by JT Sawyer
She frowned, staring down at Uri’s name. “And do you want me to just take a leap of faith based upon our little meeting here, or are you going to tell me—you evidently know or must have some idea about what’s going on?”
“It doesn’t matter what I know, and putting you at risk by revealing the whole story without all the evidence yet wouldn’t help my case or your investigation,” he said, glancing up at her. “What matters is what you decide to do with that computer drive in two hours,” Mitch said, sliding from his seat and standing up. “You’ll have your answers then—we all will.”
She watched him walk away, twirling the device around in her fingers and taking a deep breath as she relaxed her shoulders. Jill had forgotten about the presence of the policemen as the stranger had continued talking and now her head was reeling with his words. She looked at her watch and then at the device again. He’s right about a lot of things but this could also land my ass in jail.
She grabbed the stack of papers to her right and flipped through the first twenty pages, scanning the past interview with Devorah. At the top of the second-to-last page, her eyes came to a halt upon a sentence that Dev had asked to keep off the record. Jill remembered that part of their conversation well as it was the first time she saw the face of the Gideon CEO light up when asked if she had anyone special in her life.
She whispered the words on the paper aloud. “Mitch Kearns.”
Chapter 40
It was just before noon as Benjamin Abadi peeled the wrapper off another roll of antacids and choked down a handful of colored tablets. The bags under his eyes resembled fallen sails and his face seemed frostbitten. His cellphone had rung at 0530 with the unpleasant voice of the man whom he thought he’d finished doing business with.
One more job and then you’re out, said Uri Belkin. Then your daughter can head to the clinic tonight and begin her treatment.
As the unmarked white van drove south towards the federal courthouse, he looked over at the disheveled figure in handcuffs next to him. The man was a high-ranking Gideon employee who had been handed over to him by Cavel, the loathsome figure whose eyes were always fixed in a lifeless glare. Ben was instructed to officially escort David Adler to the courthouse so the public would have a face to put to the crimes associated with Gideon as the man read his confession to the media. Ben knew it was bullshit, just as the debriefing of Devorah had been a few days before. He still felt the sting of her words when she confronted him in their backyard meeting and questioned his integrity.
He looked over at David, who was haggard and smelled of body odor and dirt. “So, David Adler.”
“So, Benjamin Abadi—we meet again. You know the last time at the airport was a real hoot. We should do that more often.”
“You’re headed to a federal court to be tried and most likely sentenced—you think this is a time for joking?”
“With the beating I’ve gotten in the past two days, my sense of humor is the only thing that’s keeping me going.” He looked at the other two agents in front. “Plus, being in the company of paid-off circus clowns like you guys is worthy of a laugh.”
Abadi put his shovel-like hand on David’s neck and squeezed while handing him a piece of paper. “Shut up and read this. When you’re questioned at the courthouse, you will need to respond by reading these answers.” Abadi released his grip and then leaned closer to David. “I already heard you were reluctant to sign off on this so my higher-ups figured a publicly broadcast trial of your confession would be better.”
“Gideon is not guilty of any of this. It’s all fabricated bullshit put together by whoever is footing the bill for your mortgage.”
“Even if you deny it and have a little outburst, you’ll still look like an unhinged member of the rogue company that the media has made Gideon out to be.” He glanced out the window at the nearby skyscrapers. “Besides, neither of us have much say in any of this.”
The van was directed by a man in a reflective yellow vest and hard hat who motioned the driver to take the detour down a side street due to some construction work. A minute after turning, Ben found the seatbelt cutting into his shoulder from the force of the vehicle screeching to a halt. In front of them was a blue SUV that had two people in gas masks quickly exiting. One of them had a large-barreled rifle that shot a round through the side window. The tubular cartridge that landed by Ben’s feet began discharging a nauseating gray smoke. Then he heard the sound of a Taser being activated and saw the driver and guard up front violently thrashing in their seats.
He raised his shirt over his nose and reached for his pistol just as the sliding doors on either side swung open. He heard the other agents in front gagging. Ben unbuckled and tried to climb out, barely seeing the butt of a rifle slamming into his head. He felt someone dragging him by the collar at the same time he noticed David being escorted to the SUV.
Ben felt the sting of the pavement on his back and looked up into the masked face of one of the assailants. Through his teary eyes, he could make out a slender figure who was clutching a semi-auto rifle. Then he saw them remove a large envelope from their jacket and fling it onto his chest. He reached down for his pistol but it was gone. The lone figure bolted to the SUV and the vehicle spun along the greasy pavement, disappearing into the haze of smoke.
Ben sat up, shaking his head and darting up towards the front of the van to help the other men who were rushing out. When he was sure that no one was injured, he moved back away from the vehicle and gulped in some air while resting one hand on his knee. He looked down the alley for the other vehicle or any sign of the construction worker but they were long gone.
“Damn, that was a well-planned attack,” the driver said, squatting down next to him. “Who the fuck was that?”
Ben shook his head and then opened up the crinkled manila envelope, sliding out the contents.
“What the hell is that?” said the other agent in a hoarse voice.
Ben’s bleary eyes floated over the health form. “It’s my daughter’s medical report.” He began to smile as he read over the notes then he crumpled the edge of the envelope and looked up at the sky, hardly noticing the pungent sting of smoke still piercing the air. He stood up and looked at the last item from the packet. It contained the address of a warehouse used by Uri’s henchmen. Below the edge of the paper there was a note scribbled in pencil: You’re a good man—do the right thing this time.
***
Petra sped down several more side streets before bringing the SUV to a stop under the steel overhang of an old cargo dock of a clothing store. He looked in the rearview mirror at David.
“You look pretty good for a dead man, my friend. Sure glad to see you still breathing—we thought we lost you for good.”
“Yeah, things got pretty ugly for a while,” he said, lifting his t-shirt to check on a sore spot while revealing the extensive topography of bruises and lumps on his torso.
“Damn,” said Dev, who had moved up to hug him. “My brother—what did they do to you?”
“They wanted me to sign this damn confession but I wouldn’t break so they figured they would parade me around in front of the cameras at the federal courthouse instead.”
“Who?”
“Some guy named Tamir…something—a chubby little bastard with a wrinkly face like a raisin.”
“Yeah, I know who you’re talking about,” said Dev, removing an ice pack from the first-aid kit and handing it to David. “Another one of Uri’s thugs.”
“Uri—Uri Belkin?” said David, wincing from the application of the cold compress.
“We have some catching up to do,” said Mitch, lightly patting the large man on the shoulder. “Just glad you are back with us.”
“Likewise.”
Dev looked at her wristwatch then motioned for Petra to keep driving. “Head downtown. We need to get things set up at the inauguration grounds.”
She received an incoming text and glanced at her phone screen. “It’s from Victor. He’s got the l
ink-up prepared to Jill Albright’s laptop once she receives what she needs from us, assuming she’ll play ball with us.”
“Who the hell is Victor?” said David.
“Looks like we’ve got some catching up to do, old boy,” said Mitch.
Dev’s expression grew rigid as she then swiveled her head back at the two men. “Look, I need you to locate my mother but not make it look like you got to her, OK. Uri needs to be in the dark until the last minute so he thinks he has leverage.”
“Can do,” said David with a grin. “We are in the kidnapping business after all.”
Chapter 41
Four Hours Later
Uri was adjusting his gold cufflinks on the sleeves of his black suit. His face was flushed red from the news, or lack thereof, of the whereabouts of his strike team in Switzerland. They hadn’t checked in since their last transmission shortly before attacking Victor’s building. He knew Devorah and her cohorts must be in the wind and his men were probably dead. Fuck, that team was two years in the making. Now we’re down to only a handful of guys. He moved in front of the mirror, glancing briefly at his appearance then rubbing the two front knuckles on his right hand, which were sore from backhanding Eva Leitner earlier that morning after she insulted him.
He looked at the octagonal clock on the wall and knew he had to meet his top five financial donors in the next building. Leaving the small chamber, he sauntered down the cement steps to the meeting room on the first floor where the others had already gathered.
After spending time recounting a few war stories then transitioning into how he would lead the Knesset into a new era, the five older men toasted him and offered snippets of advice. Finally, he stepped into the circle they had formed and raised his glass.
“Gentlemen, this afternoon will be an auspicious occasion that we will all look back to in the years ahead and say, ‘I was there that day with Uri when the tide changed.’” The five tuxedo-clad figures all raised their glasses of champagne at the same time and clanked them together.
A waitress with her hair in a bun had just entered the private chamber and moved to the unlit section of the room, holding a platter of hors d'oeuvres. When each of the men had finished, they shook Uri’s hand and exited through the side door. Uri adjusted his necktie then grabbed the tablet off his desk and reviewed his speech.
A few minutes later, he snapped his fingers towards the waitress, who was still arranging the food tray. “Bring me some of those appetizers, my dear.”
The woman strode over with only a white towel draped over her forearm, which was parallel to the ground. Uri pulled his eyes away from his tablet long enough to know that the black barrel of a pistol was levelled at his chest, just as the face of Devorah Leitner emerged into the light.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for such a techie—reading your speech off a tablet. I figured it would have been from a crumpled note in your pocket.”
Uri didn’t flinch and instead pushed his shoulders back, raising his chin up. “Come to plant a round in my head for all the terrible fortune that has befallen you lately?” He set his tablet down on the table, depressing a side button which would send an alert to Cavel, who was in the next building.
She removed the towel and lowered the barrel towards his groin area. “Oh, my fortune is rapidly changing. Today is so much better than the past seventy-two hours by far.”
Uri smiled nervously, glancing at the gun then sitting back on the edge of the desk. “Did you come across the other black boxes—is that it? The ones that are supposed to have all this damning evidence against me that your father and Victor collected?”
“That’s what set all this in motion for you, wasn’t it? The great Uri Belkin and his illegal diamond smuggling operation, not to mention the slaves you used—you were afraid it was all documented on the other devices.”
She removed a black box from her apron. “This is what you’ve been after all this time. The last black box that my father had stashed away in Greece.”
Uri’s eyes narrowed and his breathing ceased. “For that I was willing to destroy worlds if necessary. Nothing was going to get in my way. I’ve spent years working up to this election.”
He waved his hand in the air and grimaced. “I mean, what were you planning to do—sneak in here and abduct me or kill me and then stride out of here back to Gideon? You’re a wanted criminal, Devorah.”
“As are you, once the Shin Bet moves on the intel in their possession.”
“I own the Shin Bet. Soon, there won’t be any place in this world that you can run to.”
She raised the gun, inching closer towards him. “Why run when I can walk to my target.”
“Devorah, did you really think I wouldn’t have any more leverage? Did you forget about that little safehouse where Eva was hidden? You know, the one that went up in flames the other day.”
Dev’s pistol hand trembled. She hadn’t heard from Mitch or David about whether they had rescued Eva. What if something happened to them—and to her? God, this whole thing could fall apart. “Leave her out of this—it’s between you and me now.”
Uri stood up and folded his arms in front of his chest. “Did you know that I helped your father write the Gideon training manual when he first started? Maybe you’ll recall the introduction? In particular: ‘Hostage rescue types are some of the most pain-saturated people there are. The very thing that makes them great at their work, their empathy and commitment to saving others, also makes them extremely vulnerable.’”
He unfolded his arms and paced around his desk. “So, what makes you vulnerable, Devorah? Perhaps that dear mother of yours.”
Chapter 42
Mitch, Petra, and David made their way onto the grounds where the inauguration was to take place later in the day. Using security badges they had procured from Martin’s confiscated laptop, they wound their way through the east garden of the spacious grounds until they were at the building where Eva was supposedly being held. Just as Mitch and the others rounded the bend beside a grove of hawthorn trees, they saw Cavel rushing down the steps away from Eva’s location.
“I will get to Eva—you two follow him,” said Petra, removing his suppressed pistol and heading around a fountain.
“That’s the bastard who worked me over on the ship,” said David.
Mitch looked at his friend, who was leaning over, still having difficulty taking deep breaths. “Just provide backup on this one. You don’t look so good and injured ribs don’t heal overnight.”
“I’ll provide backup alright—backing that guy’s head into the wall.”
“You keep any eye on him from here while I go around the other side,” said Mitch, who trotted up another outer hallway near a vacant ballroom.
Approaching the end of the building, Mitch went to sweep around the corner and barely caught sight of a curved blade slicing before his face. He sidestepped just enough to miss the tip as it clanked against the brick wall beside him, throwing off a shower of an orange sparks as the two surfaces collided. There wasn’t any time to remove his firearm and he slammed his clenched fist down onto Cavel’s thick forearm to temporarily delay another slash then drove a spear-hand into the man’s throat. The graceful figure pulled back in time to lessen the blow and Mitch marveled at the man’s reflexes. Another blade slash immediately followed and Mitch parried the swift attack then drove the tip of his boot into the side of Cavel’s knee, causing him to stop for a second as if to register the severity of the strike. Damn, that should’ve been a crippling blow. Either this guy is hopped up on something or he eats pain like candy—or both.
Cavel sprung forward at Mitch with a series of diagonal slashes. Mitch sidestepped to the left, parrying down and blocking one attack but getting nicked on the triceps by the upward cut that seemed to come out of nowhere. He backpedaled, withdrawing his own fixed blade as Cavel closed the distance. Knife dueling was the last situation that Mitch ever wanted to be in—usually one person died on the spot and the other person died la
ter that day or suffered irreparable wounds. His own teacher in the Philippines once said that even a skilled knife-fighter only had about a thirty-percent chance of surviving in an open duel. Still, there was little choice at this point. There was simply no time to withdraw his pistol and to point and shoot. Cavel’s blade would be in his gut for sure and using his own knife was the best solution for now.
Mitch met the incoming throat slash by weaving to the left and swiftly slicing Cavel’s forearm. If he could defang this snake before him there would be a chance to end the fight quickly. The strike cut deeply into the back of the man’s flesh but he barely flinched, merely switching hands and circling back around. Mitch faked with a high strike to the head and then ducked low when Cavel attempted to block, setting Mitch up to deliver another slash across the man’s midsection, but the move was deflected by his leather jacket, which splayed open at the seams.
Cavel responded with a vicious spinning kick, taking Mitch by surprise and catching him directly in the abdomen. Mitch gasped and fought through the disorientating pain while darting out of range of the incoming blade thrust.
David had entered the walkway from the opposite direction and immediately engaged Cavel, his eyes lighting up at the chance to pummel his former torturer. Now with both of them directing attacks at Cavel, his fighting tempo increased like he had just received a jolt from an electrical current. The whirling figure slashed at David, catching him in the bicep as the big man barreled down on his face with a right cross, smashing Cavel’s already flattened nose further. Cavel dropped to one knee and swung his other leg in an arc at Mitch, who was rushing in from behind, and caught him in the back of the calf, knocking him to the ground. Cavel didn’t wait to see whether Mitch recovered and returned to face David, who struck his forearm down with crushing force on Cavel’s knife hand. The weapon clanked to the ground and Cavel drove his elbow into the big man’s face as he was rushed. Mitch had broken his fall and sprung back up on his toes, dashing at his opponent and clotheslining him under the chin. Cavel’s feet rose in the air and his body tumbled backwards as his head struck the edge of the marble fountain.
