Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again

by Rose Fox

  When they entered the lobby, Abigail noticed that Michael had left. Hodgkin waved to Abigail and entered the room behind the reception desk, and Abigail followed him.

  “The lady is prepared for action,” he declared and Abigail understood that this referred to their explosive device. She wanted to know about the freight on the ship they were preparing to destroy, but decided to keep quiet if Hodgkin didn’t volunteer the information.

  The bell rang, indicating that someone had entered the lobby and Hodgkin went out to greet him.

  Abigail came out into the foyer and sat at a table.

  For no apparent reason, she recalled a particular argument with Karma.

  It happened when he returned after three days absence, without taking leave of her or saying a word. When he returned, she was so angry, she didn’t even get up to welcome him. He looked at her and said:

  “Hello to you, too.”

  But she just carried on with what she was doing, with no expression on her face, as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “Is this the way to welcome home a loving husband? Hey, what happened?”

  “Nothing. You took off, disappeared without a word. How do you expect me to welcome you?”

  “I don’t believe this! Such words from you, of all people? You also went away and disappeared like that, didn’t you?!”

  “Ah, so you’re taking revenge. Lovely, I hope you’re satisfied now.”

  She had expected him to embrace her, perhaps even apologize and soothe her, but that wasn’t at all what happened. Instead, he growled:

  “I don’t think you apologized when you did the same thing.”

  He wondered how strange she was that day. He was convinced she was different from other women, knowing that her work was similar to his, and this filled his heart with heart with pride.

  Afterward, they didn’t exchange a word between them for hours and when she had calmed down somewhat, she stole a few glances at him but saw the angry expression on his face. She entered his room in the evening, tried to make amends with him and would not leave off until she saw a shadow of a smile light on his lips. She attempted to appease him because she knew she would be going out on an extraordinary mission that night and, this time she took leave of him with just two words.

  “I’m leaving,” she announced.

  Hodgkin whistled and beckoned to her to return to the room behind the reception desk. She saw two small backpacks on the bed and nearby, lay two piles of dark clothes. He picked up one set of clothes and left the room. Abigail opened one of the bags and peeped inside. She found it contained a change of clothes, diving goggles, a dark-colored roll of rope attached to a catching hook and a striped towel, which was also dark. She fidgeted in the bottom of the bag for the bomb they were to plant on the “El Cabo”, and when Hodgkin returned, she asked him:

  “Where is ‘the Lady’?”

  “Check it out, she’s in your kitbag.”

  She rummaged around in her bag again and her fingers touched a sealed plastic jar. Hodgkin explained how ‘the Lady’ had a powerful adhesive to stick it to the underside of the Queen and Abigail understood that the ‘Queen’ referred to the ship, of course.

  “When is the ‘Queen’ due to set sail.”

  “Today at 1:30 am.”

  “Okay, that leaves us more than four hours,” and she went out into the lobby.

  Through the large windows, they saw people strolling down the street and when the bell rang at the entrance, a couple, a man, and a woman came inside. Abigail was reading a newspaper meanwhile and glanced in the direction of the three of them from time to time. She wondered about the couple that had just arrived and was sure that they had some particular role to play in the system. Her guess was that they would be filling in for Hodgkin in the restaurant and the reception desk in his absence.

  A while later, her glance and Hodgkin’s met. He nodded to her, signaling that it was time to leave.

  This time, he led her along a different, less illuminated, route and after a few minutes’ walk in silence, she smelled the salt water and saw the twinkling lights on board the ships.

  The dock was almost deserted. A huge dog came towards them and barked loudly and Hodgkin gestured to ignore the dog. When he turned to her, Abigail noticed that his famous beard was now partly hidden by the hat he wore and only his eyes and bearded cheeks were visible.

  They entered a path formed between dilapidated train carriages and old wooden huts. The pungent odor of urine hit her nostrils and brassy music sounded suddenly. The last hut had a door and Hodgkin entered it.

  Abigail began to get organized. First, she put on the goggles but raised them to her forehead, then she pulled out her keys. Attached to the key ring was a sharp blade with a protuberance, which when pressed on, beamed a straight ray of light. Setting the timing device on the bomb to 2:40 am, she calculated that when the bomb exploded the ship and would be far from the shore and on the high seas for more than an hour. Finally, she spread the glue on the bottom of the bomb and it was ready to be fixed to the underside of the ship.

  They both peeped out of the door and when they thought no one was likely to see them, they came out, one at a time, onto the path.

  Little lights shone on the ship and the deck was empty. Abigail stopped at the pillar on the edge of the quay to which the ship was tethered and pulled the goggles down over her eyes. She took a breath and jumped into the sea. Drops of water sprayed out and a quiet slipping sound was heard as she disappeared. On the quayside, Hodgkin took the dark-colored rope out of his knapsack and attached the hook at the end of it to the pillar. Now, he waited patiently to throw the rope to her when she finished attaching the device to the underside of the ship. All he had to do now was to wait for her head to rise out of the water again.

  Abigail descended slowly into the depths of the sea, swam to the ship and ran her hand over the stern until her fingers touched the edge and knew that she had reached the bottom of it. She felt how oily it was and could almost smell it. Then her hand felt the snails and the algae that were attached to the ship and when she tried to affix the bomb, she was unable to.

  She kicked angrily in the water, realizing that the shells would form a barrier that would prevent the explosion. She immediately opened the tiny penknife attached to her key ring and scraped off the thick layer of shells. When she felt the bottom of the ship with her fingers, she attached the bomb to the place she had cleaned. Only then did she give mind to the fact that her lungs were ready to burst.

  With the little strength she had left, she moved her hands and began to propel herself upwards, flailing her arms without direction. It seemed to take an eternity and when she finally came out of the water, she noisily released the air that had been compressed in her lungs. She fluttered her arms to keep afloat and heard:

  “Psssst.”

  The blackened rope floated on the water and she swam towards it, caught it in both hands and pulled herself to the quayside. Just then, a ray of light from a hidden projector flashed out of nowhere and illuminated the water. Hodgkin cursed and lay flat on the quay, face down with his arms close to his body. Abigail let go of the rope and dived below the surface. The long ray of light moved around, lit up the flotsam and cast rings of light on the sterns of the ships in the water and moved on until it disappeared.

  When Abigail burst out of the silent darkness again, she looked for the rope and discovered it only when Hodgkin jerked it. Abigail grabbed it and was pulled to the quay, panting from the effort.

  They hurried down the lane and entered the last hut, dried themselves off and, calmly, walked away at a regular pace, pretending to be a pair of lovers.

  When they got back to the hotel, Abigail felt her temples pulsating and, only in the morning after sleeping for hours, was the pressure in her head relieved.

  On the following day, the world press reported:

  “A mysterious explosion destroyed the ship, ‘El-Cabo’.”

  It was said to be carrying
equipment and missiles to Syria. Nothing appeared in the Iranian press and it ignored the elimination of the “Shihab 3” missiles that Iran was probably responsible for producing.

  Abigail, herself, did not hear about the explosion. Of course, she also didn’t see the two Mossad agents, Barak, and San, rejoicing and clicking their cups of coffee in celebration.

  “Admit that she is amazing and there’s no one like her!” Barak exclaimed enthusiastically and his eyes sparkled.

  “Fine, calm down; just don’t jinx her with an evil eye.”

  “Who, me? Never!” Barak shouted and stared into San’s single eye.

  Barak knew that San found it difficult to pay a compliment and it was difficult to get a good word out of him. Now he enjoyed his remarks that acknowledged the unusual ability of their agent, the apple of Barak’s eye.

  It was dawn when Abigail finally got home. She entered quietly, tiptoed into the bedroom and stopped when she saw Karma, looking at her.

  “Hi there, my man,” she said, tiredly.

  “Wait,” she remembered as he got up to embrace her, “we have an invitation to join a tour to Tabriz, as Lutfi's guests.”

  “Is that so?” Karma remarked.

  He already knew her well enough to know that even if she didn’t talk about what had happened, it did not mean that she hadn’t pulled off something unique. He turned her face towards him and noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Tired, or hungry, too?”

  “Both.”

  He hopped out of bed and went to the kitchen and a few minutes later, when she had almost fallen asleep, she heard him call her.

  Her eyes almost closed and she could hardly chew the toast he had prepared for her. She was so exhausted that she forgot to tell him about the new assignment that awaited her, down below, in the tunnel, the one she planned to combine with the tour to Tabriz.

  * * *

  The tour to the Grand Bazaar was set for Sunday. Abigail was preparing herself mentally because the tour was only a cover for her principal mission. For the present, she did not share the information with Karma because; according to the encoded messages, it was going to be an extraordinary undertaking.

  The idea was to introduce a virus that would sabotage the state’s computers. Abigail had already received the virus on a Flash-drive at that terrifying meeting at the ‘Chai Huneh’ pension. She occasionally pondered that she might not have attached so much importance to the assignment, but for the traumatic event of the triple murder in Room 202. There were nights when she would awaken in panic from the flashes of memory left by those terrifying moments.

  On this occasion, the group was larger than ever and the tourists filled three buses. Everyone was talking, chattering and loudly planning what they would purchase at the Grand Bazaar and the noise and bustle enveloped them.

  Karma and Abigail shook hands with Lutfi, the dark-skinned tour guide. He winked at Karma secretly and gave him a thumbs-up sign that expressed male fraternity approval of the choice of a stunning wife.

  Ten minutes later the guide joined them and the buses set off on the tour. At first, the chatter of the tourists continued, then slowly quietened down until most of them dozed in their seats.

  The weather was strange. It was hot, but gray clouds gathered in the sky and, to everyone’s surprise, great big drops of rain flew around in the air and soon turned into a downpour. Lutfi looked at the rain washed windows and the rising wind with concern. When the rain turned into a real deluge, he took the microphone, cleared his throat and tapped it to wake up the members of the group.

  “I will be making a small change in our route,” and he explained: “Look outside, it doesn’t seem we will be able to stop at the Bazaar. But, we will be able to get a look at it from quite close by as we pass it.”

  Abigail flinched in the fourth row because she realized that it threatened to derail her mission. She approached him immediately, smiled her beautiful smile at him and asked if they could, at least, stop at the Mosque or the Palace. Lutfi shook his head and she tried to challenge him:

  “Have you forgotten the mysterious repair job and the enormous cables lying in the sand? Do you remember how they canceled your tour?” He laughed.

  “Now, finally, that you have permission, are you giving up?”

  “I’ll tell you what; perhaps we can stop inside the Bazaar and stay for a few minutes.”

  That sufficed her and like a little girl, who has just been given a lollipop, she went back to her seat. She knew that, had he insisted on leaving out the Bazaar, she would have been forced to get off the bus and reach the place by her own devices.

  She occasionally felt for the Flash-drive she had hidden in her bra, to make sure it was there, but she did this secretly, away even from Karma’s loving eyes. Abigail also did not know that he had received a message to give her backing and support in the tunnel. The truth was that Karma, himself, had not yet understood that this was the day he was supposed to provide that support.

  Only later in the day, would Karma piece together the information and help her as requested and, in fact, save her life.

  For now, Abigail closed her eyes and, at ease and relaxed, she listened to the guide’s comments.

  “Today we are going to visit an ancient Bazaar, perhaps the oldest in the Middle East.”

  This was the sentence he always used at the start of this tour and, as always, he enjoyed seeing the interest it aroused. He listened with satisfaction to the excitement of the visitors, who were planning their shopping and trying to guess what they would see at the Bazaar.

  Outside, the rain got heavier and beat harder against the bus windows. The driver increased the speed of the wipers and drove on in a long line of cars that splashed water from puddles that formed along the road. Lutfi bent down to the driver, shared a few words with him and picked up the microphone again and spoke:

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a small change of plan. As I said earlier, we will enter the compound, stop to look around but we won’t be wandering around the stores. The downpour is still very hard, as you can see,” and he ignored the cries of disappointment.

  A minute later, he added:

  “I understand you, but I am also surprised because rain is very rare here, and there’s nothing to be done.”

  One of the women, who sat in front of Abigail burst out with an unusually loud cry of disappointment. Abigail whispered to her that it was possible to stroll around this particular Bazaar when it rained because it had a roof. She hoped she would be able to exploit the woman’s disappointment and not miss the chance of pulling off her mission.

  “Excuse me,” the woman called out and the passengers turned their attention to her, “the shopping area must surely be covered by a roof. It would be a pity to miss out on an experience like that because of a sudden, unexpected rainstorm.”

  “Right!” someone called from another seat, “she’s quite right, especially if we have protection and can walk under roofs!”

  “Hey, what about a little initiative, some courage. What’s happened, are we made of sugar?!” Someone else shouted from the back seats of the bus.

  “Okay,” the guide relented. “Let’s agree to walk around for an hour and a half.” Then, he continued: “In that case, let me tell you that the stalls in this Bazaar are laid out in parallel lines and are called ‘rastos.' The path between them is covered with a roof that is intended to provide the shoppers with protection from the sun and the heat. So, it is reasonable to presume that today the roof will protect us from today’s rain. I also suggest strolling along the ‘dalanos’, the alleys that connect two ‘rastos’ or the interior and exterior parts of the buildings. I know they are also covered with roofs.”

  Now the buses were progressing in a long convoy and when a motorcycle maneuvered between the vehicles, the irritated drivers beeped on all sides. Lutfi continued:

  “Listen,” he said, “I suggest that you will be able to save time if you don’t tour the ‘timz
ot.' There are no shops there, only warehouses of expensive goods like carpets, jewelry, and gold, so I suggest you pass on them.”

  The rain had almost stopped, but the road was full of puddles. Abigail suddenly remembered there was a small Bazaar called the ‘Bazarche’ that served only one of the city’s quarters. She recalled that it was located near the gates at the entrance to the town and was connected to it. She got up and approached Lutafi and whispered in his ear that, perhaps, they really should forsake the large Bazaars for the ‘Bazarche.' An hour and a half would be enough time, there. But, the guide pointed to the road and showed her that the bus had already reached the Grand Bazaar.

  He picked up the microphone, brought it close to his lips and spoke.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to remind you all that we have only an hour and a half and that we will meet at this square I am pointing to.”

  They all disembarked at the plaza and looked around. There were mosques around the place and a long line of buildings led from them. Lutfi indicated the gigantic gate at the entrance of the “Sheikh Lutaf” mosque and enthused.

  “Friends, can you guess the height of the gateway you are standing beside, now?”

  People ventured some guesses and he cried out dramatically:

  “You won’t believe this but, no one has even approximated its height. Yes, yes, you are looking at a gate that rises to a height of twenty-seven meters.” When he heard the cries of amazement, he added proudly as if he was talking about his own home:

  “Do you see the matching pair of minarets, standing on either side of the gate? Let’s see who can estimate their height?” But, this time, no one ventured a guess.

  “The twin minarets are forty-eight meters high!” he announced, enjoying the visitors cries of amazement.

  Abigail observed the show and listened to the stories, understanding the secret of this guide’s charm. There was a lot she could learn from him.