Molka scanned night darkened faces in the vehicles for potential security threats. She did not detect any, but she was not trained to spot such things in a strange city in a strange country.
The Promontory Hotel they approached was a much larger and more traditional structure than the Cadmus. It’s 10-stories carried a granite facade spread over three wings.
The general, Molka, and Tariq entered the hotel’s spacious, red-carpeted lobby.
A smiling, dapper suited, gray-haired older man approached them.
Tariq whispered to Molka. “Don’t worry. I think he’s the hotel manager.”
The general and the manager exchanged warm greetings in Greek and a brief humorous exchange.
The manager led the general—with Molka and Tariq trailing—to a carved mahogany door next to the hotel’s long marble-topped check-in counter. The door opened to a red-carpeted hallway, which ended at another carved mahogany door.
The manager opened the door and politely allowed the trio to proceed ahead of him into a large, well-appointed office.
The manager then shut the door behind them and crossed the room to a door-sized mahogany panel. He opened the panel to reveal a built-in safe. He unlocked and opened the safe’s door, removed a black leather briefcase with brass, dual combination locked clasps, and carried it to the general.
The general took the briefcase from him, and they shared another humorous exchange, and shook hands.
The general exited the office carrying the briefcase with Molka and Tariq following.
Five minutes and still no apparent threats later, the trio re-entered the Cadmus Hotel lobby and moved to the elevators.
Tariq pushed the up button and looked at his phone. “Oh my. Molka, you see the time? You better leave right now for Nicosia International—or what’s left of it, I should say—if you’re going to be on time to meet Azzur.”
Molka checked her watch: 7:57PM. “You’re right.”
“We’ll be fine here until you guys return.”
Molka’s eyes focused on the briefcase.
“What’s wrong?” Tariq said.
“Nothing,” Molka said.
Tariq presented a smug smile. “Yes, there is. You still don’t trust me, do you?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that—”
Tariq put his right hand over his heart. “I’m genuinely hurt. I really am. I thought after these past two days, and especially after today, we had built—never mind. You’re right. I don’t deserve your trust yet. General give her the case to take with her.”
The general’s mouth slacked open in shock. “What?”
The elevator doors opened.
Tariq motioned for them to move to the side.
They reformed a few meters away.
Tariq addressed the general. “General, let her take the case with her, so there’s no mistrust between us.”
The general shook his head back and forth in disbelief. “I do not believe that—”
Tariq interrupted. “General, think about this: both our lives are in Azzur’s hands now. And she’s Azzur’s chosen representative. We would be smart to show her respect, thereby showing Azzur respect. Which would get us off to a good start with that hard, hard man.”
The general gave Tariq a thoughtful nod. “There is good sense to your reasoning. Yes, I agree with you.” He held the briefcase out to Molka. “Please, take it with my compliments to Azzur.”
Molka’s hands remained at her sides. “Just keep it general. I’ll let Azzur know you were both very respectful.”
Tariq shook his head, distressed. “Please just take it and give it to Azzur. We both need all the help we can get with him.” He took the briefcase from the general, grabbed Molka’s right hand, and placed it on the handle. “Please, Molka.”
Molka took the briefcase. “Alright. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Tariq and the general turned their backs to Molka without further comment and moved toward the elevators.
CHAPTER 47
Old Nicosia International Airport
8:32PM
If you wanted to make a film set in a bleak dystopian future and needed a real deteriorating international airport for a scene, the old Nicosia International Airport would be ideal.
Two camouflage uniformed British soldiers, sporting light blue UN peacekeeper berets, passed Molka through the entrance gate and directed her to park outside the old terminal building: a dilapidating, three-story structure time frozen in the 1970s.
Molka faced her car toward the northwest and viewed the adjacent main runway. It was lit and looked serviceable, but several old, deteriorating commercial aircraft abandoned on the apron around it had long since flown their last flights.
Molka checked her watch: Azzur due to land in six minutes.
Six minutes later, a white, two engine, private chartered jet made a landing, turned around, and taxied to within 10 meters of Molka’s car.
The aircraft’s side door opened, and the airstairs lowered. The cabin lights backlit Azzur exiting. He wore his usual fashionable brown leather jacket over gray slacks and a white shirt, carrying his usual brown leather satchel.
Exiting behind him were the younger white male tech guys Molka had noticed working in the cubicles at the estate: the taller thin one with short brown hair and light brown beard and the shorter stocky one with a shaved bald head and brown beard. They both wore tan jackets over jeans and carried laptop cases.
And deplaning behind them was a muscular man in his 30s, outfitted in a black leather jacket, black pants, black tac-boots, and dark sunglasses at night.
Molka assessed him: obviously not a tech guy.
Azzur moved to Molka’s car and got into the passenger seat. His three men filled the backseat.
Azzur took out a cigarette pack from his jacket pocket. “Did the general retrieve the case?”
“Yes,” Molka said.
“And you witnessed him retrieving it?”
“Yes. I watched the manager of the Promontory Hotel remove the case from the hotel safe and hand it to him.”
Azzur lit up. “Where is the general secured now?”
“Waiting in a suite at the Cadmus Hotel downtown.”
“Proceed there.”
Molka started the car and headed for the gate.
Azzur removed a phone from his pocket. “What room number is the general in? I want to call ahead and tell Uri I am on the way.”
“Uri’s not in the room with the general.”
“Why is Uri not waiting with the general as I instructed?”
“I dropped him at the hospital to get checked out. He has a head injury.”
“What type of head injury?” Azzur said.
“I think he’s concussed. A German mercenary struck him with a rifle butt just before we left Turkey.”
Azzur sighed. “Neophytes. Shelf that story for now. So you have left the general alone in the hotel?”
“No. Tariq is with him.”
“Why is Tariq with him?”
“Because, as I also told you, the general refused to leave Larnaca airport with me. And Uri was too out of it to take over as task security specialist. But the general said he would leave with Tariq. He trusts Tariq. So I had to…practically beg Tariq to accompany him. It was my only means.”
Azzur rolled down his window and flicked ash. “I do not like the idea of Tariq being alone with the general and his briefcase.”
“Tariq is not alone with the general and his briefcase,” Molka said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I took the case with me when I left them.”
Azzur flashed an anxious look at Molka. “Where is the general’s briefcase now?”
“In the trunk.”
A devious smile creased the corners of Azzur’s lips.
Azzur instructed Molka to park on the first level of the Cadmus Hotel’s parking garage. “What room is the general in?”
“Seven-O-seven,” Molka s
aid.
Azzur looked into the backseat at his sunglasses-wearing assistant and nodded.
The man exited and headed across the garage and toward the hotel elevator.
Azzur addressed Molka again. “Remove the briefcase from the trunk.”
Azzur and Molka exited, followed by his two tech guys.
Molka opened the trunk.
Azzur removed the briefcase and placed it atop the roof of the car. He entered the code to unlock the left clasp and then the right clasp and then opened it.
Inside waited a single business-sized white envelope sealed with red wax, which was imprinted with an eagle and shield, the general’s personal crest from his signet ring.
Azzur broke the seal, opened the envelope, and pulled out three folded sheets of white paper. He unfolded the pages, which were filled with text in Arabic and GPS coordinates.
Azzur passed the pages to the bald tech guy who scanned through them and addressed Azzur. “Totally consistent with the previous highly-classified documents we have obtained from that intelligence service.”
Azzur took the pages back from the bald tech guy, placed them back in the envelope, placed the envelope back in the briefcase, closed the briefcase, and relocked the clasps.
When he looked up, another devious smile creased his lips.
Molka grinned. “No, really, Azzur. That’s fine. No need to thank me. You’re welcome.”
Azzur ignored her sarcasm. “Everyone back in the car. Molka, enter the downtown Sheraton hotel into your GPS and proceed there.”
Molka pointed up. “We’re not going up to get the general?”
“No. If he still wants my help to save his life, he can come to me and plead for it.”
Azzur’s large sixth-floor suite featured two workstation desks. Upon entering, Azzur’s tech guys each headed straight to one, shed jackets, removed slim laptops from their cases, sat down, and got to work.
Azzur laid the briefcase and his leather satchel atop the minibar. He opened the briefcase again, removed the envelope, and carried it to his taller helper. “Get that to Tel Aviv, highest priority. Request confirmation.”
“Yes, sir.”
Azzur addressed the bald guy. “Call the Nicosia hospital and leave a message for Uri to call this room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Azzur moved over to floor-to-ceiling drapes and opened them to reveal a metal-railed balcony and two patio chairs. He slid open the glass door, sat in a chair, put his feet up on the railing, leaned back, lit another cigarette, and observed the downtown lights.
A guarded man in subtle celebration mode.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Molka, call the general. I will speak with him now.”
Molka called Tariq’s new phone.
Tariq answered. “Hello, Molka, are you guys on the way?”
“No, I’m with Azzur at his hotel. He wants to speak with the general.”
“Sure thing. He’s right here.”
Molka handed the phone to Azzur, and he motioned for her to stay. He placed the phone to his ear. “Hello again, general…No. I am at my hotel…No. I wish you to stay where you are …I understand you are nervous, but I have a man watching your room as we speak…Yes…Very capable…No. When I think it is appropriate, I will have him escort you here…I am not sure yet. I will call you back when I decide. Goodbye.”
Azzur ended the call and handed the phone back to Molka. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“I had to go native,” Molka said. “But it sounds like you’re brushing the general off because you have the list and don’t really need him anymore.”
“That is exactly what I want him to think. My orders are to return with him to Tel Aviv tonight, and that is what I intend on doing. However, for the next hour or so, I want him to have doubts about that and then fears that I may just allow his people to silence him. Perhaps these fears will dislodge more useful information he can provide me. If you can comprehend this?”
Molka mocked a confused face. “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t. That type of sophisticated thinking is well above my neophyte project status to comprehend.”
Molka grinned.
Azzur’s face remained unamused.
Molka fake sighed. “You’ll never get my humor, will you? So what do you want me to do now?”
“You mean, besides toning down your usual sarcasm?”
Molka grinned again. “Ha. No promises.”
“Just stand by here. I will arrange a commercial flight for you to fly home in the morning.”
“Alright.” Molka moved to the living room area, sat in a chair, and used the remote to turn on the TV. She scanned through the channels and found an American romantic comedy she liked but muted the volume and turned on the captions because it was dubbed in Greek.
A moment later, the message notification chimed on the phone in her pocket: a text message from Tariq.
Molka read: Did you tell Azzur?
Molka replied: No. I kept my word.
Tariq: Thank you.
And again, I’m sorry about that whole thing.
Molka: Don’t think of it.
Tariq: How’s Uri?
Molka: Still at hospital.
He’s going to call when he’s done.
Tariq: Tell him I hope he gets better soon.
Molka: You can tell him yourself.
I have a feeling the three of us are flying to Tel Aviv tomorrow crammed into the economy section seats.
Tariq: Why is that?
Molka: bc the Counsel doesn’t fly projects first class.
So you better get used to that.
Tariq: hee. hee. never. Bye.
Molka: see you in a bit.
Molka rose, went behind the mini-bar to the mini-fridge, and helped herself to a bottled water. She returned to her chair and drank half of it in one swift gulp. She had not realized how thirsty she was. It had been a long stressful day, and when she stressed, she had to remind herself to stay hydrated.
Her first task completed. But she didn’t feel happy as she thought she would. It was more like the feeling she got after she took a tough exam in her university days: relief it was over mixed with anxiety about how she did.
In the Unit, after her first mission, they told her the first mission was always the hardest. And then it would get easier and easier. It wasn’t true, but the lie gave her the confidence to move on to the next mission with a little less terror.
She wished Azzur would tell her the first task would be the hardest. Because whatever he planned for her next terrified her.
Azzur spoke up. “Molka, call the general back.”
Molka rose, walked to the patio, and dialed Tariq.
The phone rang until it went to voicemail.
“No answer,” Molka said.
“Call the hotel room,” Azzur said.
Molka looked up the hotel number, dialed, and reached the operator who answered in Greek.
“English?” Molka said.
“Yes.”
“Room seven-O-seven, please.”
The operator transferred her call.
After over 15 rings, Molka said, “No one is answering.”
Azzur removed his phone from his jacket and placed a call. “Did the general and or Tariq leave the room?...Did anyone go into the room?...I know you would have reported that, but I am asking anyway…You are sure?...Maintain your position.” He clicked off and addressed Molka. “Try to call the general again both ways.”
Molka called both Tariq’s phone and the room again.
No answer at either.
Azzur stood, walked to the balcony railing, and stared into the night.
Molka spoke. “You think the general’s people found them?”
Azzur walked back into the room, engrossed.
He lit a new cigarette.
He blew smoke.
He stubbed out the cigarette after a single puff.
He moved to his satchel on the minibar.
He opened it.
>
He removed a Sig P226 semi-automatic pistol.
He tucked the Sig into his waistband.
He reached back in the satchel and removed a Glock 17.
He handed Molka the Glock. “Come with me.”
CHAPTER 48
At Azzur’s urging, Molka drove crazy-fast through heavy evening restaurant and nightclub traffic across the downtown area to the Cadmus Hotel.
On route, Azzur made a call. “Did the general and or Tariq leave the room?...How many?....Maintain your position.”
Azzur ended the call.
Molka glanced at Azzur. “Was that your man in black we dropped at the Cadmus?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the status there?”
“No one has left or entered room seven-zero-seven since his arrival. And only two other people have been on the seventh floor, that being, lone guests who entered rooms seven-zero-two and seven-zero-four both located at the hall’s opposite side.”
Azzur addressed Molka. “Try Tariq’s phone and the hotel room again.”
Molka pulled the phone from her pocket and tried both again.
Nothing.
Azzur sat motionless the rest of the ride to the Cadmus.
It spooked Molka in a way.
He didn’t even light a cigarette.
Molka and Azzur exited the elevator on the Cadmus Hotel’s seventh floor and stepped onto the black and white checkered carpet.
Located at a 45-degree angle to the elevator was the fire escape door featuring a small window. The door opened, and Azzur’s man poked his head out, still wearing sunglasses.
Azzur glanced at the man.
The man shook his head and slipped back into the stairwell.
Molka appreciated the man’s choice. His observation position blocked anyone from approaching the floor via the stairs and also positioned him for simultaneous views of the elevators and room 707’s door.
Molka and Azzur moved down the hallway toward room 707.
Azzur low-talked to Molka. “There has been no further movement on this floor.”
Molka low-talked back. “Maybe they just fell asleep?” She checked her watch: 10:11PM. “We had a rough two days. I’m about to pass out too.”
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