by Jack Freeman
“Good and a week or two in solitary will give him time to reflect and to wonder if making a deal when we get him State-side would really be such a bad thing. Sounds like he is co-operating. We should have some more chats in one of the Green’s soundproof rooms.”
“Right you are, Sir. He’ll be at your disposal. We want to get some more intel out of him too. Oh, I should mention that our high ups have finally decided to pin the copper murders on a known anarchist type who we are sure attempted something similar a while ago, but we couldn’t prove it then. This time we’ll do a better job putting him in the frame. He can take the rap for shooting up the Embassy too. The public like a result and so do we.”
On the other side of the burned out and still smouldering building a fire man stepped on an ash covered metal plate. A blinding flash was followed by a crashing thunderous roar as explosive forces expanded in all directions. Max, Azar and Jack were blown against a nearby wall and slowly disentangling himself from the others, Max cursed and struggled upright in the smoke and dust.
“Goddam booby trap! Are you all ok?” he said.
“Yeah, considering everything,” came back Azar, “We didn’t check for boobies. They really meant to do a job here. Guess they weren’t planning on coming back to the UK after this stunt.”
“Yeah, they think, it’s all over for the Shah and they’ll be taking over Tehran next week so screw the UK,” replied Max, “Keep your heads down. There could be other surprises. Everyone tread very carefully.”
“Shit,” muttered Jack, “Guess we’re all in one piece. But there must have been casualties here. We’ll have to leave it to the locals to sort out. We’ve got business over in sunny Italy.”
They discovered that the fire service had lost two men in the explosion but the cops, Special Branch men and Ali were all unharmed, if shaken up. The Special Branch liaison man urged them to go and sort out the bastards behind this. As they began to leave they could hear dull thumps and screams coming from the van in which Ali was being held.
“Traditional policing,” explained the man from the Branch.
Details of Max, Jack and Azar’s plans for the San Sergio operation began to be developed as the black van sped along minor roads and unobtrusively made its way through the North West London suburbs towards Northolt military airport. Traffic was light and they made good progress. Soon they were past the Polish War Memorial on the A40 and near the entrance when Jack said, “Oh, oh, think we’ve got a tail. There’s a Mini with four heavies been behind us for a while now. I’ll double back at the roundabout and if they do the same we’ll have to assume its hostiles.”
Jack peered through the back window and sure enough the Mini followed them round the roundabout and back down the opposite carriageway from where they had just come.
“Ok. That’s it. Max, use your initiative,” said Jack pointing to a heavy gauge shotgun in the rear of the van.
At the next roundabout Jack doubled back again and still the Mini followed. Max went to back of the speeding van and opened the back door on its latch so that the shotgun protruded out but the doors were not flapping loosely. Approaching the air base entrance, Jack slowed down and the Mini closed in on the van. A hand appeared from the passenger side and the gun it held began firing. The van swerved as a bullet caught the rear nearside tyre. Other shots began striking the heavy rear doors of the van. Max could now see the man in the Mini. “Shit, he said “Looks like more weightlifters. They’ve figured out what happened to their buddies and don’t like it.” He loosed both barrels at the now very close windscreen of the Mini. He was gratified to see the instant shattering of the windscreen and the sudden filling of the car’s cabin with blood as the Mini veered of the road into the deep dry moat that surrounded the airfield in front of its high wire fence.
“Sure hope that’s all their local assets dealt with. These guys are gettin’ tedious. Know what I mean,” said Jack with a grin while manoeuvring the ailing van into the gate. Guards ran up and hurried them through as expected VIPs. Other armed guards ran down to the wrecked Mini to deal with any survivors. There were none.
Azar slumped in her seat, exhaled loudly and mused that it had been a hell of a day. She had not had to kill anyone before, but now she had been involved in several killings and had directly caused four deaths, one of which had been close up and very personal. There had been little alternative and she found herself exhilarated by the power she had exercised over those very strong and brutal men. Then on reflection, she found her own reaction to killing a source of worry. Might she become addicted to killing? Could that happen? It was easy now to see that it could happen and lead to serial killing of complete strangers for the high it brought. She grinned a little as she thought that she would be sure to try to channel any such addiction into the sake of good causes such as becoming an official executioner somewhere or being a vigilante who always got it right, not like that guy she had heard about who rode the New York subway, looking for trouble makers to bump off. He sometimes jumped the gun and killed kids who looked as though they might cause trouble but had not yet done so. She wouldn’t be like that. No. Pre-emptive executions were not something she favoured. Yet.
Chapter 6. Isola
At Northolt military air base, the Company jet plane was already fuelled when Jack, Max and Azar arrived, and was soon ready to take off into the darkening but cloudless sky. Three men, clearly Company officers, were already aboard and Jack left them un-introduced, explaining simply that names were not needed.
Jack was relieved that all had gone the Company’s way so far and the next phase looked like it could be a knockout blow to the RPI. His idea of involving Max and Azar had been inspired, he felt. Should be a promotion or a bonus in this for me, thought Jack. Only slight worry was that Max’s record showed very mixed luck and things could still go far wrong.
Max and Azar caught up on some much needed sleep as the small Company jet flew at near Mach 1 speed high over France and the Alps towards the Veneto area of Italy. Max dreamt of falling off a high tower into a burning pit and being hosed down by Azar who then metamorphosed into a weightlifter and then into the stewardess on the KLM flight who began shedding her clothes during the in flight announcements and came to sit on his lap for take-off. Azar dreamt that she was fighting off all the weightlifters with her bare hands and sending them crashing through the walls of the farmhouse and bursting into flames, then they re-appeared and she was forced to have sex with four of them simultaneously. She jerked awake and felt guilty for no good reason, as she looked at Max, who was dribbling on her shoulder and snoring gently. She noticed a swelling in his trousers and punched him awake. “What’s that about?” she whispered, pointing at his fly.
“Oh, I was just dreaming about you, honey,” he lied with a grin.
“Save it for later, ok?”
When the plane touched down at United States Airforce Base 4233 Venezia at18.28 hours local time, it was already dark.
They were met by two green USAF jeeps bearing the large white star decal of the US military. The senior officer in the welcoming party introduced himself, saying, “I am Colonel Lennard. I’ll take you to the briefing room now, where the rest of the team have gathered.”
“Thanks Colonel. I’m Jack Johnson, CIA, these are Max and Azar Blue, who are we might say, freelance associates of ours and the others are colleagues, whose names you don’t need to know. No offence, but it really is best to keep most things we do, need to know only”
“That’s fine with me. Climb in.”
The jeeps quickly took them past a half mile of assorted fighters, massive bombers and black helicopters lined up on the air strip in front of giant hangars. On the way, Lennard told Jack that he had been in the service since 1941 and had fought all the way from Tripoli to as near Berlin as they could get before the Russkis beat them to it. If Lennard had had his way they would have kept going on to Moscow. Soon the small convoy drew up at a low rise camouflaged concrete building beside a stand of pi
ne trees.
“Follow me,” said Lennard, “This building is hardened and most of it is below ground. It’s really a deep shelter in case of a nuke attack when the balloon goes up with the Sovs. Also, it is totally immune to electronic eavesdropping. It’s just right for our little briefing session, I think you’ll agree.”
Inside the building, the party were led through an airlock and down three flights of stairs. All the main rooms were underneath dozens of feet of reinforced concrete. Reaching their meeting room, Max saw six athletic looking men in wet suits already there. On one wall was a large scale map of the Isola of San Sergio.
Jack and Colonel Lennard greeted the men and introduced Max and Azar to the team.
Jack said, “These wet suit guys are Company Special Forces. Basically, we don’t trust our own military (no offence, Colonel Lennard), let alone the Eyeties, so, Azar, we train our own little armies. Max knows all about this stuff. The Italian locals won’t know about this till it’s over and we hope, not even after it’s all over.”
Max interjected “Hey, I know two of these guys from a previous op where we all got wet in the Caribbean off Cuba a couple of years ago. That one worked real good, so all bodes well for tonight too, I am sure.”
The two colleagues from the Coubre mission in Cuba in 1960 said “Hi” and made silence gestures while grinning.
“Ok folks. Back to tonight’s business please,” said Jack, pointing to the map on the wall, “This is the plan. We leave here at 00.30 hours and drive to a point on the mainland that is close to the Isola of San Sergio. From there we can launch shallow draught rubber boats with big outboards. This will be at 02.30 hours. About 100 yards off the island the boat with these wet suit guys in it cuts its engines. The boat with me, Azar and Max waits at that point. One wet suit guy stays behind for a minute or two and anchors their boat to a channel post right there on the map before he too sets out through the water. The other five wet suit guys swim to the island right away with their kit in water proof back packs. They position themselves around the house, then sneak up and throw tear gas grenades though the windows at 02.50 hours. We would like to take the Inner Circle alive if possible to see what we can get out of them. There may be some low level guards there but we don’t have info on that; they can be taken out as they’re not high value in terms of intel.
As the tear gas goes in through the windows, Max and Azar, we’ll take our boat in fast and hard onto the landing ramp, here, and should be in place to greet the Inner Circle as they emerge coughing and blinking. We’ll have submachine guns, brand new Uzis, courtesy of our Israeli friends, just in case there’s trouble.
Any questions?
No, ok. Remember, it’s all got to happen real fast. We don’t want the local Italians involved in any way whatsoever. They leak even worse than the Brit queers. Half the Eyeties are commies and anything we let them know goes straight back to the Kremlin. Anyway, the island is quite remote, so I’m hoping we can get in and out before the locals realise that something is going on.
We have a few hours before leaving so we can have some dinner – but don’t drink too much! Yeah, that means you, Max Blue. Remember, I’ve seen the files on you, buddy. You can rest up too, but be ready to go by 00.30 hours. All the gear will be in the vans that’ll take us there so don’t worry about the equipment. It’s all taken care of. There’s an officers’ mess and rooms down here we can use to shower and rest in. But first, mangiare!”
During a dinner of saltimbocca and pasta washed down with chianti and prosecco, Colonel Lennard amused the table with stories of Mafia corruption in the Veneto area and cast doubt on the overall loyalty of Italy to the cause of freedom, given the large native Communist Party and its many front organisations. He also had his doubts about the Germans and the Brits.
“It’s a worry, ok. For example, whatever gets discussed at NATO HQ , the details are back in Moscow that day, for sure. The Italians are our main suspects but the Germans are also stuffed with double agents. It’s real easy to infiltrate people from East Germany and plenty in West Germany have relations in the East who can be used as pawns to get the Westies’ collaboration. We all know the Brits are riddled with commie queers. Something to do with those public schools of theirs, is my theory. Anyway, tonight’s operation is real tight and it’s been kept totally quiet. It’s just us in this room who know about it. Raise your glasses now, and let’s toast to the success of tonight’s venture,” saying which, Lennard raised his glass of grappa and downed it in one swallow.
The party broke up and they all went to their rooms in the accommodation suite. Closing the door of their room, Azar immediately began to strip and when naked except for her underpants glimpsed knowingly at Max, hoping he would understand this was the moment to make good on the earlier discussion in the plane. Max grinned mischievously with a similar thought, dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. He hugged Azar tightly, then pushed down her underpants over the swell of her hips and said, “Before you get into a wetsuit, lets see what its like to make love in a nuclear bunker. Especially as tonight we might die.”
“Ok honey, but don’t take too long… getting into a wet suit takes a while you know and it’ll soon be time.”
As she climaxed with Max, the erotic surge combined with a strong feeling of power. She had become a goddess of sex and destruction combined, Venus and Kali in one. Danger survived was aphrodisiac.
After a too short recuperation, they showered and struggled into the wetsuits to be ready for the operation that should finish the RPI once and for all.
At 00.30 hours the raiding party climbed into their jeeps and set off toward the Venice lagoon coast line. The roads were empty and the route avoided going through any villages so the party’s progress was unobserved. The sky was overcast with thick clouds and the new moon hardly showed making for a deeply dark night. The group travelled in silence. Everyone knew what to do and concentrated on rehearsing their exact roles and on keeping calm. Max tried to force himself to meditate but the mantra kept being displaced by memories of the recent love making session back in the bunker. Could that really be their last time together? After this operation, we’ll definitely leave the field of combat and settle down, he thought. It’s a definite maybe.
By 02.30 hours, the small convoy had reached the launch point. The boats were then manoeuvred into position and boarding began. The night was dark but the air was still and dry. At 02.37 hours they were cutting through the still dark waters of the Lagoon toward the island. Lights were clearly visible from the sole house there.
“Ok,” whispered Jack to Max and Azar, “The Inner Circle are home. We had a tip off that they passed through Marco Polo airport several hours ago so they will be settled in now. They are just awaiting that call from Murphy, before breaking out the Asti Spumante.”
From 100 yards off the island, Max saw the first group of raiders’ boat tied up to the mooring post in the channel and could just make out the ovals of wetsuit clad heads moving steadily through the dark water and closing in on the small island.
A few minutes later he could see shadows near the windows of the safe house. A glimpse at his watch showed 02.45 hours. This was it. He squeezed Azar’s hand and they shared a grin. After a long four minutes, the shadows moved and were now silhouettes against the windows. The sound of smashing glass came across the lagoon; Jack gave their rubber boat full power and they sped towards the landing ramp. Max could hear muffled explosions and screaming and shouting from inside the house. Loud bursts of gunfire then echoed in the night air.
“Shit,” yelled Jack “That’s not all our guns. Dammit, they’re not meant to fight back.”
The rubber boat with Max, Azar and Jack hit the landing ramp at speed and the rubber screamed as they rapidly lost momentum on the dry upwardly sloping surface. Bullets were now hitting walls and trees close to their landing ramp and Max now heard the different sound of the Uzis adding to the cacophony. Ducking and weaving, and then crawling, Max and Azar worked
their way from the landing zone and through the garden towards the front of the house. On the way, they passed the bodies of three RPI guards lying in pools of blood that were oozing into the dry ground.
“Where’s Jack?” shouted Azar from close up.
“He was right here” replied Max, but looking back he saw Jack was behind them, down on the ground in a contorted pose.
“Dammit to hell. He’s down. The bastards have got him. Let’s finish this now. No mercy.” yelled Max over the noise of gunfire and screaming and they advanced in a low crouch, quickly reaching the main door of the safe house. Four of the wet suited CIA men were still in the fight and were pouring Uzi fire through the windows. But shots were still being returned. Pressed against the wall of the house, Max saw a gas masked head beginning to emerge from a window to their right and he levelled the Walther PPK he had been assigned as a handgun. No time for negotiating, thought Max and squeezed the trigger. The head fell back spurting blood. One less Inner Circle guy. Two to go.
Max and Azar pressed themselves tightly against the house wall and edged along gradually to reach the front door. It opened outwards, so Azar stood on the hinge side and Max on the other. At Max’s signal, Azar grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. Max put a long raking burst in through the open door and was rewarded with a scream and a thudding sound. This meant one left, if luck was with them.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!”yelled Max. All went very quiet. “There’s probably one left,” he added, “Now, let’s smoke him out.”
The tear gas had dispersed from the hallway. Inside the house nothing had escaped severe damage from the fire fight. Every piece of furniture was shredded and riddled with bullet holes. Blood stained much of the walls and floor. Two bodies with gas masked heads were sprawled by two of the windows. From their builds Max took them to be Nasir and Comrade X. Where was Alpha?
Suddenly, the muffled sound of a phone ringing was heard coming through the bullet scarred book case against the far wall. Then he seemed to hear a shout of “No, No, No!” and a distant thunderous sound, and shouted curses in Farsi.