Operation Snowdrop

by Michelle Medhat

  “That sort of thing?” repeats Sabena, still laughing, and I feel the plane start to taxi. “What sort of thing is that?”

  “Could someone belt me up?” I request. I still have the cuffs on.

  “Someone will belt you if you don’t shut up!”

  The response comes from an angry male seated in front.

  “Now, now, that’s not the way to treat our gorgeous guest, is it, Pedro?”

  The angry male, known as Pedro, frowns, but doesn’t retaliate. Instead, he ignores me and opens up a laptop.

  “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll belt you up,” says Sabena. It seems she’s gone back into seduction mode. She leans in to pull my seat belt tight. “But you got to do something for me a little later, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agree, and shoot Sabena my sexiest of stares.

  Sabena smiles broadly, licks her lips, and thrusts her groin toward me. I’m beginning to think I’ve got the measure of her.

  But I don’t see the butt of her gun until it hits my temple. Once again, an old place I’m getting to know quite well, called the darkness, greets me.

  Chapter 19

  Richard Ashton, British PM, picked up the phone and then hesitated. Did he really want to know? Wouldn’t it be better if he just stepped away now?

  Full damage limitation in play.

  Ashton replaced the phone in its cradle and put his hands together, thumbs underneath his chin and forefingers lightly touching his nose. Deeply, he pondered on the file spread across his mahogany desk. Al Douri’s face glared up at him, goading him. In another photo, Sabena was raising her cocktail glass to him with barely a dress on, sitting in a place that screamed super jet-set elite.

  Ashton grabbed the photo in hand. God, he absolutely loathed them. They had it all, money, power, looks. The total package.

  Al Douri’s expression encapsulated an eternal ‘fuck you’ to the world. Ashton growled and closed his fingers tight over Al Douri’s smiling face until he could feel the photo’s paper bite into his skin, but he carried on going, balling the photo tighter. His knuckles turned white as he channeled all his rage into that one action until the photo was unrecognizable, just a ball of white paper. He aimed with precision at the bin and the photo landed squarely in the center of it.

  Ashton wished he could do the same thing to Al Douri and his faithful Rottweiler, Sabena; scrunch them up into a mass of unrecognizable pulp and toss them into the garbage.

  If any operation could dent Al Nadir’s reign over the world, it was Snowdrop.

  But what would the UK as a nation have to sacrifice to achieve such a goal?

  The dark of Ashton’s private office in Chequers seemed to crowd in around him. He preferred to have just the light from his captain’s lamp. His instructor back in the day said the dark was better to work in, as your deeds couldn’t be seen by those who may be watching.

  Over the years, since he’d left British Intelligence, he’d often mused on those words. What happened if those watching didn’t need light to see? It was a fanciful notion he’d never discussed further, nor explored, but in his soul, he felt he was under observation, and not by hostiles nor his opposition nor peers, but by…something else.

  Ashton shook his head. Crazy thoughts. In his world, there was no place for them. He stood up, wanting to leave, wanting to run away from those thoughts that suddenly started to haunt him.

  He jumped as the phone rang out in the dark silence of his office. It seemed his thoughts had made him unexpectedly and uncharacteristically nervous.

  “Yes, tell me.”

  Sir Justin Maide, Head of British Intelligence, breathed slowly.

  “Sir, the A2 Team Aphrodite are on target. Snowdrop asset current status unknown. Last seen at Park Plaza. No check out. We can assume asset has been acquired and has left the vicinity.”

  “So no word of Snowdrop?” questioned Ashton, staring at Sabena’s photo. The glint of savage and sadistic was obvious in her eyes and in the sharp downturn of her beautiful but cruel mouth.

  Ashton paused a moment to consider the unknown location of their Snowdrop asset, Agent Kinley, and, most of all, what was happening to him.

  “No, sir. All is unknown.” Maide’s voice indicated zero emotion. His tone sounded like he was making a stationery order, not telling Ashton that the best asset in MI6 had now gone AWOL. Maide had nailed compartmentalization big time.

  “Right. You’ve checked surveillance footage around the asset’s last known location?”

  “Of course, sir. Last location verified by tracking signal at seventeen hundred, but then the signal is lost. Surveillance in the vicinity showed no unusual behavior. Nothing at all. Snowdrop is in the wind.”

  Ashton listened and realized this was where they needed to be. Al Nadir had obviously taken Kinley, and all was as planned.

  Provided, of course, that Kinley was still alive.

  Forty-three miles away in River House, Maide decided it was more prudent to not address the issue of Kinley using the AI analyzer on a mysterious woman, which subsequently showed a ninety-five-point-eight probability of being Sabena Sanantoni. Maide had disposed of all evidence, and officially the woman had never been analyzed by GCHQ’s AI systems at all.

  Ashton did not need to know this information.

  Plausible denial would only hold for the PM if Ashton knew nothing of the circumstances of Kinley’s disappearance. As time went on, and Snowdrop played out to its full conclusion, Maide knew that defense would be their only state of play in front of a devastated nation.

  Chapter 20

  Sam’s ears blocked as the drop in altitude affected cabin pressure, and he opened his eyes. Despite his initial belief that he wouldn’t sleep, tiredness had invariably crept up on him as he re-examined mission files and specifics.

  Around him, Jim, Greg and Dan started to move as the plane’s descent brought them back to consciousness. Against mission protocol that required a total blackout approach, Sam sneaked a peep out of the window. The Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore, the cathedral Duomo of Florence, was lit up like a jewel shining against the darker hues of the city.

  Sam immediately remembered Ellie’s loud scream of, ‘Oh my God, it’s like a diamond!” on first seeing the Il Duomo by air. He smiled. Ellie loved Florence, the food, the wine, the culture. He couldn’t get her out of the Galleria degli Uffizi. She was entranced by the wondrous statues and paintings, a proverbial kid in a sweetshop.

  A lump formed in Sam’s throat before he could quell the emotion. He’d done what he’d vowed never to do before a mission; he’d dared to think of Ellie for a fleeting moment. If he got through this, he’d bring Ellie back and show her how much he loved her.

  He swallowed and breathed out hard. In his mind, he took a celestial eraser and rubbed out Ellie brutally from his mind.

  He wasn’t Sam Noor, the sweet husband and lover.

  He was Sam Noor, the ‘do anything it fucking takes to get the job done’ guy.

  Sam reached into one of the weapons bags, took out the Glock 37, pulled back the action, placed his finger in the trigger and aimed it at Sabena’s 3D image still suspended above the Smart Table. The metal, cool against his skin, ignited his fury against Al Douri, Sabena and all of Al Nadir.

  Dan clocked Sam aiming the Glock and smiled. Sam noticed it was a wide grin, filled with gung-ho-laden excitement.

  “Gonna be great to take down some real A class Al Nadir fuckers!” said Dan.

  Sam stared. His eyes iced over and darkened.

  “Don’t be an idiot. You’re not playing Call of fucking Duty now. You lose a life, you lose your life. No returns or game resets. I don’t want to be the one to tell your parents you bit a bullet. Understand?”

  Dan nodded. Sam’s rough words found sanctuary within his sanity and pulled him back onto a path of reason.

  “Yeah, I know,” murmured Dan, looking awkwardly at Sam.

  “We’re all here to fight, but remember to use your head first. Always be think
ing. Don’t get lost in the adrenalin rush. You’ll stay alive that way.”

  Sam looked toward Greg who gave a thumbs up. “Sam’s right, Dan. The best weapon of all is your mind.”

  Sam heard the hydraulics push down as the landing gear was released. The white swan touched down on the tarmac with the same grace and poise as its avian equivalent. Not a bump nor bounce did the Embraer Phenom make. Sam snapped open his seat belt the second the bird started to taxi over to the private hanger.

  “Right, you’re all set. I hope the sleeping arrangements are all ok for you.”

  Dan looked down at the address of the hostel that he was sharing with Jim and Greg on Via della Pergola, and then the swish location of the Four Seasons.

  “I’m still not sure why you’re the one getting the five-star treatment and us three have to slum it.”

  Sam smirked. “Benefits of seniority, kid!” he replied. “And anyway, it’s not going to be a vacation. I’m gonna have my eyes on that bitch.” Sam thumbed over his shoulder at the rotating 3D image of Sabena. “At all times.”

  Greg stared at Sabena and suppressed a shudder. He voiced the fear they were all feeling.

  “Let’s hope that she doesn’t have her eyes on you.”

  Chapter 21

  A sharp needle pain hits me in the neck, and the world around me rushes into my consciousness with an uncontrollable force. Sounds assault my ears and brightness blinds me. The effect of my sudden awakening disorients me. Bile rises in my throat, and I feel I’m about to hurl. I swallow down and try to focus closer on my surroundings. I force my eyes to center on something. Dark elongated figures appear in front of me, talking hurriedly. Hard, irritated voices. The walls around me are curved. The room is moving. And it’s humming. And I feel a jarring underneath my feet.

  “He’s coming around. Whizz works, eh!”

  One of the dark figures speak and I hear laughing. Another figure, taller and slender, approaches. I squint at it, and try again to focus, but it’s like I’m looking through glasses that don’t carry my prescription. Everything is blurred; edges are wavy and undefined.

  “Doesn’t look too bright. What did you give him earlier?”

  Another voice. But like my vision, my hearing is impaired. It sounds as if the person speaking is down a long tunnel and he’s echoing.

  “The usual, Fentanyl,” says the strange stretched man leaning over me, staring into my eyes.

  “He’s alright. Give him a minute or two for the amphetamine to get him zapped. You know that stuff makes you dizzy as fuck!”

  The strange stretched man pulls away as another figure, dressed in a different color, a dark pink, snakes in toward me.

  “Let me see,” the figure hisses, and I conclude it must be a red talking snake.

  A hand reaches out, wrenches back my eyelids, and glares into my eyes.

  “He’s ok, just about, but Pedro, you gave him too high a dose of both. The drugs are contradicting. I don’t want him dead before I’ve completely enjoyed him. If you had killed him, you’d be answering to me.”

  Slowly, the tone of the woman takes on a rasping iciness that makes me shiver.

  I look down and there’s a belt across my body. My arms are behind me and my wrists are cuffed. Deep muscular pain kicks in as I become aware of my seating arrangement. It is obvious by the severe cramp shooting up my arms that I’ve been this way for some time. The curvature of the walls slots into my mind. I recall where I’ve seen walls like that before and I realize I’m on a plane.

  With my mind still playing catch up, the red snake woman slips around me and sits in my lap.

  “Wakey, wakey, gorgeous.”

  She purrs into my ear, bites it and licks at my lobe. The sensation is not an unpleasant one.

  I give a full blast effort to focus my eyes on who is in my lap, and the red snake woman comes gradually into view. She’s stunning. She’s clothed in a two-piece crimson suit and matching red high heels. Her beautiful breasts heave up inches from my lips and I have to restrain myself from taking advantage of such proximity.

  The woman smiles, noticing my predicament, and places her arms around my neck.

  “It’s ok, baby. We’re more than friends. Don’t you remember?”

  I stare into her ebony eyes, which twinkle mischievously, and snippets of our earlier tête-à-tête filter into my mind. I move uncomfortably as memories hit me. Sabena Sanantoni, The Slayer, Al Douri’s number two, had her very wicked way with me, and now she’s up for more. Only this time, she doesn’t care about having an audience.

  In my mind is Angie. My innocent, lovely wife slaps me. How could I? She’s screaming at me. What kind of man am I?

  What kind of man am I indeed? Now that’s a question.

  I look into Sabena’s eyes, dark and menacing with a frightening coldness that plucks at my soul. I draw back momentarily and notice Pedro and the other guys working keenly on their laptops, but their eyes seem to flick back to take in Sabena’s antics. I breathe in.

  Spectator sport on a plane. Great!

  “Babes, what’s wrong? Having problems remembering our good time? That’s that stupid prick Pedro’s fault.”

  I see Pedro look up, annoyed.

  “I’ll fix him later!” Sabena shoots him a glare that makes the color drain from his sculptured cheeks. “Where were we?” she says, pulling me toward her lips. I watch as her tongue pokes out like a serpent’s, and I feel it thrust into my mouth. Her lips clamp to mine, and I believe that she is sucking the very life force from me.

  Could she be some strange succubus that just happens to be an international terrorist as well?

  I’m sorry, Angie. I’m a bastard and I’ll rot in hell for all I’m doing. But I’m doing it for my country. That’s my explanation.

  Or is it my excuse?

  I feel the plane descend, and I know that we’re close to our destination. Was it Florence, or somewhere completely different?

  Should I try to get the truth from Sabena, or just go along with her madness? Last time I tried, I wasn’t met with much success.

  Sabena’s hands are in my hair, ruffling it, making it messy, and pulling painfully hard at my roots.

  “Oh, darling, I wasn’t wrong when I said you’re my favorite obsession,” coos Sabena, kissing my neck. Then she unexpectedly whips her head up and growls at the three guys in front of me. “Don’t you touch a hair on his head. Don’t hit him or hurt him. He’s mine. I’ll eviscerate anyone not heeding my words.”

  From where she got it, I don’t know, but all of a sudden, Sabena brandishes a flick-knife and points it in Pedro’s direction.

  “And you, Pedro, are close to having me slice you for what you did to him.”

  I watch Pedro eye the blade and shake. He knows what The Slayer is capable of.

  “I’m sorry, Sabena,” whimpers Pedro.

  “Don’t fucking Sabena me! I’m Dr. Sanantoni, Deputy Global Commander in Chief in Al Nadir, and don’t you fucking forget it!”

  Sabena is still on top of me, but her manner in seconds has flipped to banshee killer woman. I try to center myself and push inner calm. I try to tap into all the training Six put me through, but somehow, they never really prepared me for this.

  I can’t let The Slayer see I am truly terrified of her.

  She turns back to me, a glint of sadistic playfulness in her eyes.

  “Now, baby, we’ll be landing soon, but you and I, we’ve still got some catching up to do.”

  She releases the seat belt, grabs hold of me, and pulls me up. Her strength is quite incredible. With her left hand, she holds onto my cuffed hands, and with the other, she places the blade to my neck. The tip just breaks the surface of my skin.

  “Come on, darling. There’s still that something you need to do for me.”

  I feel the blood trickle down my neck. Sabena stops, sticks out her little finger, and follows the line of blood, scooping some up. It drips from her finger. She lifts it up to her lips and sucks the blood
.

  I hate myself, but I’m transfixed, lost in an altered mind-state, trapped between repulsion and attraction.

  “Yummy! Let’s get playing!”

  I catch a glance at Pedro and the other guys. I see a look of sickening revulsion and pity for me. Sabena pushes me toward the back of the plane where I can see a massive bed. She shoves me onto it and slams the door with her high heel.

  “Catching up time,” whispers Sabena, unbuttoning my trousers.

  Her actions place a heavier accent on the aspect of levitation.

  Chapter 22

  Sam descended the steps of Embraer Phenom and heard a wolf whistle behind him from Dan. He followed Dan’s eyeline and clocked a sleek BMW i8 on the tarmac. Sam smiled, and then another voice called out.

  “Ah shit. What is that?”

  Sam’s eyes rested on the car next to the Beemer. A Lancia Delta. His face cracked into a wider smile as he listened to Greg’s exclamation.

  “Oh, boy, no prizes for guessing who’s getting that toy. Sam, you little fucker!”

  Sam raised his eyebrows upwards at Dan’s comment and threw out his hands, shrugging.

  “Well, I am an investment banker, aren’t I?”

  Jim joined Sam at the foot of the steps and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I guess the Quartermaster must have the hots for you?”

  “I have my ways,” said Sam enigmatically, opening the Beemer and looking inside. He then closed the door and swung back toward Greg, who was holding one of the bags.

  “Let me have that a minute.”

  Greg put down the large holdall and Sam unzipped the bag. He took out the Glock and some magazines.

  “Just in case I get busy tonight,” Sam said. “Tomorrow’s the day. I’ll be there just before noon. You guys get in position and wait for my signal. Whatever happens, once we’ve taken down Sabena and got Summanus, get to Via Gina Capponi. That’s our extraction point.”

  Team Aphrodite nodded in unison. Sam noticed Dan’s face scrunch up.