3

EVENT GROUP COMPLEX, NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA

Niles Compton watched as Professors Pete Golding and Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III slowly walked out of his expansive office as if they had just witnessed their puppy being put to sleep. Niles had read them the riot act, but despite his earlier promise to crucify them both for assisting Alice with her Vatican break-in, he let them off with a written warning and a write-up in their 201 file. The one thing Niles realized about both brilliant men, neither one refused to say that they would not help Alice in the future, nor would they refuse anyone in their small group of managers. To Compton that was good enough. He allowed them to leave with the warning to stay clear of Colonel Collins for a while, and it was that alone that hurt their feelings more than anything.

After his punishment had been meted out, Niles turned and went back to his desk to finish his paperwork. He looked down at the forms on his otherwise clean desk and then he threw off his glasses once more and placed his hands so they covered his face as he realized how badly he had hurt Alice by his refusal to move on her Event. He just hoped Collins could find something in her files to help him help her.

Niles needed Jack Collins to help him find the provenance to move on this possible Event; if not he would seriously have to consider retiring Alice Hamilton. And that would eventually lead to Niles Compton resigning from the Group.

*   *   *

Jack Collins looked up from his chair at a small table inside the Group’s single place to relax and have a drink after their working hours: the Ark, named after Department 5656’s most prized and the very first artifact ever collected by the Event Group in 1864.

Jack reached for the cup of coffee he had allowed to go cold in front of him. He closed his eyes and then pushed the cold coffee away. He reached out and opened the thick folder and what Alice thought was evidence of either a lost or extinct animal or proof of a massive hoax perpetrated by a long-ago prankster. The first picture he saw was the photo that had been forwarded through their man, Second Lieutenant DeSilva, inside the Vatican archives. He examined the skull and read the exhibit note under the skull.

SPECIMEN EXCAVATED IN 1567 NEAR VENICE, ITALY.

SKULL RECOVERED FROM RUINS OF ESTATE OWNED BY ROMAN SENATOR MARCUS PALETERNUS TAPIO.

Collins then picked up Alice’s notes on the Italian find. He noted that the report had been written in 1966.

After exhaustive on-site research and unauthorized archaeological digging, it is concluded at this time that Roman senator Marcus Paleternus Tapio was indeed a Roman senator from year AD 19 to 27. Further research has shown that Senator Tapio was also a military leader who achieved the rank of centurion before family wealth pushed him into the Senate and the life of politics. Further notes as more information becomes available as to Marcus Paleternus Tapio’s military campaign assignments: it must be noted that the animal skull, which I believe to be a species of large timber wolf, may have been a gift to Tapio when he was a senator. However, it is my theory that Centurion Tapio, not Senator Tapio, recovered the skull on one of his many military excursions for Emperor Augustus Caesar.

Collins shook his head after reading Alice’s beautiful handwriting. He once more looked at the picture of the wolf skull that for some reason the Vatican archives, or maybe even the pope himself, had sealed away and buried among whatever else they had hidden from the rest of the world.

Jack was ready to close the folder and head for the Europa clean room to better understand what it was he was supposed to be reading, when a small padded plastic box fell out of the thick file. Collins picked it up and examined it. The case contained a small chunk of stone. It was only seven inches square and looked as if it were a carving of some kind. Jack read the words on the tag that had been attached to the plastic box since 1949.

Recovered by Senator Garrison Lee the night of April 1, 1949, aboard the vessel Golden Child inside Hong Kong harbor. Special note to self—the bone inside the relief has been proven to contain residue of bone marrow. Must have further analysis done to determine gene structure when and if possible.

Jack examined the piece of stone. He turned it over in his hand and then once more. The piece looked as if it had been broken from something far larger, and what was the most amazing thing about this small stone was the fact that where the break in the stone had been severed from its parent stone to his astonishment there looked to be a bone underneath the broken area of petrified skin and hair.

“What the—”

“Can I join you?”

Collins had been so intent on studying the small piece of stone that he failed to see Sarah McIntire walk up to his table. He smiled at her and then self-consciously slid the small stone back into the file folder. He looked Sarah over. She was wearing her blue military jumpsuit.

Jack held Sarah’s eyes for the longest time. He knew the confrontation was upon him over the nonuse of Event Group personnel in the search for his sister, Lynn’s, murderer. The real conversation with Sarah would not be just the exclusion of his friends in his personal search for killers, with Sarah it was her relationship with one Henri Farbeaux. The man had been a pain in the side of every Event Group security director since 1992. Garrison Lee announced before his death that the Frenchman was a direct threat to the security of the United States due to his proclivity of stealing the world’s heritage. The problem with Sarah was that she had become attached to Farbeaux in a special way. Without moving, Jack lightly kicked out the chair opposite him with his shoe. The invitation to sit was offered.

Sarah kept her eyes on the man she had fallen in love with the first time she had seen his gruff exterior. The small scars etched on Jack’s face like a road map declared to anyone who met him that yes, indeed, Colonel Jack Collins had done his thing for king and country. She slowly slid into the chair.

Jack watched Sarah as he moved Alice’s thick file aside.

“I thought you were teaching a class at five this afternoon?” Collins asked.

“I had my assistant take it for me. We need to talk about Henri.”

“I don’t think I want to discuss the Frenchman at the moment, short stuff. Whatever the reasons you may have for wanting to help him is your discussion.”

“Because the man went to Mexico and saved my life, and I ask you for a favor that shouldn’t have been asked and you allowed Henri to escape—for me. I appreciated it, but all you had to say was no. And now I suspect…” She stopped and rubbed a small hand over her face and then slowly looked into Jack’s blue eyes. “You didn’t even do it for me, you did it because you need him. You didn’t let him go because he saved my life, Jack, you let him go because you need him more than you need us to find Lynn’s killer. How’s that for a forensic analysis?”

Collins didn’t respond. He reached out and took the thick file folder from the tabletop while pushing his chair back.

“We just want to help, and I deserve to be let in.”

“I think we need to be somewhere we can discuss this in private.”

With that Jack took Sarah by the arm and instead of going out the front door Collins escaped with his charge through the back.

*   *   *

Seven hours later Jack awoke. Sarah was lying next to him and he couldn’t help staring at her sleeping form. Collins had just broken a cardinal rule of the Group and especially the military—no private liaisons will be tolerated at the complex, and surely not with a junior officer, as Sarah was. As he looked at Sarah he knew there were no rules when it came to the small geologist. He knew he had been far too hard on her and he also knew there was no way around it—he loved the woman sleeping in his bed more than anything in the world and he didn’t know how to handle it. He studied her breathing and smiled when she snored a second, rubbed her nose, and drifted back off.

Jack had relented as far as Sarah was concerned, but he wouldn’t give an inch as to allowing the men and women of this Group to become entangled with what he knew he had to do in regard to his sister’s mysterious killing. He wouldn’t involve them in murder, and that’s what Collins knew it would come down to. People who murdered CIA personnel rarely if ever made it to trial. This was Jack’s plan and the reason he was using the talents of Henri Farbeaux to gain access to the seedy world of double agents—if anyone knew how to catch a rat in the cupboard it was another rat who wanted the cupboard all to himself, and that was the Frenchman, Colonel Henri Farbeaux.

Collins leaned over and kissed Sarah on the forehead. He saw her hiccup and then cry for a minute and then fall back into her dreamworld. Jack knew he had almost pushed away the only woman he had ever loved. He shook his head and then slowly removed himself from the bed, trying not to awaken Sarah. He threw on a pair of white boxer shorts and then walked over to the desk. He reached down and snapped on his desk lamp and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them they fell on the file Alice had so meticulously cared for over the years. He shook his head and sat down at the desk and opened the history once more. He removed the photos stolen from the Vatican and then came to a rather lengthy report Alice had typed out on an old-fashioned typewriter. His eyes scanned the pages and then he realized he was looking at Alice’s follow-up report on the centurion who once upon a time became a Roman senator. Jack yawned and then looked the story over. As he read he became just a little more awake the further he read. After he was done he went deeper into the file. He soon came across two pieces of rotted cloth encased in plastic shielding. He picked them up and examined them. One small piece of cloth was trimmed with what used to be fringe. Jack read the small tag Alice had attached many years before.

Sample sent to me 2/6/1955—Levite cloth. Four vertical stripes on pomegranate-dyed wool, analysis indicates Middle Eastern design.

Collins retrieved the second section of cloth and brought his desk lamp down and looked the material over more closely. The designs were the same—four vertical stripes that were once red in color. The weave looked the same and the age close also. He read the tag.

Sample recovered 12/25/1967—Levite cloth. Four vertical stripes on pomegranate-dyed wool—analysis confirms Middle Eastern design style—sample recovered south of the Danube River, Romania.

Jack, instead of figuring out what it was Alice had put together, the more he read and saw, the more confused he became. What in the hell kind of trail was Alice on? Was this ancient fashion she was interested in or was it an animal that absolutely no one scientist at the Group believed in but Alice?

Collins replaced the sealed and protected cloth and then brought out something that made him lean closer to see. The photos were of two women. One was young and raven-haired, the other older—far older. The only thing written on the small tag Alice had written was a name and that wasn’t much at all. On the photo of the older woman, Jack placed her age anywhere from eighty to a hundred, was the small description:

Madam Ladveena Korvesky—Gypsy Queen—aprox. age 110 years old. Granddaughter is Leah Korvesky—heir to the Eastern European Gypsy hierarchy.

“What in the hell is this?” Jack mumbled to himself, “Gypsy Queen? What are you getting at, Alice?” Jack placed the photos back in the file and then picked up the next typewritten notes.

Sample 131-c recovered from privately owned vessel, Golden Child—Hong Kong–flagged yacht. Item recovered from vessel after said vessel was destroyed by sabotage the night of April 1, 1949, by Garrison Lee, General United States Army (ret).

Jack had a quick flash of memory as he rummaged through the file until he found the piece he was looking for—none other than the small chunk of rock he had examined before at the Ark—the small block of hewed stone with the petrified specimen inside. The tag read: 131-c. Collins played the stone in his hands as he thought about what was in the file—a file that made no sense as to the direction Alice Hamilton was taking with her investigation.

Collins made a decision and reached over for his phone. “Europa, Colonel Collins 5785 clearance—give me the locations on Professor Ellenshaw, Dr. Golding, and Alice Hamilton, please.”

“Professor Ellenshaw is currently in Laboratory 1344 on Level 81, Dr. Golding is currently in the Ark, and Alice Hamilton is in her personal quarters.”

“Thank you.” Jack hung up and pushed another button. “Will, gather up Alice from her quarters and Doc Ellenshaw in his lab and get them to Level 63,” he said quickly and then hung up.

He closed the file and that was when he noticed the code numbers and name Alice and Europa had given the file. It was strange he hadn’t noticed it before, which proved he was thinking of his sister’s murder too much for his duties at the Group. The code was File 890987—code name—Grimm.

“So, you’re helping Alice figure out her little problem?”

Jack felt the small arms encircle his neck and he relaxed as Sarah kissed his cheek.

“Get dressed, short stuff, and go to the Ark and drag Pete Golding out of there and get him down to Vault 22871.”

“Ordering your woman from your room at this early hour can force me to stop handing out the kind of loving you received last night for a very long time.”

Jack smiled for the first time in what seemed like months as he turned and kissed Sarah and then slapped her on her rear end. “Now get some clothes on and get Doc Golding.”

Sarah straightened and went for her jumpsuit, which was crumpled on the floor by Jack’s bed.

“What has you so worked up after the workout I gave you—I must not be that good if you have this much energy.”

“Baby, you’re that good, I would promote you to major if I could, but for right now let’s go help out a friend who everyone thinks has gone off the deep end about her wolves.”

“You believe her about her animals?” Sarah asked as she zipped up.

“Not just yet, but I think I may have found someone who changed his mind somewhere along the line that adds far more weight to her argument—someone with the credentials that not even Niles could argue with.”

“Who is that?” Sarah asked as she ran her fingers through her hair in lieu of a comb.

“Senator Garrison Lee.”

ROME, ITALY

Everett reached over and hit Ryan on the shoulder as the taxicab came to a stop just outside St. Peter’s Basilica. Ryan jumped at the sudden stop and the impact of Everett’s muscled hand. Almost two hours of postflight, refueling and then getting a private hangar at Leonardo da Vinci International, one of the world’s busiest airports, and then getting through customs, had placed an even harder burden on the naval aviator than just jet lag could produce. With Everett acting as his copilot on the nineteen-hour flight his sleep was off and on as Everett had to be checked on during his turn at the controls, even though most of the flight over the Atlantic had been flown by autopilot.

“Are we there already?” Ryan asked as he yawned and looked out the cab’s filthy window.

Everett paid the driver and then looked at Jason. “Yeah, it only took us an hour and a half through Rome’s midday traffic.” He sat back in his seat as he opened the door. “If we have trouble we may have to find a different route back to da Vinci.”

As Ryan looked at the crowds meandering through the wide walkways leading to the large square he shook his head.

“Our best bet on that occasion would be to walk out of here.”

Everett nodded that he thought Jason was right. “Well, maybe we’re just being paranoid about life in general lately. Let’s go get our boy.”

The two U.S. Navy men stepped into the thickening mass of humanity on their way to find their Goliath.

*   *   *

Mica Sorotzkin watched as the young American priest sat on the steps in front of the Basilica. His long black robe was easily played out at his sides as he opened his brown paper lunch sack. Major Sorotzkin had picked the priest up that morning as she spied him leaving his apartment on the east side of the massive property that was its own city inside of Rome—the Vatican housing area. She had been ordered to pick him up there and then again after he left work or at any time he was not in his highly classified office at the archives building.

As the major watched the young priest remove his sunglasses and wipe them on a tissue, she saw that he was actually far younger than he looked at the cybercafe the several times she had followed him there. She sat three rows of steps back from the American. She used a large carry-all and pulled out a small thermos and poured herself a cup of tea.

Mica had received a very urgent call from the general and that call now made her wonder why General Shamni had suddenly ordered constant surveillance on the priest after the hard drives taken from the cybercafe computers had been analyzed and the results sent straight to Tel Aviv. It had been at three that morning that Shamni had called personally and ordered the “eyes on” until further notice—instructions would follow.

Mica didn’t like the connotation of that last message. As she watched the young American she became worried that the general would order something other than an attempt to turn him into a working associate of Mossad.

*   *   *

The young American cleric known to his superiors at the Event Group as Goliath bit into his cheese sandwich as he watched the thousand milling tourists in the square and thought about how the day had changed not long after he had awoken.

That very morning he had received a coded message from Director Compton himself that came through his secure phone link bounced off several NSA communication satellites. He was going to be contacted at one this afternoon Rome time. He was to meet his contact at the steps of the Basilica and it would be Captain Everett himself coming in for the field evaluation. Everett had assisted in his covert training and DeSilva knew the captain well enough to know that something big was happening if they sent him all this way. He chewed on his sandwich. Behind his dark sunglasses the University of Notre Dame grad and U.S. Army second lieutenant scanned the crowd for the impressive form of the Navy SEAL, Carl Everett.

*   *   *

Major Sorotzkin flinched when her cell phone vibrated in her breast pocket. She reached into her lightweight blazer, past the Israeli-made, polymer-framed BUL Cherokee nine-millimeter in its nylon holster and retrieved the vibrating cell phone. She angrily hit the receive button.

“Yes?” she said easily into the phone as she took a sip of her lukewarm tea. She grimaced and was tempted to pour the tea onto the stone steps but held off as two highly visible Corpo della Gendarmeria walked past. The Corps of Gendarmerie of Vatican City State were highly trained at spotting trouble in crowded situations. She averted her sunglasses-covered eyes as the two uniformed guards walked past with just an appreciative look at the beautiful woman taking her lunch on the steps of the Basilica.

“Major,” said the familiar voice of General Shamni, “are you in visual contact with the American agent?”

“He’s about ten meters in front of me eating his lunch in the square, as he does every day the sun shines.”

“We were unsuccessful in tracking the location of his contact. We suspect it’s the American CIA or National Security Agency, or maybe even their FBI, but that has all become a moot point. The photographic material removed from the Vatican archives directly affects the security of Israel. Am I clear on this point?”

“Again, you’re not clear at all, General. I need to know certain things if I am to perform my mission correctly. How is this man a threat and what about the written report filed with the photos to this American’s contact?”

“Major, you are treading on harsh ground—ground that could collapse under you at any time if you step wrong. We suspect that his filing to his superiors can be found at Langley, Virginia, and that’s something that will have to be dealt with at another time, for now the American priest is to be brought into the Rome safe house as soon as you can safely commit to the act, and once there you and the American can be debriefed by Colonel Ben-Nevin. He will burn all evidence of this priest’s activities and that report filed with the photographs is to be burned. Are you the only person at the safe house to have read that particular report?”

“How can a report filed by a Roman officer be of any consequence to our security?” Mica knew the answer involved Operation Ramesses and she also suspected that the general knew she knew.

“Ben-Nevin will burn the documents and close the safe house down, and then your mission in Rome will be complete. If need be the American will be brought in for more detailed questioning.”

Sorotzkin could not believe what she had just heard. “Brought in?” she asked on the secure cell link through an Israeli satellite. “I have a chance to turn this man, that’s what I do. Counterintelligence, not snatching an unofficial allied agent off the street inside a friendly nation.”

“Major, that harsh ground I mentioned to you earlier is starting to cave in as you speak. The American has learned of a key piece of Project Ramesses and cannot be allowed to connect that piece with any other that may have surfaced. And we must know what else he has uncovered. And don’t even ask about the project, it’s a thousand miles above your and also my pay grade. Clear?”

Silence from Major Sorotzkin’s end.

“Colonel Ben-Nevin has been on-site for an hour and our American spy is being tracked as we speak. You will call from the safe house and let me know when Ben-Nevin starts his debrief of the American. Nothing is to happen to this boy; right now he is valuable for what he may know. And more to the point, Sorotzkin, there may be elements inside our own government—far more hard-line elements I may add—that want what the Ramesses project represents brought home. Get him to the safe house and the prime minister has guaranteed his safety.”

“General, I have your word no harm will come to this American operative?”

“Major, the naïveté of that question is why I think your future is destined to be outside Mossad. Maybe I was wrong for handpicking you and that a transfer back to Army Intelligence would be best for your career; they are a little more suited in playing fair with the other kids on the block. We are not. But we do not kill Americans when it is avoidable, and this is one circumstance where it is still avoidable with your cooperation.”

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.”

The boy didn’t flinch as he took a cautious step toward Mica, which elicited a threatening point of the colonel’s weapon at the twelve-year-old. Major Sorotzkin shook her head at the boy.

“No, no, le arance per la American man.” Mica explained that the oranges should go to the American who bought them.

The boy held eye contact with the major for a split second longer than was necessary. The boy then turned toward Everett. His eyes saw the blood on the man’s face and where it had dribbled down into the collar of his blue shirt where it stained a dark maroon in color. It didn’t seem to faze the boy as he took two steps toward the man. Everett felt the gun leave his back and knew his guard was going to shoot the boy.

“Hey, hey, my oranges, I thought you ripped this poor tourist off, kid,” Carl said, hoping to defuse the situation, at least where the kid’s safety was concerned. He felt the gun lower somewhat as Everett reached for the small bag of oranges. As he reached he saw the sparkle in the twelve-year-old’s eyes and then the small smile that only the captain saw.

As soon as Everett’s large hand closed on the plastic bag he felt the cold steel of something the child was hiding behind that bag. This was no ordinary child vendor. His eyes momentarily flitted over to Mica and he knew that the weapon had been purposely introduced into the store by the boy for express use by Mica. The street hawker was a plant, guard, and lookout, whatever the euphemism was these days for kids used by spies in their operations. As he saw the colonel and Mica looking at him he realized that the Mossad major had a look in her eyes that could only be related to excitement. He saw her slowly lick her red lips: this woman was watching and waiting for something that she was used to—extreme violence.

Colonel Ben-Nevin saw what had happened too late to react. The large American took the bag of oranges and the small pistol concealed behind the bulging bag and then swung the bag as hard as he could at the man to his rear catching him squarely in the face. Then without aiming Carl fired at the man holding Ryan at bay. The bullet struck the man in the side of the head and Ryan had his fallen weapon before his captor knew he was dead.

Mica realized that the American saved his friend first and that was about to cost him. As Ben-Nevin reacted slowly she brought her left wrist up and out catching the weapon just as it discharged, sending the bullet into the ceiling. The colonel swung back and caught Mica in the face as the third man in the small shop met his end when he tried to gain his feet from the staggering blow that had been delivered by the now broken plastic bag of oranges. Everett saw Ben-Nevin turn and break for the back of the store beyond the curtain. At that moment sirens started sounding as the loud reports of the guns had shattered the late afternoon solace of the tourists. Everett started forward after helping the small boy to his feet.

“Thanks, kid, now run like hell away from here,” he said as he started after Ben-Nevin. “Let’s go, Ryan.”

Mica tried her best to stop the big man from going after the colonel. She turned and followed the two Americans through the curtain. As she went past the scattered desks she saw what had become of her technicians. They were all piled in a lump of humanity in the far corner of the communications center. With a shake of her head she finally reached Everett just as he pulled the back door open.

“No!” the major shouted just as five bullets struck the old wooden door sending splinters in every direction. Carl went to his back side, knocking Ryan down, and then reached up with his leg just as two more rounds struck the framing of the door. He kicked out, slamming the door closed, and then rolled free of harm’s way.

“That bastard always has a plan,” she cursed as she reached up and pulled the boy to her, who was watching from the curtain. She kissed him on the forehead and then held him at arm’s length.

“Treceţi, stiti ce aveti de facut,” she said and then kissed the boy again on the forehead. The dark-haired child looked hesitant at first and then with a last look at the two Americans he ran for the front door and was gone. The sirens were getting closer.

“I was always terrible at languages, but one thing I do know for sure,” Everett said as he pulled the clip from the small .32 caliber weapon. “That wasn’t Italian you just spoke to the boy.” Everett reinserted the clip and just before Mica reached for a fallen weapon from one of her deceased technicians, Carl reached over and placed the barrel of the gun gently against the dark-haired woman’s temple. “Now I know not speaking Italian to an Italian kid isn’t a capital offense, but I’m willing to make an exception for you, gorgeous. Until I figure out just what language you and the boy were using I suggest you produce no more surprises for the rest of the afternoon.”

As Everett slowly allowed the major to rise from the floor, DeSilva stepped into the back room. He stood looking from Everett to the woman. Finally his eyes settled on Ryan, who saw a youthful look of arrogance come over the kid’s face.

“Captain, I think our young friend here has something to say,” Ryan said from the front of the store where he turned to look out the window by pulling out on the shade.

DeSilva stepped meekly into the back room with his head held firm.

“I want to go back,” was all he said as he took in the bloodied Captain Everett.

“No, your cover is blown and one foreign agency knows of your existence. We can’t take a chance that the Swiss Guard doesn’t know either.”

“Captain, I’ll take that chance. It’s worth the risk and you know it. I have to keep my job in the archives. If you could only see what I’ve seen inside, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Everett looked from DeSilva to Ryan, who turned away from the window with a large smile on his face at the kid’s naïveté. The young agent thus far had not been given the tour of the vault levels at the Event Group complex.

“I’m sure they have great stuff stashed in there, Lieutenant, but you need to come home now. It’s over.”

“With all due respect, Captain, I think it’s my call. My ass is on the line and I think the risk to that ass is acceptable.”

Everett used a handkerchief to wipe some of the blood away from his scalp. He looked over at Ryan, who nodded his head in agreement with the young Vatican spy. Carl then shot the Israeli Mossad agent a look. She just raised that left eyebrow of hers and stared at Everett. He stared at the two differing colors of her eyes and then nodded his head as he turned away.

“Okay, kid,” he said as he pocketed the bloody handkerchief. “The colonel and director will more than likely fry my ass for this.” He shook his head. “But you’re right, it took too long to get one of our people in there.”

“Who in the hell do you men work for?” Mica asked as she slowly eyed her possibilities of escape. She was starting to piece together the idea that these men may not have the same restraints that officers of the CIA or FBI would have—she was thinking these Americans were totally capable of killing her and dumping her body in front of Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv. Yes, she thought, these men worked for someone other than an intelligence agency.

“We happen to work for people that don’t like ambushes, Ms. Sorotzkin,” Everett said as he reached out and removed the Glock nine-millimeter that DeSilva was holding.

“And how do you know my name? My own people don’t know me for the most part.”

“We have files on many bad guys that are really pretty impressive. As I see it you don’t rate up there with the bad people we do business with on occasion, you’re a little different, Major.” Everett gave her a dirty look. “You work for a supposed friend, and when you showed your true colors along with your Colonel Ben-Nevin, you made our decision making really very easy.” Carl made sure a round was chambered in the Glock.

Mica saw the handgun lower for a split second as Carl started to raise the weapon and that was the only window of opportunity the young Mossad agent could see for getting the hell out of her situation. Mica’s hand soon found an old-fashioned glass paperweight that lay on one of her technician’s desks. She didn’t hesitate as she grabbed it and threw the heavy silver inlaid paperweight, hitting Everett in the chest, making him automatically recoil and fire blindly at the blur of speed that had become the dark-haired woman.

Before Ryan could move past DeSilva, Major Sorotzkin had moved far too quickly and was through the curtain before Everett could react. He intentionally shot wide of his mark as he never wanted to kill the young woman. The round went through the flapping material of the curtain. The three men all heard the bell above the door jingle and then there was silence. The sirens drew closer to the small antique store.

“Damn, I lost two hostile agents in one day and now can’t prove anything,” Everett said as he looked over at DeSilva. “And now I’m going against orders and sending a kid back to face one of the harshest security teams in the world at the Vatican.” Carl slammed the slide home on the reloaded Glock. “Yeah, this is a red banner day for the Navy, Mr. Ryan. I’m beginning to think Jack’s been right all along,” he said as he pushed DeSilva toward the back door.

“About what?” Ryan asked as he placed his head out the door and looked to make sure the crazy Mossad colonel wasn’t lying in wait for the three men.

“That he would be better off hunting his sister’s killer without us being in his way.”

“Bullshit, he needs us,” Ryan said, looking back momentarily to make sure the captain heard what he had to say. “Now, I suggest we get this young man back to school at the archives and we get the hell out of here to try and explain how an ally state tried to kill us all.”

Everett nodded his head and then thrust his right hand out for DeSilva.

“Lieutenant, it will be noted for the record you refused to leave the post you were assigned.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“Good luck, Lieutenant,” Everett said, as he released his hand. Then he watched Ryan do the same.

“Good luck, Army,” the naval aviator said, shaking DeSilva’s hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

Both Jason and Carl watched the boy leave through the back door after checking right and then left, and then one last look back at his two superior officers with a smile.

“The colonel does know how to recruit, doesn’t he?”

Everett ignored the statement, not wanting to admit that Collins could do anything right, at least for the moment. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Carl looked through the curtain toward the front door. He saw the milling crowd to gathering outside.

“What are we going to do about the woman and that crazier than a shithouse rat Mossad colonel?” Ryan asked as he held the back door open for Everett.

Carl stopped in the doorway looking straight ahead. The Navy SEAL captain moved his head ever so slightly toward the interior of the safe house.

“That colonel needs a little bit of killing done to certain areas of his body, but the girl, I don’t know, there’s something not right there.”

Ryan saw Carl smirk for the briefest of moments as if he knew an inside joke he didn’t. He heard Everett’s explanation as he started to run slowly down the alley.

“Her, I just want to talk to.”