Thomas cursed when he noticed his broken camera. As he looked out at the valley the mind implant engaged and he understood his role for the first time. He knew he had to find Kefira and stop the Chinese or nothing would ever be the same. All my life I have been running away, he thought as he turned back towards the stairwell. His hand touched the device Kefira had given him just before she disappeared. Her sensuous voice echoed in his mind, a voice that fired up his soul and strummed his heart strings. He had to find Kefira, he couldn’t run away anymore.
Narrow Escape
“Sue Ann, I have to leave you here. You’ll be fine,” Thomas said, looking into Sue Ann’s eyes and holding her arms protectively.
“What? Have you totally lost it? You can’t walk out on me now.”
“I’m not walking out on you, but I have something to do,” he replied.
Before he could continue, sirens and helicopter noise filled the air. IDF Special Forces rappelled onto the lookout and secured a perimeter. Their coordinated movements were efficient and swift.
Thomas and Sue Ann crouched down among the frightened dignitaries and journalists. Departing military transport buffeted them. Thomas’ arm reached around Sue Ann instinctively as they both squinted. A stroke of luck that I didn’t leave the scene, Thomas thought. It would have made me a fugitive. Now, I can juggle finding Kefira, learning about the suit and using Al Jazeera resources. His wildest speculations couldn’t prepare him for the shock of opening the knob on the watch Kefira gave him. I won’t let it happen again. It won’t be like my mother and my sister. I’ll get her back.
Kefira’s instructions not to touch the watch’s knob until he arrived in a secure location repeated softly but insistently over the staccato voices of the military personnel. Thomas stifled his urge to flee while his subconscious mind plotted a strategy. The set of instructions Kefira had left with him before the Chinese abducted her were so subtle, so understated, that Thomas believed they were his own.
“Who’s the officer in charge here?” asked Sue Ann, her press badge extended out in front of her towards an intense young woman in uniform who was making the rounds of people mostly still lying prone and in shock.
“The one over there by the stairs, talking into the radio, but hold off for now-” the soldier said.
“Hold off, my ass. The world needs to know what happened here – now!” Sue Ann snapped.
Sue Ann grabbed Thomas’s shoulder and pointed towards the officer in charge. She nodded in the man’s direction, indicating that Thomas should pan the area and zoom on the officer. She was rehearsing her questions when Thomas took her elbow.
“The lens broke in the attack. My camera’s useless. Wait, maybe the audio’s still on. Yes. We have audio,” said Thomas, professional reactions charging him up.
“Use your-” Sue Ann started, until she noticed Thomas already busy snapping stills with his phone.
They threaded their way through the people waking from a nightmare. Before Sue Ann could address the officer using the radio, two other soldiers stepped between them, passive but immoveable.
“Who were those men? How did they arrive and leave without transport? Where’ve they taken the Israeli guide?” shouted Sue Ann.
Thomas pointed his camera and directional microphone at the officer. Sue Ann’s last question had piqued his interest. He turned to her and waved the two sentries away. Thomas and Sue Ann walked closer.
“Turn that off. Off, I said.”
“Leave it on, Thomas. This is world-shattering news. A group of dignitaries came under attack today,” replied Sue Ann.
“Cooperate with me and I’ll see what I can do about getting you a story later. Now turn that camera off before I take it away.”
The officer reached for the camera and snapped it out of Thomas’ grasp as the two sentries returned to separate the journalists and the officer. The officer waved the soldiers off again.
“Take these two to the transport that’s arriving and keep ’em nearby so I can talk to ’em after,” he said to the two soldiers.
“You can’t do that,” shouted Sue Ann over her shoulder as the soldiers ushered both her and Thomas down the stairs.
The officer pocketed Thomas’ camera and looked over the area. The situation had calmed down, but his actions suggested that he felt uneasy. There were no apparent injuries and the people now in his charge seemed unhurt, just confused. Where’d the ‘perps’ get to? he thought.
The soldiers helped dignitaries into waiting helicopters and the other victims into military ground transport. The executive officer fiddled with Thomas’ camera as he walked to the armored black Escalade holding Thomas and Sue Ann. They were locked in the back bucket seats and a metal screen separated them from the front.
“What’s this about an IDF officer disappearing?” the officer asked as the driver pulled out in convoy, taking some of the Special Forces team.
“What about my camera?” Thomas asked.
“First things first,” the officer replied, turning for the first time to face the two journalists.
Captain Avon hated dealing with the public and he disliked journalists almost as much as he despised terrorists. His recent promotion had changed his job. The pay didn’t make up for having to deal with non-military issues. Tact was not Avon’s forte. The effort of controlling his reactions showed as he ground his teeth.
“The officer,” he repeated acidly.
“We cooperate and it means we get a story, right?” said Sue Ann.
“Maybe. Now tell me about the officer,” replied Avon.
Thomas spoke up first.
“She wasn’t wearing a uniform. I just knew instinctively that she was military.”
Captain Avon turned his gaze back to the road and cursed under his breath. A terse expletive phrase borrowed from Arabic. His index finger played between his front teeth before he spoke.
“So this person appeared to be military to you, but she was not in uniform?”
“In this business your nose gets pretty good and the military stinks a certain way,” Sue Ann rejoined, provoking an angry look from Avon.
Thomas touched Sue Ann’s leg to get her to lighten up, but she continued.
“Anyway, this spy or whatever she was. They were after her. The Chinese fell on her and ignored everyone else,” she stated. She waited for the response.
“Really. And this is the story you want to report?” Avon asked, sighing deeply.
“When do I get my camera back?” demanded Thomas.
“When you hand over that memory stick, I’ll think about it.”
“There’s copyrighted transmissions on it. I’ll need a written promise from your superior before I instruct him to hand it over,” said Sue Ann. She surprised Thomas with this sudden and apparent change of heart.
“Give it to him, Thomas.”
Thomas reached into his sock. He always stashed his memory sticks there when situations got out of control. He held the device up, but just as he was about to put it in the small tray which communicated with the front seat, Sue Ann grabbed it.
“The only reason you’re getting this is that we got those Chinese guys in the suits taking the officer on it. They appeared briefly before disappearing again. But you can bet your ass I want something in return or I destroy it right now,” said Sue Ann.
She held a Bic lighter in her hand and the flame just touched the bottom of the memory card. An acrid smell of melting plastic filled the car.
“Ok. Ok. You get the story when it’s released.”
“Write it down and sign it with your name, rank and serial number or I burn the evidence,” said Sue Ann.
Avon willed himself to remain calm. He was wondering how he let this scum trap him. If I don’t get the evidence, my ass’s in a sling, he thought. Carefully he wrote his name, rank and serial number under the authorization and passed the paper through the slot in the mesh between the seats.
“Now let me see your dog tag,” demanded Sue Ann.
/> Avon’s anger showed only in a momentary flush in his cheeks as he twisted his neck and placed his tag against the mesh so Sue Ann could read it. Sue Ann closed the lighter. He was indeed Captain Avon and the seven digit number agreed.
“Here you go, now take us to our hotel and replace the camera that you broke when you snatched it out of our hands,” added Sue Ann, as she dropped the memory stick into the slot where she had retrieved the note of agreement.
The Captain placed the memory stick in a pocket under his flak jacket and closed the button. At least I got the evidence, he thought.
“What hotel?”
“It’s on Dizengoff.“ said Sue Ann, as she fiddled with her phone. “89 Dizengoff.”
“I know where it is,” said Avon, speaking every word as though he were talking to someone senile.
The rest of the ninety-kilometer drive passed in silence. Sue Ann texted the content of the agreement in principle between her and Captain Avon and included a photo of the text. Her editor texted back to forward Thomas’ stills and told her to get on the story so he could break it before the evening news in America. His last words congratulated Thomas for his stills and gave them instructions where to buy a new camera.
Adrenaline gone, Thomas and Sue Ann felt let down as Avon opened Sue Ann’s door. The busy thoroughfare and lush side streets, filled with flowers and greenery, brought them back to reality.
“Don’t go anywhere today. We may need to contact you,” said Avon.
“What? An’ miss my scoop?” Sue Ann retorted.
“You know what I mean,” replied Avon.
Thomas touched Sue Ann’s elbow to remind her they were on tenuous ground here. She turned to him: “Grow some balls, Thomas.”
“I’ve had it, Sue Ann. I need a shower an’ some sleep. Give it a fuckin’ break, will ya?”
I need to get away and use the suit. In a kidnapping it's the first day that's the most important. This time I'm gonna do the right thing, thought Thomas.
Avon gave a coarse laugh at Sue Ann’s predicament and returned to his vehicle. He knew where he had to go. He had recognized the description of the female officer, the one with the ‘military’ appearance. In the briefing before he left for Mount Carmel, his superior ordered him to liaise with a woman answering to the description given by Thomas and Sue Ann - and now the Chinese had her. Why would they kidnap a Mossad agent? thought Avon. His driver cleared his throat.
Avon disliked communicating outside the line of command but his superior instructed him to pass all information to a number at the spy agency. When he gave his entry code, they told him to proceed to an address in Haifa at once.
“Get that memory stick here or your ass is grass,” said the voice on the other end. Avon’s driver cleared his throat again.
“Make sure someone stays here to keep an eye on the journalists and get us to Haifa, the Mossad, on the double. Here’s the address,” Avon snapped.
While they drove, the driver ordered a unit of two officers to remain behind and report any movement by the journalists. He also suggested one of them should cover the back entrance to the hotel.
Avon’s apprehensions grew when he saw the nondescript apartment building on Yona Street in the old city of Haifa. His vehicle couldn’t double park and the driver pulled into a parking lot adjacently opposite his destination. Captain Avon made quite a spectacle entering a woman’s hair salon in his full military gear.
The women seated around reading magazines didn’t bat an eye as a door opened at the back of the establishment. A stunning older woman with green eyes and careworn but amber skin approached him. She gestured with her left hand to a young woman cutting another’s hair and the young woman jumped to attention and ran out the door. Her goal: Avon’s transport. The young woman produced an identity card and placed it against the driver’s side window of Avon’s Escalade. The driver opened his window a crack.
“You’re to return to base. Captain Avon will be detained for some time. He will contact you.”
“But-” said the driver to the young agent’s back.
The Memory Chip
After she took the memory chip from him, the woman walked behind Captain Avon and he could feel her sizing him up, but she smelled so refreshing that he didn’t care. She passed close to him to open the door to a room that assaulted his nostrils. Avon turned to look at her. She looked familiar, then he got it. She’s an older version of the one who disappeared.
Can't wait to keep reading….
Pick up the book now at Michael James Gallagher's Author Page on Amazon.
Tsunami Connection Page 23