The Target_A Taskforce Story

by Brad Taylor

  He stood to leave, and she said, “Do you?”

  She was staring at him in earnest, wanting someone to at last value her worth. He said, “Yes. I do.”

  11

  They entered the flow of pedestrians on Florida Street, Shoshana a half step behind Aaron. She said, “What are we going to do now?”

  “Get back down to Mar del Plata and call the ramsad. Let him know the state of play. Either he’ll help us, or redirect our mission.” He looked at his watch and said, “We have about five hours before the plane departs. Plenty of time. I guess we can call Daniel and tell him not to bother driving up.”

  “Wait, why don’t we spend the night here? Call the ramsad from here? If he forces a redirect of station assets, we’ll have to meet Gideon again, which will mean another trip. Let’s let Daniel make the drive, and we can all go back with him tomorrow if it’s a bust.”

  He considered, and she said, “Another day’s not going to matter in that Nazi bastard’s life.”

  He said, “Makes sense.” He continued walking, saying, “You put a lot of faith in the Ramsad.”

  She said, “My brother was Sayeret Matkal. He was killed in Lebanon, and the ramsad talked to our family. I met him then, when my military time was coming to a close. He encouraged me to continue serving. It’s why I joined the Mossad.”

  Aaron simply nodded. Shoshana said, “What about you? Why are you here?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  They turned the corner onto Juan Domingo Perón Avenue, heading toward the hotel they’d used the night before, and she wouldn’t let it die. She said, “Okay, tell me. We have a ten-minute walk.”

  His voice flat, he said, “My family was killed by a suicide bomber in the first intifada. He boarded a bus and killed everyone on board. He came from Gaza. I was in basic training at the time, and there was no question of where I would end up. Samson.”

  “How did you feel when we gave Gaza back?”

  He stopped and said, “I don’t feel one way or the other. All I want is peace. If that means violence, I’ll provide it. You’re looking for something that isn’t there.”

  He turned to see her reading him with her weird glow. He said, “Stop that.”

  She said, “Stop what?”

  “Whatever you’re doing. It’s unsettling.”

  She nodded her head, reminding him of a robot from a movie. As if she didn’t understand what she’d done wrong, oblivious to her own abilities. In truth, she confused him. She was obviously damaged, no longer believing in any chain of command after what had happened to her, but she was also so sure of herself that he couldn’t help but be drawn in by her confidence.

  He also felt sorry for her. She had been thrown into a nether war that had sucked the life out of her. She might never be a normal person, or live a normal life, and it made him sad. She was damaged beyond repair by events outside her control.

  Not unlike himself.

  She said, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I just do it. Like you breathe. I mean no harm.”

  He said, “I know. It’s just . . . not polite.”

  She laughed and said, “I like this team.”

  He said, “Really? After the way Daniel treated you?”

  “Yes. He’s just confused by me, but he is good. Pure. It’s why I joined your team.”

  The statement brought Aaron up short. He said, “You had no choice in that.”

  She turned cold, and he saw a flicker of the dark angel. “Make no mistake, I have a choice. I see what is good. And I also see what is evil. I used to doubt my skill, when I didn’t know better, and it cost the lives of two men I knew were innocent. I follow you now because of it. Don’t prove me wrong.”

  Aaron said, “Don’t put that on me. I can’t compete with some crazy psychic bullshit. I do what I do, and I need you to follow me, regardless of your ‘visions.’ Can you do that? Or do I need to worry?”

  She said, “You don’t need to worry. I already told you, I know your heart.”

  They turned the corner and Aaron looked at her for deception. He saw a childlike innocence grafted on a woman who’d seen enough evil to know better, the child yearning to fit in, but the woman believing it was futile.

  She said, “I’ll follow you into hell, and I’ll be the one on the other side with you. Me and Daniel.”

  He smiled and said, “Hell won’t be required.”

  A white van pulled up, bouncing onto the sidewalk. Aaron leapt back, cursing. The sliding door opened, and he was staring into the barrel of a pistol. He recognized the son named Carl.

  “Get in, or I’ll shoot you right here.”

  12

  Konrad slid a map and a scrap of paper across the table. Carlos picked up the scrap first, saying, “What is this?”

  “The number of the cell phone initiator. You call that number, and the bomb goes off. There is a delay, though, so you need to dial early. Maybe give it five seconds or so.”

  He nodded, then said, “And the map?”

  “It shows the station chief’s lunchtime travels over the past week. The X is where we recommend placing the bike. He’ll walk in front of it, and the building to his back will enhance the explosive effect, as well as protect any other civilians nearby.”

  “What if he doesn’t take that route?”

  “That’s always a risk, but he’s taken that route more times than the others. You’ll just have to follow him every day. Sooner or later, he will. When are you going to emplace it?”

  “I want to do it tonight, for a hit tomorrow.”

  “That’s no problem. I can have the weapon driven up today. It’ll be here before nightfall.” He was thinking, The sooner the better.

  He had spoken to his father, and they’d analyzed the implications of the meeting Derek had observed, which ranged from civilians who had suspicions about Gunther to actual Mossad operatives dedicated to hunting him like Eichmann. He had the two from the restaurant, and would soon learn who they were, but they were just the linkage. The primary problem was the station chief: Whether he was controlling a team or just receiving information he hadn’t begun to service, he was dangerous. He needed to be eliminated.

  It was no longer a question of ideology, but survival. Somehow, the Mossad had learned his family’s secret. Konrad had considered telling Carlos, but was afraid the man would back out of the operation, for fear his cell had been penetrated simply by association.

  Carlos tapped the map, thinking. He finally said, “Would you be willing to conduct the operation? We will pay handsomely.”

  Konrad snapped his head up at the words, saying, “What? No way. What are you trying to pull here?”

  Carlos held his hand up, glancing at the counter of the café, the barista staring at his outburst. He said, “You’ve already scouted the kill zone, and developed the pattern of life. You know more about the mission than any of my men, including this new cell phone initiator. It makes sense, does it not?”

  “No, it most certainly does not.”

  Carlos sighed and said, “Okay, I’ll tell you the truth. I can barely muster the forces to do this. The damned Mossad have killed over half my men, and the two that I was going to use have reported that they think they’re under surveillance. I fear they will be killed next. I’m going to send them back home, and get clean reinforcements, but if I do, the mission will be delayed at least a month. In that time, the station chief may alter his routines—or be replaced altogether.”

  A month was too long. In that time, the Mossad could kill more than these despicable Iranians.

  Konrad said, “Is this what you planned all along?”

  “No. I promise. Like I said, I had two men slated for this operation, but they’re now convinced that they’re compromised.”

  Konrad said, “How much money?” He was thinking about his family’s future.
Even if they killed the station chief, the winery was done. They would have to relocate, and that would be expensive.

  Carlos leaned forward and said, “You set the price. The one thing I do have access to is money.”

  Konrad stood, saying, “I’ll have to confer with my father, but make no mistake, if he agrees, it will be much more than you’ve paid so far.”

  Carlos said, “That’s fine.”

  “If we agree, I will call you with the price. If we don’t, I’ll tell you where to pick up the device.”

  Carlos said, “Understood.”

  Konrad slid over his check for the snack he’d eaten, saying, “You can start with this.

  He went outside, winding down Florida Street until he found a bank of pay phones. He called his father at the winery, explaining all that had occurred. To his surprise, Gunther agreed with Carlos. Konrad said, “But I don’t have the manpower to do it. Carl and Derek have the two from the restaurant and are headed to the fortress. I can’t pull them back in, because it’ll take two people to watch them.”

  “How hard can it be? You need a trigger at the embassy, then a call as to which way he goes. That’s one man. Then you need someone watching the kill zone to initiate. That’s another man. Just two.”

  “But, Father, I have only myself.”

  “Wrong. You have me.”

  After the conversation was complete, Konrad reflected that his father seemed almost giddy about operating again. Relishing the chance to get back into the arena.

  He dialed another number, hoping his brothers hadn’t traveled so far they had lost cell coverage. They were headed to a decrepit stand of concrete buildings eight hours away, deep in the jungle of the Misiones Province, a spit of land that was surrounded on all sides by Paraguay, Brazil, and Uruguay.

  Constructed by ODESSA—the SS group that created the ratlines facilitating the flight of Nazis escaping justice—near the end of World War II, it was envisioned as a Nazi safe haven for the SS should the worst occur. The worst had happened, but it had never been used, as Argentina was more than accommodating to their new German citizens, never looking too hard at the name on the passport.

  Gunther now used it as a safe house for other, less savory things. Such as the interrogation of the two suspected Mossad moles.

  The phone rang five times, and then, remarkably, Derek answered. Konrad explained the new plan, telling him that he wouldn’t be at the fortress until late tomorrow.

  Derek said, “And what of our prisoners?”

  “Just hold them until I get there.”

  “You don’t want us to interrogate them?”

  “You can get what you want out of them, but don’t kill them until I’ve had a chance to talk to them.”

  “That’s my only limit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, because they stink of Jews. They’ll be alive when you get here, but they’re probably going to wish they were dead.”

  13

  Shoshana saw the son named Derek hang up the cell phone, wondering what had been said. She didn’t speak German, but she learned the gist of the conversation when he lashed out with a slap, knocking her to the floor of the van.

  He said, “So you know, the only thing I can’t do is kill you. And that leaves a lot of room, you Jew bitch.”

  She spit the blood out of her mouth, but said nothing. Waiting on her leader.

  The two men hadn’t bothered to bind them in any way, content with the threat of Derek’s pistol. The van they were in had been stripped of its backseats, with some construction trash, a vinyl tarp, and a toolbox the only items occupying the space. Ordered to sit on the floor with their backs against the sidewall, Shoshana had watched the buildings grow smaller, and realized they were leaving Buenos Aires.

  They’d been driving north for close to four hours, paralleling the Uruguay River on the border of the country with the same name, when the phone call had come in. Shoshana had no idea where they were headed, but understood wherever it was, it wouldn’t be good. To her left, she saw Aaron studying the problem, acting meek, but seeking an opening. He was lethal, she knew, and when he struck, so would she.

  The driver, Carl, asked something in German—presumably about the call—and Derek answered. The information was clearly not what Carl wanted to hear. He raised his voice, and Derek matched the tone. Eventually, he returned his attention to the road, but the conversation appeared to leave Derek in a foul mood.

  Twenty minutes later, the van slowed and they turned off the main highway onto a crumbling blacktop tracing off into the woods. They bounced along for what Shoshana figured was over an hour, the blacktop giving way to a two-lane dirt road, then eventually becoming a single-track pass snaking into the jungle.

  Throughout the trip Derek’s eyes never left the two of them; the pistol in his hand never wavered from its aim.

  Breaking the silence, but not wanting to antagonize Derek any further, Aaron said, “What do you want from us?

  Derek said, “Want?” He laughed and said, “Only your life. But I’ve been forbidden from taking that outright. In the meantime, I want to know how you found my father.”

  Aaron nodded and said, “I think there has been some mistake. We had no idea your father was a famous criminal. We were in that restaurant to catch someone else.”

  Derek slapped the barrel of his weapon against Aaron’s head, rocking him into the side of the van. Shoshana rose up and Derek placed the barrel between her eyes.

  “Do it, bitch. I can’t be faulted for self-defense.”

  She slowly sank back down, and he said, “Yes. That’s right. No guts to fight. Just like father said. Led off to the gas chamber because you wished for the mercy of someone better than you.”

  Aaron rolled upright, a tear across his nose. Shoshana started to lunge forward at the words, and he held her back, saying, “Stop. He is right. We are at their mercy.”

  Shoshana’s eyes exploded in fury. She spit out, “I’d rather die in this van fighting these maggots.”

  Derek punched her in the face, bouncing her skull against the steel of the van. She rolled over onto her knees, telegraphing her attack. Aaron tackled her, getting control of both of her arms and staring deep into her eyes. He said, “You were right before. I am right now. Nobody is dying here.”

  He leaned into her ear and, in Hebrew, whispered, “At least none from Israel. Patience.”

  She didn’t believe him, feeling she was being sold out yet again. She bored into his eyes and saw it was true. He cared for her, and would bring her out alive. He truly believed it, and she saw he would sacrifice himself to do so.

  It was a revelation.

  She sagged back, letting him get up.

  He turned to Derek and said, “No more harm. We’ll go peacefully.”

  The driver turned around and said something in German. Derek didn’t hear him, and leaned in toward the cab for a split second. Long enough.

  Aaron struck, slapping the weapon to the side and hammering Derek in the temple. Derek screamed, slamming his left fist into Aaron’s gut. Aaron dove on him, and they rolled into the back of the van, fighting for control of the pistol.

  Shoshana was shocked by the attack, but immediately turned to help, then saw the driver grab a pistol. He began to rotate to the rear, and she redirected, smacking the weapon high. It discharged through the roof, and the driver snarled, attempting to maintain control of the van and fight at the same time.

  He brought the weapon to bear a second time, and Shoshana stabbed her fingers into the tangle of nerves at the collarbone, pinching hard with one hand and digging into her pocket with the other. He screamed in pain, his mouth wide, and she jammed the vial of poison into the open maw.

  She grabbed the wrist of the gun hand with her right, and slammed her left into his mouth in a backhanded hammer punch, feeling the vial break.
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  Not waiting for results, she joined her left hand with her right on his wrist, then used both arms to torque backward, snapping it. The gun dropped, and he screamed again, spitting out bloody glass in a macabre vomit.

  The van continued bouncing down the rutted road, the view from the outside giving no clue to the deadly battle occurring within. Five seconds later, as Shoshanna still struggled with Carl while the men in back fought for dominance, the poison began to take hold. But not in the way she’d hoped.

  Carl’s eyes flew wide, and he jammed his foot on the gas in a spastic response, slapping his hands to his chest. The van raced forward, gathering speed, then careened off the road, dropping down into the jungle. It bounced once, then turned over, tossing all inside like stones in a tin can before slamming into a gigantic tree.

  Shoshana was hammered against the driver’s seat, the padding of the captain’s chair muting the blow. Aaron and Derek were thrown at forty miles an hour through the length of the van, each slamming into an unforgiving piece of metal at the end. Carl remained in his seat belt, for all the good it did him.

  Time stopped for a moment. Shoshana rolled upright, putting a hand to her head and trying to clear the fog, hearing nothing but the ticking of the engine as it cooled. Then someone groaned. She glanced toward the front and saw Derek between the seats, his lower right leg bent back with a piece of white bone poking through his jeans. He was attempting to get upright, and having no luck.

  She saw Aaron crumpled behind the passenger seat, and crawled to him, checking his vitals. He had a nasty, growing contusion to his forehead, but he was breathing. She glanced quickly around the van, finding the pistol Derek had held. She leaned forward, over Derek’s torso, searching for Carl’s weapon. She saw it in the footwell, underneath Derek. She wormed forward, straining her arm down, then patted the floor until she felt it. Her hand closed around the butt, and Derek grabbed her arm.