The Morgenstern Project

by David Khara

  “Of course,” the Kidon agent said. “It’s a long story.”

  Chapter 10

  London, several months earlier

  Heavy dark clouds hung over the city. A bad storm seemed imminent, but a little rain had never rattled the queen’s subjects. They were known for their grace under fire. Some seventy years earlier, these people had seen German bombers spew iron and steel. The British Empire had bravely resisted the fascist horde stampeding across Europe. And in the end, the Brits had been victorious.

  Leaning on the railing of his apartment balcony, a cup of tea in hand, Eytan was feeling ashamed of his sentimental thoughts. Despite his constant struggle to change with the times, he was like most other former soldiers who gave in to the siren call of a bygone era. It was difficult for him to look at this city without seeing the demolished buildings and the allied forces marching through the streets. At times he even thought he could hear the whistle of V-2 rockets launched from across the channel. That’s why he avoided London whenever possible. And so this little place on the Thames served only as a pied-à-terre on his rare visits to England.

  Eytan admittedly had a weakness for chic hotels, but he preferred to hide out in this minimally decorated apartment when he was in London. And if bitter memories struck harder in this place than elsewhere, so be it.

  The first drops plopped against the railing. The drops soon became a shower. Eytan closed his eyes, thrust his head back, and breathed. There was nothing like cold water to snap him out of his morbid reverie and bring him back to the present.

  He finished his tea in one gulp, went back into the apartment, and walked over to the table, where a pile of papers was sitting. The papers were the culmination of a six-month tracking mission. A tricky mission, but one that had paid off. Without Avi Lafner’s help and his many contacts in the medical world, none of this would have been possible. After many weeks of cross-referencing and hours on the phone, the physician had finally found the eagerly awaited address.

  Eytan took his cargo jacket off the back of the chair and looked at his pistol.

  “No need,” he thought. “I’d rather do this with bare hands.”

  As he left the apartment, Eytan was whistling Supertramp: “It’s Raining Again.”

  On this day, his target would have something much more unpleasant than water raining down on him.

  ~ ~ ~

  With his forehead glued to the taxi window, Ian Jenkins could almost glimpse the end of the tunnel. After six months of recovery, one that had been much harder than expected, he’d soon enjoy full use of his leg. During his ligament reconstruction (not surprising, given the nature of the injury), they’d had to clean up his bullet-shattered kneecap and replace a destroyed meniscus.

  As CEO of a start-up IT-service company specializing in logistics, the young man had learned the importance of patience, which previously hadn’t meant much to him. He’d come from a posh British family that boasted a long line of entrepreneurs and politicians. With his intelligence, perfect academic record, and natural poise, Ian had assumed that his career would be smooth sailing. Then the Consortium hired him, and his ego grew tenfold. The organization’s primary goal was to influence the evolution of the human race and bring order to a chaotic world. And they were interested in him!

  That was, of course, until his disastrous mission in Prague. When briefed by Cypher—the pseudonym for the secret society’s leader—he had been led to believe that the task would be a walk in the park. Ian was to reach an agreement with an agent of the Israeli forces whose mission was tracking and killing war criminals. The terms of the arrangement were simple. In exchange for the agent’s collaboration, the Consortium would release a captive who happened to be one of the agent’s closest companions. Ian had been given bodyguards and the assurance that the agent would be unarmed. Needless to say, the bodyguards didn’t lift a finger, and the agent had come packed with more weapons than two dozen vendors at a gun show.

  Money had eased some of the unpleasantness of his injuries, but it hadn’t erased his newfound fear. The incident had put him in the crosshairs of the bald six-foot-five killer. And if that weren’t enough, his new friends had thrown him under the bus.

  Despite the pain inflicted by the bullet fired in the broken-down warehouse, Ian had picked up snippets of conversation between his attacker and the master of the Consortium. Cypher had mentioned the young Englishman’s arrogance and the need to teach him a lesson. The star student had gotten the message loud and clear. That was the thing about a kneecapping. It had an uncanny way of inspiring Zen-like reflection. Ian now had a wiser take on caution, humility, and his own vulnerability.

  All he had to figure out was how to take revenge while keeping a low profile. How could he move on without making waves? He hadn’t heard from the Consortium. And God only knew what had happened to the giant psychopath.

  Ian Jenkins was reflecting on that very thought as he headed to his last physical therapy session, a milestone he had been looking forward to for months. The clouds above the buildings he was passing told him that it would soon be raining. Because his joint pain flared with the humidity, he was weighing the idea of leaving England for a dry, sunny country.

  “We’re here, sir. That’ll be twenty-three pounds,” the cabby informed him.

  Ian took his wallet out of his leather jacket and gave the driver thirty pounds. Not bothering to wait for his change, he pulled the door handle and climbed out.

  He tried to place as little weight on his bad leg as possible, but it still made a cracking sound that reminded him of a twig snapping. It wasn’t painful, but he was always afraid that his leg would give out.

  Ian entered the exclusive Chelsea-based club. He went down a hallway and entered a room next to the fitness area. He stripped to his blue boxers with green polka dots and carefully put his clothes on hangers. He left the changing quarters and walked into the adjacent room, where he lay down on a massage table. He could no longer stand the sight of the thing, the very symbol of his painful therapy sessions.

  Once settled on his stomach, Ian nestled his head in the face port for the very last time. He closed his eyes as he awaited the physical therapist. He was feeling something close to bliss. This final session would validate all his hard work and bring an end to the worst chapter of his career.

  Someone grabbed both of his calves. Ian flinched and opened his eyes. “You startled me,” he said, staring at the gray linoleum floor. I didn’t hear you come in.

  The therapist grunted and touched the back of Ian’s knees. He kneaded Ian’s thigh muscles and ligaments and then grabbed his ankle and rolled it around, testing its movement and flexibility.

  “The knee looks good, but as for everything else, I’m afraid you’re not out of the woods yet, my poor friend.”

  He knew that voice. Fuck, not him...

  Ian tried to turn around, but the giant held his head firmly in the face port. “Did you really think I messed you up for the simple pleasure of seeing you humiliated?”

  “That wasn’t your plan?” Ian managed to say. He was shaking now.

  “By putting you in an OR, I knew I’d have an opportunity—a small one—to track you down,” the giant clarified. “Getting admitted to a German clinic under a false name, while clever, was not enough to keep me from finding you. You can imagine how many orthopedic surgeries are performed every day across the entire European continent. A friend once told me that the secret to good health was smoking, drinking, and, most of all, no physical exercise. Trust me, after all those files we had to sift through, I believe it!”

  “You checked every single file related to my type of operation in all of Europe?” Ian asked, his head still stuck in the face port. He was as amazed as he was terrified. “Persistence is in my blood. You’d have figured that out for yourself eventually, but I don’t like to leave anything to chance.”

  The giant finally released the downward pressure on his victim’s head, only to grab him by the hair and force hi
m to sit up. He pulled him off the table and dragged him to a corner of the room.

  “Here we go. This will be perfect,” the giant declared as he propped Ian against a wall. He squatted next to Ian and looked him in the eye. Then he wrapped his arm around his neck.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Ian croaked, struggling to breathe.

  “Relax,” the killer said as he took out his cell phone.

  He nestled his huge head against Ian’s and held the device in front of them.

  “Say cheese,” he ordered, flashing a grin. “You know, I hate cell phones sometimes. Such a nuisance when you’re trying to get something done. But I have to confess, I’m really getting into selfies. I might even create a Facebook page. What do you think?”

  The giant examined the photo and showed it to Ian. He looked like a happy camper. Ian looked freaked out. Then the operative released his captive and watched as Ian tried to catch his breath.

  “Now we’re buddies—or is that friends?” the giant announced as soon as Ian was breathing normally. “But I won’t be tagging you right away. You understand.”

  Then, just as quickly as he had let go, the killer shoved Ian against the wall and took him by the throat again. He raised Ian off the ground by the neck.

  “I guess I should fill you in on what’s happening, since you still look clueless. From what I know about the Consortium, they like to keep an eye on their people. As of today, you’re my mole. As soon as Cypher contacts you, I need to know. If you don’t do what I ask, I’ll be sending this photo to your boss before I even Tweet it or share it—whatever. I think the big chief of your secret society would get the wrong idea—or maybe the right idea—about our little pact. And that wouldn’t be so good for you, considering my talk with Cypher in Prague. He wasn’t so happy with you, if I remember correctly.”

  In keeping with his grab-and-release strategy, the giant freed Ian but stayed within arm’s reach. Another round of gasping for air followed.

  “How do you know he’ll contact me? I haven’t heard from anyone at the Consortium since Prague.” Eytan could see Ian steeling himself for another choke hold. “Cypher may have been unhappy with you, but he’ll use you again. If he learns about our pact, you could try to tell him what happened here, but he’s not the kind of man who’s easily convinced, and he doesn’t like taking risks. He’ll make you disappear in no time. And if you ever double-cross me, I’ll take a little longer making you disappear. You and I will have some fun first. Got it?”

  Ian took a moment to evaluate his situation. His new pal hadn’t given him much in the way of options. His idyllic career as an up-and-comer in an elite secret society had been smashed. Considering his vulnerable position, Ian opted for the better of two unappealing alternatives.

  “Got it,” he mumbled.

  “I knew you were a smart man,” the giant said.

  He took out a second phone and gave it to his temporary ally. The latter took it, clearly still on the defensive.

  “If you need me, use this. It’s a burner. I’m counting on you,” the giant said, leaving as stealthily as he had come.

  Ian slid to the floor. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but they were quickly chased away by the relief of having once again survived a hellish encounter. Reminded of the pain he had suffered in Prague, he was perfectly fine with the relatively mild panic attack he was now experiencing. He focused on calming his breathing. He stood up and braced himself on the massage table before heading back to the changing room. Buttoning his shirt proved to be a difficult task, as his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. Before he could finish, the phone left by his attacker rang. He jumped, looked at it, and took the call.

  “Yes?”

  “Jenkins, I forgot to tell you...”

  “What?” Ian said, feeling his blood pressure rise again.

  “Nice boxers.”

  Chapter 11

  Meanwhile, in a surburb of Tel Aviv

  The man sneaked down the hall, trying not to alert the security guard slouched in his chair at the front desk on the other side of the clinic lobby. The place was deserted this late at night. Absolute discretion was required for his plan to succeed. Like ripping off an adhesive strip, the execution would be quick and precise, but not painless. Definitely not painless.

  The catlike shadow glanced at the guard. He was watching a movie on his laptop, his legs propped on the desk. Focusing on the visitors’ benches, the man tiptoed toward his victim.

  “Tonight’s your last night,” he whispered when he reached his target. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you’re a stubborn son of bitch, and you’ve given me no choice. You’ve been trying to poison me for months. You must have known that if I survived, I’d take my sweet revenge.”

  Tightening his grip on the Philips screwdriver, the man felt a wave of pleasure surge through his body. It was time.

  Just as he was poised to act, he felt a vibration in the pocket of his white lab coat. Cursing, he fumbled for the cell phone. Too late. The ringing had already filled the lobby. He let go of the screwdriver, and it fell to the floor with a loud clack.

  The night guard sprang from his chair and looked in the direction of the noise.

  The intruder knew he had to act fast.

  “Is there a problem, doctor?” the guard asked.

  “Nope,” Avi Lafner replied, casually leaning against the coffee machine, which he had hoped to cripple just enough to get it sent to the junkyard. “I was getting a coffee when my phone rang.”

  “I’d lay off that java. It’s nasty,” the guard said, sitting down again without noticing the screwdriver.

  My point exactly, the doctor thought as he brought the phone to his ear.

  “Damn, Eli, why are you calling me so late?” he yelled at the caller.

  “Yes, Avi, it’s good to hear your voice, too,” Eli Karman replied dryly.

  “Sorry,” Avi said, taking a deep breath. “I was in the middle of doing something. What do you need?”

  “Would it be a problem if I came by the clinic now? My results are in, and...”

  “No, not at all. I still have a few files to finish. I’ll wait for you.”

  Avi ended the call and bent down to retrieve his weapon. He tapped it menacingly against the machine.

  “You got lucky tonight. But your time will come.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Thirty minutes later, the two men were in an exam room with their backs to each other. Eli was buttoning his shirt, while Avi was going over his friend’s results. They confirmed what Avi had suspected when he listened to the man’s lungs.

  “So?” Eli asked, turning around with no worry written on his face.

  “Please, just do me one favor and stop smoking,” Avi said, opening the door to the hallway. “And I don’t mean a year from now. I mean now.”

  “Or else?”

  “Or else you’ll worsen your emphysema, which already makes you exhausted after climbing three steps. I’ll give you a prescription for something that’ll alleviate the symptoms, especially your fatigue. But the damage done to your respiratory system is irreversible.”

  “At least it’s not cancer,” Eli sighed, leaving the room with Avi.

  “It’s not cancer yet,” Avi stressed with a sober look. “Let’s go to my office. I’ll write up that prescription. Don’t try to fool yourself, Eli. Your youth isn’t coming back.”

  “I’m too old for such delusions.”

  They walked down the hallway to Avi’s office. The doctor apologized for his rudeness on the phone. To cheer up his friend, he told him about his ongoing war with the coffee machine.

  “You’re going to wind up in a lot of trouble with your supervisors,” Eli warned. “Our dear colleagues in the agency aren’t known for their sense of humor.”

  “Do you realize how little I care? In the past few years I’ve come across more psychos working for the intelligence agency and the army than a single psychiatrist sees in his entire career. So instead o
f letting their craziness stress me out, I distract myself with harmless little fantasies. If they happen to piss off our almighty bosses, then I’ll run to the private sector faster than you can say venti-nonfat-extra-foam-caramel-macchiato. And anyway, you’re in no position to talk about ruffling feathers, my friend. You and Eytan are the grand marshals of the Stirring-Up-Shit Parade. Your last adventure as a captive is the most recent evidence of that.”

  “I’ll give you that one. By the way, it’s best to stay quiet about my unpleasant episode with the Consortium. The same goes for my health status. Oh, and speaking of Eytan, he called me before he got on his flight. He asked me to thank you for your investigation.”

  “Did he finally catch that guy whose leg he wrecked? He’d better have. I went through a lot of hell to locate him.”

  “Eytan always finds what he’s looking for.”

  “Stop. You get me all excited when you talk like the Terminator.”

  “You’re hopeless.”

  “Just trying to have a little fun.”

  Eli gave Avi a serious look. “So how are you these days?”

  “Oh, I’m okay. But I have to admit I’m getting fed up with this place. You and Eytan go on all those cool missions, and the only intrigue I engage in is sabotaging a vending machine. Yes, now you know. I’m jealous.”

  “I haven’t actually been in the field for quite a while, Avi.”

  “You’re right about that, Eli. How long has it been? Twenty years?”

  “Nineteen, to be precise.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “More every day.”

  Chapter 12

  Tel Aviv, eighteen months later

  Five buildings made up the office park. The only touch of color offsetting the white concrete-block structures was the red trim around the narrow windows. The greenish-brown trees along the streetscape, however, did help to soften the overall effect.

  Despite its drab appearance and a serious shortage of parking space, the complex in the quiet Tel Aviv suburb was prized real estate. Small companies and professionals in a variety of fields had claimed all the square footage. Here, entrepreneurs and attorneys schmoozed with engineers, graphic designers, and logistics experts.