Carpathian (16 page)

The phone went dead. Sorotzkin looked at her cell and then angrily closed it as she glanced up and saw the priest placing the remains of his lunch into his brown bag. Her differently colored eyes quickly scanned the area closest to the American but could see no familiar faces—and the pinched face of Ben-Nevin was easily seen and remembered.

Mica, like most field agents, absolutely hated men like the colonel due to the fact that they are blinded by the religion they profess to believe in. Men like him have slowly been weeded out of Mossad and mostly from political office thanks to the young people’s trend toward voting for national security over religious heritage.

The black-robed archivist got to his feet and fastidiously brushed at the dust on his behind. Mica saw the two men too late. One bent to a knee and tied a shoe that needed no tying and as she watched a second, smaller, dark-haired man in a polo shirt held up a map and asked the priest a question. Sorotzkin saw the American point to the streets to the south and then the man with the map pointed in the same direction. She saw them laugh together and then the priest looked as if he had made a decision. The two men with the taller one taking up the rear started to leave the square.

Mica was thinking that Ben-Nevin’s Mossad agents had arrived and there was little she could do to stop the abduction of the young American.

Major Mica Sorotzkin followed what she believed were the Mossad agents and the archival priest out of the square and into the darkest of hours that would conclude somewhere in the mountains of Eastern Europe.

*   *   *

Carl Everett kept pace ten feet behind Jason Ryan and United States Army Second Lieutenant Leonard DeSilva. Carl had been impressed on how easily the soldier playing a priest had taken his recall order, it was if the kid had been sensing he had been made before Everett informed him of the fact. When he felt he was being followed the day before he had acted quickly and got the evidence. The Mossad agent had been pinpointed from those grainy pictures taken from DeSilva’s cell phone camera. Underneath the desert sands of Nellis Air Force Base it had taken Europa all of ten minutes to nail her real identity as an agent for the state of Israel.

As the three wound their way through the midday crowds around St. Peter’s it was Everett who was the first to feel the prickling at the back of his neck. As he scanned the area through dark sunglasses he saw first Ryan, and then DeSilva become aware of the same feeling. They were being followed. Everett’s SEAL training always paid dividends when it came to combat nerves, and with Ryan and DeSilva it was the same from the intense training they received at the hands of Colonel Collins.

Ryan, understanding the procedure, quickly left the priest’s side and crossed the street where he vanished into the crowd of tourists and locals. He ducked low and then fought his way upstream to get behind Everett and the American contact. Ryan absentmindedly reached for his nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson but remembered this was supposed to be an extraction and not a gun battle. Everett had decided it had been too risky to try to get their personal weapons through customs. He grimaced and continued to try and come up behind the captain and their charge.

Everett was also mentally kicking himself in the ass for not going to the American embassy and meeting the Event Group contact there and getting some protection but had thought that would be unnecessary due to the fact that the extraction would take place in downtown Rome and close to Vatican City, so what could go wrong with getting the kid to da Vinci Airport? Maybe Jack was right, maybe he, Ryan, and Mendenhall weren’t good enough to help the colonel track his sister’s killer if he was going to make simple mistakes like underestimating a situation. He started walking faster. Just as he was about to approach from the back a child stepped up to Everett and held out a bag of oranges he was selling. Carl tried to sidestep the child but the boy stepped in front of Everett and then held out the plastic bag holding six oranges.

“Comprare le arance, la mia giornata è molto calda?” the boy said smiling up at the very large American.

Carl had been asked to buy the boy’s oranges on this very hot day. Everett reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and gave it to the boy, who stopped and stared at the strange money he had been given. Everett didn’t wait, he now stepped quickly to catch up with DeSilva even as the boy stood there with his small bag of oranges and the twenty-dollar bill.

Everett closed the gap between himself and DeSilva as the boy followed him with his eyes still looking at the unfamiliar money. Carl came up beside DeSilva and lowered his head as he slowly took a step past him as they neared a street vendor selling Vatican City T-shirts.

“We’ve been made, Lieutenant, it’s time to—”

“Hello, gentlemen, can I interest you in a T-shirt depicting the Basilica at its finest?”

Everett looked up at the smiling man and realized he had spoken English. But by the time he realized it another man had come up behind DeSilva and quickly maneuvered him into a small antique shop that the vendor fronted.

At that moment Ryan appeared out of nowhere and tried to take DeSilva by the arm before the second man could get him into the antique shop.

“That is not wise, young man. You and your friends have been covered by no fewer than two weapons at all times since you left the square. If you don’t want to see many innocent people hurt I suggest you step inside our small but trendy shop.”

Ryan became defiant at the same moment that DeSilva decided he would not be led into a darkened store. Everett saw what was going to happen and stepped between the vendor and his two men.

“That is wise. I am not familiar with these men but I do know the people they work for. I promise you no harm if you just step into the shop.”

Everett, Ryan, and DeSilva turned and saw the black-haired woman as she stepped up to the confrontational scene. It was the Mossad agent pegged by DeSilva and Europa—Major Mica Sorotzkin. Everett recognized her even with the oversized sunglasses on her face.

Carl had no choice. With a wary look to Ryan and DeSilva, he nodded that they should do as ordered. They were led into the store followed by the major and five men who had approached unobserved.

The small Italian boy of twelve years of age looked from the closing door to the paper money in his hand, and then at the bag of oranges the tourist forgot to take. The boy was lost as to his next course of action.

*   *   *

The safe house was strangely quiet as Sorotzkin entered, followed by the eight men. Carl was pushed to the far wall of the small antique shop as the last man through the door closed it and then pulled down the dark shade on its roller.

Major Sorotzkin made her way to the back of the shop and looked through the security curtain. Her computer technicians were not there. Everything looked normal with the one black fact that the safe house was never to be abandoned for any reason outside of a break-and-run order, which could only come from Tel Aviv. As they had with Everett and Ryan a moment before, the major’s hackles started to rise. As she turned and made her way back into the shop she heard a commotion.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she saw that the large blond American had been hit hard in the head and was just now trying to pick himself off the carpeted floor. Ryan was assisting Carl, but DeSilva had been placed on his knees with a Glock nine-millimeter pinned to the back of his head. With her fears confirmed, Major Sorotzkin slowly reached for her blazer and the BUL Cherokee semiautomatic. As she moved toward her weapon a hand coming from behind moved far faster and removed the gun. As the man to her rear pulled the weapon he intentionally allowed his hand to slowly press and glide over her left breast. She heard the sharp intake of breath from the man as he removed his hand and then stepped in front of her. Her eyes widened when she saw that it was General Shamni’s special projects assistant.

“Lieutenant Colonel Ben-Nevin,” she said as she gave the man a filthy and distasteful look. The pencil-thin mustache had a small line of gleaming sweat just above and below that made the major cringe. “The general will not like it if these men are mistreated,” she said as Ben-Nevin tossed one of his men Sorotzkin’s weapon and then turned and grabbed the major by the shoulders and brutally pulled the blazer from her body. He then turned her and slowly and perversely frisked her for other hidden weapons. Finally he stopped and ripped her sunglasses away. He smiled when he saw the two differing eye colors. He had always heard about the major’s strange eyes but never saw them before today.

“Ah, the general, the prime minister, the people of Israel, they don’t know what they like or dislike. It’s whatever wind blows that particular day from the direction of Washington that sways them. Threats of sanctions over the West Bank make them think. The prospect of defense cuts from America gets them thinking even more. But saving the heritage of the people, nah, can’t be bothered with that, no, no, no,” he said as his hands made their way to the front of her pants and then deftly slid inside making the major jump and scowl at his treatment of an agent from his office. She realized something was very wrong at the safe house. The colonel roughly probed the inside of the major’s pants and when he was satisfied that she carried no throw-away weapon he smiled and kept running his hand along her waistline.

Everett watched as he was helped to his feet. The blood that coursed down the left side of his head slowly made its way to his jawline. He shrugged off Ryan’s helping hands as he watched the strange confrontation in front of him—a conversation that wasn’t going this raven-haired woman’s way at all.

“Where is my safe house team?” she asked as she squeezed her eyes shut as the colonel completed his frisking of her. He removed his hand and then winked at the major.

“I’m afraid they have retired while still on active duty, along with the agents that General Shamni had sent in to debrief this American spy. We’ll be doing that,” he said as his smirk brightened at the prospect. “My specially chosen men are good at recovering data from the human element.”

“This is treason, Colonel. General Shamni will come after you like no agent in Mossad history. I had five brilliant technicians here, now what did you do with my people?” Her last few words came out far louder than she had intended. “Do you not think that the general has suspected someone in his office for quite some time was getting information to the extremist elements outside the Knesset?”

The major’s eyes went from the injured American to the young priest and then at the smaller man, who had his hands in the air but looked as if he were just playing the game—a game Mica knew these two Americans had played before. The young priest may be new to this backdoor game of thrones, but not the blond American and his smaller friend—they have been here before and danger didn’t really frighten them, and as she could see by the small dark-haired American it was a game they loved to play.

“After we find what we came for the general will have no choice but to become a part of what is happening. I daresay the people of our besieged nation will demand that the current left-wing regime take part in what we are going to do.”

“Everyone in the service knows your appointment was a political move by the prime minister to satisfy the religious hard-liners in his own cabinet and those even harder men inside the Knesset. As soon as this traitorous act has been exposed you will hang in public.” She looked around desperate for a way out of the situation she never saw coming. She needed time. “And what of these Americans, do you plan on killing agents of an ally state?”

The thin colonel looked over at Everett, Ryan, and DeSilva.

“Life is hard, Major, harder for some than others. But then again, we as a people know this, do we not? Now,” the colonel said as he walked over to where one of his men had DeSilva kneeling with a gun to the back of his head. “I need to know where the written report was sent on the animal skull you took such fine pictures of at the Vatican archives.” The colonel leaned over and patted the young priest on the back. “I think you know the one of which I speak. You sent it via computer to a secure source. Journal pages recovered from a villa in Greece describing a certain campaign of a Roman centurion later turned very important senator. Now, son, what was the name of that Roman soldier and senator, or better yet where was the campaign he was sent upon two thousand years ago? What country did he describe in his journal?”

“What?” the major asked loudly as another restraining hand held her in check. Her eyes took a quick glance at the taller American, who kept his eyes solely on her own.

“Look, I didn’t read the filing,” DeSilva said. “I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about. I filed the report with the pages attached but I didn’t read it.”

Again there was a pat on the back from Colonel Ben-Nevin. “But I do not believe you, my young American friend. But we will get the truth out,” Ben-Nevin said as the weapon was pushed harder into the American’s skull.

Major Sorotzkin took a quick look at the front door and Ben-Nevin saw the movement.

“Major, there will be no daring last-minute rescue by the forces of good. I have arranged for an uninterrupted afternoon of thrilling historical discussion.”

At that exact moment the bell above the door tinkled and the door opened sending sharp shards of afternoon light into the small antique shop. Everett’s eyes widened and at the same moment one of Ben-Nevin’s three men pointed his weapon in his direction as the boy stepped over the threshold of the door with his bag of oranges clutched in front of him.

“Mister hai dimenticato la tua arance,”
the boy said with his big brown eyes flitting from the much taller American naval captain and then over to Mica, who was still being held in place by the disgusting hand of the colonel. The child held up the plastic bag of oranges. The colonel released Mica and then the weapon was slowly aimed at the boy. Sorotzkin reacted.

“He only wants this man to take the oranges he paid for. He’s just a vendor. He’s harmless, Colonel.”