Edge of Tomorrow

by Wolf Wootan

  “Right after I finish this chocolate cake, boss,” laughed Bruno.

  Syd felt tension fill her body. She signaled to Eddie to give her another glass of wine. Hatch’s plan seemed to be working—and quickly. She began worrying about how the two would be captured without a noisy confrontation which might get the police involved—or get someone hurt, or killed. She had never had to capture anyone alive before. She knew now that she had a lot to learn from these people. They didn’t seem nervous at all.

  Bruno left the room after finishing his dessert. Everyone else went back to chatting as if nothing had happened. Syd felt as if someone had tightened her strapless bra a notch; she took a large gulp of her wine.

  Why am I so nervous? I’m really not involved physically in this. That’s the problem! I’m never tense when I’m on the job—at least, not like this. Others are taking the risks while I sit here comfy and cozy. This must be how a pilot feels when someone else is flying the plane.

  “Relax, dearie,” said Mrs. Chamberlain, patting Syd’s hand. “Everything will go smoothly. It always does.”

  “It’s just that I’m not used to other people doing my job,” said Syd in a whisper.

  “That’s Dr. Zorrina talking—someone used to working alone, relying only on her own wits. We believe in the team approach here. It never hurts to have someone watching your back—like at lunch today. Remember that,” smiled Mrs. Chamberlain.

  “Thanks, Mrs. C. I’ll try and relax, but it won’t be easy,” answered Syd, weakly.

  “Sit up straight and throw out your chest! You are slumping. Not very ladylike,” chided Mrs. Chamberlain, like a child’s governess.

  “This is the first chance I’ve had to offer my condolences. I’m sorry about the death of your husband. Sara told me you are widowed.”

  “Thank you, my dear. That was over three years ago, but I still miss him. He took one ride too many on the Orient Express,” Mrs. Chamberlain sighed.

  “He was killed on the Orient Express?” asked Syd.

  “Not literally, dear. ‘Orient Express’ is a term people like my husband, who was with British Intelligence—and Hatch—used to describe undercover work amidst the enemy. Danger, intrigue, murder, spies, double-crosses. I suppose it derived from Agatha Christie’s book in the late thirties. My husband was in a comfy desk job in London in 1997, but for some reason—he never confided it to me—he took a mission in Europe. As I said, one last ride on the Orient Express. He was killed in Budapest. Hatch was ‘on the train’ with Geoffrey—my husband—in the early eighties, so when he heard about what happened, he came and gathered me up and brought me here, and shared my grief with me. I’ll be forever grateful. I do not think I could have survived on my own. No one should face things alone, Sydney,” said Mrs. Chamberlain.

  Now Syd patted her hand. Mrs. Chamberlain had rebuilt her life after experiencing tragedy, with the help of Hatch and his friends.

  Perhaps I can do the same. She really is not Mrs. Gestapo at all. I’m beginning to like her, too. All of them are getting to me. So what’s wrong with that? Maybe having some friends won’t be half bad. The only family I have left is Karen and my aunt, and how do I ever tell Karen who I really am?

  Syd asked, “You said Hatch was ‘on the train’ with your husband. What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s no secret that Hatch was in the CIA during the first half of the eighties. It is a secret, however, what he did for them. What I am going to tell you is known to very few people, here or elsewhere. He and Geoffrey teamed on some missions in Germany and Russia in those years—the cold war years. They were both young and gung-ho in those days—I was in my mid-twenties myself. So, they road the ‘Orient Express’ together now and then, so to speak. I met Hatch—his name was not Van Lincoln when I met him—a few times at our flat in London, when he would stop by for an overnight. Then, in 1985, when the Stasi killed Katerina, he got off the train,” responded Mrs. Chamberlain in a low voice.

  “So Hatch was a real spy, not just a desk analyst?” queried Syd.

  “Of course. The very best, Geoffrey told me. He said he would rather have Hatch watching his back than anyone he knew. Too bad Hatch was not with him on that last train ride,” sighed Mrs. Chamberlain.

  So Hatch was a spy just like I was! I felt it! He wasn’t the least bit shocked when I told them my story. And he killed that guy today as if it were an everyday thing! He can relate to how I think, how I feel. It would take the instincts of a veteran spy to build an organization like Lincoln’s Liberators.

  “I know it sounds like prying, but that is the second time I have heard the name ‘Katerina.’ Can you tell me who she was? Sara said that she was his first true love,” asked Syd, knowing she was probably out of line.

  “Hatch said you were cleared for open discussion, but the circumstances surrounding Kat and her death are a very closely held subject, as I mentioned earlier. I will tell you a little bit of it, however. Katerina Klaus was an East German agent who was defecting to the West, at Hatch’s insistence.”

  “This place has a sign saying ‘Klaus Haus.’ Now I understand why,” interjected Syd.

  “Yes, she and Hatch were deeply in love—and she was carrying his child. Hatch went to fetch her out of East Berlin, and they were betrayed. The Stasi ambushed them and killed them both,” said Mrs. Chamberlain, watching Syd’s reaction to her statement.

  “Both!?” gasped Syd.

  “That was the story then. Geoff and I were crushed. I did not know that he survived that ambush until years later when he came and brought me here. He intended it that way. He never told me how that was accomplished, and I suppose no one does. Right after that incident, Van Lincoln started Triple Eye. Also, Geoff told me, the week after the incident was quite hectic in Germany. Several Stasi agents and a KGB Colonel were executed by a person or persons unknown. I now suspect that it was Hatch extracting punishment for Kat’s death. Hatch has not had a close relationship like he had with Kat since. It has been sixteen years. He should fall in love again. It is way past time.”

  He has killed for revenge, just as I have! We’re cut from the same damned piece of cloth! Is fate at work here? No relationship since Kat? Maybe he is ready for one now. But am I? Stop dreaming, Steppe! You only met him this morning—drenched in blood. Now, there’s a good first impression!

  “It’s been a long, trying day, so I think I will retire to the lovely suite you provided me, Mrs. C. Thank you so much for chatting with me. I am really less tense now. I’ll say my goodnights to the others,” said Syd, standing up.

  “Goodnight, Sydney. We’re not a hotel with room service, but the kitchen is well stocked if you feel the yen for a midnight snack. Philippe starts serving breakfast at 7:00 A.M., but attendance is not mandatory, of course. You can always whip up anything you desire in the kitchen at any hour. Just make yourself comfortable, and feel at home,” Mrs. Chamberlain said, rising and patting Syd’s shoulder.

  Syd said goodnight to the others and promised to meet Sara in the kitchen for a late breakfast at 9:00 A.M. Syd went to her suite, kicked off her shoes, and took her dress off and hung it in the closet. She peeled off her pantyhose and unhooked her bra before walking barefooted into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She was exhausted and all of her systems were shutting down. She pulled back the covers on the bed and fell into it naked. She fell asleep at once and slept like a baby, as if she were in her own bed.

  Chapter 14

  Klaus Haus, Florida

  Thursday, August 2, 2001

  2:30 A.M.

  The phone on Hatch’s night stand rang. He was awake immediately and answered it on the second ring.

  “Lincoln,” he said into the phone.

  “Bruno here, Hatch. The two targets just left Miami Airport in a rented black Taurus. Packy is following with three vehicles switching off, so they shouldn’t be made. They should be at Syd’s in between two and a half and three and a half hours, depending on the route they take and the speed they driv
e. I’m going to join my team over at Syd’s place.”

  “Good. Sara and I will be there in an hour. Set things up for Plan A. I’ll reassess things after I get there and get a status report from Packy,” answered Hatch.

  Hatch hung up and stretched. He had not had much sleep, but he seldom needed more than two or three hours to keep him going. He picked up the phone again and dialed Sara’s suite. She picked up on the second ring.

  “This is Sara. Is that you, Hatch?” she asked, already alert.

  “It’s me, Sara. Time to saddle up. You don’t have to do this, you know. We can do it some other way,” he said solemnly.

  “No, I want to try this. We’ve rehearsed and practiced this enough. Let’s try it for real,” she answered. “Let me get into costume and I’ll meet you in the kitchen for some coffee.”

  • • •

  Hatch arrived at the kitchen before Sara and started the coffee machine. He was dressed in jeans and a blue tee shirt. Sara arrived just as the coffee was ready. She had on a tight, low-cut blouse which showed a lot of her breasts, a black leather mini-skirt, black mesh stockings, and two and a half inch black heels. Her face was made up with too much rouge and mascara, and bright red lipstick. She swished her hips as she entered the kitchen.

  “God, Sara! You look like a friggin’ whore,” laughed Hatch as he poured her a mug of coffee.

  “That’s the idea, dearie. Those Arabs should skid to a stop when they see this piece of ass alone on the road at night,” Sara replied with a giggle.

  There was a silver chain hanging around Sara’s neck; it disappeared into her cleavage. At the end of the chain, not visible because of its location, was a small canister of a very special gas — called CX3—which had been developed in the Toy Master’s chemical laboratory. It was a genetically altered version of an anesthetic which would render a person unconscious in a second or two. The strength loaded in Sara’s canister—similar to a pepper spray container that some women carried in their purse—should keep a person unconscious for 15 to 30 minutes, depending on their size and how much of the gas they breathed. There were no known side effects, not even a headache. The silver chain had two links made of soft aluminum so a quick jerk would break the chain easily.

  Plan A called for Sara to be standing next to a jacked-up car about a block from Syd’s condo. She would have a small receiver in her ear, the size of a high-tech hearing aid. Her left dangling earring was a transceiver. This would keep her in touch with the rest of the team. She would be notified when the prey’s car was approaching, and then step out in front of it and flag it down. If they didn’t stop, Plan B would go into effect. If they did stop, which was highly probable, Sara would try and gas them. There was some danger involved, but three snipers with silenced rifles and night scopes would be ready to protect her. They had practiced this procedure several times, and it had always gone smoothly—of course.

  • • •

  Hatch and Sara arrived at Bruno’s surveillance van at 3:15 A.M. Hatch parked behind it. They entered the van and shook hands with Bruno and three men dressed in camouflaged jump suits. They all ogled Sara in her skimpy clothes.

  “All right, cage those eyeballs!” said Sara. “This is my uniform for this gig. If it works as planned, you won’t have to do anything.”

  “We do have to keep an eye on you, Sara,” laughed one of the snipers.

  “Put a fucking lid on it, Tilden,” joked Sara, knowing these men would not let anything happen to her—ever.

  “Let’s do a comm check,” interjected Hatch.

  The five men put on headsets with voice-activated boom mikes. They made sure that they could communicate with each other and Sara. Then Hatch checked in with Packy and got an update. Their quarry was heading straight here and were about an hour and a half away. They walked down to where the jacked-up car was, and Hatch went over the positioning of the snipers. He discussed Sara’s role with her. He said he would be in his car down the block, and was just a few seconds away. If the Iranians did not stop for her, he would ram them with his car to stop them. It would be riskier, but they would still capture them. As a last resort, the snipers would be ready to do their thing, and there would be two fewer terrorists in the world.

  After all details had been covered several times, they walked back to the surveillance van, climbed in and began their wait, staying in close contact with Packy and his caravan. They drank hot coffee from a large thermos jug and made small talk.

  • • •

  When their quarry was twenty minutes away, the snipers disappeared into the night with their weapons. Hatch escorted Sara to her post.

  “OK, Sara. I’m going to my car now. We’ll keep you safe, so just give them a good look at those legs and boobs and you’ll be like a stop sign. Good luck!” Hatch said as he slapped her bottom affectionately and trotted off to his car.

  Sara fingered the silver chain that held her only weapon. She was used to being better armed than this, but there was absolutely no room for a weapon in the tight clothes she was wearing.

  This will work! I know it will! Sara said to herself.

  She could hear chatter between Packy and Bruno as time got shorter. Then she heard, “OK, Sara. They’re three minutes out doing about fifteen miles per hour, like they are looking at house numbers. It should be a piece of cake.”

  “Roger that,” answered Sara. “Piece of cake.”

  “No problem, Sara. I’ve got my eye on you,” said Tilden the sniper.

  Sara smoothed her clothes, and adjusted her cleavage. She paced back and forth to keep from tensing up. Then she saw the headlights coming toward her. She stepped out into the street and began waving her arms. The car kept coming.

  Shit! Stop, you son-of-a-bitch!

  Just as she was going to jump out of the way, the car came to a sudden halt. She went around to the driver’s door and banged on the window.

  “Hey, thanks for stopping to help a girl. Hey, roll down the window,” she yelled, leaning down to give the driver a good look down her blouse.

  The window whirred down and Sara could see the driver’s dimly lit, leering face.

  Look while you can, asshole. You won’t be able to in a second!

  “Thanks for stopping. I have a flat tire. Do you think you can help me? Or call Triple A for me?” she babbled as she put her right hand on the chain around her neck. The driver said something to his passenger in a language that was not English. She pulled the canister from between her breasts and palmed it, rotating it into spraying position. Then she took a deep breath, holding it as she jerked the chain, breaking it. The driver seemed to sense something was wrong and started to reach for the switch which would roll the window back up. Sara stuck her arm in the window and sprayed them both in the face. The window stopped going up. She pulled her arm out and jumped back and took several steps away from the car before taking a breath.

  “This is Sniper One. The driver is down,” she heard in her ear, followed by, “Sniper Two, passenger down.”

  “Move in, Packy! Bruno!” she heard Hatch order.

  Two vans pulled up and the two unconscious men were quickly carried to Packy’s van where they were handcuffed, feet tied, and mouths taped.

  Hatch had arrived in his car as soon as Sara had finished using the spray. He put his arm around her and patted her shoulder.

  “Good show, Sara! It worked just like you said it would,” he told her. “Get in the car. We’ll handle this.”

  “I think I will,” she said shakily, and moved away.

  Hatch went to Packy’s van and told Packy, “Take them to Klaus Haus and lock them in the security area at the compound. Have one of your men take their car back to Miami and park it in the airport parking lot. Now, let’s get out of here, quietly.”

  One man took the bait car off of its jack, got in and drove away. The snipers had reappeared and they each gave Sara a thumbs up as they made their way to their van.

  • • •

  It was 5:30 A.
M. when Hatch and Sara arrived back at Klaus Haus. They walked up the stairs together.

  “Go and get some sleep, Sara. We’ll deal with that trash later. Then we’ll plan Phase 2—getting those two to Israel,” said Hatch.

  “I think I’ll try, even though the adrenaline is still pumping. I was afraid I would get a whiff of that gas and fuck things up,” Sara answered. “I’m supposed to meet Syd at nine and give her a tour of the secure area.”

  “That will have to wait for now. We’ll be taking a trip later today, and I want Syd with us. Also, Syd and I are supposed to give statements to the police. I’ll have to call Jerry and see how that can be handled. I’ll leave a message for Mrs. C. telling her you and I may sleep in. She can take care of Syd until we get up. You get some rest. It’s going to be a long day.”

  Chapter 15

  Klaus Haus, Florida

  Thursday, August 2, 2001

  7:15 A.M.

  When Syd awakened, she was confused for a moment. She was not sure where she was. Then she stretched and yawned as it all came back to her. She looked at the digital clock on the bed-side table and saw that it was 7:15 A.M. She was not supposed to meet Sara until nine, but she needed coffee badly. She had drunk more alcohol than she normally did yesterday, and she felt slightly hung-over. She climbed out of bed and realized she had not put on a nightgown last night. She remembered how tired she had been. Waking up naked without a man in her bed reminded her of how dreadful her life had become. She had not had sex for over four months, and the last time had been a one-night-stand with an Israeli commando. She took a quick shower and dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a loose-fitting white tee shirt, which she let hang loose. She was happy to have her bras now. Going braless in front of strangers yesterday had made her feel uneasy, and she had not missed the fact that Bruno’s eyes were boring holes in her chest. She brushed her hair and applied light makeup.