Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (57 page)

“Run, Ali, Run away!”  She yelled,
jumped out and rolled in the sand under the wheels of the police car that was
right near their vehicle.  At that moment, two shots were fired.

The policemen didn’t notice her at all
but managed to shoot Ali and kill him.  Two police officers opened the car door
and shouted that the driver had disappeared.  Abigail had already crawled away on
her hands and knees and stood up in the distance, her heart racing, but she
behaved like the others, who were quiet and relaxed.  She continued like this
until she saw the Public Square ahead of her.

Suddenly there was silence and then the
crowds cheered and roared rhythmically, raising their fists in the air at the
figures being lifted up on the gallows and swinging from up high.

Nine people hung on the poles of the
crane.  The last in the row had red hair and ahead of him was the body of
Karim.  She knew that both of them were dead even before they were strung up, but
since the show must go on, they were tied by their necks and hoisted up.

“The plan is what counts,” she laughed
and cried.

She continued from here, turning her
back on the gallows and tried to ignore the cries of the frenzied crowd and
breathe through the pain in her soul.

Only
one of the condemned to be hanged got away from the hangmen that day.

Abigail
did not know that there were divided opinions with regard to her fate and
agreement had not yet been reached.  The argument was whether to hang her or
let her be executed by a firing squad.

Her escape caused havoc in the military
high command and the matter was transferred directly to Emir.  He decided that
he, personally, would to go after her into the field and destroy her.

She’s
a survivor, evasive and, as slippery as an eel,” he said and grimaced as he
recalled how she had escaped the death trap of Room 202 in his hostel.

Meanwhile, Abigail walked among the tens
of thousands who cheered in the square and raised their clenched fists in
rhythm with their cries. She closed her eyes and moved forward, crying and
taking leave of the nine people hanging on the gallows behind her.

She wasn’t sure where to go now. Should
she go home or continue walking wherever her legs would take her? 

She thought how her whole world had been
disrupted.  Karma, her love, had disappeared or was dead, her two only friends,
Karim, and Alice, had died and she had no one else in this part of the world. 
She considered where and how to carry on from here and contacted Michael and
almost screamed when she heard his voice.

“Michael,” she said, not addressing his
outburst of relief.

Apparently, the photographs of the
public hanging of the agents had been published all over the world, but the
names, made known earlier in the morning, had struck the ‘Mossad’ dumb.  They
learned that the codes had been cracked and a group from the organization had
been sentenced to death.

Abigail’s name was listed as one of ten,
who were to be hanged and Barak, cried out in anguish.

“Oh, my God, help me.  They’re going to
hang our Abigail!”

“Hey, calm down,” he heard. “I spoke to
her while they were hanging them on the crane.”

Still shocked and red in the face, Barak
stared at him, unable even to mouth the questions that arose in his mind.

“Yes, she got away,” Michael said,
“That’s what I came to tell you today.”

“Really?!  I must speak to her!”

“No, you mustn’t,” San stalled him,
“Have you lost your mind?  If you call her, there’s a chance she’ll be
discovered!  They’re looking for her.”

“Are you certain they didn’t catch her
after you spoke to her? Tell me, man, talk!”  Barak’s face was blood red.

“Listen, she sent me a picture of the
‘W’ palms near the Revolutionary Guards’ prison and asked me for her location.”

“Well, that’s right at the Square where
they hanged our people,” Barak said and laughed with joy, then suddenly grew
stern.

“And what if she didn’t manage to get
further away?”  Michael was silent because he didn’t have an answer to that.

All that transpired a half an hour
earlier and now, when he heard Abigail on the phone he restrained himself from
shouting and just enjoyed answering her:

Listen to me.  Just north of there is a
natural tunnel in a red rock cliff. The password is – OWL.” 

He paused and added,

“And you have no idea how wonderful it
is to hear your voice.”

When she reached the site, she squinted
to find the entrance that merged with the rocks, and when she detected it, she
hooted like an owl and was answered with a similar call.  She didn’t know that this
was where Karma had played a role in building the explosive wall of a drone,
with which they blew up the arsenal of “Shihab-3” missiles.

She remained there for the next two
nights.  Her body hurt from the blows she had suffered and bruises on her neck
changed color. At night, the sights she had seen returned to haunt her and wake
her up.  In her dreams, she heard ginger-haired Ali screaming and when Aisha
appeared to take her to the gallows, she awoke panic-stricken, turned on the
lights and was too scared to close her eyes.

In the middle of the second night, she
got up and sat on an armchair, stroked her belly that had swelled somewhat and
closed her eyes.  In the morning of the third day, she began to prepare for the
next mission. On that morning, she made the necessary, renew all her backpack,
instead of this was taken from her in prison.

Toward midday, she decided it was enough
and the time had come to set out on the assignment – to the reactor tucked away
deep underground, to Bushehr.

*
* *

            It
was designed to be a unique operation and tension was high in the Israeli
organization in advance of its execution.

            The
mission was directed at four nuclear sites, spread out over the breadth of the vast
country and small units of agents were sent to the reactors in Natanz, Qom, and
Arak.  Abigail was sent alone to Bushehr.  The general consensus in the organization
was that she would be more efficient if she worked alone.  The nickname of
“Lone Wolf” always accompanied her, but Barak was not pleased.

            “With
all the respect due to the abilities of that ‘Wolf,' I want to share my
concerns out loud with you,” he said.

            “For
example, how will she reach the reactors in Bushehr?  It’s naïve to think
that she will succeed in covering that enormous territory around them,
undetected, not to mention all the walking she will have to do.”

            “But
that problem would have come up, even if she wasn’t alone.  You’re talking
about actually approaching the place without being discovered.”  San clarified
the point.

            “In
my opinion, she will actually succeed in functioning better because she is
alone than she would in a group,” Foxy added.

            Michael,
who always knew how to calm them down and offer sensible proposals, interrupted
now.

            “I
have an idea,” he offered, “I will try and arrange for our people to be close
to her.  Salamas, for example, will provide transport.  Now, a name comes to
mind.  Ali Akhbar, who will also be able to guide her and, as always, we will
arrange for additional people to hover around in the shadows.”

            “Hmmm,
fine, that’s good,” Barak said.  “Now get on with it, why are you waiting?”

            “I
will get in touch with both of them, right away, today,”  Michael promised.

            “Carry
on, get going already!” San urged him, “Every minute you spend here, delays the
assignment by an hour.”   

Michael laughed and continued laughing
even after he had closed the door behind him, as he hurried to catch the flight
that had been arranged for him and would take off in another two or three
hours.

            The
evening before setting out on the operation, Abigail opened the bag Karim had
given her at the hotel and pulled a metallic paper-like dress out of it.  She
knew the garment would protect her from radiation.  The package also contained two
tiny boxes.  In one of them, she found earphones and a microphone the size of a
pin head that was attached to a folded metal wire, a recent development of the
Israeli Military Industries.  The second box contained an odorless white cream
that she was to smear on exposed skin, like her face and hands. There was also
an almost weightless scissor-like instrument, designed to clamp fine metal
tubes.

            Before
getting into bed, she put the protective dress on under her galabiya.  It was
almost five in the morning when she drank a glass of hot tea, put on her shoes
and went on her way.

            Abigail
knew she would be operating alone and laughed when she recalled Karim telling
her what Barak had said about her:

            “When
no one knows where she is – all systems go on alert.” 

This
was why she straightened the wire connected to the headset receiver and
reported only two words:

“I’m off”

           
It
was bitterly cold outside and her breath steamed out of her mouth.  She
directed it to her icy nose, to warm it, certain that it was red from the
cold. 

            She
thought how welcome something hot to drink would be and looked out for a
café, even though she knew it was not customary for a woman to sit among
men, especially not on her own.

            She
reached the main road, walked on the sidewalk and looked for a cab that would
take her to the large Urmia Junction, from where, she assumed, it would be easy
to reach any place.

            All
at once, a dark vehicle swerved off the road onto the sidewalk. Abigail heard a
thud behind her, screamed and jumped aside.  The offending driver got out of
the car, bent over and peered at the man lying under his front wheels. Then, he
got back in his car and drove away, leaving the wounded man lying on the
pavement.  Abigail stared at what was happening, and a sudden thought entered
her mind that at this very moment she was saved from Attempted assassination.

A gray car speeded up and stopped with a
shriek of brakes.  The driver got out, left the door open and the motor
running.  Abigail did not hesitate for a second, climbed inside, put the car
into gear and sped away, chasing after the vehicle that had hit the pedestrian. 
She ignored the wild gestures of the driver she had left behind.

            At
this hour, the traffic was sparse and within a minute or two she saw the car
she was chasing driving very fast.  She overtook cars on her right and on her
left as she crossed the white line running down the center of the road.

            She
saw a truck in the opposite lane approaching her and on a snap decision Abigail
swerved in front of the dark car, cut in front of it sharply and slammed on the
brakes all at once.  In her rear-view mirror, she saw that the car she had just
overtaken was trying to stop. It came right up to her and to avoid colliding into
her back, swerved into the lane of the oncoming traffic, in front of the truck.

            As
a result of the collision, the dark vehicle overturned on its side and shot
over to the nearby ravine on the shoulder of the road.  Abigail drew up at the
side and ran to it. She looked at the driver and choked back her cry of
amazement.  The driver was Emir, the clerk from the ‘Chai Huneh’ Inn.  Abigail had
no idea that he had been following her for several days.

            There
was not a drop of blood to be seen in the car but Emir lay motionless and
shards of broken glass from the windows were strewn all over.  Abigail leaned
through the shattered window and whispered:

            “You
wanted to meet me – well, now we’ve met.”

            The
driver of the truck in the collision ran after her,

“Are you alright?” he inquired, and she
nodded, mumbled something and returned to the car she had been driving.  She
made a wide U-turn and returned to the place she had left a few minutes earlier.
The crowd milled around the injured man, who had been hit and she saw the
driver of the car she had appropriated and was driving.  He ran to her, waved
his fist and yelled:

            “What
the hell is going on here?  Why did you take my car?!”

            “I
was confused, I don’t know what happened to me,” she said and looked down
apologetically.  She smiled the most ingratiating smile she could come up with
and continued in gentle tones:

            “If
you’re willing, I would be happy to travel on from here with you.”

            “Oh,
really?”  He stared at her and responded.  “Now, I’m confused.  Well, okay,
move over to the passenger seat.”

            Of
course, she didn’t know that he was one of the agents, who had been sent to
keep an eye on her, and he also noticed today’s attempt on her life on the
sidewalk. 

            An
ambulance siren was heard in the distance and Abigail urged him to make haste,

            “Let’s
get away from here before they involve us in this accident, too.”

            The
car got on its way though they were compelled to stop behind a line of cars
that moved ahead slowly.  When they passed near the site of the accident
between the truck and the dark car, the driver clicked his tongue sadly.

“Tzk, tzk…What is happening today?  Has
everyone gone mad?”

Abigail laughed briefly and followed how
the slain driver was being removed from the dark-colored car, with interest. 
An ambulance siren was sounded behind them, and the driver maneuvered a way
through the row of vehicles, as he still looked around.  Only then, did he turn
to Abigail and ask:

“Where were you planning to go, Madam?”

His face looked youthful in spite of the
gray that peppered his hair and beard.  Abigail peered at him and hesitated
whether to tell him that her final destination was – Bushehr. She pulled a
banknote out of her sleeve and waved it in front of his eyes, and as the driver
glanced at it, she said:

“I am sure that you won’t be able to
take me further than the village of Ardabil on the border with Iran, right?

“Oh, without question,” he said.  “I
want you to know that I admire independent women and it will be my pleasure to
take you.”

He put the bill in his pocket right away,
glanced at her again and introduced himself:

“My name is Salamas.  What’s yours?

“Naima,” she replied, straightened her
hijab on her head and tucked away a curl from her perspiring forehead.

“Naima, Naima,” he rolled her name on
his tongue, “I have a daughter your age and two little grandsons from her. 
Now, I ask myself, whether…”

He glanced at her again and looked back
at the road.  Salamas was making an effort to play the role of a man who had
arrived on the scene by chance.

“You’re right.  My husband died this
week and I am returning to Iran, to my empty home,” she told him the first thing
that came into her mind.  When they passed by the village of Chalus, she
wondered whether to suggest to the driver that they stop at an inn.

“Salamas,” she ventured hesitantly, “I
was embarrassed to sit in a café.  You know, as a woman… but now that you’re
with me, if you are willing…”

“Of course, with pleasure,” he answered
gallantly and slowed down.  He looked out for a café and found one at an
intersection.

Before they got out of the car, Abigail
pulled another banknote out of her sleeve and gave it to him with a shy smile,
mumbling something about it being on account of her beverage.

He ordered and also paid for the order
of tea and sandwiches they ate with the bill and by eight they were back in the
car again.

They drove along the east coast of the
Caspian Sea, passed Nastarud, then Bandar Anzali, and drove along the winding
road between hills that hides and reveals the sea round the bends in the road. 
Abigail yawned out loud and when he stared at her, she laughed apologetically.

After an hour and a half, they drove
onto the shoulder of the road and stopped.  The driver pointed to a sign that
showed they had reached the border, but he left the engine running.  He turned
to Abigail with a wordless question.

‘Yes, I know, we’ve arrived,” she said
as she opened the door slightly.

Three soldiers stood at a border post in
a hut some fifty yards away.  They stared at the stationary car and Abigail
spoke quietly as she did not look at Salamas:

“I will pay you two more bills if you
agree to continue with me to Astara.”

“Close the door and let’s go,” he told
her, “I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere and I have time.”

It never occurred to her that Salamas
was doing everything to help her reach her destination and knew it was Bushehr.

Twenty minutes later they reached the
coastal town of Ardabil and entered its narrow streets.  A trickle of muddy
water flowed down the road and filthy children in ragged clothes ran around the
puddles.  Two women watched out for them from the entrances to the shabby
houses.  Wash lines were stretched between the rows of houses, on which clothes
and rags fluttered in the wind.

The car progressed very slowly in the
wake of two goats and a kid skipping beside them in the middle of the road,
being hurried on by a child wielding a branch. They passed a woman, sitting on
a stool at the entrance of one of the houses. She was milking a large nannygoat
whose enormous udders almost reached the ground.

A road sign at the corner showed the way
to the town of Astara.  The driver drew up to the side of the road and stopped
as he said:

“Yes, we’ve arrived, but Salamas says
that one doesn’t leave a woman alone in the middle of the town,” and she
replied with a smile:

“And Naima says thank you very much to
Salamas and that it will suffice her if he brings her to the station from which
the train to Baku travels.”

“Ah, a train?  That’s absolutely fine.”

When they arrived, Abigail turned the
driver to give him another bill to reward him for his efforts and their hands bumped,
because he wanted to return a bill to her.  They both burst out laughing.

“I want to tell you that you are a
unique woman and I pray that Allah will bless you and find a good new man for
you, and also…”  Here he hesitated a little before he continued, “Yes, and that
your endeavors meet with success.”

It seemed to Abigail that she noticed
moisture shining in his eyes.

*
* *