Tsunami Connection (5 page)

"Zak. Get in here, now," Sarah said, into her
communication device.

Aden turned off the water and holstered his weapon. They had
checked the whole apartment before coming into the bathroom. He walked into the
front room and waited by the door for Kefira and Zak. When they arrived, he
opened the door so that they would not have to wait. He carefully closed the
door after they entered, locking it this time.

"He's in the bathtub. What we heard was him sliding
with a loud bump into the tub because the material securing him to the shower
head disintegrated."

"Show me," said Zak.

Zak got on his phone and cursed their misfortune as he
waited for an answer. He gave the exact address, time, date and spoke the
words: "about four hours done," into an answering machine and clicked
his secure phone off. The four of them looked at the body. The flesh was not yet
stiff, so they estimated that the murder happened in the last four to eight
hours. Aden reached into the tub and poked the knees.

"Something's amiss here."

He took out a razor sharp knife, unclasped it and cut the
pant leg nearest him.

"Bandages on the knees. Someone cleaned up here."

He then proceeded to cut the bandage around the knee. Kefira
stopped him.

"What exactly are you up to? Aden, what are we going to
do with him?"

"Second question first, I already called a clean-up
crew. They should be here just after we leave. Now the first question, Aden is
helping us by using his unparalleled powers of observation. Sarah could you
turn on the 'tube'," said Zak, replying to the questions asked of Aden by
Kefira. Aden kept cutting the bandage around Tony's knee.

"'Kneecapped.' 'Thar's a Fenian bin here abouts',"
said Aden in an attempt at humor, using a very poor example of an Irish lilt.
No one laughed.

He went on to explain the Fenian habit of shooting out the
kneecaps of troublesome people, especially traitors or collaborators.

"At least we seem to be on the right trail," said
Kefira. She added, "Fenian means MacAuley was here just before us."

"Could be someone trying to make it look like MacAuley,
or someone hired by him as well," said Sarah.

Zak had gone for a stroll into the other rooms. On a table
in Tony's bedroom, there was a stack of beer coasters from a pub in Boston. Zak
picked them up and shuffled them in his hands. One of the coasters had a phone
number on it. He took out his phone and dialed the number. It was still ringing
when the others came into the room. Kefira started to ask Zak a question. He
raised his first finger to his lips and pointed to the phone. Someone picked up
at the other end. There was the sound of rush time in an eating and drinking
establishment and a distinct New England accent on the other end. "The
Green Leprechaun, Irish Pub." Zak hung up.

February 15,
2012

Zak looked across the stainless
steel galley table of the Azimut Flybridge yacht at Kefira. She looked dead on
her feet after her circuitous series of plane rides out of California, but her
eyes were alert. As she sipped an espresso made by a Gaggia espresso maker, her
eyes traversed the plush, pastel-colored, linen-covered cushions and oiled,
teak panels, as well as the state-of-the-art all stainless kitchen appliances.
To her left and taking up what had been a sleeping compartment for a fifth
person, Aden sat plugged into video and sound surveillance equipment.

Several laptops showed secure satellite feeds from outside
and inside of the Green Leprechaun Tavern on pedestrian-only Marshall Street,
just off Union Street, near Union Street Park.

Sarah busied herself with more espressos as she tended the
fresh sea bass baking in cucumber, dill, and white wine sauce in the Caribbean
propane stove. She reinserted the burner cover. It was made of hardwood and
doubled as a cutting board. She removed the four and a half pound whole fish,
and opened the handled top of the Cape Cod style fish baking casserole. The
smell of fresh fish, dill, and Indian wedding rice wafted over all of them.
Three dollops of butter melted over the main course as the ceiling fan snapped
into action, removing most of the excess odors. Aden popped the cork of a
Chardonnay and poured into Chardonnay number six wine glasses.

"That's an unusual glass," said Kefira, feeling
safe and starting to relax.

"It's a rather tall glass because white wine must be in
contact with air in order to oxygenate better," remarked Aden, just after
he swished the wine about in his mouth.

"This is some high-end stakeout. Where was the budget
found for this?"

"Actually, the New England Holocaust Museum is just
around the corner and up the street. Sam has a friend who provides funding for
the museum and this is his yacht. He is always in Jerusalem at this time of
year. As well, it suits our needs and gives us cover. Look around you in the
marina. This yacht is large, but not conspicuous here."

As he ate, Aden manipulated two hollowed out beef rib bones
connected by a leather string. Loving use had not yet worn and curved the Irish
Bones that Aden had made. He was gently keeping time with some Irish
traditional dance music, reels and jigs. His left hand played the 'Bones' and
his right tenderly removed the succulent white meat from the plate in front of
him.

"Can't believe I didn't notice. Your hair is red. It
suits you in a funny way," said Kefira.

"It's always easy to play an Irishman. We Jews and the
Irish know all about guilt."

"Aden is a quick study. He learned how to make that
traditional instrument from the net," said Zak between bites.

"You've outdone yourself, Sarah," they all said in
unison, raising their wine glasses to the chef.

Aden had boiled the beef rib bones, as well as plugging and
sealing them after they dried. He had then carved a crown of Celtic runes, a
series of Rads, representing a quest, and Gyfus, relating to friendship, around
the top of each bone. The musician in him wagered that his lovingly homemade
instrument, called the 'Bones', would be his entrance into the world of
Boston's Celtic pub life. He was indeed able to acquire skills readily, but
only time would tell if his wager would succeed. The meal ended with chocolate
mousse. Aden set himself apart and started playing his 'Bones' in time with the
jig on the yacht sound system.

"What I love about the 'Bones' is your other hand is
free to imbibe. Did you know that Guinness was Gaelic for genius?" he
added, nodding his head towards his glass as though to a waiter.

Kefira and Zak cleared the dishes while Sarah and Aden
prepared their game plan for all to see on the galley table. They knew they
were looking for a barmaid or a bartender, because the number on the coaster
connected directly to the phone at the bar near the cash register. It was a
long shot, but they had little else to go on.

Demonstrating another of his talents, Aden displayed a
series of photo shopped wedding pictures in which MacAuley figured prominently,
especially one of him dancing a slow ballad with someone who looked very similar
to Sarah. It was not readily apparent that all of the pictures actually showed
either MacAuley's upper torso and head with the head turned facing behind him,
or just his head. Aden had cleverly positioned a convincing ghost of MacAuley
into the wedding photos. The effect was very credible.

"We're going to use these photos, if we can, to
insinuate ourselves into the company of whoever answers the phone, to
communicate with the number Tony left for us before he died. Let's hope he
didn't die completely for nothing," said Aden.

"I recruited him. He was one of my first agents. In a
strange way, it's like losing a child or best friend. As his control, I coddled
him through his first missions as a double," added Zak.

Kefira remained behind in the yacht, tracking them on the
screens of the surveillance system. When they arrived on Marshall Street, Zak
set up his panhandling station on the corner near the parking lot. He could see
the front door through a bay window and the back exit onto the parking lot. He
quietly played a blues harp, a plush piece of cloth lay in front of him,
catching contributions. He was unshaven. His outfit, purchased at the Salvation
Army, was worn but not dirty, reflecting his pride despite his circumstances.

Aden dropped a quarter on Zak's collection cloth and turned
into the front entrance of The Green Leprechaun Tavern. It was early in the
evening. There were a few diehard patrons sitting at the bar and the band was
doing sound checks in their spot to the right of the door near the bay window.
Passing trade could see and hear them from the open window. Aden nodded and sat
down near the band. He then got up to fetch beer for himself and Sarah.

"Two wee buckets of stout, please."

"Aye, for you and yer lady friend. Take a seat, the
barmaid'ul be happy to bring 'em over to you," answered the barman, his
accent more Boston than Ireland. "Are you from out of town?" he
added.

"Visiting from Magog, Quebec," replied Aden.

Sarah was looking happily through an album of wedding photos
when the server arrived. The binder was a big glossy affair. Aden sat to
Sarah's left, nearer the band. He took out his 'Bones', took a deep haul on his
stout, wiped the heady foam from his upper lip, and fell right into the beat
with the band's warm up number. The server, a tall woman with strawberry blond
hair, a butterfly of freckles over her turned up nose and a contagious smile,
looked at the picture album longingly.

"I love weddings. Can I look on with you? The rush hasn't
started yet."

"I'd love it if you would. I'm Sarah. Aden can't stand
photo albums," she said in a conspiratorial tone, winking at the server.

"I'm Fiona. Is it your wedding, then?"

"No, no. We went a few months ago and I only got the
pictures two days ago. I couldn't resist bringing them along with us. Come, sit
here on my right. That way you'll see everything easier."

"It looks cold. There is a lot of snow there. Where did
you say you lived?" asked Fiona.

"I didn't say," replied Sarah, with a laugh in her
tone.

"Aren't we uppity?"

Aden piped in between slugs of dark ale: "Don't you
girls get to scrapping now. I've got more than my hands full with the 'Bones'
and my stout to keep me occupied."

"Hey, turn that page back," said Fiona.

"This one?"

"No. It's a few pages back. There it is. Well, you
don't say. It's a bloody small world," she added as she stood and motioned
to the bartender.

"Rolly," she shouted. "Get your ass over
here."

The bartender was not particularly busy, so he complied. He
flipped up the end of the bar by the cash register, after pulling himself a
stout and walked over to the table.

"What's the fuss, Fi?"

"Have a gander here. That's not that Mick that's always
singing in here during the fall of the year?"

"Well, I'll be damned. Sure looks like him," said
Rolly, casting a glance at both the new customers a little suspiciously.

"What's his name? I never forget a face or a voice for
that matter, and he had a real sad singing voice, right from the heart."

"Mac, something, if I got it right,″ responded
Rolly, a little stiffly.

Kefira's ears perked up at the tone of the bartender's
response. The evening was developing as though scripted. Sarah and Aden had
subtly manipulated themselves into the pub without a hitch. From the
surveillance central aboard the yacht, Kefira watched the screens and listened
to the conversations in the washrooms, verified the numbers being dialed on the
pay phones and the bar phone. As well, she watched multiple video feeds as Zak
covered the only place not seen or heard by their electronic devices. He could
see the rear exit near the dishwasher's sink at the back of the pub, leading
into the alleyway that held the garbage and some empty beer bottles. Zak was
also double-checking the front entrance. Rolly got up rather abruptly and
headed back to the bar saying, "Duty calls," but there was no one at
the bar. Fiona and Sarah kept looking at the photos until some customers
started wandering in.

"Yer a sweetheart. Thanks for sharing the photo
album."

Meanwhile, Rolly was looking through a Rolodex at the bar.
He came to a card, looked around and dialed a number on the bar phone. An
answering machine churned a message and Rolly said, "Interest, Mac me
boy," and hung up.

"Bingo. Yes," said Kefira as she wrote down the
number.

She proceeded to check the phone number on her Mossad-issued
number recognition device and was disappointed to see that the trace led to a
telephone answering service, specializing in message taking for busy
executives.

Close, but another dead end,
she thought aloud.

Kefira sat back, disappointed, when the bar telephone rang
out and Rolly answered. A woman spoke in the singsong of an advertising
jingle:  "Cell phones make the loveliest memories," and hung up.
Kefira was on the edge of her chair, looking at the monitor facing the
bartender. He pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a photo of Sarah and
Aden while pretending to dial a number. Kefira used her software to snap a
photo of Rolly surreptitiously taking a picture of Sarah and Aden.

"We need all the numbers on the bartender's phone,
because there might be other MacAuley contact numbers in it. I bet he has other
numbers for MacAuley," Kefira said, speaking into a connection to Zak's
concealed flesh tone earpiece.

"I'll be on it when he leaves tonight," whispered
Zak into his shirt collar, in between long breaths into his blues harp.

"Hook," whispered Kefira to Zak.

"Line and sinker, too. Cover me when I go for him
tonight," replied Zak.

"Better idea. I'll distract."

"Ok. Hoof it."

"Where's pick up? Appearances?"

"On Blackstone above the Hard Rock Cafe. Stage make up,
stuff for disguises 'er in the cupboard, under the sink."

"Panhandling corner when bars close." added
Kefira.

"Place closes at two in the morning. Stay on the
monitors until one fifty," said Zak, overstepping his command role, but
Kefira was not foolish enough to pull rank, knowing his experience in the field
counted more here.

Even though she fought against it, her feathers were a bit
ruffled. She settled back to her observation role while reaching under the sink
and sifting through the makings of a disguise. She propped up the makeup mirror
in the stage make-up kit and looked into eyes that shone with their first break
in the chase after MacAuley. The evening's watch passed without any more
interesting happenings.

Around one thirty, Kefira started to don her get up to
seduce the bartender. She knew he had a big, black pickup with lots of work
done under it. The body sat way above normal traffic level. The team had talked
about the truck in their preparation remarks.

As a result, she had an idea of the kind of woman he might
like. She wore a black tee shirt stamped with the lead guitarist from the '70s
British rock group, White Snake. She added a ponytail piece and used the makeup
kit to make some tattoos. She did her eyes with deep circles, a bit gothic, and
pinned five silver studs in her ear. Her tongue had a false piercing, too. Some
very tight reddish black stockings full of large round holes poked out of ultra
short black shorts. As a finishing touch, she cut the sleeves from the T-shirt
and etched a deep v-neck as well. A stuffed bra raised her cleavage where the
words, 'lick me', appeared in home-style tattoo-form, much like cellmates do to
each other in the 'joint'.

She appraised herself in the full-length mirror behind the
door of the boat's head. Despite knowing that he might be wary, she looked
alluring and slutty enough to be a 'working girl'.

She strolled along the wooden fence surrounding Creek Square
on Blackstone, from the empty vegetable bins of a small fruit store to the
alley beside the Millennium Hotel. Her target, shadowed carefully by Zak,
appeared as expected around two fifteen.

He never did the clean-up. That was woman's work, according
to Rolly, and the female servers did it. Kefira eyed him and removed a lollipop
from her mouth, slowly, as he approached, walking toward her on the same side
of the street – having walked through the back entrance and out the front door
of the Haymarket all-night pizza joint, as was his habit. He nodded to her and
she took his arm, babbling some rubbish about metal music. His arm slipped
around her waist.

Zak shook his head and crossed the street in order to be
able to beat them into the above ground parking lot. He waited on the second
floor, crouched in front of the car parked on the driver's side of the souped
up Ford Ranger. Zak had a strong feeling that Rolly, the bartender, would try
to get his hooker into the back door on the driver's side of the vehicle.