by JT Sawyer
He tossed the keys into a nearby sewer and then shoved the phone and lighter in his own jacket. He reflected back to his questioning at Gideon while reaching into the side pocket of his pants. The only thing they could’ve bugged was my phone. He pulled it out and popped open the rear compartment, studying the contents. Inserted between the battery and the microphone was a small silver disk. He pulled it out and held it up to the light.
“Hmm, I’ve not seen anything like this before.” He bent down and pried open the mouth of the dead man, shoving the electronic bug inside. He patted his hand against the figure’s drooping head. “The world isn’t going to suffer any without you in it.”
He retrieved the karambit from the ground and slid it back into the sheath then tucked it in his beltline at the one o’clock position. Petra hastily pecked out a text on his phone, alerting David, Mitch, and Dev about their devices being compromised. Afterwards, he looked both ways down the dimly lit alley, brushing the leaf litter from his knees then proceeding in a trot towards the safehouse.
Chapter 14
The echoing ping of water on metal was the first thing David noticed upon regaining consciousness. For a moment he wasn’t sure if it was the dull throbbing above his right ear that he was hearing or something in the room behind him. As he lifted his head and fought to pry his crusted eyes open, he noticed a bucket next to his chair. Every few seconds it would resound with a single drop of water plummeting from the expansive ceiling above. The entire chamber appeared to be made of steel, resembling the rusted confines of a ship’s cargo hold. The meat-locker-like odor mingled with the smell of saltwater residue on the ground, making his nostrils flare. The dull orange oxidized walls were partially illuminated by a single shaft of sunlight penetrating a distant skylight directly above him.
The manila rope pinning his ankles and wrists to the elephant-gray chair prevented any attempt to rise and he shimmied his massive frame until the chair began to inch forward. He strained his meaty forearms and pressed outward against his restraints, balling his fists, but the density of the rope was greater than his yielding flesh.
David looked around the rectangular room, glancing over to a wooden table in the corner which appeared to have a tackle box on it. Spread alongside it were rows of tin snips, a filet knife, and trident-like hooks used for gaffing large fish. Three of the five fist-sized hooks were covered with dried blood and sat beside a pile of teeth. He squinted his eyes at the grotesque sight, realizing that they were small incisors. “Shit,” he muttered. “Those don’t look like shark teeth to me.”
His heart began racing and he started jerking in his chair to pivot it around to the rear. He saw a single steel door, rounded at the top and bottom with a cylindrical handle, and a porthole window whose glass was too murky to see out. This is probably some prisoner rendition ship off the coast. Not Shin Bet, so who put me here?
His thoughts turned briefly back to Dev and the others. I sure hope they got away and can find out who is setting up Gideon. Damn, even though he’s dead, Anatoly still manages to piss people off around the world. He chuckled at the thought of his old mentor and boss. Although he adored Dev and was loyal to her, he still thought of Gideon as Anatoly’s company and missed the weathered old master of tradecraft who had taught him so much. Whatever this is about, it’s gotta be connected to something from Anatoly’s past. No way Dev could have ruffled enough feathers during the year she’s run the company—not like her old man.
David mustered all his strength to slide forward, the right front leg of the chair crunching down over what appeared to be a fingertip lying on the floor next to several other fleshy digits. He felt it impossible to swallow, a knot forming in his throat. He clenched his fists again, rebelling against his restraints once more then forcing out a seething exhale. He had been through interrogation training before both with Gideon and during his time with the Mossad. Such simulated resistance methods pushed the physical and psychological boundaries to prepare you for the unimaginable horrors associated with being a hostage or P.O.W. He always hoped it would stay nothing more than a cache of useful skills he would never have to employ.
As the chair grated against the floor, sliding over some green, desiccated fingernails that splintered like glass shards, he knew that he might not be the same man after this day was out. He desperately needed to escape this chamber of horrors. Before he could mull over a plan, the heavy steel door groaned on its rusty hinges and three men stepped inside. Two of them remained in the shadows near the entrance while the third, a lanky man in his forties, walked up to him.
The man was wearing an oilskin trench coat, pleated pants, and a blue turtleneck. His face was clean-cut and he wore brown, narrow-framed eyeglasses. He looked more like a college professor than an interrogator but David knew the ruse all too well. Look disarming and you can cause your victim to lower his guard.
David stopped moving and tightened his abs, unsure if a punch to the gut was going to be the introduction or something more severe.
The man removed his hands from his trench coat, his heavily scarred knuckles seeming mismatched with the rest of the man’s well-groomed appearance. From another pocket, he pulled out a pair of leather gloves which had bulbous ball-bearing implants in the knuckle sections. The man’s green eyes narrowed into slits as he walked under the beam of sunlight emanating from the ceiling, like a spotlight on a symphony conductor.
David looked at him then pressed his lips together in a faint half-grin, knowing there would be no small talk and no introductions. Whoever was behind this probably knew everything about David’s past and his previous training in resistance. He didn’t see any point in trying to reason with them or even give them the benefit of dialogue. David had seen men like this one too many times in his years of hostage rescue and in war; more than enough times to know that there was no soul present in the monster before him. He knew that beneath the veneer of the sharply dressed figure was a beast who fed on the pain of others.
“David Adler, you will be a broken man shortly. Whether that happens in the next few hours or before the next sunrise will depend on you.” Without warning, he drove a wicked right hook into the side of his torso. David felt like he had been struck by a bat and was shocked at how much force the sinewy man had delivered. He felt his stomach roil up as the adrenaline pulsed through his veins in anticipation of the beating that was coming. He knew his ribcage would only survive a handful of punches like that and he kept his abdominals tensed.
“I imagine a guy as big as you can take a lot of punishment and I’ve got a few hours until I need to report back.” He walked a foot closer and struck another blow on the opposite side of his torso. “Tenderizing you is going to be quite a treat, though my boss says to leave your ape-face alone. He must have plans for you after all this.”
The man readjusted the leather gloves and tightened his fingers into a ball while David heard the door slam shut. The melancholy ping of the dripping water in the bucket echoed off the chamber walls. The lone figure stepped forward, cocking his arm back and clenching his fist so hard the leather crackled from the pressure.
“What I know will go to my grave with me,” David said, sucking in a deep breath and then spitting on the ground before the man’s tan boots. “So, bring it.”
Chapter 15
Mitch was driving with Eva, a mile from the safehouse when he got a text from Petra that was sent out to him, Dev, and David: Phones bugged. Beware of tails.
Mitch held the phone back like it was carrying a deadly virus then flung it out the window of Eva’s car as they sped along the side streets. For safe measure he deviated from his planned route and did a series of loops around the region before resuming his course.
“Where are we going again?” said Eva, who was rubbing her right knee.
“A safehouse Anatoly had outside the city.” He gave her a surprised look then glanced down at her leg. “You OK?”
“No, I’m not OK. I just killed a guy in my house and wrenched
my knee in the process. This damned leg of mine just never gets any better no matter what I do.”
Mitch looked out the side window, away from the fire in Eva’s eyes. “We’ll be there in a few minutes. I just got a text from Petra so he must be OK.”
She sighed and leaned back. “Why is this happening, Mitch? Who were those men back at my house and why haven’t we heard from Devorah yet?”
“Look, all I know is we came back from this last mission and the world had turned upside down with Gideon in the crosshairs. At first, I thought this was about Romania and all the nonsense you saw on the news, but now I’m not so sure.”
Coming to a red light, he scanned his mirrors and then the walkways ahead. “The questioning at Gideon by the federal agents—something was way off. Then these guys following me and turning up at your place. Those sure as hell weren’t the feds.”
“Who then? I mean, Anatoly acquired many enemies in a career as long as his but not something on this scale. Who could have the power to move against a corporation like Gideon?”
“And mere hours after the Romanian incident.”
“How can this be happening now? On the very day of Anatoly’s death.” She shook her head, sniffling while wiping a tear from her cheek. “And where is my Devorah—my girl.” She held her closed fist up to her mouth. “My sweet Devorah, she is all I have left.”
“I can’t begin to fathom the pain you must feel on this day and then to have all this happen on top of it.” He placed his right hand across her shoulder.
Mitch knew how much his own friends in the special operations community suffered when away from their families on endless deployments. They had each other to depend on in the field while the wives had a hodge-podge of support groups. While the heroic actions of the warriors abroad were widely written about in the media, the wives and families back home were waging their own battles that few outside of the military understood. Eva had endured her husband’s absence for close to three decades and stuck by his side. It had been clear from working with Anatoly that he had adored his wife and daughter. They were the spiritual talisman always present in the war-weary landscape of his mind that enabled him to push on when the chips were down.
“I spent so many years working towards this one glorious day in my head when my sacrifices would be over,” Eva said in a low voice. “That day when I could sit with my husband beside the ocean and not worry about him being called away to God knows where to help save someone again.” She held back a whimper and straightened her posture. “This fantasy world I constructed when I was in my twenties, married to this dashing figure. Then ten years later, after he’s missed Devorah’s birthday again and can’t call home on our anniversary, I just kept thinking it would change.” She paused, looking at him with watery eyes. “It has to, right—this dream that you’ve staked your life on every day for the past decade—it has to be just around the corner?”
She looked out the window into the night sky. “Then you wake up one morning and realize all you’ve done is construct a self-made prison that you’ve just taught yourself how to endure. That your sentence won’t be up until the day comes when your husband is nervously clutching his discharge papers while you welcome this stranger of thirty years back into your home.”
Eva’s words sunk deeply into Mitch’s psyche. He knew the world of which she spoke all too well and had seen it consume many of his former friends in the special operations community. Men whose jobs always came first and who carried the burden of their actions abroad long after their deployment. Such inner turmoil had cost Mitch his first marriage and he swore that he would never let such things come between him and Dev. Yet, he was faced with the love of his life being drawn down a path that was obscured in shadows. Mitch wondered what the outcome of their relationship would be if she continued withdrawing from him, but he knew there was no recourse in his heart but to navigate the murky waters ahead with her and help keep her afloat.
Mitch pulled up to the curb below the apartment building where Anatoly’s old safehouse was located. He felt awkward interrupting her to inform Eva of one more secret in her husband’s past.
Knowing there were no words that could ease her pain, he leaned over and hugged her.
“Ah, you’ve had to listen to an old woman complain too much, my dear Mitch.” She glanced up at the building. “And there are many more things to focus on.”
Chapter 16
Dev heard the apartment door open and saw her mother and Mitch walk in. She ran to the entrance and embraced them both then ran her hand along Mitch’s face while looking into his eyes. “Petra and I just arrived a few minutes ago. Any word on David?”
“No; I hung around outside Gideon for a little while then made my way to your mother’s. No sign of anyone else along the way other than some shady guys we had to deal with at Eva’s.”
He pulled out the 1911 and put it on the counter. “These guys were hired help—some heavy hitters.”
“Mine too,” said Petra.
“This is one puzzle I can use help in putting together,” said Dev.
Eva had moved past them and went to the fireplace to examine a large framed picture on the wall. Her eyes floated over the brush strokes, which depicted a prairie from the American West. In the distance were smoke signals being sent up by a lone Indian who knelt amongst a cluster of boulders.
“So that’s where that painting went,” said Eva.
Dev moved alongside her mother as both women stood gazing longingly at the painting. “Father always loved this image. He said it reminded him of the old days of tradecraft when life was simpler and focused on the man on the ground instead of the satellites in the sky.”
“I know—I bought it for him for his fiftieth birthday. I saw it one time after that and thought he buried it in the attic with his other things.”
Dev’s eyes ran across the painted landscape. “When I started working for him, we would meet here sometimes and talk about his future plans for Gideon. He’d smoke a cigar, constantly looking over at this painting like it was a reference point or something. Then, he’d usually slip into telling me a story about one of his missions.” Dev’s lower lip quivered and her voice cracked. “God, I would give everything I have just to spend fifteen minutes with him again—just fifteen minutes to sit with him once more and hear his voice—and to ask him what to do.”
Eva continued looking at the painting as her eyes began to water. She slid her arm over and took hold of Dev’s hand, squeezing it firmly as the two stood quietly staring ahead. Mitch and Petra remained at the back of the room, their heads lowered in silence as each man pondered their relationship to the man whose life’s work had caused all of their paths to intersect at this place and time.
A few minutes later, Dev broke the silence. “I’d like to kick back and relax here like we always do but right now, unfortunately, we need to start backtracking and figuring out who is behind this.”
Mitch scratched his chin as he looked around at the others. “My question is this: Is what’s happening to Gideon right now the result of something Anatoly set in motion before he died or something that’s happened during the past year since you took over, Dev?”
“The timeline for Gideon’s shutdown was too precise and swift,” said Dev. “And if this was something related to the rogue criminal activity they are saying we’re guilty of then they would have started at the top with us. We alone would have been questioned by a Shin Bet agent and a court-ordered investigation launched from there. My entire company wouldn’t have been brought down in a day, with my staff being ushered out the doors in front of the media.”
“Whoever’s behind this is after something else,” said Mitch. “They needed access to Gideon’s network, its files, or the building itself.”
“You could have a corporate spy do that,” said Petra. “We’ve all done varying degrees of that over the years, especially me when I was in the Mossad trying to intercept intel about Iran and the companies that worked with them.�
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“No, not company intel but something else,” Dev said, stopping and resting her arm on a mantle above the fireplace. “Cyber data can be hacked from outside and a single operative working within the corporate culture can infiltrate a company’s security protocols to a certain degree but this,” she said, running a hand through her hair and exhaling, “no, this is something else. If you’re after something you know exists but you’re not sure where to find it, you start with the source and work back from there.”
Dev waved her hand around at the objects in the dimly lit room. “My father had over a dozen of these safehouses around the world before his death. I know the location of all of them but have only been to a few.”
“I’ve been to many of them over the years with him,” said Petra, who kept crossing and uncrossing his sinewy arms. “If there was something stowed away in one of them, I’d have known about it.”
“Remember this is Anatoly we are talking about,” said Eva. “I loved him dearly but he was one of the most complex men I’ve ever known—so many layers to his life, even ones I’m sure I don’t know about to this day, given his line of work. I’m sure if we all told stories about him, we’d wonder if we were talking about the same man.”
Petra just cocked his head sideways and raised an eyebrow. “Good point.”
“When I took over Gideon, I spent months sifting through his financials and computer accounts. There was one property that he purchased off the coast of Greece somewhere that I never located,” said Dev. “The entry only indicated the amount he paid and the type of dwelling, an apartment flat, but there was no property deed or address.”
“Was it in the Ionian Islands?” said Eva.
Dev scrunched her eyebrows together then slowly pivoted towards her mother. “Yes, in fact it was.”
