by Dana Arama
New York City, November 11, 2015, 5:30 p.m.
“It’s Dubroshin, boss.” He needn’t have introduced himself. I recognized his voice, though not the telephone number. He never used the same phone for a long period of time. I asked, “What’s new?”
“They are planning to go to Miami and to look for someone named Zorro.”
I had heard that name before. I couldn’t place where and from whom, but the nickname sat on the tip of my tongue. Maybe I was too stoned to remember properly. “How are they doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“The way? How are they planning on getting there?”
“By helicopter. We followed them until the airstrip. It’s very well guarded so we couldn’t get in.”
“Good work.” I said, then asked, “Do we have anyone in Miami who could keep tailing them?”
“I’ll check. It’s a few hour’s flight. It will give me some time to arrange something.”
I praised him again. I hung up and handed the phone back to Aldo. Before his hands closed around the phone, I had remembered where I’d heard that name before. I really was stoned, but she was the kind of person one doesn’t soon forget. We had been at a strip bar, and she had been walking amongst the guests. She was so beautiful and yet so remote that I’d wanted to fuck her immediately. When she passed by me, I pulled her towards me and grabbed her ass. It was solid and muscular. A moment later, and I still didn’t know how until this day, a knife was pinned to my dick. I immediately lifted my hands in the air, a sign of surrender, and took a step back. She had turned to me and said, “Only because it is your first time here, you can leave with your dick still attached.”
Later on, I found out that she had quite a few nicknames. There were those who called her “Xena the warrior,” there were those who called her “Iceberg,” and someone called her “Zorro.”
Afterwards, I found out who her boyfriend was, and I realized that her cutting off my dick would have been nothing compared to what he was capable of.
I took the phone back and dialed.
“Amigo,” I said with a satisfied smile, “How are you?”
“Well, well. My friend. I heard you have been very busy lately.”
“Busy but under control. I have news for you.”
“Tell me.”
“My enemies are your enemies and my enemies are looking for your Zorro. So, you should look out.”
The news was received with silence. For a moment I thought the call had disconnected, but I heard him breathing so I waited. He was most probably likely. Maybe something had happened between them.
“Keep me informed if you hear anything new.” He didn’t sound like a friend anymore. That was an order.
Laura Ashton,
Philadelphia, on the way to Miami,
November 11, 2015, 5:45 p.m.
I had three airstrips at my disposal: D.C., New York and Philly. I chose Philly because of the urgency. I wanted to catch Guy while he was still enthusiastic about the idea of the trip, before he thought too much about being far away from his worried brother. By the time we arrived at the strip, a helicopter was waiting for us, fully fueled. This affair gave me access to all the information and supplies, while also enabling me to promote my personal interests. We sat down and took off immediately. Because I didn’t want to talk about my plans in an aircraft which could be bugged, I closed my eyes and used the time to catch up on much-needed sleep. Three hours and eighteen seconds later, we landed in Miami.
A car was waiting for us at the southern airstrip. We left the aircraft hurriedly and made our way towards the black van. Guy threw his bag on the back seat and sat himself in the passenger’s seat. “These are good conditions to start a search.” He smiled.
I adjusted the mirrors and started the car. I said, “This is definitely much better than driving for eighteen hours to our destination.”
“About the destination. We’re finally alone, so I would appreciate some background.”
“Okay, let’s organize the information we have so that when we close in on our target, it will be the right one.”
I adopted army slang so that he would feel like a soldier serving a goal. I drove towards the service road that led to the gate. I flashed my pass and we continued on our way. While driving and merging into the highway’s thinning evening traffic, I continued explaining. “First fact: We know that Murat Lenika started distributing drugs at the casino. What else do we know about him?”
Guy breathed in deeply and said, “That he kidnapped Jonathan and that he deals in firearms.”
“About that, we are not certain that the deal went through him, and we hope it didn’t, because if the Russian mafia enters the picture, the boy will be a fly ready to be swatted at from both sides.”
“We know that the shipment of sniper rifles was stolen from Germany. We don’t know for certain it was him, but we assume it was him, because these rifles haven’t popped up on the market.”
“How is he going to smuggle them in from Europe into the United States if it hasn’t happened already? Most probably he’ll use his uncle’s transport company.”
“Have his shipments been checked?” he asked.
“They’re still checking.”
“Has anyone complained that their container has been broken into?” And as if to emphasize his idea he added, “Broke into with nothing stolen. Broke into because the innocent shipment wasn’t used just to transport the weapons in the first place.”
“I’ll ask if there was such a complaint connected with the transport company.” I made a call and a young, eager, masculine voice filled the car space. I asked where Thomas was and he answered that Thomas had gone out to get himself a sandwich and that he was now on duty. It made sense, as we had been on red alert for quite a number of hours now, with many more still ahead of us. I ordered the young man to check out if there were any complaints. “Go far back as a year from today. Check complaints regarding break-ins with nothing stolen and break-ins with theft reported. Maybe something was taken to disguise the actual purpose of the break-in.” His answer was a very disciplined, “Yes ma’am,” and I added, “Check the police records and also with the transport company’s records. It could also have been closed without an official investigation, with some sort of bribe.”
Once again, a ‘yes ma’am’ and he hung up.
“Let’s continue our summaries and background. Seventy percent of the drugs entering the United States are controlled by the Mexican cartel. You need to understand that a kilo of crystal meth costs the smuggler between four thousand to six thousand dollars at the beginning of the journey, and at the end of the journey he can sell it for three times that, so it is worth their while to take the risk.”
Out of habit, I checked my mirrors to see if I was being followed. Lately, I’ve had the feeling that mysterious eyes are watching me. I noticed Guy had the same habit, even though the chances of being tracked so far from our starting point were very slim.
“I don’t want to frighten you,” I lied, “But ninety nine percent of crystal meth users are hooked after the first time. The addiction is immediate and physical. If Lenika decides to shoot up Jonathan it won’t be good. And I definitely think it is a possibility.”
“Thinking about it won’t help us. We need to find Jonathan as soon as possible. You never finished your story about Zorro. What happened to her after she stopped competing?”
“According to credible rumors, she moved to Ukraine and from there to France, as the business partner -- or maybe lover -- of some oligarch. And not just any rich businessman, but one that made his money in less than aboveboard ways. Did you know that in Russian the word ‘businessman’ is synonymous with swindler? But there, too, are different crime levels. This guy got himself into trouble with some Islamic organization in Russia. Allegedly, some arms deal he was involved in didn’t go as expected an
d the Muslim sheikh on the other side of the deal agreed to take the beautiful Zorro as compensation, into his glorious harem.
“If I’m not mistaken, and I say this because this affair has more unknown than known facts, this whole deal was done under the watchful eye of the Mossad. The Mossad could also have sabotaged the weapons and the deal along with it. We’ll most likely never really know the whole truth. Somehow the information got to one of the most revered Mossad commanders, Gideoni, the one who sent you to us. When he heard about the compensation the sheikh was about to receive, he organized an incredible mission to kidnap Zorro and bring her to Israel.”
“A huge violation, by the way, one that could’ve cost him his job,” Guy smilingly pointed out. “When did all that happen?”
I noted to myself that any person who knew the facts of this mission was once part of the system and maybe still part of the same system.
I answered, “More than ten years ago.” I glanced at him. By the look on his face, he probably wasn’t a fighter in the Mossad at that time.
“What did she do in Israel?”
“She became a source of information. This woman is not only good at fencing. She is excellent at identifying situations and using them creatively. That is the essence of fencing. She is also very good at using them to her own advantage. Alex is very smart and quickly understood not only that knowledge is power, but what kind of information she should gather. She mapped out all the new organizations working in the new and developing Russia for the Mossad. That I know for certain because when these organizations started to infiltrate the United States, we received strategic warnings.”
“How did she find herself here?”
“She arrived as a consultant. It was rumored that she was loaned to the FBI and was supposed to identify the shady businessman who tried to sell her. But before he could be arrested, he was found in his room with a stiletto thrust into his heart. That became her trademark. Excuse me, not hers, per se, because no-one could prove she was there at all. But whomever participated in that deal was killed in the same way.”
“So she became a hit man?
“I can’t say for certain. Probably a killer, but not a mercenary.” I looked at him and added, “Maybe over time she became a mercenary. The murder seemed to be a personal vendetta.” I glanced at Guy again. Information like this would deter anyone who wasn’t from the field, but he looked curious more than anything else.
“So, what drew her further into a life of crime?”
“When one businessman dies, another gains. Maybe at that point that someone decided to show his appreciation.”
“In what way?”
I looked at him, amused. “Is there a lack of ways? Money, the right ties, the right business in the right place… all that together birthed Zorro. The woman and the legend.”
“Let’s get back to the facts.”
“That’s exactly why we’re here. If someone knows who is buying from whom, it’ll be Zorro. I am assuming she will cooperate because of Gideoni. I expect her to lead us to the finance man in the right cartel or maybe to the head of the cartel. I expect to get information from them. Information about who paid for the last shipment. If our assumptions are correct, and we don’t see any money moving from within the casino or the account of Murat Lenika, the deal must have gone something like this: The terrorists paid the cartel. The cartel gave Murat Lenika the drugs. Murat Lenika passed the weapons to the terrorists. Depending on how the head of the cartel answers, it should lead us to the terrorist cell.”
“How does that help me find Jonathan?”
“When we close the noose around Lenika’s neck, it’ll be in his interest to give us something to reduce his punishment. He’ll return the kid.”
“It sounds like a long and winding route. Too long.”
I had broken him. I could see it in his eyes that he didn’t like the picture he’d envisioned in his head of Jonathan with a needle in his arm, not one bit. I knew then that he would do anything I requested of him. I said, “Don’t forget that while we pursue this lead, the other team is still searching for Jonathan.” I glanced toward him. “This is not the time to despair.”
“I am not giving up. I just don’t like it. I am not used to being in a situation like this.” After a short silence he confessed, “The last time I felt this helpless, I’d just lost my wife because of a bus that exploded next to her in Jerusalem. I have no intention of losing my nephew as well.”
“We will do everything in our power to make sure that won’t happen. If the long game is waiting for Lenika to make a mistake and then arresting and interrogating him, a respectful route, the other way, the shorter way, is through Zorro. Only through her is it possible to reach the head of the cartel, and we need to insist on speaking with him directly.” I looked at Guy and added a cautious explanation, “Because only then can we be certain that the information we receive is real. But…”
“There has to be a ‘but.’” He smiled. “‘Buts’ never deter me. I like to know about them.”
“But it is a dangerous route. To reach whoever is responsible for the biggest cartel in Mexico will not be a walk in the park.”
“If this is what’s needed to shorten procedures, then so be it.”
***
Twenty minutes later we arrived on Miami Beach strip, with its beautiful marinas. Running along the boardwalks were dozens of restaurants and hotels. The beach glowed with light, reflecting off the water in thousands of sparkles. The restaurants, whose revenue relied more on the locals than tourism, were situated further inland, in the maze of streets leading from the beach. Amongst them was the club that used to belong to Zorro.
“Do you know what we’re looking for, exactly?”
“Yes. We will get there. The place will seem closed, but it works round the clock. It is situated in a side unknown alley, known only to those who look for it. The situation is as such: I can’t go in without causing suspicion. It’s a stripper’s bar and women don’t go through the front door.”
“And you don’t feel like going through the artists entrance, straight onto the stage.”
“No! Absolutely not.” Her tone was indignant. For the first time in a long while, I genuinely smiled.
We arrived and I parked the car in the first spot I found. “It’s just around the corner, in the first alley. You will find a sign that says PC. That’s the only clue to the Pussycat. Not a very original name.”
“It may take some time,” he mumbled and opened the car door. A wave of humidity enveloped us, “Keep the aircon on.”
“Of course.”
“Keep the aircon on sounds nicer than ‘put the kettle on for coffee I’m coming over’. Don’t run away.”
“Don’t worry. Go and find Zorro.” I was relying on him to come back with some clue to help me with the rest of my plan. He left and the sentence ‘we have to reach him directly…’ kept reverberating through my head. The clues had led me to the conclusion that Gail was using drugs, and because of the drugs had dropped out of university. Gail had stayed on in Mexico, and I knew I had to get to Murat directly, because he was the one who took her there. This opportunity, as far as I was concerned, could not be wasted. Tears came to my eyes as I remembered my sister’s beautiful face, the face I had known since my father laid her in my arms the day she was born. I knew then I would love her more than anyone else in the world. At the time I didn’t know that our connection would be more of a protective bond. I knew too many youngsters who had become addicted to hard drugs. I knew that the drugs made them feel as though insects crawled inside their skin, and, under the influence of the drugs, they clawed at their skin, causing life-long scars.
My beautiful younger sister… Are you still pretty or have you fallen further into drugs? You have all the reasons to surrender to the false pretense of calmness the drugs give the brain. Restfulness for a moment, scars forev
er. Who else but me knew of the difficulties you’ve had to endure? I felt them on my own skin as well. I turned the light on in the car and glanced in the rearview mirror. Unwanted tears rolled down my face, smearing my makeup. In the dimness of the car, I looked distorted and scary. ‘Scarred forever…’ As if the term ‘eternity’ existed with addicts… ‘Forever’ was a pipe dream for when they manage to rid themselves of the addiction. I cleaned up my makeup and looked at myself. Through my eyes I could see my lost sister. Do you think you could get clean, baby sister? Would you even want to? It wouldn’t change the fact that I would try and save her. I had let her down so many times. This time had to be different.
I decided it would be better if I reapplied my makeup. As I finished up my eyes, which looked like hers, I promised that I would never give up my search for her and would never give up fighting for her life so that she could come back to me.
When my eyes stopped brimming over with tears, I promised myself that I wouldn’t care which of my friends on this journey will need to pay with their lives. I was going to get her out of there.
Guy Niava,
Miami November 11, 2015, 11:00 p.m.
The alley seemed part of the back of the restaurants which surrounded it, and so in the dark it looked like a parking lot for trash cans. The alley ended in an unappealing iron door. Above it, barely lit up, were the letters ‘PC’ in peeling silver letters that sat on a black sign that had known better times. ‘PC’ sounded almost like a joke, like an entrance to a computer repair shop. In reality it was more like a pornographic Matrix. I pulled out my cell phone, turned on the location setting and sent my landmark to whoever needed to have it.
The answer came back immediately, “Eight minutes away.” I wasn’t surprised he was so close. The preparations to meet up with him were made while I was packing my bag. I glanced at my watch. The time was exactly three minutes past eleven.
I pressed down on the handle and pulled open the heavy door. A rhythmic wave of music surrounded me, in the same uncomfortable way the humidity had hit me beforehand. The place was a dark open space, apart from a spotlight that lit up the stage. Onstage was a beautiful girl with raven colored hair, dancing tiredly around a pole in the center. Her minimal clothing sparkled against her dark skin. About ten men were sprinkled around the tables, each with a drink set before him, eyes fixed on the stage. From time to time, a few bills were thrown at the dancers, which were collected at the end of each dance. As opposed to the men, who avoided any eye contact with each other, two people sat at the bar in deep, intimate conversation, ignoring what was happening on stage. A single waitress, clad in a transparent leotard, walked amongst them.
