by JT Sawyer
“Please forgive me. I just need some space right now. I’ll take you up on breakfast and the park another day, OK. I need to spend some time down by the cedar grove for a while and then I’ll see you at Gideon in a few hours.” She pulled away and walked through the hallway, passing a neatly arranged display of family photos on the wall, the last of which showed her leaning her head on Anatoly’s shoulder as the two stood by the ocean.
Chapter 2
Mitch drove his motorcycle through the streets of Tel Aviv, his head still reeling from his morning encounter with Dev. During the past few weeks, he noticed her temper growing shorter and her moods more unpredictable. On the surface, few people probably noticed the shift at Gideon except those closest to her, but he knew she was starting to unravel as the countdown to Anatoly’s death grew closer. Mitch himself felt a deep sense of remorse for the loss of his old mentor, but had also had many months to process his sorrow. Mitch thought about the stress lines on Dev’s face that seemed to be growing like a subtle fault line with each passing week and knew something had to give soon if she didn’t unwind.
Damn, that girl needs a vacation—maybe I’ll take her over to Cyprus or Italy for a while after this next mission. He shrugged his shoulders as he came to a halt in the Gideon parking structure. Then again, maybe she just wants to be on a desert island all alone. Mitch thought of the faint memory of his own parents, who had died in an automobile crash when he was ten. He wondered what it would have been like to have known them growing up, doing all the day-to-day activities that most families take for granted. The loss had created an immense blank spot on the map of his soul and he had no idea what lay in those uncharted regions. Maybe it’s why he had always been so close to the horses and dogs on his uncle’s ranch where he lived through his teenage years. They were the loyal companions whom he could depend on when human relations seemed so unreliable.
Mitch left his bug-smeared helmet on the back of his motorcycle and walked up the stairs to the fifth floor of the building, arriving at Gideon headquarters a few minutes before 0800. He always liked to roll in early and talk with the other members of the team, particularly David and Petra, whom he had grown to think of as family with all they had been through since they first met in Arizona. Both were former Mossad and they had been Anatoly’s lead operatives in field assignments abroad. The two seasoned warriors were a few years older than Dev and treated her more like a demanding sister than their boss.
At two hundred and twenty pounds, David was the larger of the two men and his caterpillar-thick mustache and curt responses reminded Mitch of some begrizzled old cowboys he’d known on his uncle’s ranch. However diminutive Petra seemed when standing next to David, Mitch knew just how deadly the lithe figure could be in the heat of battle. Petra had a youthful look and a reputation for having the female staff at Gideon fawning over him as he walked through the halls. Petra was the only one of the senior Gideon staff who was unattached and he didn’t seem to mind flitting in and out of relationships every three months.
“Mornin’, fellas,” Mitch said as he walked by David and patted him on his beefy shoulder. David was standing before a wall map of Romania that had red marks scribbled throughout the right side.
Mitch squinted at the map. “Looks like a simple snatch-and-grab op, doesn’t it.”
“Always appears that way on paper,” the man grunted out and nodded in his direction then continued studying travel routes around the countryside for escorting the individual they were hired to rescue.
“And where is Devorah?” said Petra. “She didn’t ride in on the back of your bike this time?”
Mitch tilted his head up to the right, slightly scrunching his lips. “Nah, she’ll be in soon enough. She had to take care of some things first.”
“Uh huh,” said Petra with a cool glance at Mitch. “You mean she had to lay into a punching bag and let off steam is more like it.”
David glanced over his shoulder at the two men and muttered in his gravelly voice, “Wound tight, lately—too tight.”
Mitch opened a laptop at his workstation and pulled up the gear list for the mission. “Can you blame her—this Monday will be a year since her father died and each day here is a reminder that she can’t ever escape from.”
The two men turned around and faced him, their stone-faced expressions nearly identical. “Maybe you guys can talk her into getting away from here for a while after this next mission is done,” said Mitch. “She’s never had a moment’s rest from this place since she took over.”
“The only person to convince Dev to do anything is Dev,” said Petra. “And maybe you and, with the right amount of yelling, her mother.”
Mitch grinned and walked around the desk, patting David on the side of his bristly cheek. “I’ve seen this baby face of yours melt her resolve before.”
David pushed his hand away with a chuckle. “Yeah, when it comes to purchasing more weapons for our arsenal—she’ll always sign off on that. I’m not about to tell her to take a vacation, especially with you—I’ve seen the places you take her to eat.” David held his hands up like he was gripping a Frisbee and then mimicked eating. “All fatty cheeseburgers and fries.”
Petra laughed and walked back to his desk. “He’s got you pegged, cowboy.”
“Damn straight—I eat meat and lots of it. Not some falafel sandwich with sprouts and hummus.”
“And that’s why we always wait to hear who is cooking when you and Dev invite us over for dinner,” said Petra, who held his hand to his mouth as he laughed.
Dev strode in through the entrance, plunking her tactical shoulder bag on the counter top. “Dinner—you boys are always talking about food. What a surprise.” She removed her tablet and nodded at the others to follow her out of the room. “Let’s go—the rest of the team are already waiting in the briefing room. I told them we’d start early today.”
She brushed past Mitch and squeezed his forearm, whispering into his ear, “Thanks again, I needed that breather before coming in here.” Her tone was businesslike and her eyes glassy, like she was forcing out the confidence that she’d need for the coming presentation with her staff.
The ninety-minute intel briefing on their mission was led by Dev and augmented by her head of cyber-security, James Ratner. The balding figure covered the satellite images of the three-story Tudor mansion in the Romanian countryside where their victim was being held. This was supposed to be a cut-and-dried extraction operation as the corporation of the ransom victim had agreed to pay the sum, despite Dev’s objections. The wheels had been set in motion and her team was going to escort the individual out of the country once the kidnappers received the funds.
After Ratner finished his lecture, Dev stood up and spoke to the rest of the team, which consisted of Mitch, David, and Petra, who would be with her in the field; Ari, who had a thick goatee and was the Gideon company pilot; and Lisa, a short woman with blond corkscrew curls, who was the comms expert who’d be keeping them dialed into the satellite imagery obtained by Ratner.
“I know we’ve been over this before,” said Petra. “But are there any changes with the victim’s company withholding the money. I sure don’t want to be strolling up to that mansion in someone’s crosshairs only to find out the company got cold feet.”
“When I spoke with the CEO in London yesterday, he confirmed that everything was in place for a quick transfer of funds,” Dev said. She tapped a pen on the table then resumed her PowerPoint presentation on the layout of the mansion. “Though this is a new company we are working with, their credentials all check out as does the work history and personal background of the victim.” She pointed to the image of the map on the screen to her right. “We will go in through the front doors after the money is wired to the kidnappers then we walk away with the individual and fly back here with him.”
Mitch raised his eyebrows and let out a snappy exhale. “It’d be nice if all our ops looked like this. I can go without rappelling into a smoke-filled room wit
h rounds flying past my head for a change.”
“Agreed,” said David. “Though we will still roll in heavy,” he said, patting the Glock 23 in the beltline under his shirt.
Dev looked down at her watch then at the pilot. “Let’s have wheels up tomorrow morning at 0530. I’ve got to do a Skype meeting right now with the CEO to confirm a few details and then,” she paused to glance at Mitch, “we have a dinner engagement in honor of Uri Belkin tonight at his political rally.”
Petra swiveled in his seat and muttered under his breath, “Ah, yes, the esteemed soon-to-be new member of Parliament.”
Dev rolled her eyes. “Not yet—though his election numbers look good. I’m sure Uri will do a fine job. He did, after all, work under my father for years.” She grabbed her tablet and headed out the door.
Petra and David shot knowing glances at each other that came from years of working together. Mitch studied their expressions then slid his chair forward. “What am I missing?”
David cleared his throat. “It’s just that most of us figured one day Anatoly would be involved with Parliament.”
“Or that he would have been the primary candidate, anyway,” Petra said. “Uri is certainly a good second choice but he’s not a wolf like Anatoly was.”
Petra sneered as he stood up. “More like an unneutered dog—always humpin’ everybody’s leg to see who will give him a handout.”
Mitch chuckled. “Sounds like politicians are the same here as back home then.”
On his way out of the room, Mitch walked past James and slugged him lightly in the arm. The younger man looked shocked and rubbed his bicep.
“Another round of poker after we get back?” said Mitch.
“You on again for a rematch?”
“That beating you took last time didn’t dissuade you, I hope.”
“Law of averages—I’ll take you this time. I’ve learned a few things since our last game.”
“It’s your money—I don’t want you to have the utilities turned off in your house ’cause you lose again.”
Ratner put his hands on his hips and grinned. “Law of averages, I told you—I’m the guy with the background in mathematics and I know how to beat you now. No amount of fancy deck shuffling and sideways glances will help you.”
As Mitch rounded the bend in the doorway, he leaned back towards Ratner. “Just remember, experience and treachery will always overcome youth and skill.”
Ratner scrunched his eyebrows together, causing his pasty forehead to wrinkle. “Ah-ha, so you admit that you cheat?”
Mitch let a smile creak out from the corner of his mouth. “The only one I’ve ever cheated before is the grim reaper and only because he doesn’t play fair.”
Chapter 3
Southeastern Romania
Anton Tasirof glanced down at the address one more time as he drove up the driveway in his dilapidated green Audi, which relinquished several chunks of rust as he came to an abrupt halt before the three-story mansion.
The day had finally arrived to ply his craft and show his family and friends that he had the talents to become an actor. He had come across the audition online while studying his lines for an upcoming play in his theater troupe at the University of Bucharest.
Anton arrived at the estate, barely noticing the rolling countryside along the way as he mentally rehearsed his introduction. As a second year university student he could use the money that was being offered for this role in a short commercial to further his studies. The company spokesman he had talked with on the phone two days earlier had promised him it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He hadn’t heard of the theater company but their online presence revealed that they had helped many young actors and playwrights get their start.
As he exited the vehicle, he tucked in his shirt and cleared his throat while studying the spacious grounds. He saw a white cargo van with the theater logo etched in black on the side: Maestro Productions.
Anton walked to the door, making sure his stride exuded confidence and pulling his shoulders back like his mother had taught him to do when preparing for an interview. He thought of the firm handshake he would give and how he would utter his name in a deep voice. Despite all his self-coaching, his knees still felt like they could give out and send him sprawling onto the pebble-strewn walkway. As Anton raised his delicate hand to knock on the wooden door, it swung inward. A tall man wearing glasses, with an expression as dull as the oaken door, welcomed him in. The lanky figure had a crescent-shaped scar beneath the rim of his square glasses, and salt-and-pepper hair. He looked European but Anton couldn’t place his accent as he spoke in broken English.
“Greetings, Anton. You will forgive me but I do not speak Romanian and saw on your application that you are versed in English.”
“Yes, sir, that is true.” He extended his hand and it was engulfed by the rough, meaty paw of the man who introduced himself only as Cavel.
“Please come this way,” the older figure said. “We have much to do and little time. Our production company is under a lot of pressure to film this commercial and get it approved.”
He followed behind Cavel as the two men proceeded upstairs. Anton noticed two other men in leather jackets in the living room as he walked by and was surprised at the size of the large satellite dish they were unpacking.
As he followed Cavel upstairs, he wondered why the place was so quiet. “How many other people have you had audition for the part?”
The man didn’t look back as he proceeded up, gliding smoothly with each double-step he took. “Only you. You seemed perfect for the part from the video clip you sent.”
Cavel paused at the entrance to the upstairs den. “Tell me, Anton, do you have a roommate or girlfriend that we can send an email to afterwards to let them know about your performance?”
“No, as I mentioned on the phone, I kind of keep to myself. I have a few friends in the theater but they are gone a lot because of other productions. My parents, though—my mother, she would be most proud to see this.” Anton thought about his disapproving father. The brash figure was a union leader in Bucharest’s largest labor party and often scolded Anton for taking up such an unmanly interest as acting. Wait until he sees me on TV.
The den was dimly lit, with just a few slivers of sunlight stabbing past the heavy burgundy curtains on the windows to the right. To the left was a narrow table lined with lighting equipment, cables, and editing equipment. Suspended from the four corners were diminutive hi-def video cameras whose bottom activation lights were blinking red.
The man patted him on the shoulder. “This won’t take long. Just have a seat over there in the corner,” Cavel said, pointing to a wooden chair with curved armrests that resembled the talons of an eagle. Anton shuffled forward, examining the vintage furnishings. He cautiously slid into the seat, unsure if the antiquated chair would hold his weight. He glanced at Cavel then shifted his body to get comfortable as he took in his meager surroundings. Cavel busied himself adjusting all of the cameras so they focused on different angles of the room. Anton was puzzled why two of the video devices were directed towards the doorway.
“Excuse me, sir, but are all of those cameras going to be used?”
“Yes, we need to get several different takes of your performance.”
The man finished tweaking the dials on the last camera and then moved to a position in the doorway with his back to Anton. Cavel was fidgeting with something he had removed from his jacket, then suddenly he turned and swung around with a pistol leveled at Anton. Anton’s heart fluttered and his cheek muscles froze. Then he thought maybe it was a prop gun like the type he had used on stage during action scenes.
Anton went to get up and run but felt something smash into his right pectoral like a mallet had arced down from above. His chest was on fire and he looked at the red fluid seeping over his punctured t-shirt. Droplets of blood trickled down his arm onto the wooden floor and his vision started to close in. He slumped back into the chair as he saw Cavel
move up, followed by two more muzzle flashes. His burning lungs could hardly press out another breath and his throat began filling with the coppery taste of blood pushing its way up.
Anton struggled to choke down a breath of air. His eyelids fluttered as his consciousness slipped away just as the older man lowered his pistol. Cavel placed a hand over Anton’s oozing lips and nose and squeezed downward, cutting off his airway.
The man leaned in towards Anton’s ear and whispered as the room faded to black, “Shh, your performance will be over soon. A job well done.”
Chapter 4
“So, why do we need to get all prettied up for this again?” said Mitch, who was fumbling with the bow-tie on his rented tuxedo as he stood before the bathroom mirror in Dev’s townhouse.
“I told you, this isn’t something I can afford to miss out on. Not for me or for Gideon. The guest of honor, Uri Belkin, is an old family friend and former Mossad colleague of my father’s.” Dev was clad in a sleek red dress that clung to her athletic curves. Her silky black hair fell evenly on her shoulders, which accentuated her small hoop earrings.
“The Anatoly I knew alluded to the fact that he could count all his friends on one hand.”
“Yeah, and this is one of them—or was. They were very close at one time. Uri, my father, and another man, Victor Hughes were like brothers until they left the Mossad. Then…” She dragged out the word, searching for how to finish the sentence. “Then, they kind of each went their own ways, you could say. Victor was always the nerd of the group and he got into private consulting doing cyber-security for a long time while my father started Gideon and Uri hobnobbed his way to the top of the political ladder here.”
