~And Miles to Go before She Sleeps~
She was freezing. Even under the hot, desert sun. It meant she didn't have much longer, had lost too much blood. And she was beginning to feel dizzy, having trouble breathing.
The young woman staggered, bouncing off and then dragging herself along the walls of the alley buildings. At least she'd made it into the old city. Now, if she could only find somewhere to hide and patch up her wounds. She just might make it.
If so, she would be the only one from her team to survive the surprise attack. The betrayal. The safe house was supposed to be just that. Safe. Unknown. Obviously, not. Her anger rose again at the vision of her colleagues, her friends, lying in pools of their own blood. It gave her enough strength to straighten and make it a few more blocks deeper into the mellah, before she finally fell, unconscious.[IMG] albums/ab309/ban_ [/IMG][IMG] albums/ab309/ban_ [/IMG]
Siofra suddenly sat bolt upright. Drenched in sweat, she shivered in the air conditioning, staring wildly for a moment. Then she remembered where she was. This was LA, in the old United States. Not Cairo. A different safe house. She sighed deeply and tried to relax.
She hated the nightmares, hadn't had one in a while. The psych docs assured her they would eventually fade as she became adjusted to her new life and gained confidence in her new associates and herself. They did explain that the dreams could return if she was under an unusual amount of stress, but she was trained to ignore that. Assassins always functioned under stress... or they died. She wasn't about to let her guard down; she still had compatriots to avenge.
Fortunate that as she collapsed, the street urchin had ducked into the alley. And even luckier that he was too young to really be dangerous to her; so she had given him a message, and promise of payment if he delivered it to the couple. The child would eat for a week on what she'd offered.
She would be forever indebted to the man and woman who had found her nearly unconscious, lying in that stinking alley, deep in the slums of the old city. They had brought her to their refuge and given her the medical attention that saved her life, asking nothing in return. They had not even appeared too curious about how she had received two gunshot wounds; not at first.
Adib and someone she'd never met arrived in less than 15 minutes, record time for this part of the world. When Adib had begged forgiveness and removed her hijab, he gasped upon seeing her face and recognising her. The men carried her to the old office that they still occasionally used as a safe house. At least he had called his partner, Fayruz, to tend her. [IMG] albums/ab309/ban_sidhe/Siofra/Sharbat_ [/IMG]
Nervous, Adib was still willing to give her the benefit, but Fayruz wanted her gone, silenced. Even though she knew the beautiful, green-eyed woman, she wasn't sure if she could be trusted not to expose them. A few tense moments passed while they argued about what to do in Italian, not realizing she understood them. She had halted their argument with six words.
"We were working with Freedom Now. They were the only ones who knew our location." Then she sobbed, "I am compromised, now. My people will never trust me again, even if they do take me back. And they probably think I'm either dead or captured."
Fayruz had instantly forgiven and sympathised. Her large dark eyes, glittering in anger only moments before, softened as she realized the depth of Siofra's loss. Then they asked her what she planned to do. When she simply shrugged, they looked at each other. Adib said something about checking with 'headquarters', and left her with the other woman.
Next thing she knew, they were finding out everything they could about her and asking her if she thought she could work with their group of multi-national secret agents. They thought she'd fit right in, especially with her language skills and first-hand knowledge of the Mideast and Eurasia. Adib made it plain to her, though he and Fayruz felt she would be an asset, she would still have to undergo the skills testing and a psych exam before their leaders would approve her.
Knowing she probably couldn't return home, Siofra had searched her soul for hours. Could she work with these people? She didn't really know many of them, didn't know that much about the group as a whole, either. She didn't have a lot of options available, and they had taken her in and healed her. They understood her desire to avenge her team, her continuing loyalty to them. Could she set that need aside? These people were trying to accomplish the same basic goals that she believed in.
She decided, yes. She passed their testing. And discovering their not inconsiderable information net, she realized they could even further her toward her ultimate goal.
Mostly healed, but still weak, she took to wandering about the compound. They had moved her as soon as she was strong enough. Safer for everyone. She could recover and they could keep an eye on her. She understood; it was kinder than her own people would have been.
It was the most opulent place she had ever lived. Beautifully decorated and set within, but not part of, a luxury, gated community, she wondered how they'd managed to spirit her past the guards at the entrances. They closely watched all vehicles that passed the gates.[IMG] albums/ab309/ban_ [/IMG]
She spent a lot of time dozing by the large pool, usually after going for a walk up to the helipad and back, then a swim. Their medic told her not to push it, and she'd agree to his face. Although the longer she waited, the colder the trail to her friends' attackers got.
But she was patient. She had to be. She needed time to dig up all the information she could find on the attackers and whomever had ordered it. Time to plan. Time to recover her strength and hone her abilities.
So she spent a quiet couple of years doing nothing more than listening to phone calls, recorded conversations, translating and writing reports. On her own time, she continued to research her team's betrayal. She and Fayruz actually became friends as soon as the Arab woman realized Siofra was no threat to her relationship.
In fact, she avoided all the men as much as possible. The two women had many lively conversations regarding politics, religion and culture. They often sat in the garden with coffee early in the morning, or by the pool, late in the evening, chatting and laughing. Fayruz was somewhat surprised to learn she was not sabra. But, that was as far into her history as she would go.
~~~2~~~
Siofra sighed and stretched. She wasn't going back to sleep, so she may as well get up and make coffee. At least this way, she'd get a decent brew. If she waited for Ellen, she'd be drinking dishwater again. She shuddered at the thought. Americans had no idea how to make good coffee.
She smiled, remembering the first time the older woman had tasted her brew. After gasping and choking, she had blurted something about it melting the bowl off her spoon and being useful for cleaning engines. Ellen's eyes had almost bugged out of her head when Siofra murmured quietly, "Well, if it's too strong, you could add a little camel's milk. That might make it a bit smoother."
Her partner, Ron hadn't even tried it. He took one good sniff and said he'd stick to his tea, thanks. He preferred his innards intact. Still chuckling, he'd jumped in his truck and headed down the mountain for supplies.
Siofra was still smiling half an hour later as she wandered out onto the deck to begin her morning routine of stretches and the katas she used to strengthen and tone her muscles. Then, she'd shower and relax with some fruit and yoghurt for breakfast and go over whatever reports had come in overnight. It was 4:00 am, the sun just beginning to paint the horizon with a faint pink glow.
Siofra was enjoying the isolation of the mountain refuge. She loved the peace and quiet, the scent of the pines on the high desert air. It was so different from the deserts she'd known as a child. When HQ had asked her to come here, she'd originally been unsure if she would adapt, now she was glad she'd agreed.
She'd even learned to ride under Ron's gentle tutelage. Horses were a lot different to camels. Now it was a part of her day that she looked forward to. She often took one of the stable mounts up into the wilds behind the ranch property. It was a good place to think. Many times, seemingly unrelated facts had suddenly coalesced into patterns as she quietly walked her horse along the mountain trails.
The occasional 'guest', when other agents stopped in for a weekend's rest didn't bother her; they never stayed long enough to really disturb her routine. Often, she didn't even see them, letting Ellen and Ron see to their needs. Her old alias of 'the Ghost' still fit her well.
When she discovered, purely by accident in her wandering, a satellite uplink and computer station far too advanced for the local gangs, paramilitary groups and even the government, her new compatriots became slightly concerned. They knew she recognised their equipment for what it was.
Still a lower level agent, she had not yet been cleared for use of equipment that advanced. And her security clearance did not allow for access to such sensitive information as was contained in the system. Fortunately, patience had always been one of Siofra's best attributes.
An agent she'd never met before came for a weekend 'rest', supposedly between assignments. Siofra was confused at first when he sought her out, then alarmed. It didn't take her long to figure out his apparently innocent questions were designed to discover what she knew and how she might use her new knowledge. And she'd caught him once speaking with Ron and Ellen; a conversation that became somewhat stilted when she entered the room.
But, it seemed she passed his test of her loyalty and discretion. He left the next day, wishing her well and she heard nothing else from her superiors. She was glad she'd decided to pretend to ignore the very existence of that computer station and even the place where it was hidden.
It took her several weeks to find a way and the best time to secretly use their facilities and equipment to continue her search for the killers of her former team; her friends. The hardest part was not breaking into the system, but rather finding out how to make sure her visits went undetected. She was not an administrator on the system, so it was difficult for her to erase her presence, but she found a backdoor and that made it possible.
Then she needed a way to get closer to them. She was debating whether to abandon her new friends when she received long-awaited orders. Six months after her discovery of the advanced system, she was to take a new position as a translator and junior agent... in Pakistan.
She was delighted to go. Siofra had discovered the executioners of her friends were in the same part of the world. And it was one she was most comfortable moving through. She spoke several of the languages in use in that area; Urdu and Arabic being the most useful. Urdu and English were her two first tongues, the one being the national language of the land where she was born and her mother always spoke English to her when they were alone. [IMG] albums/ab309/ban_ [/IMG]
She wondered idly if the woman who had birthed her was still alive. She and her Scottish mother were removed from a Pakistani refugee camp when she was a small child by an Iranian soldier. Her mother was sold to an Arab emir for a concubine and Siofra escaped when a teen, crossing the desert on her own into Israel and being picked up by a border patrol.
Her mother had refused to attempt the escape, saying she feared for her daughter's life and health if she was caught. If not immediately butchered by the wild tribes of the desert mountains, she'd probably be raped and sold into slavery. But, Siofra knew the real reason was that her mother had fallen in love with her emir. He was a handsome and kind man, and obviously doted on her mother.
So she'd left on her own, wishing her mother well and trying not to cry. It was the last time she did until her team was killed. She needed her wits about her if she was going to make it to somewhere safe. At sixteen, she was already a lethal opponent for anyone caught unawares. She knew desert survival and the ways of the nomads, too.
She'd stolen a camel and ridden to the next oasis. Abandoning the beast there, she had attached herself to a spice caravan, doing little tasks for the women and the slaves. One took pity and hid her in the women's tent, even gave her some scraps. When she scaled a date palm like a monkey and shared her bounty with all, they accepted her as one of them.
She traveled with the group into Iraq until they turned south at Baghdad, heading for the port of Um Qasr. She headed off on her own, taking the direct western road. She knew if she could make it across the desert into Jordan, she would have a good chance of attaining her goal of Israel. Fortunate in her travel, she did, being picked up as she staggered out of a small sandstorm by an Israeli border patrol.
They'd been stunned by her story and had taken her to their leader. From there she'd been passed on to hospital and given a place to stay and attend school. After serving her mandatory year in the army, Siofra had become a citizen and gone to work for the Israeli government, specifically the intelligence services. Someone had noticed her and she was invited to join Mossad.
Funny, the twists life takes, she mused. I've nearly circled the world and arrived back where I began. Now, she would work for her new employers until she found the ones who'd betrayed her. She had no plans for her life after that, the future would have to take care of itself.
~~~3~~~
She was very good at her job, able to dig up bits of information the other agents who were not native to the area missed. Often, her knowledge of the hidden aspects of the culture of the indigenous people allowed her to ferret out more detail than the others.
She quickly became indispensable to the lead agent and he asked to have her promoted to field agent. Now, it would be much easier for her to move about in her search for the ones who must die. In the process, she also saved another agent's life when he was served bad dates by an opponent's minion. A woman they'd had no idea belonged to the fanatic group they were watching.
Siofra accepted the praise of her new boss rather unhappily. She would have preferred the recognition not be so widely announced. The thanks of the man she'd saved was more than sufficient for her. She did not like being exposed to public view, even if it was only among the agency personnel.
Completely comfortable in the native costume, Siofra had taken over shopping for the post some time ago. Now that she had more freedom, she spent even more time in the marketplace, amongst the women and the purveyors of various needed items. She knew it was the best place to collect the information she required.
A couple of weeks later, she fortuitously stumbled on some very interesting facts. One of the women she frequently conversed with had come to the market limping. Siofra gently inquired after her health and was unhappy to learn the woman had been 'gifted' to a business acquaintance of her father's.
Her 'husband' was not a kind man and had beaten her when she did not perform her duties to his satisfaction. Siofra sympathised, then was surprised to learn the man was a foreigner. The woman said he often cursed at her in some tongue she didn't understand. When she repeated one of his favourites, even through the woman's thick accent, Siofra realised instantly he had spoken Russian.
She got the woman to give her the man's name and wished her well. Hurrying back to her office, she dropped her purchases in the kitchen and ran to check him out on the computer. She was not terribly surprised to find him listed as a person of interest in her employer's list of suspected government agents. The Russians were known to operate on many levels in that part of the world.
Besides the truly government agents acting as 'advisors' and business partners, there were men who joined fanatic religious groups, radical political factions and black marketeers. They insinuated themselves everywhere, and became so useful their employers could not easily rid themselves of their influence, even had they wished it.
Siofra was angered and, at the same time, excited to discover her native friend's new mate was the the leader of the group that had betrayed her team. She would end his life soon, but not before she learned the whereabouts of the actual shooter. This was the man who had ordered the hit and the quicker he gave up the information she needed, the easier he would die.
A week of watching and memorising his movements passed before she was ready. Her patience was sorely tested; the man was a beast. Piggish habits, a nasty, violent temper, foul mouth and disrespect for others made her long to rid the world of such trash. But she waited until the time was right and she could catch him alone and unprotected.
Finally, the night arrived. The beast had spent an enjoyable evening with his business partners celebrating the conclusion of a profitable deal. One that would tie the pasha to him politically as well as economically, allowing him to influence the government leaders of this region of northern Pakistan.
She followed the drunken celebrant to his home, laughing to herself when he roared in irritation at his household staff and sent them away. He was making this too easy. Listening from outside an open window, she heard as he tore off his clothing and ordered his woman to his bed.
Just perfect, she thought, angrily. Wait until he's fully occupied, then strike. The best part will be that Daliya shall never suffer indignities at his hands ever again. She slipped in through the window and stood silently for a moment just watching as the man wrestled her marketplace friend into the position he wanted.
He slapped and swore at her, finally yanking her down on her belly by her hair, then falling over her back and forcing her legs apart. Thrusting roughly into the woman's body, the beast bit her neck and shoulders, smacking her again when she cried out in pain.
Gritting her teeth to remain silent, Siofra inhaled slowly and deeply through her nose. Soon, now. Give him a moment to become fully involved in his pleasure. Be patient, Daliya. It will be over soon. Siofra ghosted over the carpeted floor to stand unnoticed just behind the man's shoulder.
The moment he groaned in ecstasy, she attacked. Leaping onto the bed, she straddled his hips and flipped a garrote around his throat. She yanked upward, leaning back to lift him away from Daliya.
His cry of shock and outrage was muted to a gurgle by the tight constraint around his throat. He flailed his arms back, trying desperately to get a grip on Siofra. But she moved quickly out of his grasping reach, rocking from side to side. And he did not seem to realise the small stature of his attacker, missing her head by inches when he attempted to punch and claw at her face.
Finally, he slumped unconscious, Siofra steering his heavy form to the side. She didn't want the woman pinned under him. Daliya rolled out of the bed and nearly screamed before recognising the beautiful woman that had commiserated with her in the market.
"Dress and leave the house, Daliya." Siofra whispered harshly. "You have no need to be involved in this." While she spoke, she rolled the man onto his back and tied his hands over his head to the top of the bed. Then she moved to the foot and restrained each leg to a footpost.
Daliya's eyes were huge and she put a hand over her mouth. "Who are you?" She gasped in shock. No woman would ever think to treat a man like this one was. It was very clear she knew what she was doing and had no fear of the much bigger person she had just tied to the bed.
Stuffing a sock into the man's mouth and tying it with his headscarf, Siofra only smiled at Daliya. "You don't want to know, meri dost. Go, now, before things get messy." As she spoke, Siofra pulled a long, slender, silvery blade from her robes.
Gasping again, Daliya gathered up her clothes and fled. Siofra wandered through the house until she found the kitchen. Searching the storage area, she found what she was looking for. Salt and a strong wine. Smiling as she collected them, she returned to the bedroom.
Her patient was now awake, growling through the gag and testing his bonds. He stopped and stared when she reentered the room. Swallowed hard, and tried to say something, shaking his head negatively. She carefully placed her items on the bedside table, making sure he could see and recognise them.
His eyes widened and he made a quiet, high-pitched sound, somewhere between a moan and a wail. Siofra only smiled again and lifted the knife. Hours later, she had the answers she sought. It had taken less time than she'd expected to break the Russian. But she was patient and inventive. And he would never abuse another woman.
She had 'borrowed' a clean set of robes from Daliya; she didn't think the woman would complain. Now she had to get back to her post before any of the others noticed she'd gone missing. They would not approve of her extra-curricular activities.
She had made it most of the way back, when she realised that the man who had done the actual shooting was not at the house. He'd left the party early, to go back and keep an eye on things, she had assumed. Now, she wondered. Where was he? She could not let him escape.
~~~4~~~
Demyan Petrovich smelled the blood even before he opened the door to Radofski's house. He paused, listening to the silence. Whatever had happened, it appeared to be over. He slipped quietly inside and padded through the lower level, finding nothing. He took the stairs, pausing often to listen, but all was quiet.
The scent grew stronger, and now the sharp, acrid odor of fresh urine was apparent, too. He sighed, probably meant his commander was dead. Peeking around the corner of the main bedroom, he winced at the sight. Radofski was splayed on his bed, bound hand and foot and gagged.
Someone had done some serious work on him, an expert for sure. It most likely meant Demyan's cover was blown, too. Whomever had flayed the man had taken their time, looking for information of some kind. He moved closer and nearly gagged, his own belly muscles tightening at what had been done to Radofski's genitalia.
Demyan shuddered, preparing to leave, when a slight wheeze made him whip back around. Alexei was still alive! He immediately ripped the gag out of his mouth and leaned down. The man was trying to say something.
"Mossad," he whispered. "The Cairo team. You missed one." Demyan was shocked, it wasn't possible. He'd seen them go down. And how had one of them found him here? He gave Alexei a sip of the leftover wine. "Run, Demy. It's the woman. That green-eyed she-devil. She'll gut you, if you don't get out now." His eyes closed and he moaned in agony.
Demyan knew he had only one option. Pulling his own blade, he plunged it into Alexei's heart. "Sorry, my friend. At least your suffering is over." He cleaned the knife on a corner of sheet and fled the house. He only stopped in his room long enough to collect some money, spare ammo and his rifle. Then he was gone.
The Russian headed northwest into Tajikistan. He had contacts in Dushanbe that would help him get to Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan or Almaty in Kazakhstan, and from there to Novosibirsk in the Federation. He felt if he could make it back to Russia, he should be safe.
It would be difficult for the woman, Mossad or not, to follow him once he was on home ground. Even though the KGB had transmuted into another organization, her old operatives were still active and had maintained their previous networks. Demyan knew he'd need all the help he could find.
Shaken by the thought that he was being pursued by a Mossad agent, he was not as careful as he should have been. He simply ran. He knew the Israelis trained the best, and even now, almost ten years later, they had not given up. They never quit. And the women were the worst. Alexei was all the proof of that he needed.
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Again, Siofra used the computer network at the agency post. Discovering just who she was hunting was important. The agency maintained a portfolio on every secret government agent, international terrorist group, and independent spy, whether political, religious or business oriented.
She inhaled in dismay when she put the name Demyan Petrovich into the system. He was one of the old KGB's best assassins. A very competent killer; he was going to be difficult to catch. He knew this region at least as well as she did. Perhaps even had better contacts; she would have to be very quick, and very smart to get to him. [IMG] albums/ab309/ban_ [/IMG]
She knew she didn't have much time. As soon as he returned to Daliya's house, he would run. Siofra was sure her employers would never let her go after the man, and she was afraid they'd keep her from leaving on her own. So she slipped back into her room, packed what she felt was essential and simply left.
Knowing they would not forgive her for leaving with no explanation, she vanished, leaving no trace of her going. She had no choice that she could see. She would not let him escape her again. For the deaths of her team, and the agony he had caused her, he had to die.
She found the small boy she had left to watch Daliya's home. He informed her the second man who lived there had come home and left almost immediately. He carried only what appeared to be a briefcase, but Siofra knew better. That black case contained his weapon, a high-powered rifle with scope and tripod. She paid the child and took off after the Russian.
The little woman knew the Russian had managed to get a few words out of Radofski before he died. She had deliberately left him barely alive for just that purpose. To make him panic and run. He would head for home ground, try to get back to the Russian Federation. So she headed north and west, following his trail.
It would be a difficult traverse for both as the small countries of the region were extremely unstable, at war with each other and often even fighting inside their own boundaries at the same time. Much political unrest, masquerading as religious jihad or economic disturbance was the usual culprit. And the area was full of UN observers and foreign mercenaries, too.
Siofra was almost disappointed in Petrovich. The man was leaving a trail a rookie agent could follow with ease. Straight across northern Pakistan and the narrow strip of Afghanistan and into Tajikistan. Obviously, he had panicked and forgotten the most basic rules of avoiding surveillance that all covert operatives learned before ever going into the field.
She would take the ease of the pursuit with no complaint, however. She was much more careful, avoiding public transportation when possible and keeping to her adopted persona of a Muslim woman returning home after a religious trek. She stayed out of the larger towns, circling around major population centers whenever possible.
It meant sleeping in burnt out buildings and barns, sometimes even in the open, but she didn't mind. The relief of not having to deal with the bulk of humanity more than made up for the minor discomforts of no running water and occasionally sleeping cold. She'd grown up with less.
The further north she traveled, the more dangerous her situation became. The small countries she was passing through were in the middle of a major and growing conflict. There were not only government troops to avoid, but also several different private militias and rebel forces of different denominations.
And many were supplemented by invaders, too. Mercenaries, professional soldiers from all parts of the globe had joined various groups, lending their expertise and advanced weaponry to whichever political or religious group could afford them. Nowhere a safe place for a lone woman.
In Osh, in southern Kyrgyzstan, she traded her traditional abaya, the long dress of a conservative woman for a kurti, a hip-length tunic, and slender fitted pants of a heavy cotton. She kept the hijab, as much for concealment as to continue her masquerade. She traded the long dress to a woman washing her family's clothing in a fountain. Besides the poorer quality tunic, she also acquired a jacket and soft shoes.
She kept the coat, even though it was a bit too large, but bartered the shoes and some coin for a pair of small men's goretex combat boots. The country was getting rougher and she'd need decent footwear to travel the mountains and high desert. The tunic made it much easier for her to carry her own weapons concealed, but in reach if she needed them quickly. She also had a small backpack that she kept other essentials in; spare money, an extra ammo clip for her Jericho pistol, the hone she used to keep her blades razor sharp, socks, underwear and dried rations. [IMG] albums/ab309/ban_sidhe/Siofra/cAsiamap_ [/IMG]
Returning to the ways she survived in her youth came back much more quickly than she had expected. In only a couple of weeks time, Siofra was as hard and thinner than she had been in years. Her endurance had improved, as well.
The years of soft living in America sloughed away, leaving her stronger, quicker and deadlier than ever. The flame of vengeance, long banked, now flared to a fierce burning need to destroy the last of her team's betrayers. She would not fail them; her compatriots, her friends, the ones she had thought of as family; the only one she'd ever known.
Siofra finally caught up to the assassin in Bishkek. Petrovich was trying to get to Almaty, and had mistakenly thought he could talk his way through the lines of the rebel forces fighting around the border with China. He'd apparently approached someone he believed was Russian Mafia, but the man's first loyalty had been to his sheik.
The Uygur rebel, after learning Petrovich was ex-KGB, had turned him over to the prince, saying they could use the Russian's knowledge to their advantage. Wisely, rather than be tortured and killed, Demyan had agreed to work for the ELF, the prince's personal rebel forces.
He had only been there for a few days, was still working out the relationships between the rebel forces, when she suddenly appeared before him in a shadowy alley one evening. He'd just come from another strategy meeting, mind on the rebel problems and almost ran into the small female in the dark. Stopping short, the Russian's brow crinkled.
This little woman was not behaving appropriately. Instead of dropping her gaze and backing out of his way, she boldly stared right at him. And why was she outside, alone, and after dark? He looked past her for the man who should be accompanying her.
Her chin lifted and even through her headscarf, he could see her smile. Her green eyes flashed.
Green eyes? Oh, Gods, no! Demyan gasped in shock. It's her! The Mossad female! She's found me!
He lifted both hands, palms open, while he desperately tried to think of a way out of this. Siofra slowly lowered the hijab from her face; she wanted him to know her before he died. Her eyes glittered with her anger and the smile on her face was fierce, a predator's grin before attacking its prey.
Petrovich swallowed, as good as he was, he preferred distance when he killed. He could tell by her stance and the low growl coming from between those curving, pink lips this one had no such compunction. She would enjoy getting bloody, and she proved it by lowering the scarf completely and making a show of pulling the two slender stilettos from her long, dark red hair.
Wonderingly, he realised she was very beautiful, slender and lithe, but shapely beneath the costume she wore. Her face, if not for her expression of barely contained rage, could have graced the cover of a fashion magazine. How on earth had someone so gorgeous ended up in their profession?
He smiled back; he couldn't help it. He addressed her in Russian, saying he hadn't expected anything like her. "You could stun any man, you are so beautiful. Truly, you are the one I missed in Cairo all those years ago?"
"You didn't miss," she snapped. "I took two bullets to the chest. Almost died." Now she hissed, "Like the others... all murdered. By you." Her eyes blazed. "But I will avenge them tonight."
Demyan could see his death in her eyes. But he tried to forestall it, anyway. "I had nothing against any of you. It was business. You know that. Only a job. You've done the same."
She shook her head no, vehemently, her braid swaying. "Never! We did kill, yes. Political enemies, terrorists. But we were betrayed by someone we trusted. And for what? To allow amoral, murdering savages to continue their rapine of helpless women and children? Because it was politically expedient? They could have simply recalled us."
"Yigol would not have listened. You know as well as I, once he got his teeth into a mission, he always followed through to the end. No matter the consequences." When she lifted a brow, he shrugged. "I do my homework."
While speaking, the two killers, the large male and the tiny female, had slowly circled each other. Sizing up the opponent and looking for an opening, a chance to catch the other off guard, a good time to strike. Both knew the first blow would need to be fatal. There would be no second chance.
Petrovich was hoping she would try to close with him; to strike from a near distance. He was sure, with his greater height and mass, he could avoid her first blow and then overpower her. He knew she'd be fast, but he did have a much longer reach. She would have to get inside it to drive one of those wicked-looking blades deep.
Something made a sharp noise further up the alley. Even though the sound had come from behind the woman, she never blinked. A shadow wavered and instinctively, the assassin's eyes flicked toward the movement and back. It was an error, one he would not live to regret.
Siofra threw one knife, knowing he would most probably deflect it. But even as the stiletto left her hand, she charged straight at the taller man, ducking under his sweeping arm. Right in his face, she looked up.
His expression of shocked surprise pleased her. The knife she had driven up under his ribs, just tickled the pericardium, the sac that protected his heart. Demyan groaned, his arms coming down and his hands closing around her throat. Siofra smiled again, even as he cut off her air, and pushed the blade all the way in.
Petrovich gurgled and slumped back, instantly dead, his hands dropping to his sides as he slid down the wall. She bent down and retrieved her bloodied blade, wiping it on the collar of his jacket. Then she turned to find the one he had batted aside.
~~~5~~~
She should have left it behind. Even though the battle had been short and relatively quiet, they had spoken to each other for several minutes. And circling each other in a dark alley made it obvious to whomever might have seen, that they were not friendly.
So, she should not have been surprised, when standing after lifting her second stiletto from the heap of trash it had fallen in, to be faced with a pair of armed men. Even though she knew it was too late, that they'd already seen her, Siofra lifted her hijab up and recovered her face.
She moved calmly, slowly, careful not to startle the pair of rebel soldiers aiming their Kalshnikovs at her. Blade replaced in its sheath, she raised her empty hands, palms facing the men. She did not look directly at their faces, keeping her eyes on their chests and the rifles.
One barked at her in the local dialect, an order of some kind. Probably wanted her to go with them. Not understanding him, she shrugged and looked confused, but remained silent. And still. Just standing quietly and now she added a trembling of her limbs.
They were not impressed, the second soldier offering the same command in a couple of different patois. She sighed and answered in Arabic, "I don't understand you." Then she shrugged again. She kept her hands in the open, at shoulder level.
Now the first soldier, moved closer, but still out of arm's reach. He looked her over more carefully and rubbed his chin with one hand. He was trying to decide if she was really a 'pure' woman who'd been accosted by the foreigner and protected herself, or if she was a follower of some religious faction. There were several in the surrounding area who wanted all foreigners out of what they considered an internal struggle.
She was tiny, slender and seemed young, but that meant nothing. The fanatics often recruited the young, finding them easier to sway and seemingly less dangerous. The Europeans and other foreigners were especially blind to them.
He spoke to her again, this time answering her in heavily accented, broken Arabic. She must accompany them back to base. Their commander would want to speak with her about this. He waved the hand not holding his rifle at the corpse splayed out behind her.
Siofra sighed and merely nodded. She walked forward, hands still up and was bracketed by the men. They marched her back the way Petrovich had come, not even pausing as they passed his body. It was obvious to everyone, he wasn't going anywhere soon.
They passed through the darkened streets, out of the alleys and byways of the poorer part of town. They crossed the railway tracks and the men pushed her into a big, black Mercedes. She almost laughed; the driver was actually wearing a limo operator type uniform, complete with a peaked, billed hat. He totally ignored his passengers, turning west and crossing the river towards downtown.[IMG] albums/ab309/ban_ [/IMG]
Siofra watched out the polarized window, curious as to where these surly guys were taking her. She had seen one using a cell as they were walking, before they met the car. She was rather surprised no one had attempted to lay hands on her, nor had they asked any of the usual questions. Perhaps they were leaving that to their boss, whomever he might be. She figured she would find out soon enough.
The car passed through a couple of makeshift checkpoints without stopping. The men manning them simply moved the barriers aside as the car approached. So, the boss, the owner of this vehicle, was well-known, a big wheel in the local scene. It did not particularly impress her, if it was meant to. She just watched and waited.
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Passing several high rise buildings in the better protected center of town, they entered a rich residential neighbourhood. The limo pulled into the gated drive of a big, cream-coloured house. He stopped and rolled down his window to speak with the man in the guardhouse. Receiving his okay, they pulled in and drove around to the back. [IMG] albums/ab309/ban_ [/IMG]
Siofra was urged out and quickly hustled into the building. The house was cool and dim inside, richly furnished with many lovely carpets and finely made furniture, paintings on the walls and objet d'art scattered on many small table and stands. She still wasn't impressed, passing most without a second glance as she followed her captors deeper into some wealthy man's home.
They entered and traveled down a long hallway that ended in carved double doors. One of the men knocked and a cultured voice bid him enter. He opened the right door just enough to stick his head through and spoke to someone inside.
Siofra could hear several quiet voices in the background, apparently arguing softly. Her guard pulled back and now fully opened the door. He jerked his head at her and passed through.
Siofra immediately went on guard, not that it would have been obvious to anyone observing her. Her eyes swept the room as she entered, noting the placement of furniture and lights, the number of people present and their positions relative to any possible avenues of escape. She gave another glance to the men present, noting which ones were armed and how and where they concealed their weapons.
Then she focused on their leader, the man this home belonged to. Tall, dark, somewhat Arabic-looking, he was obviously a cultured man. Dressed in a western style suit, he did wear the classic keffiyeh over his hair. Surprise marked his handsome features as he frankly stared at her.
"This is the creature that managed to take the life of my advisor?" His voice spoke of a foreign education, a faint accent to his Arabic. He waved a cupped hand at her in dismay.
Siofra bowed, but kept her eyes on his face. "Salaam aleikum, my Prince. Advisor? That man was a stone-cold killer. A KGB assassin. I did you a favour; he would have sold you out to the Russians."
The closest of her guards took one step forward and backhanded her to the ground. "You do not speak unless it is required, dog!" He hissed.
Siofra wiped the blood from her split lip and glared at him, her eyes sparking green fire. Then she smiled as she got up. It was not a pleasant expression. The guard inhaled quickly and backed away.
The prince moved closer; he was intrigued by this little spitfire of a female. She reminded him of the European girls he'd met while at his studies. Bold, opinionated, not afraid of anything or anyone. And her Arabic was impeccable; she had less accent than he.
He waved the guards back when they moved to intercept his approach. He decided to try something on a hunch. His next question to her was in English. "So, my fiery little one, where have you come from, and why are you here? What was Petrovich to you, that you felt it necessary to kill him, eh?"
Siofra's chin came up slightly and her eyes narrowed. So the prince wanted to play games, did he? She smiled slightly and answered him in Italian. "None of your business. People have died for prying into my life. I have no wish to make you the next." She stood in between his men, calm and relaxed, but he knew somehow she could erupt into deadly violence in the beat of a heart.
He was not sure of exactly what she had said to him, but he did recognise the tongue. "How many languages do you speak, my surprising guest?" Again, in English.
Siofra lifted a brow. "Guest? This is no way to treat a guest. Your father would be ashamed, my 'host'. You have not even offered me water... nor salt."
This time, the prince inhaled sharply. She had answered in the same language he'd used and reprimanded him to boot! So she also knew the ways of the desert tribes. But, she was correct. He had named her guest and she should be treated as such until and unless she proved otherwise. An intriguing puzzle, this tiny woman.
He nodded slightly, tipping his head to the side as he did, acknowledging her reproof. Waving a slender hand, he bade her come to a seating arrangement near a sideboard dotted with crystal, liquors and a large pitcher of iced water. He also motioned the guards to back off.
Even as Siofra took a step forward to follow the prince, her right arm flashed out and she punched the guard that had struck her. Right in the teeth, splitting his lips and staggering him back into his partner. "That is for acting without your commander's consent and injuring his guest. Think before you act next time. It may save your pitiful life." She hissed at him.
She had moved so fast, it was over and she had stepped up beside the prince, before the man had even straightened. His partner grabbed his arms, restraining him and both were shocked when Prince Valikhan laughed aloud. He shook his head and grinned; oh, yes, she was like a European. It was refreshing to have someone around who did not kowtow and carefully phrase their words to soothe him.
He poured her a glass of water with his own hands and offered it with a smile. "Who are you, little one? No proper Muslim woman as you appear, for certain."
"I am not Muslim at all, my Prince. My name is Siofra Raban. I have been all over the world and had only returned here to avenge my friends that were murdered by the Russian. I will happily leave you to your own concerns now that my mission has been accomplished."
"Oh, not yet! Please, my dear! You intrigue me. I must know more about you. Mission, you say? By whom are you employed? What friends? Where were they killed? How long ago?" he leaned back in his seat and smiled.
"There is so much I would know. But, first. Let me introduce myself. I am Prince Ali Valikhan. I am trying to establish peace in this area for people of all beliefs, though I do not say as much to most of my compatriots." He waved at the silent group across the room. "They would not understand, having not been exposed to much in the way of different cultures, as I have been."
Siofra nodded and took a small sip. "I noticed that immediately. It is evident in your carriage and manner of speaking, my prince." She added when he looked at her, perplexed. "Your English is excellent, by the way. Hardly any accent at all... Oxford, was it?" She grinned at his shock.
"Siofra Raban. You amaze me again, every time you open your mouth. Your last name... it could be from anywhere... France, Italy, even the mideast. But, Siofra? What is that?"
She laughed. "Indeed, and I wish I had met my father, so he could have told me. My mother was Scottish. My name means 'changeling' in Gaelic, her native tongue."
Now she grew serious. "She raised me alone in a Pakistani refugee camp. Until we were taken by Irani soldiers and she was sold to an emir. I escaped and fled to Israel. Where I was trained."
She said nothing more, but she didn't have to. She knew he understood by the way his sympathetic expression had changed to alarm and the sharp inhalation of his breath. He now realised he was sitting across from a Mossad-trained assassin, one of the most dangerous people in the world.
Valikhan swallowed and attempted to steel his features into calmness. He took a second deep breath and said quietly, "I think we should keep that just between us, alright? These friends of yours? The rest of your team?"
She barely nodded. "Yes. I have waited ten years to allow them to be able to rest in peace. Finally, it is done." She dropped her face, sad with memories, to her hands in her lap.
"Ten years?" He blurted in shock. She could see how he felt for her in his face.
"I was badly injured, almost died. But, I was lucky. Some kind people nursed me back to health and gave me a job." She sighed. "I have no one now. I betrayed their trust to finish this." She looked back up. "But, it had to be done. You understand, I think. You've lost someone, too. Haven't you?"
Prince Valikhan sighed. "My father. Murdered outside our home when I was away. I will eventually find the ones who did it. And they will pay for it." He sounded almost resigned. Siofra smiled sadly, in agreement. They did understand each other.
"So, what will you do now? This is a very dangerous area for a woman alone." He looked at her, "Well, for most women." Siofra acknowledged his comment with a small smile and a lifted brow, cocking her head to the side.
"I've no idea. I have no home to go back to, no family. I suppose I'll try to find someone who needs a person with my talents..." She shrugged.
"You could work for me." The prince blurted, seeming almost as surprised by his suggestion a she was. She burst out laughing, as much from shock as anything. When he frowned, she lifted a hand. "Not laughing at you, Sheik Valikhan. You just worried about my safety alone, and now you want to throw me right into the thick of things. It just seemed rather ironic."
"No, no! That's not what I meant at all." He argued. "I need... a man found. Someone who is very good at hiding, himself. A soldier... he's often acted as advisor to different groups. And he has contacts everywhere. Contacts I need."
She frowned, "A mercenary? Why?" Amazed by her perception, the prince answered openly.
"He's been fighting in this part of the world for a long time. Knows the people, the territory, the disagreements... like the back of his hand. And I've heard he is an excellent strategist and he can get me the things I need, weapons, supplies, and such."
"Ah. And you want me to find him?" Valikhan nodded. "And bring him to you, I suppose."
"That would be best, yes. If not, and you have explained what I wish... you'll have to kill him. I can't have him going to work for my enemies. Someone will recruit him; I have no doubt of it."
Siofra sighed, knowing she really had no choice. The prince was offering her a job, but she knew he'd have her hunted down if she refused. "What's his name and where was he last seen?" She asked, resigned.
Valikhan relaxed, glad she's accepted. She was much too beautiful to have put to death. Even if she was deadly, herself. "His name is Toorop. Hugo Cornelius Toorop, though he does use several aliases. He's a Belgian mercenary, a veteran of the 108th Bosnian Brigade. Last I heard, he was in Chechnya. Probably been dismissed by now, since the NATO troops have moved in. He'll be looking for work. Bring him to me, Siofra."
She nodded. "I'll need access to a computer... the net. And supplies. Give me 12 hours to prepare." Siofra stood and faced the prince.
He waved over one of the men who'd been silently watching their conversation. "This is Chuluun. My supply chief. He'll see you get whatever you need."
The Mongol bowed to the prince and then slightly less deeply to Siofra. He turned and motioned for her to follow. She was led to a smaller room, deeper in the house, with no windows. It was set up as a communications center; several computer stations and monitoring equipment filling all but the wall with the door.
She wrote out a list of supplies and gave it to Chuluun. Then he left her to her information gathering. An hour or so later, a quiet knock interrupted her. She opened the door to a serving woman with a platter of snacks and a pot of tea. Thanking the woman, Siofra placed the tray on a console, sampled the food, poured a cup of tea and went back to work.
She found more information than she expected, but most of it was hopelessly out of date. The only really useful bit was an interview from several years before. It gave her a good look at the man, his face, attitude and mannerisms. She printed herself several reference photos that she would memorize, then destroy.
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Finally, she was ready. Chuluun brought her a backpack filled with the things she'd requested. Wearing another set of clothes and a better-fitting pair of boots, Siofra said goodbye to the prince and slipped out. She shouldered the pack and took a deep breath. She was back to hunting again. And she would not fail; she never did, no matter how long it took.
~FINI~