You will be alone there, but your job is not complicated once you have identified the location of the target. The difficulty will be choosing when and how to strike. Egypt and Syria will attack Israel very soon and waiting until after that occurs will make your job much more chaotic and less likely to succeed,” Kishimoto said.
“You certainly aren’t sending me into a very hospitable place,” Amaya answered.
“The various militaries are not your worry. Madeleine Toche should be. Remember that the four other assassins that were approached declined the mission, including those insane bastards in the IRA.”
“Wasn’t the money good enough?”
“It had nothing to do with money. It seems that many of the old European spy masters remember what Toche is capable of, and word gets around. I was told the old IRA leader, who was around during the war, laughed out loud when he heard the name. He said there wasn’t enough money in the world,” Kishimoto said.
“They must be cowards,” Amaya answered.
“Perhaps they are, or perhaps they value their lives.”
“Perhaps,” Amaya said.
Leaning forward to serve them both another splash of tea, Kishimoto said, “I want to be clear Amaya, I’m not ordering you to take this assignment. If you don’t want to go, I’ll decline the money. Operating in Israel isn’t like striking a target in Europe or the United States where we have more connections and support. You’ll be alone in a very foreign land.”
“Would this be good for us?” Amaya said.
“Very,” Kishimoto answered.” It will bring us a great deal of respect, both at home, and abroad.”
“Then I will go.”
“Because you think I want you to?”
“No, because I am Yakuza,” Amaya said, leaving no doubt.
Less than 24 hours later, Amaya was speeding over the Syrian Desert with two tight lipped Syrian army operatives. They were all business. She was to be delivered through the desert and to a location several miles into Israeli territory. She checked her two pistols, knowing that if she needed heavier firepower the Syrians would supply her. She went over the intelligence that she’d been given. Clearly Toche was operating from within Israel; both strikes had taken place on Israeli soil. The reports also stated that she had support, although how high up that went was still undetermined.
During the plane ride from Tokyo to Damascus, Amaya had pored over the file that had been amassed detailing the activities of the Angel of Death during the war. It was the information buried in the file regarding Toche’s training that had caught her eye. A good portion of the file contained information that had been obtained through highly placed spies within a Japanese Intelligence agency. The file was complete and thorough, thanks to excellent work by Yakuza agents.
There was a brief dossier on Berthold Hartmann. During the war, he had worked with the Angel of Death. And now, he was the head of the Mossad.
Toche was almost certainly receiving assistance through that organization. She would have needed a great deal of information to have carried out the strikes that she had made to date. Amaya kept looking at the grainy picture of Madeleine’s profile, taken from video footage inside Al Lubnani’s home during her assault. The markings left by Toche in her victim’s blood troubled Amaya. Toche was not trying to hide. Amaya took that as a challenge.
Toche would need to go back to Mossad headquarters. When she did, Amaya would be there to track and kill her and any others who got in the way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“You know, eventually the PLO, the Syrians or the Egyptians will send someone after you,” Jack said to Madeleine as they sat on the steps leading down to the street from the safe house porch.
“I just love the sunset here,” Madeleine answered, gesturing with her cigarette towards the orange glow of the setting sun. “If it was always night, I could live here. The emptiness of the desert reminds me of the vastness of the ocean.”
“You didn’t answer my question. MI6 intercepted part of a coded message sent out by the Syrians. You weren’t mentioned, but they were seeking assistance for a regional operation involving an undisclosed target.”
“Me,” Madeleine said.
“Who else could stir up so much trouble?” Jack said, sliding his arm through Madeleine’s.
“My worry is that whomever they send will be able to identify the location of this safe house,” Madeleine said.
“Then we’ll move. We need to enter into Syria as soon as possible. I’ll find another location when I make contact with London in the morning. It’s about 135 miles from Jerusalem to Damascus. Let’s hope the target isn’t that far north. Once London verifies when our next safe house is ready, we’ll move there and plan our entrance into Syria. Unless the Syrians or Egyptians send one of their own shooters, we should have some time before there’s someone on the streets looking for you,” Jack said.
“They’ll send someone from outside. That person could already be in the country, depending how fast they traveled. They wouldn’t want a trail leading back to them if the war doesn’t go their way or the shooter misses,” Madeleine said.
“You seem very certain that they will send someone,” Jack said.
“It only makes sense. Besides, before they negotiate anything concerning Tracy, they’ll seek another alternative, and try to remove me from the equation. Once a war starts, the need to kill me is secondary to their military objectives. I think they’re more concerned with the impact I could have behind enemy lines fighting outright or trying to rescue Tracy. If the war is going in the Arab’s favor, their interest in me will diminish, unless they’re only after revenge,” Madeleine said.
“Let’s go tell John and Karen to be prepared to move,” Jack said, offering his hand to help Madeleine off the step.
“At least we are getting closer to finding Tracy. Our enemies must be concerned if they’ve hired a hit out on me,” Madeleine said.
“Yes, at least we’ve narrowed it down to one unfriendly country, and not an entire region,” Jack said, sighing in frustration. “I can’t imagine trying to find Tracy in Egypt and Syria at the same time.”
“Have faith, Jack, something will happen soon. Sometimes the best intelligence comes when it’s least expected,” Madeleine said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Madeleine found John out by the garage, loading the vehicles and checking the engines. Everything was cleared out of their quarters and stowed away in the two Range Rovers.
“Is everything ready, John? Is there anything else to carry down?” Madeleine said, handing him a cup of coffee.
“Extra black, just the way I like it,” John said, taking a sip. “No, I think this is it. We’re a little lighter without the Russian machinegun and the extra ammo. I hope we don’t need it.”
“I think we should be able to purchase another machinegun or get one from the Mossad,” Madeleine said. “We should head out soon. I need to stop and speak to Hartmann. I want to make my report in person. He might be able to make a very good guess as to where the Syrians are holding Tracy. I’d think the most secure place would be a military base.”
“An exact location would be best. At least we’d know what we were up against,” John said.
“I can tell we’re getting close. If they’ve moved Tracy to Syria, they must be planning to invade any day,” Madeleine said. “The Russians or the Syrians must have felt the pressure and insisted on moving him behind enemy lines.”
“I hope so. The sooner we find him and leave the country, the better. Karen is holding up well, but I can see the tension building in her each day,” John said.
“This last operation will require getting in and getting out fast. Getting in shouldn’t be too difficult. The soldiers guarding the border will be planning for an offensive, and our small group should be able to slip in past them while they are concentrating on crossing the border themselves. However, getting out of the country with an escaped American captive won’t be as easy. The whole
country will be on alert,” Madeleine said.
“I think I can help with that,” John said wiping grease off his hands with a well-used rag.
“What do you suggest?”
“We’ll go out in style. My friend’s airline runs a flight out of Damascus. We’ll board the plane at the last minute and fly out of their airspace. Even if they suspect anything, they’ll hesitate a long time before they shoot down a commercial aircraft loaded with Syrians and other passengers. There are many western journalists reporting from Syria, as well as other Arab journalists. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to rely on being able to cross back over enemy lines into Israel. We’ll be safe, once we’re on Cecil’s plane. I think it will be the last place anyone chasing us would look,” John said.
“Your friend must have some clout with the airline.”
“He does. He owns it,” John said with a chuckle. “I guarantee that he will insist on flying the plane himself.”
“A commercial jet is not cheap,” Madeleine said. “Will he be willing to risk it?”
“He’s a fighter jock from the Battle of Britain. He worked his way up as a commercial pilot until he owned the airline. Those Battle of Britain boys never think any other pilot in the world is as good as they are. And in Cecil’s case, he’s probably right.”
“We need the flight schedule and someplace to hide while we wait,” Madeleine said.
“With the middle east gearing up for war, they’ll have an increased flight schedule. We won’t have a long wait,” John said.
“No, I suppose we won’t. I’d better get the others. It’s time to go,” Madeleine said, moving back up the stairs.
A few kilometers away, Amaya observed the Mossad building through the lens of her tourist’s camera. She wore loose cotton shorts and a t-shirt. She looked like a student, complete with a backpack. The camera dangled around her neck and provided great cover while she waited. She even had a return plane ticket that she carried in a zipper pocket of her pack.
Despite the political tensions, so far foreigners were not being asked to leave. That would come once the fighting broke out. Even at this point, there had been no official suggestion that tourists and civilian visitors leave the country. To do so would have been an acknowledgement on the part of the Israeli government that they expected war. It is an interesting situation, she thought scanning the crowd again. She had memorized Madeleine’s photo and was fairly confident that she would recognize her, either alone or with a small group. She won’t be alone, and a group would provide good cover. Amaya’s plan was to get Madeleine alone, but if others got in the way, she would take them out, too. Even someone with Toche’s experience needed assistance in a location as foreign as Israel.
Amaya used the camera and took pictures of everything around her. As a test, she moved closer to a couple of Israeli security officers, who took no significant interest in her as she passed in front of them. She was careful not to appear interested in the Mossad building; she really had no need to go inside. Her plan was simple, to wait and watch. At some point her target would come to her. She was confident that the Mossad wouldn’t have the luxury of moving their operations center, with the war imminent. This was her second day of waiting; thankfully she was able to blend in with the other market goers. There was no longer any doubt concerning the connection between Toche and the Mossad. The few PLO operatives that had escaped their bungled attack on the Mossad director, all spoke of the assailant that had seemed to materialize out of nowhere and attacked everywhere at once. Amaya sat on the rim of a small fountain and removed her backpack. She opened the zipper just wide enough to place her hand inside and to feel the grip of the silenced pistol inside. She reached further down and felt the compact sniper rifle, the barrel, scope and ammunition fit inside the stock. She pulled out a new roll of film and reloaded her camera. Passersby smiled at the attractive young woman, oblivious to the fact that she had carried out dozens of hits for the Yakuza, in Japan and more recently, internationally.
Amaya neither enjoyed nor was bothered by her chosen profession. She was a professional. She never concerned herself with the motivation behind any of the killings. The hit on Madeleine Toche was business that was simple enough. All Amaya considered was that her target was a well-armed and highly proficient killer. But, she’d targeted very dangerous individuals in the past, particularly when the victims were members of organized crime. Toche wouldn’t be easy at all. But she would be preoccupied with her own mission and at some point will have dropped her guard. That is when I’ll strike, Amaya thought. It will be on the street, a clean kill.
John and Karen kept a discreet distance behind the Range Rover Jack was driving. He and Madeleine were on their way back to the market near the damaged Mossad building. The violence of the battle had left a few scars and scorch marks on the exterior of the Mossad headquarters, but the busy hustle of the crowded marketplace swallowed up any memory of the battle that had taken place a few days earlier. The only other sign was an increased police presence.
“Jack, pull into the parking lot over there next to the café. I’ll go in and speak to Hartmann, the rest of you can wait at the café,” Madeleine said.
John parked at the far end of the parking lot, keeping the vehicles separated. He and Karen walked over to Jack’s vehicle as Madeleine exited from the passenger side.
“I’ll meet the rest of you in twenty minutes or so,” Madeleine said, walking away.
“Try to make it quick, Madeleine,” Jack said. “We need to get to the new safe house. I’m worried that you’re not quite as invisible as before. The PLO will have eyes on the Mossad either from the outside or within. It’s safe to say they want your head at all costs.”
“I don’t like being out in the open any more than I have to, but the information Hartmann might have is too important to discuss over the phone. Hartmann’s probably in more danger than I am following the attack and the conflict that is heating up. I’m being careful, so don’t worry,” Madeleine said, pulling her large sun hat over her head. She turned and walked across the park lot, staying out of the market square as long as possible, glancing over her shoulder as her small group seated itself under the awning of the small café. She walked towards the entrance to the Mossad building. She was to meet Ariel there in a few minutes. Right on schedule, Ariel opened the front door and waved Madeleine inside.
“The director thinks he has some news,” Ariel said quietly to Madeleine as they moved past the reception desk and approached an elevator.
“I hope so. I’m beginning to think that I’ve overstayed my welcome in this part of the world.”
“You’ve certainly been busy,” Ariel said.
“Yes, but they haven’t released Tracy yet.”
On the right side of the lobby, Ariel inserted a key into the elevator console and the door to a private elevator opened.
Madeleine gestured for Ariel to precede her as they entered. Ariel took the same key and inserted it into the interior panel. The doors closed and the elevator car started its descent.
“How far down?” Madeleine asked.
“Four floors,” Ariel said.
“That would give the best protection if a bomb was detonated above ground,” Madeleine said.
“This elevator is the only way down to the director’s office,” Ariel said.
“There must be another way out from below,” Madeleine said.
“I suppose so, but that information hasn’t been shared with me,” Ariel said as the car came to a stop and the door opened revealing a small lobby guarded by two heavily armed Israeli soldiers. They saluted sharply after the briefest eye contact. Behind the men, a female soldier glanced up from a video screen.
“We observe all visitors from the moment they arrive until they leave,” the female soldier said gesturing towards the screen.
“Inside the director’s office as well?” Madeleine asked.
“Video only, no audio. The director prefers his conversations to be private
.”
“As do I,” Madeleine responded, following Ariel over to a set of heavy oak doors.
Hartmann rose from behind his desk as the women entered and gestured for Madeleine to come over.
“Madeleine, if you don’t mind, I’d like Ariel to stay. I have some news and she will be better able to help you out in the street or in the desert on the way to Syria,” Hartmann said.
“I trust your judgment,” Madeleine said, sitting in the offered chair in front of Hartmann’s desk.
Ariel sat next to Madeleine and both waited for Hartmann to speak.
“I believe we have a breakthrough in locating the missing NSA agent. One of our embedded agents believes she saw a man fitting the agent’s description being transferred to a secondary military base in the Syrian town of Suweida. Her information is generally correct. Her cover story is as a civilian domestic worker at the military base in question. We have similarly positioned agents in Egypt and others in Syria. We do not use them for operational purposes, simply to report on troop movements, and the general comings and goings in strategically important locations. Suweida is just on the other side of our northeastern border,” Hartmann said.
“I thought the Knesset was not going to sanction any assistance in retrieving the agent,” Madeleine said, moving forward in her chair. “The Knesset cannot be seen to endorse any such activity, but Prime Minister Meir has given me some unofficial leeway in assisting you,” Hartmann said turning his attention to a sheaf of papers on his desk. “I believe we can help in a variety of ways. First, we have recent schematic plans of the base in question. While we don’t have the luxury of a great deal of time, we have good intelligence and have a previously devised plan of entry to the base in question. As you know, many governments have contingency plans in place in the event they need to be executed. Ariel is intimately familiar with the plan and the base.”
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