The Shiro Project

by David Khara

  “Rose? What’s wrong?”

  Eli Karman’s daughter burst into sobs.

  “Eytan, it’s Dad.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Meanwhile, in a suburb of Tel Aviv

  Avi Lafner hated working nights, and after a couple of beers with his coworkers, he would quickly confess his equal hatred for working days. His job—the title notwithstanding—was just shitty by nature. Those who didn’t know what he actually did would have easily imagined that he led the exhilarating life of a hero in a big-budget action-thriller. Far from it.

  Avi’s primary task as a Mossad medical supervisor consisted of performing quarterly checkups on special agents who were devoid of all charm and pizzazz. Patient-physician dialogue was limited to “hello, doctor” and “good-bye, doctor.” That’s how he spent most of his night shifts at the private clinic.

  Avi had never thought that he’d wind up employed as a company physician for the secret service. His dream was to be a medical superstar à la Dr. House. And he had all the prerequisites: a handsome face, a devilish smile, a distinguished physique, an exceptional IQ, and skills bestowed upon him by the very best professors. What a waste.

  Tonight, hoping to plow through as much boring paperwork as possible before heading off on vacation, he hunkered down at his desk, threw on a mix of his favorite jazz classics, and sorted through the pending medical files. After two hours, he was tempted to write “unfit, denied” on one recruit’s file. It was just a prankish notion, though, as the agent’s health was excellent.

  So that’s where he was—dreaming up mischief just to stay awake. If he continued down this slippery slope, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be putting a whoopee cushion under the base captain’s fat butt or itching powder in his clothes. At least it beat giving into depression.

  When he wasn’t meeting and greeting secret agents or going over reports, Avi spent much of his shift in the small break room off the main lobby. There, he could hit on his female colleagues at the vending machine. The dispensed espressos were mostly water, depriving the drink of all flavor, along with any hope of a caffeinated energy spike. Avi had made a huge stink about getting the machine replaced, to no avail. Ever since then, he’d been looking for a way to break the piece of shit, forcing the purchasing department to cough up for a new one. He didn’t consider this vandalism. He thought of it as a humanitarian act.

  It was about midnight, and the doctor was up for a little excitement. Sure, the pharmacy had an endless supply of more or less legal pick-me-ups, but he had encountered one or two dope fiends while doing his physical exams, and that was enough to dissuade him. Instead, he headed toward the break room, whistling as he went. If his scheme unfolded according to plan, no one else would be around. He would have the abominable vending machine all to himself. He’d be in and out. Unseen, unheard.

  As he was going down the stairwell, the doctor felt the cell phone in his shirt pocket vibrate. Who the hell would be contacting him at this hour? As a bachelor whose parents had left the scene long ago, he couldn’t think of a single soul who’d want to contact him. He pulled out the device and read the message.

  “Internee arriving. Needs preliminary exam before incarceration. Meet at reception ASAP.” It wasn’t just the sender’s number but his terse style that told Avi with certainty that the text was from the colonel at the military base about two miles away. The colonel had a short fuse and no sense of humor. He lived for two things: work and regulations. Because of this, people considered him either exceptional or obnoxious. Avi fell into the latter group. He loathed the man.

  Five minutes later, or the time it took to go down three flights of stairs to the ground floor and make a detour to the secretary’s office for the oh-so-important admission forms, Avi was walking down the long dimly lit hallway that led to the clinic’s lobby.

  That’s when he heard the first gunshots. Instinctively, he crouched and continued forward, hugging the wall. Once he arrived at the entrance, he glanced at the ceiling. Successive gunshots were knocking out the fluorescent light fixtures, one after another. Now all that remained was the red glow of the emergency exit sign. The doctor struggled to adapt his vision to the near-darkness.

  To the left, four blue benches bolted to the floor faced the loathsome coffee machine. To the right was the receptionist’s counter, where the security guard was usually stationed at night. The gray linoleum flooring had been chosen to complement the mottled acoustic tiles and give the place a cold and medicinal aesthetic. On any other night—or day—the lobby resembled a soulless cube.

  Avi fought to still his breathing. An empty gurney was careening toward him. The sound of metal sliding across tile attracted his attention farther down the hall—somebody had lost a gun. And nearby, on the floor, the security guard was writhing in pain. He cried out, holding his knee tight to his chest. Seeing the quickly growing puddle of blood, Avi feared that a bullet had hit his tibial artery. Having done his surgical training in a theater of operations—a fancy way of saying under a deluge of bullets—he felt compelled to give the wounded man emergency care. But the scene playing out before him held him back.

  In the middle of three soldiers, an athletically built woman wearing nothing but her underwear was spinning around, throwing kicks and punches left and right. The men looked helpless and pathetic, compared with the fury that whirled before them. If one blow wasn’t enough to knock out each soldier, her frequent thrusts would soon get the job done.

  Why the hell didn’t they pull out their guns? Avi was bewitched by the short-haired Amazon’s moves. The soldiers’ sloppy counterattacks were almost pitiful. And yet, by pure luck, one of the men took advantage of a simultaneous offensive, throwing a jab at the attacker’s face and making a deep cut in her lower lip. She lost her balance under the blow. The soldiers closed in on their target.

  “Don’t forget the orders,” one of them barked. “We need her alive!”

  Far from calming the woman down, the prospect of being subdued seemed to fuel her strength. And her rage. When the man on her right moved in to grab her, she struck him with a swift uppercut to the chin, which wiped him out cold. Avi shuddered at the sound of bones breaking. The soldier facing her quickly launched two nervous right hooks. This guy definitely knew how to box. But he wouldn’t be stepping into another ring anytime soon. Instead of blocking and dodging, the woman retaliated with two similar punches. Her fists collided with his knuckles. The man’s wrists could not withstand the impact. Stripped of protection, he was rushed by a flash of pounding right and left jabs. A final kick to the middle of his throat sent him flying against the vending machine, demolishing the all-but-worthless fixture.

  Avi couldn’t believe it. The woman was getting faster and more powerful as the fight continued, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat! She was barely even trying.

  The last man standing had drawn the same conclusion. With his confidence waning, he shot a bunch of fake punches to test his opponent’s nerves. The woman remained steady as a rock, carefully following his every move with her eyes. Then, with a wicked smile on her face, she bluffed an attack, causing the soldier to jump back in fright.

  “Don’t be scared, kid,” she whispered, clearly delighted by the effect she produced. “Answer my questions, and you’ll get out of here alive. I promise.”

  The soldier scanned his bloody companions strewn on the lobby floor. His will was hanging by a thread.

  “To hell with the orders!” he shouted. “I’m going to shred you from head to toe, you bitch!”

  He pulled his Uzi pistol from its holster. But before he could even take aim, the bitch in question had sprung on him, her fingers clasped around his neck. He never even had the chance to look into her cruel eyes before his windpipe was crushed. Gurgling noises rose from his throat as the woman’s relentless grip finished off the job.

  “What an idiot,” she spat, half scornful, half stoic.

  The lifeless body fell to the floor. The woman bent down to pick up th
e gun and played with it for a few minutes. Avi, unable to think, continued to observe the scene. She slowly approached one of the injured men, looked at him carefully, and pulled the trigger. She executed each one in the same fashion: a single bullet to the head.

  The doctor, now plastered against the wall with his eyes closed, covered his mouth to keep from crying out in horror. He managed to remain silent, but he could no longer keep track of his thoughts. He was too confused and panicked.

  Who was this woman? Why was she here? What should he do? Could he make it out and get help without being seen?

  He decided that opening his eyes would be a first constructive step. Then he slowly stood up, despite the risk of being spotted. He felt a wave of hopelessness. Surrounded by quickly expanding pools of blood, the four dead men were sprawled on the linoleum floor. The empty gurney had crashed into a wall. Sparks were spurting from the shattered light fixtures. Avi looked at the smashed vending machine and wondered if he’d ever have the chance to meet its replacement. The raging madwoman responsible for this massacre was nowhere to be seen. Considering the labyrinth that was this clinic, he knew she could come down on him at any moment.

  Avi was no longer of any use to those poor bastards. He decided to seek shelter in his office and call for help. He retraced his steps in the hallway and headed as discreetly as possible toward the stairwell.

  “One more step, and you’re dead. I’m not afraid to shoot, as you can imagine.”

  Avi froze and instinctively raised his hands.

  “I love obedient men. Turn around. Slowly.”

  He complied. The woman glided up to him. Considering the gravity of the situation, Avi thought she was supremely cool. She stationed herself three feet in front of him and stared him in the eye. Then she grabbed his chin and turned his head from one side to the other, as though he were a strange animal she was seeing for the first time. She let go and fingered the badge pinned to his white button-down shirt.

  “Well, Dr. Lafner. I’m Elena. Pleasure to meet you,” she said before falling to the floor, unconscious.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Big Rock

  Eytan felt a bottomless hole open up in his stomach. While hunting down war criminals around the globe, he hadn’t realized just how old and fragile Eli had become. At his age, Eli certainly had to be experiencing some health problems. Eytan wondered if he had turned a blind eye, if he had been too afraid to face the reality of losing a close friend yet again. Nonetheless, a man with his past couldn’t keep his head buried in the sand for long. In his heart, Eytan knew the dreaded phone call would come sooner or later.

  “Our own death is nothing,” he said to himself over and over. “It’s the death of others that is unbearable.”

  “Calm down, Rose. What’s going on with your father?”

  The young woman took a deep breath.

  “Dad called us from Tel Aviv. He gave Steve his flight number and his arrival time for Boston. Steve left to pick him up at the airport, but Dad never got off the plane. Steve went to the airline desk, and the staff checked the passenger list. Dad wasn’t on it. I was so mad. I thought some new top-secret situation had come up, and he hadn’t even bothered to tell me he wasn’t coming. I tried calling him several times but just got his voice mail. And then, ten minutes ago, I got a call from his cell phone.

  “And?” asked Eytan. He could hear Rose choking back the tears.

  “It wasn’t him on the line. It was a man who claimed to be holding him hostage. He asked me to give you a phone number and have you call it, or else he’d take Dad out. I don’t understand why they didn’t call you directly, since they have his phone.”

  “My number isn’t saved on Eli’s phone,” Eytan told her as he pulled out a pen. “All right, I’ve got something to write with.”

  Rose dictated the phone number, which Eytan scribbled on the back of an envelope lying on the coffee table.

  “Can you tell me anything about the call or the caller? Any detail that might help?”

  “No… Well, maybe. I don’t know if this is important, but the person was very polite.”

  “I’ll call him immediately. Please, try not to worry. If someone kidnapped your dad in hopes of getting in contact with me, then you have nothing to fear for now.”

  “Eytan, I’m scared,” the young woman whispered. “I’ve come to terms with the risks both of you face, and I’ve even managed to put them out of my mind for the most part. But now…”

  “Rose, do you trust me?”

  “More than anyone.”

  “I’m going to bring him home unharmed. I promise. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I learn something. Just take care of yourself. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  Eytan called the number. The abnormally long sequence corresponded with an encrypted communication system. It meant that Eytan had no means of tracing the call. After a few rings, with each tone more unusual than the last, Eytan heard a smooth, deep voice on the other end.

  “Mr. Morg, thank you for returning our call so promptly.”

  “Considering the way you worded your request, how could I refuse? What do you want?”

  “I see you’re skipping the formalities and getting straight to the point. I’m happy to oblige, as I am also pressed for time. You’ll be going to Prague, Mr. Morg. Make sure you get there by tomorrow afternoon. Call this number at five thirty, local time.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we’ll reveal the location of our meeting, where we will discuss Mr. Karman’s fate and the terms of the agreement that we wish to make with you. Do you accept the plan?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You have free will, Mr. Morg. You can accept my offer or decline it. You’re welcome to turn your back on your loved ones and your responsibilities and go your merry way. Of course, you can consider this option only by liberating yourself from the useless things that, in reality, keep you from reaching your full potential: your emotions and, more important, your principles. So basically, if you want total control, you’ll have to renounce what you are.” Eytan didn’t have to see the man to visualize the little smirk on his face. “We know you well enough to assume you won’t embrace such an attitude.”

  One more narcissist who enjoyed deluding himself with the sound of his own voice. Eytan was unfazed. He refrained from saying anything. Before the silence could sink in, his phone partner started up again.

  “Agent Morg, we want you to be at the top of your game.”

  “In that case, I’m afraid I’ll be letting you down,” Eytan retorted tersely.

  “Even if you feel weakened by your recent injuries, we would never make the mistake of underestimating you. Before you ask the question, I can assure you that Mr. Karman is doing wonderfully and that I am seeing to it that he is treated with utmost respect.”

  “Don’t expect me to thank you or even take your word for it,” Eytan replied. He was getting angry and knew he had to watch what he said even more carefully.

  “I’d never ask as much.”

  “How did you know about my injuries?”

  “Ah, you must realize by now that our influence extends well beyond the simple realm of pharmaceuticals.”

  Eytan laughed. Of course. He had known all along. “So you’re a member of the Consortium.”

  “We’ll discuss this later. Tomorrow. Five thirty. Prague.”

  “Prague? I’m not going anywhere until I have proof that he’s alive.”

  “Understood. I’ll hand the phone over to Mr. Karman. He’s sitting right next to me.”

  “Eli?”

  “Yes, Eytan. Rest assured, I’m doing fine.”

  Eytan felt momentarily relieved at the sound of his friend’s husky voice.

  The phone exchanged hands again.

  “There you go. You wanted proof. You have it. Ah, I almost forgot. Don’t bother contacting Mossad or even informing them of the situation
. If you do, the consequences will be dire,” the man concluded before hanging up.

  Eytan looked at the phone. In a few minutes, he would call Rose to tell her that he would bring her father back safe and sound, even if it meant setting the whole world ablaze. Then he’d call Captain O’Barr and ask for an emergency passage, which would cost him a pretty penny. That was the price of living as a recluse. But money meant nothing to Eytan, especially not today. Last, in order to obtain the necessary materials, he would have to activate his network on the continent, which he had built over the course of many missions.

  Up to this point, the Kidon operative had led his missions the same way he had led the rest of his life. Alone. Relationships were luxuries with too high a price for someone whose existence was basically one long series of near-death experiences. Love was professional negligence. Yes, Eli was one of the few people—perhaps the only person—with whom he had deep and long-lasting bonds. And never before had he caused his friend’s safety to be jeopardized.

  Now Eytan clung to one reassuring thought. Sure, the Consortium was holding Eli hostage, but he also had a bargaining chip. Back at the BCI facility, Eytan had decided against killing off Elena. And at this moment, he was very pleased with himself for letting her live.

  CHAPTER 8

  Moscow, a few days before the incident in Pardubice, eight a.m.

  The thick crowd slithered like a giant snake through the poorly lit tunnels, as if pulled by some gravitational force. Commuters lost their individual identities as soon as they entered the underground metro. They merged into one form, one faceless creature.

  Oleg Kerzhakov observed this rush-hour performance at the Lubyanka station every day. It was hard to believe that not so long ago, more than three dozen people had lost their lives here in the 2010 Moscow Metro suicide bombing. How many of these expressionless commuters were masking gut-wrenching fear as they jammed themselves into the cars of the red line?