Tsunami Connection (15 page)

"Open your legs," she whispered as she replenished
the oil.

Kefira continued under a loosely fitting dark green silk skirt
on Michael's inner thighs, through the silky nylons that she tore gently as she
rubbed, forcing her fingers into the holes, eliciting another deep moan. She
finished by applying the oil under Michael's chin and around her neck, as well
as behind her ears.

"Now we are ready to go."

"What is that mixture?"

"I'll tell you if you are lucky, but first I want you
to sense it on yourself as we warm up while dancing tonight. Tell me about that
club you were talking about. Shafiq won't be there, will he?"

"Not a chance. He wouldn't be caught dead there."

The two of them rushed down the stairs, shoe bags in hand,
sneakers on their feet. Seasonal coats covered their outfits as they flagged a
taxi in front of Michael's apartment. Kefira put on the ruby and kept the stone
turned inward. The flesh tone ceramic blades were adhered to her body. The
material was so thin the blades were barely visible, but nonetheless deadly.
She stroked one under her arm for reassurance.

Tango Queer was a club in the heart of the tango world of
Buenos Aires. In this mostly macho city, in the early years of the first decade
of the new millennium, a growing expatriate and local gay community sprouted
roots with a blossoming of gay tourism sponsored by, among other events, the
legalization of same sex marriage in Argentina.

One of the curious aspects of the club was the plethora of
straight women who loved to go there. In most tango clubs, women, especially
women older than thirty, often spent whole evenings waiting for a partner to
ask them to dance, because male leaders often were prima donnas who preferred
dancing with young women. At least with female leaders, the older women could
have the pleasure of the dance, instead of just sitting and waiting all evening
to be asked to dance. Besides, the atmosphere in the club was conducive to
women learning the men's conventions and dancing both roles. Again, this
openness gave 'the straights' even more time on the dance floor.

At Tango Queer, there was no macho atmosphere, preventing
dancers from simply trying with partners. There was a less judgmental mood. As
a result, women, especially tourists who were more relaxed about homosexuality,
flocked to Tango Queer, one of the only lesbian clubs in the city.

The taxi dropped them off at Peru, 571 in
San Telmo
,
the historic tango neighborhood in Buenos Aires. Both of their stunning outfits
remained under wraps except for silvery legs and dusty, alluring makeup.
Outside, it looked like nothing. The entranceway led through an open
metal-grillwork door normally locked after the business day. In front of them,
on the left, Michael felt for a light switch.

"It's somewhere near here.
Puta
," she said
as she tripped on the first stair.

A door opened upstairs, casting a long, yellowish shadow,
and the sound of tango music and voices flooded the hallway. Someone upstairs
hit the switch and illuminated both floors and the stairwell.

"
Gracias
," said Michael as two foreign,
likely Northern European women, came down the stairs.

"
El gusto es nuestro
," replied the
strangers in Swedish accented Spanish, meaning that the pleasure was all
theirs. They glanced appreciatively, but discreetly at the two women coming up
the stairs.

They entered the club and passed along the row of tables at
the back of the dimly lit elongated room. On the stage, a small, classic
orquesta
típica
consisting of a violin, a bandoneon, a classical bass, and an
electric piano worked its way through a speedy milonga
tandas
with a
particularly fast beat. The girls joined a table with two chairs vacant. They
made pleasantries and then rushed to the dance floor as the song ended.

Holding hands by the wall, they entered the outer circle of
people chatting in between groups of similar melodies. As the music started, a
purely rhythmic insistent beat by Rodolfo Biagi, people edged into closely held
positions and advanced, guarding their small square of space, while being
careful not to get in the way of other dancers. The heat, the flow of movement,
the music, and their budding relationship all mixed on the dance floor,
producing a connection that was larger than the sum of its parts. At the end of
the four-song
tandas
, Michael was breathless, her new perfume drifting
pleasantly around her, but Kefira had not even broken a sweat.

"You're in great shape."

"I usually practice a lot. These last few days have
been a change of habits for me."

"That's an interesting ring."

"Oh, thanks. I love rubies," said Kefira, twisting
the ring into the palm side of her hand.

"Why do you hide it if you love rubies?" asked
Michael, a little warily.

"I don't know. I guess I am afraid that precious stones
are a bit loud. Anyway, it might catch on someone as we turn on the
floor," said Kefira as she and Michael turned to sit, the intense mood of
the dancing somehow broken.

"What's wrong, my love?" said Michael.

Kefira, alert to the change in Michael's behavior, replied,
"I'm sorry. I can't believe the bad luck. I get terrible migraines when I
ovulate and I feel one coming on. They make me so impatient."

"Oh, no. Do we have to leave?"

"You stay. I'll go back to my place and wait for
you."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"I have to go before the light starts getting to me.
I'll take some medicine right away. Excuse me. Where's the washroom?"

"The washroom is over there, behind the stage. We'll go
by taxi back to the boathouse. What a shame. The band is so great. They usually
play on Calle Defensa on the weekends in the summer. I really like them,"
said Michael to Kefira's back.

Something told Kefira to move. Her gut reaction had always
saved her in the past. She glanced around the room for anyone paying particular
attention to her. There was one older man who had just entered. His grey hair
brushed against his shoulders. He was wearing a Panama hat. His eyes, even from
a distance, were piercing. She made her way to the washroom.
Why was she
trembling
, she thought, as she stepped into the stall and closed the door
behind her.

Kefira checked the ring and felt for her ceramic blades on
her left thigh behind her leg and the inner part of her upper right arm. She
took a deep breath, checked if anyone was in the washroom, and went to block
the entrance with her foot, then took out her phone. A program in her phone
would route calls through several places, but it would appear to be calling a
pharmacy in California to purchase medicine. Zak picked up.

"I need to order some migraine medicine, but I am in
Argentina. I am sending the location and the payment methods. Is delivery possible
in twenty-four hours?"

"No problem. You have a special account. Is the
location in the account valid?"

"Yes."

"Good day."

Zak accelerated plans already in motion. Thanks to Sam and
Yochana, he would get military transport to Buenos Aires. Kefira's location and
information on her progress had been entered in a secure email every second
day. He had exact coordinates and needed only to call up the new team members
since the premature deaths of Sarah and Aden in Quebec. Sam and he would meet
in a virtual, secure set-up when Zak made his way to Haifa Airport and boarded
the Learjet.

The new members of the surveillance team had trained with
'Phalanx Spear', as part of Zak's group, but Zak would dearly miss Aden and
Sarah. Their deaths crystallized his motivation. He ached to get MacAuley, as
deeply as Kefira now, because he had now lost his long-term team, too, but he
could not afford to let revenge cloud his judgment. His driver turned into the
military security entrance at Haifa Airport.

Kefira hung up the phone and made her way back to their
table. Sitting beside Michael was a heavy looking man who stooped over the
table a bit. He looked up and started a shaky, upper-lipped smile. MacAuley's
feeble appearance surprised Kefira. His voice, despite its uncertain sounding
hesitancy, did nothing to belay her confusion. He stooped and got up from the
table, scratching the chair against the ceramic floor.

"How rude of me. This is your place," he said, but
did not introduce himself.

"It's no problem. I was just leaving."

"Yes, my sister was just explaining your predicament.
Allow me to see you back to the boathouse or your apartment, whichever is more
suitable," he said in a sickly sweet tone and obsequious manner.

The act was so professional; MacAuley might have fooled her
had she not known his calculating and ruthless nature. She feigned pain and put
a hand on her forehead. He ushered her out of the room to the cloakroom. Beside
the cloakroom, he helped her put her pea jacket on and told her his car was not
far from the door. Michael, the sister, followed behind, her brother's arrival
having, as always, taken the wind out of her sails. He turned toward his sister
and stared after Kefira started down the stairs. Michael, the sister, took his
arm and spun him around.

"I care about her. None of your paranoia, here."

Rage filled his eyes. His lips and teeth shook. When he
spoke, spittle rattled off his teeth and splashed her face.

"I will decide who you care for."

The woman behind the counter had witnessed the exchange
without understanding the lilting, quickly spoken, Irish accented English. She
turned away and pretended she had heard nothing. The tone of MacAuley's speech
had had such a menacing quality, even the cloakroom keeper, a unilingual
Spanish speaker, shuddered. Thinking better of it, MacAuley turned and smiled
apologetically while nodding his head in a military manner, common in
Argentina. He also left a large tip in Euros. The woman pocketed the money and
explained, "
Muchas gracias, Señor. 'Scuse. Solamente Español, no
comprendo Inglés
," she said, hoping to save herself of ever seeing
this man again.

As he stooped and slid toward the stairwell, he turned and
his eyes met hers. She had only seen eyes such as those during the
dictatorship. A man with the same emptiness in his eyes had taken her older
brother from their house in the middle of the night while their mother looked
on tearfully.

The cloakroom attendant, then a little girl, had stood
between her mother's legs and had run to look out the front window. When she
opened the drapes, she had seen the plain-clothed officers forcing her brother
into a green Ford Falcon, the car of choice of the secret police during that
difficult time. Her brother had never returned. Her mother had suffered such a
nervous breakdown that the daughter had been obliged to move out of the city to
live with distant relatives. Now she knew that she had been one of the lucky
ones.

The officers might have kidnapped her and sold her to
military families that could not have children, as they had with thousands of
other children. It was far in the past, but MacAuley's empty stare, the same
look she had experienced that fateful night, was still capable of sending
shivers through her bones. Curiosity got the better of her, though.

She left her cloakroom and looked out the second story
window. She gasped when she saw the two young women climbing into the back of a
newly restored green Ford Falcon. The car drove away and the young woman
gathered her things and left. She went straight to her apartment, collected all
her belongings from her meager existence, and waited up, smoking cigarette
after cigarette, all night long. At sunrise, she made her way to
Estacion
Retiro
, where she bought a ticket for the next connecting train to Viedma,
capital of the Province of
Río Negro
,
Patagonia, as far away from
that stare as she could get. Fortunately, for her peace of mind, the
twice-weekly train was leaving later the same day. She was on it at 13: 30.

"Where may I take you? I am afraid I didn't catch your
name," said MacAuley as he pulled out of his parking spot.

"You are a sadist. Where did you find this car? Don't
pretend you did not know its history," said Michael, as she comforted a
fading Kefira, who was leaning on her shoulder and covering her eyes with
Michaels silk scarf.

"I rather like the way people look at this vehicle when
it passes. I smile at the most curious of them, especially at red lights. You
know my smile can be charming," said MacAuley, now more in character. He
added, "You'll give me her phone, pronto, if you know what's good for
you."

Michael complied, shushing Kefira up with a "Never
mind," whispered into her ear. He pocketed the phone as they drove out to
the boathouse in Tigre. Kefira was all nerves, but her act was at least as good
as MacAuley's. She appeared almost comatose, her training permitting her to
slow down her heart rate. She was calculating the time before Zak could arrive.
She needed to stay alive for up to twenty-four hours. Just his flight would
take about fifteen and a half hours, and she had to give him time for
preparation as well.
Twenty-four hours, that should do it
, she thought.

Her head lolled back and forth with the turns of the
vehicle. Her breathing showed her to be asleep. This day would make or break the
operation. She was closer than ever to her objective. She worked on her
breathing exercises and slowed down her heart rate. She knew she must be calm
to get the upper hand with MacAuley.

March 10, 2012

As the green Ford Falcon pulled onto
the quay beside the houseboat, Kefira came awake. She looked around and
appeared disoriented, groggy. MacAuley was parking and looking intently out the
driver's side window. She thought it odd that he did not put his right arm over
the passenger seat and glance over the back seat.

Kefira took advantage of this lapse in driving etiquette by
feeling carefully the ceramic blade on her right biceps, using her thumb on the
inside while pretending to scratch with her fingers. She was grateful that
Michael had removed her jacket and covered her with it to keep her warm and
comfortable in the car as they drove.

When the vehicle stopped, she understood why he had spent so
much energy looking out the driver's side. Her door was blocked shut by a large
mooring post. Kefira would be under his power for a few seconds as she got out
of the car after Michael.
He leaves nothing to chance
, she thought as
she slid out after putting on her overcoat again. MacAuley slipped around the
car and tried to take Kefira's elbow as she got out, but Michael brushed him
aside with an aggressive frown and a possessive movement, taking the place that
MacAuley had sought.

"Not this time, old boy. She's mine to escort and don't
you forget it."

Kefira pretended weakness and hugged Michael, squeezing
herself close and linking arms with her. The agent looked smugly over her
shoulder at MacAuley, giving away none of her trepidation and casting a 'so
there' kind of look, hoping to keep him off guard about her real role. Her work
seducing Michael was paying off in spades.

Stunned by his sister's uncharacteristic boldness, MacAuley
stepped back and smiled a sickly sweet, curled upper lip smirk at the two women
as he let them pass. He muttered under his breath, followed them to the
houseboat, all the while keeping in character with his odd gait. The women
preceded him over the low gunwale amidships.

"Wait here, Meehawl," she said using his Gaelic
name for the first time in years.

"Wonders never cease,
Derfyur
," replied
MacAuley, falling back on the formality of speaking Gaelic to help him control
his growing temper.

"We'll walk along the gunwale to open the side hatch. I
know it's hard for you to get around with your leg," said Michael, playing
up her brother's act and trapping him in character as she plotted how to stay
ahead of the game with him for the first time in her adult life.

Kefira continued to stick close to Michael, empowering her
even more deeply. They searched for the keys above the hatch. Kefira found it
and handed it to Michael. After they got in the hatch, Kefira made to seal the
opening, but Michael spun her around and looked fearfully into her eyes, while
holding both of Kefira's forearms tightly.

"Go in the room and use the board near the door to
brace the lock. It's just beside the door. Lock yourself in and don't let
yourself out unless I say
'ojos negros
'. That'll be our code word for
'it's safe' now."

"Why all the games? There are two of us. We can take
care of ourselves."

"You don't know my brother, my sweet. He's very
dangerous."

"I don't know. I don't like being locked in."

"You won't be. There is a sealed door like the hatch we
came in around the porthole. When you get in, undo all of the screws, save one.
If you hear me scream or are afraid, go out on the gunwale, where we walked
earlier. And take this," said Michael as she handed Kefira a small Walther
P22 pistol before she turned to open the front entrance to the cabin.

"Now. Go and be careful."

Kefira dropped out of character for an instant and popped
out the 10-bullet cartridge. Michael raised her eyebrows at the gesture with
the weapon, but just laughed.

"Looks as though you can take care of yourself, my
love."

"I grew up around guns."

"We don't have time. Just go."

Kefira stepped into the room and braced the door with the
old Brazilian hardwood strut. It fit snuggly into the metal brackets screwed
into the metal doorframe. Nothing short of a shotgun blast would shatter its
touch-rounded edges and permit a way out. Kefira moved away from the door. She
could hear the two Michaels shouting at each other and decided she had to make
a break for it.

The bulwark around the porthole had four brass turnkeys.
They were easy to open. She moved aside as the door swung inward, and then she
stepped onto the gunwale. From outside, she heard Michael cursing his sister's
idiocy. There was another noise as well. Through the open porthole, she heard
the sound of ripping rubber followed by the hollow clack of a large piece of
rubberized material hitting the wall or the floor, making a hollow echo.

Kefira stepped into the entry doorway that they had used
earlier, directly behind MacAuley. He sensed her presence and turned as he
peeled the remnants of his old man's mask from his face. His wig dropped into
his hand; a hairnet secured his real hair in place. She took no chances and
kept her distance, holding the Walther P22 with arms relaxed, while pointing
directly at his head.

"You see sister, she is not who she says she is. She's
armed and threatening us."

"Not us, brother. You. Come, my love. Meet the owner of
the houseboat, my lovely, dangerous brother who shares my name, Michael
MacAuley."

"I am not coming into that confined space with you two.
Tell your brother to move aside and sit on the floor near the edge of the
kitchen fold-out table."

"You heard what she said, Michael. Do it for me, after
all the things I've done to please you."

MacAuley bent down, no longer feigning a pronounced limp.
Kefira sensed that he was a wound-up spring, ready to pounce. His energy gave
her the feeling of watching a panther readying an attack. She moved carefully
into the room.

MacAuley hissed as might a large cat as he sprang. The
problem for Kefira was that he launched himself out the door, not after her.
She had actually helped him get closer to the door with her instructions,
having wrongfully assumed that he would attack her, and not just try to escape.

MacAuley flew through the entrance, his arms stretched out
in front of him, grabbing the gunwale. He was preparing to plunge into the
water, when a large wooden strut came down on his head, leaving him unconscious
on the deck, half way in the cabin and half way out. Kefira directed her aim at
the door. A hat made itself visible from above the door and an unfamiliar man's
voice said, "Shalom, Kefira." Accompanied by some scratching noise on
the roof of the cabin, the man wearing the hat appeared.

"I'm the spotter. I really shouldn't be doing this,
but, I stepped out of rules of engagement. Zak sends his best wishes, ETA in seventeen
to twenty hours, depending on traffic to Tigre," said the man that Sam had
re-assigned from the embassy to watch the houseboat.

A rush of gratitude flushed over Kefira and she moved to
secure MacAuley. Her lover looked on, not surprised. The spotter handed Kefira
some thick plastic tie wraps that she secured around MacAuley's wrists and
ankles just before she pulled him into the cabin by the ankles. His wrists were
behind his back and she attached his tie-wrapped arms to a steel roof support
near the kitchen. A large sock filled his open mouth. The spotter and Kefira
turned to Michael.

"My turn now, is it?" said Michael.

"I'm sorry, love. We need to be sure. Your brother will
be out for while. Once you are secure in the other room, we will talk this
out."

Kefira stepped toward Michael after instructing the spotter
to watch MacAuley closely. She looked at her lover and motioned her to move
into the bedroom first. Kefira kept the pistol pointed at her. They sat on the
bed on opposite sides. Kefira encouraged Michael to start speaking.

"He's controlled my life since I was a girl. I'm sick
to death of the killing. I want a normal existence. I want you, Keffy."

"Will you help us get to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"You are all he cares about in this world, or at least
I think so. I want to make him think I am hurting you to get information about
his plans from him. I know he can't be broken any other way. The Americans
water boarded him and he didn't talk. For your safety, he might. Are you game?"

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll see to it you get a safe place to live and
financial security, if we succeed."

"What about us?"

"It was business, love. Sorry."

"I think I knew all along. Anyway, I'm fed to the teeth
with my brother. You've got a deal."

Kefira attached Michael onto a metal chair in the doorway.
The spotter had found some metal equipment in the forward storage hold. He had
arranged several crude metal chairs with it. She and the spotter clamped the
chair to the floor and made a second one ready for MacAuley, just opposite
Michael.

Michael looked on as Kefira reached over to touch her face
and neck. The ruby injected Michael with its dose. She fell onto her bonds,
unconscious. They attached MacAuley to a second chair that that they had also
secured to the floor. The spotter and Kefira proceeded to cut all of the
clothes from the two prisoners, then a large rubber ball was inserted into each
of their mouths. Leather straps reached around to the backs of their heads,
securing the gag in place. Both Michaels sat naked and comatose when Kefira and
the spotter doused the two of them with cold water, then covered their heads
with rough burlap just as they awoke. Cold air from out of doors came into the
room. They watched and looked at their watches, then doused the two of them
again. More cold air from the open door produced more shivers. Kefira and the
spotter stood behind MacAuley. Michael sat shivering profoundly in the chair
opposite her brother.

The spotter whispered, menacingly, "You can stop it.
It's your choice," and Kefira lifted MacAuley's mask from his head.

Another dousing of water cleared his eyes. His teeth were
chattering. He was unable to speak from cold, but there was no mistaking the
look in his eyes as he focused on his sister. Kefira was looking at a video
monitor as a camera filmed his reactions. She estimated that she had calculated
correctly. She placed a blanket around him and he calmed somewhat, but the
Mossad agents left Michael, the sister, uncovered.

"Never talk," said MacAuley, around the rubber
ball muffler while shaking his head side-to-side.

Kefira removed the blanket and returned the mask, followed
by another dousing of water. His shaking and chattering returned, but he could
not see. The spotter and Kefira whispered to each other and closed the door.
Kefira turned on a recording of Michael suffocating during sex that she had
made a few days previously. MacAuley forced his bindings to the point of
cutting his shins and wrists, and then fainted. Kefira administered a dose of
the ring that would make him sleepy, groggy, and generally easier to control
until Zak and the new team arrived. She covered him again; taking note of the
time to be sure, she would uncover him prior to his scheduled wake up time.
Then she and the spotter went into the washroom to confer.

"I only have 6 doses with the ring left. When do you
think Zak will arrive?"

"We have at most twenty, and now, at the least, fifteen
hours to wait. What is the story with you two, other than the obvious?"
asked the spotter, still not sharing his real name.

"You've been watching us, haven't you?"

"Yes, but from across the street. I could only guess. I
moved in closer when I saw him arrive with you earlier today. I was sure you
would need back up, so I went outside my mission protocol and crossed the line
from spotter to active. By the way, I'm Shafiq's case officer here in Buenos
Aires. Do you have knowledge of his whereabouts?"

"My guess is that his time is limited."

"What does that mean?"

"I am following his case closely. The spear clearances
govern my actions."

A sense of awe came over the spotter. "I knew you were
special, but that is a clearance we never hear about. I thought it was a myth.
Anyway, what about the woman in there?"

"MacAuley is unbreakable, but did you see his reaction
to our punishing his sister?"

"I sure did. You want to use her to get to him?"

"It's our only chance. In the concealed compartment
under my Streetfighter's seat, I have a compound that causes temporary
blindness. When he wakes up, we will administer the compound to her eyes
without telling her in advance. She will be terrified and her actions will seem
true to him because they will be truthful. They both'll actually believe I've
blinded her."

"Do you have an antidote? I never crossed the line to
action like this. I'm a little queasy about damaging her by torture. Killing
people is one thing, torture is another."

"The antidote is warm water forcefully injected over
the eyeball with three parts water, two parts soda."

"Simple, but non-damaging. I like it."

"I have some knowledge of their relationship. I need to
get you to soften him up by forcing him to watch you abusing her sexually. Are
you up to that?"

"I guess most men fantasize about having a tied-up
woman. I don't know about pain, though." 

"She likes strangling, can't have an orgasm without
it."

"She is beautiful."

"She is a man-hater. She should have a strong reaction
to you touching her. He will believe it. I think I'll pretend to leave and let
you get at it. Make sure the camera is rolling. We need a record of any
confessions. She will see me going. Just one thing … no oral sex. She won't
hesitate to bite off your penis."

"Jesus. Good thing you mentioned it. I am in over my
head here. Can't we wait for the pros to come?"