by D S Kane
He scratched the itchy spot in his chest where a bullet had almost ended his life during the gunfight at the souk in Muscat, Oman. William Wing, who had never before and never since held a weapon, had saved his life, using a handgun to kill several of their attackers after Jon fell unconscious to the ground with a slug in his chest.
The other healed bullet wounds in his shoulder and left hand throbbed in sympathy, along with the scar just above his navel where he’d been tortured in Singapore.
He could feel heat rise in his face. Everyone he trusted had died, except William and Avram.
The fork fell from his hand and bounced onto the floor.
A waiter rushed over and placed a clean fork at his setting. Seconds later another waiter placed a plate filled with food in front of Jon. He pushed the plate back and glared at Mother.
Mother waited for Jon to reply.
Mother’s real name was Yigdal Ben-Levy. Jon knew the man was dangerous and short tempered. Mother had been assistant director of special projects at the Mossad, and liaison with Shin Bet, better known as Shabak. Military intelligence. Assassinations. Now he was Assistant Foreign Secretary, travelling between Washington and Tel Aviv.
Jon forced himself to crook his head and say nothing.
Mother tapped his fingers on the table. “Well? Take some time off. Maybe a week. Visit Wing. Tell your manager you had a death in the family.” The rude joke didn’t even force a grin on Mother’s face.
There was just one answer Jon could give and he didn’t want to.
He unclenched his jaw. “Mother, what can I offer that’s worth blowing my cover at the bank?”
“You have the training of both an assassin and an espionage operative, and you are Wing’s friend. You are my only hope. We might lose more than you can ever know. If there was someone else with a better edge I would not have come.”
Mother’s lies always ended in death for someone. The food in his mouth had a bitter taste. Jon swallowed anyway. “How do I contact you?”
Mother handed him a letter-sized manila envelope and rose from the table. “Everything you’ll need, Herr Stamphil.”
At the Star Luk restaurant in Hong Kong’s harbor, William Wing held Lily Lee’s lithe body against his, their hands interlocked. The tune from the band was a slow waltz. Waiters hurried around them, avoiding the tiny dance floor.
Lily was at least three inches taller than William, and she was thin, making her posture like a tall tree against him, a thick stump. Her hair was a lustrous black, and a tiny upturned nose highlighted her Eurasian face. She was the best companion money could buy. He saw himself as a stub of a man, and the fish-bowl eyeglasses he wore didn’t help. But you do what you can, he thought.
The Romanians who’d hired Wing to hack their competitor’s strategic plans were paying for the evening, although they didn’t know it. William always listed Lily’s services under “miscellaneous admin expenses.” He pulled her face closer and spoke in his native Mandarin. “Let’s return to our table. I’m told the Peking Duck is the best in town.”
She smiled back. Her father owned the restaurant. Lily nuzzled her face against his shoulder. “The food is good, yes, but I hate my father.” She slipped her hand into his pants pocket and squeezed his testicles. “Before you came by, I told him we’re engaged. You should have seen his face.”
He doubted she would tell her father this lie. He pulled her hand away and raised his face to see her eyes. “You did what?”
She smiled and nodded.
His face fell. “He was angry?”
“No, stupid. He was delighted. He wants me to stop whoring.”
Now William wasn’t so sure it was a lie.
She led the way off the dance floor. As he pulled the chair out for her, his cell buzzed. William scanned its screen. “Jon Sommers, friends and secrets forever.” Jon always referenced the last thing he had said to William when they last saw each other, months ago. William sat Lily down, turned away, and stood behind her as he punched the Receive Call button. “What?”
“Remember the Muttrah Souk in Muscat?” The voice was filled with an accent that could only come from someone who’d attended Oxford.
“Yeah. I remember. I remember saving your worthless life there. I’m sort of busy right now. Let me call you back.”
“Not so fast. I need to see you. Urgently. Where?”
William sighed. “If this is about the assignment I declined, forget it.”
“Yes, there is that. But it would be good to see you again. Now I have an excuse. Humor me. It’s been too long. You and Avram are my only friends. So where?”
William knew what would happen and it made him shiver. “Fly to Hong Kong. Call me when your plane lands. But no more spy work. Promise?”
“Of course. You have my word.”
William had lied to Jon in the past, and he knew Jon knew. He believed Sommers would never give up trying to get him to do the Mossad’s will.
So much for Jon’s word. Turnabout, as they say.
Chapter Six
Houmaz family estate, Al Madinah Sina Iyah area, east outskirts of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
June 20, 4:23 p.m.
In the compound’s conference room, Pesi Houmaz punched his brother Tariq’s number into the secure satellite phone. As it happened every day for the last six months, he was dropped into voicemail.
He started, but stopped before completing Tariq’s cell number a second time. Nearly certain his brother was dead, he slammed his fist on the walnut conference table.
He stabbed a button recessed into the oak table and the door opened. Pesi pointed to his coffee cup. The servant nodded and disappeared, bringing a fresh pot. Pesi shooed the man away.
If Tariq had met Allah, Pesi was now the cell’s leader. Their father had made the family wealthy with his role in Arab Oil, but disowned Tariq after a drilling platform exploded when a SEAL team raided the platform to search for a terrorist. Pesi had chosen to leave with his older brother. Now, he and Tariq ran the Muslim Brotherhood’s jihad arm, looking to destroy not only their father but all that the West had done to Islam.
Everything his brother had planned was now Pesi’s own task to complete. He opened the manila file and reread the notes Tariq had scribbled there so long ago. All the pieces were coming into place. Tariq’s biggest bomb ever would cause the United States to writhe in radioactive flames, its leaders all dead. All he had to do was work the plan.
He shook his head and faced away. If it worked, he would become the world’s foremost mass murderer. If he failed, he’d be the laughing stock of Al Jazeera.
The final note on the last page was a warning he’d have to attend to. Find the woman who stole several million in US dollars from their account at the Bank of Trade. Tariq had scribbled, “Has she also stolen our secrets? Has she seen our plans?”
Before he’d disappeared, Tariq had ordered Pesi to assassinate her. And Pesi had arranged the hit, but something had gone wrong. A member of the Riyadh police department told Pesi she’d murdered the assassin and escaped the country. Now, Pesi had two teams hunting her across the globe. New York, Washington, Hong Kong. Where next? Her photo and a brief biography of her were taped to the board. Cassandra Sashakovich. He fingered her photograph in the file folder.
At 28, she had proved herself a worthy adversary. She was attractive and well-educated. A good hacker, able to disguise her appearance and defend herself in hand-to-hand combat.
When they did find the little thief, Tariq had ordered the team to apply specific sharia tortures for thieves and whores before murdering her as an example. He smiled, thinking how long and bitter her suffering before death would be.
Revenge would be sweet.
He jolted from his reverie. Since he couldn’t find his brother, it was all his responsibility. Tariq was a more capable leader, better trained than he was.
What had happened to Tariq?
Chapter Seven
William Wing’s apartment, Ascot Heights
, Block A, 21 Lok Lam Road, New Territories, Hong Kong
June 21, 2:23 p.m.
William Wing had a bitter taste in his mouth from Jon’s pending visit. The food warming in the microwave wouldn’t rid him of it. He knew Yigdal Ben-Levy was pulling Jon’s strings.
He watched through his dining room window as gulls plucked fish from the bay.
His hands were bruised from screwing in substitute parts for the wrecked computers and vid-cams. Next, he restored the files from his offshore server into his home computers. He still needed to plaster and paint the ceiling and walls.
William flinched when Mousey Tongue suddenly jumped at a fly on the windowsill. The microwave chimed and he flinched again. He turned away from the window and tried to calm himself. He thought of his misguided adventure last year in Muscat with Jon and Avram Shimmel. The Muttrah Souk. He rubbed the spot on his elbow where a bullet had grazed him when he’d used a handgun for the first time ever. He’d killed three people, but he’d also saved Jon’s life. What had he been thinking? He was just a hacker. Bad choice. It had him reeling again.
The buzz from his cell startled him. The screen showed the name “Jon Sommers.”
He touched the screen. “Take a taxi to 21 Lok Lam Road, New Territories. Find Block A and buzz apartment 316.” He terminated the call. Soon, he’d have to decide what to do.
His fingers were in his pants pocket, fingering his father’s stolen gold fountain pen. Would eating soothe his nerves? He rose from the seat at his desk and removed the plate containing the char siu bao and bo nay tea from the microwave. He munched on the bun, his fingers tapping.
He was about to lift the teacup when he heard the elevator door scrape open down the hall outside his apartment. It would be Jon.
William opened the door to find Jon’s fist about to knock on it. “Come.”
Jon dropped his black go bag of travel essentials on the floor in the entryway. He smiled and mimicked William’s voice. “Jon, my friend. Good to see you again.”
“Yeah. So tell me what you want.”
Jon shook his head. “Not happy to see me? Ah, well, right to business, then. My handler wants you to hack a software company for him. Him, not me. I want to convince you to show me your city, its sights, its food, its women. Especially its women.”
Jon walked around the apartment. He scanned its view of the harbor and nodded. “Excellent. Please, William. Now, I’ve told you what he wants. So that’s done. Show me an evening of fun. I’ve been stuck at a bloody German bank working in a humorless department with earnest people. They’re absolutely boring. Now, I’m bored too. I’m tired thinking of ways to maximize profit. Let’s live well tonight.”
He waited, but William remained silent. Jon grinned. “The Mossad is picking up the tab.”
William shrugged his shoulders. “You brought a business suit?”
Jon nodded. “But of course.”
William turned away. “Get dressed. The suit, a collared shirt, and a tie. I’ll need to re-dress also.” He pointed Jon to the guest room that also served as his office. He took the pastry and the tea from the table and dumped them, heading off to his bedroom to change.
William shook his head. Just like Jon to distract him before pulling some shit.
They walked through the door at Star Luk restaurant. William was met by a tall woman with a heart-shaped face, and pecked her cheek. “Meet Lily Lee.”
Jon smiled and William wondered what Jon was thinking. William took her hand and she led them to a table.
“Lily. What a gorgeous woman you are.” Jon nodded at William. “Quite impressive.” He picked up a menu. “What’s good here?”
“Lily’s dad owns the place. We don’t order. Just relax.”
The waiter grinned and kowtowed as he approached. Lily smiled back and whispered in his ear. When he left, she turned to Jon. “Adventures are coming. Things you never taste before. Like broiled scorpion.”
Jon’s jaw dropped just a bit. “Oh?”
William burst out laughing. “Hey, you wanted a night on the town. So one rule: we can’t discuss business in front of Lily. Okay?”
Jon nodded. He seemed to be considering the situation. “Right.”
There was little small talk. Jon wondered if it was because Lily understood English and William wanted to keep her out of his business. The entire evening, she and William conversed exclusively in what Jon thought must be Mandarin. She held William’s hand and smiled at everything he said.
Jon began to feel William had deliberately chosen to exclude him from the evening. It didn’t matter if he’d done this because of Lily, or to make a point. Jon felt a bit unsettled, listening but understanding nothing. Late in the evening, Jon realized William wanted Jon to feel about the evening what William felt about Jon’s work. A hostage, unable to understand.
Jon scanned the restaurant. His eyes shifted constantly from the exits to the path to the rest room, and back again.
What if, just what if I was followed here?
The waiter cleared their empty dishes at the end of their meal. A young Chinese woman approached their table and whispered to Lily. Lily nodded and smiled, then turned to Jon. In perfect English with a noticeable American accent, she said, “I have taken the liberty of procuring an evening’s entertainment for you with Ling. She is a member of the Chinese ballet in Beijing, visiting my family.”
Ling pulled a chair from one of the adjoining tables and sat. She smiled at Jon as she touched his arm. “You…friend…William?”
He coughed. “Uh, yes.” He broke from Ling’s eyes and faced Lily. “Thanks. Thanks so much.”
William smirked. “I didn’t know. Lily didn’t tell me.”
Jon shook his head. “Ling, thank you for the offer. But I’m not really interested.”
Ling’s mouth fell. “You…are queer?”
“I’m just jet-lagged.”
She pulled a bottle of pills from her bag. “This. Works wonders. Please to try.”
Jon’s face scrunched. He thought of how the ghost of Lisa Gabriel, his now-dead fiancée, had haunted him for so long, and how he felt he’d now returned to normal. Should he try? What if he heard her voice in his head while he was having intercourse with this woman?
“Okay.” But he palmed the pill and smiled. “I’ll have to use the loo before we leave.” He touched his lips to her forehead and stepped away. When he closed the door, he dropped the pill in the bathroom sink.
Just after midnight, when the four returned to William’s apartment, William faced Jon and said, “You and Ling have the sleeper couch in the guest room tonight. We can talk in the morning.” He turned and led Lily to his bedroom. Over his shoulder, he said, “Be sure to close the door.”
Jon closed the guest room door and started to undress. Ling closed her hands around his, then undressed him herself. She cast her eyes down. “Now. Undress me.” Jon nodded, unbuttoning her blouse while he dreaded hearing Lisa’s voice in his head. When he finished, he studied her body. Thin, very thin, tiny breasts, small hips, all perfect complements to her tiny nose and thick lips. She’s gorgeous, he thought.
But a half-hour later, when she shrieked during her third climax, he’d heard no ghostly voice. Lisa was truly dead.
After she’d fallen asleep, He lay in bed with his eyes open for hours, thinking about his mission. William wasn’t built to handle danger. Jon didn’t want his friend to suffer any more. William had saved Jon’s life. What more could you ask of a friend? He thought of the line he’d quipped as they escaped by submarine from Oman so long ago:
Friends and secrets forever.
No, he wasn’t going to involve William. He lay on the couch thinking about his trip back to Munich. What could he tell Mother?
William’s eyes adjusted to the souk’s dim light. If he could see despite the shadows, he was sure the darkness wasn’t an obstacle for any of the terrorists either. He saw a continuous stream of muzzle flashes. Shit! Both the teams he’d come with were firing
at Houmaz’s men. And the Arabs were shooting back. The firefight made so much noise he was sure no one would hear him if he called out.
Less than three feet away, he saw Jon’s chest soaking in dark liquid, and knew it was blood. He touched the liquid and sniffed it. Yes, blood. Then he realized the liquid spotting his own face wasn’t perspiration. It’s Jon’s blood. All over me! I’m not CryptoMonger here. He plucked the earbud from Jon’s ear and pushed it into his own. “Avram! Jon’s hit. It looks real bad. What should I do?”
He heard Avram’s voice. “Keep shooting. And try hitting your targets for a change.”
William saw six Arabs break cover and charge them. He heard shots from the Mossad weapons just in front of him.
He heard Avram’s voice count their targets as Jon’s team hit them. “Six. Seven. Eight.”
William heard Avram shout, “JD’s hit.” Seconds later he saw one of their attackers launch himself between him and Jon’s body, holding some kind of automatic weapon. The man was just a few feet from William. He fumbled at the trigger. William’s first shot went wild, and his target smiled as he pulled his own trigger, but his shot was wide. William aimed fast and fired until the clip was empty. Two of his shots hit the man, and one blew a small hole in the man’s forehead. William watched the man’s body fall and he picked up the dead man’s AK-47.
He could feel something slimy on his arm near his elbow. He touched it and winced. Blood. His blood. Jon was right. I’m in over my head. He felt dinner coming back up his throat.
He looked forward and saw another of Houmaz’s men emerge from behind a corner passageway, holding a similar weapon. William grimaced and lifted the AK-47, aiming it into the target’s body. He was surprised when the bullets seemed to come from his gun before he even realized he’d pulled the trigger. Most of his shots went high, but one opened a large hole in the attacker’s throat.
He heard another loud explosion. A Claymore had found its mark. William heard Avram yell, “If Gault told us the truth about how many men Houmaz brought, I think they’re all down. William, we must leave now. Just in case I miscounted or Gault lied about this, too. Hurry. I’ll circle back and pick up Jon. I’ve switched the Claymores off. You just head out as fast as you can.”
