Suzette B's Blog

Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Meanwhile at a secluded hillside in the Yagur community in Haifa…

Like a bronze-backed tree snake, lunging for the next branch upon which to slither, Lady Cat drummed her well-manicured fingernails on the Louis XIV desk in her high-tech Yagur office, kitted out with a dozen computer screens displaying output from her own surveillance satellites—planning her next move.

She began dialing her 128-bit cellphone but then she stopped…

Something on her satellite replay screens suddenly caught her attention.

Unbeknownst to Mr. Nowhere, Lady Cat was watching him…from the sky…

She grabbed the arms of her high wing back chair incredulous, as she watched the satellite infra-red screen replay of Mr. Nowhere’s actions on the Hotel Xara rooftop during his “shooting” of Venomiss late last night.

Lady Cat, her mind racing with her self-confessed “best friend,” paranoia, zoomed in on Mr. Nowhere’s rifle. Then, she zoomed in on Venomiss poised to demolish the light housing on the lamp pole.

“You bugger, b*llocks…you missed deliberately.” Whispered Lady Cat to the image of Mr. Nowhere’s red heat signature on the satellite replay screen.

Then, calmly she resumed dialing her encrypted phone:

“Hey, did you get her yet?”

“Still on her trail. I…” replied Mr. Nowhere.

“Belay that kill order!” Lady Cat interrupted, “Come to Haifa. I need you here. I will arrange transport. Get to Saint Joseph hospital’s rooftop helipad by four a.m., Malta time, no later. See you soon.”

“But… what about Mr. Zero and the rest…”

“…Never mind them,” Lady Cat again interrupted, “I haven’t heard from any of them; they all went dark since things went pear-shaped there with all you people’s incompetence!”

“Okay, at four hundred hours…on my way.”

Mr. Nowhere, his hand still dripping wet from extracting his phone from its watertight pouch inside his wetsuit breast pocket, said to Venomiss—

“She wants me in Haifa at the compound. My gut tells me she has somehow discovered that I have been undercover in her organization. She is sending transport, at 0200 Zulu time. Wanna join me on a flight to an obvious trap?”

As Mr. Nowhere unzipped his wetsuit. Venomiss replied:

“Her timing seems awfully convenient huh. If indeed she does know that we are on to her, why call you to come to Haifa now? We will have to formulate a plan of attack.”

Mr. Nowhere wriggling out of his wetsuit nodded in agreement.

The voice at the other end of the conference phone in Venomiss’ home office onboard The Vengeance 2 finally spoke again:

“I will go smooth things over with Mossad and with luck perhaps get you both some eyes on the ground in Haifa before you arrive. Captain Phelpson will assist you with equipment and extraction when your assignment is complete. You both know what must be done. Are you both okay with that?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” answered Venomiss and Mr. Nowhere in unison.

With that said, the conference call phone squeaked as the connection terminated.

“By the way…who is that “Your Grace” we had been speaking with? I was told only that he is some big wig?” Mr. Nowhwere inquired.

“You don’t know? For real?” asked Venomiss shaking her head in genuine disbelief, as she continued her response…

“He is the Security Advisor to the Her Royal Highness’ Private Secretary…”

Suddenly there was an authoritative knock at Venomiss’ office door onboard The Vengeance 2 submarine.

Without awaiting a reply, Captain “Skiff” Phelpson opened the door and walked in.

He held out a tray. On it: a vegan submarine sandwich for Venomiss and one with chopped hamburger for Mr. Nowhere. A fresh carafe of expresso rounded out the hastily prepared offering on the sturdy plastic tray.

Captain Skiff Phelpson, with one hand behind his back concealing something else… said, as he extended the tray:

“I had my Second, the Commander rustle up “tea” for you two …and for dessert…” handing the tray to Mr. Nowhere and then swinging a large hockey-sized bag around from behind his back…

“Your weapons and equipment for your…’crusade‘ in the Holy Land.”

“Thank you,” replied Venomiss taking the heavy bag almost half her height and size.

“Captain Skiff, we should leave the submarine by one hundred hours Zulu time (three a.m Malta time). Can you arrange transport to St. Joseph Hospital’s helipad?”

“Sure, Commander Kolcannon will take care of you.”

Handing off a small round cellphone to Venomiss, Captain Skiff Phelpson cautioned:

“Captain Venomiss, when you are ready for me to send in the “cavalry” use this to signal. The verbal command to engage is “Hellfire 1.” Abort code if needed is “Brimstone 2.” You will have twenty minutes to get the heck out of there after your signal to engage is acknowledged. Understood?”

“Aye Captain!” saluted Venomiss and Mr. Nowhere standing at official attention as Captain Skiff Phelpson, exited.

***

Meanwhile in Malta…

A few hundred kilometers from the Xara Hotel, Mr. Goldman was in a panic.

“Oh God…what have I done?” He wailed as he stared in horror at the words on his phone “Call Ended” blinking in red letters. He had been abandoned by his lover, Lady Cat in his time of need. No help was coming from her vast resources.

Then the sound of police sirens in the pitch darkness of Malta’s power outage—a direct result of the earlier earthquake, gripped his soul. Mr. Goldman pictured himself: arrested, tried, and sentenced to death for treason. He saw his own shadow marching down a prison aisle in handcuffs and in leg chains, leading towards his execution. His stomach could not stand the vision. He retched in the grass as the sirens drew closer. He pulled himself together, wiping his lips with his right shirt sleeve.

Suddenly overhead, the sound of whooshing helicopter blades seemed to materialize out of thin air. Its blinding lights shone a path in the thick grove where he hid.

Then Mr. Goldman ran….straight into the waiting Malta police blockade poised to open fire. The local authorities had assembled in full force based on a tip, that a heavily armed terrorist hiding in the bushes near the Hotel Xara’s helipad was responsible for the blast that shook the island a few hours earlier injuring several Malta citizens.

Mr. Goldman put his hands up…in surrender.

***

Meanwhile…back in Haifa…

In her secret hilltop villa in the back far reaches of the Yagur community, Lady Cat zippered her packed Louis Vuitton carryon.

“Those men (aka The Pale Rider) are not to be trifled with!” Lady Cat mumbled with worry in her voice to her companion. “I have to make good on my promise…or else.”

Walking to her private executive jet’s landing strip in the compound, bags in hand, Lady Cat spoke to her companion—her husband, Mr. Zero—

“Darling, Mr. Nowhere betrayed us. Venomiss too, I trusted them. How could people be so darn devious? I feel like a fool. Oh well, there is some comfort. As we planned—Mr. Nowhere and Venomiss will no doubt bring “the cavalry” here to Haifa soon… And we will be long gone.”

“Malta was a great smoke-screen to flush out the moles in our midst, my love, and to feed them false intel.” Mr. Zero replied.

“Darling, did your teams prep the incendiaries in the compound?”

Drawing Mr. Zero closer to her side as he nodded “Yes,” Lady Cat continued…

“Good. So, when their (British Navy) hellfire missiles hit our incendiary devices already in place here at the compound, the blast yield will increase exponentially downward into the earth. Then, The Pale Rider group will have their crater to begin mining magma here in Haifa.”

“And, when we collect our one billion euro fee for services rendered; then, we will be…well…in the point zero one percent!” Mr. Zero replied, laughing at his own personal pun.

“Did you cloak the compound so that their satellites, even when they do come in range in twelve hours, can’t see that this place is deserted?”

“Of course my love, of course.” Lady Cat replied.

Then, taking hold of each other’s hands, Lady Cat and her husband Mr. Zero boarded their private jet in Yagur, Haifa. Closing the door to the Dassault Falcon 8X aircraft, Lady Cat smiled at her own brilliance—blinded by her ego’s applause.

Meanwhile…Lady Cat did not notice when her husband, Mr. Zero, an accomplished pilot, already seated in the Dassault Falcon’s cockpit, fired up the plane’s three Whitney and Pratt engines and changed their agreed-upon course heading…

***To be continued in the Finale Next Sunday***