The man walked off stage to polite applause as the lights lowered again and the musical resumed. Cassandra tried to get back into the story, but the helicopter medical evacuation explanation didn’t make sense to her. Something seemed out of place.
Cassandra got up during a break in the show and went back to her room. There, she changed out of her dress and into slacks, shirt, and sweater. From her balcony, she could hear the faint sound of a helicopter approaching.
She made her way steadily upward trying to look as casual as possible. Avoiding the crew, she finally found an unlatched door and slipped in behind a lifeboat onto the dark top deck. There, she hunched down and watched as the helicopter approached. A pair of Cunard crewmembers waited on the upper deck. There was no stretcher or patient to be seen, only several lights laid out in a pattern.
The blacked-out helicopter had British Marine markings on the side. It swooped in over the indicated location and a long thick rope popped from an open door in the side. Cassandra looked up to see a crew chief wave men forward.
A man in black fatigues, with a large backpack, slid down the rope before taking up a defensive position nearby. He held a stubby submachine gun. Three more similarly attired men followed the first. The fifth one out the door caused Cassandra to lean forward and stare in amazement.
“Geoffrey Rayburne,” she whispered. “I haven’t seen you since Moscow.” And what the hell is MI-6 doing here?
Cassandra nearly fell over as the sixth man hit the deck. The other five gathered around the last arrival and whisked him quickly away. Within seconds, the rope was pulled back up and the helicopter sped away. A Cunard crewmember on the deck unlocked the doors and spoke into a walkie-talkie before going down the stairs.
She could now safely leave, but Cassandra found herself frozen in shock. Could it really be him? The tall athletic build. The handsome face and commanding presence of a highly decorated former SAS commando.
There is no doubt, Cassandra thought. She had just watched Richard, Prince of Wales and heir to the throne of Britain, sneak onto the QM2.
* * *
By the time the ship’s PA system announced the medical emergency had passed, Cassandra had changed back into her formal gown and left her room. She made her way back to the auditorium to finish watching the play, but no longer paid attention to anything on the stage.
After the performance, she made her way toward the Grand Apartment accommodations at the front of the ship, which was typically reserved for dignitaries, high rollers…and royalty. They were previously unoccupied, Cassandra knew, for she had checked them as well as every other portion of the ship she could surreptitiously gain access to, mostly to keep herself busy and practice her tradecraft.
She found the hallway blocked off by a velvet rope. A sign dangled from it that read, “Maintenance – Please Do Not Cross.”
Cassandra considered crossing anyway and playing the dumb, lost, or drunk blonde card, but she saw a Cunard employee down the hallway speaking into a walkie-talkie, so she retreated. She considered going to the ballroom to meet Gertrude and Harold, though she was too keyed up to enjoy dancing. True to her routine, she made her way to the cigar lounge at the top of the ship near the grand library.
Cassandra had become fond of cigars in the past year, and the cigar lounge on the QM2 was one of the few places where she could easily find solitude or conversation, depending on her particular desires. Once there, she asked the bartender to pour her a cognac and select a nice Cuban. The man spent a good deal of time looking over the cigars and back at her as if he were sizing her for a dress before proudly producing a cigar, which he held out to her in both hands.
“For you,” he said, “I think Cohiba is best. I would not want to lead you astray.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she had smoked many Cohibas before, but they were always a favorite so she accepted the cigar and drink gratefully. The bartender clipped and lit the stogie for her and she walked into the smoking lounge.
Thankfully, Cassandra found it deserted. She sat in a plush leather armchair surrounded by barrister bookcases filled with leather-bound tomes. A small fire in the corner provided just enough light and heat for the proper ambiance. On the inboard side, a pianist lightly and softly played a baby grand. Cassandra looked out the high windows at the fleeing Atlantic, took a draw on the cigar, and felt the tension flow out of her.
Her smoke and drink were half gone when a man in an impeccable Savile Row suit walked in with a glass of Scotch and lit a cigar of his own. He sat down in a leather chair across from her and smiled.
“Why, hello, Cassandra,” he says. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Geoffrey Rayburne,” Cassandra replied without emotion. “I really can’t say the same, you slimy son of a bitch.”
Chapter 6
Skull and Zinabu rode in the back of the Mossad’s van for several hours before it came to a stop. They were both led out of the vehicle and into what Skull judged to be, by the sound of the echoes, a large open building.
Early on, he’d chewed tiny holes in his hood, enough to see out of when he managed to get the cloth positioned correctly. It was a trick he’d been taught in his survival, evasion, resistance and escape, or SERE, course so long ago. Using the pinpricks, he could see walls and carpet from time to time and he could sense changes in heat and light. The Mossad had brought them into an air-conditioned building, with hallways and smaller rooms.
The two bound men were guided to sit in chairs, and then their handcuffs were removed, and immediately afterward, their hoods. Skull squinted in the sudden light and, once his eyes adjusted, was able to see they were in a small room. The walls were bare white and the lights brightly fluorescent. Skull and Zinabu sat in metal chairs across a table from a seated Benjamin. The two men who had uncuffed them stood along the walls.
“Is this the beginning of the famed Mossad interrogation?” Skull asked.
Benjamin shook his head. “There is no need to interrogate you. We already know what we need to know.”
Skull noticed his luggage in the corner. It had obviously been thoroughly searched and not repacked very nicely. Another pile that Skull presumed was Zinabu’s lay in the opposite corner. He pointed toward his luggage. “A shakedown perhaps? I hear budget cuts are a bitch. I applaud your outside-the box-thinking to raise funds. Sorry I’m not carrying any Krugerrands.”
“You know we haven’t brought you here to rob you,” Benjamin said.
“Then what?” asked Zinabu. “Everything was arranged. Why this kidnap and bag-over-the-head bullshit?”
“Because we needed to control the situation, for your safety and ours,” Benjamin explained. “Trust me when I tell you that we mean neither of you any harm.”
“What situation?” asked Skull softly. “I’m starting to get the feeling that someone involved in this operation is going back on their agreement.”
Benjamin appeared uncomfortable. “Look, chaps, Israel is hanging by a hair every second of its existence. We lose a single battle and we cease to exist. Our nation is surrounded by enemies that want nothing more than to destroy us and wipe our people from the face of the Earth.”
“Isn’t that the way it has always been?” asked Skull. “And what does that have to do with us being here today?”
“It seems that some in the Mossad agreed to this operation without the full informed consent of their superiors,” Benjamin explained. “Our government is close to a deal with Cairo, where the North African Islamic Caliphate will acknowledge Israel’s right to exist…in exchange for certain concessions.”
“You’re giving up the Edens,” Zinabu said in horror.
Benjamin shook his head. “Not exactly. We aren’t giving anyone up, but we will refuse to grant them asylum if they come from Caliphate-controlled territory. In return for that, we get peace on one flank and can focus on other areas.”
“A deal with devil is what it sounds like to me,” said Skull.
Benjamin
looked at him hard. “I would hazard to guess you would be the expert on bargains like that, Mister Denham. You have quite the history yourself.”
Skull set his teeth and stared Benjamin down. Neither man would look away.
“How does all of this affect our mission in Ethiopia?” asked Zinabu, breaking the spell.
“It’s off,” answered Benjamin, using the excuse to move his eyes. “The Mossad has to get you all out of here before anyone in the Israeli government knows we have you.”
“Because they’d be pretty pissed if they found out,” said Skull.
Zinabu leaned forward, a pained look on his face. “Just let us go. We’ll leave the country and no one will be the wiser. Those people need our help. We’ll just take our gear and get out.”
“I’m afraid your equipment has been confiscated,” Benjamin said. “Your personal belongings will, of course, be returned to you, but the rest we have impounded.”
Skull smirked. “I guess it’s a shakedown after all. Seems like the Germans used the same techniques on your people back in World War Two.”
“You two will be on flights back to your countries of origin today,” Benjamin said, ignoring the jab. “My men will escort you.”
“And you need us to play along and not make too big of a scene,” Skull said. “You can’t arrest us publicly because then there would be too much scrutiny.”
“We have places to disappear you, if we really wanted to,” Benjamin said with a hint of menace in his voice.
Skull shook his head. “Nope. You’d have already done that if it were an easy option. I suspect you don’t want to piss off the Free Communities...sorry, piss them off any further than you already have. Have you ever met Spooky Nguyen? Unlike me, he’s not really a nice guy.”
Benjamin looked pained again. “We were hoping you would be willing to carry back a message for me. Explain the situation and the fact that it was not my call. I regret that it turned out this way and hope we can still cooperate in the future.”
“This can’t be happening,” said Zinabu. “Do you understand that there are ten thousand innocent men, women, and children who will be slaughtered if we can’t go forward? Don’t you know they are waiting for our help?”
“I am sorry,” said Benjamin sadly, “but thousands of people die every day in this world. I’m not killing them. I’m not saying you can’t help them. I’m only telling you that Israel can’t become involved – or even seem to be. That’s why you have to go home in full view of the spies who are undoubtedly watching.”
Skull thought quickly. He remembered his conversation with Cassandra and the promises he had made to her. He also knew this was a dangerous mission even with the Israeli support. How much more would his chances diminish without their help?
“Hey, I figure I get paid either way,” said Skull with a false smile. “Works out as a win for me.” He reached across the table and offered his hand to Benjamin. “No hard feelings. I understand it’s just business and politics.”
Benjamin broke into a cautious smile and returned the handshake. “I’m glad you understand.”
Zinabu was looking at Skull in amazement. “Are you serious?”
Skull ignored him and spoke again to Benjamin. “It would go a long way toward putting this in the past if my flight home were first class. It is a long trip.”
Benjamin looked at one of the men behind Skull and nodded. He turned back to them both. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Maybe a decent meal before we get to the airport?” Skull asked.
“Let’s not push it,” said Benjamin. “We’ve got rooms here for you two to rest in before you leave. Dinner and breakfast will be brought to you. Then we’ll take you to the airport. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to eat well on your first class flight.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Skull stifling a yawn. “It’s my bedtime, actually.”
“Yes, mine too,” said Benjamin said drily. “My men will show you to your accommodations. They will also deliver your belongings to you there. Don’t hesitate to let them know if you need anything.”
“Will do,” said Skull standing. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure, but it could have been worse.”
“Glad you understand,” said Benjamin.
“This can’t be happening,” said Zinabu, looking like he was waking from a dream.
Skull clapped him on the back and winked. “Just roll with it, partner. Everything will work out. Trust me.”
* * *
Their overnight stay had been uneventful. Skull had diligently examined every possible escape route, but the Mossad had the small hotel covered like the proverbial blanket, with at least a dozen men on duty at all times. Their rooms were bugged as well. He found cameras and audio pickups, but left them alone.
The next morning the two men were driven without hoods or handcuffs to the airport in a large black SUV. Four Mossad agents accompanied them and Skull did his best to chat them up learning their names and a little about them. A couple of the men laughed or smiled at his jokes and stories. When they pulled up to the curb, the minders took their luggage and walked with them into Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion Airport.
“Let’s get you guys checked in,” said the agent named Saul, the one with a scar down the side of his face. He appeared to be in charge of the detail.
“They got a restroom around here?” Skull asked. “I had like nine cups of coffee this morning and I really need to go.”
Saul shrugged and nodded, detailing two of the agents to go with Skull.
Skull walked to a nearby bathroom with a Mossad man at each shoulder. As they entered the large airport bathroom, one of the guards remained outside at the door while the other came with Skull.
The restroom happened to be crowded. Men waited in line and the Mossad agent remained awkwardly behind Skull. When it was Skull’s turn to use the urinal, he let out a long, satisfied groan of pleasure. “Ah, that feels good. Wasn’t sure I was going to be able to hold it any longer.”
His minder said nothing.
Skull zipped up his pants and turned to his chaperone. He pointed at the urinal. “Damn, look at that. I’m pissing red!”
When the agent turned to look, Skull elbowed him hard in the face. He felt the man’s nose disintegrate in a spray of blood and he fell back heavily. Bystanders stepped away in shock, not sure what was going on.
Skull quickly went through the unconscious man’s pockets and pulled out his wallet, radio, and pistol. At the sight of the gun, men drew back farther, looking at him suspiciously.
“There’s a bomb in here!” yelled Skull suddenly, waving the pistol around. Men began rushing out the door, shoving and pushing each other. Some glanced back at him fearfully. A few had a look on their faces as if they were considering trying to tackle Skull. At these, he simply pointed his pistol and waved them on.
Skull waited behind the door as they departed. When the second Mossad agent burst in, Skull hit him over the back of the head with the pistol. The man collapsed in a heap on the floor. Retrieving the agent’s pistol, wallet and radio, he secreted these items on his person and slipped out of the bathroom.
Jogging up to Zinabu and the other two agents, Skull kept looking back over his shoulder.
“Where are Moshe and Sam?” Saul asked.
“I don’t know,” said Skull. “I was in the bathroom and then this Arab-looking guy started waving a gun around and talking about how he had a bomb. I ran out of there like everyone else.”
Saul turned to the other agent. “Get these two into a secure area. Don’t let them out of your sight until I get back.” He sprinted toward the bathroom, drawing his weapon and taking out his I.D.
“Let’s go,” said the remaining agent, pointing in the opposite direction.
“Come on,” said Skull to Zinabu, grabbing their bags. “Let’s go. Hurry.”
They ran down a long hallway. When Skull looked around and didn’t see anyone else nearby, he swung his duffle bag and ca
ught the running agent’s feet. The man tripped and went sprawling to the ground. Skull kicked at his head, but missed, so he jumped on the Mossad man’s back, wrapping his legs around his waist and an arm around his neck.
The muscular agent fought and rolled Skull over onto his back, but Skull knew what he was doing, and had taken his victim by surprise. The man couldn’t dislodge him as he worked his chokehold deeper and deeper into the neck.
The agent fought fiercely as the blood supply to his brain was interrupted, but it was no use. Force Recon had used Brazilian Jujitsu as the basis for its hand-to-hand combatives program, and Skull had practiced these grappling techniques to perfection. Within seconds, the man had gone limp.
“Quick,” Skull said to Zinabu. “Help me tie him up. He’ll come to in a few minutes.”
Zinabu just stood there, looking at him in surprise. “What are you doing?”
Skull stood and glared at the other man. “Do you want to go to Ethiopia to help these Edens of yours or not?”
A slow grin spread across Zinabu’s face. He darted forward and pulled the agent’s shoes off and then removed the laces, using them to tie the man’s hands tightly behind his back.
“Grab his wallet too,” said Skull.
“Why?” Zinabu asked.
“We’re going to need the money,” said Skull. “Besides, maybe I can pass for one of these guys down the road. We can always toss anything we don’t need.”
Zinabu nodded and took the man’s wallet.
“Pistol too,” said Skull.
The Ethiopian hesitated only a moment before pulling out the agent’s handgun and stuffing it into the back of his pants.
“Now let’s go,” said Skull picking up his bags. Zinabu did the same, and they did their best to walk inconspicuously toward the exits. There were security personnel running around the airport, but so far no one had locked down the egress points.
Skull led them past two Israeli Army soldiers with assault rifles at the ready. They looked briefly at the two men, and then glanced past them to examine others. Skull flagged the first taxi he saw, and they tossed their bags into the trunk and hopped in the cab.
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