Gad Habish was tired when his flight from Amsterdam landed at Málaga. The return journey from Israel had been an ordeal and he had spent hours transiting through four different airports in four countries as he switched passports and changed identities. “All for twenty minutes with the Ganef,” he complained. The team’s number two man, Zeev Avidar, who had met him at the airport said nothing; he understood only too well Habish’s feelings. Everyone in the Mossad knew their leader was habitually ill-tempered and irascible, but they also knew he was a genius who had learned his craft in the Warsaw ghetto as a teenager in World War II.
“What horse is the old Ganef riding these days?” Avidar asked.
“Money. What else. Claims we’re spending too much of it. He had a fit over the dress until I showed him the pictures.” Habish gave a snort that passed for a laugh. “That shut him up. I think the old bastard actually got a hard-on.”
“Impossible.” They were quiet for the rest of the ride into Marbella.
Shoshana was following the routine Habish had established for her to make contact. She started out by visiting a certain gift shop downtown and then pausing for a late-morning coffee on the main square. After that, she would visit a few more shops before dropping into Gabriella’s dress boutique thirty-five to forty minutes after she had finished the coffee. Someone was always there to meet her. This time, it was a red-eyed Habish who was waiting.
“How’s the relationship with Mana progressing?” he asked.
“Satisfactory.” He could hear an icy chill in her voice. When Shoshana chose, she could freeze a person with her haughty, reserved manner. But Habish was no ordinary person.
“Out with it,” he demanded, cutting right to the heart of the matter.
“I don’t like being watched by voyeurs,” she replied, turning the temperature down a few more degrees. “You are nothing but a frustrated—” She cut the words off. “I do not like what I am doing to Is’al and prefer not to be gawked at when I must … must seduce him.”
“Say it like it is,” he snapped. “When you must ‘fuck’ him.”
Her anger flared. “We haven’t gone that far yet. He has a problem.”
“Yes, we know. Premature ejaculation.”
“Must you do this to him?” A pleading had crept into her voice.
“My God! You’ve fallen for one of the clients.”
“No. But I do like him. He is so vulnerable and unsure of himself.”
Habish motioned for her to sit down while he checked the hall for security. Only Zeev Avidar was there. He sat next to her and spoke in a soft voice, explaining the ‘'drill” to her.
“Yes, we do watch you. You are under constant surveillance, twenty-four hours a day. It is not easy but it is necessary.” She started to protest that it wasn’t necessary, that she was perfectly safe with Mana. Again he anticipated her. “Believe me, you are in constant danger. This is the only way we can guarantee your safety. Did you know Mana has bodyguards and they have taken pictures of you and him together? Including that tender scene in the hall where you had him twanging at E above high C.” Shoshana was shocked.
Habish pressed his advantage. “Is’al Mana is an Iraqi chemical engineer who right now, as we speak, is negotiating with WisserChemFabrik for highly specialized machinery that could be used to manufacture a new nerve gas. You know the most likely target of nerve gas—Israel.” He stood up, his words now filled with emotion. “Shoshana, we are protecting our people, making sure that nothing like the Holocaust will ever happen again. No one likes what we do, least of all me. But there is no choice between the Manas of Iraq and the safety of our families. I wish there was another way.”
His words had stirred memories deep inside and she remembered that Sunday long ago when she had cut her hair and visited Yad Vashem with her grandmother and aunt and uncle. “You’re right.” Her voice was her apology. ‘ ‘I had let my personal feelings cloud my judgment. It won’t happen again.”
“In our work,” Habish said, “you must put your personal feelings away. But always remember where you hid them. You will need them when you’re done with this filthy work. That is the way you remain a human being.” He let her digest his words, judging her about ready for the purpose of his hurried visit back to Israel. She nodded and he knew she could continue.
“An agent reported the Iraqis are constructing a plant to make a new and much more deadly gas—one that we have no defenses for. He paid for that information with his life.” He paused. “Shoshana, there is a connection between Mana and that plant. We want you to go inside, into Iraq, and find out what that nerve gas is.”
Satiated, saturation, disgust. The three words rolled around in Matt’s head, much like a tune that wouldn’t go away. “Damn,” he muttered, not knowing why he was so discontented. He was lying naked on the deck of a thirty-six-foot sailboat, another one of the many Wisser possessions, off the Greek island of Santorin. He rolled over, careful not to put any pressure on his crotch, and searched the beach for Lisl. He didn’t have any trouble finding her. She was the nude, golden-haired nymph running through the surf. “Exhibitionist,” he grunted.
Lisl’s brother, Hellmut, had sensed that Matt’s growing attraction for Shoshana might complicate the negotiations with the Iraqis if the pilot stole her away from Mana. Rather than take any chances, Hellmut had suggested that the two of them leave Marbella and fly to Mykonos to pick up the boat for a few days’ sail around the Aegean. Matt had readily agreed, seeing an easy way to end the games he was playing over Shoshana. He didn’t like being aced out by an Arab.
Gingerly, he stood up and climbed down the companion-way to find something to eat. He was standing in the galley when the boat rocked as Lisl climbed up the boarding ladder. “Not again.” He made a promise to stop talking to himself. Rather than let Lisl trap him below for another round of love-making, he went back on deck. She was waving at another sailboat that was mooring beside them. Two couples waved back and they started an animated conversation in German.
“They’ll be coming over when they finish mooring,” Lisl told him. The two women on the other boat had already shed their clothes.
What in the hell is the matter with you, he thought. I’m in a teenager’s paradise, screwing my eyeballs out and I’ve had it. For the first time in his life, he understood the difference between fucking and making love. And he knew whatever he and Lisl had been doing, it wasn’t making love.
“Lisl, what’s the date today?” She shrugged and called across the water, asking the new arrivals. He knew enough German to understand the answer. “Scheise. ” The German obscenity got her attention. “I’m AWOL. Got to get going.” He explained that he had overstayed his leave and would be in a barrel of Scheise if he didn’t get back to his unit. The news didn’t bother Lisl, her four new friends would keep her occupied for a while. Her father would send someone to pick up the boat.
Two hours later, Matt was at Santorin’s small airport. When he reached the counter, he almost booked a flight through Málaga, but decided against that. He couldn’t waste two more days looking for Shoshana and had to get to his new base at Stonewood. He wished he hadn’t gone sailing with Lisl and lost track of time—and Shoshana. He tried to write her off as just another passing fancy. But her face kept appearing like a beautiful melody that kept playing in his mind.
A light dew gave a freshness to the early morning as Habish started the car. Zeev Avidar, who specialized in forged documents, was packing his unique equipment into the trunk for the trip to the airport at Malaga. “I’m getting tired of this drive,” Habish told Avidar. But there was no choice, his other agent was watching Shoshana and Avidar had to start the circuitous route that would take him to Baghdad.
Once inside Iraq, Avidar would keep the team supplied with all the fake documents a team needed to survive in that hostile country. It was no easy task, for he could not take the documents with him and would have to make them on the spot. During his journey, he would pick up the cover of a co
mputer salesman and repairman trying to hawk his product inside Iraq. Like any good salesman, he would have samples of his product and, like a competent repairman, he would take his tools and spare parts with him. Avidar would go through the motions of setting up a computer business, taking his time as he worked through the masses of paperwork and the bureaucratic maze of the Iraqi government to get a business license.
Another agent, posing as an artist, had already smuggled in the unique types of paper and ink they would need. They would join up and Avidar would write a detailed program to load into a computer that would turn his laser printer into a most unique printing press. Their documents were so good that when experts compared Avidar’s forgeries with the real thing, they always picked out the legitimate documents as the fake. But setting up the operation took time.
While Avidar was making his journey, the artist would make contact with an operative who was working with the Kurds, a minority fighting for their independence from the oppressive Iraqi regime. Through the Kurds, he would receive small, lightweight, 22-caliber Walther automatic pistols for each member of the team. The Walthers had been highly modified and used special, low-powered, German ammunition. When fired, the weapon made a soft phut sound and they did not need to use bulky silencers. It was a short-range assassination weapon. This was perhaps the most dangerous part of the operation and if he was caught with the weapons, it meant certain torture, execution, and compromise of the operation. Because of that, the weapons problem had to be resolved before anyone else entered Iraq.
Habish and two other agents would enter Iraq separately about the same time as Shoshana. She would have to travel without a backup and be on her own for a time. Once inside Iraq, the team would have to go to work with a vengeance, relearning the local customs, checking current police methods, and how the procedures at harbors and airports had changed since the last team was in Iraq. Then they would have to rent or buy at least three safe houses. Each agent would try to rent or buy a car, a difficult task in Iraq. While all this was going on, they would establish a communication system, make escape arrangements, develop hiding places, and pass out equipment. Avidar and the artist would work twenty hours a day, churning out the fake documents so an agent never had to use the same identity for doing two separate tasks. Habish would use the same driver’s license for renting a car and while traveling. But he would never carry that driver’s license when he was strolling from café to café, keeping in contact with his agents.
At a certain point, Habish would establish contact with Shoshana through the language school where he had told her to take lessons in Arabic. He would then move her into the operation, telling only what she needed to know, never revealing the entire operation or the identity of another agent to her. As the daddy rabbit for the operation, Habish was critical to the security of the entire team and he had promised himself long ago that he would commit suicide before being captured. Then Avidar would have to pick up the pieces and try to get everyone safely out of Iraq.
Habish knew what was ahead of him when he drove Avidar to the airport at Málaga. It was going to be up to him and one other agent to maintain a watch over Shoshana and he didn’t look forward to the next few days. For now, he needed to get as much rest as possible until Shoshana wangled an invitation from Is’al Mana to visit Baghdad.
There was little doubt that Mana was totally infatuated with Shoshana. He followed her around like a puppy and sent her gifts every day. She encouraged the attention but refused to accept a single present and kept telling him that their relationship had nothing to do with material things. After a while, he believed her. Then Habish noticed that Mana’s bodyguards no longer followed them around and used the time Shoshana and Mana were together to take a break.
Mana repeatedly tried to talk about his work to impress her with his talents and abilities. Again and again, Shoshana would put him off, claiming she didn’t want to discuss business while on vacation and only wanted to spend more time with him. If he became too insistent in talking about chemical equipment, she would stroke and pet him, totally distracting him until a premature ejaculation sent him back to his villa for a change of clothes. Mana was in love.
Habish reprimanded her once for not letting Mana talk about his work. She froze him with her icy stare. “I believe the proper technique is to keep him ‘humming’ at E above high C.” She liked Mana much better than Habish.
Finally, the negotiations between the Iraqis and WisserChemFabrik were finished and Iraq had the last of the equipment it needed to complete its nerve gas plant. Habish had met her in the main square while she drank coffee and said that Mana would be returning to Iraq within the next day or two. She paid her bill and got ready to leave. “I know. He told me. We’re having dinner tonight at his villa.”
“Then he must ask you to go with him tonight.”
“He will,” Shoshana promised.
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’ve been doing my ‘homework’ and reading about Is’al’s problem.” She picked up her bag and left.
From the moment Mana picked up Shoshana at the hotel, he could not take his eyes off her, which was exactly what she wanted. The top three buttons of her white silk shirt were undone and her black, straight-legged trousers snared her small waist and hugged her ample hips and well-shaped rear.
They ate dinner on the balcony of his villa that overlooked the Mediterranean. When Shoshana judged the time was right, she suggested they go inside. Mana obediently followed. Inside, she stood in front of a mirror and checked her hair. “Is’al,” she called, “this is a funny mirror. What’s wrong with it?”
A bright crimson blush spread across the Iraqi’s face as he told her there was a VCR camera hidden behind it. His honesty was painful.
“Do you take pictures of us?” she asked. He nodded. “Do you like watching them?” Again, he nodded. “Then I don’t mind if it will remind you of me.” She studied the mirror, not able to see anything behind it. “Is’al, ask one of the servants to bring in a bowl of ice cubes. Then dismiss them.” He did as she asked and after the maid had left, she playfully kicked off her shoes and walked toward him. Her hips and shoulders swayed provocatively and Mana watched her breasts move under the silk blouse. He sucked in his breath when she undid the buttons down to her waist. She stopped in the middle of the room and beckoned for him. “Bring the ice,” she commanded.
They met in the middle of the room and she took the bowl from him and set it on the floor. She turned so her back was to the mirror. Then she rapidly stripped his clothes off. Mana stood there perplexed, growing soft, losing his erection. Quickly, she undid her belt and shed her trousers and blouse. She was wearing nothing underneath. Mana was erect again, growing excited. She knelt in front of him and took him in both hands, feeling him pulse. It was almost over. Then she scooped up a handful of ice and clapped it over his penis. He gasped for air and visibly cooled.
Shoshana looked at him and smiled. “I think we’ve solved our problem.” She picked up the bowl of ice and led him into his bedroom.
So this is what a whore feels like, Shoshana thought, loathing herself. She kicked her legs out of bed and looked across to Mana. He was sleeping peacefully, a childlike look on his smooth face. She didn’t hate him—she couldn’t bring herself to that. And he had been so grateful the night before. Then they had made love again, at least it was love for Mana. For her, she decided, it was more like two dogs mating in a plush garden. The second time, Shoshana only had to use the ice once. The third time, it had been normal. It was Mana’s first successful sexual experience.
Shoshana walked across the huge room and drew the curtains back from across the picture window that overlooked the Mediterranean. The morning sun streamed in, flowing over her. It was the same sun that had waked Israel first, over two thousand miles to the east. She stood there, staring out to sea, toward her home.
“Rose,” Mana called from the bed.
The use of her alias brought her back to reali
ty and a bitter taste filled her mouth. She was using her body to get what she wanted and that made her a whore. She walked back to bed and crawled in next to him.
“Our vacation is almost over,” she said and drew a fingernail down his chest and scratched his stomach. “I’m going to miss you very, very much.”
“Rose,” he said, still at the beginning. “I don’t want this to end. Please, will you marry me?”
She wanted to cry but there it was. “Oh yes.” Tears filled her eyes. “No, I can’t.”
“Why not? I love you.” He was pleading.
“Oh, Is’al, you know how I feel about you”—she stroked his cheek and laid her breasts against him—“but there are so many problems.” He started to protest but she hushed him. “There is your religion and, well, I’m really nothing. I don’t speak your language and must learn it first.” Now she was rubbing his crotch and drawing her fingernails along his erection. “And this is very important, Is’al. I will only marry you if your family approves.”
“They will love you,” he promised. She stopped him from talking with a kiss and they made love again, but she had to use the last of the ice.
Afterward, they lay together. Then: “Please come with me to Baghdad and meet my family.”
5
It was a retake of the same scene Matt had starred in the last time he had seen his squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Locke. Only this time, the setting was different. Instead of standing in Locke’s Spartan office at Luke Air Force Base in Arizona, he was at RAF Stonewood in England and the office was a shambles. The noise and activity of a tactical fighter squadron settling into his new home was a constant distraction. Matt wondered how long Locke would keep him standing at attention before chewing him out. Come on, he thought, get it over with. Just what the hell can you do to me? I was only eight days late and what the hell, no one needed me for anything.
Firebreak Page 9
