JET, no. 3

by Russell Blake

  “I’m taking a shower,” she called, and then the bathroom door opened.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to intrude. I’m done downstairs, so let me know when you’re finished. I want to rinse off, too.”

  She caught his glance darting at her nude reflection in the mirror even as he appeared to be averting his eyes.

  “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  She reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. After rummaging through the hotel hospitality kit, she brushed her teeth, and then realized that she’d left her clothes in the other room. Fortunately, the towels were oversized, and after blotting her hair, she wrapped one around her torso and opened the door.

  “It’s all yours,” she said.

  David stripped off his shirt and went into the bathroom. The incision looked a lot better. He was definitely healing quickly.

  Jet sat down at the desk near the window and appraised her reflection in the mirror: wet hair hanging in her face, bullet graze on her shoulder almost healed. She inspected the gash on her hand. It was time for those stitches to come out. More than time.

  She stepped over to the bed and switched on the television, tuning in to the local news before turning off the bedside lamp. The shootout in Tel Aviv was all over the airwaves, and it was being described, as was the gun battle at the safe house, as a terrorist attack. An earnest government spokesman droned on and on about recent agitation and an increase in violent rhetoric from Islamic fundamentalists, and finished with an outraged promise to track down the groups responsible for the reprehensible attacks and deal with them swiftly and unequivocally.

  Jet had long ago given up wondering how much of whatever the media disseminated was actually true. Her cynicism was bred by her job, where nothing was ever as it seemed and duplicity was second nature. It only figured that governments were cut from the same bolt of cloth as the agencies they spawned.

  She heard the water shut off, and then the door opened. A still-dripping David emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist.

  “That felt great,” he said as he plopped down on the bed next to her and turned the volume up using the remote.

  She traced her fingers over the stitches on his abdomen.

  “You still in one piece?”

  “The shower made me a new man. Or at least a slightly less battered one,” he said with a small grin.

  “How did your calls go?”

  “Not bad. I reached a contact I have with the Americans who owes me a bucket load of favors, and asked him for anything he could get on Belize. He’s the one who acted as our liaison in Algiers – he passed the information on to the Mossad about the meeting, and he’s been helpful on several other matters since then. A good guy. He said to give him twenty-four hours. He’s high up in the CIA, so he might be able to help us.”

  “Well, that’s positive. And what about saving our asses and getting us out of Israel?”

  “That could be a little more difficult. I’m going to have to go back downstairs and call again in about an hour, after he’s had a chance to see what he can come up with.”

  She fingered one of his stitches.

  “Ow. Watch it. That hurts.” He put his hand over hers.

  “I need to pull my stitches tomorrow,” she said.

  “You never told me what happened – how you got that slice on your hand.”

  “A gardening accident.”

  He turned his head to look at her, and she smiled and snuggled closer to him. She moved her damp head and rested it on his shoulder, and then tentatively tilted her face up, her full lips parting as she kissed his mouth, her tongue finding his as she inhaled the sweet aroma of his freshly-scrubbed skin. A commercial came on the TV advertising a fruit juice cocktail, and he groaned as she slid her hand under his towel. Her pulse quickened as a rush of familiar sensations flooded her awareness, and then her towel fell open, and she was plunging into a warm sea, her senses hungry for a touch she’d never expected to feel again.

  David lay spent, a trickle of sweat lazily finding its way down his hairline to his ear, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her incredible, naked body.

  His mind drifted to the events of the last few days, and then back to the last time he’d seen her. She’d been so adamant about getting out of the game and starting over. Maybe he should have figured out a way to do the same and gone with her – a thought he’d nurtured every day since her car had exploded on the deserted street in Northern Africa. But the truth was that he still believed back then, and he couldn’t just walk away. He’d taken an oath, and his country required men like him to keep the barbarians at bay. Sometimes there was a very wide gray area between what was legal and what was necessary, but he’d never questioned that he was on the side of right.

  Until recently, when the team had been executed and his life’s work had come crashing down around him. With Eli compromised, there was no telling who else Grigenko and his cronies in the Russian intelligence service had turned – when you went fishing, you put out as many lines as possible, and he expected the Russian had done the same. Which meant that every one of the team’s recent actions could have well been to remove rivals to Grigenko’s growing commercial interests, and had little or nothing to do with national security.

  David was used to living in a moral no-man’s zone, but when his confidence in the system abandoned him, suddenly his choices seemed more questionable than ever. Thinking back to Algiers, did they really know for sure that those petroleum executives and ministers had been terrorist financiers? He’d never heard of any of them until receiving the tip from the CIA. But where had the CIA gotten wind of it? Wasn’t it equally likely that Grigenko’s reach extended to that agency as well? Could David ever be sure that any of the supposed reasons behind the missions his team had carried out were those he had been fed?

  He pushed the thought aside and stroked her hair. He couldn’t change anything at this point.

  Still, he regretted so many things. Not the least of which was losing her, and the actions he’d subsequently taken.

  If he could turn back the clock, he would have played things so differently. But at the time, he’d done what seemed necessary to protect those he cared about most. For all of her conviction that she could start over, he knew that the world didn’t work that way. She could never be a hundred percent safe – not with the number of enemies she’d accumulated. He had wanted to warn her, but had chosen not to – and now she’d found out the hard way and had barely escaped with her life.

  There was so much he wished he could tell her, but it wasn’t the time. The last thing he needed was to complicate their already volatile situation with confessions and begging for forgiveness. There would always be time for that later. Not now. Not here. And not under these circumstances.

  Would she ever be able to forgive him?

  Could he ever forgive himself?

  Glancing at his watch, he listened to the soft sound of her gentle breathing, and then inched away from her, pausing to admire the golden brown of her skin. Nature and genetics had been exceptionally kind. Perhaps that was how the universe worked: it compensated for the bad luck with offsetting positives.

  Ever since he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d felt an irresistible attraction. Something far more than simple lust, it had been seismic and relentless. Neither of them had any choice in it, and he idly wondered whether there was actually something to the whole idea of soul mates or love at first sight. The intensity of his feelings for her had frightened him – he was used to being in control, and this was a storm, a hurricane of emotion that he was powerless to manipulate. He’d never had that happen before, and he’d certainly had his share of romantic interludes.

  No, Jet was a game changer.

  David sat up, and she shifted, curling into a fetal position and murmuring sleepily to herself.

  She looked like an angel when she was sleeping. So perfect, yet so lethal. A cobra in a model�
��s body.

  Whatever happened, however things turned out, he would make different choices this time around. They had been presented with a second chance. That never happened.

  This time he wouldn’t blow it. He’d be worthy of her trust.

  He pulled on his shirt and pants and took the room key card before slipping out into the hall. Hopefully, his contact would have a solution for getting them out of Israel. He had no doubt they would escape.

  Money and desperation were powerful forces, and they had ample quantities of both.

  Chapter 23

  “Are you ready for a boat ride?”

  “What are you talking about?” Jet replied.

  David closed the hotel room door and approached her. He set a pair of nail clippers on the table, where she was munching on some fruit. The morning sun streamed through the gauze curtains, warming her as she reached for the clippers.

  “We have to be at the dock just before nightfall. At the private yacht marina in Haifa harbor. The story will be that we’re going night fishing for shark. Money may have changed hands between the patrol boats and my contact’s captain – who knows? But he’s got a fifty-foot sports fisher that can make it to Cyprus in eight hours, easy, at which point we’ll be on our own.”

  “That’s great news. The sooner we’re off Israeli soil, the better. I’ve been watching the news, and all they’re talking about are the shootings. No mention of Eli.”

  David nodded. “No surprise there. He didn’t exist as far as the public is concerned. Just another anonymous bureaucrat. The Mossad will cover it all up – his body probably won’t be found for weeks, and then if he’s lucky, his passing will warrant three column inches on page eighteen mourning his demise following a domestic accident. He’ll be described as a deputy director of public safety or something like that. We all know how it works when we sign up.”

  “If there’s anything good to come of all this,” Jet reflected, “it’s that you’re off the radar now. Any search for you will lose steam over time. And with some plastic surgery, nobody would recognize you.”

  “That reminds me. Did you get something done? You look a little different.”

  “Got my nose narrowed. The effect’s subtle but effective.”

  “If anything, you’re more beautiful than before. If that’s even possible.”

  She snipped at the hand stitches and quickly pulled them free of her skin. The scar would be barely noticeable within a week.

  Jet rose and walked over to where he was standing and put her arms around his neck, and then kissed him long and deep. When she pulled back, she was smiling.

  “Are you angling for more lovemaking, David? Because compliments are never a bad way to go about it.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “It’s not a negative. It’s the only thing I can read about you. Everything else, you’re the sphinx. Inscrutable.”

  “You have a lot of that going on, too – the inscrutable thing.” He kissed her again.

  “How’s the stomach? You sure you can handle another round?” she asked, already pulling her top over her head.

  “The doctor did say to get some exercise.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Jet’s only project for the day was to trim her hair – she needed to alter her appearance, and a short cut was the perfect way, especially since all the photos she knew about had her with a long or medium-length cut. She had bought a pair of scissors in the gift shop and set to chopping away. After half an hour, the result wasn’t encouraging. Apparently, becoming a cosmetologist wasn’t part of her calling.

  She left David to his own devices in the room and went for a drive, looking for a hair salon that could fix her experiment. Near the center of town, she found two within a block of each other, and selected one based on the décor. The stylist, a pert young woman with a contemporary hairstyle, surveyed her hair with a disdainful look.

  “I’m afraid I might have butchered this,” Jet confessed once she was seated in the chair.

  “It’s, uh, different. So what did you have in mind?” the woman asked, preferring not to dwell on how Jet got there.

  Jet studied the woman’s cut.

  “I really like yours. Do you think you could do something like that?”

  “It’s a lot more edgy than the bob it looks like you were shooting for. You sure you want to go that direction?”

  “I like edgy. Why not?”

  “I’ve found it’s a good idea to check before I start cutting. There’s nothing worse than a client who hates her cut once I’m done. That’s not the kind of advertising that builds your business.”

  “Don’t worry. If I look freakish it’ll be my fault, not yours.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Jet examined the new her in the mirror and nodded, satisfied. It would be hard to recognize her. Amazing how much difference a hairstyle change made.

  “It’s perfect,” Jet proclaimed.

  The stylist smiled. “It does look good. You’re very lucky. You have a great face to frame, so almost anything would look great.”

  David was impressed upon her return.

  “Wow. You’re hot. I mean, seriously. That’s a great look.”

  “Thanks. But the main goal was to radically change my appearance.”

  “It worked. Come here. Let me play with your new hair.”

  They elected to have a late lunch in the hotel restaurant, and David took the opportunity after they ordered to make a call to his American contact. When he returned, he looked troubled.

  The waiter arrived with their sandwiches, and he took a bite before gazing around the dining area.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Not so good. My CIA buddy said there’s been considerable agitation over the Belize situation recently. There’ve been a series of suspicious deaths, including the shooting of a public figure – a vocal advocate of nationalization of the nation’s oil reserves – and the untimely death of the governor general. An accidental drowning, but given the circumstances, I wouldn’t bet money on it.”

  “So the game’s afoot already. We knew it would be.”

  “True, but he also says that there’s satellite evidence of a new compound being set up in the jungle down by Punta Gorda, in the southern portion of the country. Apparently the locals are afraid to go near it, and there are rumors circulating of a cartel moving into the area. It’s extremely remote, in an uninhabited section down by the Honduran border. That sounds like something Grigenko would be behind. It has to be. Nothing else is happening in Belize. The footage shows three main buildings with a perimeter that’s been cleared, and as of this morning, several large SUVs and signs of habitation.”

  “Okay. So Grigenko’s got something going on in Belize. Question is whether it can help us or not. I was more in favor of heading to Russia to deal with him,” she reminded him.

  “Like I said, that could be a major problem. He’s got more security in Moscow than most heads of state. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “How many missions have I carried out where I didn’t stand a chance? Come on. That’s almost routine.”

  “This is different.” David took another bite of his sandwich and leaned back, signaling to the waitress for another iced tea.

  “Then what do we do, now that we have this new development?”

  “I’m thinking we go to Belize. Whatever is happening there is obviously critical to Grigenko. He’s spent years on it, no doubt tied to the oil reserves he discovered. If we disrupt his scheme, we may be able to draw him out. As it sits, he’s unassailable in Moscow, so we need him to make mistakes. If we can get him to Belize…”

  “So we’re doing the jungle thing? Malaria, humidity, toucans?” she asked.

  “I can’t see any better options. Belize is a strong lead, and we know it’s a big deal for him. I say we throw a grenade into his little fiesta there and see what happens. Do you have any better suggestions?”

&n
bsp; “I suppose nuking his headquarters is impractical?”

  David smiled. “Always the subtle one, huh?”

  “Okay, you win. Belize it is. How do we get weapons? I’m assuming we can’t stroll in with the toys we just bought.”

  “It sounded like the American could help with that. I get the sense that the CIA has some feet on the ground there.”

  “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “No problem. I’m strong as a bull now. Healthy living and the love of a good woman…”

  The joke silenced them both.

  He slid his hand over the table and took hers.

  “I’m glad, whatever the circumstances, that you came back.”

  She stopped eating and held his gaze. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded, and then hesitated, as if pondering something he wanted to tell her, and then reconsidering.

  “It does indeed.”

  ~ ~ ~

  They checked out of the hotel late and meandered around Haifa, looking for an appropriate place to dump the weapons. Ultimately, David decided it would be best if they dropped them off the back of the boat before getting underway – there was no way of knowing for sure whether they would still need them up until then.

  As the remains of the afternoon drifted into dusk, they negotiated their way to an intimate waterfront restaurant that David had eaten at before, and savored their last meal in Israel – probably for the rest of their lives. They watched the sunset over the Mediterranean Sea and drank coffee, each mentally preparing for the journey ahead.

  The burner cell they had acquired rang with a startling intensity. David glanced at the incoming number before stabbing the phone on.

  “Yes?”

  He listened intently, then hung up.

  “Change of plans. The boat we were going to take has an engine problem. So now we’re going to be on a commercial fishing boat. It’ll leave as soon as we get to it, and then we’ll do a transfer at sea to a Cyprus boat – the fishing boat will average seventeen to eighteen kilometers an hour, so by dawn we should be around a hundred forty five kilometers from the island. He’s got an associate that can make that distance in a boat from the St. Raphael marina on the southern coast, no sweat, so we’ll do the handoff at sea.”