Chapter Four.

The sky was streaked with remnants of a lingering twilight as the sun came up over the Jordan Rift Valley to the east. The black Chevy Blazer fitted with dark tinted privacy windows slipped out of the underground parking lot of the Hadar Dafna building on King Saul Boulevard and turned north onto Highway Two... the coastal highway to Haifa. As it picked up speed; Uri Silberberg turned to Stacey and Alex Shepard.

'We are about to meet the team that the Director has allocated to you. You will also receive final briefing at the Academy, and then be taken to board an airplane at Sde Dov Air base for your flight to Austria.'

He turned to Shepard.

'Your people have briefed you at the Embassy?'

Alex nodded.

'Yeah; working in the black… again!'

The Chevy blazer travelled north up Highway Two for almost eight kilometres, until, a little to the west of Herzlia, the driver slowed as he approached the junction with the Route 505 Trans-Samaria Highway. A little way beyond the junction, he turned off Highway Two towards a small hill upon which sat an impressive building which commanded fine views over the surrounding countryside and sea. He then drove up the steep approach to the guarded gate of the large, two-storey, dun-coloured building at the top of the small hill. Uri Silberberg flashed an identity pass to the heavily-armed guard, who nodded and opened the gate. The Chevy driver proceeded into the gravel parking lot; stopped, and switched off the engine. Uri Silberberg smiled.

'Welcome to the Academy… the special operations training school; also called the "Midrasha." We will now go and meet your team.'

He led them to the entrance of the flat-roofed building and guided them inside to a spacious hall with white brick walls and a pale marble floor. Large glass frames containing aerial photographs of Tel Aviv hung on one of the walls, and a glass wall facing it on the opposite side of the hall looked out onto an inner garden. Two long passages led off the end of the hall; flanking a suspended concrete staircase which gave the appearance of floating up to the second floor. A tall, ruggedly handsome, middle-aged man appeared at the top of the staircase and began to make his way down to them. He wore fatigues, and his bearing proclaimed his military background. He was carrying a slim folder. As he reached the foot of the stairs, Uri Silberberg stepped forward.

'Colonel…'

The man held up his hand.

'First names only, here; if you please.'

Uri Silberberg nodded.

'May I introduce Stacey and Alex.'

The man smiled and extended his hand.

'Welcome. I am the chief instructor here. You may call me "Gabriel."

His handshake was firm and dry… the handshake of a strong personality. Stacey studied him.

Gabriel's eyes were the purest blue she'd ever seen… even bluer than hers. Josie Pullen had once told her:

"The eyes are more than just the window to the soul. They have direct lines to the heart and head as well. People lie with words and sometimes with actions, but not with their eyes… Never with their eyes."

Judging by the scars on his face, Gabriel had once been a fighter… definitely military. Stacey instinctively knew that this was a man she could trust and rely upon. Therefore, the team he had allocated to the operation could also be trusted and relied upon. They would be the best of the best. He was speaking again.

'This is the Prime Minister's official summer residence. It is also the Training school known as "Midrasha." Come and meet your allocated team.'

In a briefing room on the second floor; four people… three men and a girl, were waiting. They snapped to attention as Gabriel entered. He introduced them. This was the team allocated to what was known… as of today; as "Operation Malach Hamavet." Each had a specific function in the team. These functions were: Tracer, Transporter; Helper, and Killer. The Tracer spotted the target. The Transporter guided the assassination team to the target. The Helper served as the motorcycle or car driver who supported, and provided transport for the Killer; and the Killer was tasked with shooting the target; attaching a magnetic bomb to the car of the victim; or otherwise employing explosive or incendiary devices to booby-trap their homes, offices, or places they frequented. The three men were the team's Tracer, Transporter, and Helper. The girl was the team Killer. They would only ever be known by their code-names.

The tall, athletic-looking young man identified as Rani was the Tracer. His responsibility was to spot the target. The slightly shorter, powerfully built Benny was the Transporter. His function was to guide the team to the target. Yarin; another athletic six-footer; was the Helper. His task was to assist the fourth member of the team as driver of the car or motorcycle, should it be necessary to use one for the hit, and to provide perimeter security for the Killer as required. The girl, Chana… a willowy blonde, about the same age as Stacey; was the Killer; and would employ whatever assassination technique was necessary. Gabriel opened the folder that he was carrying, and addressed the team.

'Let me introduce Stacey and Alex. The Security Cabinet has pronounced that "Operation Malach Hamavet" shall be fully autonomous with sanctioned objectives.Therefore, an aircraft has been allocated to the team.'

He glanced at the document in the folder and turned to Stacey and Alex.

'The documentation provided by your Agency confirms that you are both authorised pilots. Are either of you licensed to pilot a four-engined, turboprop transport aircraft?'

Alex glanced at Stacey.

'Well; I'm just a Goddamned Bush pilot, compared with the lady. She can fly almost anything!'

Stacey glanced at him, and then at Gabriel.

'I'm checked out on all of my Agency's fleet except the big Boeing jets. What did you have in mind?'

Gabriel nodded.

'Can you pilot a C-130 Hercules?'

She nodded'

'I have done, in the past… but, won't a military Herc' be rather obvious?'

Gabriel smiled.

'It isn't a Military Herc'; it's an L-100 civilian freighter.'

She raised an eyebrow.

'Same ship… different name. That'll be no problem, but I'll need a crew of five for her… Copilot, Navigator; Loadmaster, and Flight engineer.'

Gabriel nodded and motioned towards the three men.

Rani is a qualified navigator; and Benny is a flight engineer. They both flew in Noratlases with 103 Squadron, during the Six-Day War. Alex can be your copilot. You'll be carrying upwards of three tons of equipment; so Chana can act as loadmaster.'

The pretty, young blonde girl raised a deprecating eyebrow.

'Loadmaster? I won't have time for that. I'll be busy checking out weaponry and ordnance!'

Gabriel smiled.

The Chevy Blazer turned off Highway Two into the approach road to Sde Dov airport. The journey south had taken twenty-five minutes. Rani was driving. He slowed at the main entrance and flashed an identity card at the official at the checkpoint. The uniformed official; who was carrying an Uzi machine pistol, waved the Chevy through. Rani turned left and drove past the terminal and operations buildings towards the military apron, upon which was parked a Lockheed L-100 Freighter. This civilian variant looked identical to its military counterpart; other than it was not equipped with pylon tanks under its wings, and would not have all the standard C-130 Hercules military electronics equipment. The airplane was painted overall in a pale grey finish with the company name: "Lansing Air Freight" and the Canadian international aircraft registration letter prefix "CF" on the rear fuselage.

The hinged loading ramp at the rear of the fuselage was already closed, and two Military Police jeeps were parked up under the shadow of the port wing. Rani brought the Chevy to a standstill alongside the jeeps; switched off the engine, and the team climbed out onto the concrete. A Major wearing the standard IDF khaki uniform with white webbing belt, and a white helmet with a red band and the Hebrew letters Mem and Tzadik; which stood for Mishtara Tsvait… Hebrew for military police; stencilled on the front, approached them. He saluted briskly, and handed Rani a document case. He nodded.

'Passports and lading manifesto; flight plan, and customs documents, Sir.'

The other five military policemen had quietly formed a perimeter around the airplane as the documents were handed over. Now, they watched, cold-eyed as two ground-crew brought up a thick cable from a nearby flight-line ground power unit and plugged it into the airplane's external power receptacle located just forward of the flight deck-cargo area door on the port side of the airplane's forward fuselage. Rani accepted the document case and glanced at Stacey.

'Time for the walk-around inspection, Captain.'

Stacey nodded, and accompanied by Alex, began her pre-flight inspection. As they walked around the airplane, they were looking for any obvious or major problems with the airplane that had occurred since it last flew, or as a result of ground activity during the turnaround. Amongst other things like dents or sprung rivets; it included fuel leaks, hydraulic leaks; ground damage, tyres and brakes, and the condition of the navigation lights and anti-collision beacons. Everything looked OK. They completed the walk-around as the ground-crew fired up the diesel powered, flight-line ground power unit. As it thumped and puttered out on the apron, Stacey led the crew to the lowered door and, climbing the three built-in steps on the inner face of the door; entered the fuselage. Benny was last aboard, and pulled the crew door shut.

The cargo deck contained several wooden crates containing weapons and ordnance, and a Gunmetal-grey, Opel Kapitän B with dark tinted windows and Austrian license plates. Rani said that it was fully armoured, and fitted with a Chevrolet-sourced, two-eighty-three-cubic-inch V8 engine There was also a jet-black, Japanese Honda CB750 motorcycle. The young man known only as Yarin, grinned.

'Wow! Nice toys!'

Rani cut him short.

'Just remember; you'll have Chana with you… so don't go blasting around as though you were a fucking Valentino Rossi!'

Stacey and Alex Shepard climbed the built-in box ladder up to the flight deck followed by Rani and "Benny." She slid into the left seat and began to familiarise herself with the instruments and controls as Alex took the right copilot's seat. Rani took up his navigator's position behind, and to the right of Alex; whilst Benny settled into the Flight Engineer's seat behind and slightly to the right of Stacey's Captain's seat. She glanced over her shoulder.

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'OK, guys. Are we ready to do this?'

They nodded in unison. She reached up to the overhead panel and set the power switches. The panel came alive as she reached across the overhead panel and started the Gas Turbine Compressor. As the quiet hums and whines began penetrating the quiet of the fuselage; she set the Fuel enrichment switches and started the suction boost pumps, followed by flicking on the Engine bleed air switch located on the overhead bleed air system panel. Bringing her hand down to the throttle quadrant; she moved the Condition lever to "RUN" and nodded to Alex; holding up three fingers to him. He reached up to the lower overhead panel and pressed the engine ground-start button for engine number three. He held the button in as the prop on the inner starboard engine began turning. He continued holding the button in as the whine of the turboprop compressor wound up and the instruments showed a rise in the engine's parameters; then released it and waited for the engine to stabilise.

As the instruments settled, Stacey reached up to the GTC control panel again and closed the bleed air valve. This allowed them to use the bleed air coming from the number three engine to start all the other engines. With main power on; she glanced out of the port side window and gave a thumbs-up to the ground crew. This meant that they could now disconnect the flight-line ground-power unit and be clear of the prop arcs before she called for the starting of engines one and two on the port side. Meanwhile; Alex had repeated the start procedure for number four… the outer starboard engine. She watched as the two ground crewmen hauled the heavy cable away from the airplane and waited until one of them had closed the GTC access panel in the fuselage side and had raised his arm to signify that they were clear.

Checking that all doors were closed… it wasn't safe to close doors three feet away from a spinning prop… she nodded to Alex, who reached up and pressed number one start button. With that engine running, he pressed number two start button. The whine of the compressors settled to a steady, deep hum as the engines stabilised and Stacey synchronised the throttle positions. Settling the headset more comfortably, she flicked the transmit button,

'OK guys. Strap in… here we go!'

The L-100 Freighter was parked in a position that required pushback. That wasn't about to happen any time soon; so she would have to use reverse thrust to move the aircraft backwards. She called up Yarin back in the cargo hold and told him to lower the cargo ramp and guide her out from the apron. She saw the warning light flash on; denoting that the ramp was activated; and pulled the four throttle levers back smoothly, feeling the resistance of the ground idle detent as she brought the levers fully back to the Maximum reverse position, and released the brakes. Slowly, the L-100 Freighter began to reverse back off the military apron as the Military policemen turned away to shield their eyes from the whipping dust scoured up from the concrete by the blast from the Hercules's reversed props.

On the flight deck, Alex was monitoring the instruments as Stacey carefully manoeuvred the big airplane out towards the east-west taxiway. Once she had decided that she was far enough out, she eased the throttle levers forward towards the flight idle position and pressed the four, low-speed ground idle control buttons on the control pedestal to reduce engine rpm, which would allow her to taxi the airplane at a slower speed to the active runway without having to use excess braking.

She began turning the nose of the airplane out towards the taxiway with the nose steering wheel which was located on the port side of the pilot's position, slightly to the left of her left knee. As the airplane's nose began to swing round, the cargo ramp warning light flicked out as Yarin closed up. Whilst she nosed out onto the centreline of the taxiway, Alex was contacting the tower for clearance. He gave the "OK" signal to Stacey, who continued taxiing the Hercules to the Zero-Three runway threshold which ran north, parallel to the coastline. Turning the nose again to line up with the runway centreline, she allowed the airplane to roll for about five yards in a straight line to straighten the nose landing gear before stopping.

OK… final checks. Taxi and anti-collision lights on. All doors closed. Flaps set to fifty percent… the take-off configuration. Engine instruments all in the green band. She rocked the control yoke to check if the flight controls were free and responding to inputs by moving the yoke in all positions; and glanced at Alex. He was checking that the radios were set and the navaids were correctly tuned with the Israeli Air traffic control frequencies. The final check was to confirm that the instruments… altimeter, radio altimeter, etc. were set and operating normally. OK; that was it.

Her headset crackled as the Israeli controller gave her take-off clearance. She gradually advanced the throttles toward maximum power and moved the yoke column slightly forward in order to increase steering effectiveness. As the indicated speed came up to fifty-five knots, she eased the yoke column back to neutral. She could now also use the rudder to steer the airplane on the runway until lift-off. At slightly less than half-distance along the runway, she reached the take-off speed of ninety-eight knots, and pulled back gently but positively on the yoke to start the rotation.

Stacey held the initial rotation to an attitude of between five, and seven degrees pitch up until the thumping of the main undercarriage ceased as the L-100 Freighter came clear of the ground. She then adjusted the input on the yoke to allow her to maintain the initial climb speed of one hundred and twenty knots; making the necessary corrections as the airplane climbed out of Sde Dov Airport, with Alex closely monitoring the airspeed indicator, attitude indicator and the vertical speed indicator. She nodded to him… gear up! Alex reached for the landing gear lever on the left side of his instrument panel and pushed it upwards; the three green lamps extinguished as the nose and main gear retracted and the gear doors closed.

At an indicated altitude of fifteen hundred feet above ground level, Stacey began to gradually retract the flaps and accelerate to the initial climb speed of one hundred and eighty knots. OK; straight and level in the climb-out over the northern suburbs of the city to their allocated flight level of twenty thousand feet.

At eighteen thousand feet; approaching the turning point over Haifa; Alex reset the radio altimeter. Rani's voice came through Stacey's headset.

'Turning point onto three-twenty-three, point-five, in ten seconds, Captain.'

Stacey acknowledged; and on Alex's countdown, eased the yoke over to port in a gentle bank out over the Mediterranean Sea as the magnetic compass indicator swung onto the new heading. Within ten minutes, the L-100 Freighter had reached her cruise height of twenty thousand feet and had settled to a true airspeed of two hundred and ninety knots. She was riding a favourable tailwind and visibility was unlimited. Stacey reached down to the console, pressed the autopilot coupled button, and punched in a selection of commands. All lights came on and the autopilot engaged successfully. She took her hands off the yoke and leaned back as the big grey bird cruised on sedately through the azure skies, above the azure sea almost four miles below. Twenty minutes into the flight out of Israel; Alex turned to Rani,

'So; what's the track of the flight plan?'

Rani opened the document case he had been given back at Sde Dov Airfield.

'Turning point onto two-seventy-eight point-seven, skirting south of Cyprus; then a five hundred and seventy-six nautical mile leg past Crete turning onto one-four-four to execute a seven hundred and seventy nautical mile leg up the Adriatic to Trieste onto final track of two-four point seven into an old, abandoned German Luftwaffe airfield called Einsatzhafen Markersdorf, sixty-five kilometres west of Vienna.'

Stacey glanced back at him.

'Abandoned? What state is it in?'

Rani shrugged.

'Difficult to say. The intelligence is old. They say it was a grass flying field, used during the war mainly as a training and test flight base with concrete taxi tracks. There is one good concrete track, three-hundred-and-seventy-yards long and eighteen feet wide. The whole place is out in the country; and the approach is quoted as one-forty-nine, point three-three degrees.'

Stacey glanced at Alex.

'This bird's track is fourteen-and-a-quarter feet. That's not a lot to play with. Looks like an assault approach and a beta touchdown.'

He raised an eyebrow.

'Ever done one of those?'

She grinned.

'Only in a Porter… never in one of these fat birds!'

Rani interrupted.

'Let's panic about that when we arrive. Here are your passports.'

He handed Alex two blue Canadian passports. Alex's passport declared that he was Cameron Lecours; pilote d'avion civil; resident in Hamilton, Ontario. Stacey was his wife: Émilie Lecours née Lapoussière; also pilote d'avion civil; and resident in Hamilton Ontario. When they arrived, they would be met by officers from the Vienna station and transported to a secure house in Vienna that would serve as the team's operation base.

Alex glanced back at Rani.

'OK; this old tub has Canadian registration; but any reason for Canadian passports?'

Rani smiled.

'The customs authorities of most countries think that the Canadian passport is impossible to duplicate .Passports are manufactured on different types of paper. There is no way the Canadian government would sell anyone the paper it uses to make Canadian passports. A phony passport cannot be manufactured with the wrong paper, so we have a small factory and chemical laboratory in the basement of the Academy that actually makes various kinds of passport paper. Our chemists analyzed the paper of genuine passports that we managed to acquire; and worked out the exact formula to produce sheets of paper that duplicated what our people needed. There is a large storage room win the basement of the Academy that is kept at a precise temperature and humidity to preserve the paper. Its shelves contain passport paper for most nations.'

He smiled.

'A little like what you have at Langley.'