Holding hands by the wall, they entered the outer circle of people chatting in between groups of similar melodies. As the music started, a purely rhythmic insistent beat by Rodolfo Biagi, people edged into closely held positions and advanced, guarding their small square of space, while being careful not to get in the way of other dancers. The heat, the flow of movement, the music, and their budding relationship all mixed on the dance floor, producing a connection that was larger than the sum of its parts. At the end of the four-song tandas, Michael was breathless, her new perfume drifting pleasantly around her, but Kefira had not even broken a sweat.
"You're in great shape."
"I usually practice a lot. These last few days have been a change of habits for me."
"That's an interesting ring."
"Oh, thanks. I love rubies," said Kefira, twisting the ring into the palm side of her hand.
"Why do you hide it if you love rubies?" asked Michael, a little warily.
"I don't know. I guess I am afraid that precious stones are a bit loud. Anyway, it might catch on someone as we turn on the floor," said Kefira as she and Michael turned to sit, the intense mood of the dancing somehow broken.
"What's wrong, my love?" said Michael.
Kefira, alert to the change in Michael's behavior, replied, "I'm sorry. I can't believe the bad luck. I get terrible migraines when I ovulate and I feel one coming on. They make me so impatient."
"Oh, no. Do we have to leave?"
"You stay. I'll go back to my place and wait for you."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"I have to go before the light starts getting to me. I'll take some medicine right away. Excuse me. Where's the washroom?"
"The washroom is over there, behind the stage. We'll go by taxi back to the boathouse. What a shame. The band is so great. They usually play on Calle Defensa on the weekends in the summer. I really like them," said Michael to Kefira's back.
Something told Kefira to move. Her gut reaction had always saved her in the past. She glanced around the room for anyone paying particular attention to her. There was one older man who had just entered. His grey hair brushed against his shoulders. He was wearing a Panama hat. His eyes, even from a distance, were piercing. She made her way to the washroom. Why was she trembling, she thought, as she stepped into the stall and closed the door behind her.
Kefira checked the ring and felt for her ceramic blades on her left thigh behind her leg and the inner part of her upper right arm. She took a deep breath, checked if anyone was in the washroom, and went to block the entrance with her foot, then took out her phone. A program in her phone would route calls through several places, but it would appear to be calling a pharmacy in California to purchase medicine. Zak picked up.
"I need to order some migraine medicine, but I am in Argentina. I am sending the location and the payment methods. Is delivery possible in twenty-four hours?"
"No problem. You have a special account. Is the location in the account valid?"
"Yes."
"Good day."
Zak accelerated plans already in motion. Thanks to Sam and Yochana, he would get military transport to Buenos Aires. Kefira's location and information on her progress had been entered in a secure email every second day. He had exact coordinates and needed only to call up the new team members since the premature deaths of Sarah and Aden in Quebec. Sam and he would meet in a virtual, secure set-up when Zak made his way to Haifa Airport and boarded the Learjet.
The new members of the surveillance team had trained with 'Phalanx Spear', as part of Zak's group, but Zak would dearly miss Aden and Sarah. Their deaths crystallized his motivation. He ached to get MacAuley, as deeply as Kefira now, because he had now lost his long-term team, too, but he could not afford to let revenge cloud his judgment. His driver turned into the military security entrance at Haifa Airport.
Kefira hung up the phone and made her way back to their table. Sitting beside Michael was a heavy looking man who stooped over the table a bit. He looked up and started a shaky, upper-lipped smile. MacAuley's feeble appearance surprised Kefira. His voice, despite its uncertain sounding hesitancy, did nothing to belay her confusion. He stooped and got up from the table, scratching the chair against the ceramic floor.
"How rude of me. This is your place," he said, but did not introduce himself.
"It's no problem. I was just leaving."
"Yes, my sister was just explaining your predicament. Allow me to see you back to the boathouse or your apartment, whichever is more suitable," he said in a sickly sweet tone and obsequious manner.
The act was so professional; MacAuley might have fooled her had she not known his calculating and ruthless nature. She feigned pain and put a hand on her forehead. He ushered her out of the room to the cloakroom. Beside the cloakroom, he helped her put her pea jacket on and told her his car was not far from the door. Michael, the sister, followed behind, her brother's arrival having, as always, taken the wind out of her sails. He turned toward his sister and stared after Kefira started down the stairs. Michael, the sister, took his arm and spun him around.
"I care about her. None of your paranoia, here."
Rage filled his eyes. His lips and teeth shook. When he spoke, spittle rattled off his teeth and splashed her face.
"I will decide who you care for."
The woman behind the counter had witnessed the exchange without understanding the lilting, quickly spoken, Irish accented English. She turned away and pretended she had heard nothing. The tone of MacAuley's speech had had such a menacing quality, even the cloakroom keeper, a unilingual Spanish speaker, shuddered. Thinking better of it, MacAuley turned and smiled apologetically while nodding his head in a military manner, common in Argentina. He also left a large tip in Euros. The woman pocketed the money and explained, "Muchas gracias, Señor. 'Scuse. Solamente Español, no comprendo Inglés," she said, hoping to save herself of ever seeing this man again.
As he stooped and slid toward the stairwell, he turned and his eyes met hers. She had only seen eyes such as those during the dictatorship. A man with the same emptiness in his eyes had taken her older brother from their house in the middle of the night while their mother looked on tearfully.
The cloakroom attendant, then a little girl, had stood between her mother's legs and had run to look out the front window. When she opened the drapes, she had seen the plain-clothed officers forcing her brother into a green Ford Falcon, the car of choice of the secret police during that difficult time. Her brother had never returned. Her mother had suffered such a nervous breakdown that the daughter had been obliged to move out of the city to live with distant relatives. Now she knew that she had been one of the lucky ones.
The officers might have kidnapped her and sold her to military families that could not have children, as they had with thousands of other children. It was far in the past, but MacAuley's empty stare, the same look she had experienced that fateful night, was still capable of sending shivers through her bones. Curiosity got the better of her, though.
She left her cloakroom and looked out the second story window. She gasped when she saw the two young women climbing into the back of a newly restored green Ford Falcon. The car drove away and the young woman gathered her things and left. She went straight to her apartment, collected all her belongings from her meager existence, and waited up, smoking cigarette after cigarette, all night long. At sunrise, she made her way to Estacion Retiro, where she bought a ticket for the next connecting train to Viedma, capital of the Province of Río Negro, Patagonia, as far away from that stare as she could get. Fortunately, for her peace of mind, the twice-weekly train was leaving later the same day. She was on it at 13: 30.
"Where may I take you? I am afraid I didn't catch your name," said MacAuley as he pulled out of his parking spot.
"You are a sadist. Where did you find this car? Don't pretend you did not know its history," said Michael, as she comforted a fading Kefira, who was leaning on her shoulder and covering her eyes with Mi
chaels silk scarf.
"I rather like the way people look at this vehicle when it passes. I smile at the most curious of them, especially at red lights. You know my smile can be charming," said MacAuley, now more in character. He added, "You'll give me her phone, pronto, if you know what's good for you."
Michael complied, shushing Kefira up with a "Never mind," whispered into her ear. He pocketed the phone as they drove out to the boathouse in Tigre. Kefira was all nerves, but her act was at least as good as MacAuley's. She appeared almost comatose, her training permitting her to slow down her heart rate. She was calculating the time before Zak could arrive. She needed to stay alive for up to twenty-four hours. Just his flight would take about fifteen and a half hours, and she had to give him time for preparation as well. Twenty-four hours, that should do it, she thought.
Her head lolled back and forth with the turns of the vehicle. Her breathing showed her to be asleep. This day would make or break the operation. She was closer than ever to her objective. She worked on her breathing exercises and slowed down her heart rate. She knew she must be calm to get the upper hand with MacAuley.
TOO MUCH TIME
March 10, 2012
As the green Ford Falcon pulled onto the quay beside the houseboat, Kefira came awake. She looked around and appeared disoriented, groggy. MacAuley was parking and looking intently out the driver's side window. She thought it odd that he did not put his right arm over the passenger seat and glance over the back seat.
Kefira took advantage of this lapse in driving etiquette by feeling carefully the ceramic blade on her right biceps, using her thumb on the inside while pretending to scratch with her fingers. She was grateful that Michael had removed her jacket and covered her with it to keep her warm and comfortable in the car as they drove.
When the vehicle stopped, she understood why he had spent so much energy looking out the driver's side. Her door was blocked shut by a large mooring post. Kefira would be under his power for a few seconds as she got out of the car after Michael. He leaves nothing to chance, she thought as she slid out after putting on her overcoat again. MacAuley slipped around the car and tried to take Kefira's elbow as she got out, but Michael brushed him aside with an aggressive frown and a possessive movement, taking the place that MacAuley had sought.
"Not this time, old boy. She's mine to escort and don't you forget it."
Kefira pretended weakness and hugged Michael, squeezing herself close and linking arms with her. The agent looked smugly over her shoulder at MacAuley, giving away none of her trepidation and casting a 'so there' kind of look, hoping to keep him off guard about her real role. Her work seducing Michael was paying off in spades.
Stunned by his sister's uncharacteristic boldness, MacAuley stepped back and smiled a sickly sweet, curled upper lip smirk at the two women as he let them pass. He muttered under his breath, followed them to the houseboat, all the while keeping in character with his odd gait. The women preceded him over the low gunwale amidships.
"Wait here, Meehawl," she said using his Gaelic name for the first time in years.
"Wonders never cease, Derfyur," replied MacAuley, falling back on the formality of speaking Gaelic to help him control his growing temper.
"We'll walk along the gunwale to open the side hatch. I know it's hard for you to get around with your leg," said Michael, playing up her brother's act and trapping him in character as she plotted how to stay ahead of the game with him for the first time in her adult life.
Kefira continued to stick close to Michael, empowering her even more deeply. They searched for the keys above the hatch. Kefira found it and handed it to Michael. After they got in the hatch, Kefira made to seal the opening, but Michael spun her around and looked fearfully into her eyes, while holding both of Kefira's forearms tightly.
"Go in the room and use the board near the door to brace the lock. It's just beside the door. Lock yourself in and don't let yourself out unless I say 'ojos negros'. That'll be our code word for 'it's safe' now."
"Why all the games? There are two of us. We can take care of ourselves."
"You don't know my brother, my sweet. He's very dangerous."
"I don't know. I don't like being locked in."
"You won't be. There is a sealed door like the hatch we came in around the porthole. When you get in, undo all of the screws, save one. If you hear me scream or are afraid, go out on the gunwale, where we walked earlier. And take this," said Michael as she handed Kefira a small Walther P22 pistol before she turned to open the front entrance to the cabin.
"Now. Go and be careful."
Kefira dropped out of character for an instant and popped out the 10-bullet cartridge. Michael raised her eyebrows at the gesture with the weapon, but just laughed.
"Looks as though you can take care of yourself, my love."
"I grew up around guns."
"We don't have time. Just go."
Kefira stepped into the room and braced the door with the old Brazilian hardwood strut. It fit snuggly into the metal brackets screwed into the metal doorframe. Nothing short of a shotgun blast would shatter its touch-rounded edges and permit a way out. Kefira moved away from the door. She could hear the two Michaels shouting at each other and decided she had to make a break for it.
The bulwark around the porthole had four brass turnkeys. They were easy to open. She moved aside as the door swung inward, and then she stepped onto the gunwale. From outside, she heard Michael cursing his sister's idiocy. There was another noise as well. Through the open porthole, she heard the sound of ripping rubber followed by the hollow clack of a large piece of rubberized material hitting the wall or the floor, making a hollow echo.
Kefira stepped into the entry doorway that they had used earlier, directly behind MacAuley. He sensed her presence and turned as he peeled the remnants of his old man's mask from his face. His wig dropped into his hand; a hairnet secured his real hair in place. She took no chances and kept her distance, holding the Walther P22 with arms relaxed, while pointing directly at his head.
"You see sister, she is not who she says she is. She's armed and threatening us."
"Not us, brother. You. Come, my love. Meet the owner of the houseboat, my lovely, dangerous brother who shares my name, Michael MacAuley."
"I am not coming into that confined space with you two. Tell your brother to move aside and sit on the floor near the edge of the kitchen fold-out table."
"You heard what she said, Michael. Do it for me, after all the things I've done to please you."
MacAuley bent down, no longer feigning a pronounced limp. Kefira sensed that he was a wound-up spring, ready to pounce. His energy gave her the feeling of watching a panther readying an attack. She moved carefully into the room.
MacAuley hissed as might a large cat as he sprang. The problem for Kefira was that he launched himself out the door, not after her. She had actually helped him get closer to the door with her instructions, having wrongfully assumed that he would attack her, and not just try to escape.
MacAuley flew through the entrance, his arms stretched out in front of him, grabbing the gunwale. He was preparing to plunge into the water, when a large wooden strut came down on his head, leaving him unconscious on the deck, half way in the cabin and half way out. Kefira directed her aim at the door. A hat made itself visible from above the door and an unfamiliar man's voice said, "Shalom, Kefira." Accompanied by some scratching noise on the roof of the cabin, the man wearing the hat appeared.
"I'm the spotter. I really shouldn't be doing this, but, I stepped out of rules of engagement. Zak sends his best wishes, ETA in seventeen to twenty hours, depending on traffic to Tigre," said the man that Sam had re-assigned from the embassy to watch the houseboat.
A rush of gratitude flushed over Kefira and she moved to secure MacAuley. Her lover looked on, not surprised. The spotter handed Kefira some thick plastic tie wraps that she secured around MacAuley's wrists and ankles just before she pulled him into the cabin by the ankles. His wris
ts were behind his back and she attached his tie-wrapped arms to a steel roof support near the kitchen. A large sock filled his open mouth. The spotter and Kefira turned to Michael.
"My turn now, is it?" said Michael.
"I'm sorry, love. We need to be sure. Your brother will be out for while. Once you are secure in the other room, we will talk this out."
Kefira stepped toward Michael after instructing the spotter to watch MacAuley closely. She looked at her lover and motioned her to move into the bedroom first. Kefira kept the pistol pointed at her. They sat on the bed on opposite sides. Kefira encouraged Michael to start speaking.
"He's controlled my life since I was a girl. I'm sick to death of the killing. I want a normal existence. I want you, Keffy."
"Will you help us get to him?"
"What do you mean?"
"You are all he cares about in this world, or at least I think so. I want to make him think I am hurting you to get information about his plans from him. I know he can't be broken any other way. The Americans water boarded him and he didn't talk. For your safety, he might. Are you game?"
"What's in it for me?"
"I'll see to it you get a safe place to live and financial security, if we succeed."
"What about us?"
"It was business, love. Sorry."
"I think I knew all along. Anyway, I'm fed to the teeth with my brother. You've got a deal."
Kefira attached Michael onto a metal chair in the doorway. The spotter had found some metal equipment in the forward storage hold. He had arranged several crude metal chairs with it. She and the spotter clamped the chair to the floor and made a second one ready for MacAuley, just opposite Michael.
Michael looked on as Kefira reached over to touch her face and neck. The ruby injected Michael with its dose. She fell onto her bonds, unconscious. They attached MacAuley to a second chair that that they had also secured to the floor. The spotter and Kefira proceeded to cut all of the clothes from the two prisoners, then a large rubber ball was inserted into each of their mouths. Leather straps reached around to the backs of their heads, securing the gag in place. Both Michaels sat naked and comatose when Kefira and the spotter doused the two of them with cold water, then covered their heads with rough burlap just as they awoke. Cold air from out of doors came into the room. They watched and looked at their watches, then doused the two of them again. More cold air from the open door produced more shivers. Kefira and the spotter stood behind MacAuley. Michael sat shivering profoundly in the chair opposite her brother.
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