Chapter Two.

Ten minutes into the flight, the "ding-dong" chime sounded as the pilot switched off the illuminated seat belt sign and made the normal flight announcement.

'Good evening. We are climbing to thirty-five thousand feet and will attain cruise speed in five minutes. The flight to Sde Dov Airport, Tel Aviv will take approximately two and one-half hours. The time is now Seventeen-forty, Central European Time. We will arrive at Twenty-two-hundred hours, local time.'

The voice jerked Stacey's concentration away from the "Nimrod" file that she was about to read. She knew that voice... as well as she knew her own. Scarcely daring to believe what she had heard, she unbuckled her seatbelt, left her seat, and moved forward along the cabin. The steward rose from his seat as he saw her approaching. With a puzzled expression, he said,

'Ma'am?'

She paused at the cabin forward bulkhead.

'No problem, Staff Sergeant. I need a word with the pilot.'

He put his hand out to block her progress.

'I'm sorry, Ma'am; the flight deck is off-limits during flight.'

She studied him for a moment.

'This is not a request, Staff Sergeant. This is Company business.'

He hesitated momentarily, and then yielded to the authority in her voice. He nodded.

'Yes, Ma'am,'

… And tapped on the flight deck door, before quietly opening it. The figure in the left seat turned, and glanced over his shoulder. A slow smile spread across his face.

'Hi there, Baby-Girl.'

She stared at him; with a shocked expression of disbelief on her face. He slipped off his headset; unbuckled his seat harness, and turned to the copilot.

'You have control, Mitch. I need to talk to the lady.

'The copilot nodded.

'That's a Rog. Sandman. I have control.'

Alex Shepard climbed out of the pilot seat and moved back to the flight deck bulkhead. Glancing at the steward, he said,

'OK, Staff Sergeant; gimme twenty mikes. The Lady and I have business to attend to.'

The Staff Sergeant nodded.

'Yessir! Ring if you want coffee.'

Alex Shepard took Stacey's arm and guided her back into the cabin. Turning, he closed the door. Stacey was shaking; her legs felt as though they were about to go from under her.

'I thought you were dead,'

She whispered.

'I thought you were dead and that I'd never get to… that I'd never get the chance to tell you that…'

Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath. Sandman smiled gently and stroked the tears from her cheeks.

'Hey, I'm fine, Baby-Girl. See? Not even a scratch.'

Stacey clung to him.

'I love you, "I... I'm sorry I wasted so much time; I'm sorry, Alex, I didn't know that...'

Her voice was cut off by Sandman's soft lips on hers, the kiss, wet and salty from her tears. He gently pushed her to arms length and studied her. She whimpered a little; tugging Sandman further into her arms and holding him even closer. Guiding her to one of the leather seats, he sat down in the facing seat; the old, familiar, Sandman laconic smile on his face. She gazed at him silently for a while; as though he was some kind of cruel illusion… then, she exploded.

'Damn you to Hell, Alex Shepard. I thought you were gone forever. Why didn't you get word to me?'

He reached out and took her hands.

'I thought I was gone forever too. I managed to get out of the fuselage with a busted leg as it went down. I was in the water for five hours before a Gook fishing boat hauled my waterlogged, sorry ass out of the South China Sea and ran me into Da Nang. They brought me back Stateside and hospitalized me for three months. During that time… and ever since; I've been trying to find out what happened to you. Langley stonewalled me, and eventually posted me to the Special Activities Division who deployed me as a pilot with one of the Aviation contractors. I always thought that you'd made it, but there was nothing… they'd made you go totally dark. So, I've spent my time hauling lard-assed Congressmen and Top Brass on jaunts all over the world. I was in Rome when this mission came through. We were at Ciampino Airport waiting for a bunch of White House jerks that'd been gold-bricking it with the Italian President when we were told to forget them and high-tail it to Budapest to extract a Company asset, on the premise that we were picking up a bunch of junketing Congressmen from Israel. Mitch and I got the bird topped out, quick smart; saddled up… and here we are.'

He gently took her hands and his face became serious.

'What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time? My orders say that I have to deliver you to representatives of the Israeli Defence Force Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations… or, Mossad, as it's better-known; when we arrive in Tel Aviv. When we get there, I am to be your close protection officer; so, it would be nice to know what I am supposed to be protecting you from.'

She sighed.

'I can't tell you that, Alex.'

He grinned.

'They said that you'd say that.'

He withdrew a sealed envelope from the map pocket of his flight overalls and handed it to her.

'Your orders.'

Opening the envelope, she pulled out the signal flimsy and read the contents. They were explicit and concise…

Lieutenants Mckenna and Shepard; working under the control of the Tel Aviv station were to collaborate with Mossad agents in the matter of apprehending and/or eliminating the Hungarian courier; one Bernát Kóbor; who was believed to be either already in, or en route for Israel. He was to be subjected to "Executive Action"… The CIA euphemism for an assassination operation; before he passed the intelligences that he was carrying to factions hostile to the State of Israel. The order was signed by Richard M. Helms. Director of Central Intelligence. Stacey folded the signal and studied Alex Shepard thoughtfully.

'Close protection officer? What's that supposed to mean?'

He smiled wryly.

'Same as it's always been, I guess. I watch your back and make sure you don't have to spend that Morgan Dollar I gave you back at Long Tieng.'

She nodded.

'Well; it's worked well so far… so, what makes you think it won't from here on in?'

His smile faded.

'I know what's going down. They briefed me fully before I left. You're up against some real mean bastards this time, Baby-Girl… which is why I brought along my bad-ass friends along with me.'

He stood and opened the overhead locker; pulling out an aluminium case. He sat down again with the case on his knees and flipped up the two latches; opening the case and revealing the ominous looking, black, pump-action shotgun it contained. He smiled; an absolutely chilling smile.

'It's a custom Remington 870 Tactical, twelve-gauge pump. Police model, eighteen-inch barrel with an extra-full choke. Seven, number one load, Buckshot shells… Antimony-lead-alloy shot which gives a tighter pattern.'

He closed the case.

'And, I've also brought my favourite side-arm; a SIG P210, nine-millimetre Parabellum as used by the Swiss army and police units. The slide rides inside the frame rails, rather than outside as in the traditional Browning pattern, which makes for a very tight fit between the frame, slide, and barrel without compromising the reliability. The result is that by eliminating any slop in the fit, the pistol is highly accurate as there is very limited movement between the parts that could affect the bullet’s flight. In practice, it means that I can put five rounds into a two-inch circle at fifty yards; so if any of those Neo-Nazi freaks try anything, it just ain't gonna be their day. If we're gonna have to deal with them, the end usually justifies the means.'

She smiled.

'Well; you haven't changed much since Laos. You could cut someone in half with that goddamned shotgun!'

Alex Shepard raised an eyebrow.

'Now listen, Baby-Girl. I heard what those wannabe Fourth Reich assholes did to you; so you'd better believe that's exactly what I'll do if they come at you again. I take it that you are armed?'

She nodded and reached for the elegant black leather attaché case containing her false passports and the combined currencies that she and Richard Menke had been issued with back in Vienna. Releasing the locks, she withdrew her silenced Walther and the similarly-silenced Beretta. She looked up at him. He grinned.

'Stupid question really. Both nine-millimetres?'

She nodded.

'Yes; both loaded with jacketed hollow-points; but the Beretta uses special hollow-cavity slugs They both make quite a mess; but the Beretta is very messy…. and I really mean "very messy." The hollow in the slug is unusually large and causes extreme expansion and - or fragmentation on impact.'

Alex Shepard nodded.

'Quite a stopper; but I know a little trick that can make them ten times worse. I've got a feeling you may need a little extra something if this goes down the way these Sieg Heil assholes intend it to. I'll show you what I mean when we reach Tel Aviv.'

He glanced at the chronometer on his wrist.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

'I'd better get back up front and see how Mitch is coping. I'll be back later…'

He grinned again.

'I'll get the butler to rustle up some coffee, and maybe a bite to eat for you. See ya later, Baby-Girl.'

He bent down and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips, then turned, and made his way forward towards the cabin door. He spoke briefly to the Staff Sergeant; then disappeared into the cockpit. Stacey replaced the two weapons in the attaché case; locked it, and placed it on the seat in front of her as the cabin door opened and the Staff Sergeant appeared. He smiled amiably.

'Coffee, Ma'am?... And maybe a sandwich?'

She nodded.

'Thank you; that would be nice.'

He smiled again.

'OK, Ma'am. Black? or with cream?... And the sandwich? I've a great Virginia ham back there. How about Ham on Rye with mayo or mustard?'

She paused.

'Black coffee, no sugar; and ham on rye would be fine… but hold the toppings.'

He nodded and moved back to the galley. After the sounds of the chinking of crockery, came the sound of coffee beans whirling around as they were being ground up. She looked out of the cabin window at the sky. The few light clouds tinged with vanilla and silver streaks were just beginning to hint at scarlet and gold; and far away on the horizon, the pale, saffron sky glazed with subtle hues of orange and red, was beginning to darken to a soft indigo as twilight began creeping in from the east. It would certainly be dark when they landed in Israel. Her thoughts were interrupted by the Staff Sergeant returning with a tray set with a large cup of coffee and a plate, upon which were two rounds of thick, ham on rye sandwiches. Adroitly balancing the tray on one hand, he raised the hinged table that had been stowed flush against the cabin wall between the two seats and placed the tray in front of her. He smiled again.

'There you go, Ma'am. Enjoy. If you want more coffee, just press the call button on your seat armrest.'

He then walked forward to his flight seat and closed the cabin door behind him.

The updated Nimrod file did not make reassuring reading. It revealed that, in spite of the best efforts of both Mossad and Shin Bet; no intelligence had been forthcoming on the whereabouts of the Hungarian courier, Bernát Kóbor. The entire Israeli Intelligence Community had been mobilised... such was the potential gravity of the situation. A meticulous watch on all ports of entry was in place; and the CIA station chief in Tel Aviv had deployed all his officers and agents. There was also an eyes-only footnote that revealed that the detachments of the Israeli General Staff Reconnaissance Unit... "Sayeret Matkal"... a special forces unit of the Israeli Defense Forces, was active in the surrounding Arab States conducting deep interdiction behind enemy lines to obtain strategic intelligence; specifically, any signs of activity that might confirm that Kóbor had successfully passed on his intelligence regarding the Plumbat Affair.

Stacey sighed. This assignment looked as though it would turn out to be pretty much a very small needle in a very big haystack. She closed the file and placed it back in the attaché case. Settling back into her seat, she gazed out of the cabin window into the darkening skies that merged with the Mediterranean Sea, all but lost in the inky void six-and-a half-miles below. She watched the edge of the wing shimmering silver as it caught the brilliant light of the young, rising moon; and the glow from the green navigation light out on the far tip of the starboard wing glistening and splintering into the gathering darkness for a while, and slowly drifted off into a shallow sleep marred by a dream of narrow, shadowy alleyways and passages, and dark, dank cellars. Somebody touched her on the shoulder. She tried to shrink back from the touch but couldn't. Had Franzl Nagler returned to carry on his brutal interrogation? A voice, distant and indistinct was speaking. The hand on her shoulder gently shook her. The voice was clearer now.

'Wake up, Ma'am. We’re almost there.'

Stacey opened her eyes slowly and gazed out the cabin window. The airplane was much lower now; the lights of the Israeli Coastal Plain lay in a glittering arc along the edge of the Mediterranean, like a jewelled necklace painted by one of Old Masters. The Staff Sergeant smiled down at her.

'I guess you need another cup of coffee Ma'am. We're twenty minutes out.'

She nodded dumbly, trying to clear the fog of disturbed sleep from her mind, and felt her ears beginning to block with the slow descent towards the coast. As she was drinking her coffee, the Seat Belt warning sign flashed on and the airplane banked onto its final heading. She saw out of the cabin window that the glittering necklace of lights along the coast slowly began to merge into a carpet of lights that had to be the outer suburbs of Tel Aviv... then the whole scene seemed to begin spinning slowly clockwise as Alex Shepard banked around, committing to his down leg and began to lose height.

The White-green flashing light of the airport identification beacon swam into view as the flight path of the Jetstar followed the coast; then came the final turn, and she heard the shrill hydraulic whine of the air-brakes and the landing-wheels being lowered as the airplane's nose dipped, and the muted scream of the engines settled to a whistling purr. She felt the noticeable deceleration pushing her hips into her seat belt, as, with a gentle bump and a squeal of rubber the Jetstar touched down between the brilliant white ground-lights which blurred past as the airplane rushed down the runway; slowing as Alex Shepard braked. She sat silently while the plane taxied toward the terminal; turned off onto a ramp on the right-hand side of the main taxiway some distance from the main terminal buildings, and rolled to a stop. She waited until the Seat Belt sign was extinguished before rising to her feet and picking up her attaché case from the seat opposite.

The whine of the jets subsided as Alex closed the throttles and the turbines wound down, and the cabin became quiet except for the low background hum of the electronic equipment of the airplane. She moved forward towards the cabin door; and opening it, saw the Staff Sergeant unlock the entry door; pull it inwards, and slide it open. He then pushed out the folding airstair and stood back to let her descend onto the asphalt ramp. A gleaming black Mercedes-Benz armoured limousine was waiting beside the Jetstar; with its motor ticking over quietly. Two men in sharp suits were waiting by the limousine. One stepped forward and held out his hand.

'Miss Mckenna; welcome to Tel Aviv. We are to take you to your hotel.'

Stacey shook his hand. It was firm and dry. She smiled briefly.

'Thank you; but we need to wait for a few moments. My pilot will be coming with me.'

The man nodded.

'Yes; Mr. Shepard. He too, is expected.'

Stacey stepped towards the limousine, then turned, and waited. In a few moments Alex Shepard appeared at the cabin door carrying the aluminium case that contained the Tactical pump-action shotgun; and stepped down the airstair. He gave the man a wry grin.

'Rafi, you old Nebbish! How's it hanging?'

The man turned.

'You can talk, you Yank Mamzer. Don't piss me off; I've had a crap day!'

He took two steps forward and threw his arms around Shepard in a bear hug.

'Good to see you again Sandman. Aren't you going to introduce me to the Lady?'

Alex Shepard grinned.

'Stacey; this is Rafael Navot; licensed buccaneer and general all-round, bad-guys' nightmare.'

She gave the man a thin smile.

'Pleased to meet you, Officer Navot.

The Mercedes-Benz swept out of Sde Dov Airport; turning right, then left, then right again onto Highway Two, and picked up speed, heading south towards central Tel Aviv followed closely by a black Chevrolet Blazer fitted with dark tinted, privacy windows. Stacey glanced at Rafael Navot.

'Is our tail friendly?'

He gave a thin smile.

'Very good, Officer Mckenna. It took you hardly any time at all to spot them. Yes; they are friendly.'

She raised an eyebrow.

'Metsada?'

He gave another thin smile and said nothing as the Mercedes-Benz turned onto King Saul Boulevard and continued on past an ugly, uninspiring glass-and-concrete office tower on the right... the Hadar Dafna building… actually, four combined buildings in different heights, from nine to fourteen storeys high; that was purported to be a commercial office complex, but was, in fact, the Headquarters of "HaMossad leModiʿin uleTafkidim Meyuḥadim"… the "Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations"… better known as "Mossad."

Approaching his destination; the Mercedes-Benz driver turned into the forecourt of the Sheraton Hotel and stopped. The black Chevy stopped behind them and four men emerged. They all looked young, hard, and tough; with watchful, cold eyes. Systematically, they scanned the surrounding area before the nearest one nodded. Only then, did Rafael Navot get out of the car and open the door for Stacey. Another of the men opened the door for Alex, whilst a third opened the trunk of the Mercedes-Benz and removed Stacey's bag and Alex's gun case, while the fourth man surveyed the area with cold, steely eyes.

With Navot leading; the four men formed up around Stacey and Alex and escorted them into the hotel foyer. Once inside; two of the men took up station at the hotel entrance whilst Navot nodded at the receptionist. There were no booking-in formalities; instead, the party headed straight for the elevator which whisked them silently up to the fifth floor. As the elevator doors slid open; the remaining two men from the Chevy stepped out first, taking up positions in the spacious corridor as they scrutinised the area. The man on the right of the elevator nodded to Navot; who ushered Stacey and Alex Shepard out and across the plush carpet to suit 210, and handed the key to Stacey. He smiled.

'You'll be safe here. Your names will not appear in the register, and two of my officers will be in the hotel at all times whilst you are here.'

The main doorway of suite opened up to a large, elegant living room. The floors were hardwood with lush white carpets. It was decorated in a seamless blend of traditional and modern. A glass coffee table with a crystal vase of fresh white lilies on top sat in the middle of the living room. Soaring windows overlooked the sea with elegantly-draped curtains tucked to the side. A white sofa, tastefully decorated with beige cushions sat in front of the window, with a tall lamp beside it. There was a television in front of the sofa, and two glass walls with a doorway revealed the private dining room to the left of the living room. Stacey opened a door to the right of the living room and found the master bedroom. The hardwood floors were almost entirely covered with a huge white carpet, and directly across from where she was standing, she could see the master bath through an open door. The king-size bed was covered in beautiful golden-and-bronze silk sheets.

Gold curtains extended from the ceiling down to the centre of the large headboard; with a small table to each side of the side of the bed holding up a small lamp, and having two drawers. Next to the doorway, there was an elaborately carved, three-mirror, dressing table. To the right was yet another table with a telephone and another vase of lilies; with two burgundy armchairs in front of the large window which opened out onto a balcony overlooking the city. The bathroom was just as impressive as the master bedroom, with golden-and-bronze tiled walls and a clean white marble floor. The granite counter had an inset basin with a gold-finish, combination faucet; and a small shelf under the counter held a pair of slippers and a neatly folded bathrobe.

The whole place was lit with modern recessed lights, and fitted with chrome rails draped with fresh white towels of assorted sizes and shapes. The whole wall in front of the counter was a mirror, even extending back to the large bathtub, which was filled with lukewarm water, sprinkled with floating rose petals. The stand-up shower contained a glass shelf which held the traditional hotel bathing products, and had a special grab rail for balance.

Stacey smiled. So this was how the other half lived. The suite conveyed an atmosphere of understated elegance… but not the over-the-top, unnecessary elegance that many rich people indulged in. She walked back into the bedroom and went out to the balcony, staring out across the city. Alex and Rafael Navot came into the suite carrying the meagre luggage. Rafael Navot remarked that there wasn't much in the way of clothes for them; and that something would need to be done about that. He would arrange something at headquarters; but now, Alex needed to get across to the American Embassy where he would be briefed by the Chief of the Tel Aviv station. Perhaps Stacey would care to take a stroll down onto the promenade and beach when she'd settled in?

Having freshened up; Stacey took the elevator down to the foyer and walked out onto the Sir Herbert Samuel Esplanade. Crossing the road to the promenade; she walked down to the Frishman beach… named after the nearby Frishman Street. The fine golden sand beach was wide, with the clear blue water of the Mediterranean lapping gently against the shoreline.

The beach area was quiet… it would probably be crowded at weekends; but now, there were just a few couples scattered about watching the stars come out as the twilight deepened. It was beginning to get chilly; and a murky haze was rising out to sea, thickening into a heavy fog that began rolling in from the sea and was starting to advance quite quickly towards the beach. Stacey decided that the hotel suite would definitely be a better bet; the northern end of the promenade towards the Gordon Swimming Pool was beginning to disappear as the grey curtain drifted inland.

As she walked back across the promenade towards the Sheraton Hotel she had the sudden feeling that she was being watched. She felt as if someone's eyes were piercing the back of her neck. She quickly turned around but there was nobody… just the dense fog rolling in off the Mediterranean. Perhaps there was someone on the other side of the promenade. She just couldn't see them.

A few minutes passed and she still felt the same feeling as earlier. Just stronger. She turned around once again only to see what she had seen previously... Nothing… just dense fog; in which faint footsteps seemed to be approaching in her direction; their muffled echo getting closer and closer with each step. She turned around again and saw a tall figure's shadow, grey in the fog. She reached inside her jacket for the butt of the Beretta and began to slowly walk backwards, as the vague shadow stepped closer.

The shadowy figure of a man gathered substance from out of the murk and came towards her. He appeared to be carrying a briefcase. She was about to draw the Beretta when she saw headlights out of the corner of her eye. A car slowed down next to her and she heard the window roll down. A voice said, in Israeli-accented English…

'Miss Mckenna; the Director wishes to see you. Please come with me.'

She glanced back. The shadowy figure had disappeared. Turning back to the driver of the car she was about to ask him for identification, when he spoke again.

'Please get into the car; I saw him too. It may be nothing; but then again, they will stop at nothing to find you if they are aware that you are here to intercept their courier.'

She stared at him. He produced an identity card which bore the Seal of Mossad... the blue-edged, white circle with a central, blue Menorah circled by the Hebrew script. He gave a thin smile.

'I am Uri Silberberg; we should leave now. Your shadow could be targeting you as we speak.'