by S L Shelton
She grimaced but complied. “In the compartment behind the seat, there’s a first aid kit,” she said.
I reached over the seat, popped open the plastic cover, and extracted the kit. Before I could get it open, Kathrin pulled up in front of the van in an old Mercedes.
“We have to move,” I said and pulled Adina’s arm over my neck, hauling her out of the van before pushing her into the backseat of the Mercedes.
Kathrin made one trip back to the van, grabbing our bags and some supplies from the vehicle before we abandoned it. She hopped into the driver’s seat, and we sped off again.
“She has a bullet in her hip. I can’t do anything about it but slow the bleeding,” I said. “It missed the artery, so she won’t bleed out, but she needs help I can’t give her.”
“One hour,” Kathrin said. “She will be safe and sound in one hour.”
“What happens in an hour?” I asked, but before she could answer, Adina erupted in anger.
“No!” Adina said. “We can use our medical contractor, get the bullet out here, and then I go with you.”
Kathrin looked at me in the rearview. “Israeli Embassy in Brussels,” she said. Then, directing her attention to Adina, “Wir müssen aus der Stadt kommen.”
“Nein! Ich werde mitkommen!” Adina replied, not happy that she was going to be dropped off at the Embassy—she wanted to go with us.
“I hate to interrupt, especially since I’m the only non-Deutschsprachigen individual here,” I said, telling a small fib, “but you are wounded. Not only do you need attention, but you also can’t be on the run with me. I barely covered my own ass back there.”
Kathrin glanced back in the rear view mirror when Adina didn’t respond immediately. “Adina?”
More silence. “Thank you for coming back for me,” she said sincerely.
I smiled as did Kathrin. “You are my best friend,” Kathrin replied. “How could I not?”
“Don’t thank us yet,” I added. “We aren’t out of the city.”
She settled into the backseat as best as her wound would allow, and we spent the rest of the trip in silence.
When we were about five minutes from our destination, Kathrin pulled out her phone and dialed a number, saying something in Hebrew before hanging up.
“How much do they know?” I asked.
“All that they need to,” Kathrin replied. “I told them to have medical ready at the back gate.”
Maybe you should drop me off a few blocks away, I thought, but I held my tongue.
When we pulled up to the back of the Israeli Embassy, armed guards and a medical team were waiting for us with a wheeled gurney.
Kathrin parked several feet away from the gate and got out. I started to move, but she looked back and shook her head tersely. She exchanged words with one of the armed men before signaling me to help Adina. She grimaced as I pulled her out of the back and stood next to her as support until the medical guys came and took her.
As they loaded her on the gurney, she looked at me. “Take care of her, you bastard, or I’ll kill you myself.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you as well,” I said with a grin.
Despite her obvious pain, she smiled back at me.
As soon as the medics rolled Adina through the gate, Kathrin moved to get back into the car, but one of the guards grabbed her by the arm. She wrenched free and backed away quickly. I was already out of the car and standing in front of him when the other guard raised his weapon at me.
“Stop!” Kathrin yelled, inserting herself between the soldiers and me.
Kathrin looked up at the camera on the gatepost. “We must go. Now. Adina will brief you.”
Kathrin was addressing her plea directly to whoever was running the show at the embassy.
It occurred to me that we were standing on the sidewalk, not within the compound. We were still in Brussels, not Israeli territory. Surely they would not risk an incident on the streets of Brussels.
Oh wait, I thought. Israelis. Never mind. They would totally risk an incident if it were important enough to them.
A voice crackled across the radios in Hebrew, prompting the guards to turn their attention toward me. I shoved Kathrin to the side, lunging toward the first guard; as I stepped on the side of his knee, I simultaneously grabbed the barrel of his rifle and wrenched it from his hands. The other guard stepped toward us, raising the butt of his rifle to me. I kneed the first guard in the temple as I yanked his rifle away.
As he fell, I spun around with the rifle as if it were a baseball bat, catching the other man in the back of the head with the butt. He hit the ground as I landed with my knee solidly in the center of the first man’s chest. He looked up in time to see my fist collide with his nose.
“Let’s go,” Kathrin said urgently, but a door in the embassy opened and four more guards exited, heading our way at a sprint. I dropped the rifle and moved to place myself between the approaching soldiers and Kathrin.
Over the loudspeaker at the gate, someone spoke in Hebrew. I didn’t understand it, but the command must have been something like “stand down” because the guards stopped in their tracks. Two of them came forward to help their injured comrades before carrying them back to the embassy. One of the men I had hit turned and sneered at me.
Kathrin relaxed her stance and took her hand from the handgun in her waistband. A few seconds later, an older gentleman appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in business attire and strode calmly, confidently toward us.
Kathrin stepped forward to meet him at the gate. They exchanged some words Kathrin found disagreeable judging by the way she was furiously shaking her head. The old man just smiled and then nodded after a few seconds. He turned and looked at me and asked Kathrin something. She motioned for me to come over.
“Scott. This is my ‘Uncle Abraham’,” she said tensely as I arrived by her side.
He looked puzzled by the title, but then he smiled and reached out his hand to shake mine. “I’ve heard and read much about you, Mr. Wolfe. I must say I’m not terribly happy about you taking my girl away.”
“I have mixed feelings about it as well,” I confessed.
“You have no choice in the matter,” she said firmly, in a commanding tone that I had not heard from her before.
“Uncle Abraham” chuckled. “Ah. So you see the price we must pay for exceptional soldiers,” he said and peered back at the old Mercedes Benz we had pulled up in.
“At least let me provide you with better, perhaps more legal, transportation,” he offered.
Kathrin looked at me briefly. Seeing no dissent in my face, she quickly agreed. The man looked up at the camera on the post and said something in Hebrew. A few minutes later, a forest green Mercedes SUV pulled up to the curb. The driver exited and asked if he might remove our vehicle.
Kathrin and I transferred our belongings to the new SUV. Kathrin leaned over, kissed Uncle Abraham on his cheek, and thanked him. It seemed she was thanking him for more than the vehicle. I would ask later.
He turned to me. “I apologize, Mr. Wolfe, for the actions of the guards. My command to them was little more than satisfying a curiosity. It is indeed a rare thing to see experts in Krav Maga being beaten senseless by someone using Krav Maga.”
I was a bit shocked by the confession. “It seems an apology to the guards would be in order if it was merely a test,” I replied coolly.
His demeanor changed a bit, looking at me with measuring regard. He must have decided quickly because the microexpressions on his face revealed amused respect.
“Indeed, Mr. Wolfe. Indeed.”
“Thank you again,” Kathrin said. “I will contact you as soon as I can.”
She waved good-bye and slipped into the passenger side door.
“L'hitraot, Mr. Wolfe,” he said to me. It sounded like good-bye, so I smiled and waved as I got in.
Once we were on our way, Kathrin turned to me and smiled. “He liked you,” she said.
The statement seemed
oddly out of place in our current setting.
“And that’s significant because…?” I asked as I turned onto the expressway.
“That was Benjamin. You just met my ab sheni—my godfather,” she replied.
It took a moment for the significance to sink in before I nodded my understanding. The man I had met was not just her commanding officer; he was also the “uncle” who had brought her into Mossad. After a few seconds passed, something else occurred to me and I turned to her.
“We need to sweep the car for bugs,” we both said at the same time before breaking into laughter.
After stopping on a side street and disabling the vehicle’s onboard tracking, we drove to see Ismet Gulluce about my new ID. I was a day early, but I hoped he had at least the basics ready for me.
“This is a bad neighborhood,” Kathrin said as I put the SUV into park. “I should stay here and make sure no one tries to steal our wheels.”
I thought about it for a second, hesitant to leave her alone in a crime-ridden neighborhood, and then it struck me—she was armed and could probably kick anyone’s ass who approached the vehicle.
I nodded. “I’ll just be a minute.”
Coat wrapped tightly around my neck and hood up, I jogged to Ismet’s door before knocking. A moment later, a confused Ismet peered through the glass.
He opened the door. “You are early,” he said, sweeping his hand in a broad gesture to enter.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking back over my shoulder and nodding at Kathrin, who was watching me intently. “It couldn’t be helped.”
I followed him up the stairs and into his apartment.
“I am, for the most part, done,” he said quietly as he closed the door behind us. “But it is the weekend, so the funds I transferred to the credit cards won’t be available until tomorrow.”
“Understood,” I replied, relieved he was so close to being finished with his task. I reached into my pocket and withdrew the other half of his payment. “Thank you for getting these ready so quickly.”
“Can I take this commission to mean I will begin receiving renewed work from American three-letter agencies?” he asked with a wry grin.
“I have no way of knowing that,” I lied. “I’m not with any Agency.”
He smiled as he placed the documents, cards, and passport into an envelope. “Yes…of course.”
I returned his smile with one of my own and shook his hand. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said quietly.
He laughed and patted me on my back.
“Not that I would know who to talk to about that sort of thing,” I added with a sideways grin.
He laughed louder as he opened the door for me. “You’d best go attend to your lady friend,” he said through a chuckle. “It’s not the best neighborhood to leave a fancy car and an attractive woman unattended.”
He followed me downstairs and let me out. “Safe travels, Mr. Noble,” he said to my back, using my new cover name.
I turned and waved as I returned to the Mercedes.
“Are you pleased with his work?” Kathrin asked as I got in.
“It looks good to me,” I said and handed the envelope over to her. “But you’re the expert. You tell me.”
She opened the flap and began pulling the documents out one by one. “Sebastian Noble, huh?” she muttered as I pulled out my iPhone.
I nodded as I began to link my proxies to send a message to Nick and then typed it out.
“Spartan, Update: Odd timing. My safe place got hit. Am safe, but going deeper to ground and off grid. Do not expect updates for a while.—Alpha.”
I sent the encrypted message out to the blind notice site and then looked up. It dawned on me that Kathrin appeared to be waiting for a response of some sort.
“What?” I asked as I pulled out the last SIM card I had and snapped the old one in half.
“Sebastian Noble… Did you pick the name?” she asked.
I shook my head as I pulled onto the street and started our long journey to Zurich. “Nope. Sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“No. It’s a good name,” she said. “Noble… I like it.”
“Good,” I replied distantly. “We need to stop at an airport or train station and pick up some SIMs.”
“Okay,” she said. There was a long pause while she stared at me. “Is everything okay? You seem distant again.”
I smiled, intentionally crinkling my eyes to appear sincere. “Just planning my next twenty or thirty moves,” I lied, trying to convey confidence. In reality, I was feeling emotionally unprepared to run an operation of this size and importance on my own—it hadn’t even been two weeks since I’d left my CIA training.
She nodded but continued to stare at me. After a moment of quiet driving, she put her hand on my arm. “You aren’t lost,” she said softly, having seen right through my deception. “I don’t follow lost people.”
I glanced over at her to see genuine love in her face. “Good to know,” I replied after I looked forward again. “Now all we need is an iPhone and a crappy little scooter and we’ll be set.”
She laughed at the reference to our first adventure together. “And don’t forget the bailing wire,” she added with a chuckle.
I looked over at her, startled. “I thought you packed it.”
“I thought you packed it!”
We both laughed.
**
4:35 p.m.—Antwerp, Belgium
HARBINGER could hear the arguing before he entered the vacant repair shop. Bellos was screaming at someone. As he got closer, he heard several men swearing in French. He stepped into the shop, ducking through the back door, followed by eight of his own men. Silence swept across the interior.
“What happened?” Harbinger asked calmly as he walked toward the couriers and Bellos.
The men were all still clad in their tactical gear.
“Ze target presented and we acted,” burst one of the couriers snidely, his French seeming to multiply the arrogance of his sneer.
Harbinger raised his hand at the man, sending him backward a step without even being touched.
“Bellos…what happened?” Harbinger repeated.
“The sweeper team called this guy,” Bellos replied, jerking his thumb toward the French courier who had spoken first, “instead of calling me. They moved out with half their force before I even knew they had found Wolfe.”
Harbinger swung his gaze toward the cluster of battered couriers with a bored expression and then looked back to Bellos.
“By the time I got on site, three of them were already dead, and Wolfe was fleeing,” Bellos continued. “The targets had time to come back and rescue a wounded woman with plenty left over to evade after a fucking gun fight on the street.” His last words were emphasized and spoken directly at the French team leader who had jumped the gun.
“Targets?” Harbinger asked, ignoring for the moment the significance of the public gunfire.
Bellos nodded. “Two women,” he replied in a quieter tone. “The equipment in the house was burned when we arrived, but the entries were all reinforced, and some of the hardware had Hebrew markings.”
“Mossad?” Harbinger muttered, looking down in thought.
“That’s what I assumed,” Bellos replied. “But all the drives were fried, so there was no way to confirm it.”
Harbinger nodded his head as he turned, still staring down as he absorbed the new information.
He turned to face the couriers abruptly. “Who was running the surveillance vehicle?”
The command in his voice moved two men forward, propelled as if against their will by some unseen force behind them.
“Is your equipment still intact?” Harbinger asked.
One of the men nodded. Harbinger swung his attention to Bellos and then back to the surveillance men. “Go to Brussels and stake out the Israeli Embassy,” Harbinger instructed calmly. “It’s probably too late to intercept them there, but we might get lucky and pick up some
chatter.”
One of the surveillance men looked at the lead courier as if looking for confirmation of the order.
Harbinger straightened himself to his full seven feet and two inches before stepping toward the man. “Does it seem like he’s in charge?” Harbinger asked the man, prompting the two Frenchmen to break ranks and jog toward the surveillance van.
He stared at the French security team. Behind him, his men were already loading equipment into three Range Rovers that had pulled up to the garage doors. Bellos stood rigidly, seemingly prepared for any punishment Harbinger might administer, but Harbinger focused on the couriers instead.
The French team leader shrank back a bit as Harbinger’s gaze came to rest on him. The other men leaned noticeably away from Harbinger’s target as if sensing the approaching violence.
“You felt taking initiative would earn you some reward?” Harbinger asked, smiling as he placed his hands on his hips.
The man didn’t answer, instead staring at Harbinger defiantly.
Harbinger turned and looked at Bellos and then slowly swept his gaze along the ranks of the French security team. “Two women—one of them unconscious—and a boy of twenty-five managed to kill three highly trained security forces, free a captive, and evade recapture…in a minivan,” he said, recounting the failed operation. “They wrecked two vehicles in the process and created a highly visible incident on the quiet streets of Antwerp.”
He looked up and down the line of Frenchmen before shaking his head in a mild gesture of disappointment. “I expect more from the people I hire…and an apology.”
Confused looks spread around the group. A young man stepped forward bravely, fear in his eyes but his chin extended in mock manhood. “Monsieur. I wish to apologize for our embarrassing failure. I would further request we be given the opportunity to redeem ourselves.”
Harbinger didn’t even look at the man. Instead he pushed him to the side casually, nearly sending him off his feet, and stepped in front of the man with hate in his eyes—the courier who had jumped the gun on the attempted capture.
“I want the apology to come from you,” he said, stabbing the man in his armor-clad chest with his finger.