by Trevor Scott
“Absolutely. The ocean can’t kill that old sea dog.”
“And you’re sure he will tell the police we took the boat to Faial?”
“Definitely. That should throw them off for a while.”
She nodded agreement. Then she said, “We should talk about what happened tonight.”
“You mean the Chinese men who attacked us?”
“That’s right. I didn’t get a chance to tell you everything my friend from the Mossad was working on.”
He had a feeling he knew where this was heading, but he let her come out with her explanation.
Sirena continued, “She’s in the Azores to try to get Gomez to work with them, but she’s also tracking a cell of Chinese intelligence officers.”
He needed to draw a conclusion. “And you think they followed you from Terceira Island?”
“I thought I was careful,” she said with deference.
Normally, it would have been easy to spot any Chinese officer in the Azores, but the Chinese government had been moving into Portugal in a big way recently. Jake guessed the Chinese saw an economic opening and decided to take advantage of an opportunity.
He rubbed her lower back. “I understand. It happens.”
She turned her head to him. “But not with me. I almost got us killed.”
“Almost. But we were ready for them.”
“But now we’re burned in the Azores.”
He moved his hand from her lower back to the side of her face, pulling some of her dark hair away from her eyes. “Truthfully? I was getting bored with Pico.”
“Is that why you were drinking so much?”
“Boredom does that to me,” he said with a shrug.
She cracked a slight smile. “I guess that’s not a problem now.”
The boat suddenly hit a big wave raising them up and smacking them down on the other side. The action threw Sirena into Jake’s arms.
“Easy, Jake,” she said, capturing the wheel again. “Let’s deal with the situation at hand before you get all randy.”
He pulled her away from the wheel and took her place. “We’ll need to trade off every half hour.”
Now she put her arms around his waist. “Do you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“I forced you to kill two men tonight,” she said.
“Well, you took out a couple yourself. These were bad guys who attacked our home.”
“The local police might not see it that way,” she said.
“That’s why we left. It was easier than explaining our weapons to them. I’m more concerned about why they attacked us. That must mean your Mossad friend has been compromised.”
“I know,” Sirena said. “Now she does too.”
“She’ll take appropriate action?”
“With a vengeance.”
“That’s what I figured,” he said. Then he was forced to struggle with the wheel as they were thrown against another rogue wave. “I sure wish I could see those coming.”
“We could turn on the lights,” she reasoned.
“Not yet.” Then he turned to gaze into her eyes. “Will your friend meet us as planned?”
“Yep. She just asks for a ride off the island.”
“Gomez is sending his jet,” Jake said. “We’ve got extra room. Assuming we make it there in one piece.”
As if the sea heard Jake’s words, the waves crashed over the bow and rattled them together again. Jake glanced at the GPS again and noticed that they were still miraculously on track to arrive on time. Then Jake asked Sirena to get his NVGs from his go bag. At least now he would be able to see the waves through a green haze. Better than nothing.
4
Pico Island, the Azores
Lights illuminated the stone home overlooking the south shore of Pico Island, police officers standing about in small groups talking. Forensic techs would be flown in from Ponta Delgada on the main island of São Miguel, but they might not get there until morning. In the meantime, the local Policia had done their best to tape off the entire area, from the road entering the property to the main house, and even the surrounding area, where shell casings had already been found.
Madalena Police Chief Luis Cabral stood near the front door, his soulful brown eyes contemplating the Asian man laying near the door with a bullet hole in his forehead and another laceration from a grazing bullet to the neck. One of his officers had also pointed out a bullet strike to a bullet-proof vest the man wore. That one hit center mass, just as they had been trained at the police academy. Luis also knew that the military placed bullets like that, first to the chest and then to the head. Whoever had shot this man had been a professional.
The young officer who had been the first on the scene stepped forward after being summoned, a squeamish look on his face. He had, after all, been knocked out by the killer.
Luis knew that he needed to tread lightly with his young officer. He had done almost everything right, with the exception of not calling in for back-up before confronting the killer.
“What can you tell me?” the police chief asked gently.
The young officer relayed the same story Luis had already heard second hand.
“Why didn’t the man kill you?” the chief asked. “You were outgunned.”
“I thank God that I was spared,” the young officer said. “I can’t believe this happened on Pico.”
Luis Cabral understood the young officer’s trepidation. There were only a small handful of murders on the island of some 15,000 residents in the past ten years. And these were normally solved within minutes. The assailant always knew the deceased. It was domestic in nature—Biblical like Cain killing his brother Abel. But this murder of four men was unprecedented in the entire history of Pico Island. Although Luis Cabral had only been the police chief headquartered in Madalena, population 6,050, the largest city on Pico Island, for nearly six months, he had been with Public Security Police (PSP), the civil police force of Portugal, for nearly fifteen years. Luckily, it was not the responsibility of PSP to investigate murders. That was the responsibility of the Judicial Police, which had a regional headquarters on Ponta Delgada on the main island of São Miguel.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, Luis noticed a group of people walking down the driveway toward him. He knew the man in charge by reputation only. He was Armando Machado, Chief Superintendent of the Ponta Delgada Judicial Police Criminal Investigation Department. Machado was a short, stout man in his mid-forties.
Strutting up to Luis, the Chief Superintendent lifted his chin and said, “You are Police Chief Luis Cabral from Madalena. Correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Luis said.
“Tell me what you know for sure.”
“Well, superintendent. . .”
The man stopped him with a hand in the air. “Chief Superintendent,” he corrected.
“Right. Chief Superintendent. So, we have four men killed with gunshots. The man in front appears to have been shot with a small caliber round, a NATO 5.56 round, according to the casings we found. The same is true of a man at the back door, who was shot in his face with a similar round. Then another man in the back was shot with buckshot, also to the head and neck from fairly close distance. A twelve gauge.”
“And the fourth man?” the Chief Superintendent asked.
“Killed inside the house with a nine-millimeter.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“It was one hell of a fire-fight, sir. There are dozens of bullet strikes inside the house from a number of weapons.”
The Chief Superintendent glanced down at the dead man and then turned toward the driveway. “Are they all Asian men?”
“Yes, sir,” Luis said.
“Why am I first hearing about this now?”
“I ordered my people to not mention this over the airwaves,” Luis said. “Did I do the right thing?”
The Chief Superintendent shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. Finally, he said, “Yes, you did.” T
hen he placed his left hand at waist level and said, “This is the PSP and your officers.” His right hand went up to his eye level and he added, “And this is my organization.” Then he raised his right hand as high as he could and said, “But I’m afraid we might need someone way up here.”
“Who might that be, sir?” Luis asked, but he thought he knew the answer.
“Before I answer, let me guess something. You have found no identification on any of these men.”
“That’s correct. What does this mean?”
The Chief Superintendent shook his head again. “This means we might have an international incident on our hands.”
“We could check with border control to see if they have photos and credential checks at customs in Ponta Delgada or Terceira entry points.”
“Doubtful,” the Chief Superintendent said. “They have tactical gear and AK-47s. They didn’t fly to the Azores commercially with these things. Which makes this much worse.”
“Sir?” Luis asked.
“What can you tell me about the owner of this house?”
Luis pulled out his small notebook and said, “It’s owned by a local man about a mile down the road. He’s the one who called this in. He rented the house out to an Austrian couple.”
“Austrian? Are you sure?”
“That’s what he said.”
“How long has this couple lived here?”
“A couple of years.”
“And no incidents with your police force?”
“None, sir.”
“Wonderful. I understand one of your officers was attacked.”
“Yes, sir. My man said the guy had a German accent.”
Chief Superintendent Armando Machado contemplated what he had been told. Finally, he said, “The Austrians were the victims here. The Asians were professionals who came here to kill the couple, but they came across a force that they weren’t expecting. Otherwise, the man who took out your officer would have killed your guy. How did the Austrians leave?”
“A Fiat sedan owned by the man. We have a search out for the car.”
The Chief Superintendent pointed out toward the end of the driveway. “There’s a van parked about a mile down the road.”
“Yes, sir. We think that belonged to the Asians. It was rented from Pico Airport near Madalena. We are in the process of gathering flight data from SATA Air.”
“You closed down all transportation in and out of Pico, right?”
“Yes, sir. Only the last flight to Ponta Delgada had to be cancelled.” His cell phone buzzed in his pocket for the second time.
“Pick it up.”
Luis found his phone and saw that it was an incoming call from his office in Madalena. He touched the green button and said, “Yes?” Then he listened before thanking the caller and shoving the phone back in his pocket. Then he turned to the Chief Superintendent and said, “Sir, we have a report from a fisherman down the coast. A German-speaking couple rented his boat this evening. But as soon as they got out to sea past the breakwater, the man threw him overboard.”
“Interesting. Anything else?”
“The fisherman said the couple talked about going to Faial. Probably Horta.”
“Why Horta?”
“A guess, sir? They could take a ferry or flight from there in the morning.”
The Chief Superintendent considered what he had just been told. He looked to be in deep thought. Then he said, “I mentioned that this was international in nature. We will investigate and turn our findings over to SIS. Then we can let them fight with SIED for jurisdiction.”
Luis held back his words, knowing that this case might have happened on Pico Island within his area, but he was somehow comforted by the fact that he would not have to investigate.
A young officer came up to Luis holding something in his hand. “Sir. We found this camera out near the entrance to the property.”
Luis accepted the camera with his gloved hands and looked it over carefully. Then he handed it to the Chief Superintendent.
“Wireless,” the Chief Superintendent said. “Very sophisticated. It would have sent a signal to the Austrians inside the house. That’s how they were not caught off-guard. They knew these men were coming.”
Police Chief Luis Cabral felt a chill over his body. What was going on here on sedate little Pico Island? Pico had always been a place to hide from the evils of the world. Now the evil had come to them.
5
Terceira Island, The Azores
Bayla Ganz had been disturbed beyond words when Sirena had texted her saying she and Jake had been attacked on Pico Island by four Chinese operatives. As an officer with the Mossad, she knew she had failed her old friend. Somehow the Chinese had followed Sirena to Pico Island, which meant they had to have been surveilling the meeting she had with Sirena, without either of their knowledge. Could the Chinese intelligence officer have been that effective? Perhaps. But maybe something else was going on.
Bayla knew that intelligence was only as good as their own vigilance. Had her old friend Sirena slipped a bit in her retirement? Not likely. That woman was the best of the best. Without a doubt, she would get to the bottom of this before her next meeting with Sirena in the morning.
Now, an hour into the new day, Bayla sat in her rental car listening to a bug she had planted in the house of the Chinese attache, who lived in a house in the village of Lajes. Since World War II the Americans had maintained a military presence at Lajes Field, using it as a ferrying station for fighter aircraft flying to Europe. But a few years ago, the Americans had decided to draw down their presence at the joint base with the Portuguese Air Force. A stupid idea, according to Bayla, who knew that the withdrawal of the Americans meant a void that would likely be filled by the Chinese or the Russians. The Chinese were making big moves around the world, and the Azores seemed to be a major interest to them. Which is why the Mossad had sent her here a few days ago. What were the Chinese up to? Good question.
Suddenly her camera sensor went off and she saw the young woman putting her clothes back on as she headed toward the front door. Unfortunately, Bayla had been forced to listen to the sexual encounter. Luckily, her camera was only in the main living room. The Portuguese call girl left and the Chinese man went directly back to bed. Within seconds, the attache had fallen asleep and was snoring.
Checking her watch, she knew she had to hurry now. She was just hours away from having to drive across the island to the pick-up location. She felt her gun under her left arm and got out of the car. Dressed in black from top to bottom, she adjusted her sweater over her yoga pants.
Bayla walked a block to the house on the isolated street with a view of the Lajes Field and Terceira International Airport landing strip. She guessed the Chinese had ill intent with this location. She was certain the Chinese would soon station strategic bombers on the base. She had already observed a large construction project going on across the main runway. That construction looked like a massive hangar going up. Of course, the Chinese said they only wanted to be in the Azores for research. Right!
Within seconds, Bayla worked her way around the back side of the house and found her way into the structure through a sliding glass door leading to a patio. She stepped lightly through the house, which was illuminated by small night lights throughout the house.
When she got to the man’s bedroom, she could hear him snoring behind the partially-opened door. Without hesitation, she swept into the room, jumped into the bed on top of the man, and, as he startled awake, she punched him several times in the face until he passed out.
Then she found her zip ties and bound his hands behind his back, his feet together, and then hog-tied the man.
When the man finally woke up, Bayla was sitting in a chair next to the bed, the room lit by a small table lamp.
Interrogations like this could go in a number of directions, depending on the level of pain one could sustain. Bayla had gone through extensive training on both sides of the torture spectrum. She knew h
ow to find what the subject feared most, and then use that against him.
Bayla also knew that this man was fluent in English, so she would pretend to be something she wasn’t—an American intelligence officer. Unfortunately, that might constrain her to certain techniques, but she would get creative. While the man was passed out and constrained, Bayla had found a number of knives and other kitchen utensils that looked dangerous.
Initial questions dealt with those things she already knew about the man, from his name to his position within the Chinese government. Once she knew what a yes and no looked like, she moved on to more important questions.
“Now,” Bayla said, “you will tell me exactly what the Chinese are doing here in the Azores.”
The Chinese officer said, “I am only a trade attache.”
“Is that really how you want to play this?” she asked.
“The truth is all I know.”
She tightened her leather gloves over her hands and punched the man in the face, holding back a little. Normally she liked to use something other than her fists, since she could make a mistake and break her own hand.
“Why do you keep looking at the clock?” she asked. “Are you expecting someone?”
No answer.
“Maybe you’re waiting for that four-man strike force to return from Pico Island.”
This rattled the man. His eyes shifted nervously.
Bayla continued, “They’re not coming. They’re taking a long nap.”
“You Americans are arrogant,” the man finally said.
“Arrogance is having a long-term plan for world domination,” she said. “We don’t have to have a plan that far in the future. We’re already number one.”
The man spewed something in Chinese, which she didn’t completely understand. She had a working knowledge of Mandarin only, but this guy was speaking a heavy dialect from one of the non-standard regions.
In Chinese, she said, “I prefer Beijing Mandarin. But I can have this conversation translated if you prefer.”
The Chinese man seemed to deflate somewhat. But he switched back to English with a heavy accent when he said, “So, you are not as arrogant as I first thought.”