and scenery. It was a magnificently beautiful, almost perfect island.
“Look at the lighthouse,” she said as she pointed west. Its bright reflecting light hit us every ten seconds. It was marble white and had blue window coverings. It was lighted from the ground up by floodlights and was a lone sentry to the seagoing vessels.
“I’ve been at the top of it,” I responded. “And you can have breakfast in the first floor - like a tea room.”
“Perhaps this week - we’ll do that.”
“Any day except tomorrow - how about Wednesday?” I asked hopefully.
“I’ll see you then ..meet you there.”
“It’s a nice walk...it’s quite safe. It gets uphill at the end, though - wear walking shoes. And it’s cold and windy at the top.”
“Thanks for the advice,” she replied. We looked down at the sea and then back at the lighthouse and I wondered what would have transpired by then. I always wondered what would happen at a future point with my life - and lately that wonder extended from day to day. I sensed that something important was going to happen. The waves broke against the rocks and the eerie light illumined the shore.
The bells on the shore from various craft rang as I left the hotel and morning appeared in Bermuda. Bankers in their navy coats were having breakfast on the verandah. The hotel was alive with activity in the morning. I walked along the path to the cove, glancing at my watch. It was 7:58. No one was in sight I continued to the edge, looking over the railing at the waves crashing against the rocks. I looked further down the path and saw no one, so I decided to walk down to the ocean. The path was circular and had guard rails at the top. The spray of the ocean hit me as I walked downwards. The sun felt warm and good. I had my briefcase with me.
As I entered the area between the rocks, I saw no one. Then I waited. Sea gulls flew overhead. It was a lonely area, covered by high rock formations all around. Sea spray moved across the small landing every time the waves hit the rocks offshore. The rocks offshore were probably twenty feet away. The cliffs above me were hundreds of feet high. In the distance I heard rotors - like last night. I looked out over the ocean and saw nothing. But the sound was getting louder. So I looked back at the hotel, and it looked like the same helicopter as last night. I couldn’t really tell.
I saw two men - a pilot and one other. The pilot had sunglasses and a cap. The other man was wearing a suit. I didn’t recognize him. They landed at the top of the cove, and I saw the other man walking down the steps to the ocean. The helicopter blades were still whirring, smoothly and heavily. The man approaching me was wearing a grey pin-striped suit. He looked about fifty. I had never seen him before. “Sorenson, my name is Hausmann. First Bermuda is expecting you, but we’re meeting at a different location.”
I watched him carefully. Nodding, I said, “Let’s go.” I followed him up the stairs to the waiting helicopter. As soon as we entered we lifted off. Bermuda from the air is magnificent. I could see the harbor, the hotels and shops, the offices gleaming in the morning sun. We flew down the beach until we came to a hotel and golf course, and we veered inland. We descended until we were at three hundred feet, and then we leveled off and I saw a large estate on the edge of the country, opposite the ocean. It had three stories and was a Mediterranean style. A pool with deep blue water was in its yard. The estate was surrounded by shrubbery on three sides and a gate at the entrance. The gate was large and ornate, and closed. A large green space in front of the pool was apparently used for landings. That’s where we were headed.
As we set down another man - this one I recognized - emerged from the back of the villa. Jason Meadows. With short-cropped hair, tanned and heavy set and wearing wire-rim glasses, I remembered him well from prior meetings. He looked up at me with recognition.
“Vince, good to see you,” Jason cheerfully spoke above the sound of the rotors.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you,” I carefully replied.
“Come this way...we’re waiting for you.” He led me into the house via a path that led past brightly-colored vegetation and plant growth. The pool shimmered in the morning sun. I was in deep thought about my last visit - to their trading office off Front Street. It’s located up a small via, four flights up, in a Penthouse. It has a receptionist, and one administrative assistant named Shana. The Penthouse overlooks the harbor and has a patio outside the office for lunches. It has computerized, on-line transaction ability with bond trading, both in London and New York. It actually has a few real clients who are friends of the Company, but it existed mostly just to perform trades for the fund - the black ops fund.
Entering the house I found the rooms to be unusually large and well-done in terms of appointments. The paintings on the wall were of European castles and forests. A breeze entered from the open doors. We entered a room whose ceilings were topped by large long beams of wood. A nautical theme dominated the room. Models of sailboats and trawlers and cruisers were on the tables and desks. A splendid array of museum-quality artwork decorated the walls.
Inside the room were piles of paper and photographs - I couldn’t make out the nature of the files but there were at least six of them. I placed the briefcase on a small credenza and waited. Jason shut the doors behind us.
“It’s all right to speak - this house is ours. We use it for debriefings.”
I spoke. “All right - in the briefcase are the securities - the denominations are one hundred thousand, they’re bearer - it’s just a matter of filling in the endorsements.”
Jason shot back, “Leave it there and let’s take a walk.”
We exited and went outside, into the blue and green expanse of sky, sea and land. We walked towards a bluff. Jason looked at me and said, “Are you aware of what these payoffs are for?”
“Two recent hits - one in South America, one the ex-Director - and to fund a third – a foreign assassination called Operation Cassandra.”
“Did you know anything about the plan?” he asked.
“Not at all. Not until I was in Rock Key,” I responded coolly.
“The driver will be given capsules in his drink that morning - they later expand in his stomach and cause him to lose control.”
“How many know about the plan?” I asked.
He answered, “Mover, yourself, myself, Ranier, and the team that’s involved ”
I asked, “Which team ?”
He answered, “Victor Team - four men, one ex-Special Forces, and three are our assets.”
“Are they here?”
“They’re arriving this afternoon. They’re going to use the money to go to a safe haven - plan it and then wait everything out. We’ve already handled new passports.”
I answered back, “U.S. newspapers - they’ll count it a tragedy and blame the condition of the roads. But the Egyptian newspapers. Middle Eastern news - they’ll call it a conspiracy.”
He said, “They’ll have disinformation planted. How I feel about it is one thing - when we took these jobs we knew there would be some cases we wouldn’t have complete peace about - on a personal level.”
I knew what he meant. On a personal level, to authorize something - or be part of something
