Betrayal I

The streets and waterways of Venice were awash with colour, lights and the sounds of music and awed tourists as Festa Veneziana, the grand opening of the famous Venice carnival, exploded with life and fireworks all around. 

Leila sat at a small table at a restaurant’s terrace, with one leg crossed over another, watching the throng of tourists squeezing and jostling for space on the banks of the Cannaregio; trying to get a view of the masked and elaborately dressed dancers and performers on floating stages. She sipped quietly on the peppery complimentary grappaafter her evening meal, eyes keenly and discretely scanning the crowd with her stark white volto mask resting on the side of her head. 

As she watched families and couples dreamily embracing as they watched the show. Her thoughts inevitably drifted to him. She had been thinking about him and feeling some very unfamiliar feelings more and more lately. Leila did not hate it. 

Daniel Nesta. 

Her partner at Blackstar for the last five years and the only man that had managed to move her heart in her 35 years. Leila had not expected her growing affections but when she became aware that she could fall for him, she surprised herself at how easily she accepted it. Before she knew it, Leila would look forward to their strategic and tactical meetings, international site reconnaissance and seamless partnerships as they carried out each mission. 

After Bulgaria 18 months before when he had saved her life, they’d fallen into a routine of spending one evening after mission in each city, informally debriefing each other over copious glasses of the local drink. She had begun to pay more attention to his easy wide smile and bobbing Adam’s apple as he spoke and cracked his cheesy joke. The way he would lower his head and look up at her with dark hazel eyes, his full attention glued to her face. The way he would gently guide her back to her hotel room with his hand faintly resting on the small of her back and bid her a soft goodnight after deeply looking into her eyes. The way he made sure to watch her walk into her room before turning to leave. 

Leila was no fool. Despite being completely uninterested in romance throughout her life, she was not an inexperienced innocent, she knew what she was feeling and was sure that it was reciprocated. Especially after Bangkok. Their previous mission. 

Drunk after a bottle of Mehkong whiskey he’d looked at her in that deep and meaningful way and said, “I feel…I feel that it would be nice…you know…to get a beach hut in Hawaii! Open up a surf school. Just me…and a special lady.” He declared all of a sudden, and tossed back a glass of the golden liquid, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Leila felt a tremor in her heart but kept her face and emotions steady as he threw her another long and furtive glance.

“If I only I could be so lucky,” he sighed. He got up unsteadily to dust his backside, held out a hand to her and winked, “Don’t ask, don’t get. Right?” He laughed. “Yeah! Maybe I’ll just ask Control. See what he says!” He laughed at himself and pulled her up. They stumbled slightly, bumping drunkenly into each other. He held her by the waist and righted their bodies, his breath lightly fanning over her face. Leila furrowed her brow in bemusement as she felt her heart hammering in her chest. Her eyes were swimming in a haze and a for a split second she thought he would bend down to kiss her. Instead he gently released her body, but kept a hand on the small of her back, escorting her back to the noisy hostel. 

They both knew that leaving this life was neither easy nor completely possible. But just maybe it was possible to carve something out after over 10 years of service. Of course, they could be dragged back anytime. By either friends or foes. But until then, could they have some semblance of a normal life? 

In the present, as a string quartet floated by playing Pachelbel’s Canon under the incessant flashing and snapping of cameras, the earpiece concealed beneath her mask crackled to life. 

“Nightingale.”

Leila’s heart jumped at the sound of his voice. 

“Skylark.” She responded in a smooth and unaffected voice, snapping out of her reverie.  “Start state?” She asked, as she rose to her feet, placed the mask over her face and made her way towards the crowd. 

“As expected. Duschenko is back from dinner with companions on schedule. Room 201, bank-side balcony room at the Grand Hotel Dei Dogi. Flashy bastard. Jelačić is the only one on the balcony at the moment but looks like the rest are getting ready to come out and watch the operetta float in 10 minutes. Your position remains clear. You’ve got the route?”

Leila secured the black cloak around her body and fastened it at her neck.

“Got it. Back alley, two blocks, red veranda, apartments under construction. I’ll take it from there. Rendezvous point secure?”

His soft chuckle left a pool of warmth in the pit of her stomach. “How was the grappa?”

“Average. It was free.”

“Lets hope it doesn’t affect your aim! Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. Finessed a home-made bottle from our friendly hostel manager’s wife.”

“I bet you did.” She rolled her eyes.

 “It’s waiting for you at the rendezvous point. Let’s enjoy it under these beautiful fireworks.”

“Roger.”

“…Nightingale…” he paused and his voice softened, “Leila. Don’t ask, don’t get…how’s your surfing?”

Leila felt like all the sounds around her muffled away as she glided to her destination on autopilot. Her lips trembled. Beneath the porcelain mask, the widest smile graced her face and her eyes seemed to turn into crescent moons. 

“Room for improvement.” She responded in a cracked voice. 

“…we’ve got this Nightingale.”

Leila felt like she was walking on clouds and not even the mindless tourists pushing and pulling around her could dampen her mood. As she approached the back alley towards the red veranda a figure stepped in front. 

She tried to casually side step the man dressed in a harlequin costume hunched in front of her, but he would block her path each time. Left, right, left, right. Leila grew impatient and glared at the man through the eye holes of her mask. He was stooping over, swimming beneath his very tattered and dirty costume. His filthy hands were stretched out in a show of begging for alms. 

“Oh, please! Show this little one some mercy!” He pleaded in heavily accented English. 

“I have no change!” Leila once again tried to side step him but he grabbed on to her cloak, wailing and begging for change. 

“Please, no business tonight! No help! please! I beg you, kind one! I give you gift! I give you gift!” His slim and frail body was bent over and trembling. As he fished in his costume for something, Leila tried to tug free but his grip was surprisingly strong. She planted her feet, ready to flip him over, but in a flash he had pulled out a strange looking bracelet and looped it over her wrist. Leila was wearing gloves but she could feel the strange warmth from the smooth and glistening ink-black stones. It looked like nothing she had seen before. 

Probably lacquered pebbles, she thought dismissively. 

She made a sound of annoyance. These beggars and scammers were getting more and more bold. 

“Pretty gift, for pretty lady!” He declared, bowing and scraping like a subject before his queen. 

Leila frowned. How could he know what she looked like beneath her mask. 

“Nightingale?” The soft voice sounded again in her earpiece. 

Leila reached into her pocket for some notes and all but threw it at the harlequin before her. “Now move!”

She yanked her cloak free and tried to move on but he blocked her again. Instinctively, she reached for the weapon tucked at the back of her waist beneath her cloak. 

“No! No! Bracelet already paid! No money for free! Now I give gift to lady! Gift of fortune!”

“Nightingale, you’re not in position. We only have a short window!” Daniel’s tense voice came through the earpiece. 

“Enough! I don’t need a fortune.” She unceremoniously shoved the harlequin away and strode forward quickly. 

“No fortune comes for free. You gave this little beggar a gold coin and your path across the Styx is guaranteed. The path ahead leads to death and life. Loss and gain. The caged bird must choose wisely.” Suddenly, a deep and powerful voice seemed to whisper straight into her heart and arrest her movements. 

At these words, a surge of cold air pooled in the pit of Leila’s stomach. She paused her steps and slowly turned. Some metres behind her, surrounded by tourists shuffling in all directions, the harlequin was no longer stooping over, but stood ramrod straight to a tall and majestic height. His custom now looked new and magnificent, gleaming and brilliant, billowing under the soft breeze. The once tattered mask was stark white and a jester mocking smile could be discerned curling the corners of the painted lips. Beneath the right eye was a bejewelled tear drop. The people and scenes around him seemed to blue away and all Leila could see was him. 

He swung his now gloved right arm across his body, held the left out and gave a deep, theatrical bow. 

Leila was rooted to the spot. A strange and unfamiliar feeling, something skin to fear swirled in her chest. She felt like she was sinking in a vat of freezing cold water. 

“Nightingale! Leila? What’s going on?” Daniel’s voice seemed to pull her out of the frozen abyss. 

She blinked and when she focused her eyes again. The harlequin was gone.

Was it just a waking nightmare? Just some nonsense from a scammer?

Of course, her path lead to death; she was death itself. When had superstitious words ever stopped her from pulling the trigger?

Leila smiled mockingly at herself and mentally shook off the trepidation she had felt, but was wary enough to keep an eye on all of her surroundings. 

“Almost in position, Skylark.” 

Leila continued forward and reached the back alley. Very few people were there as they had waded forward to get a better view of the festivities from the banks. The red veranda of a restaurant under construction, dusty and moth eaten appeared ahead. She slipped quietly through the almost deserted walkways and towards the tiny space between the restaurant and adjacent building. 

Leila crouched beneath the warning sign and slipped through the broken window that she had scoped out earlier. Inside beneath layers of dust and construction materials were odd furnishings, broken or covered in cloth. She walked passed the bar and up the spiral staircase, into the staff room area and out again through the external staircase at the back of the building and on to the roof terrace. Overgrown pots of plants and shrubbery concealed her in shadow from the occupants of other roof terraces.

She spotted the black duffel bag prepared for her by Daniel at the corner of the roof, beneath the parapet. 

“Skylark, I’m in position.”

“Copy.”

She unzipped the bag and pulled out the MK 12 Mod 1 Special Purpose Rifle, already assembled. She fished out a box of Mk 262 Mod 1 bullets and deftly inserted the ammunition, placed it on the tripod and positioned it at the corner of the dipping groove of the parapet. She moved her mask out of the way and lay on her front, cushioning the rifle against her right side shoulder and chin. 

Placing her right eye behind the scope, she adjusted the settings and slowly moved it in position. 

The bank-side balcony of the Grand Hotel Dei Dogi came into view. Within the crosshairs, Ivan Jelačić came into view, cigarette and tumbler in one hand, phone in the other and against his ear. He spoke animatedly as other men came through the opened French windows onto the balcony. In and out, in and out, but no Duschenko yet. 

Andrei Duschenko, Ukrainian people smuggler and drug dealer who had suddenly made quite a name for himself as an arms dealer following the recent Russian annexation and Ukrainian civil war. 

Evidently, with his Russian and Western dealings now stretching its greedy hands into Asian territories, he had made as many new enemies and friends. Now someone wanted him dead and that request came to Operation Blackstar. 

Finally, weaving slightly as he came out of the toilet and pulled up the zipper of his jeans, Duschenko sauntered out onto the balcony. Black boots, silk Versace black and gold shirt open to his navel, multiple gold chains and rings. The epitome of new money trash. 

She took a long deep breath; one of his henchmen handed him a drink, he lit up a cigarette. Laughing, flashing a gold tooth, pointing at the festivities on the Cannaregio below. 

Leila felt the thumping of her heart slow and fade down to the point her body was completely still.

She aimed the rifle at the side of his head, the crosshair right over his temple above his ear. She listened to the rhythmic sound of the fireworks as they exploded above in shimmering, holographic choreography. Duschenko leaned back to take in the sight, hands resting on the wrought iron balcony. Eyes reflecting the glittering light show. 

A screamer shot up into the sky like a phoenix cry. As it exploded she let out her breath. 

On that slow exhale she squeezed the trigger. 

Duschenko’s head jerked violently to the side in a spray of blood and he crumpled to the floor. Pandemonium broke out on the balcony, drowned out by the sound of the festival. 

Leila calmly rolled over on her stomach and propped against the raised part of the parapet. With cold eyes, she dextrously dismantled the rifle, picked up the cartridge and put everything away in the duffle bag. She crawled back across the roof, the back and slipped down the staircase and into the abandoned restaurant. 

“Good job!” There was a hint of laughter in Daniel’s voice as she swung the duffle bag over her shoulder and slipped out of the broken window to the tiny little alleyway between the restaurant and the building next door. 

Sensing danger, Leila immediately swung around and reached for the pistol at the back of her waistband pointing it directly at the person hidden in shadow at the end of the alley.

“Whoa! At ease there soldier!” The voice came from the man and from her earpiece.

“Skylark?” She asked with some uncertainty in her voice. 

The man stepped out of the shadow chuckling. His hands behind his back. Daniel stepped into the light with his own mask resting on the side of his face, wearing casual jeans, T-shirt and backpack. 

He moved towards Leila as she returned the gun to her waistband. “I could have shot you!” She scolded, feeling the drumming of her heart slowly return to normal. 

“Then you would have missed out on this!” He brought his arm forward and waved the bottle of grappa at her. “Thought I’d surprise you before the rendezvous point. Oh and I also brought this.” He brought his other arm forward.

Surprise did not even have time to truly register on Leila’s face as she watched him point a pistol to her chest and squeeze the trigger in a matter of a split second. 

She felt the force of the bullet first slam into her chest like a sledgehammer and then pass into her body like a red hot poker bursting with pain like a firework. She briefly stumbled back and then crumpled to the floor, staring in shock at the smoking silencer barrel held by her partner, her friend and the man she developed feelings for. 

Leila landed on her side, arm outstretched, watching the warm red sticky liquid seep incessantly out of her body.

Her entire chest ached. It felt as if a large man was kneeling on her sternum; every breath burned like frostbite. At first she felt warm all over as her heart frantically thudded in her chest. She could hear the louder and faster thumping of her heart like a drumbeat in her head. 

Then a strange tingling feeling started to settle in her fingers stretched out beneath her body. It seemed to crawl and hum over her like pins and needles. A numb coldness gnawed at her extremities as the distant sound of Daniel’s footsteps approached her. She tried to look up at him but it was as if he was hidden in clouds. 

“I suppose you are wondering why. Despite what you might think of me, I did genuinely like you Leila. But if you don’t ask you don’t get. So I asked, because I like this job! I really like it.” 

She saw his form bend towards her as the cold, numbness crawled towards her core and his voice grew smaller and more distant. 

Leila coughed violently a bubble of blood burst forth from her throat, splattering the white mask.

“Control needs an heir and Duschenko’s enemies need a scapegoat.” He saw her fading away, the shock never left her face. She was taking shallow laboured breaths as a gloss began to settle over her eyes. 

“I expected more of a challenge, if I’m honest. All it took was 18 months…We are who we are, Nightingale. You put in a good shift.” Seeing the growing pool of dark red blood around her, he bent down and stretched his hand to caress her blood splattered cheek. Some of the dark coils of her hair that had been tamed back into two thick braids escaped and lay plastered to her sweating brow. 

He moved his palm and closed her eye lids. He took out a woman’s wallet from his pocket and placed it inside her cloak along with some small notes, placed the mask over his face and walked away towards the festivities. 

Leila Cavendish’s blood flowed no more. She lay motionless in a pool it. The bracelet of shiny black stones, also lay within that pool. 

A strange scene occurred at this site of murder; the stones seemed to absorb the blood and glow with a burgundy lustre. 

A breeze began to blow, quickly evolving into a strong wind that billowed and flapped the dead woman’s cloak. The bracelet continued to absorb that pool of blood until not a trace was left on the ground. As the last of it was taken, a blinding light flashed in the alley and Leila’s body disappeared.