The Great Deception (12 page)

"Others left with me because they had the
same conviction."

Seth full of curiosity asked, "Same
conviction about what?"

"You got any coffee? You
know me, I won't do much talkin' without a good roast and my
cigs."
"I have half a pot," Seth
answered. "It'll need to be heated up though."

"That'll do," Tyrone said in a husky
voice.

"What about the rest of your crew?"

"What?"

"Aren't there five of you?" Tyrone
asked.

"The rest are sleeping. We're on watch,"
Baruch replied.

"Yeah, they needed some rest after that
intense game of blackjack earlier tonight," Seth cracked.

He looked over at Baruch
as they headed back to the house to see if he'd react at
all.
But he didn
’
t show much.

Tyrone pulled out a pack and lit one up.
Three rings of smoke left his mouth, dissipating into the night
air.

Seth's eyes followed the
glowing red stick of tobacco and carcinogens go from the mouth to a
slack, relaxed position down at Tyrone's side.
"I thought you quit that habit."

The African American
licked his lips and said with a straight face, "Giving up smoking
is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I've done it
thousands of times."
"Mark
Twain."

"Are you gonna fix me a cup of coffee or
what?" he demanded with a wink.

"Coming right up, boss," Seth said shaking
his head and smiling.

Tyrone followed him into the house, taking
a few more puffs as he went which prompted Seth to turn around and
say, "Oh no, you're gonna have to extinguish that if you wanna join
me in the kitchen. You're walking into a smoke-free
environment."

Tyrone curled his upper lip in disgust.
There were no ashtrays around so he dropped the joint where he felt
like it and stamped it out. The shifty character did something
unexpected by reaching in his rear pocket for something. Tyrone’s
guilty eyes darted around making sure no one was watching. In a
stealthy move the man placed a note where it’d eventually be seen,
just not in the moment by Baruch or Seth.

He retraced his steps back to the porch.
Tyrone then looked up at the heavens, casting a suspicious long
look. Because of what he knew he couldn't look at the sky the
same.

Tyrone stuck his hands in his pockets and
turned towards the house. He noticed a low plank set on stilts
underneath a window with a face brick wall as the backdrop. A small
resigned sigh proceeded him as he lowered his weight onto the
bench.

His dark eyes traveled
the free range. There were nothing but low hills and fields between
them and Ukraine's southern border.
Heavy
footsteps from behind made the plank boards of the porch creek.
Seth had returned with Baruch.

The latter man held a flask in one hand and
a sour expression on his face. There was little wonder as to what
the contents were. Seth meanwhile carried two short white mugs with
thick handles.

He handed the steaming beverage to Tyrone
and watched the thankless man sip and contemplate.

"We have less than five days, boys," he
said at last.

Baruch's drink dripped from his beard.
"Till what?"

"The end of the world."

--

By mid-afternoon his case officer felt the
need to check in.

"What are your plans tonight, agent?"

"I'm going on a date, actually."

It was unclear whether
or not the impersonal voice on the other end appreciated the
facetiousness. The fact is, these guys learned to go through life
without much of a sense of humor.
"The
German state secretary and commissioner?"

"Yes."

"Need backup?"

"It could be dangerous..." Alfonso
joked.

"Do you plan on bringing them in?"

"I plan on enjoying this."

"Agent Marcelo, are you going to be an
asset or a liability to us?"

"Send a tag team to pick us up. Don't keep
me waiting."

"What have you learned from them so
far?"

"Not over the phone. I'll brief you when I
come in tonight."

"I expect to be read in first thing,
agent."

There was more the case
officer had to say, but Alfonso wouldn
’
t let him finish.

"Gotta go."

In truth, he had a couple of hours to
kill.

Alfonso didn’t like working with his
handler very much. The man didn't know how to separate work from
personal affairs and as a result the breakdown interfered in how he
managed assets. On more than one occasion Alfonso had to bluff his
way out of hot spots his handler created for him. The mistakes
needed to be stopped before they jeopardized Marcelo's life for the
last time.

Since he played the role of street bum
during the day, it's not like he had any particular place he could
go to and wait.

Life was one big adventure.

Alfonso of course did
better on his evening rotation than the survival of the fittest
drama on the streets of Barcelona the better part of the
day.
Of any part in the city, the
Eixample district became home to Alfonso Marcelo. The neighborhood
is anchored by the beautiful Sagrada Familia Roman Catholic
cathedral with its towering spires. It also has a high-speed subway
line running all the way to France.

...

A big street clock indicated the time
dragged: a shade past three. With the agency instant meal already
wearing off this wasn't good news. Alfonso wandered the streets
because that's what he did. He felt gratitude for the fact that
policemen weren't sniffing around asking pedestrians on his
whereabouts. Grateful, also, that he didn't have to endure any more
of the awkward shenanigans between two German officials who had a
thing for each other.

Alfonso had managed to stay single all his
years. A feat in and of itself considering how handsome the
swashbuckling Jack Sparrow looka-like was. He hadn't even been on a
date for over five years. Part of that most likely had to do with
his most recent assignment--vagrant, bum. Nothing in the rulebook
however forbade interagency dating. There were some single females
he worked closely with, but none of them fancied Marcelo.

For now singleness
actually spelled happiness. Another reason he would always tell
himself why a relationship would never work was the fear of her
being used as leverage in a hostage situation. Alfonso couldn't
live with the thought of that; knowing his occupation could
possibly put another life besides his own at risk.
Siblings? He didn't have any. Being the lone
child from a home that barely scraped together the cash to keep the
land lord away taught him at a very early age how to be responsible
and independent. From time to time he would wonder how his parents
got on. They lived in Israel still, he was sure of this. If poverty
or disease hadn't claimed them, then they had successfully reached
old age in their seventies.

He never actually told his parents he
dreamed of becoming a spy. What he did for Mossad fulfilled a
childhood fantasy of his though. The only downer to living the
dream was that his work seldom involved dressing as an action
figure brandishing an

Uzi, ready to do battle like he had
envisioned he'd do.

Only twice did Alfonso need to blow
somebody's brains out. Both times in self- defense. He had to live
with the images, knowing he took two lives. Few people are able to
kill and feel nothing. He wasn't part of that club.

Alfonso looked a little
silly jogging in place at the street corner while he waited for the
crosswalk to be clear of traffic. He didn't have a warmup suit on.
No sweats or running shoes. Just his everyday dumpster uniform with
its permanent stains and holes in odd places that
weren
’
t patched
up yet.

Some people might find it hard to fathom
being in a city full of people is the loneliest experiment ever.
But if you're a Mossad agent? It's the truth. Alfonso's personality
didn't necessarily lend itself to being a socialite, but
nevertheless he had needs just like the rest of the world existing
beside him.

He looked at the person next to himself.
She also waited for the signal to change. But she engaged in an
interesting phone conversation from the looks of it. Boyfriend
probably. An elderly woman played with her granddaughter's hair.
The little girl cherished the extra attention and the colorful
strands woven into her hair.

Alfonso wasn't one to
get lost in his own thoughts during the absence of human
interaction. Rather he employed his mind in elementary puzzles to
stay sharp. Whether it be a man's necktie, a woman's purse, a
landmark...almost anything was game to Alfonso. The man didn't get
straight A's in college for nothing. He had his own system, and it
worked.
The white traffic signal began to
flash; people responded to it. Alfonso crossed at reduced speed
though. He was in no hurry to go anywhere.

--

Over the years the U.S.
Air Force covertly put shuttles into orbit. No one knew their
mission or what their payload was. The first one hitched a ride on
an Atlas rocket to join the satellite crowd looking down on planet
earth. Then another joined its brother in space a year later. Both
missions were judged a success by leaders in
Washington. Which is why the Armed Services Committee saw no
harm in continuing the program under DOD's direction to be a
thirtyclass acquisition over the course of twenty-five
years.

What really makes these space craft
especially effective, is their invisibility cloak. For years Area
51 and Skunkworks developed stealth planes for the military. The
unconventional, less-thanaerodynamic airframes were expert at
deflecting electromagnetic waves from radar rendering them nearly
"invisible." However, the holy grail of

stealth technology not
only involves simply fooling radar, but also the human eye.
Thanks to the collaborative efforts of
universities, government think-tanks, and other ancillary groups, a
light-bending material came into existence. It essentially bent
light around objects without the aid of cameras or mirrors. And
best of all: it came cheap. In a few years after rigorous testing
and development, a version of the invisibility cloak clothed the
Air Force's secretive spacecraft. Best of all, the specialty skin
could endure re-entry which then multiplied the planes' number of
uses exponentially.

After the Union dissolved Scorpion waited
in the wings to gain control of the Air Force's Space Command...and
the fleet of thirty space ships no one knew existed. Howard had far
more devious plans for them than functioning as moving satellites
conducting routine ISR (intelligence, surveillance, and
reconnaissance). He planned to put Damion Westover's military-grade
holo emitters in the mission bay of each plane.

...

"It is time. Commence the Great Deception,"
a voice that sounded an awful lot like

Howard's instructed the highest commander
in the Scorpion hierarchy.

A little Star Wars-esque
hologram of the caped and hooded individual that gave the orders
appeared in front of the commanding officer with the power to
initiate the mission. He tipped his cap and nodded his
consent.
"Right away your
excellency."

The silent hunters in
outer space lurking around the black nothingness navigated around
space debris and satellites to get in position. Longitude and
latitude coordinates were sent to the thirtystrong fleet which
positioned them over every major population center on earth.
When it was time to begin the show, the
invisible psychological warfare squad of

Scorpion beamed incredibly realistic
holograms of an extra-terrestrial invasion force.

Huge black, dish-shaped
saucers partially blotted out the sunset over cities in the Western
hemisphere. In the east, they rode in on the wings of a beautiful
sunrise. To anybody on the ground witnessing the spectacle it must
have felt eerily similar to the movie
Independence Day
.

--

The math quiz unfolded
and in the end, it proved to be more subdued than a lamb to the
genius Jewish boy. Afterwards the students were asked to grade each
other's quizzes. Azriel stifled a yawn and made the exchange with
the person that sat to his right. A moment later when he got his
back, an
A
+
circled at the top of his paper confirmed his
suspicions.

"Good job," his seat
mate whispered after handing off the flawless quiz to Azriel.
"Thanks, you too," the boy dutifully replied. In truth he
hadn
’
t even
bothered to remember what grade the boy next to him got.

Already he figured pre-cal to be a bore. He
had hoped he missed the girl of his dreams slip in undetected, but
that just wasn't the case. The one with the pigtails, blonde hair,
and pink cardigan/sweater combo planted herself firmly in Azriel's
brain. He knew it'd be unrealistic to share EVERY class with her,
but four out of five would be nice.

...

The nearly-invincible double agent flew
helicopters, drove against the flow of traffic in crazy chase
scenes and gave his victims a third eye more often than
not...because he could. The pages turned themselves like any good
fiction novel.

Another interruption.