"There's something more interesting. Look at the link in the favorites under Aceh Province Tsunami."
"What's the connection? I don't have time for distractions now."
"Just take my word for it and open that video."
"This is heartrending. Where did you get these videos? I've never seen anything like it."
"They're not really videos. They're streaming pred porn."
Kefira asked what pred porn was. Her new partner explained, in detail, how the war on terror was using MQ-1 Predators and MQ-9 Reapers, large hunter-killer, unmanned aerial vehicles to seek out and destroy bad guys with no loss of American life. She went on to explain that these birds took real-time, streaming video and fed it back to Washington or Nevada.
"Aceh's a hotbed of mujahedeen instruction, but no one seems to be able to locate any training camps there. Stop the feed. There," Sarah said, pointing to the screen, forgetting her driving skills for an instant and then having to brake hard, down shift and swerve into the passing lane.
"Whoa, girl … keep your eyes on the road. Wait! That's an armed man. What's he doing in the 'boonies' in Aceh with an AK-47, and what is he coming out of?"
"As far as we can tell, it is some kind of underground bunker. They must be doing at least some of their training underground. It's spooky that the bad guys 've been so organized in Indonesia since way back then in 2004," said Sarah.
"That's sovereign territory. What was the Predator doing there? How did they get permission to go in there?"
"That's another mystery. How did America know to launch a drone just the day when the tsunami struck?"
"Coincidences, coincidences,″ she said and added: ″I don't trust coincidences. We're unraveling something bigger here than the murder of my team. We have to follow up these leads, too. MacAuley is mixed up in everything bad that's going on in the world."
"How did Zak get this?"
"He has someone at CIA. They are old friends."
"How old are those feeds?″
"Looks like they are old, probably from the Boxing Day Tsunami in 2004."
"Why am I looking at eight-year-old feeds?"
"Zak has his connection busy looking for your friend MacAuley. They have automatic face recognition. Your guy is in the queue. If they see him anywhere that they operate, we'll get a heads up."
"Is this secure in the vehicle like this?" asked Kefira.
"We are on ultra-secure Israeli satellite in our special encryption module," said Sarah.
"How often have I heard that before?" asked Kefira.
"Aden knows what he is doing and Zak has the highest priority on the satellite. Now, get this house address up on Google – 15 Stenhouse Avenue West, Edinburgh, Scotland, United Kingdom. That's where Amir, aka Tony, lives," said Sarah.
"He's in some kind of Witness Protection Program, isn't he?" asked Kefira.
"You got it. It'd be hard to hide him in Israel, so we cooperate with the Brits on this one. After all, he did give us critical info that stopped a cell of Pakistani first-generation immigrant radicals in a little known plot to suicide bomb the London Symphony on opening night last year," said Sarah.
"I've got the map up. I'm just changing to street view. Your connection sure is fast. Ok. It's an ordinary looking place, but great for surveillance," said Kefira.
"Zak's already set up the system we'll be using. You might want to send him an email and get a copy of our schedules," said Sarah.
"I'll do that."
"Just click on the 'Z' on the favorites bar. It'll connect you up to the secure mail server. It's dedicated to Zak only."
The email came back with detailed satellite photos and a meticulous schedule of action. To Kefira's eye, everything seemed more than organized. She decided to catch some shuteye while they were on the motorway. She spun around in her bucket seat and moved onto the fold out couch near the backup surveillance set up. After what seemed like one minute of sleep, familiar chords of music drifted into Kefira's consciousness.
"Edinburgh, here we are," said Sarah.
"Wow. I was out cold. Where'd you get that music? It's among my favorites."
"We aim to please."
"No, really," added Kefira.
"Zak did some research of your performances and thought you might like to have a collection of your favorite music."
"That's a bit overboard, don't you think?" commented Kefira.
"Jesus, girl, I've been trying to get him to do things like that for me for years. What is that perfume you're using? It even stirs me up."
"Are you serious?"
"Never more."
"I lived in the Berber area of the desert in Libya. The women there are dedicated to their men. They oil themselves down while they wait for them," said Kefira.
"No wonder Zak's interested. Don't tell me you oil yourself with spices every day."
"Not every day. Just when I need to focus – I meditate while I do it. It centers me."
"What are the spices?"
"Cardamom, cinnamon and clove in warmed oil."
"You're some piece of work, girl."
The drive into Edinburgh was without incident. The two vans established surveillance according to Zak's plan, and then the waiting began. After a short while, Kefira and Sarah looked at each other.
"What's that hissing sound?" asked Kefira.
"I'm not sure," said Sarah.
"Let's point one of those directional mics at the other window in the bathroom," ordered Kefira.
"I got it. He's having a shower."
"Great. He's in. We should be able to move in just after dark then. Your first stakeout will be a breeze. Usually it takes days before it breaks."
"Beginner's luck."
Sarah was emailing Zak when her headphone filled with a loud noise. It sounded as though a large object had slid down and then another object had snapped. Zak used video conferencing software to communicate with the vehicle containing Sarah and Kefira.
"Aden and Sarah are going in. You and I, Kefira, will follow along after five minutes. Sarah, get those lock picking fingers of yours limbered up."
Aden left the first van by the passenger side front door. A car almost hit him as he exited. He had forgotten about left-side driving in Great Britain. He cursed under his breath because Zak had parked facing oncoming traffic. Aden then walked along Stenhouse West as it turned into a dead-end street. Sarah exited the driver's side of her van onto the sidewalk. She linked arms with Aden and they laughed like the old friends they were.
"Tsk, tsk. I saw that car almost kill you there, in my mirror. Wonderful tradecraft. How long have you been doing this?"
"Left-side driving!"
Together they crossed the no-through road and made their way on the left side into number 15. The pastel brown stucco outer walls, framed with stained softwood borders, gave way to an unusual cooking odor. It smelled of lye soap and cabbage in the stairwell. Sarah took the stairs, two at a time, up to the second floor while Aden kept his ears and eyes peeled. No one seemed to take any notice of the happy couple.
Mrs. Burns, however, on the first floor, had seen them coming, as she sat in the dark, looking at activity on the street. She knew they were foreigners by the way the young man had had a near miss getting out of his vehicle. "That foreigner parked against the flow," Mrs. Burns said aloud to no one in particular as she moved away from the window in her wheel chair.
"Who else could they be visiting but the Italian," added Mrs. Burns, the 'I' pronounced like 'eye'.
The elderly woman continued her monologue, her wheel chair swiveled about as her window curtain fell back into place.
"Time for a nice spot a tea. He'll 'of been tidying up before his guests arrive. So that was the noise I heard," continued Mrs. Burns.
Sarah made fast work of the lock. It was a standard device. Despite his clandestine existence, Tony knew better than to have too many locks on his door. People around here were as honest as the day is long. Smart, thought Sarah, a fancy
lock would have set him apart. The lock responded to her work and opened. Just after Sarah sprung the lock, she rang the bell, lending credibility to their arrival. Aden joined her and they said loud 'hellos' as they executed their Weaver stances and then searched the home. Training kept them covering each other as they moved towards the noise in the bathroom. Their Berettas, stretched out in front of them, nosed into each room. Sarah called the codeword 'Eilat' out softly so that Tony would know he was among friends, to no avail.
When Sarah opened the bathroom door, her eyes took in the torn plastic shower curtain laying half in and half out of the tub. The shower was running, but the stopper was out. Tony looked like a fully-dressed stroke victim that had died in the tub with a torn bed sheet around his neck.
"Zak. Get in here, now," Sarah said, into her communication device.
Aden turned off the water and holstered his weapon. They had checked the whole apartment before coming into the bathroom. He walked into the front room and waited by the door for Kefira and Zak. When they arrived, he opened the door so that they would not have to wait. He carefully closed the door after they entered, locking it this time.
"He's in the bathtub. What we heard was him sliding with a loud bump into the tub because the material securing him to the shower head disintegrated."
"Show me," said Zak.
Zak got on his phone and cursed their misfortune as he waited for an answer. He gave the exact address, time, date and spoke the words: "about four hours done," into an answering machine and clicked his secure phone off. The four of them looked at the body. The flesh was not yet stiff, so they estimated that the murder happened in the last four to eight hours. Aden reached into the tub and poked the knees.
"Something's amiss here."
He took out a razor sharp knife, unclasped it and cut the pant leg nearest him.
"Bandages on the knees. Someone cleaned up here."
He then proceeded to cut the bandage around the knee. Kefira stopped him.
"What exactly are you up to? Aden, what are we going to do with him?"
"Second question first, I already called a clean-up crew. They should be here just after we leave. Now the first question, Aden is helping us by using his unparalleled powers of observation. Sarah could you turn on the 'tube'," said Zak, replying to the questions asked of Aden by Kefira. Aden kept cutting the bandage around Tony's knee.
"'Kneecapped.' 'Thar's a Fenian bin here abouts'," said Aden in an attempt at humor, using a very poor example of an Irish lilt. No one laughed.
He went on to explain the Fenian habit of shooting out the kneecaps of troublesome people, especially traitors or collaborators.
"At least we seem to be on the right trail," said Kefira. She added, "Fenian means MacAuley was here just before us."
"Could be someone trying to make it look like MacAuley, or someone hired by him as well," said Sarah.
Zak had gone for a stroll into the other rooms. On a table in Tony's bedroom, there was a stack of beer coasters from a pub in Boston. Zak picked them up and shuffled them in his hands. One of the coasters had a phone number on it. He took out his phone and dialed the number. It was still ringing when the others came into the room. Kefira started to ask Zak a question. He raised his first finger to his lips and pointed to the phone. Someone picked up at the other end. There was the sound of rush time in an eating and drinking establishment and a distinct New England accent on the other end. "The Green Leprechaun, Irish Pub." Zak hung up.
BOSTON WATERFRONT
February 15, 2012
Zak looked across the stainless steel galley table of the Azimut Flybridge yacht at Kefira. She looked dead on her feet after her circuitous series of plane rides out of California, but her eyes were alert. As she sipped an espresso made by a Gaggia espresso maker, her eyes traversed the plush, pastel-colored, linen-covered cushions and oiled, teak panels, as well as the state-of-the-art all stainless kitchen appliances. To her left and taking up what had been a sleeping compartment for a fifth person, Aden sat plugged into video and sound surveillance equipment.
Several laptops showed secure satellite feeds from outside and inside of the Green Leprechaun Tavern on pedestrian-only Marshall Street, just off Union Street, near Union Street Park.
Sarah busied herself with more espressos as she tended the fresh sea bass baking in cucumber, dill, and white wine sauce in the Caribbean propane stove. She reinserted the burner cover. It was made of hardwood and doubled as a cutting board. She removed the four and a half pound whole fish, and opened the handled top of the Cape Cod style fish baking casserole. The smell of fresh fish, dill, and Indian wedding rice wafted over all of them. Three dollops of butter melted over the main course as the ceiling fan snapped into action, removing most of the excess odors. Aden popped the cork of a Chardonnay and poured into Chardonnay number six wine glasses.
"That's an unusual glass," said Kefira, feeling safe and starting to relax.
"It's a rather tall glass because white wine must be in contact with air in order to oxygenate better," remarked Aden, just after he swished the wine about in his mouth.
"This is some high-end stakeout. Where was the budget found for this?"
"Actually, the New England Holocaust Museum is just around the corner and up the street. Sam has a friend who provides funding for the museum and this is his yacht. He is always in Jerusalem at this time of year. As well, it suits our needs and gives us cover. Look around you in the marina. This yacht is large, but not conspicuous here."
As he ate, Aden manipulated two hollowed out beef rib bones connected by a leather string. Loving use had not yet worn and curved the Irish Bones that Aden had made. He was gently keeping time with some Irish traditional dance music, reels and jigs. His left hand played the 'Bones' and his right tenderly removed the succulent white meat from the plate in front of him.
"Can't believe I didn't notice. Your hair is red. It suits you in a funny way," said Kefira.
"It's always easy to play an Irishman. We Jews and the Irish know all about guilt."
"Aden is a quick study. He learned how to make that traditional instrument from the net," said Zak between bites.
"You've outdone yourself, Sarah," they all said in unison, raising their wine glasses to the chef.
Aden had boiled the beef rib bones, as well as plugging and sealing them after they dried. He had then carved a crown of Celtic runes, a series of Rads, representing a quest, and Gyfus, relating to friendship, around the top of each bone. The musician in him wagered that his lovingly homemade instrument, called the 'Bones', would be his entrance into the world of Boston's Celtic pub life. He was indeed able to acquire skills readily, but only time would tell if his wager would succeed. The meal ended with chocolate mousse. Aden set himself apart and started playing his 'Bones' in time with the jig on the yacht sound system.
"What I love about the 'Bones' is your other hand is free to imbibe. Did you know that Guinness was Gaelic for genius?" he added, nodding his head towards his glass as though to a waiter.
Kefira and Zak cleared the dishes while Sarah and Aden prepared their game plan for all to see on the galley table. They knew they were looking for a barmaid or a bartender, because the number on the coaster connected directly to the phone at the bar near the cash register. It was a long shot, but they had little else to go on.
Demonstrating another of his talents, Aden displayed a series of photo shopped wedding pictures in which MacAuley figured prominently, especially one of him dancing a slow ballad with someone who looked very similar to Sarah. It was not readily apparent that all of the pictures actually showed either MacAuley's upper torso and head with the head turned facing behind him, or just his head. Aden had cleverly positioned a convincing ghost of MacAuley into the wedding photos. The effect was very credible.
"We're going to use these photos, if we can, to insinuate ourselves into the company of whoever answers the phone, to communicate with the number Tony left for us before he died. Let's hope he didn'
t die completely for nothing," said Aden.
"I recruited him. He was one of my first agents. In a strange way, it's like losing a child or best friend. As his control, I coddled him through his first missions as a double," added Zak.
Kefira remained behind in the yacht, tracking them on the screens of the surveillance system. When they arrived on Marshall Street, Zak set up his panhandling station on the corner near the parking lot. He could see the front door through a bay window and the back exit onto the parking lot. He quietly played a blues harp, a plush piece of cloth lay in front of him, catching contributions. He was unshaven. His outfit, purchased at the Salvation Army, was worn but not dirty, reflecting his pride despite his circumstances.
Aden dropped a quarter on Zak's collection cloth and turned into the front entrance of The Green Leprechaun Tavern. It was early in the evening. There were a few diehard patrons sitting at the bar and the band was doing sound checks in their spot to the right of the door near the bay window. Passing trade could see and hear them from the open window. Aden nodded and sat down near the band. He then got up to fetch beer for himself and Sarah.
"Two wee buckets of stout, please."
"Aye, for you and yer lady friend. Take a seat, the barmaid'ul be happy to bring 'em over to you," answered the barman, his accent more Boston than Ireland. "Are you from out of town?" he added.
"Visiting from Magog, Quebec," replied Aden.
Sarah was looking happily through an album of wedding photos when the server arrived. The binder was a big glossy affair. Aden sat to Sarah's left, nearer the band. He took out his 'Bones', took a deep haul on his stout, wiped the heady foam from his upper lip, and fell right into the beat with the band's warm up number. The server, a tall woman with strawberry blond hair, a butterfly of freckles over her turned up nose and a contagious smile, looked at the picture album longingly.
"I love weddings. Can I look on with you? The rush hasn't started yet."
"I'd love it if you would. I'm Sarah. Aden can't stand photo albums," she said in a conspiratorial tone, winking at the server.
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