Carpathian: Event Book 08

by David L. Golemon

  “What in the hell is this?” Jack mumbled to himself, “Gypsy Queen? What are you getting at, Alice?” Jack placed the photos back in the file and then picked up the next typewritten notes.

  Sample 131-c recovered from privately owned vessel, Golden Child—Hong Kong–flagged yacht. Item recovered from vessel after said vessel was destroyed by sabotage the night of April 1, 1949, by Garrison Lee, General United States Army (ret).

  Jack had a quick flash of memory as he rummaged through the file until he found the piece he was looking for—none other than the small chunk of rock he had examined before at the Ark—the small block of hewed stone with the petrified specimen inside. The tag read: 131-c. Collins played the stone in his hands as he thought about what was in the file—a file that made no sense as to the direction Alice Hamilton was taking with her investigation.

  Collins made a decision and reached over for his phone. “Europa, Colonel Collins 5785 clearance—give me the locations on Professor Ellenshaw, Dr. Golding, and Alice Hamilton, please.”

  “Professor Ellenshaw is currently in Laboratory 1344 on Level 81, Dr. Golding is currently in the Ark, and Alice Hamilton is in her personal quarters.”

  “Thank you.” Jack hung up and pushed another button. “Will, gather up Alice from her quarters and Doc Ellenshaw in his lab and get them to Level 63,” he said quickly and then hung up.

  He closed the file and that was when he noticed the code numbers and name Alice and Europa had given the file. It was strange he hadn’t noticed it before, which proved he was thinking of his sister’s murder too much for his duties at the Group. The code was File 890987—code name—Grimm.

  “So, you’re helping Alice figure out her little problem?”

  Jack felt the small arms encircle his neck and he relaxed as Sarah kissed his cheek.

  “Get dressed, short stuff, and go to the Ark and drag Pete Golding out of there and get him down to Vault 22871.”

  “Ordering your woman from your room at this early hour can force me to stop handing out the kind of loving you received last night for a very long time.”

  Jack smiled for the first time in what seemed like months as he turned and kissed Sarah and then slapped her on her rear end. “Now get some clothes on and get Doc Golding.”

  Sarah straightened and went for her jumpsuit, which was crumpled on the floor by Jack’s bed.

  “What has you so worked up after the workout I gave you—I must not be that good if you have this much energy.”

  “Baby, you’re that good, I would promote you to major if I could, but for right now let’s go help out a friend who everyone thinks has gone off the deep end about her wolves.”

  “You believe her about her animals?” Sarah asked as she zipped up.

  “Not just yet, but I think I may have found someone who changed his mind somewhere along the line that adds far more weight to her argument—someone with the credentials that not even Niles could argue with.”

  “Who is that?” Sarah asked as she ran her fingers through her hair in lieu of a comb.

  “Senator Garrison Lee.”

  ROME, ITALY

  Everett reached over and hit Ryan on the shoulder as the taxicab came to a stop just outside St. Peter’s Basilica. Ryan jumped at the sudden stop and the impact of Everett’s muscled hand. Almost two hours of postflight, refueling and then getting a private hangar at Leonardo da Vinci International, one of the world’s busiest airports, and then getting through customs, had placed an even harder burden on the naval aviator than just jet lag could produce. With Everett acting as his copilot on the nineteen-hour flight his sleep was off and on as Everett had to be checked on during his turn at the controls, even though most of the flight over the Atlantic had been flown by autopilot.

  “Are we there already?” Ryan asked as he yawned and looked out the cab’s filthy window.

  Everett paid the driver and then looked at Jason. “Yeah, it only took us an hour and a half through Rome’s midday traffic.” He sat back in his seat as he opened the door. “If we have trouble we may have to find a different route back to da Vinci.”

  As Ryan looked at the crowds meandering through the wide walkways leading to the large square he shook his head.

  “Our best bet on that occasion would be to walk out of here.”

  Everett nodded that he thought Jason was right. “Well, maybe we’re just being paranoid about life in general lately. Let’s go get our boy.”

  The two U.S. Navy men stepped into the thickening mass of humanity on their way to find their Goliath.

  * * *

  Mica Sorotzkin watched as the young American priest sat on the steps in front of the Basilica. His long black robe was easily played out at his sides as he opened his brown paper lunch sack. Major Sorotzkin had picked the priest up that morning as she spied him leaving his apartment on the east side of the massive property that was its own city inside of Rome—the Vatican housing area. She had been ordered to pick him up there and then again after he left work or at any time he was not in his highly classified office at the archives building.

  As the major watched the young priest remove his sunglasses and wipe them on a tissue, she saw that he was actually far younger than he looked at the cybercafe the several times she had followed him there. She sat three rows of steps back from the American. She used a large carry-all and pulled out a small thermos and poured herself a cup of tea.

  Mica had received a very urgent call from the general and that call now made her wonder why General Shamni had suddenly ordered constant surveillance on the priest after the hard drives taken from the cybercafe computers had been analyzed and the results sent straight to Tel Aviv. It had been at three that morning that Shamni had called personally and ordered the “eyes on” until further notice—instructions would follow.

  Mica didn’t like the connotation of that last message. As she watched the young American she became worried that the general would order something other than an attempt to turn him into a working associate of Mossad.

  * * *

  The young American cleric known to his superiors at the Event Group as Goliath bit into his cheese sandwich as he watched the thousand milling tourists in the square and thought about how the day had changed not long after he had awoken.

  That very morning he had received a coded message from Director Compton himself that came through his secure phone link bounced off several NSA communication satellites. He was going to be contacted at one this afternoon Rome time. He was to meet his contact at the steps of the Basilica and it would be Captain Everett himself coming in for the field evaluation. Everett had assisted in his covert training and DeSilva knew the captain well enough to know that something big was happening if they sent him all this way. He chewed on his sandwich. Behind his dark sunglasses the University of Notre Dame grad and U.S. Army second lieutenant scanned the crowd for the impressive form of the Navy SEAL, Carl Everett.

  * * *

  Major Sorotzkin flinched when her cell phone vibrated in her breast pocket. She reached into her lightweight blazer, past the Israeli-made, polymer-framed BUL Cherokee nine-millimeter in its nylon holster and retrieved the vibrating cell phone. She angrily hit the receive button.

  “Yes?” she said easily into the phone as she took a sip of her lukewarm tea. She grimaced and was tempted to pour the tea onto the stone steps but held off as two highly visible Corpo della Gendarmeria walked past. The Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City State were highly trained at spotting trouble in crowded situations. She averted her sunglasses-covered eyes as the two uniformed guards walked past with just an appreciative look at the beautiful woman taking her lunch on the steps of the Basilica.

  “Major,” said the familiar voice of General Shamni, “are you in visual contact with the American agent?”

  “He’s about ten meters in front of me eating his lunch in the square, as he does every day the sun shines.”

  “We were unsuccessful in tracking the location of his contact. We s
uspect it’s the American CIA or National Security Agency, or maybe even their FBI, but that has all become a moot point. The photographic material removed from the Vatican archives directly affects the security of Israel. Am I clear on this point?”

  “Again, you’re not clear at all, General. I need to know certain things if I am to perform my mission correctly. How is this man a threat and what about the written report filed with the photos to this American’s contact?”

  “Major, you are treading on harsh ground—ground that could collapse under you at any time if you step wrong. We suspect that his filing to his superiors can be found at Langley, Virginia, and that’s something that will have to be dealt with at another time, for now the American priest is to be brought into the Rome safe house as soon as you can safely commit to the act, and once there you and the American can be debriefed by Colonel Ben-Nevin. He will burn all evidence of this priest’s activities and that report filed with the photographs is to be burned. Are you the only person at the safe house to have read that particular report?”

  “How can a report filed by a Roman officer be of any consequence to our security?” Mica knew the answer involved Operation Ramesses and she also suspected that the general knew she knew.

  “Ben-Nevin will burn the documents and close the safe house down, and then your mission in Rome will be complete. If need be the American will be brought in for more detailed questioning.”

  Sorotzkin could not believe what she had just heard. “Brought in?” she asked on the secure cell link through an Israeli satellite. “I have a chance to turn this man, that’s what I do. Counterintelligence, not snatching an unofficial allied agent off the street inside a friendly nation.”

  “Major, that harsh ground I mentioned to you earlier is starting to cave in as you speak. The American has learned of a key piece of Project Ramesses and cannot be allowed to connect that piece with any other that may have surfaced. And we must know what else he has uncovered. And don’t even ask about the project, it’s a thousand miles above your and also my pay grade. Clear?”

  Silence from Major Sorotzkin’s end.

  “Colonel Ben-Nevin has been on-site for an hour and our American spy is being tracked as we speak. You will call from the safe house and let me know when Ben-Nevin starts his debrief of the American. Nothing is to happen to this boy; right now he is valuable for what he may know. And more to the point, Sorotzkin, there may be elements inside our own government—far more hard-line elements I may add—that want what the Ramesses project represents brought home. Get him to the safe house and the prime minister has guaranteed his safety.”

  “General, I have your word no harm will come to this American operative?”

  “Major, the naïveté of that question is why I think your future is destined to be outside Mossad. Maybe I was wrong for handpicking you and that a transfer back to Army Intelligence would be best for your career; they are a little more suited in playing fair with the other kids on the block. We are not. But we do not kill Americans when it is avoidable, and this is one circumstance where it is still avoidable with your cooperation.”

  The phone went dead. Sorotzkin looked at her cell and then angrily closed it as she glanced up and saw the priest placing the remains of his lunch into his brown bag. Her differently colored eyes quickly scanned the area closest to the American but could see no familiar faces—and the pinched face of Ben-Nevin was easily seen and remembered.

  Mica, like most field agents, absolutely hated men like the colonel due to the fact that they are blinded by the religion they profess to believe in. Men like him have slowly been weeded out of Mossad and mostly from political office thanks to the young people’s trend toward voting for national security over religious heritage.

  The black-robed archivist got to his feet and fastidiously brushed at the dust on his behind. Mica saw the two men too late. One bent to a knee and tied a shoe that needed no tying and as she watched a second, smaller, dark-haired man in a polo shirt held up a map and asked the priest a question. Sorotzkin saw the American point to the streets to the south and then the man with the map pointed in the same direction. She saw them laugh together and then the priest looked as if he had made a decision. The two men with the taller one taking up the rear started to leave the square.

  Mica was thinking that Ben-Nevin’s Mossad agents had arrived and there was little she could do to stop the abduction of the young American.

  Major Mica Sorotzkin followed what she believed were the Mossad agents and the archival priest out of the square and into the darkest of hours that would conclude somewhere in the mountains of Eastern Europe.

  * * *

  Carl Everett kept pace ten feet behind Jason Ryan and United States Army Second Lieutenant Leonard DeSilva. Carl had been impressed on how easily the soldier playing a priest had taken his recall order, it was if the kid had been sensing he had been made before Everett informed him of the fact. When he felt he was being followed the day before he had acted quickly and got the evidence. The Mossad agent had been pinpointed from those grainy pictures taken from DeSilva’s cell phone camera. Underneath the desert sands of Nellis Air Force Base it had taken Europa all of ten minutes to nail her real identity as an agent for the state of Israel.

  As the three wound their way through the midday crowds around St. Peter’s it was Everett who was the first to feel the prickling at the back of his neck. As he scanned the area through dark sunglasses he saw first Ryan, and then DeSilva become aware of the same feeling. They were being followed. Everett’s SEAL training always paid dividends when it came to combat nerves, and with Ryan and DeSilva it was the same from the intense training they received at the hands of Colonel Collins.

  Ryan, understanding the procedure, quickly left the priest’s side and crossed the street where he vanished into the crowd of tourists and locals. He ducked low and then fought his way upstream to get behind Everett and the American contact. Ryan absentmindedly reached for his nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson but remembered this was supposed to be an extraction and not a gun battle. Everett had decided it had been too risky to try to get their personal weapons through customs. He grimaced and continued to try and come up behind the captain and their charge.

  Everett was also mentally kicking himself in the ass for not going to the American embassy and meeting the Event Group contact there and getting some protection but had thought that would be unnecessary due to the fact that the extraction would take place in downtown Rome and close to Vatican City, so what could go wrong with getting the kid to da Vinci Airport? Maybe Jack was right, maybe he, Ryan, and Mendenhall weren’t good enough to help the colonel track his sister’s killer if he was going to make simple mistakes like underestimating a situation. He started walking faster. Just as he was about to approach from the back a child stepped up to Everett and held out a bag of oranges he was selling. Carl tried to sidestep the child but the boy stepped in front of Everett and then held out the plastic bag holding six oranges.

  “Comprare le arance, la mia giornata è molto calda?” the boy said smiling up at the very large American.

  Carl had been asked to buy the boy’s oranges on this very hot day. Everett reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and gave it to the boy, who stopped and stared at the strange money he had been given. Everett didn’t wait, he now stepped quickly to catch up with DeSilva even as the boy stood there with his small bag of oranges and the twenty-dollar bill.

  Everett closed the gap between himself and DeSilva as the boy followed him with his eyes still looking at the unfamiliar money. Carl came up beside DeSilva and lowered his head as he slowly took a step past him as they neared a street vendor selling Vatican City T-shirts.

  “We’ve been made, Lieutenant, it’s time to—”

  “Hello, gentlemen, can I interest you in a T-shirt depicting the Basilica at its finest?”

  Everett looked up at the smiling man and realized he had spoken English. But by the time he realized it another man
had come up behind DeSilva and quickly maneuvered him into a small antique shop that the vendor fronted.

  At that moment Ryan appeared out of nowhere and tried to take DeSilva by the arm before the second man could get him into the antique shop.

  “That is not wise, young man. You and your friends have been covered by no fewer than two weapons at all times since you left the square. If you don’t want to see many innocent people hurt I suggest you step inside our small but trendy shop.”

  Ryan became defiant at the same moment that DeSilva decided he would not be led into a darkened store. Everett saw what was going to happen and stepped between the vendor and his two men.

  “That is wise. I am not familiar with these men but I do know the people they work for. I promise you no harm if you just step into the shop.”

  Everett, Ryan, and DeSilva turned and saw the black-haired woman as she stepped up to the confrontational scene. It was the Mossad agent pegged by DeSilva and Europa—Major Mica Sorotzkin. Everett recognized her even with the oversized sunglasses on her face.

  Carl had no choice. With a wary look to Ryan and DeSilva, he nodded that they should do as ordered. They were led into the store followed by the major and five men who had approached unobserved.

  The small Italian boy of twelve years of age looked from the closing door to the paper money in his hand, and then at the bag of oranges the tourist forgot to take. The boy was lost as to his next course of action.

  * * *

  The safe house was strangely quiet as Sorotzkin entered, followed by the eight men. Carl was pushed to the far wall of the small antique shop as the last man through the door closed it and then pulled down the dark shade on its roller.

  Major Sorotzkin made her way to the back of the shop and looked through the security curtain. Her computer technicians were not there. Everything looked normal with the one black fact that the safe house was never to be abandoned for any reason outside of a break-and-run order, which could only come from Tel Aviv. As they had with Everett and Ryan a moment before, the major’s hackles started to rise. As she turned and made her way back into the shop she heard a commotion.