Part Two.

Slipping Into Darkness.

Chapter One.

The Military Airlift Command Boeing C-135 Stratolifter turned in low over the ancient market town of Ely, nestling in the Cambridgeshire fenlands as the pilot lined the big jet up for the nine-mile, final flight-path into the 513th Tactical Airlift Wing base at Royal Air Force Station Mildenhall, in the English county of Suffolk; which had been used by the United States Air Forces in Europe Command since the early fifties. The flight from Andrews Air Force Base had taken seven-and-a-half hours, and, with no cabin windows to look out of; Stacey was really bored with studying the contents of the thin file that she had been issued with back at Langley. There were only three other passengers… two Air Force Colonels, and a guy in his early thirties who smelled of Secret Service. Conversation had been non-existent; other than a few words with the airman steward who had brought round refreshments.

The Boeing touched down with a gentle bump and squeal of tires touching the concrete, and rolled down the runway losing speed as the crew applied the brakes and deployed the airplane's thrust reversers. The crew taxied the Boeing around to one of the hardstandings and shut down. The airman steward opened the big forward cargo door on the port side of the airplane for his passengers to deplane down the airstair that had been brought up. The two Air Force Colonels moved first; followed by the spook. Stacey waited in her seat until they had left the cabin before she moved forward to the door. At the bottom of the airstair, a Security Police sedan was waiting with its rear door held open by an SP Master sergeant. As she stepped on to the concrete he spoke.

'Miss Parker?'

She looked at him suspiciously.

'Yes, Master sergeant. How may I help you?'

'Sorry, Ma'am you need to see the Base Commander immediately.'

Stacey nodded and slid into the rear seat of the sedan. The SP Master sergeant climbed into the driving seat; slipped the shift into gear and swept away across the wide hardstanding towards the cluster of buildings beyond the four large hangars on the north side of the air base. The Headquarters building was a long, red-brick, two story building fronted by a horseshoe-shaped drive, built in the typical pre-war Royal Air Force Station architectural style. Stacey was shown into the base Commander's office, and greeted by an Air Force Colonel aged about fifty. He smiled and invited her to sit. He studied her for a few moments, and then spoke.

'Miss Parker; I have received a communication from your superiors. Your assignment has been revised while you were in transit. Your destination has been changed. You are no longer directed into Germany. I cannot advise you where your new destination is; I am not cleared to that level. My instructions are merely to allocate an airplane for you. I have a British Royal Air Force Dominie on the east ramp waiting for you. You will be contacted on your arrival at your destination.'

The Hawker Siddeley Dominie came in over the Belgian Zeeland promontory, and descended on its flight path over the docklands of Antwerp on final approach to Deurne airport, thirty-five minutes after leaving Mildenhall. Having landed; as Stacey left the airplane, she was met by a young guy who identified himself as being James Montgomery… a junior secretary based at the American Embassy in Brussels. The Brussels Embassy also housed one of the more significant European stations within the CIA's priorities.

Stacey smiled. Junior Secretary indeed! James Montgomery gave every appearance of being fresh out of Camp Peary on his first overseas assignment. She half-expected him to have an Embassy car waiting. She was surprised to see that he had brought a nondescript Peugeot estate wagon. As he drove out onto the N1 Route National, he glanced at her.

'Head of Station wants to brief you as soon as we arrive. Director Helms has sent a priority signal for you, Ma'am.'

She smiled.

'No need to call me Ma'am, James. Lucy is good enough.'

'Yes, Ma'am… 'er… Lucy.'

He said; and blushed.

As they approached the outskirts of Brussels; she noticed that a black Mercedes-Benz that had been behind them for at least the last thirty kilometres was still there, and making no attempt to pass them. She mentioned this to Montgomery. He nodded.

'Yeah, I've been watching them as well. It's probably nothing, but if they follow us into the city, we'll know they're tailing us. I have no idea why. No one knows you are here except for Langley and your flight crews.'

The black Mercedes-Benz continued to follow them down through the outer suburbs of Vilvoorde and Schaerbeek as Montgomery headed into the city.

As they came on to La Chaussée de Haecht, which led into La Rue Royale and then, Le Boulevard du Régent; a mere kilometre or so from the Embassy, they realised that the Mercedes Benz had closed right up. Stacey was watching it in the sun vizor vanity mirror. The car; which had Belgian Licence plates, contained two men. From what she could see from the small mirror; the two men gave every appearance of being either Police or spooks. If they were Belgian Police Fédérale; there was little to worry about. If they weren't… were they Sûreté de l'État… the Belgian intelligence agency? The other possibility was that they were someone else's spooks… but whose?... and Why?

As Montgomery turned on to the slip road that led up to the American Embassy building at Boulevard du Régent 27; the Mercedes-Benz slowed, and both men scrutinised Montgomery and his passenger. Considering that Stacey was sitting in the passenger seat away from them, it was almost certain that they didn't get a good look at her… Montgomery saw to that by moving in the driving seat to shield her from their gaze. As he slowed at the gate checkpoint; the Mercedes-Benz accelerated away and was lost in traffic.

Tennant J. Bagley; Chief of station in Brussels, studied the pretty young blonde sitting in front of his desk. The contents of the signal telexed through from Langley were classified under "Missions Directive, Priority A"; and the objective had been amended. Intelligence sources had confirmed that an Austrian organisation known as: Freiheitliche Partei Österreichs, FPÖ… The Freedom Party of Austria; which had been founded by a former Nazi Minister of Agriculture and SS officer, and served as a shelter for ex-Nazis almost from its inception in 1956; was gathering information relating to Operation Plumbat. Their intention was clear… to pass on such information to radical Arab factions in the Middle East… such as the Palestine Liberation Organization; or the Soviets; or both. Such intent was designed to destabilise the Middle East, and further isolate and imperil Israel. Bagley's brief was unequivocal. He was to order this girl… Agent Mckenna, to undertake an Offensive Penetration operation… to infiltrate the FPÖ and neutralise the threat by whatever means possible. He didn't like any part of this… sending this girl into a nest of anti-Semitic, fascist thugs with only minimum back-up. His resources were stretched, almost to breaking point. He could manage a handler… but that was it. He slid the signal across to her, and watched her face as she read it.

She nodded, and looked up.

'OK, Sir; when do I start?'

Bagley studied her.

'Are you carrying?'

She shook her head.

'I prefer not to, Sir. I prefer to rely on my smarts.'

He nodded.

'Well, there's an untraceable piece here if you want it.'

She shook her head again.

'Thanks; but I'll pass, Sir.'

He nodded.

'OK; we'll get you down to a safe house for tonight; and run you over the border into Germany after you've checked out Antwerp. I gotta say that I would feel happier with you having a decent legend rather than this Mickey Mouse, U.N. identity the D.O's allocated to you.'

She smiled.

'It'll do, Sir. Is it OK if I take a stroll? I need to stretch my legs and get some fresh air after all the flying.'

Bagley nodded.

'OK; but stay sharp, and don't wander too far. That Mercedes-Benz you mentioned tailing you is worrying… even though no one knows you're here.'

Stacey came out of the side entrance of the Embassy onto the Rue Lambermont, and strolled down towards the Parc de Bruxelles. As she waited to cross Hertogstraat; another Mercedes-Benz cruised past and its driver and passenger glanced at her. Whether it was just that they were admiring a pretty blonde waiting to cross the road… or it was connected with the previous incident was impossible to tell; but Stacey automatically clicked into potential threat status; alert for anything definitive.

Warily, she scanned the crowd around her in the busy street. People were hurrying in every direction; shopping, eating, talking, and walking in the sunshine. Nobody appeared to be watching or paying her any special attention. A man wearing an overcoat and clutching an attaché case strolled around the corner. He paused for the briefest of seconds and then stopped and scanned up and down the avenue. Stacey paused and studied him closely; early forties or maybe a little older. No particular distinguishing features that made him stand out from the crowd. Bland face, boring clothes… Mister Ordinary… hard to describe and instantly forgettable. A teenage couple passed; laughing as they walked down the street, hand in hand. A mother pushing a baby carriage fussed with the baby’s blanket which might conceal anything. Mister Ordinary carried on walking. The teenagers' laughter faded as they moved out of range. The baby started crying and the mother stopped and picked up the child to cuddle it for a moment; then put it back and carried on down the busy street.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Stacey crossed the road and entered the park. She strolled along one of the avenues lined with beautiful old lime trees that led to an ornate octagonal pond. It was relaxing being away from the traffic. She paused by the pond, and then decided to explore a pathway leading to the north. This led into an area that contained a large array of statues; mostly in the Greco-Roman style; with the pathway leading off to another larger, circular pond containing a spectacular fountain at the northern end of the park. As she was admiring one of the statues…Venus with doves; she sensed a presence behind her. She half-turned… something heavy hit her from behind and the lush green grass rushed up to meet her.

The first thing she became aware of was that she was uncomfortable. Her arms and wrists were sore, and her head was aching like hell. Her arms were pinioned behind her with what felt like handcuffs; she was blindfolded, and was bumping around in what must have been the back of a van or truck. She gathered her thoughts. Blindfold; handcuffs, some sort of vehicle, and a sock on the back of the head. It didn't take too much figuring out that this added up to an abduction. But Who?... And Why? Surely to God this assignment hadn't been blown before it had even started? No; that just didn’t make any sense. The opposition were good; but they weren't that good. They weren't clairvoyant, for Chrissakes! No; this must be something else… But What?

There were no traffic noises, no voices loud enough to be heard over the sound of the vehicle's engine… and that had the deep grunt of a diesel. The jolting suggested that they were travelling over a rough road… or might it be cobbles? But she didn't know if there were still any cobbled streets in the Belgian Capital. She felt no breeze on her face, no light seeping through the blindfold. It was either night time or she was in a space with no windows. She couldn't tell if she was alone, or whether someone was there watching her. The handcuffs were heavy and uncomfortable. Securing her wrists behind her was putting a strain on her shoulders. They weren't actually too tight in the way that snap-on, ratchet handcuffs would be. They were too tight to wriggle her hands out; but there were ways of overcoming that. It could be part of her escape plan but, she needed to know what opposition she faced before she started on that one.

She felt the vehicle make a sharp turn and pull sharply to a standstill. The muffled sounds of door opening and banging shut vibrated and echoed through the darkness; then she heard the sound of doors being opened behind her. She lay still; she heard voices… men's voices. She picked up one word… "Shikse."

That was either Polish… or Hebrew. She hadn’t quite caught the accent. Now she concentrated hard on listening. In Polish, the word was "Sziksa"… a derogatory word for a young girl or teenager… literally "snot-nosed brat." In Hebrew; "Shikse" meant a young, usually blonde and attractive, non-Jewish woman or girl of the type with which Jewish men and boys populated their sexual fantasies. As she listened, she realised that it was, in fact, Hebrew.

The first voice said;

'Be careful. He says she's dangerous.'

There was a peal of laughter at this. Another voice said;

'She looks about as dangerous as a sand mouse.'

The first voice spoke again.

'Hey, I'm just telling you what he said.'

She felt hands grab her ankles and begin dragging her backwards across the metal floor. So, they had only secured her wrists… their first mistake.

The first voice said,

'Put her in the tank. We'll see to her when she's back on the planet.'

She felt herself being lifted bodily. The second voice… coming from near her ear now… started to say something, but was cut short in a surprised grunt as Stacey drove her knee up and connected with soft flesh. She felt herself falling, and then her feet hit the ground and she ran, suddenly aware that she wasn't wearing shoes, and, with every sense screaming at her to stop because she was still blindfolded; with her hands handcuffed behind her. She managed about five seconds before she tripped and fell in a heap on what felt like a concrete floor. Hands grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to her feet.

Voice Two snarled,

'Fucking Bitch,'

And a fist punched her hard in the stomach; driving the breath out of her. Gasping, she aimed a kick, but all she hit was thin air. She felt herself being shoved into a chair of some kind, and something that felt very much like the barrel of a gun was pressed firmly against her temple.

Voice one spoke again; this time in English.

'Bang,'

It said,

'You're dead.'

Being handcuffed, blindfolded and tied to a chair in an unknown space was really not the best way to spend the day. Stacey waited until she was certain that her captors had gone; she'd listened as their voices receded down what must have been a corridor leading from this place. Her arms were aching from the handcuffs. She waited another ten minutes. There were no sounds other than a faint, continuous drip of water somewhere. This place must be some abandoned factory or something similar. OK. Time to put the escape plan into action.

She had realised that the handcuffs were not the self-tightening ratchet type. They must be the old, English police, Derby Pattern Hyatt type; snap-shut, non-adjustable, and opened with a screw key. That also meant that the metal they were made of would be smooth, polished; and would have no sharp edges; but she wasn't looking forward to what she was about to do.

Deliberately dislocating your own thumb was not the best way to have a peachy day. It was painful… really fucking painful… but it was her only option if she wanted to free her hands. She forced her left thumb against the backrest of the chair and pushed… hard. The pain stabbed up through her wrist. Gritting her teeth, she pushed harder It had to be close to going… otherwise it really wouldn't be hurting this much. Suddenly, there was a dull crunch, and, with a sharp stabbing, white-hot spear of pain that brought tears to her eyes, she felt the bone pop free from the metacarpal joint as she forced back the scream that was gathering in her throat; swallowing hard to try to ride out the wave of nausea that was washing over her. Holy-fucking-shit! That hurt! She gave herself three seconds to pull it all together. One. Two. Three… OK. It isn't going to hurt any more that it does now. Breathe through your nose, Girl. Don't make any noise. Grit your teeth, and live to see tomorrow.

She slipped her left hand out of the cuff, and tore off her blindfold. OK, untie the ankles. Next stop… the door. The grimy metal door was locked. They had frisked her and had found the bobby pin she kept in her pocket for emergencies... but they hadn't found the back-up bobby pin sewn into the hem of her skirt. Pulling it free, she twisted it into the desired shape and inserted it into the keyhole. It was an old mortice-type lock... probably pre-war. The whole place looked old, disused, and derelict. It took little more than half a minute to overcome the internal levers of the lock. With a satisfying click the internal lock bolt slid back. Cautiously she tried to open the door. It remained firmly shut. She swore quietly. It must be bolted on the other side.

At first, the sound was out on the very limits of Stacey's hearing; muffled as it was, by the thick metal door. This dark prison had been so quiet after the men had left her alone; that the silence had started pressing in on her. Other than the faint, interminable drip-drip of water somewhere behind her, it was so quiet that she thought that she might have started imagining noises just to break the monotony of the enveloping silence.

It wasn't long before she managed to actually perceive the faint sound… a sound that slowly became louder. Footsteps! The sound became louder still. She could just make out voices. The sound of bolts being drawn resonated through the metal plates sheathing the door, and, on creaking hinges it began to open. A faint light swept across the room towards where the chair that she had been bound to was placed. She braced herself. There would only be one shot at this. One of the voices said,

'Time to see to the little CIA Nafka.'

A narrow beam of white light appeared as a figure holding a flashlight stepped into the room. With all her strength she struck out at the shadow; thrusting her arm up sharply. The heel of her right hand made crunching contact with the figure's chin, whilst the open cuff of the handcuffs still attached to her right wrist whipped up and smacked him in his Adam's apple. The man gave a strangled grunt and went down as though all the bones in his body had suddenly turned to jelly. She crouched; waiting for the owner of the other voice to appear.

Suddenly, the lights came on and she could see where she was. It looked like the disused assembly area of a factory. The man on the ground… who gave the appearance of being very dead; was a mean-looking thug. The door opened slowly and the second man appeared. He was pointing a nine-millimetre Beretta at her. He glanced at the motionless, sprawled body; and then, at her. He raised an eyebrow, and lowered the pistol. Warily, he crouched and felt the man's neck for a pulse; then spoke in Hebrew. She recognised the resigned tone as being Voice One.

'A chazer bleibt a chazer... Alev ha-sholem'… 'A pig remains a pig. May he rest in peace.'

He stood up and shrugged his shoulders.

'So, Miss Parker… or should I call you Agent Mckenna? You showed a lot of chutzpah breaking free with such relative ease…'

He glanced at the body.

'Shed no tears for Biberman. He was a mean bastard who really enjoyed roughing you up after you managed to kick him in the nuts.'

Stacey glared at him.

'So who the hell are you? And why am I here? What do you want?'

He gave a thin grin. He was really quite handsome; about twenty-five, Six foot; tanned, and athletic.

'My name is Officer Richard Menke. I am with the Protective Security Department of Shin Bet.'

Stacey stared at him,

'Mossad? I am supposed to be working with you guys.'

He nodded.

'No, not Mossad. We work alongside them. They are our foreign intelligence service; we are Israel's internal security service. You were sanctioned by them to work in cooperation to secure the confidentiality of intelligence concerning Operation Plumbat.'

She gave him a suspicious, puzzled look.

'So what was the purpose of this abduction?… And why all the strong-arm tactics?'

Richard Menke looked abashed.

'I am deeply sorry about that…'

He motioned towards the lifeless body sprawled on the concrete.

'Biberman was also Mossad. He was one of the Metzada operatives… they are the assassination and sabotage clandestine operations branch. I would just have picked you up; but he, as usual, went right over the top with a full-scale, violent abduction.'

Stacey stared at him.

'But why pick me up at all? All the arrangements have been made…'

Menke's tone became serious.

'There has been a serious security breach. We have not established on which side… ours, or yours. The Neo-Nazi faction in Austria has been made aware of your presence and cover story. They are watching for a young, female UN Maritime Organisation Investigator to appear in Antwerp asking questions concerning a certain Liberian-registered German freighter which put to sea on the morning of November 17th, 1968. If their people identify her… which as you are fully aware, is you; they have orders to make sure she is found floating face-down in the Scheldt River.'

His gaze fell to her hands. The handcuffs were still locked around her right wrist, but her left hand was free; although the thumb was swollen and misshapen. He gently took her hand; seeing her wince as he touched it; and studied it intently. He looked up at her.

'So, you managed to dislocate your thumb joint to get out of the cuff?'

She nodded.

'Well; we'd better fix that right now.'

He carefully positioned her hand and gently took hold of her left thumb around its base. She stifled a soft whimper. His fingertips traced the position of the metacarpal joint; his touch was as soft as the touch of butterfly wings on her swollen flesh. He looked into her eyes.

'We go on three… OK?'

She nodded. Steeling herself for the sharp stabbing, white-hot spear of pain that she knew was about to explode within her. Richard Menke moved his position slightly, and nodded.

'One…Two…'

As his lips formed the "O" of two, he jerked her thumb away from her palm; twisted it, and jabbed it back into place in the metacarpal joint with a sharp crunch. She didn't even have time to manage a scream as the mind-numbing, white-hot, searing pain ripped through her hand and shot up her arm; burning a pathway through every nerve in her body. As the room began closing in; chalk-white in the face, and with trembling lips; she whimpered…

'What the fuck happened to Three…?'

Then the roaring black void opened around her and sucked her down into its soft, interminable darkness; enveloping her as her knees buckled, and she slumped against him.