by Brad Taylor
After twenty minutes, they passed Daniel going the other way. Looking over her shoulder, she shouted, “Alto, alto!” The truck shuddered to a stop on the shoulder, and she saw Daniel power-slide in their rented sedan, then come screaming back their way, rear tires smoking.
He slid to a stop and jumped out, running toward them. Shoshana thanked the driver, helping Aaron out.
Daniel said, “Are you okay, sir?”
“I’ve been better. Did you reach Gideon?”
Daniel shook his head, saying, “Nobody would talk to me. I couldn’t get past the switchboard. Everyone just said there was no Gideon working there, then hung up.”
Shoshana said, “And you let that stand? He’s going to get killed.”
Daniel bristled and said, “I don’t even know his damn name. What did you want me to do, start shouting ‘I need to talk to Mossad’ on an open line? You think that would have helped? I called Tel Aviv, giving them the message. It was the best I could do. They can reach him.”
Shoshana grimaced and said, “If anyone there cares. Remember how long it took just to set up a meeting? You should have gone to the embassy instead of coming to us.”
Daniel said, “I thought of that, but I’d be back at square one. I don’t have a name, and I don’t even know what he looks like. He could have walked right by me without me realizing it. I have no cover to simply sit inside.”
Aaron said, “Enough.” He looked at his watch. “We need to go.”
They loaded up, racing down Highway 9 and reaching the outskirts of Buenos Aires, getting into more and more traffic. Luckily, the unofficial rule of the road in the capital city was that the most aggressive driver had the right of way, and Daniel was nothing if not aggressive.
They entered onto the General Paz freeway, looping toward the coast, Daniel saying, “Ten minutes out.”
Aaron said, “Go straight to the embassy. I’ll get inside and stop him from leaving. He knows me, and if he sees me, he’ll want to know what I’m doing there.”
Daniel said, “What about us?”
“You two find the bomb. Shoshana knows enough to neck it down.”
Daniel didn’t look convinced.
Aaron caught his eye and said, “Trust her. I do, believe me. I wouldn’t be in this car without her.”
Shoshana took in the words, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of pride. Daniel glanced at her, then Aaron, sensing that something had occurred in the dark of night. He nodded.
They made the final turn to the south on the freeway loop, and the secure phone rang. Aaron answered it, spoke a few words, then hung up, dropping the phone in his lap.
Shoshana said, “What’s up?”
“That was Tel Aviv. By the time those assholes finally called his office, he’d already left for lunch.”
Shoshana said, “If he goes to Florida Street by his usual route, he’s dead.”
17
Gunther sipped his third cappuccino, knowing his departed wife would have had his ass for doing so. The thought made him smile. She would understand what he was doing here. She knew what it meant to be superior, and he’d always known the loss of the Third Reich would eventually be the death of her. It took fourteen more years, but she was a shell of herself from the moment they’d had to flee their homeland.
Because of filth like the man he was going to kill today. It was impossibly unfair that he had to live a secret life while that Jewish scum hunted him. Today, he was the hunter.
He saw movement at the gate of the embassy, and pulled out a pair of small opera glasses. Something his wife had used back in Germany. He looked through them, electrified to see the station chief. He was leaving, and he was doing so on foot.
Konrad had told him all about the prior reconnaissance, but Gunther harbored doubts, as anyone would. Now, it looked as if Konrad was correct, and he felt a swelling of pride for his son.
He waited, begging the man to go west. To take the path that would lead to his destruction. The station chief talked to another man for a few minutes, then left the gate of the embassy, waving at the guard. He looked left—east—then right.
And went right.
Gunther felt the sweat on his neck, just as he had in the past, when he’d loaded his rifle for the wall. Before he exterminated another batch of inferior beings. He watched the station chief go to the corner, and then begin walking north. Just as Konrad said he would.
He raised his small walkie-talkie and said, “Konrad, Konrad, you there?”
He got nothing, and repeated, “Konrad, Konrad, you there?”
Konrad came on, saying, “Yes, I’m here.”
“Target just left the embassy. He’s headed west. He’s on the corner right now and starting to walk north. He’s going straight into the kill zone.”
Konrad said, “Very good. Thank you, father. Your job is done. Please go to the hotel and retrieve the truck. I’ll meet you where we said.”
Gunther said, “Okay, son. I will.”
But he didn’t. He wanted to see that Jew bastard destroyed.
He paid his bill, and began to follow the station chief.
• • •
Flying down the freeway at a speed that even the native drivers in Buenos Aires couldn’t match, Daniel said, “Where to? Where do we go now?”
Aaron said, “Get off on Juan Domingo Perón Avenue. Drop me on the east, drop Shoshana on the west. We’ll find the station chief, and stop him.”
Shoshana said, “Aaron, you’re in no condition to do this.”
He snapped, “Who else is there? Only you and I know him on sight. Daniel can drive, but he can’t interdict.” The outburst caused him to sag back, putting his head in his hands, fighting the dizziness.
Shoshana looked at Daniel. He said, “He’s right. Damn it. He’s right.”
“He can’t do it. Look at him.”
Aaron said, “I’m right fucking here. I can hear you. And yes, I can do it. If you can drag me through thirty miles of jungle, I can meet Gideon on a street and tell him to turn around.”
Daniel heard the words and looked at Shoshana.
She said, “What?”
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
Daniel nodded at her, a new understanding in his eyes. He said, “We do what Aaron says.”
He took the exit for Sáenz Peña, saying, “One minute out.” He exited one block up, driving east. He crossed Florida and went two more blocks to the east, then pulled onto the curb, cars honking at him. He said, “Sir, Perón Avenue is one block south.”
Aaron nodded and opened the door, exiting the vehicle. He took two steps, then leaned over, putting a hand to his head.
Shoshana said, “Aaron, please. You can’t do this.”
He stood up and said, “Yes, I can.” He looked at her with steel in his eyes and said, “You do the same. End this. Now.”
She nodded, saying nothing. He closed the door and started walking south.
Daniel said, “What happened last night?”
She said, “Everything leading up to today. Get me to the west.”
18
Konrad strained his eyes out the window, scanning the crowds on the sidewalk, looking for his target. He placed the cell phone on the desk, the number loaded into it, ready for a single press of a button. He stared at the motorcycle, judging when he would need to dial. Derek had explained the delay, and he had to make sure he hit the button with enough time for the cell system to get to the phone, and then ring—initiating the explosives.
After the janitor had left, nobody else had disturbed him. Konrad had had the place to himself for over four hours, waiting on the call from his father, and it had finally come.
He stared down the street, looking at the motorcycle and the people passing by it. He glanced back up the avenue, to the intersection where the s
tation chief would begin his walk. He focused on the crosswalk from the south, fixating on the swarms of people coming and going. In the crowd, he thought he saw the station chief, but couldn’t be sure.
He pulled out a pair of binoculars, scanning the crowd at the crosswalk. With grim satisfaction, he recognized the Jew bastard from the Mossad. He stared at the face of the man he was to kill, then caught someone else in the narrow view.
His father.
The signal changed, and the people flowed forth, the station chief making the right turn onto Perón and his father following. What is he doing?
The chief kept walking east on Perón, and his father held up on the corner, loitering and watching.
Thank God.
The target had seventy meters to meet his maker. Konrad picked up the phone.
• • •
Caught in the downtown traffic, Shoshana felt incredible frustration, shouting at Daniel repeatedly to speed up as if the venting alone would cause the vehicles to part for them. For his part, Daniel drove like a maniac, scraping doors and ripping off side mirrors in an effort to cut the time, leaving behind a volley of honking horns and infuriated drivers.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, they reached Maipú Avenue, with Juan Domingo Perón Avenue one block to the south. Daniel turned south, and Shoshana saw another line of traffic. She flung open the door and leapt out, saying, “Remain in the area for evacuation.”
He shouted something in reply, but it was lost to her as she ran south on Maipú. She reached Perón Avenue and held up, staring down the street, past the rows of motorcycles. In the distance she thought she saw Gideon, strolling east toward Florida Street. She took off at a sprint, barreling through the pedestrians on the narrow sidewalk. She went thirty meters before one of the pedestrians stuck out a leg, sending her flying forward and hammering the ground on her shoulder.
The rage exploded in her as she scrambled to her feet, whirling to attack whoever had done it, but knowing she didn’t have the time for such a luxury.
She needn’t have worried, because the pedestrian attacked her, leaping onto her and driving her back into the ground. With a shock, she realized it was Gunther.
Which meant she was correct, and Gideon was about to die.
Screaming at her in German, he attempted to beat her unconscious, but he had none of the skills she possessed. Nor the explosion of adrenaline borne of fear.
She batted aside his rough attempts to punch her and elbowed him twice in the face. He shouted in pain, and she slammed her knee into his genitals, attempting to drive them into his stomach, flipping him off of her as he lost the ability to breathe.
She leapt up and began running again, ignoring the gawking pedestrians. She saw Gideon about to walk in front of the final row of motorcycles. If the bomb was on this street, it had to be in that rack.
And with Gunther’s attack, she knew it was on this street.
She closed the gap, now twenty meters away, but it wasn’t going to be enough. He passed the first motorcycle, oblivious to what had occurred behind him. He walked by the second bike, then reached the third, each one causing a gut-wrenching fear in Shoshana. She screamed his name, realizing immediately it was a mistake.
He stopped in front of the motorcycles and turned, attempting to see who had called. Leaving him in the kill zone, stationary.
Shoshana knew they were both dead, because there was no way she was stopping. She saw his eyes go wide at her barreling run right before she dove straight at him, hitting him chest high and flinging him past the motorcycle stand. They hit the concrete, and the world erupted behind them, the third motorcycle spewing forth fire and steel shrapnel into the brick of the building.
They rolled away from the flames, the air growing hot from the explosion.
Her ears ringing, she said, “Gideon, are you okay?”
He nodded, dazed, then sat up. Shoshana exhaled in relief, then punched him in the nose with a closed fist, feeling satisfaction when it shattered. He sank back down, groaning and holding his face. She said, “Next time, listen to the person on the ground, asshole.”
She turned to look at the destruction behind her, and saw that a pedestrian had been caught in the blast, dampening her enthusiasm.
The body was shredded from the chest up, what remained of the head bloody and charred. But she thought she recognized the pants.
19
Konrad felt perspiration build underneath his arms, his hands developing a slight tremor from the adrenaline racing through his body. Laser-focused on the station chief, Konrad watched the man walk past the second-to-last stand of motorcycles. Twenty meters from annihilation.
He checked his phone again.
He had a signal, and read the number in the LCD screen for the fiftieth time, ensuring it was correct. He waited, going through his mind the delay that Derek had instructed him about. Dial it when he reaches the first bike.
The station chief continued his meandering walk, finally breaking the plane of the last stand of motorcycles. Konrad hit the dial button, seeing the phone start to connect with the system.
The chief continued walking, and Konrad waited. He reached the kill zone, and still nothing. Konrad shouted out loud, willing the explosives to detonate.
They did not. Konrad knew he was going to miss.
Then, like a miracle, the station chief stopped right in front of the bike, turning to look back up the street.
Yes.
Konrad caught movement on the sidewalk and couldn’t believe what he saw: the waitress from the restaurant running full out toward the station chief. Behind her was his father, sprinting to stop her.
NO!
Just as the woman dove into the station chief, he screamed, “Blow, you piece of shit!”
And it did. He saw the two escape the blast, then witnessed the horror of his father being eviscerated in fire and steel. The body slammed against the brick wall, then bounced on the ground, the legs crumpled unnaturally underneath.
Konrad wailed aloud and, like all witnesses to such tragedy, believed that perhaps there was something that could be done. But he knew that wasn’t true. He’d built the bomb himself, and thus knew of all the nails, screws, and ball bearings that had been explosively propelled forward, shredding his father.
His wailing turned to growls of animal rage. He pulled a pistol out of his jacket and left the office at a dead run.
He reached the ground floor, blew through the glass doors, and ran up the alley toward Perón Avenue, seeing the two Jews still processing what had happened.
He started shooting the minute he hit the street, spraying rounds and screaming in fury, intent on killing the helpless targets.
He continued moving toward them, entering the street to a screech of brakes, still firing, seeing the station chief grab his thigh and roll over. Incredibly, the woman crouched in front of him, protecting him from death. And she had something in her hand.
Too late, he realized she wasn’t defenseless. He faltered, then saw her pistol flash twice. Unlike his wild slinging of lead, hers found their mark.
He felt as if someone had slammed him in the chest with an iron pipe, knocking him to the pavement. He glanced down and saw a blossom of red on his shirt. He looked left and realized he was in the middle of the street, a car stopped with the driver’s door open, the driver crouched behind it and looking at him.
He said, “Help me.”
The driver didn’t move.
He looked at his targets and saw the woman walking toward him, the pistol in her hand leading the way. She reached him, kicked his weapon away, then crouched down, studying him with a placid face, as if she were looking at a bug crawling on a vine.
He coughed up blood and said, “Help me. Please.”
She said, “Why is it that all you of the ‘superior race’ are constantly asking for
my help before you die?”
The implication sank in, and she confirmed it. “Yes, that’s right. Both of your brothers are fucking dead as well. Killed by a Jew. Guess that destroys your ‘cowardly walk to the gas chamber’ theory, huh?”
He said, “Please. I have children. Mercy.”
At the word, her demeanor shifted, the woman turning into something dark and powerful, her essence consuming their space, the terrible vengeance blotting even the light of the sun.
She snarled, “I’m fresh out.”
He saw the barrel spit a brilliant flash of light, then nothing.
20
Shoshana could hear Aaron complaining from down the hallway. She grinned and said, “He doesn’t sound happy.”
Daniel said, “He’s never happy when someone tries to tell him what to do.”
She laughed at his new easygoing manner and said, “Sounds familiar.”
For some reason, Daniel had become unfailingly nice around her, treating her like a true teammate instead of constantly trying to get on her nerves. After he’d dropped her off at the hotel, he’d raced off to check on Aaron, demanding she remain behind—which she was more than willing to do. He’d returned hours later, and they’d spent the night talking, not fighting once, and he’d even treated her to dinner. She had no idea why, but she wasn’t going to question it. Especially since she found she’d clicked with him over the night of conversation. Her initial read on him had been correct: He was a good teammate.
They reached Aaron’s door and Daniel said, “Especially doctors. Something to do with a misdiagnosis in his childhood. Ever since then, he’s convinced he knows more about his body than they do.”
They entered the room to see Aaron lying in bed in a hospital gown, valiantly wrestling a nurse for control over an IV drip.
He saw them and stopped. The nurse said, “Tell him I need to do this. He’s severely dehydrated.”
