The Great Deception (6 page)

"Step right this way," Maxwell instructed.
He took the lead with his guards and the foreign leaders following
not too far behind.

"I like what you've done with the place,"
the German chancellor joked. Jasper Turpin looked horrified at
Lothar
’
s lack of discernment. Just to be
on the safe side the British PM stood at a distance from the German
(he didn't want to be part of the splash damage when Maxwell had
enough of Lothar
’
s cockamamie talk).

Igor and Grigory on the other hand exchanged
looks of amusement. Who needed a court jester when Lothar Kirsch
was in the building?

The German chancellor walked at a snail's
pace, his neck snapped back in a fixed position with eyes staring
straight up at the ceiling and his mouth gaping. "When was this

place built?"

No one in the group expected an answer to
the question...this was not a tour. But to everyone's shock, the
False Prophet provided one. "The war room was built in the sixties.
This area that we walk through presently actually predates the war
room."

"A natural formation? A sea cave?" Lothar
said incredulously. "Yes, that is correct." Maxwell hid his dislike
for Lothar Kirsch under the cover of darkness. "Now, if there be no
further questions, shall we board the train?" All aboard.

--

Odesa, Ukraine: April 20th, 2041--23:00

The slow-moving swarm of Mossad helicopters
were now in missile range of the enemy. Under normal circumstances,
the toothless defenses of Odessa wouldn't be too worrisome for the
Israeli agents passing through. The Cold War era surface-to-air
missile batteries with their even more antiquated radar arrays
didn't stand a snowball's chance in heck against stealth choppers.
That is, unless they had a little help.

Seth Markov regulated his own breathing.

Call it a premonition of sorts; the man had
the worst of feelings in his gut. A sinking feeling...which
apparently wasn't shared by the rest of the team in the back of the
helo. They still played blackjack like there was no tomorrow.

The grizzled veteran wouldn't rest easy
until they were safe and sound, out of harm's way. His muscular
lower half tightened, his center of weight balanced on the balls of
his feet. If anything were to happen, he'd be ready to jump into
action.

The full range of anxiety attacks kicked in
right then. Seth shook his head and winced in pain. It didn't
happen often, but when it did it was like film would roll of all
the traumatic life and death experiences he had been through.

...

The wind breaking against his face made him
feel like he had face-planted into a snow drift and stayed there.
At freefall speeds his body hurtled to the ground at a hundred and
twenty miles an hour. Djibouti's lights down below shone like
galaxy clusters from Seth's point of view. Three other Mossad
agents willingly followed Seth Markov out of the plane on the HALO
jump. While they were still riding their parachutes to a rough and
tumble landing all four of the killing machines racked their
submachine guns: locked and loaded ready to strike. Green lasers
danced on top of a rooftop. By the time the guards of the president
elect of the Islamic republic knew what was happening, it was too
late for them. Silent bullets defeated the perimeter defenses of
the high-rise compound the target occupied that night.

That was one mission.

Bombs going off, guns thundering, the sound
bites of death...all were on continuous playback with no stop in
the program. Seth's head began to ache.

The water would have given anyone
hypothermia. The delivery vehicle that launched from the Israeli
sub stealthily moved into the frigid littoral waters of the Barents
Sea off the coast of Russia. Seth's rebreather recycled his carbon
dioxide from respiration and returned it to him as usable oxygen.
To keep him warm a thermal insulated dry suit protected him from
the dangerous potential of a deep freeze from ever occurring.

Seth and his men slowly raised their heads
above the crashing waves and lowered them after deciding the coast
was clear. Five frog men as they were known to be called rose from
the sea and took to the shore. The force skillfully traversed the
terrain. Soon they were packing through the frozen tundra en route
to another target.

Before he knew what was going on his world
went sideways. A ringing noise burst his ear drums: they were in
the middle of a firefight with Russian KGB agents sent to intercept
the Israelis. A grenade had just exploded. How did they know with
pinpoint accuracy Seth and his men would be there that day? None of
that mattered though. Bullets pinged off the dirt and heather
around him.

Judging by weapons fire, Seth reasoned
him and his team were equally matched in number, but not in
strength. The enemy didn't know who they were dealing with. They
had critically underestimated the superiority in training the
Mossad agents possessed.
Seth lay on his stomach in the snow
and mud. He appeared to be all alone: separated from the friendlies
in all the chaos. Losing situational awareness in these situations
could have been fatal, but Seth had just the thing for that. Even
though the Israelis liked to travel light, clutter-free, they never
went on a mission without their ruggedized PDAs. The little
handhelds could do everything from maps with their current location
on it to a text messaging service.

Seth took out his gizmo and powered it on.
In under ten seconds he had his maps application open. That gave
him just enough time before the next wave of attacks started up
again. This time he knew where the bullets were coming from. A
plan, he needed a plan.

His thumbs pecked out a message to the
other agents. "On my mark I will begin the countdown. After which,
I'll return fire...a diversion. I want you to jump from cover and
mow them down. Questions?"

"10 4, " Seth read. He exhaled. Inserting
the high capacity mag with caseless ammo took two seconds: counting
down took three.
His last text to everyone simply said
"mark."

One, one thousand. Two, one thousand.
Three, one thousand. With a decisive squeeze of the trigger, Seth
sent twenty rounds over the ridge he hid behind and in the general
direction of the bad guys. The retaliatory response was
instantaneous. Bullets bit the dust all around him. All of a sudden
he felt a flesh pain, but that was overshadowed by another sound.
His team did what they had to do and after it was all over the body
count stood at five. All theirs.
"Well this op was over
before it ever began," one of the agents lamented.

Into the wormhole again...Seth's brain was
like a kaleidoscope of swirling colors. From it emerged this
picture:

An ejected clip hit the floor. He must've
called for another mag because one traveled on a trajectory
straight for his outstretched gloved hand. Clink, clink, clink went
the brass casings as they hit the floor. Bursts of automatic gun
fire from muzzles illuminated the space like torches.

The dark and dank trappings of the building
reminded him of a medieval castle. But with a Middle Eastern flair
to it.

They appeared to have the upper hand. The
men on Seth's right looked him in the eyes and motioned onward
before they advanced, he did the same for the men to his left.

They scrambled to leave the scene with
the men they dropped dead in cold blood. Straight ahead a tunnel
connected them closer to their objective. Seth backed up the
procession of Mossad agents running through the dark passageway. He
kept his gun pointing in the opposite direction which they headed
in. The man ahead of him looked up at the ceiling with his iron
sight.
The two in the front poked a little fiber optic snake
camera around the corner.

"Clear."

Four black commandos spilled out from the
hallway into an open gallery. Obviously it was a place where
speeches were made. Islamic flags sat on a stage with a podium
taking front and center. If there was one thing the rectangular
room lacked, that would be people. Where was everybody?

It began to fade. No longer did he see men
with faces painted black, wearing communications gear, and wielding
powerful rifles. He heard familiar noises. Men's voices rose in an
excited cadence. "That's twenty-one again!"

Seth groaned. He had been daydreaming. Maybe
that wasn't such a bad thing though because the pilots came on the
radio to announce they were close to the safe house.

--

Tel Aviv, Israel

"You must be Azriel Markov," a lady with
short hair and beak-like nose chirped. The boy nodded.

"Here's your syllabus and a map of the
building," she handed him some papers. He readily took them. Under
closer examination, the classes his uncle had enrolled him in were
really advanced. Azriel swallowed. "I don't think I can..." he
started to say while pointing at his schedule. "Nonsense," she cut
him off, "your uncle said you were ready. You're on trial right
now, so let's see what you can do. We'll go from there."

Looks like he didn't have much of a choice.
Thanks uncle.
Azriel sighed, turned away from the front desk
and dragged his feet down the hall.

There had been another person closely
watching the Jewish boy. But he made no attempt at an introduction.
His forgettable plain features and limited, background involvement
in the enrollment process would go unnoticed by Azriel. And that
was precisely the point.

When the boy was out of sight the stranger
pulled a phone out of his pocket and speeddialed a number. "We have
the boy." "So he found his way all right?"

"I assume so."

"You'll have to do better than that. Report
to me often on what you observe.

You got that?"

"Of course." With that, he clicked off. A
desk awaited him in some obscure corner of the building where he
would monitor everything Azriel did, just as directed.

Bird woman had a look of curiosity wash
over. "Rafael? What was that all about?" "Hm? Oh, just a concerned
mother calling in to make sure her son wasn't tardy again. His
attendance hasn't been good." Likely story. She knew what she
heard. But it did no good to question the assistant principal of
the school.

Rafael noticed the grunt's reservations over
his cover-up. "Is there something else on your mind Miriam?"

She gave a little head shake.

"Good. I'll be in my office if you need
anything." He grabbed a mint from the dish by her monitor before he
left.

--

Barcelona, Spain

The Federal Office for the Protection of the
Constitution, or BfV for short, is Germany's internal security
department. Its people report directly to the Ministry of the
Interior. Which, in this case is Sofia Keller. In years past BfV
strictly gathered intelligence and let the police actually go in
and round up the suspects.

There's a new sheriff in town

Not anymore. After World War III the Federal
Office for the Protection of the Constitution became the new
Gestapo over the states Germany assimilated into her control.

Visits to the satellite states occurred with
greater regularity. Sofia Keller accompanied by her henchmen made
darn good and sure Spain and others remained loyal to the Fourth
Reich. She knew resentment and workarounds faced her wherever her
inspection might be on any given day. There were always dissidents.
Always. That's why Chancellor Lothar Kirsch had tapped her to join
his team. She was the enforcer.

Enforcers needed to eat though. Officials
from the Berlin-elected provisional government of Spain had agreed
to talk politics over lunch with Keller. A German restaurant in
downtown Barcelona was the chosen site for the proceedings. A
pleasant several course meal greased the skids for good talks
ahead. Platters of bratwurst, sauerkraut, schnitzel...pitchers of
beer, and black forest cake with apple strudel as dessert satisfied
even the strongest of appetites.

…

Carlos Castell ate his meal undisturbed. He
enjoyed eating in the state dining room of the five star Hotel Omm.
However the great food and luxurious atmosphere weren't enough to
put his mind at ease. Whenever Sofia Keller came calling he always
felt guilty as sin. Even if he didn't do anything. She had that
effect on the governors.

Even though Berlin had thoroughly vetted the
governors (satraps) that ruled her satellite states, there were
still those with divergent allegiances...some that had dealings
with anti-government groups. Through chicanery and guile these
traitors waited for the right time to give the Judas kiss and
betray the Fourth Reich.

Before today's meeting Carlos practiced with
his advisors. Their agenda: think up ways to continue the lie. What
Keller didn't need to know, wouldn't hurt her.

Sofia put her fork down on her chilled
plate adorned with chocolate shavings and drizzle. She looked up at
Governor Castell with a half-smile. "What did you think of the
cake?" "What's not to like," he replied. "I'm a sucker for German
desserts."

Keller nodded. Her eyes danced around the
room, absorbing every detail. "This hotel has always been a
favorite of mine. I wouldn't stay anywhere else

in the city...."

"There's a new chain investing in downtown.
Hotel Omm's management is a little worried I hear," Carlos almost
whispered while wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Carlos," Keller
looked ready to change topics to something more in line with the
real reason for the visit, "I wanted to personally thank you for
the work you and your people have done to go after groups and
militias that are enemies of the state."

The governor did his best to look placid.
Keller was playing games. So he would play along. "We recently
conducted a sting operation on some radicals. Our intelligence
indicated they were conspiring to take over some weapon
depots."