by Rose Fox
“That’s all I need now – the Police!” he yelled and used the instrument to make a call right away.
“Jurgen, go to the Czech border!” he demanded, “one or two kilometers before the descent to Italy. Get rid of a body lying on the side of the road before the flies and the police get to it.” A second later, he added: “Come unarmed.”
“Without arms, boss?” the young Czech was surprised. “Is he heavy? Should I bring Mahmoud with me?”
But Effendi no longer answered. He carried on driving, safe in the knowledge that everything would be okay.
Jurgen was Effendi’s slave. He owed him his life ever since they became acquainted when they fought in the Revolutionary Guards. It was a short battle in which many were killed and Jurgen was injured in his abdomen and knee. Effendi carried him on his back for many hours and brought him in for medical attention and ever since, he had a limp in his left leg. He never forgot that Effendi came to visit him, accompanied by two guards and he felt honored by him. He was about eighteen years old then.
As Effendi continued driving he recalled the tiny bug that had been left with the passenger he had killed and roared at the windshield in front of him:
“Who was the bastard who planted that bug on me?!”
Now he wondered if he should go back and look for the bug but he feared that someone would get there before him and link him to the murder. He decided to keep moving ahead, knowing that he had to hurry to “The King’s Hotel” in Italy to attend to something more important than bother with Oleg, who he had already defeated.
“Ah, who cares about that bloody bug!” he barked at the window and put his foot down hard on the accelerator.
The surveillance bug lay on the road and continued transmitting to Michael as if the car was still parked there without moving, close to the Czech border. After ten hours, it was clear that he should check what was delaying the “Bentley” and he called Timmy. To his amazement, there was no response.
“What’s going on?” he asked himself.
Stubborn pessimistic thoughts took control of his mind.
“There’s no way that he isn’t answering or available and how come the car hasn’t moved for more than ten hours?”
*
Half an hour after receiving Effendi’s message, Jurgen and Mahmoud’s car arrived and they discovered Oleg’s corpse. They both got down and Jurgen bent down over it and his eyes widened in panic. He pointed to the body and yelled out in fright:
“It’s Nimar! He was one of the agents of the Republican Guards that almost killed me.”
“Is that so? Well, let’s get him out of here quickly. I’ll grab his arms and you get hold of his legs.”
Just then a car siren whined and a flashing blue light lit up beside them. Two policemen got out of the front doors and stood beside the surprised fellows, who let go of the corpse.
A quick check by the police officer revealed they were unarmed.
“What are you doing here?” one of them asked.
“We were passing and happened to see this dead body,” Mahmoud said.
“Show us some I.D., both of you.” The officer demanded.
The officers stepped aside and checked out the documents the two men presented. They spoke Czech, which Jurgen understood, of course, and he listened to them quietly.
“They just seem to be harmless passers-by.”
“Wait, what are they doing here, near the Italian border?”
“I’ve no idea, but would you arrest them for that?”
“I’m not that certain what to do with them. Look at the one on the right. He’s behaving suspiciously and looks quite scared,” he said as he threw a glance at Jurgen. He was unable to hide his tension and could barely breathe, especially as he understood what the policemen were saying.
“Fine then, let them go and send them to hell,” one of them said.
They returned the documents to Jurgen and Mahmoud, who left the place a minute later.
One of the policemen went through the pockets of the dead man and found a folded note. It bore a written instruction.
“Stay close to a man called Effendi Khaidar.
He is on his way to the Italian border in a silver-colored “Bentley”
with registration number, MS-102.”
The order was written by Rulam after he warned Effendi about his brother-in-law. He had given it to Nimar because he assumed that this would make it easier to hand over the man, who had once been his friend. He did all this to ensure that the leaders of the organization would not be accused of his murder.
“After them,” he screamed, “I should have realized they weren’t just moving that corpse without a good reason.”
Meanwhile, Jurgen and Mahmoud continued driving. Jurgen pulled out a bottle of beer, pulled off the cap between his teeth, drank thirstily and said:
“Lucky, we weren’t armed.”
He wiped away the foam that had stuck to his light-colored mustache and offered the bottle to the driver.
“Have some, it’ll calm you.”
“Not now, just explain whose corpse did we try to clear from the road?”
“Ah, it was Nimar. He was the one, who fired on our convoy in the demonstrations a few years ago when I was almost killed.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s interesting how he got killed now.”
“Apparently, he was trying to deal with Khaidar, who had no compunction about killing him.”
“What does it matter, as long as they didn’t shift the guilt on us?”
From the rear, they heard the whine of the police car siren and a voice on the loudspeaker called them to pull over to the side.
“Oh, in the name of Allah and his holy prophets, what now?!”
Jurgen caught fright and hit Mahmoud’s hand as he yelled:
“Keep driving, don’t even think of stopping!”
“Have you gone mad?! Where can we go?” Mahmoud screamed, but pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator and the car leaped forward, its tires screeching as it drove at great speed.
Mahmoud glanced quickly in the rear-view mirror in front of him and when he noticed the barrel of a revolver sticking out of the police car window, it was already too late. Initially, two shots were heard and nothing happened. The car continued at a crazy speed, but the shots that followed penetrated the rear window and pierced the back of his neck. His hands remained on the steering wheel and his foot still pressed heavily on the accelerator, but he was already dead.
The car continued speeding wildly for a few more seconds then suddenly rose up in the air, overturned and landed on its roof. The police car screeched to a stop and the two officers got out and went to the overturned vehicle. Their weapons were drawn and their fingers on the trigger.
Now, Effendi had already crossed the Czech-Italian border that only appears on maps. When he drove deeper into the mountainous territory, he recognized that he was driving on Italian roads, looking at colorful villages he passed through and understood he was under Italian skies.
At six in the evening, his world was turned upside down when he listened to the news broadcast.
At first he heard the report of the incident in which two members of the “Kaukab” organization had been killed. Effendi cursed, understanding that his men had been caught and turned up the volume of the radio.
“Two members of a terrorist group were killed while attempting to escape. The two had been sent by a senior official of the organization to get rid of the body of a member of the Revolutionary Guard he had killed.”
Effendi gasped wildly and when the newscaster continued speaking, he understood suddenly what great trouble his was in.
“The senior member, who murdered the Revolutionary Guard, is Effendi Khaidar.
He is dangerous man, he is armed with weapons and bombs.
He is driving to the Italian border in a silver-colored “Bentley” with the registration number MS-102.
Anyone noticing the vehicle is
requested to report to any police station and will receive a reward.”
Effendi slowed down and stopped on the roadside. He doused his lights, switched off the engine and sat to think. He was confident that his details had been leaked from within his organization. And now entered his mind that also this assignment he was on was, in fact, a suicide mission that would destroy him.
“Well, what do I do now?” He addressed the emptiness around him in the car.
His first move was to get out of the car with a screwdriver and dismantle the license plates, back, and front. The next thing he did – was to call his good friend, whom he trusted.
“A’halan, Abu-Rein, kef Halak?” (Hello, how are you?)
He calculated that this clergyman, who had married Abigail and Karma, was connected to many people and would be able to help him
“All is well, my friend.”
“Ah, ya'zalame (my friend). I am stuck with my car and need another one. I am leaving it on the road to Italy, a few kilometers from the Czech border, near the Fiano forest.” He explained, but then he heard Abu-Rein laugh and inform him:
“Yes, I heard the news. Listen, you’re a dangerous man,” and he didn’t see how Effendi cringed in his seat.
“Ahh, it’s interesting who leaked my details.”
“It’s not important right now.” The clergyman responded, “Let me think it over and call you back in a minute," and he called Mustafa immediately.
“A’halan,(Hello), listen, your man is a few kilometers into Italy, near the Fiano forest. He is asking for a different car instead of the one under surveillance. He is as wound up as a spring.”
Mustafa was momentarily silent, exhaled into the hookah pipe and watched how the liquid made big bubbles in the bottle. He talked slowly, thinking as he spoke.
“I can’t decide what’s more important right now. Should I get rid of him near that forest or give him another car to continue with the assignment to kill the Kurd and, in that way, get rid of both of them.”
“If you ask me, then, of course, I would say you should get rid of Khaidar and let the Kurd carry on to the fate we planned for him.” Then he added with a guffaw:
"That Khaidar is a son of a bitch and I believe the Italian newscaster. He really is dangerous.”
“You’re right, so promise him another car so as to delay that snake where he is right now and before the explosion.”
“How much more time does he have?”
“Let’s check. It’s now almost six. The bomb in his car is set to explode at half past seven, but he thinks it is fixed to explode at a quarter past eleven. In other words, he is in no hurry/ So calculate the time and we are with you.”
Abu-Rein called Khaidar and heard the sound of panic in his voice.
“Listen, ya'Habibi (my friend), stay where you are, another car is being arranged and will reach you within the next hour or hour and a half, okay?”
“I have no choice, my friend, my fate is in your hands,” was his response.
This conversation was heard by many ears. The phones of Effendi and Abu-Rein were being tapped by ‘Mossad’ surveillance and the recent event was causing a great stir. Clearly, they had to decide whether to intervene or allow the people to kill one another.
Foxy called Barak.
“Effendi Khaidar is on the run and taking flight. The Italian radio is broadcasting details of his vehicle and the price on his head, non-stop.”
It seems that people from his own organization are out to get him and I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t his close friends,” Barak stated and added:
“I suggest you come here with more details, rather than speak on the phone,” and then he called Michael.
“Have you heard the latest development? By the way, what can you report on the ‘Noodle’s’ assignment. Is there any connection to what is happening to Khaidar?”
“Yes, I heard about the chase. The man is dangerous but under pressure and he’s on an assignment now.”
"What do you mean you said that?"
Michael sighed. "He is smart and when the mission is over, he'll finished with them the bill. ."
"I mean, you offer to let evil destroy himself and not interfere?"
"Yes."
"Now, what happens with The noodle?"
“Ah, as regards the ‘Noodle,' he is waiting to board the ship ‘Ankara’ with the car on Saturday night.”
“You said that Effendi is also on a job. Do you know what he is up to?”
“Yes, he was given the same assignment as the ‘Noodle.'”
“What, what?”
Michael paused before saying:
“Each of them has a bomb in his glove compartment and they were instructed to plant it in the other car.”
A hard knock, followed by three softer ones was heard at the door and San peered through the spyglass. Zaguri entered and thundered his usual loud greeting that was met with an angry glance from San, who could not stand his humor or his manner.
“Hush, we’re talking to Michael,” San explained, “they have put out a contract on Effendi and the media revealed the details of the car he is traveling in.”
The radio device beeped and San looked at it,
“It’s Michael, again,” he said and put his earphones back on.
Michael spoke tensely, “Listen, I received panic signals from Timmy.”
“Where is he?”
“As far as I know, he is keeping watch at “The King’s Hotel.”
Barak considered this for a few seconds and said:
“Michael, I suggest that you talk to Lucy and don’t forget to report back.”
On Friday morning, Timmy was captured by two ‘Kaukab’ operatives.
A day earlier, Timmy had been considering moving his location. He knew that he should not remain in one place for a long time and had considered changing it, but everything was quiet. His parking place afforded him an incredible vantage point and he had decided to wait there one more day. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Karma was setting out on his assignment the following day and if they hadn’t noticed him yet – nothing would happen in the few remaining hours.
On Friday morning, Timmy was woken in panic by the ringing of his telephone, but it stopped. He picked up the phone, yawned loudly and got out of the car.
Outside the car, he stretched and his mouth remained open in a broad yawn. A pair of eyes watched him from the nearby bushes and then the whistle of gunfire was heard and his leg was hit. When he bent down to his injured ankle, two men burst out of the bushes, grabbed hold of him and dragged him to another car that was located two cars away from his.
Tim groaned with pain, bent down and pressed the panic button on his belt and a beep was transmitted to his father, Michael, immediately. It had been prearranged between them that he would do this when he needed help.
Timmy did not give up. He trod on the shoe behind him with his healthy foot and tried to jerk his elbow up to free himself from his captors. But there were two of them and they held on to him like a vise. He tore the buttons off his shirt and almost succeeded in slipping out of it, leaving it in their grasp when one of them landed a blow on his jaw and Timmy’s muscles slackened. They dragged him to their car and threw him on the back seat. Someone got in beside him, pulled his hands behind his back while the other man stuffed a folded rag into his mouth.
At the scene of his capture, the buttons that had been ripped off the shirt he wore lay scattered around the luxury car and his shattered phone was left lying on the road.
*
Effendi sat in his car, waiting for its replacement. He gazed at the nearby forest and tried to calculate his distance from “The King’s Hotel.”
The clock in the car pointed to a quarter past six, a quarter of an hour since he had spoken to the Qadi. He folded his arms behind his head and thought about his situation. He recalled Rulam telling him that the explosion was set for a quarter past eleven and decided to peek in the glove compartment, jus
t to check it out.
Effendi pulled the black bag and when he opened the tie, he was struck dumb. The dial showed that it had been set for half past seven. Now, he knew he was fighting for his life. In another hour and a quarter, the bomb would explode in his hands. He straightened up in his seat and began trying to think things through.
The whole plan he had received – to board the ship, ‘Ankara’, which was probably already anchored in the Gulf of Italy, on the Adriatic coast – was all rubbish and nonsense.
"How I did not realize!" He said loudly and slapped his forehead.
Another point entered his mind. If the clergyman had asked him at six o’clock to wait where he was for another hour and a half – in other words, till the precise time of the explosion, this must mean that he was one of those, who did not wish him well.
He decided to take action. First, he turned the dial and changed the time of the explosion to half past eleven, a quarter of an hour later than the time they told him. Since he assumed that someone would come and check whether the explosion had taken place, he decided to abandon the car and sit far away to see what would happen.
Effendi cocked his revolver and returned it to his pocket, closed the black bag with the bomb and hesitated but, finally, decided to take it with him.
The wind blew between the tall tree trunks and Effendi went deeper into the forest, treading on a carpet of leaves and feeling the chill. He sat down on a stump of a felled tree and rested his knapsack at its foot.
Five minutes later, he opened the bag to look for something to eat. His hand came up against a smooth coil and when he looked inside, he jumped back in panic. It was a striped snake that was rolled up and asleep, perhaps because of the cold weather. He almost decided to overturn the bag and chase it away when he got an idea. He closed the bag again and chuckled when he thought that he had received a heavensent solution. All he wanted was that the driver who came with the replacement car would be one of the three men who had betrayed him.
Time passed very slowly and Effendi watched the disappearing rays of the sun and darkness falling everywhere.