruel government who would happily hurt their own to stay in power.”

  No one knows except me, but the words I am saying are absolutely true, so I instil conviction in them. Sabena sees the strength of my belief in why I’m turning. She edges forward, interest growing in my proposal.

  “I want to bring them all down, Sabena. You know who I could be? The best fucking asset you’ve ever had. I can give you MI6. I can give you the British Government.”

  Sabena regards me cautiously.

  “Convince me. What intel is so incredible that I don’t know it?”

  “Operation Aphrodite. Heard of it?”

  Sabena’s face creases up. “Of course I have. That’s your Summanus gig.”

  “There’s more.”

  Sabena’s eyes glue to mine. Then she looks down, and I see her pursing her lips, again viciously infuriated by me wasting her time.

  “More?”

  “Operation Aphrodite has an assassination objective attached,” I tell her slowly.

  “Who?”

  “You.”

  Chapter 10

  3 Days Earlier

  A piercing cold wind whipped around the entrance at Logan International Airport. Sabena pulled her silver fox fur closer around her body. She hated traveling on scheduled flights and only did so when she had no other option. But when the order came directly from her master, the venerable Dr. Salim Al Douri, leader of Al Nadir, Sabena knew not to question it.

  The order came as a result of receiving two level-one intel packages. The first was through a trusted asset in the British Embassy in DC. The second was delivered via an invaluable asset deep in the Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti (FSB) in the Lubyanka in Russia.

  Analyzing the intel gathered, such as the backgrounds of the energy officials from the UK and Russia who were attending the Energy Summit in Boston, with other key situational data, using Al Nadir’s Generative Adversarial Network Artificial Intelligence system, brought forth clear and startling cross-correlations. Feeding in the emergence of a new infrasound energy device, funded originally by the FSB, which had the capacity for criminal applications, enabled a new picture to develop. The code name of the potential new sound weapon was Summanus, named after the Roman god of dark thunder.

  The energy officials in question were of considerable interest to Al Nadir, who had reason to believe that they also held positions within their country’s respective mil
itary intelligence agencies. Anytime there was a convergence of intelligence and technology, Al Nadir had cause to be concerned.

  Al Nadir also understood that the new tech wasn’t as embryonic as what had been discussed before but had moved somewhat along in its development trajectory. Intel confirmed trials were already being conducted by the FSB right under the noses of the US Embassy in Havana, Cuba. These trials had proved positive in Summanus’ abilities. More testing, Sabena realized, would, of course, need to be done before Summanus was at a technology readiness level suitable for field deployment.

  She’d scanned the briefing document before boarding at Heathrow and noted the summit was a closed affair, invite-only, and was to be staged at the Westin Hotel on Copley Square.

  Before Sabena boarded the plane, she was already on the invite list. Her nanomask, provided by the fabulous nanobot cream created by Dr. Stein-Muller, had been programmed to reflect her covert personality. Sabena reveled in the power of the nanomask; it was an amazing device that had revolutionized spying.

  Sabena’s covert personality was Dr. Eloisia Megalos. She was a Greek renewable energy researcher based in Cambridge, UK, and she’d written a seminal paper on developing a rechargeable battery able to store the large amounts of renewable power created through wind or solar sources. Dr. Megalos was raven-haired with a typical Greek nose and slightly flared nostrils, big lips, high forehead and dark brown eyes. She was supposed to be just over thirty, but the makeup and style of clothing (as far removed from her personal designer range of risqué haute couture as you could get) made her look like she was approaching forty.

  Sabena didn’t like not looking gorgeous, but the part called for her to blend into a room of bureaucrats and academics, so for this assignment, she had to hang up her Manolos in favor of more sensible footwear.

  The potential power of Summanus had Al Douri slavering with desire. He immediately placed extensive resource to her mission and activated a number of assets in the UK, US and Russia. The concerted approach enabled a deeper dig, and they discovered a possible MI6 operation to acquire Summanus ahead of the CIA and FSB.

  Al Douri saw it as his God-given right to get his hands on the technology before anyone else. For that reason, Sabena was now shivering, waiting for a cab outside Logan to take her to the Commonwealth Hotel.