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Home The Secret Exploits of Angevine Rose	The Secret Exploits of Angevine Rose The Triakis Action Copyright 2008 by M. Wolf Mykonos
	I. Michael Hazard arrived on the island of Mykonos aboard the tourist boat that came daily from the mainland of Greece. He looked like a tourist. In his early thirties, Hazard was a well-built, good-looking man with black, short-cropped hair. He wore a black cotton shirt and lightweight white denim trousers, white canvas shoes. He carried a patchwork leather overnighter -- and himself -- very well. He wasn't a tourist, though -- he wasn't here to see the sights. He'd been to Mykonos before, but even if he hadn't, years of extensive travel had made him so "cosmopolitan" that he felt at home anywhere in the world -- more "at home" than he felt, these days, in the old neighborhood back in Hell's Kitchen. The gunmetal gray eyes might have given him away to someone observant enough to notice that they focused on faces and not scenery. The gaily-hued panorama of the paralia held no interest for him, but everything that occurred along the length of the bustling waterfront did. Hazard's eyes, however, were concealed by dark Carrera shades. They were also disconcertingly keen, sharply alert. They were the eyes of a man for whom the world held few surprises. Most remarkably, considering the brutality, evil and deceit they had witnessed for so long, they were still full of humanity, still able to reflect sympathy and humor. Quitting the gangplank of the brightly-adorned charter boat, Hazard broke ranks with the rest of the new arrivals and strolled towards the row of picturesque houses fronting the paralia. Pausing there, he hailed a passing horse-drawn carriage and directed the grizzled Greek who held the reins to deliver him at the hotel. His room was complete with a balcony view of the turquoise and indigo harbor. On the slope below the hotel was arrayed a cluttered press of houses and shops, whitewashed cubes with pastel highlights dissected by labyrinthine streets of ancient stone. Mykonos was truly a beautiful Aegean jewel. But, as with so many of the Greek Isles in recent years, it had been overwhelmed by the tourist horde. "A nice place to die," he murmured pensively. "But I wouldn't want to live here." No, not in Greece. There were too many bad old memories here -- and, quite possibly, there would be some bad new ones soon. He made a mental note to compliment The Department's facilitator, Mrs. Smith, for acquiring him such sterling accommodations on such short notice -- and this at the height of the tourist season. Then he remembered that in ancient Rome, gladiators had been feted and spoiled before going off to the coliseums to die for the amusement of the crowd. Wrapping chains of iron discipline around his impatience, Hazard descended to the hotel eatery for a lunch of souvlaka washed down with fresh milk. He took his time -- for him eating had always been an experience to savor. He thought it had something to do with the fact that during his childhood he'd sometimes gone hungry. Besides, he wanted time to watch. So he lingered over the meal, trying to decide if his appearance on the scene was going to trigger an immediate response. He could be sure that they knew he had arrived. If Cybil was right -- and when wasn't she? -- then the cell he was up against was well-organized and run by one of the KGB's most brilliant controls. Sitting in a corner, his back to a wall, Hazard kept tabs on all comings and goings without really seeming to, on the alert for any untoward attention directed his way. A pair of vivacious young British women were flirting with him -- but that wasn't untoward. He rewarded them with a smile that was polite but made no promises. Mixing business with pleasure was a bad habit that he at least sometimes managed to avoid. Besides, his thoughts dwelled on another young woman, a young woman he could scarcely wait to see again. But then that had been the case since they'd first met.... "The Greek Isles are full of scenery," Cybil had said when she had briefed him in her office in the old Georgetown brownstone that served as Department K's headquarters, "including hundreds of beautiful women." She had paused and fastened her gaze -- eyes so deep violet in hue that in a certain light they appeared black -- on Hazard. "Fortunately, you won't let yourself be distracted. You'll keep your mind on the mission. Wish I could say the same for Angevine." "Now, Cybil," said Hazard, "don't be such a stick in the mud. Ange is a young woman, and young women believe in romance. I can't count the times The Department has taken advantage of that. So what's it going to be? Asset, or liability?" "That depends," replied Cybil, her voice raspy from thirty years of chain-smoking. "When it's all part of the job at hand, fine. But when she goes AWOL just because one of her lovers dies . . . ." "Just because." Hazard shook his head. "Cybil, you're all heart." "The woman was an agent. It's a dangerous line of work. And she wasn't even one of ours." Cybil sounded as though it was beyond her comprehension why anyone would give a care about  someone who did not work for Department K. "So what difference does that make? She was Mossad. At least she wasn't an enemy agent." Cybil fired up one of her Gauloise cigarettes, a preference she had acquired twenty five years ago as a Canadian working for the British SOE with the French Resistance during World War II. She reminded Hazard of an aged Marlene Dietrich, a small gray hawkish woman who sat in a leather chair much too large for her. He sometimes wondered why she didn't get a smaller chair for her office, one that didn't make her look like a gnome. But then, appearances mattered not to Cybil. Only results. "No matter who she was," she rasped,  "there is no place for those kinds of feelings when you're in the field." "Yeah, well, despite the best efforts of the people at The School, we're not robots," said Hazard, annoyed. A mirthless smile spread across Cybil's creased, aquiline face. "You're not sorry to end your little stint at The School, are you, Michael?" "Cybil, you are the undisputed world champion master of the understatement." "We had to stash you somewhere ... out of the way, Michael. Below the radar. "Standard operating procedure when one member of an action goes rogue." "Ange would never have flipped on me. And she didn't go rogue. You know, this happened once before." "I know. But that was for ten days, and she was being drugged." "Point is, I found her then, and I could have found her this time, too. Instead, you stick me in The School, and spend two months locating her." "An agent with your kind of experience is a real asset at The School," said Cybil blithely. "I'm sure you were a big help to all the recruits." Hazard grimaced. "Fact is, I could have found Angevine in a lot less time." "We thought she'd go far afield. Southeast Asia, maybe. We know she has a lot of connections in that part of the world. Surprised us to find her so close. She's on Mykonos. But we wouldn't have known that if we hadn't broken a KGB code." "What?" Hazard had been relieved to hear that Ange was found. Not recovered, just found, but at least still alive. Now, though, he was starting to get a bad feeling. "What code?" "The code Borodov used to inform his superiors that he'd located Angevine Rose." "Ilya Borodov," murmured Hazard. "Don't tell me . . . ." Cybil nodded. "Apparently he's running the cell that made the attempt on Triakis. The one that got Yasmin Liraz killed." "Huh." Hazard sat hunkered down in his chair, hands tightly clasped and tapping against his chin as he pondered all this news. Borodov, one of Angevine's old lovers -- and that was quite a story in and of itself -- had mounted the operation that had resulted in the death of one of her more recent lovers. Hazard shook his head ruefully. Several years shy of thirty and already Angevine Rose had a past that came back to haunt her all too frequently. Blowing perfect smoke rings, Cybil allowed Hazard time to sort his thoughts. "So, Triakis went to ground and never came back up and they can't find him," said Hazard, finally. "But they found Ange instead. And they've got her on a long lead." "Correct. Thinking she might give them a clue to the whereabouts of their wayward scientist. A long shot, admittedly, but at this stage they'd be desperate enough to play those." "That's why they haven't grabbed her already." Must be hard for Borodov to exercise restraint in that regard, mused Hazard. The Soviet spymaster would be wanting Angevine Rose in his bed apart from everything else. "But Ange doesn't know where Triakis is. Right?" "Not yet she doesn't. But you're going to tell her." "I'm not following you." Cybil blew a perfect smoke ring, then leaned forward in his chair to explain . . . . Sitting in the Mykonos restaurant, his meal concluded, Hazard tested his willpower, fighting the urge to hurry and find Angevine, and ordered another glass of Boutari ouzo.  He forced himself to relax. Soon enough he would take to the streets in search of her. Everything had been in limbo for two months. Two months of wondering if she were even still alive. Another hour wouldn't make any difference. It had all started when Department K agreed to participate in Israel's plan to entice Triakis out of the USSR. The beautiful Yasmin Liraz had been the bait. But the Mossad didn't have the network needed to bring him out. The Americans did -- and in exchange for their help, they would have an opportunity to debrief Triakis. It was a perfect opportunity to find out exactly where the Soviets were in the arms race. Hazard and Angevine and two other Department shadow executives had checked into the game at the Greek border, taking over from the men who had smuggled Triakis and Yasmin out of Kiev. At a Salonika safehouse, Hazard had spent three days debriefing Triakis, while arrangements were made to move the scientist from Greece to Israel. And during that time Ange and Yasmin had indulged in a torrid little affair. At the same time, Yasmin had to maintain the fiction that she was in love with Triakis. It was a difficult and dangerous subterfuge, and Hazard understood that Ange ought to have known better.  Not a very forgiving man by nature, he found himself, however, extremely tolerant where Angevine Rose was concerned. The Soviet apparatus in Greece had proved more efficient than they'd expected, and the Salonika safehouse, as it turned out, wasn't safe at all. On the night that they'd come for Triakis, Yasmin was supposed to have been on watch. Instead, she'd been in Angevine's arms. And when the assault began she'd made a risky bid to reach Triakis -- and lost. Triakis had vanished; Hazard and Angevine and one of the other Department K ops had managed to get away, too. Then, quite unexpectedly, Ange had just walked away. Checked out. And before Hazard could even start looking for her, The Department had whisked him off to The School and put him in cold storage. When Hazard did eventually begin his search it took less than an hour. Mykonos didn't require a particularly large search pattern, and he was familiar with the habits and thought processes of the woman he sought. In the past few years he and Angevine Rose had worked together a half dozen times. You didn't go through what they'd gone through and not know your partner's habits and thought patterns. He found her at a small taverna just up the street from the paralia, sitting at a sidewalk table in the deep shade of a pastel blue and canary yellow awning flapping indolently in the caress of a salt-tinged breeze coming off the Aegean. Pausing diagonally across the cobblestoned street to let a gaggle of gallivanting urchins stampede by, Hazard studied her. He was relieved -- for two months he hadn't been sure if Angevine was alive -- and troubled, too, because he knew he wasn't the only person keeping an eye on her. Angevine Rose was slouched in her chair, long exquisite legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. She wore a green and white floral string bikini. The Aegean sun had bronzed her skin. Her long golden hair was done up in a ponytail. She seemed to be diligently perusing an Athens Daily News -- the local English-language rag -- and working on emptying a bottle of Boutari ouzo. She looked like a grad student on vacation ... and every man's dream, mused Hazard, feeling his pulse quicken (which happened every time he saw this woman). Taking a deep breath, he crossed the narrow street and sat down in a chair across the table from her. "What took you so long?" she asked, without looking up from the newspaper. "You never were any good at finding me." The faintest of smiles accentuated the sensuous curve of her full lips. "I found you that time in Bangkok." "Everybody gets lucky once in a while." The proprietor of the taverna appeared with industrious alacrity. He was a wizened, aproned Greek, and he raised an eyebrow when Hazard ordered lemonade. Angevine just shook her head. "You should try some of this ouzo. It'll cure what ails you." "Nothing ails me. So, how's life been treating you, Ange?" "With complete and utter disregard," She sounded cheerful and carefree, yet Hazard could detect that false note. "But I'm making it, one day at a time." "That's the only way in our line of work." Angevine neatly folded the newspaper, put it on the table. "It's not my line of work anymore," she said, and there was a hard edge to her soft, mellifluous voice. "Oh, so you took an early retirement. I see. I didn't know you could do that." "Well, I did it. So tell me, you just happen to be in the neighborhood, or what?" Smiling, Hazard looked down to watch Angevine slowly flexing her toes. Everything about this woman was sexy, he thought, with the resignation of a person caught in quicksand and knowing he is about to go under. Even her toes. "I escaped from The School. Been there for two months, on account of you." The tavern's proprietor returned with Hazard's lemonade. It was tart and warm, without ice, but he drank some of it anyway. Angevine waited until the old Greek had wandered out of earshot. "Ouch. I'm sorry. Truly. They still do those ten mile runs before breakfast, followed by two-hour sessions of adult romper room on the dojo? Is Shimato well?" "He's still the same," said Hazard. Shimato was the martial arts master at Department K's training facility in the remote mountains of New Mexico. "He looks the same as he did in the 19th century. Went to great lengths to insult my sloppy technique. And he told me you were the worst savate student he'd ever had." Angevine smirked and shook her head. "You're such a liar, Michael. I was his best savate student ever. I got a gold star and everything." Hazard wondered if even Shimato had proven susceptible to Angevine's charms. He was aware that every male passing by and sitting under the taverna's awning was paying her a lot of attention. That was just the way it was with this one. "Quite right," he said. "I was making it all up." "Still, it's good to see you. To tell the truth, I was half-expecting a suspiciously ordinary-looking visitor with a 9mm calling card." "Come on now. The Department spent a lot of money to turn you into what you are today." "They did, huh? And what did they turn me into, Michael?" "A top agent. One of the best." "Really. Then The Department must be in a pretty bad way. Their top agent nearly got you killed, lost a top scientist who was trying to defect -- oh, and I almost forgot, is responsible for the death of a woman she cared a great deal about." Hazard shook his head. "No way are you responsible. But anyhow, Triakis is still on the loose. He went to ground after the Salonika shootout, you know. Well, now he's ready to come out of his hole." Angevine removed her sunglasses, peered across the table at him. Her eyes were a striking cerulean blue, the light blue of a pristine sky. "Where?" "He won't tell anyone but you. Somewhere on the mainland, we think." "He doesn't like me, you know," said Angevine casually. "He was in love with Yasmin, too." "I know, Ange." Angevine nodded. She didn't speak for a moment, and Hazard gave her time to wade through the emotional tidal wave that the mere mention of the Israeli agent's name was bound to have triggered. There was a chain around her neck, a ring on the chain. A simple ring of delicate gold filigree, laying against the warm soft copper-colored skin between her perfect breasts. Hazard considered himself a man relatively free of superstitions, but he felt a cold chill travel up his spine. That had been Yasmin's ring -- the one Angevine had taken off her body at Salonika. In some way that ring bound Ange to the memory and spirit of a dead woman as surely as if it had been a wedding band. The irony of it all was that, had Yasmin survived, Ange's relationship with her probably would have amounted to little more than a brief romance. But Angevine blamed herself for Yasmin's death. In a way, mused Hazard, she meant more to Ange dead than she had when she'd been alive. "The Kremlin must be stewing in its own juices, then," murmured Angevine, at last. "Indeed. They've still got Ilya Borodov on the job. That tells you something about how important they think this is. So, what do you say? Now, the way I see it, Yasmin died to get Triakis to Israel. I say we finish the job, and she doesn't die for nothing." Angevine finished off the ouzo in her glass, reached for the bottle of Boutari -- and then pushed it away. "Well," she said softly, "I'll have to check my social calendar, but I think I might have a few days free." Hazard smiled. He'd played the right cards, and Angevine Rose was back on board. There was just one more little matter to discuss. "There's something else," he said, in a deceptively off-handed way. "We didn't find you. Borodov did. We were lucky enough to be tapping into his communications with Moscow." "The plot thickens." She sounded ... indifferent. And that concerned Hazard just a bit.  "I'll go fetch Triakis with you, Michael. But that doesn't mean I'm back in the game. It's just a piece of unfinished business. When it's over, I'm done with The Department." "Yeah. We'll see." "I'm serious. But hey. Don't worry, I'll probably get killed anyway." She smiled. Hazard wondered if maybe that wasn't what Angevine Rose was really after. She contemplated him a moment, then suddenly leaned forward, reaching across the table, and her hand, with its slender fingers, the nails clipped short, closed on his with a surprisingly strong grip for a willowy girl of 5' 7" who didn't weigh 120 pounds soaking wet. "And since that's likely," she said, her voice pitched low and slightly husky, "there's something you could do for me." She was staring into his eyes with a ferocious intensity, her lips slightly parted, the tip of her tongue touching the corner of her mouth, and Hazard knew that expression, that little quirk, and didn't have to ask what something was. continue