MindField

by D S Kane

  * * *

  Kreslin stood by the window, watching the sun descend. “Use the restroom and eat a snack. Once we leave this room, we can expect things may have changed since we constructed our battle plan. So, be prepared to adjust.”

  The other seven Russians nodded, then lined up to use the room’s single bathroom.

  * * *

  Ann’s notebook computer buzzed. She examined the screen and sent a text out. All her texts were addressed to Cassie, Lee, Avram, and Jon Sommers:

  Russians moving up the southwest stairwell. Now on forty-one.

  Now she had a fix on where they were. She watched them climb the stairs and texted a revision:

  They’re still heading up the staircase. Now at forty-fourth floor. Eight in total. One with a Dragunov sniper rifle. Others armed with semiautomatic handguns.

  Although she’d agreed to stay out of combat, Ann’s feet moved her, unbidden, to the hallway outside the southwest stairwell on the fiftieth floor. She sought cover at a spot where the hallway turned a corner.

  She continued monitoring the security cams. She could hear shots now. At first, single shots with seconds between each report. Then the shots were more continuous and louder. The Russians were getting closer to her position.

  She heard the stairwell door closest to her spring open. She backed away, down the hall, fear chilling her.

  Ann heard running footsteps coming in her direction. Turning the corner of the hallway and trotting toward her, she saw an armed man wearing a mask and holding a handgun. He stood in front of her, aiming the pistol.

  She was frozen where she stood.

  Ann was unarmed. But she could use her ability to shoot fire from her fingers to save her. She could see he was still too far away for a dead-on headshot at her. Unfortunately for Ann, she was too far away for her own magic to work.

  She placed her notebook computer on the floor and concentrated on her fingers. But her fingertips were blue. She frowned and placed her hands in front of her while she waited for the armed man to close the distance.

  When he was less than forty feet away and still running toward her, she thought, FIRE! But, she could only smell her fear. Nothing happened.

  The Russian took aim. A headshot. She was less than ten feet away. There was no way he could miss. She thought, I should have listened to Cassie. Ann closed her eyes. She couldn’t face her own death.

  But then she heard the stairwell door open again. She opened her eyes and saw Jon running toward her. The Russian reacted to the footsteps approaching him from behind. He whirled around and took aim at Jon.

  Her fear converted fast into rage at the Russian. Her fingertips turned from blue to a glowing orange. She aimed her hands at the back of the Russian’s head and once again thought, FIRE!

  A bolt of fire streamed from her fingertips and the Russian’s head exploded. Pieces of his skull and brains clung to the hallway walls and floor.

  Jon Sommers stood above the Russian, holding his own 9mm Beretta. No smoke wafted from its barrel. He looked at the headless dead body, and then at Ann.

  Jon shook his head with disbelief. “Hello, Ann. Neat trick. Are you unharmed?”

  She was still in shock and couldn’t speak. She took inventory. No wounds anywhere on her body. She nodded and smiled.

  When she could once again speak, she said, “What now?”

  “Your trick. It’s our little secret. For me, it’s back into the stairwell. There may still be hostiles at work. For you, stay hidden. I promise I’ll return soon.” Jon headed back the way he’d come.

  Ann continued to monitor the action from her notebook. She heard the shots diminish in frequency until there were none. Cassie’s voice said, “We’re done. Let’s make sure Strumler is alive.”

  Ann took the elevator to the lobby. As she emerged, she saw a group of men wearing FBI jackets enter the same elevator she’d exited.

  Ann sat in one of the plush armchairs in the lobby and waited for the inevitable. Her body began to shake more and more violently. She reached into her backpack and pulled a bag of sour gummies from it. After eating the entire bag’s contents, the shaking began to subside.

  She was beginning to feel normal again when the elevator doors opened again. The FBI agents emerged from the elevator leading Strumler in handcuffs. The president-elect was screaming, “I’ll sue you for this! I’ll sue you all!”

  It was all over. She shook herself to loosen her cramping legs and arms.

  Chapter 44

  Stanford University Student Union,

  Palo Alto, CA

  November 24, 2:09 p.m.

  Ann was back at the Stanford campus, looking at the grades posted in the Student Union lobby. She grinned when she discovered she had aced her midterm on computer forensics. After attending her afternoon classes, she walked back to her apartment and passed a newsstand.

  The headline on one of the newspapers stated, “Strumler Arrested for Treason.” She decided to read the news online when she had reached her apartment.

  When she unlocked the door, she heard someone humming in her kitchen. The familiar voice belonged to Laura Hunter. “Hi, Ann. Did you get my message?”

  “Ah, no, Laura. I just returned from a trip back east. What’s in your message?”

  “Me. Paraguay didn’t work out. I’m back, attending Stanford. Do you need a roommate?”

  Ann smiled. “Sure.”

  She turned on the television and watched the story of the FBI arresting Daniel Strumler. She thought, it’s even better on-screen in color than it was when I was there.

  Laura cooked them dinner. While Laura was busy, Ann called Cassie. Her mother was still angry with Ann for violating the promise she’d made to stay out of harm’s way. “Mom. I’m sorry. I know it was irresponsible of me. I promise I’ll never disappoint you like that again.”

  “Crap, Ann. How can I trust you?”

  “Yeah. Well, I thought I was in a safe place. I was wrong.”

  “Okay. Did you get your midterm grades?”

  “Yeah. I did fine. And Laura’s back. So it’s pretty much back to normal.”

  “I like normal.” She heard Cassie laugh.

  Ann smiled. Her mom had already let her anger go.

  * * *

  Robert Randall knocked on Smythe’s door. The ass dire shouted, “Come,” and Randall entered but remained standing. He removed an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Smythe. “What’s this?”

  Randall said, “It’s my resignation.”

  “Why?”

  “Please, sir. Just accept it and let me be on my way to something not involved with international intelligence.”

  Smythe remained silent, thinking. “Are you sure?”

  Randall nodded.

  “Right, then. I accept your resignation.” Smythe sighed. “We’ll miss you.” He rose and extended his hand.

  Randall shook hands with Smythe, then returned to his desk. In two weeks, he would be a rich man, retired and free. The millions in cash from his sale of the off-the-books InTelQ project waited in his offshore account.

  * * *

  Avram Shimmel and Jon Sommers sat in the conference room on the twenty-ninth floor of the UN Secretariat Building. Bright sunshine drenched the room.

  Avram handed Jon a small stack of papers. “I have received approval from Israel’s prime minister. The termination is approved. Our collections department located your target. Bring a bathing suit with you. Oh, and we’ve sent you the package of accessories to your hotel via FedEx.”

  Jon opened and read the first page in the stack. “It’s rare that a termination is approved. In fact, I’ve only done one before.”

  “Yah. This is retribution for the deaths of our covert operatives in Sunnyvale. Make sure he knows why he’s being terminated before you complete the assignment. No one should die this way without knowing why.”

  Jon nodded, rose, and exited the conference room. He grabbed his Burberry and fedora and took the elevator
to the immense lobby. He stepped outside, with over one hundred national flags flapping overhead. He flagged a cab and bounced inside. “To JFK, international terminal, Air Jamaica.”

  The cabby nodded and sped up First Avenue toward the 59th Street Bridge.

  * * *

  Robert Randall sat in a cabaña by the shoreline. He held a piña colada in his right hand and the day’s newspaper in his left. The paper’s headline stated “President-Elect Was Russian Mole.” The line under the headline elaborated, “Strumler Operated Assassination Program Murdering America’s Brightest Entrepreneurs.”

  He chuckled and sipped his drink. The tent shielded him from the sun while its open side left him with a view of the ocean, but it obscured his view of the elegant hotel behind him.

  He watched the ocean waves beating against the shore. I’m free and I’m rich. Nothing could be better.

  He felt a pinch in his neck. Probably a mosquito. He swatted at his neck and a small dart popped from his neck onto his lap.

  He suddenly felt groggy. A well-built man in a bathing suit appeared in front of the cabaña. The stranger held a neatly folded towel in his hand and Randall noticed the handgun hidden under it.

  The stranger smiled at him. “So sorry. Mr. Randall, I’m Jon Sommers. I work for the United Nations but I once worked for the Mossad. I was a kidon. An assassin. The small dart I shot you with has a nearly undetectable poison developed by the Ness Ziona in Tel Aviv. You will die slowly, in terrible pain, and you will be paralyzed until you are dead. The reason why I’ve been ordered to end you is because your cleaner murdered two of our operatives in Sunnyvale. Your orders. I’m just returning the courtesy. Oh, and I recently was informed that your cleaner, Alan Skorkin, was himself cleaned. I have to leave now. Enjoy your day.” Randall watched the man turn and walk away.

  Randall felt a numbing in his fingers and his toes. The numbness was spreading toward his torso. Within seconds the numbness turned into a flaming sensation of pain in his joints. He tried to scream but he couldn’t make a sound. His vision began to stipple and he felt as if his eyeballs would explode. Breathing became difficult and his lungs felt like they were burning.

  Randall watched the afternoon fade to sundown before he breathed his last.

  * * *

  The table separating Strumler from his attorney was small. It was bolted to the floor, and Strumler’s cuffs were bolted and locked into the table’s gray metal top. There were armed guards standing at the doorway, watching everything said and every movement.

  The lawyer said, “Sir, I recommend you accept the deal. It expires in an hour.”

  “Fuck the deal. What’s the worst they can do? I’m still president!”

  “No, sir, you aren’t. As I’ve already told you twice before, Congress has impeached you even though you haven’t taken office. While I’m not sure if this is legal, today’s headlines are that Congress is about to void your election and declare a special election in six months. And, I’m not sure if that’s legal either. But in any case, you are no longer the president-elect, and you have been charged with treason.

  Strumler appeared to be confused. “What?”

  The attorney shrugged. “Okay. Do you want to accept the deal? Please. If you’re convicted of treason, the penalty could be a firing squad.”

  “That’s funny.” Strumler chuckled. “I’d truly be fired.” His laughter was explosive.

  The attorney rose from the meeting table and beckoned to the guards. “Okay, then. I’m done. Get me out of here.”

  * * *

  Avram Shimmel was once again back at work at the United Nations. He made himself comfortable in his overstuffed office chair as he admired the view from his office window. The East River sat twenty-nine floors beneath him, the streets due east of him filled with skyscrapers. It was an unseasonably warm day and he saw pedestrians wearing light jackets as they walked the sidewalks below.

  His phone buzzed. “Shimmel here.”

  “It’s Meyer. Our UN ambassador has resigned. She was unhappy that you delivered a speech she had wanted to make, and she decided to run for a seat in the Knesset. We are currently without a United Nations ambassador. The PM suggested you.”

  “Me? I’m not a diplomat!”

  “Yes. Are you deaf?”

  “But who will run the UN Paramilitary Force?”

  “That’s a problem for you to solve. What’s your answer?”

  Avram knew that there was no way he could deny a command assigned to him by the Israeli PM. He sighed. “I accept.”

  “Good. You will be stationed at the Israeli embassy in New York. Report there as soon as you can.” Meyer terminated the call.

  Jon’s office was adjacent to Avram’s, albeit somewhat smaller. He was also admiring the view when his landline rang. “Sommers.”

  “Jon, drop by my office as soon as you have a moment.”

  Jon recognized Avram’s thick Israeli accent. “On my way now.”

  He walked in, smiling, and took a seat. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been asked by Israel’s PM to accept the position of Israeli ambassador to the United Nations.”

  “Wow. Congrats, big guy. That’s quite a coup.”

  “Maybe, maybe, but it leaves me with a problem. I have to replace myself. Do you have any preference as to who becomes your next boss?”

  Jon’s face showed surprise and confusion. “I’ve not had any time to digest this.”

  “Well, if there is no one you’d prefer for your next boss, then I guess I’ll just have to appoint you. Congratulations, you are now director of the UN Paramilitary Force.”

  Avram saw Jon’s eyes bulge. It was all Avram could do to keep a grin off his face. But within a second, he could no longer help himself. His own smile beamed back at his friend.

  Jon shrugged. “You sure about this? I’ve never commanded anything larger than an operations team. Five at most.”

  Avram nodded. “Congrats. You’re it. I have to leave now and start preparations to move my office to the embassy. Good luck, my friend.”

  Avram rose, shook Jon’s hand and started walking from his—now former—office.

  Jon turned and faced Avram’s receding form. “Wait. What’s my job description?”

  Avram stopped, turned, and faced Jon. “You’ll figure it out, just as I did.”

  An hour passed, with Jon unable to move from his seat across from Avram’s desk. No. Now it was Jon’s desk.

  He rose and reseated himself in his new chair. He was too short for its current setting. Jon adjusted the seat until he was finally comfortable. He opened the desk drawers and pulled all the folders from it. It took him through the day and long into the evening to read through them, open the computer’s file directory and take inventory of the contents.

  He sent a text message to Ann.

  As the sun set and the night stars shone over Manhattan, Jon Sommers smiled and thought to himself, I wonder if this will turn out to be a blessing or a curse.

  * * *

  Ann’s cell buzzed as she entered her computer audit procedures class. She read the text and smiled:

  Ann—Thanks for saving my life. Don’t worry about your secret. I expect we’ll work together again, soon and often. —Jon.

  Ann thought, yes, Jon. Now you owe me one and I owe you one.

  Glossary A.

  Terms Used in the Spies Lie Series

  AFI. Intelligence branch of the Israeli Air Force.

  air-gapped. A computer with no external connections to WiFi or CAT5e connections is referred to as “air-gapped.”

  aleph. Lead kidon, the assassin leading an execution mission for the Mossad.

  Aman. Intelligence branch of the IDF (Israeli Military Intelligence).

  asset. A civilian in a foreign country who claims to have valuable contacts or information useful to a case officer. The primary objective of most case officers is to develop in-country assets.

  ayin. Tracker (surveillance) for the Mossad.
>
  backstopping. Fake identification papers.

  bat leveyha. Female agent for the Mossad.

  better world, send to a. Euphemism for murdering an enemy agent.

  blind dating. Meeting place chosen by an agent to meet his or her handler.

  bodel. Courier for the Mossad.

  BP. Israeli paramilitary Border Patrol.

  Bug-Lok. Also called DeathByte, the device is a nanobug that can be ingested or injected into a subject. Bug-Lok was developed by the Ness Ziona in Herzliya on contract with Gilbert Greenfield’s intelligence service. When ingested or injected, the nanobug then finds its way to the medulla oblongata of the subject and attaches itself to the neural bundles that carry visual and auditory signals into the subject’s brain. The nanobug transmits these signals to the nearest local area network (LAN) and from there to the handler, who gathers video and audio of the subject’s activities, in addition to the subject’s GPS location. Bug-Lok can be fitted with a tiny concentrated ricin dose to kill the subject, activated by a remote when the handler no longer needs the subject. NOTE: When I first crafted the features and functions of this device, it was pure fiction, but was based on several devices then in development. I have recently been told that a device similar to this has since been specified and may have completed its development.

  burn notice. A termination notice for an official operative or an NOC; the burned spy has his or her bank accounts confiscated and identity documents redacted, and, in extreme cases, is subject to a terminate-on-sight order.

  C-6. A more powerful and concentrated form of the C-4 explosive.

  Chinese Secret Intelligence Services (CSIS). Chinese Secret Intelligence Service. The Chinese version of the FBI and one of the Chinese government’s many espionage and technical research organizations.

  CHIPS. The Clearing House Interbank Payments System, used by money-center banks to settle all outstanding transactions between them at the end of their day.

  Collections Department. Intelligence Department abroad.

  cutout. An intermediary, usually an innocent person, either a volunteer or paid by a covert operative to deliver or retrieve something valuable such as a message or a gadget, from a covert operative or an asset.