Tariq’s eyes fell to the ground.
Fuchs answered for him. “He just gets a safe ride across the border with me to start a new life. He decided he doesn’t want to work for your country anymore. He told me that he wants—” Fuchs’ eyes darted to something in the distance. “Cover them, Tariq.”
Tariq pointed the weapon at the captives.
Fuchs lowered his weapon and used the binoculars to scan the valley.
A half-kilometer away, a dark green technical truck with black and brown camouflage and a bed-mounted machinegun behind an armored shield slowly negotiated the boulders and large rock formations, moving towards the airstrip.
Fuchs sighed. “It’s the captain. He’s still coming for the general. There’s just no question, he must really love that restaurant.” He lowered the binoculars and raised his weapon again. “But unfortunately for him, and unfortunately for you too, general, I talked to your people today and cut a new deal. And they agreed to my view that rather than bringing you back, it would be much easier to just kill you on the spot.”
The general glowered at Fuchs and spit toward him.
The spit fell short.
Fuchs smiled and addressed Molka and Uri. “He’ll be begging me in a minute. As for you two, I told the general’s people you are both just hapless amateurs with no real intelligence value and not worth my time or trouble.” He turned to Tariq. “You shoot the pilot. I’ll shoot her. Then I need you to use my phone and take a video of me executing the general so I can get paid.”
Tariq flashed Fuchs a shocked face. “You didn’t tell me I would have to kill anyone.”
Fuchs smiled widely. “We’re in this together, pretty man. We both need to spill blood. I’m not going to be the only one their people come after.”
“I told you I was in the army for two years and learned how to use a weapon, but I never killed anyone.”
Fuchs shrugged. “It’s easy. I’ll show you how it’s done.” He addressed the captives. “Everyone, get on your knees, and I promise you will get clean headshots. A painless death.”
The general and Uri complied.
Molka stood still, staring at Fuchs.
Fuchs stared back. “On your knees. NOW!”
Molka did not move. “Never for you.”
Fuchs grinned. “These Israelis are so tough. And I respect that. I really do. He didn’t make a sound when I hit him, and she’s defiant, even though she knows I’m really going to make her suffer now. Starting by shooting her fucking nose off.” He addressed Tariq. “You first.”
Tariq took two side steps away from Fuchs, cocked the weapon, and pointed it at Uri.
Uri lowered his head.
Tariq gazed upon Uri. “They were good men. They had many children.”
Fuchs viewed Tariq with confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Tariq’s eyes left Uri and bored into Fuchs. “They didn’t deserve to die like that. But you do.”
Fuchs’ face exploded into rage. “Damn you!” He started to turn his weapon toward Tariq.
Tariq spun his weapon faster toward Fuchs and fired.
Fuchs crumpled to the dirt under a headshot. Dead.
Molka dove and grabbed Fuchs’ weapon.
Tariq dropped the AK-47, stepped back, and raised his hands.
Molka smiled at him. “Tariq, I just fell in love with you all over again.”
Tariq smiled back. “See, I knew when you said that the first time you weren’t joking!”
“I actually was joking, and I still am. But thank you!”
Uri and the general stood.
“What is this?” the general said.
Tariq turned to him. “General, I lied to Fuchs about trading you for a ride across the border. I just wanted him waiting here so I could make him answer for murdering those four Zoran the Great fighters.”
Uri touched his temple where Fuchs had struck him and winced. “Why didn’t you just shoot him as soon as you got Molka’s weapon?”
“Because I wanted to look him in the eye first. For my people.”
Molka viewed the valley below. “I don’t see Jäger. He must be under the lip of the plateau climbing up here. We need to leave before he gets that heavy machinegun in position.” She whirled around. “Everyone on the plane. Uri, start the engine and get us out of here.”
Uri, the general, and Tariq climbed on to the Cessna’s wings and scrambled into the cabin.
Molka looked toward the valley again. “Darn! Too late!”
Jäger pulled the technical onto the airstrip’s south end, advanced about 10 meters, turned the vehicle sideways to form a blocking position, leaped out, and manned the bed-mounted machinegun.
Uri called out the open aircraft door. “We need every centimeter of this airstrip to take off. Can you hit him?”
Molka shook her head. “Not at this distance and not behind that armored shield. But he won’t fire at the plane. Unlike his partner, his deal isn’t to kill the general.”
“But it doesn’t look like he’s going to move either.”
“Then I’ll have to move him,” Molka said.
“How?”
Molka ran to the SUV still with the weapon, got into the driver seat, closed the door, started it, and drove around the aircraft to Uri’s side. “Start the engine and be ready for takeoff. But don’t leave without me.”
“What if you get killed?” Uri said.
Molka smirked. “Ok. Then you can leave without me.”
She pointed the SUV to head down the airstrip toward the technical, stopped, and put on her seat belt.
She took a deep breath, exhaled, lowered her body in the seat as far as she could while still being able to see, and started to move down the airstrip at a fast pace.
Ten seconds in, she expected 12.7 mm rounds to explode the front windshield.
But Jäger held his fire.
Molka stomped the accelerator.
Jäger opened fire.
But not at the windshield.
Rounds impacted the front bumper.
Rounds pierced the radiator.
A steam geyser obscured Molka’s limited view.
Jäger continued firing.
The SUV’s left front tire went down.
Jäger continued firing.
CRUNNNNNCCCHHH!
The SUV impacted the side of the technical’s rear bed.
The airbag deployed into Molka’s face.
The SUV’s momentum and mass pushed the much lighter technical the 10 meters back off the airstrip, and both vehicles went over the plateau’s edge.
The technical rolled over twice and landed on its wheels.
The SUV rolled another few meters and stopped when it high-centered itself atop a boulder.
Molka unbuckled, opened her door, grabbed the weapon, tumbled out onto the ground, and did a self-assessment:
Adrenalized but unscathed.
She scrambled to her feet and ran toward the technical:
No sign of Jäger.
She changed direction, climbed the hill up onto the airstrip, and waved at the running Cessna at the opposite end.
Uri’s hand waved back from the pilot’s window.
A cough and groan sounded behind Molka.
She looked over the plateau’s edge and spotted Jäger laying on his back 5 meters from his vehicle. He must have been thrown clear on the impact.
Molka moved back downhill, jogged to Jäger, and stood over him while keeping him covered. “Can you move?”
“Yes,” Jäger said. “But I do not wish to for a few minutes.”
“Your right arm is injured.”
“That was from an earlier crash.” He turned his blackened face toward Molka. “Very well played.”
“Thank you, but you could have fired higher, and I might not have made it. Why didn’t you?”
“I came here to capture a traitorous general. Not to kill a brave warrior.”
“An ethical man in an unethical profession,” Molka sai
d. “Your former partner had other ideals, though.”
“I assume former means you have made sure Sergeant Ernst Fuchs has smoked his last pipe?”
“Not me. Tariq.”
“That, I would not have guessed. How?”
“Looked him in the eye and shot him in the head.”
Jäger nodded slowly. “Tariq is a complex man.”
“I have to go,” Molka said.
“Before you do, I want to apologize for my actions against you. I assure you; they were not personal.”
Molka shrugged. “No worries. We all have our jobs to do.”
“Spoken like a true professional.” Jäger sat up. “I would love to invite you to the finest restaurant in Munich for a lavish dinner with its dashing and debonair gentleman owner. Unfortunately, my failure here ensures I will not be the owner when I return.”
“That’s a shame.” Molka grinned. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on a dinner date with a dashing and debonair gentleman.”
“That is a shame. A great shame.”
“What will you do now?” Molka said.
“Make some money and open the next finest restaurant in Munich.”
“That’s the spirit. What are your job prospects?”
“I think I will talk to Zoran the Great and offer him my services.” Jäger smiled. “He may want some assistance in hunting down his wayward prodigal son, Rivin.”
“Sounds like a good plan. And when you talk to Zoran the Great,” Molka grinned again, “tell him Molka sent you. Might be helpful.”
Molka ran back up the hill, climbed back onto the airstrip, ran its length to the Cessna, tossed the weapon into the grass off to the side, climbed onto the wing, dropped into the seat beside Uri, and pulled the door closed.
The general and Tariq sat in the back.
Tariq spoke up over the engine noise. “That was awesome, Molka!”
The general spoke up. “Did you kill that pig, Jäger?”
“No.” Molka put on the passenger headphones.
A headphone-wearing Uri looked at her. “Then what exactly were you doing down there?”
“Just paying respects. I came here to pick up a defecting general. Not to kill a brave warrior.” Molka smiled at Uri. “Next stop, Cyprus!”
“We still have two big departure problems to discuss,” Uri said.
“What?”
“Since Tariq didn’t have the refueling truck here as planned, we—” Uri glanced back at Tariq. “Why didn’t you, by the way?”
Tariq spoke over the engine noise again. “The guy I hired didn’t show up with it. Sorry.”
Uri continued. “Since the refueling truck never made it, we don’t have enough fuel to return to that estate where Azzur is waiting.”
“Then what’s our range?” Molka said.
“We can make it to Cyprus. But we’ll have to land at Larnaca airport, which is about 160 kilometers short.”
Molka shrugged. “Azzur will just have to wait a little longer. We’re already over a day late. What’s the second problem?”
“We’re overweight,” Uri said. “This airstrip was laid out with a distance that this aircraft with three passengers of our weights could just make on takeoff. Now we have an extra person.” He turned slightly and spoke over his left shoulder. “How much do you weigh, Tariq?”
“About 80 kilos,” Tariq said.
Uri did the conversion in his head. “That’s about…one hundred and seventy-seven pounds. We’re definitely overweight.”
Molka viewed the digital fuel gauge on the instrument panel. “Maybe without a full fuel load, that will offset the extra weight in here.”
“Maybe,” Uri said. “Far from certainly, though. I’m not sure we can make it.”
“We can make it,” Molka said. “We have to. We need to get out of here before something else goes outrageously wrong on this task.”
Uri shook his head. “But I’m just not sure I can do it.”
“Not sure you can do it? Where’s that Uri hyper-confident swag attitude?”
Uri’s face sank into a self-doubting softness.
Molka grabbed Uri’s arm. Hard. “Listen to me, Uri. Azzur told me you’re one of the few pilots in our country who can make this takeoff. Now live up to your famous top fighter aces family name and make it!”
Uri’s face hardened. “Everyone buckle your seatbelts!”
Molka released Uri’s arm and buckled up.
The rear passengers buckled up.
Uri locked the brakes and opened the throttle to what seemed was full power.
The engine revved to a violent whine.
The cabin vibration chattered teeth.
Uri’s eyes focused straight ahead. “Here we go!”
He released the brakes.
The aircraft shot forward.
It accelerated rapidly and felt like it wanted to fly.
But not soon enough to take off before the airstrip’s end.
Uri called out. “V one! No aborting now!”
Molka fixated on the plateau’s drop off rushing toward them.
We’re not going to make it!
We’re not going to make it!
We’re not going to make it!
“Rotate!” Uri pulled the stick back.
The nose pitched up.
The nose gear lifted off.
The underwing mounted gear rolled off the airstrip’s edge.
The Cessna dipped.
We’re not going to make it!
The aircraft climbed into the cloudless sky.
Molka exhaled and spoke with a calm tone. “I told you we would make it.”
I can’t believe we made it!
CHAPTER 44
Approaching the Coast of Cyprus
5:04PM
For three hours, as the Cessna cruised westward in the clear late afternoon sky, Molka kept up constant small chat with Uri.
The rifle butt to the head Fuchs gave him seemed to have a delayed effect and his concentration waned a bit. Her chatter—which launched him into more self-aggrandizing family tales—was to make sure he didn’t nod off.
But in the rear seats, the general and Tariq did nod off and snored.
Ugh, what a flight crew.
Finally, mercifully, the green-brown form of Cyprus arose from the Mediterranean ahead.
Uri used the aircraft radio to contact the proper air traffic control authorities, declared an emergency for low fuel, and received clearance to land at Larnaca International Airport.
“Are we in Cypriot airspace?” Molka said.
Uri nodded. “Yes.”
“We’re supposed to contact Azzur. Can you use the radio to do that?”
“No.”
Tariq, who had awakened, gently tapped Molka’s shoulder.
Molka glanced back and moved her left headphone aside.
“You can use my phone,” Tariq said. “It has a signal.” He dialed Azzur and passed it to Molka.
“Put him on speaker,” Uri said.
Molka did.
Azzur answered in English. “Yes, Tariq.”
Molka stayed with English. “It’s Molka.”
“Why are you calling on Tariq’s phone?”
“I borrowed it from him. The satphone was lost.”
“Report.”
“We’re flying in Cypriot airspace.”
“Do you have Ibis?” Azzur said.
“Yes. And he asked us to call him by his proper title.”
“His condition?”
“Unharmed and currently sleeping.”
“You are over a day late.”
“We know,” Molka said.
“What is your ETA?”
“We’re on approach to land at Larnaca International Airport within...” she looked to Uri.
“Twenty minutes,” Uri said.
“Why are you landing there?” Azzur said.
Molka answered. “We weren’t able to refuel at the airstrip and don’t have enough to make it all
the way. We declared an emergency and got clearance into Larnaca.”
“Why were you not able to refuel as planned?” Azzur said.
“That’s a long story,” Molka said. “We also have Tariq with us.”
“Why do you have Tariq with you?”
“That’s a much longer story.”
Tariq spoke up. “Hello, Azzur.”
Azzur answered. “What is your explanation for being in that aircraft?”
“I had to run a covert operation within the operation to assist Uri and Molka, which put my safety in jeopardy in that region. They can explain it to you if they wish.”
Molka did not know whether to admonish or admire Tariq’s effortless lying capabilities.
Azzur spoke. “I think your explanation is a nice way of saying you put your life in jeopardy by covering for mistakes made by my neophytes.”
Uri spoke up. “Excuse me, Azzur, do you want us to refuel at Larnaca and proceed to your location?”
Pause.
“No,” Azzur said. “Too many questions will be asked because you declared an emergency. Upon landing, get away from the aircraft immediately and avoid talking to any airport operation authorities. We will set a new rendezvous point, and I will come to you.”
“Understood,” Molka said.
Azzur continued. “And please tell me everyone has their passports.”
Molka reached under her seat and removed the zippered case taped there containing hers and Uri’s. “Uri and I are good.”
“I always carry mine,” Tariq said.
Molka looked over her shoulder. “Wake up the general and ask him.”
Tariq tapped the general.
He grunted awake.
“Have your passport, general?” Tariq said. “We’re getting ready to land.”
The general grunted an affirmative and removed it from a hidden pocket inside his jacket.
“He has it,” Molka said.
Azzur continued. “Welcome to Cyprus, general, and welcome to freedom. There has been a slight change of plans that my people will inform you of.”
The general grunted again. “There is no slight change when it comes to operational plans.”
“That is correct, general,” Azzur said. “And we will discuss it, by way of an apology, over a nice dinner in Nicosia this evening.”
Tariq spoke up again. “Azzur, be advised, the general’s home country secret police were alerted that he would possibly be taken to Cyprus yesterday or today. Which means their operatives are infiltrating Cyprus now if they have not already.”
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