Angels Don't Die

by Petrek, Soren

  Satisfied that all was quiet, Madeleine checked her watch and made her way back up the stairs and down the hall to the open window. Her escape route was already mapped out in her mind and she was reassured that the way was unblocked. Satisfied, she closed the window, leaving only a crack wide enough to slide her fingers into in the event she needed to open it in a hurry.

  Madeleine moved back down the hall and into Al Massri’s bedroom. He was still unconscious and would be for hours unless he was given a second ampoule that would counteract the first drug and bring him around. She knew that the second drug took about two minutes to work, so she ran a sturdy piece of duct tape over the man’s mouth to avoid any sudden yelling when he woke up. Prior to administering the antidote, she rechecked his bonds carefully two times. She turned on the penlight and put it on the side table next to the bed to keep her hands free.

  Madeleine pulled a desk chair up to the side of the bed. Leaning forward, she plunged the second needle into the man’s neck and waited. The drugs took effect and Al Massri shifted in his bed. His eyes opened and he tried to focus, first on the source of the light shining in his face and then on Madeleine. His initial reaction was to try to scream through the tape covering his mouth.

  “Silence,” Madeleine whispered, firing a silenced shot into the pillow beneath Al Massri’s head. A cloud of feathers erupted where the shot entered and she could see that he had felt the shock wave of the small caliber bullet as it passed inches from his face.

  “Do I have your attention?” Madeleine said, in a conversational tone. Her voice was low but she no longer whispered. He needed to understand her questions and intentions if he did not comply with her requests. Al Massri nodded, his eyes wild with hate. “Good. So that you and I understand one another, all of the men in the house are dead. I killed them and I’ll kill you unless you answer my questions. I will only ask each question once.” The man’s eyes widened, recognizing that if the assassin could drug and bind him in his sleep, killing his men wouldn’t present much of a problem.

  “An American agent was taken within the last ten days off the streets of Jerusalem. That is not a question, it is a statement and you know what I’m talking about, so just nod.” Al Massri paused, hesitated, and then gave an abrupt nod of affirmation. “Then you delivered him to somebody else in your organization, correct?” Al Massri did his best to appear to ignore the question.

  Madeleine stood up grabbed Al Massri’s head with her left hand, drew her knife and then slashed his face above his left eye, so that blood ran down into his eye socket clouding his vision. His scream was muffled by the tape and he thrashed against the bed.

  “Stop or I’ll give you some real pain,” Madeleine said in a hollow tone.

  Al Massri stopped thrashing and turned his head towards her.

  “Who was the agent delivered to?”

  Again, Al Massri ignored the question. Madeleine stood and slashed the man’s pants from his groin to the hem of the pant leg. Cutting again, she slashed the area of his groin, flicking the knife onto his testicles, nicking his scrotum. Al Massri froze, his eyes wide with fear.

  “I am going to loosen the tape covering your mouth. If you scream, I will put a bullet in your ear. Your scream will be the last thing you hear. Understood?” Madeleine said.

  Al Massri nodded. Keeping her pistol pointed at his head, Madeleine pulled the tape from one side of his mouth leaving it attached in the event she needed to quickly slap it down into place.

  “Who did you deliver the agent to?” Madeleine asked evenly.

  “Daughter of a whore! I will kill you myself,” Al Massri shouted.

  Madeleine pushed the tape back into position, as she pulled her pistol from her waistband and shot him in the kneecap. The reaction was immediate; Al Massri thrashed on the bed, his body bucking in agony. Madeleine sat back in the chair and watched, waiting for shock to lessen his pain. In her experience many passed out at this point, but she had used a small caliber bullet on a large man. There wouldn’t even be much blood loss.

  After a few minutes, Al Massri stop thrashing and looked at Madeleine. The hate in his eyes was mixed with fear and pain. Madeleine knew that he would start to talk soon.

  “The next one goes into your elbow. People mistakenly believe that a shattered knee is more painful that a shattered elbow. They’re wrong. I’m going to remove the tape and you’re going to quietly answer my questions. If you don’t give me any more trouble, I might let you live. I need someone to deliver a message to your superiors.” Madeleine moved over and removed the tape as she had before.

  “I delivered the agent to Al Lubnani, Al Lubnani,” Al Massri volunteered.

  “Is the agent alive?”

  “I think so. But he is beyond my reach,” Al Maasir said.

  “Where is the agent?”

  “I don’t know,” Al Massri spat out.

  Madeleine moved over towards the bed. Using the knife she slid the blade under Al Massri’s scrotum, slightly lifting it without inflicting any damage.

  “I don’t know where the agent is! But I can tell you where Al Lubnani is!”

  “Where is he?” Madeleine said.

  “He is a wealthy man. He’ll be at his home near the south coast. Maybe the agent is there as well,” Al Massri said.

  “Where is the home located?” Madeleine said.

  “It is outside of the town of Ashdod. All the locals know it.”

  “Did you and your men kill the Mossad agent when the American was taken?”

  “Yes.”

  Madeleine nodded her head. She knew Al Massri knew nothing more. She moved to reapply the tape.

  “Don’t kill me. I must deliver your message to Al Lubnani,” Al Massri wailed.

  “You will, Madeleine said slapping the tape down in place. “Do you remember the toothless hag, selling melons that you struck yesterday?”

  Al Massri’s eyes grew wide in recognition as Madeleine showed her face more fully to him.

  “She has one tooth left,” Madeleine said, as she grabbed Al Massri by the throat and plunged the knife in and out of his right eye, to the hilt, piercing his brain. His body shuddered and was still. “Yes, you and your friends will deliver my message,” Madeleine said to the man’s corpse.

  Using her knife, Madeleine cut a piece of cloth from the sheet and balled it up. Blood was streaming profusely from Al Massri’s ruined eye and she soaked the cloth in it. She then moved to the wall adjacent to the bed and painted an ancient Arabic symbol on the white surface in broad rough strokes. Next she took a card from her pocket. It had Arabic letters that read, ‘release the American unharmed or die.’ She placed it on the table next to Al Massri’s corpse.

  Madeleine looked around the room and checked her equipment. She made sure she left nothing behind, as she moved towards the window at the end of the hall. The entire operation had taken less than thirty minutes. She opened the window and looked down at the street as she pulled herself up onto the roof and was gone.

  Later, Madeleine slid into bed next to Jack, reaching out to hold him.

  “Was there any resistance, Madeleine?”

  “No. I have a name and location, near a town called, Ashdod. Maybe Tracy is being held there,” Madeleine said.

  “We’ll discuss our next move with John and Karen later,” Jack said rolling over and wrapping his arms around her. He could feel the tension in her body slowly recede as she relaxed and nestled her face into his chest.

  For several long moments, Madeleine considered her actions of the evening. “The war will never be over. Will it Jack?” She said.

  “No,” Jack answered, holding her tighter. His love was the only shield he could offer her against the truth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mossad agent, Joshua Simmons stood quietly next to Hartmann as he stood over Al Massri’s body and stared at the symbol painted in blood on the wall. Simmons recognized the mark, familiar to Jews and Arabs alike. It was the ancient sign of Azrael to the Jews or Az
ra’il in Islam, one of Allah’s archangels in the Quran, The Angel of Death.

  “I want a thorough forensic investigation of this crime scene,” Hartmann said turning slightly to face Simmons. Simmons was attached to him as one of his personal bodyguards. Hartmann liked him; the agent was brave and resourceful. His parents had survived Auschwitz, and were determined that in the future, the Jews would never suffer in that way again. Simmons’ character was born of patriotism and courage. Hartmann knew that he would gladly die to protect him and Israel.

  “Our best team is downstairs now, Director Hartmann. The dead men are a PLO strike team. The literature we found, weapons and communications equipment lead to no other conclusion. Perhaps this is the team that abducted the American NSA agent. Do you think an American strike team made this mess in retaliation for the capture of their agent?”

  “The Americans won’t take any action over one agent, there’s too much at stake. The Soviets and Americans are like two giant boxers eyeing each other from their respective corners, neither will do anything overtly. Besides, the CIA doesn’t leave a calling card,” Hartmann said holding out the card clearly printed with Madeleine’s message.

  “The Soviets are helping the PLO,” Simmons said, examining the card.

  “And the Americans will help us when need be. But we have been admonished by our ally, not to start anything. But I think they’ll gladly help us finish whatever the Syrians and Egypt starts,” Hartmann said.

  “Yes, Director,” Simmons said, nodding his head in agreement.

  “Back to the task at hand, first I want a ballistics report on the bullets the shooter used.”

  “Don’t you mean the shooters, Sir? This couldn’t have been done by one person acting alone.”

  Hartmann gave him an indulgent smile. “Joshua, you are a good agent, but you still have much to learn about the world,” he said, gesturing with his hand at Al Massri’s body and bloody mark on the wall. “I believe you’ll find that all of the bullets were fired from the same gun. This fool was tortured before the assassin ‘released’ him with the knife thrust to the eye. Yes, this is the work of a lone assassin. The body downstairs with the slit throat and punctured ear canal was dispatched to insure silence as the killer carried out the mission. Now leave an old man a minute to himself,” Hartmann said with a reassuring pat on Simmons’ shoulder, as he turned his attention back to the symbol on the wall.

  Several miles away from the PLO safe house, Madeleine and the others discussed their next move.

  “John, Tracy might be at the next location. We should move right away before they get a chance to move him,” Madeleine said.

  “Did you find anything out about Tracy?” John said eagerly reaching out to take Karen’s hand.

  “I have a name and address of the person to whom Tracy was delivered. Maybe he’s being held there, but I doubt it. A PLO thug named Al Lubnani has a compound near Ashdod, on the southern coastal plain about 60 miles from here. Al Lubnani was the commander of the cell that I took out. He may be trusted enough by his superiors to look after a package as valuable as Tracy, but I’m not convinced. I need to get inside his home and gather some more information before we will know for sure. I think it is time I visited the Mossad. I can’t wait any longer. If Hartmann is still alive, he’ll help once the situation is explained to him. If he is alive, then he knows what happened last night. He probably went to the scene himself. He may not know that I was the PLO’s ‘visitor’ but he will consider it. I haven’t spoken to him since the war, but he’ll recognize the signs. Besides, I left a calling card for the PLO. I don’t doubt that the Mossad report will be leaked to the PLO, once the Russians get their hands on it. The Mossad might even purposely leak the report in an effort to frighten and confuse the enemy.”

  “What’s your plan when we get to Ashdod?” Karen said.

  “It’s fairly simple. John creates a diversion with that Russian machinegun and I sneak into Al Lubnani’s compound and look for Tracy. You and Jack will wait outside with the vehicles and be ready to drive like hell,” Madeleine said.

  “What happens if we fail?” Karen asked.

  “That’s one reason we’re not all traveling together. If something happens, whoever gets away runs to the American Embassy, and makes contact with the state department. If our mission fails, then all there is left to do is hope someone will finally step in and help Tracy,” Madeleine said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Tracy paced in his small cell trying to come up with an escape plan. The daily routine never varied. His meals were placed served through a slot in his cell door, but there was little interaction with any of his captors. When he asked his guards for reading material, they provided some Muslim propaganda literature and a Quran in English. Later he asked for a Bible, and to his surprise, one was provided. At least my religious education is being seen to, he thought at the time. He knew the quandary the US government was in regarding his rescue, but he was sure that his father had either found out or been told that he was being held. He knew his father wouldn’t sit on the sidelines. He would come. Colonel Trunce still has lots of resources, Tracy reminded himself. I just have to be patient and try to escape if I get an opportunity.

  Several floors above Tracy’s cell, the PLO’s second in command, Abdul Haddad, thumbed through a copy of the Mossad’s file concerning the complete destruction of one of his strike teams. A second man calmly smoked a cigarette and watched as Haddad reviewed the file.

  “Your Russian cigarettes stink,” Haddad offered.

  Laughing, KGB agent Gregory Kozlov said, “So then why do so many American CIA agents switch to Russian brands once they’ve tried them?”

  “Because they have to spend so much time in your country, they’re trying to kill themselves quicker,” Haddad countered, closing the file.

  “What do you think of the report? Seems there’s a new player in the game,” Kozlov said with some levity. The KGB didn’t care one way or the other about the PLO’s dead operatives. He was only concerned with the Soviet Union’s interests in the region. The PLO was a fairly amateur organization by his estimate, but with Russian and KGB training, perhaps they could be molded into an asset. “The report indicates it was the work of a lone gunman, torturing that pig Al Massri before killing him,” Kozlov said, dropping his cigarette onto the floor and grinding it out under his shoe. He continued, “But what do you think about the message?”

  “You mean the one that reads, release the American agent?”

  “No, the symbol on the wall painted in blood. I believe it means the Angel of Death.”

  “It’s just some arrogant assassin’s calling card,” Haddad said.

  “You had better hope so,” Kozlov said taking another cigarette out of his case, making a production of lighting it, savoring the Arab’s discomfort.

  “What do you mean?” Haddad said with some irritation. He didn’t like the hardnosed KGB agent.

  “As a young officer, I was in the intelligence service during the war. We kept track of everything the enemy was doing, as well as our allies. Everyone knew that when the tide of the war turned, the allies would be left to divide Germany and Eastern Europe among themselves. I’ve been keeping an eye on the Americans ever since. Thirty years is long enough. I see a desk in my future,” Kozlov said tapping the ash of his cigarette onto the floor next to his chair.

  “Yes, yes, I know all of that. What do you know that you’ve haven’t told me?”

  “If that mark was made by whom I suspect it was, a myth has come back to haunt you. The Gestapo feared her, and the memory of the Gestapo makes the most fearsome PLO operatives, look like choir boys.”

  “Who was this man, this mythical assassin?”

  “It was a woman, Madeleine Toche, known to the French Resistance, the SS and the Gestapo as l’ange de la mort, the Angel of Death. She killed at least a thousand Germans, and was never caught. I met her once on a mission. Thinking of her now chills my heart,” Kozlov said.
r />   “The war was over long ago. I’m sure she’s dead or living a quiet life in seclusion.”

  “Perhaps, but take my advice. Turn the agent over to me for transport back to Russia. Perhaps through the appropriate diplomatic channels he can be exchanged for one of our agents. We do it all the time,” Kozlov said crushing out his cigarette in an ashtray that Haddad handed him.

  “My superiors, not to mention the Egyptian and Syrian governments, are not going to send a valuable piece of leverage out of our control when war is so close,” Haddad said.

  “We’ll wait, then,” Kozlov said, getting up from his seat. “Either the Israelis, Syria or Egypt is going to blink soon, and the war will begin without warning.”

  “I’m not in control of those decisions,” Haddad added. “I am only interested in the liberation of Palestine from the Jews who stole it.”

  “Then why aren’t you in the street fighting, instead of enjoying the hospitality of your Syrian neighbors, safely inside their country?” Kozlov said with a mocking smile.

  “What about you? Why aren’t you fighting for the socialist cause in one of your country’s various conflicts?” Haddad countered.

  “I fought my war,” Kozlov said, walking away. “Now you fight yours.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ariel walked into Hartmann’s private study and found him behind his desk going over a map of the region showing the Israeli army’s troop deployment and lines of defense. When he noticed her presence, Hartmann looked up and greeted her with a brief smile.