by C. T. Wente
“I was happy to help Anna,” he said to the woman now lying in front of him. “And I’m happy to help you as well. What’s your name?”
“Marika,” she replied.
“Nice to meet you, Marika. Now tell me what you’re feeling.”
He listened as she described her symptoms, checking her pulse and carefully palpating her abdomen. When he pressed against her stomach, she grimaced and cried out in pain.
“What was the last thing you ate?” he asked.
“Jakob brought me special breakfast this morning,” she replied, reaching out and placing her hand against her son’s cheek. “For my birthday.” He smiled back at her with the flushed cheeks and liquid eyes of a frightened, protective son. “Rullepølse with skæreost,” she said, looking at his blank expression and smiling softly. “You Americans would call this pork sausage and toast.”
“How long ago was that?”
She looked up at the large wood beams that formed the ceiling of the room. “Many hours ago. Almost a day has passed I think.”
“And your symptoms came on quickly? Within the last few hours?”
“Yes.”
He nodded and dug his hands into his backpack. “You’re going to be fine, Marika,” he said as he pulled out a small bag of clear fluid with a long plastic tube attached to it. He handed the bag to the boy and pointed at a small shelf on the wall beside them. “Hang this up there for me, okay Jakob?” The boy nodded and jumped up immediately.
“You’ve most likely got food poisoning… an unexpected gift from your birthday breakfast. Probably salmonella.” He rubbed her arm with an alcohol pad before squeezing it tightly. A vein rose in her thin arm. “I’m going to give you an IV of sodium chloride to keep you hydrated,” he said as he inserted a needle into her vein. “It will take about 4 hours for this to empty. When it’s done, remove the tape and slowly pull the needle out while applying pressure. Then put a bandage over it. Do you understand?”
She nodded weakly as she looked at him with an appreciative grin. “What is your name?” she asked, her dark brown eyes studying his face. “Anna never told me.”
He secured the IV line to the needle and started the drip of saline. “My name isn’t important. You should just worry about resting right now.”
“Such a mysterious man,” she said mockingly, her accent dragging over the words. “Perhaps I should make up a name for you.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Marika, where are you from?”
“Hungary.”
“And what brought you to Amsterdam?” he asked as he began packing his things into his bag.
“What brings every young woman to Amsterdam?” she replied flatly, her thin smile contorting into another pained grimace.
He glanced over at Jakob, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, mesmerized by the sight of the saline fluid as it slowly made its way down the IV line into his mother’s arm. “How old is your son?”
“I am seven,” Jakob replied, his eyes never leaving the strange tube.
“He watches out for me, as you can see.” Marika said quietly.
“We watch out for each other.”
“I can see that,” he said, placing his hand on the boy’s small shoulder.
“I need you to take care of your mother now, okay Jakob?”
Jakob shook his head silently.
“Okay then,” he said, standing up to leave. “It was very nice to meet you Marika. Stay in bed and try to drink as much water as you comfortably can. You should be feeling better by tomorrow.”
Marika gave him a weak smile as she reached out her hand to him.
“I cannot thank you enough, Tódor.”
“Tódor?” he asked, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.
“It is the name I have decided to call you, since you won’t tell me your real one. It is a Hungarian name,” she said softly, her eyes studying his face again. “It means ‘Gift of God’.”
He smiled and released her hand. “What’s the name for ‘average guy’? I think that would be more appropriate.”
“No, I like Tódor.”
He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped into the small hallway. As he turned to say goodbye, Marika looked at her son and quickly said something in Hungarian. The boy immediately stood and walked past him and into the small kitchen. “Jakob will see you out,” she said to him.
“Get some rest, Marika.”
“I will.” Her fingers waved a quick goodbye. “Viszontlátásra, Tódor.”
He walked into the kitchen to find Jakob standing quietly by the door. The boy was staring somberly at his hands as he repeatedly intertwined and separated his small fingers. He kneeled down in front of him and playfully ruffled his hair. “Your mother will be just fine, Jakob. She just needs a little rest.” He put his finger under the boy’s chin and gently raised his head until he looked up at him. “She wouldn’t be feeling better if it weren’t for you, do you know that?”
Jakob nodded as his eyes filled with tears.
“I need you to take care of her until she feels better,” he said as reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small wad of folded Euros and placed them in the boy’s hand. “Use this to buy food and anything else you and your mother need.”
Jakob stared in shock at the money for a brief moment before quickly stuffing it into his pocket. “Thank you,” Jakob replied.
“Don’t mention it, kiddo,” he said as he opened the door to leave.
“Wait!” Jakob said, grabbing his arm with both hands and staring up at him with pleading eyes. “Are…are you a doctor?”
He looked down at the boy’s smooth, innocent face as he stood at the doorway. “No, Jakob… I’m not a doctor,” he replied, giving him a wry grin. “I’m an artist.”
He then turned and disappeared into the dark alleyway before the boy could respond.
∞
“Goddammit,” SOG team leader Matt Forrestal hissed as he watched the screen of the small electronic tablet resting on his knee. He was tucked between two vehicles parallel-parked in front of the target location, staring in frustration at the infrared images being fed to him by his teams on the opposite end of the target building. “Team Two, give me another sweep of the second and third floors on the east wall.”
“Roger.”
Forrestal studied the heat-revealing image for a second time as his team slowly panned the infrared camera across brick façade. The exterior of the hotel’s north-facing rooms were painted in the deep blue-black colors of a cold, lifeless building.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone on this end, sir,” the Team Two agent said as he finished his sweep.
“Understood,” Forrestal replied. “Team Three?” He patiently watched the thermal image from Team Three as they scanned the southern face of the hotel. When they reached the corner window on the third floor, it glowed with the radiant red-orange color of molten steel.
“That’s the manager’s room, over,” the Team Three agent said flatly over the radio. “Looks like he’s got the heat cranked up.”
“Roger that,” Forrestal replied. The rest of the hotel’s thermal scan showed no signs of life. “Control, are you seeing this?”
Over three-thousand miles away in the control room in Langley, Alex turned and glared at Tom. “We’re seeing it,” he replied tersely. “Looks like we might have bad intel on this one after all.” Tom shifted uncomfortably next to Alex as Agent Forrestal’s voice crackled through the speakers of the large room.
“Roger that, Control. How would you like us to proceed, over?”
Alex held his eyes on Tom as he considered the answer. After a long moment he shook his head irritably and pressed his hand against his headset. “Hold your positions for ten more minutes.”
“Roger that.”
∞
He walked slowly, enjoying the cold night air. The dark street was deserted, creating the impression that he was only living inhabitant among the procession of old row-
house buildings that lined the oil-black water of the canal. He glanced up from the cobblestone sidewalk. The hotel stood just a short distance ahead, its small entry door illuminated by a single incandescent light. An odd feeling suddenly came over him as he approached, forcing him to slow. He glanced over his shoulder before pausing to study the quiet neighborhood. His eyes caught the movement of a shadow on the street and he immediately crouched low against the cold cobblestones. The shadow moved closer and paused. A moment later, a familiar sound broke the silence. He smiled with relief as a small house cat slowly meandered along the parked cars that lined the avenue. He was just about to stand when the cat suddenly tensed at something tucked between two cars. The animal meowed loudly and walked towards the hidden object. A blunt cry followed as the cat was kicked roughly back into the street. The animal hissed angrily at its hidden assailant before turning and disappearing into the night. His smile evaporated as he stared silently at the gap between the cars.
He reached into his pocket. The small device felt cold as he gently wrapped his fingers around it. He stroked the smooth surface of it with his thumb, feeling the rubbery indent of a small button on one side. He then took a deep breath of the crisp night air and cleared his mind. It was time. He stood and continued walking towards the hotel.
∞
Agent Matt Forrestal spotted the dark-haired man walking towards the target location and instantly froze his position. His hand tightened around the grip of his Sig Sauer sidearm as he whispered into the small microphone attached to his shoulder. “Control… be advised, possible target approaching.”
In the control room, all eyes immediately focused to the live feed from Forrestal’s camera as a figure slowly emerged from the darkness.
“Roger that,” Alex said as he stared at the screen. “We see him.”
Tom studied the video as a technician quickly adjusted the brightness of the image. Suddenly a tall, dark-haired figure wearing jeans and a jacket materialized into view. He walked calmly, unaware of the nearby SOG agents as he strolled directly towards them.
“Well?” Alex asked as he turned and looked at Tom. “Is that our man?”
“Well, I… I’m not sure,” Tom mumbled as he squinted at the video image. He couldn’t tell Alex the truth – that he’d never actually seen the man’s face. All eyes in the control room were now on him, waiting for confirmation as the man moved closer towards the SOG team leader’s position. Then, as he stared at the light-enhanced video, Tom noticed something.
“Wait,” he said excitedly, pointing at the video wall. “Can you get a closer shot of his jacket?”
Alex looked at him suspiciously for a fleeting moment before turning and addressing a technician sitting nearby. “Mike?” he asked sharply.
“I’m on it,” the technician replied as his fingers rapidly punched at his keyboard. As they watched, a still frame from the video suddenly appeared on the large display. In an instant, the area of the image containing the man’s jacket was quickly highlighted and expanded. As the image sharpened, Tom’s pulse quickened. The man’s jacket was unzipped, revealing a blue shirt underneath. A white logo slowly came into focus.
“That’s him!” Tom said as he slapped his hands together excitedly. “That’s our target!”
“You’re sure?” Alex asked.
Tom turned and smiled at his brother-in-law. “I’m sure of it.”
Alex nodded tersely and immediately drew his hand to his headset.
“Forrestal, this is Control. We have confirmation on the target. You are free to engage, over.”
“Roger that.”
Forrestal gave a quick hand signal to his Team One counterpart crouched behind him and whispered into his microphone. “All teams, be advised… target is approaching on foot from the north. Hold positions. Team One will engage as target enters the hotel. Be ready for my command.”
He held his .40 caliber handgun against his chest and watched as the target moved nonchalantly towards the hotel entrance, clearly oblivious to the world of pain awaiting him. That’s it, keep coming he thought as the man turned and walked up to the hotel entrance, his face finally visible in the dim entry light.
It was in that brief instant that Forrestal noticed the target staring directly at his position between the parked cars, a wide grin stretched across his face. Before he could move, a flash of blinding light suddenly erupted from the headlights of the vehicle he was crouched against. An instant later, the deafening sound of the vehicle’s horn blasted into his ear. Disoriented, he immediately stood and leveled his handgun in front of him. Goddamn car alarm! he thought with disbelief as he sprinted half-blind towards the hotel entryway.
“Team Two, breach rear access now!” he screamed into the microphone as he approached the main entrance. “Team Three, take position at the southwest corner and make sure target does not get past you!”
Forrestal paused next to the door, listening intently as his Team One counterpart followed closely behind him, his assault rifle drawn tightly to his chest. “Target must be inside,” he said, timing his words with the intermittent blast of the car horn still sounding behind them. As he listened, Forrestal heard the unmistakable echoing rhythm of someone moving quickly up the metallic stairs in the hotel lobby. He signaled to his team member and both men quickly took positions inside the small room.
“Team Two, report!” Forrestal demanded.
“Team Two is in position inside the rear hallway of the first floor. Area secured, over.”
“Maintain your position!” Forrestal ordered as he made his way towards the spiral staircase that led to the two upper floors. “Team One will secure the second floor.”
He followed his team member as they twisted up the narrow stairs, shifting his handgun with each changing line of sight. As they reached the second floor landing, Forrestal heard the sound of movement at the far end of the hall. “Team Three, take position at the entry and report.”
“Roger that.”
Forrestal signaled to his team member to move down the hall. Both men kept close watch on the doors that lined the corridor, guns raised and ready to fire. The sound of movement in the lobby below echoed up from below as Forrestal’s radio crackled to life.
“Team Three in entry, over.”
“Roger that. Secure the third floor,” Forrestal commanded. The sound of footsteps on the stairwell immediately followed as the two men of Team Three moved up to the third floor. A few seconds later the hotel was quiet.
“Team Three in position.”
Forrestal quickly nodded to himself. The three floors of the hotel were now covered. Their target had nowhere to go.
“Okay, Team Three, begin your sweep. Finish with the manager’s room,” he ordered.
“Roger that.”
Forrestal listened intently as Team Three began to enter and secure the rooms on the floor above him. He easily visualized his men’s coordinated actions as they moved down the hall. Less than two minutes later, the two-man team communicated their progress.
“Third floor sweep nearly completed. Entering manager’s room now.”
Forrestal flinched as the sound of a large caliber gun suddenly echoed from upstairs. Almost immediately, the sound was met with the whispered retort of two silenced assault rifles. The team leader grabbed at his headset, resisting the urge to sprint up the stairs and check on his team as he spoke into the microphone. “Team Three! Team Three, report!” A long moment passed before the radio crackled in his earpiece.
“Team Three here,” the SOG team member replied calmly. “Target has been neutralized. No injuries sustained by team, over.”
“Roger that. Control, can you confirm with a visual?”
In the control room inside CIA headquarters, Tom and Alex watched tensely along with the support team. “This is Control,” Alex replied. “Team Three, please give us a visual.” The two members of Team Three cautiously entered the manager’s room, their gun-mounted flashlights aimed forward. The pale, bullet-torn f
igure of a middle-aged man laid face-down on the floor. A puddle of crimson-colored blood surrounded the body.
“Team three, this is control,” Alex said into his headset. “Turn him over so we can see the face.”
“Roger that.”
The two agents stepped forward and carefully turned the lifeless body over. The weathered, pudgy face of the dead man came into frame, a wide-eyed look of shock frozen on his features. A dark, reptilian tattoo covered his neck and a portion of his left cheek.
Tom shook his head and moaned. “Fuck… that’s not him,” he muttered.
Alex turned and looked at him.
“What?” he asked, his voice a high octave of disbelief.
“That’s not him.”
“That man there,” Alex said as he pointed his finger at the video feed. “The one who just shot at my team. You’re saying that’s not our target?”
Tom shook his head.
“Then who the fuck is he?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Tom shrugged. “But it’s not our guy.”
“He’s right, sir,” a young woman seated at a computer nearby said sharply. “I just ran a quick scan. Feature analysis is showing no match with the earlier video images of the target.”
Alex’s eyes darted wildly around the room as the full weight of the situation struck him. He cursed under his breath and clicked on his headset. “Forrestal, this is control. Team Three’s kill is not… repeat… not our target. Target is still active.”
A moment of silence followed before the SOG team leader replied. “Roger that, Control. Target is still active.” Forrestal exhaled slowly as he crouched against the wall at the front of the second floor hallway. The words from a training manual he’d read long ago suddenly echoed in his head. Team leaders must always be ready to accept and adapt to rapidly changing circumstances. He shook his head in frustration. What was supposed to have been a simple, surgically-precise operation was quickly turning into a massive clusterfuck. In less than three minutes, he and his highly-trained team of operatives had managed to set off a car alarm before converging on the target as well as find themselves in a shoot-out with a trigger-happy hotel manager.