He finally saw what he is looking for and cursed Cassandra. “Xstasy” looked like just the sort of place he loathed. There would be annoying and overloud music, an indifferently hidden drug culture and scantily clad youngsters who either sneered at him or wanted to start trouble because he didn’t fit in.
Skull sighed and walked toward the club.
The man at the front looked him up and down, but didn’t stop him. After all, business was business, and the place was far from packed. Skull entered and found it exactly as expected. It was early, so the music had not yet reached its eventual eardrum-bursting level. He walked to the bar and ordered a club soda. Looking at his watch, he saw he would have a short wait.
After fifteen minutes, a tall, thin African entered the club. He had distinctive Ethiopian features marred by the trendy facial scars. The man glanced around casually before taking a seat at the opposite end of the bar.
Skull picked up his drink and walked over. “You might want to order some hot tea. I heard it’s supposed to be cold tonight.”
The man turned and regarded Skull carefully before answering with the expected code phrase. “I actually prefer coffee and do not mind the cold.”
“Okay,” said Skull leaning in close. “Now that we both know we’re talking to the right person, can we please get the hell out of here?”
“My pleasure,” said the man with relief.
They soon found a nearby restaurant with a private booth near the back. Skull ordered a beer and the Ethiopian a glass of red wine.
“So you must be Denham,” said the man. “I heard something about the name ‘Skull’? What is this?”
“It’s what some call me,” he answered pointing a finger at his cadaverous face under the skin of his bald head. “Been with me a while.”
“I see,” said the man, taking a sip of his wine. “My name is Zinabu Besher. I am pleased to meet you.”
“So what’s your story?” asked Skull. “There a lot of Ethiopians in Israel?”
“Actually there are,” the man smiled. “Ethiopia and Israel share much tradition dating back to King Solomon. He took our queen to be one of his wives. Many Ethiopians are Falashas like me.”
“Falashas?” asked Skull.
“Ethiopian Jews,” Zinabu explained. “Many of us are sent to Israel’s universities if our families can afford it, and mine could. I was here studying engineering when the nukes started going off in America. Wasn’t long after that the Eden virus was everywhere and it became harder to cross borders.”
“Your family back in Ethiopia,” asked Skull. “Are they Edens?”
“Yes, every one of them. My sister was blind from birth. It is a miracle.”
“But you’re obviously not an Eden. Why not? And what’s with the facial scars?”
Zinabu touched them self-consciously. “They allow me to move freely into and out of my country. It is getting more and more difficult for Edens in this part of the world. People do not trust what they cannot understand or control. As with AIDS and Ebola before it, fear is often a greater enemy than sickness.”
“I see,” answered Skull. “And you’ve made this journey before?”
“Many times, although it is getting more difficult each time due to border security.”
“What about the Israelis? I’ve been told they’re supportive of what we’re trying to do.”
Zinabu nodded and looked around. “I was approached by someone. Mossad would be my guess, but I cannot prove it. He knew our mutual female friend and said he would be in touch. Gave me a location and time to pick up the gear and equipment she sent.”
“Where is it all now?”
“In my apartment,” Zinabu answered. “Had to take it all inside piece by piece so as not to arouse suspicion.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t offer to hold onto it for you.”
“They did,” Zinabu admitted, “but in my experience it is never good to leave people with valuable things once you have what you want from them. Anything can happen.”
“I can appreciate that,” Skull answered. “What about my personal gear? Did it make it?”
The man nodded taking another sip of wine. “It’s at the house of a friend of mine.”
“A friend?”
“Don’t worry. He can be trusted. He is a Falasha, like me.”
Skull frowned. “I hope so. Did this Mossad contact of yours give you a location and time for pick-up?”
Zinabu nodded. “Tomorrow evening. We will need to get the equipment to an old airfield south of town. They will collect us there and fly us to Eritrea.”
Skull remembered this from Cassandra’s brief. “Have you crossed there before?”
“No. It is difficult terrain from my understanding, but you can say that for most of east Africa.”
Skull remembered his own experiences in the region and knew the man was right. It would be a long and difficult journey no matter what route they took. “I’d like to go see the gear she sent us.”
“All right,” said Zinabu, finishing the rest of his drink. “It is at my apartment, not too far to walk.”
Skull left money on the table, and then two men walked outside to the sound of music mixed with the rustle of ocean breezes through the trees.
Zinabu led the way. Skull stayed alert, but he didn’t see anyone watching or following them, although he admitted it would be difficult to tell for certain in the unfamiliar city.
They had just walked around a tight corner when a large white van pulled up beside them and its side door slid open, giving them no time to run. Skull had yet to acquire weapons, so he did nothing.
Several athletic men in suits stepped out of the vehicle. Skull could see pistols in shoulder holsters.
“Gentlemen,” said a man with gray hair and a dignified mustache. “We need you to come with us.”
“Where?” asked a startled Zinabu.
“Just to a place where we can talk.”
Zinabu took a step backward. “Let’s talk right here.”
Skull watched as the men circled them. He looked into the van and saw the driver wearing an earpiece. There appeared to be electronic listening gear inside the van. Glancing around, he noticed several passing civilians, but none paid them much attention. In their ever-vigilant security state, such events were fairly common.
“I don’t think the man is giving us a choice,” Skull said with a tight smile.
The leader of the security team grinned back at Skull. “Right you are. I apologize ahead of time for the inconvenience, but there is no reason we have to make any of this more uncomfortable than it has to be.”
Skull considered making a sudden run for it, but what would be the purpose? These men were likely Israeli Mossad, and for the mission to go forward he needed their help. Skull resigned himself to the situation, climbed up into the van and sat on one of the benches along the wall. After a brief delay, Zinabu followed.
The other men boarded and closed the sliding door behind them. The leader sat across from them.
“My name is Benjamin Ur’ion,” the man said. “All will be explained shortly, but we must insist on certain measures for your own safety.”
“What type of measures?” Zinabu asked.
“The usual measures, I imagine,” Skull said, looking at the tense men.
Those on either side placed handcuffs on the two men’s wrists, and then put hoods over their heads. Zinabu struggled at first, but the men held him down.
Skull sat still throughout the entire process. He could hear Zinabu breathing heavily in the dark hood beside him. “I thought Israel was supportive of what we are doing,” he said with frustration.
“I am afraid that is no longer the case,” answered Benjamin sadly.
Chapter 5
Cassandra Johnstone had always been interested in the story of the Titanic and its final voyage. She had grown up imagining that she would find the site of the lost ship and was a little disappointed when she was beaten to the discovery.
/>
Nevertheless, she was grateful someone had finally located the lost liner. She’d been to nearly every Titanic museum or display that existed and she knew much of the history by heart.
Today, the Queen Mary II ocean liner was billed as the finest passenger ship in the world, the flagship of Cunard Cruise Lines, the modern name for what had once been the White Star Line that launched the Titanic. Cassandra had always wanted to ride on the QM2, but had never had an opportunity. She’d assumed she and Zeke would do it one day after they both retired, but that had never happened and never would.
Now she’d finally made it onto the ship and it was courtesy of the hyper-paranoid governments of the world and their stance regarding the Eden virus. Cunard, like many cruise lines, had adopted the policy of not requiring virus testing in order to travel, leaving that to the governments at each port. Given that many of the commercial air travel hubs around the world required testing and subsequent quarantine of infectees, cruise ships were now a favorite among Edens.
Cassandra had boarded the ship in Panama City four days ago. She would sail another three days to Southampton, England, and then another twelve days on the ship into the Mediterranean where they would make a number of scenic stops…including Tel Aviv.
“Hell of a lot better way to travel,” she told herself, looking out the sliding glass doors onto the balcony of her suite, impressed in spite of herself. She had stayed in five star hotel rooms that were smaller.
There came a knock on her cabin door, and Cassandra walked over to answer it.
“Miss Joanne, do you need any ice or drinks before dinner?” asked her steward.
“No thank you, Raoul,” Cassandra answered. Cunard prided itself also on a high, almost obsequious level of service. On other ships, a steward might service twenty or twenty-five rooms. On the QM2, none of the stewards had more than eight rooms to look after.
As the man turned to walk away, Cassandra had a thought. “Raoul, what time is the concert tonight?”
“Miss Joanne,” he said with a smile and a strong Latin accent, “there are many shows tonight. The main show is at eight, but the ball is of course open with a full band.” He pointed to a piece of paper on her desk. “It is all right there if you would like to look.”
“Ah, I see,” she said, thanking him.
Closing the door, Cassandra opened her closet and laid a dark blue gown on her bed. Protocol required every evening meal in the QM2’s main dining room to be formal in order to maintain the allure and elegance of the ship, and presumably to deter boorish antics from some of the less well behaved, who could always hit the buffet or one of the fast food grills.
Cassandra appreciated the dress code. She put on the outfit, and the slightest bit of lipstick and rouge.
Exiting her room, she saw that she had nearly half an hour before her time to be seated. She made her way down to the lower passageways. These had round portholes set at the waterline to let in the maximum amount of light. Along the walls, tables had been set up with jigsaw puzzles in various degrees of completion, and numerous board games. Cassandra found puzzles relaxing, so she sat down to work on one to pass the time.
“Joanne, dear, you’ll be late for dinner,” said one of her usual tablemates as she walked down the hallway toward the dining room. Cassandra looked at her watch and realized she’d lost track of time.
“You can always finish that later,” the woman continued in a British accent, “unless someone beats you to it.” The beautiful brunette in her green dress and her husband in a tuxedo could have been models, they were so well matched and turned out. “You really should put some weight on, darling. How else do you hope to attract a man? Why don’t you let us escort you to dinner?”
Cassandra smiled and took the woman’s proffered arm. “Thank you, Gertrude.” She was starting to get used to rejuvenated people talking to her as if they were her grandparents. Most of the passengers probably were grandparents, given that Cunard catered to a mature, cultured, and wealthy clientele.
“Now Joanne,” said Gertrude, “we haven’t seen you in the ballroom very much, and when we do, you just sit and watch. That is not the way things are done, young lady.”
“Well,” said Cassandra, playing the vapid blonde, “I must admit that I never really learned to ballroom dance that well. When you mix in all the big band music it only speeds things up. As crowded as the dance floor gets, I’m sure I would just cause a big pile-up.”
“Oh, nonsense,” she said. “Harold here is an excellent dancer and would be happy to show you the ropes, wouldn’t you Harold?”
“Indeed I would,” he said nodding to her. “Ballroom dancing is a skill that every young lady should learn.”
When they arrived, the host led them to their assigned table. Harold held her chair, and then his wife’s. A waiter poured wine and water for them and started them off with soup and salad. The table normally sat six, but their tablemates were either running late or had chosen to take a less formal dinner option that evening.
“So where did you two first meet?” Cassandra asked.
The couple looked at each other cautiously before Gertrude answered. “Harold was a pilot during the war. He was stationed in England and got burned on a bad mission. I was a nurse at the time and helped put him back together.”
Cassandra stopped eating and looked at them. “Are we talking World War Two here?”
Gertrude looked away. “We’re a tad bit older than we look.”
“You have both aged exceptionally well,” said Cassandra with a wink.
“You’re obviously a smart girl,” said Gertrude. “I judge you know what we’ve done? What we...are?”
Cassandra held her hand out to the room filled with gorgeous twenty-somethings who were exquisitely dressed and mannered. “I think this ship is filled with people like you. As far as what you are, I don’t think you have anything to fear. I suffer from the same condition myself.”
Gertrude struck Harold on the shoulder. “I told you she was, didn’t I?”
“We like to be careful,” explained Harold. “You never know when you’re going to run across someone who feels strongly about Edens.”
Not all that careful, to be telling me, Cassandra thought, but kept her mouth shut.
The table got quiet as the waiters cleared away the earlier courses and refilled drinks.
“So,” asked Cassandra. “Do you have children and…grandchildren?”
Gertrude laughed. “Yes, and yes…and yes again. We have a son and a daughter. Both are married and have children of their own and the oldest granddaughter just gave birth this year so you can say we are great-grandparents now.”
“How do they all feel about...?” Cassandra waved her hands at their appearance.
Harold sighed. “Our daughter is holding up, but our son, not so well. He’s well past middle age now himself and has refused to take the Eden virus. Says it isn’t natural. Wants things to be like they have always been.”
“It really confuses the grandchildren at family gatherings,” laughed Gertrude.
Cassandra imagined that it did. She hadn’t really thought about families being divided over the Eden virus and how that might affect the established dynamics. What if one parent took the virus and another didn’t? To date, Cassandra only had experience with entire groups of people who were either Edens or not.
“What about you, dear?” asked Gertrude.
“A son and a daughter also,” Cassandra said with a smile.
“Where is your husband?” asked Harold.
Gertrude punched him again. “Harold! Don’t be so old-fashioned. These new-style women can choose to be married or not.”
“I’m a widow,” explained Cassandra. “Two...almost three years now.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Gertrude reaching out to pat Cassandra’s hand. “At least you have the children.”
Indeed, thought Cassandra remembering Rick’s miraculous recovery from muscular dystrophy. Although Cassandra would n
ever admit it to a soul, she knew Zeke would have gladly given his life for the cure that saved his son, as she would have. Even after all that had happened, even at the cost of the love of her life, she thought that it had all been worth it.
The waiters arrived with the entrees. Cassandra ate every bite of a succulent slice of prime rib with new potatoes and asparagus. Her tablemates did the same. Unlimited food, Cassandra thought. Another reason cruises are favorites of Edens, especially if they are recovering from a disease or in the middle of growing young again.
After dinner, Cassandra said her farewells to Gertrude and Harold and promised to see them later at the ballroom. She wanted to take in the Broadway-style musical that was about to start in the auditorium.
She found herself an excellent seat in the crowded room. The lights lowered, the murmur of conversations faded, and the curtain raised to music from the pit under the stage. Cassandra found herself enthralled by the play, and was startled when nearly an hour into the show, it stopped abruptly and a man in a Cunard staff uniform came out on stage.
Once the audience grew quiet, Cassandra could hear the indistinct sound of announcements throughout the ship over the ship’s public address system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize,” said the man on the stage. “We will start the show again shortly, but I regret to inform you that there has been a mishap.”
There were exclamations of concern.
The man held up his hands. “No need to be concerned. The lady will be fine, but the doctor believes she needs to be transported from the ship. Given that we have no helipad on the QM2, we have to resort to a hovering stretcher extraction. Be assured the crew practices exactly these sorts of scenarios and we do not foresee any complications.”
On a ship full of Edens, thought Cassandra, why would anyone need to be medically transported by air?
“There will be a British helicopter arriving soon,” the man continued. “For your own safety, we must insist that everyone remain belowdecks throughout the entire affair. The shows and entertainment will continue and we will make an announcement when you are allowed to go on deck again. Thank you for your understanding.”
Eden's Exodus (Plague Wars Series Book 3) Page 4