by David Khara
“He’ll be joining us,” Eli informed Ehud in a surprisingly friendly tone. “He’s going to share his report with us in your office, if that’s okay with you.”
“Uh, I believe so. But when you say us, you mean that I will be present for the debriefing?”
“Yes, Colonel Amar. You deserve to know more, since we’re responsible for your troubles, and we could use your services in the future. Plus, you never know—you might be in for a surprise or two.”
A few moments later, the two were seated across from one another in the ambassador’s drawing room. There was no harm in borrowing the diplomat’s lair, given his absence and the exceptional circumstances, Ehud told himself. The friendliness of the Mossad top gun persuaded Ehud to dig into the embassy’s reserve of fine liquor. He wasn’t hiding his desire to get hammered.
Eli was now brimming from ear to ear—a complete reversal from his churlish attitude just twenty minutes earlier.
“You did good work, Colonel, and I am extremely grateful.”
“I’m happy to comply with your orders, sir.”
“Please, call me Eli.”
“All right, Eli,” Ehud replied. He was beginning to relax, thanks to the visitor’s newly calm demeanor and the effects of the cognac.
“What I am about to share with you is strictly classified information, Colonel.”
“Yes, I know the song and dance, Eli. I’ve worked on cases with Mossad.”
“Ehud—may I call you Ehud?”
The military attaché nodded.
“Nothing you have ever seen or heard before is anything like the story of Eytan Morg.”
CHAPTER 4
Ehud Amar stared at the amber liquid he was swirling in his glass.
His skepticism was playing against his compassion. The story was so incredible, how could even a shred of it be true? But Eli’s unflinching and candid response to his questions were those of a man being honest.
“You’re telling me in all seriousness that within the Kidon, Mossad’s terrorist-abduction and execution unit, there’s a man who was genetically modified by SS medics in the nineteen forties? And in order for him to stay alive, he needs a top-secret serum that blocks cancerous cell necrosis?”
“Yes.”
“That this man does not age as we do, and his physical capabilities are extremely superior to those of a normal human being?”
“Yes.”
“And that this is the same guy we rescued today in the Sonian Forest, near what was an underground factory but is now a pile of scrap in a crater-sized pit? This is the man we placed in a tub of ice water?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I pour myself another drink?”
“Not at all.”
Ehud poured himself a double and offered the bottle to Eli, who declined with a wave of his hand.
“You’d be surprised by the amount of alcohol consumed by the few people who’ve learned exactly what I’ve just told you,” Eli said.
“You don’t say. But to get back to the more mundane matter at hand—with all due respect, sir, your superagent has landed us in a pretty big pile of shit. I’d like to know exactly what happened to him, if only so I can feed a story to the media. I’m sure they’re ready to pounce on this.”
“I don’t know any more than you do at this point. Now that he’s dressed, Eytan will be delighting both of us with his account.”
Eli directed Ehud’s attention to the doorway. The bald giant filled the entire frame.
The colonel couldn’t decide whether he should readjust his uniform or offer to shake hands with the miracle man. The latter took a seat on the couch and swung his injured leg up on the coffee table.
“Eytan, this is the man to whom you owe your life, Colonel Ehud Amar.”
“Well, thank you, Colonel Ehud Amar,” Eytan replied, giving a two-finger military salute.
“Agent Morg, it is an honor to—”
“At ease, soldier. Call me Eytan, and let’s drop all that military mumbo jumbo. I would like to get myself a drink, but…” He pointed to the leg that had taken the bullet, and he was wearing the same pants that he had been shot in.
Ehud eagerly saw to the drink. He handed the glass to Eytan and joined him on the couch. Eli Karman turned to Eytan and started the conversation again.
“Great, now that we’ve taken care of introductions and refreshments, I think you have some explaining to do. How did your mission to recover the lost MI6 files from the World War II bring you here?”
“I don’t think you’re going to like this,” Eytan said. “I’ll give you the short version, so we’re not here all night. I found a lead on the guy who bought the documents. A French dude living in the US who belonged to a secret organization that helped fund Hitler’s rise to power. The group went by the name of Consortium and had the mission of advancing the human race, regardless of cost or ethics. You can guess what its idea of advancement was. This secret organization—or society, if you prefer to call it that—survived the Hitler regime and continued its quest to produce the master race. It caused the cholera epidemic in Mexico. The plan was to wait until it became a pandemic and then offer a vaccine.”
“But why go to all that trouble?” Ehud asked, unable to take his eyes off Eytan.
“The head honchos planned to administer a mutagen developed by the mad scientist to whom I owe my very existence.”
“Bleiberg,” Eli whispered. “So he didn’t die in the explosion at the Stutthof concentration camp when you escaped.”
“I don’t understand,” the military attaché said. “Why did they want to administer this mutagen?”
“To transform the human race into their version of a superior species—all at the cost of millions, even billions of lives. The doses of vaccine were being stored in a plant in the Sonian Forest. That’s why I blew it up.”
Eytan pointed to his shoes in all seriousness.
“In my line of work, thugs usually don’t make you take off your shoes before beating you bloody. The best place to conceal explosives is in the soles. I always carry some. The facility needed to be blown up, and I saw to it.”
“Okay, what about the woman in the basement?” Eli asked. “She’s strapped to the table and out like a light, so I’m guessing she’s an enemy.”
“Yes, she takes care of their dirty work. She’s the one who caused my injuries. Her name’s Elena, and she’s my closest tie to the Consortium. But I had another reason for keeping her alive.”
“It must be a doozy. Taking prisoners usually isn’t your thing.”
“Elena was a guinea pig for Bleiberg’s mutagen. She’s an even more advanced version of myself.”
Eytan turned to Ehud, who was soaking up every word of the story.
“Welcome to my world, Colonel!”
“How do you suggest that we proceed?” Eli asked Eytan.
“I’ll type up a report so that you can lead the investigations from Tel Aviv. I’d like the colonel to use his connections with the Belgian government to look into BCI, the company run by the Consortium. The rest of the plans will be between you and me, Eli. No offense, Ehud.”
“Well then, I’ll leave you to it,” the attaché responded as he got up from the couch. “It’ll take me weeks to get this day sorted out, so I’d better start now. If you need me, I’ll be having a smoke in the courtyard.”
Ehud Amar picked up his glass and the bottle, searched the desk for a pack of cigarettes, and left the room.
Now Eytan could say what was really on his mind.
“Eli, I’ve been tracking Nazi goons for decades, and that work is pretty much done,” he said. “The only ones left are bedridden shut-ins. I’m not saying these people should get away with what they’ve done, but after discovering the Consortium and its connection with the Nazi ascension to power and the Bleiberg project, I’d rather focus on taking them down.”
Eli crossed his arms.
“So you need a new enemy,” he said after a few moments.
“Is that it? A new reason to continue the fight?”
Eytan was silent.
“Neither of us knows how much time you have left. And like a stubborn mule, you’re keeping our specialists from conducting tests to better understand your condition. Can’t you stand down on this one and enjoy a well-deserved rest for once? Let others take over the reins.”
“Eli, do you really think there’s someone else out there who can deal with this problem? I refuse to sit by and let the world wind up at the mercy of bloodthirsty maniacs yet again. The economy is swirling down the drain. The middle class is suffering, and the rich are increasingly out of touch with reality. Doesn’t this story sound familiar? If these conditions worsen, they’ll be ripe for some obscure and sinister force to swoop in. I’ve realized over the years that I can make a difference. I have to make a difference.”
“That’s exactly what terrifies me, Eytan. You’re chasing the pipe dream of a perfect world. And we both know that will never happen. Meanwhile, you’re hurting, and I know why.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“You’re scared that doing nothing will force you to confront your inner demons. You’re the most dogged man I know, so I’m not going to tell you what to do. But I am asking: picture the possibility of living for yourself instead of for everyone else, of making peace with the world, of finally making peace with yourself.”
“Eli, let me finish this final mission.”
Eli sighed.
“My daughter in Boston will be having her baby soon. I’m leaving at the end of the week to be with her. There’s nothing in this world that would keep me from seeing the birth of my grandson. So here’s the deal, and it’s non-negotiable: take a break to recover. Go home, and at least pretend to relax. When I come back, we’ll tackle this problem head-on. Until then, you’re Agent Couch Potato.”
Grimacing, Eytan stood up and hobbled over to him.
“You’ve sold me on the R and R. Give Rose a big hug for me. Tell her I’ll visit one of these days.”
“You’ve been making that promise for the past two years. I doubt she still believes it.”
The teasing remark hit Eytan hard. He had made countless sacrifices for the sake of his missions. And Rose was one of them.
“I swear I won’t wait another two years.”
“Perfect. We’re counting on you, then. Ah, I almost forgot. What are you going to do with the notorious Elena?”
“I had her placed in an artificially induced coma to keep her nice and quiet. Believe me, she’s dangerous—and smart. Underestimating her would have disastrous consequences. Have her transferred to a secure facility, then wake her up. I’ll question her after my vacation.”
“Message received. I’ll take care of her transport to Tel Aviv.”
“Well, we’ve covered everything here,” Eytan said. “I believe this is where our paths part once again.”
“I believe so.”
Eli extended his hand to Eytan, who gripped it and looked at him without wavering. The giant was the first to let go. He headed toward the door, then paused and turned around.
“Hey,” he said to the expectant grandfather. “Give me a call when the baby’s born.”
CHAPTER 5
Somewhere off the coast of Ireland
The bow of the boat was cutting through rough waters. As the waves crashed on the deck, the four other passengers took refuge in a cabin at the back of the fishing trawler. The vessel served as a link between civilization on the mainland and the piece of land that they called their own, an island mostly overlooked by the rest of the world.
The captain, a stocky fellow with short hair and a bushy black beard, was maneuvering his skiff with the heart and diligence of someone who had seen his share of hardships at sea. Indeed, he had lost two young sailors about a decade earlier, when his boat capsized. By some miracle, he had managed to survive. Blame for that deadly outing could only be placed on the weather gods, and he was well aware of that. Still, a mountain of regret weighed on his shoulders.
Captain James O’Barr had taken a short break after the accident. But he soon yearned to be at the helm of a boat again. He asked the town council to approve two daily shuttles between the mainland, which was little more than a fishing harbor, and the island.
James was navigating toward the small island, inhabited by a scant number of year-round residents, daring tourists, wealthy eccentrics, and a handful of trekkers devoted to peace and quiet. Only a dozen houses towered atop the Big Rock, as the villagers liked to call it.
It was early afternoon, and the clouds that filled the sky were heaving a cold drizzle. The waves and the rain were enough to keep the few passengers in the cabin—everybody but one person. He was on deck, sitting on a coil of ropes, with a large khaki military bag at his feet. He was stroking the captain’s German shepherd, Bart, and both seemed completely at ease with the weather and the crossing.
James didn’t know much about the man. He never saw him more than once or twice a year. According to rumors—the primary source of information for these people—he owned an old abode hidden in the middle of the heath. Some surmised that he was a movie actor seeking solitude. Others suspected he was a criminal on the run. The stranger’s extraordinary physique only exacerbated the speculation. Old Kelly Cahill thought he might be a secret agent. But the poor old man was already losing his marbles. The one thing that all the island residents agreed on was that the giant would make an excellent recruit for their rugby team. He would surely deliver regular ass-kickings in their matches with nearby towns.
After an hour or so, the towering shoreline appeared on the horizon. The rugged coastline, along with the winds and lack of vegetation, served as a natural barrier to development. One almost needed to be a masochist to live in this place.
At last, the boat pulled up to the dock. The sound of the slowing motor alerted the passengers in the cabin. They absentmindedly nodded to the captain as they disembarked, their arms loaded with boxes of supplies. They took the path leading to the heart of the island. Awaiting them were the little electric golf carts they used to stow their purchases and drive home.
The giant, trailed by the panting dog, was the only one to shake James’s hand. The stranger gave the animal a final pat on the side and exited the skiff, his bag flung over his shoulder.
Eytan arrived at the base of the steep path that snaked between the high gray rocks. He grunted a little louder with each step. Over the years, he had racked up a great many combat wounds, and at this very moment, he suspected that his body was finally paying the price. He felt ancient, crushed by the weight of his bygone years. What Eli had said seemed more like a prediction than a warning. His fight against the Consortium would be his last. Then he would retire to this island, which protected him from the world’s brutalities. He’d turn in his weapons and spend his final days painting as he awaited death and the respite it would bring. At last. On the other hand, he’d been thinking this way for years.
He had known his whole life that nothing could make up for what that man Bleiberg had done to him. So he fought for others: his parents, his brother, and countless strangers who hadn’t even heard of him. He had never expected a thank you or even any acknowledgment.
Eli was right. Eytan was afraid—not of what was outside, but of what was inside.
After half an hour of trudging across the heath, he spotted the large stone structure. This house was the only place on earth that could assuage the doubts and dejection that sometimes overtook him. It was the only place that he could call home.
Eytan paused in front of the building, with its four large windows and blue shutters. He looked up and saw white smoke coming from the chimney. He picked up his step, a smile plastered on his face. He entered the living room, which was furnished with the bare minimum: a round table, four wooden chairs (two of which had never been used), and a brown couch. The ensemble was left over from the previous owners. Instinctively, Eytan flipped on the light switch. As expected,
the generator was already up and running, undoubtedly thanks to the same person who had cared enough to put two large logs in the fireplace.
Eytan threw his bag on the floor and opened the shutters to enjoy the last few moments of sunlight. His eyes were drawn to the paintings on the stone walls, and he lingered on a portrait of a child wearing short pants, a jacket, and an oversized cap. The gray hues and the boy’s distant eyes gave the work a profound sadness. Without thinking, Eytan reached out and touched the child. Then he pulled his hand back and shook off the surge of melancholy.
He headed toward the kitchen to inspect the fridge. It was full of food that had been aligned with almost military precision. His neighbor Ann—he knew only her first name—had been living as a recluse since her husband’s death. At one point, she had made Eytan promise to let her know whenever he’d be visiting. That way, she could make sure he’d return to a functioning home with a well-stocked pantry.
The seventy-year-old woman shared his passion for painting. Sometimes, they’d set up their easels together and indulge in their mutual interest without exchanging a word, only glancing sporadically at each other’s work. Ann would stay until just before nightfall and then drive home.
The prospect of seeing her the following afternoon dispelled the nostalgia hovering along the edges of his mind.
Eytan decided to dedicate the first few days of his vacation to making much-needed repairs. The strong winds that were always eroding the coastline had damaged his house.
The tasks that needed to be done, which ranged from reattaching loose shutters to adding thatch to the roof, were daunting for someone unaccustomed to this kind of work. But he could always count on the shrewd guidance offered by Ann, who had slipped a box of adhesive strips into his medicine cabinet as a welcoming gift.
It was his third night at the house, and he was massaging his aching shoulders when the outside world intruded. Eytan glared at his phone. He hesitated a few seconds but couldn’t ignore the call.
“Eytan?”
It was a familiar voice, and it was trembling.
