by JT Sawyer
“Then we’ll do this together, Dev. You don’t have to carry this burden alone, alright.”
He put his finger on her chin. “Alright?”
She nodded, knowing everything he said was true but unsure how to quell the burning hunger for vengeance against Uri.
As the plane skipped along the uneven beach and came to a halt, Dev quickly unbuckled and grabbed her pack. She was the first one to hop out, rushing past the others. She turned her headlamp on to the red setting and scanned the satellite photos from Anatoly’s safehouse again, comparing it to the GPS unit in her right hand.
She directed her gaze up the beach. “According to this, we need to head two kilometers along the coast to the south and then there’s an inlet.” She looked towards the ocean. “Hopefully the tide won’t be high and we can get in there. About a mile beyond that is supposed to be the location of Uri’s old mining operation but I don’t see any reason to go there unless this first area doesn’t yield any information.”
Dev slung her tan pack on her shoulder and began marching off, looking back to check on the others periodically. The rumpled piles of driftwood to their right resembled an undulating wooden snake whose form wove along the beach during the hour-long trek in the soft substrate. The starlight illuminated the gypsum-like sand and they found little need for their headlamps. Mitch found himself thinking that the seemingly idyllic setting seemed more like something out of a tourist resort in the Caribbean than the war-ravaged coast of West Africa.
Crossing over a small field of boulders near a canyon, they swerved to the left and proceeded up the narrow inlet. The sand was sticking to their boots but the water level hadn’t yet reached into the full length of the passage. He heard Dev whisper back over her shoulder, “Two hundred clicks and then the coordinates should be on our right, just above a ridge.”
Mitch was in the rear and habitually kept scanning the mouth of the inlet before them, feeling like the plane was a hundred miles distant. If they got into any trouble, there weren’t going to be any Gideon rescue teams to pull them out and Von would probably disappear into the shadows in more ways than one. He kept a hand on his holstered pistol and brushed the sweat off his forehead while taking a deep breath. Last I heard, a Sierra Leone military prison wasn’t a place that granted a quick death. We need to get in and out of this place as fast as possible.
Ten minutes later, after zig-zagging around dozens of van-sized boulders that had tumbled over the edge years before, Dev motioned with her thumb that they needed to ascend the shallow lip of a ridge. Climbing up the thirty-degree pitch, they levelled out on a sandstone ledge polished smooth by thousands of years of flash floods. Petra pointed to the right towards a small cave whose entrance was the size of a car door. Dev lowered her head and entered first, followed by the others. With their headlamps switched over to the maximum brightness, the entire cave was illuminated. Dev took a step back, her jaw feeling like it had unhinged as her eyes grew wide. Every inch of the interior was filled from the ground to the ceiling with naked corpses, the leathery skin of which appeared to be shrink-wrapped to the bones.
“Holy shit,” said Mitch. “There must be over fifty bodies here, maybe more.” He knelt down beside the closest one and poked the dried skin on the foot. “I’ve seen things like this before in Arizona, though not on this scale. The ancient Anasazi burials—they still have skin and even hair on them after a thousand years from the oven-like conditions of the desert.” He panned his head to the farthest depth of the cave, taking in the horrific scene. “It’s like they turned into jerky, bones and all. That’s why it doesn’t smell in here.”
“In the old tombs spread around the desert in Egypt, I’ve seen a few bodies like this,” said Von.
Petra lowered his bandanna. “Uri was probably figuring the tide would come in slowly over the years and lift a few bodies out at a time. It would rouse less suspicion if a handful of these corpses showed up along the beaches than trying to dispose of this many at one time.”
“This was the cost of his greed,” said Dev. “And this is probably just one of many such caves.” She held her hand over her mouth. “My God, what a monster.”
“Now what?” said Mitch. “This is a long way from the halls of Parliament and the inauguration isn’t but a day away.”
“We need to take pictures of all this. Combined with the photographs that my father took of Uri placing these bodies here, this will provide us with the evidence we need to sink his fucking career,” she said, backing up and removing Anatoly’s old camera from her pack to begin documenting the crime scene. “I know someone at i12 News who would probably be very interested in the doings of their soon-to-be elected official.” Dev reduced the illumination on her headlamp, averting her eyes from the ghastly site. “It’ll take us most of tonight to get back to Israel. We’ll have to pick up the pace on everything if we are to move against Uri. Once he’s in Parliament, even the other parties will try to squash any scandals that could bring down their house, even one on this scale.”
“When we return to familiar shores, I will have to sign off, my friends,” said Von. “This is as much as I can do.”
Dev nodded in thanks to him then waved her hand for them to leave. As they backed out of the cave, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “We’ll leave these unfortunate souls here for now. One day, when this is all over, I’ll figure out a way to give them a proper burial.”
Chapter 38
0930 the Following Morning, Knesset Inauguration Day
The row of starlings chirping on the wooden fence row at the Hyatt Country Club was annoying Martin Bollousa as he returned a swing of his tennis racket. Across the court, his nine-year-old son anxiously tottered on his feet as he attempted to strike the incoming ball.
Martin’s nerves were rattled from the past forty-eight hours of handling Uri’s finances and logistics to stage the Romanian operation, extort the proper Shin Bet officials, and then prepare for Uri’s inauguration into the Knesset. In seven hours, Martin would be joining Uri at the banquet to usher in a new era within Parliament and he could take a much-needed break for a few weeks.
As he went to deliver another tennis ball downrange, he noticed the familiar face of a nimble figure float past the fence behind his son. Martin’s swing was off and the ball went over the foul line as he saw Petra walking casually by the entrance gate then pausing to stand watch near his son. Martin lowered his racket and shuffled to his right, nearly tripping over his duffel bag. He glanced behind him and saw the face of another man he recognized only from photographs from Gideon’s senior staff portfolio—an American whose slit-like eyes felt like they were boring through Martin’s forehead.
His son’s voice rang out in Hebrew as he heard the gate swing open to his right. “Poppa, what is wrong—keep serving.”
Martin felt a fresh wave of sweat stream down his cheeks as he pivoted around, right into the face of Devorah Leitner. He shuffled back like he’d stepped on an exposed wire, his face turning ashen.
“Please don’t hurt my son. He’s all I have.”
“Perhaps he would like to join his mother inside the country club for a while so we can talk,” Dev said slowly with a cat-like pace. “I’m not a savage. I wouldn’t harm your boy, though you are another story.”
Martin moved robotically towards the net, reaching into his pocket and removing a few bills. “Here, why don’t you buy yourself some ice cream and stay with your mother. I have to talk to these friends of mine.”
The boy exchanged his racket for the money, then trotted past Petra through the gate. Dev moved in beside Martin while the two men hovered around the outside of the court, keeping an eye on the grounds for anyone approaching.
“If you shout for help or make any attempt to run, my blade will be across your throat in under a second.” She placed her right hand under her jacket as she stood inches from his trembling face. “Do you believe me?”
He nodded his head several times. “Yes, most definitely.”
Martin pulled his eyes away from her and scanned the distant grounds for his two bodyguards.
“They can’t help you right now, Marty. I don’t want anyone interrupting our little meeting here.” She sighed and shook her head. “Now, let’s talk about a remote cave site in Sierra Leone. Do you know the one—with all the bodies stacked in rows with bullet holes through their skulls?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that. I don’t know what goes on with his operations other than the finances and logistics on my end.”
“His finances came from the deaths of dozens of innocent people sweating under the sun for his precious diamonds.” She moved to his side, whispering in his ear. “It was all so neat for you, punching in the dollar amount on your laptop here in Tel Aviv and doing the wire transfers for the murky operations he needed performed.” She continued circling him, never removing her eyes from his plump face.
“If you plan on coercing me into giving away Uri’s financials, that’s not possible. He changes the numeric code of his account every day. I perform any transactions for him during a random time he selects and then the window to his files closes again.”
“I’m not interested in his blood money.” She stopped in front of him and barely pressed the tip of the blade against his navel, stopping before it pierced through his sweaty t-shirt. “Surely a shrewd man like yourself would have kept some kind of insurance in case a stormy day, say like this one, ever rained down upon you.”
His shoulders sank down. “I might have a few copies of hard drives with some information on the Romanian operation we staged.” He gulped down a breath, his eyes widening. “But I want something in return.”
She tilted her head up. “I’m listening.”
“If I do this, there will be no place for me to hide in Israel. I want new identities for me and my family and help getting out of the country.”
“I want Uri himself, though I might settle for you if you can’t grant what I am asking.”
“Uri is untouchable. He’s about to be sworn into office in a few hours and will be surrounded by dozens of Knesset guards in addition to his own men.”
Dev let the blade slide forward, just slicing into the surface of his skin. He gasped, his eyes rolling back and his knees buckling. Dev grabbed his belt and held him up. “Oh, Marty, you never did have the stomach for this line of work.” She pressed the blade another millimeter forward. “And pretty soon, you won’t have a stomach at all.”
“Alright, stop. Please, no more.” His quivering lips barely pushed out the words. “There’s going to be a small gathering of his five largest financial donors just before the banquet. They’ll be meeting in a private chamber on the lower level near the east courtyard. Security will be at a minimum then as the guards will be setting up for the inauguration in the second floor auditorium.”
She pulled back the blade. “Wow, that’s actually more than I expected to get from you.” Dev patted him on his pale cheek. “You are just a goldmine of information—or maybe I should say diamond mine.”
“Now please, let me go.”
“There’s just one more thing. One of my friends, David Adler, was taken away after we returned from Romania.” She raised the blade up to his nose. “I’d really like to know his exact whereabouts. If we find him unharmed, I will notify the authorities tomorrow of where to find you. I can’t have you running off to Uri after all.”
He slowly reached into his back pocket and removed his phone, pulling up the map for Tel Aviv which showed the whereabouts of David. She yanked the device from his hands and studied it, then pointed to another waypoint that was red-flagged.
“What’s this other indicator?”
“Our deal first—you assure me that you will get me and my family out of this country and I’ll tell you—and believe me, you will want to know.”
“OK, false identities for your wife and son—with yours pending on how things play out over the next twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, alright.”
He grit his teeth together and cleared his throat several times. “That’s where your mother is being held.”
She rushed forward, shoving him back into the chain-link fence. “You thought it wise to keep this from me! I knew there was a reason why I didn’t trust you in the beginning.” She flicked the tip of her blade at his right bicep, giving him an inch-long laceration. He winced and clutched his arm.
“That’s for playing me for a fool,” she said. “If any of this information you’ve given me turns out to be false, then you’ll have a few more tattoos like that in a more conspicuous location.”
Dev tossed the phone over the fence to Mitch. “Can you identify those two locations? We’re gonna have to move fast.”
After they escorted Martin to their SUV in the parking lot, Dev got a text accompanied by an attached document from an unknown caller. This pediatric health form may be of interest to you.
She opened the file and read the contents as Mitch drove away from the country club.
“Something we should know about?” he said as they entered the highway.
Dev looked again at the contents, her eyes poring over the salient points. Then she held her hand to her mouth and looked out the window.
“Only that I understand a few things about an old friend.”
“Victor?”
“No, but he’s someone who figures into this too.” She stared at the array of cumulus clouds mounting into a thunderhead in the distance. “Now, we need to get to that room Martin mentioned before Uri arrives.”
Chapter 39
Jill Albright was sitting in a corner booth at the Roladin Bakery in downtown Tel Aviv; a plate of uneaten apple pie was resting in front of her, next to four empty espresso cups. Her office at i12 News had become too claustrophobic, with the other reporters clamoring over their assignments to cover the upcoming election, and she needed some space to think. Spread before her was a stack of transcripts from her past interviews with Devorah Leitner along with a yellow notepad with hand-scrawled diagrams containing the names of Benjamin Abadi, James Ratner, Uri Belkin, Anatoly Leitner, and a third figure who was only described by a large question mark encircled with red ink.
Something still doesn’t add up. The public documents all reveal that Belkin worked with Dev’s father for years in the military along with another man whom I can’t seem to find anything on. Dev alluded to him once in our interview but I can’t recall his name. She tapped the red pen in her fingers against her temple. Her eyes floated over the Shin Bet agent’s name. And Ben Abadi and Dev were in the military at the same time but there’s nothing unusual about that in itself. She pulled the notepad closer and stared at the name of James Ratner. But why would Abadi allow Ratner to be hauled off by those other guys—they sure as hell didn’t look like Shin Bet agents. Did Abadi even know or is he complicit in this somehow?
With her head lowered towards the notepad, she hardly saw the man in a tan leather jacket walk up to the table until he was sliding into the seat across from her.
She raised her eyebrows and waved her hand in the air. “Uhm, there are plenty of other places to park it at here, mister. I’m kind of busy and not in the mood for company.”
The man was wearing a New York Yankees ballcap and sunglasses, his facial muscles rigid. “It’s not the company I’ve come for but your help, Ms. Albright.”
“Did my editor send you here?”
“Nope. Name’s Mitch. I followed you here from your office an hour ago. You really should look over your shoulder more often when you walk around this city instead of staring at your iPhone.”
Jill noticed he had an American accent. She leaned back, glancing around at the other patrons then at the waitresses behind the counter, hoping someone would notice how uncomfortable she was and come over.
“So you’ve been stalking me for the past hour and now…” She was cut off by his upraised hand.
“I don’t have much time, Ms. Albright. And Dev Leitner could use some
help. She said you were a woman of integrity and told me to deliver this to you.” He removed a small cylindrical device from his pocket and then slid it across the table under his hand.
Jill leaned forward, as intrigued by the news as she was by the shiny device. “Devorah—where is she? What’s going on with Gideon? Is she alright?”
Both of them stopped talking as two Israeli police officers entered the bakery and sat down a few rows over from them. Mitch lowered his hat then tilted his head away from the officers, pulling both his hands back to his pockets.
“Dev will be in good shape soon, hopefully—we all will be, if you can see to it that this is inserted into the i12 newsroom computer feed in two hours.”
“What is this?”
“It’s for a wireless transfer of video. Something that will be of great interest to you and many others.”
She shoved the device back into the center of the table. “I don’t even know who you are, Mitch. What if this thing is some virus to corrupt our systems? Besides, Devorah Leitner and her company are guilty of some pretty serious crimes.”
“I don’t think you’re buying into any of that or you wouldn’t be here huddled over all these notes long after your news story has already run.” He motioned with his chin towards the names on the yellow notepad.
Jill kept diverting her attention from the man before her to the two police officers. She finally picked up the silver device, settling back into her seat. “Alright, let’s say I believe you and help you out. What then? I could be risking my career helping a wanted fugitive. As startling as it was to see on that video, she killed that young man in Romania. To what end?”
“That’s not the question you should be asking. The ‘who’ and the ‘what’ are just morsels for the public to latch onto so someone in power could pull the strings of the Shin Bet to justify shuttering Gideon.” He slowly glanced at the officers, who had their backs to them, and then leaned forward. “You have to ask yourself who would benefit from bringing down Gideon, a company Devorah used every ounce of her energy and resources to keep afloat during the past year and that has been responsible for saving hundreds of kidnap victims abroad. You’ve met her in person—on more than one occasion. I suspect you’re the kind of woman who can sense when someone is full of BS and when they’re the real deal. You must sense something is off about this whole thing.” He tapped his finger on her notepad. “The real question is, why would someone frame Devorah and Gideon for that murder in Romania? That person would have to possess a lot of clout and money to cover up their trail and to pull the strings of the Shin Bet to do their public bidding.”
