She packed up her few belongings to be transferred to Tel Aviv and joined her training group. But an uneasy feeling followed her.
In a small classroom made smaller by the long table in residence, Natasha found the other four members of her team. Mail littered the table, some already torn open, the loose pages an indication of what she could expect for the day. Busy work. Was it a result of her tardy appearance?
She dropped in a seat. "Where's Anya?"
329 leaned back and stretched out her arms like she'd been sitting for hours. "Obtaining more ridiculous articles of nonsense for us to decode."
112 looked up. "Or code. We're doing both." He waved a blank sheet. "Invisible and special ink letters."
Anya strode into the room like she rode a gust of wind. Her glance wavered over Natasha. "I'm sorry to hear of your trouble." Then her eyes encircled the other occupants of the room, coming to rest on 547. "You will show agent 409 the chamfering and the floaters. These should keep you busy for the day. Perfect these methods." She dropped a cardboard box on the table and walked out.
Natasha locked eyes with 547, but his expression remained unreadable. Did he resent having to babysit the American? Well, he was the leader. He probably took it in stride.
"Chamfering is opening sealed mail, and a floater is a thin piece of microfilm adhered to the flap of an envelope. You do it like this." He held out an envelope and demonstrated.
Natasha repeated the movements until he grunted in satisfaction. He handed her another envelope then returned to his own project. They spent the rest of the morning in desultory conversation while they worked their way through the pile of mail in the box.
As she deciphered invisible ink, Natasha couldn't escape the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was she still nervous about what Yaakov had tried to do? Was she concerned for her family…for Dirk? Or was God speaking to her, warning her of more to come?
That afternoon their unit returned to physical training. Eitan waited in the gym, amidst a large number of burly-looking recruits. Thick mats lined the floor.
Natasha exchanged a glance with 329. The women would be expected to hold their own.
Eitan held out a hand, and the men fanned out. "This afternoon, you will work on armed and un-armed close quarter combat. You are to focus on perfecting the Krav Maga. Begin."
Inwardly, Natasha groaned. Although she'd been trained in the Israeli art of tactical self-defense, she was by no means an expert. She didn't hold a black belt as some of the other recruits, or even a brown. Quite honestly, she doubted she could hold her own with a blue belt.
From the corner of her eye, Natasha caught the flash of a blade and whirled to intercept. For the next thirty minutes, she jumped, thrust, kicked, and pivoted, or got thrown to the floor.
Her latest opponent lay flat on the mat. She shoved the hair from her eyes and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The anxiety of her morning had dissipated. Throwing those smelly, strong-armed guys on the ground must be good for something. She didn't feel guilty about using them to alleviate her frustrations. Except, maybe, for that last one…younger than the others.
She'd given him a brutal uppercut to the throat. He barely ducked in time, sustaining a glancing blow that left him choking and coughing for a minute. His brown eyes accused her from his prone position on the floor. Maybe he wasn't ready for the Mossad if he couldn't handle a little one-on-one with a woman.
She watched as another group of trainees took to the mats. What would it be like for David to sleep right outside her door? As much as she'd like to have a godly relationship with someone like him, he could never compete with her feelings for Dirk. Maybe that was the source of her continued unease. Her mind revolted at the idea of Dirk injured in a burning ship. It didn't help to know he'd requested the assignment due to her.
From the corner of her eye, Natasha noticed a trainer motioning the team over. "Meet in the debriefing room for an assignment in five minutes."
Thank goodness. She'd had enough of landing on the floor. What a sissy she was.
She moved toward the long hallway, intent on her injuries. She'd never have made it with the Navy Seals. Their physical training was more brutal and intense. The Mossad trained physically, but they specialized in the mental, and she was already sick of the strain.
Once in the grinder, Natasha moved to the back of the room. She brushed the stringy, sweaty hair out of her eyes and pulled her cap down low, shading her face and giving in to the urge to hide.
With the group assembled, Eitan cleared his throat. "Regarding last night's abduction, I have one comment. Your victim was rendered unconscious by an unauthorized substance. What if you had killed him, 409?" The teacher regarded her with a steady gaze.
"The risk was calculated. The informant was young and healthy. Besides, the drug was given to me by the Mossad. Seems to me, there's not much the Mossad uses that is authorized."
Did she catch a flicker of respect in his eyes before he turned to the others? She'd have to flout their rules a little more often.
"For the next assignment, you'll be required to fulfill the objectives independently: Secure your own transportation."
Steal a car.
"Remove documents." Steal again. "...from a locked safe in an occupied room," possible seduction and entrapment, "and meet at a pre-determined rendezvous point with the acquired information. There are time constraints as well. The five stolen documents combine to give further instructions to be carried out by 0100. Throughout these endeavors, you will be observed by unknown Case Officers. Any questions?"
Natasha looked around the room. Not one of the trainees moved. Eitan handed out orders and left the room.
Each studied their own assignments before comparing notes. It wouldn't be difficult to ascertain the most expedient course of action. As a routine exercise, they'd memorized the street map of Tel Aviv, including the alleys and every major building.
329 folded her orders. "I've got the Crowne Plaza."
Natashe jerked toward her. "So do I."
547 lifted his head. "Anyone else?"
The other two men shook their heads. Only the women would be together.
Natasha stared into space. What did that mean? She almost jumped when a hand touched her arm.
Agent 329 held out her orders. Natasha held hers up, and they exchanged papers.
Natasha raised her head and waited for 329 to meet her eyes. "I think we should work together."
"Agreed. I need supplies from my room. Shall we rendezvous in the lobby of your apartment?"
They left the men to make their own arrangements.
In Tel Aviv at the Mossad apartments, Natasha found a small sitting room with thread-bare couch and chairs outside the only entrance to her bedroom, as requested. Other than that, it resembled any other Mossad-issue room. Stark white walls and the reek of disinfectant.
She changed into jeans and a blouse, packed a bag, and called the Crowne Plaza Hotel for a reservation. Sweeping the room with a final glance, she reached for the doorknob then froze. It might be better to leave David a message. She walked to the table and scrawled a note. With a little twisting, it sat in a prominent position on the formica-topped table.
Downstairs, Natasha found her counterpart staring past the glass wall into traffic. How odd to see 329 in street clothes for the first time, a loose yellow blouse over a slender peach skirt.
She turned her head when Natasha walked up then looked down at her watch. "It's nearly 1800 hours. If we steal a car now, the authorities will be searching for us before we finish the job at the hotel."
Natasha wanted to laugh. How often did you discuss stealing a car as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world? "Why don't we steal a car here and drive up the road a couple of blocks and leave it? We could catch a cab to the hotel, which would suit our purposes even more."
"Perfect."
They walked outside together and scanned their surroundings. Their eyes met in seconds. By mutual con
sent, they chose a small, dark vehicle.
While 329 pretended to unlock the driver side with a fake key, Natasha leaned against the passenger door, affecting disinterest. A close observer would have noted the odd movement of the black jacket draped leisurely over her arm as she picked the lock. With seemingly effortless motion, Natasha swung around and opened the door. "Oh, look, my door is already open."
She climbed in and reached across to open the driver-side door then threw their bags in the back while 329 hot-wired the car. In less than two minutes, they drove down the street.
After driving two blocks, 329 slowed and pulled to the side. She turned her head to grin at Natasha, and they laughed like giddy school girls.
"You know, if we're going to spend an evening of crime together it would be a lot easier if I knew your name. My name is Natasha Kelly." She held out her hand.
"Keren Arnan. Pleased to meet you." They shook hands.
A white car covered with advertisements pulled to the corner. "Let's go. Here's the cab."
They grabbed the bags and switched to the cab, giving the address of the Crowne Plaza.
In high spirits, they walked into the lobby of the hotel, which boasted 246 rooms facing the impressive blue-green Mediterranean and a tenth floor lounge that catered to businessmen.
Natasha stopped at the desk and slid her credit card across the counter. Keren leaned against the side, scanning the busy lobby.
Their objectives, both male targets, resided on the same floor, so Natasha had requested the floor below when she called ahead for reservations.
Soon she held a key card in her hand, and she and Keren rode the elevator up. She checked her watch. 1900 hours.
Because they'd chosen to work together, timing was critical. They had to 'make' both targets and remove the targets' documents while the rest of the agents worked only one.
Natasha thought their situation couldn't be better. Both targets were single men and each preferred to have a drink in the lounge before dinner. The older man, Yosef Meyer, was predictable, and visited the lounge at the same time every evening. He was Keren's target. While Natasha watched him in the lounge, Keren would break into his room and steal the document. The younger man, Orin Sharon, was the wild card. He seemed to show up when he got hungry. Natasha intended to chat him up, so Keren could break into his room.
The plan had its drawbacks. If both men came into the lounge at one time, Natasha would watch one man as she played up to the other.
There was also the matter of drinking alcohol. Natasha didn't. She'd never even been in a bar. Somehow, she'd have to fake it.
Natasha stood before the mirror and spread the contents of her make-up case. "Keren, how long has your family been in Israel?"
"I am third generation Israeli. My family was here at the beginning of our nation."
"Just like David Benjamin."
"Yes, but we're not well acquainted, though we all serve in the military."
"Have you ever thought about doing anything else?"
Keren sighed. "No, I've always wanted to serve in the Mossad. It used to be such a secretive thing. In my grandfather's day, it was word of mouth only. Now they advertise freely when they need agents."
"Yeah, I saw an ad in the newspaper myself." Natasha wiped mascara across her lashes and reached down for her lipstick.
"What about you, Natasha? Are you allowed to speak about your introduction to the Mossad?" Keren stared at Natasha's reflection in the mirror, obviously curious about an American training for the Mossad.
"I don't know. I guess if it was a secret they'd have told me." Natasha applied her lipstick, considering. "I'll never be like you. They won't train me that well. I know someone who was kidnapped by a terrorist. I want to find my friend. He's still a hostage. Benjamin thought the Mossad could enhance my skills." She shrugged. "I guess they're taking a chance with me."
"If you believe that, you know nothing of the Mossad. They don't accept borderline recruits. I saw you throw that guy to the mat this morning. I thought he was going to cry." She laughed. "I wasn't sure whether it was because he was hurt or because you're a girl...and an American at that."
Natasha smiled back. Had Keren ever been introduced to the gospel of Jesus? She didn't feel that prompting of the Holy Spirit to broach the subject. God would tell her when.
She recalled a motto she'd seen hanging in a church, as a child. 'Win a friend to Win a soul.' Sounded like something Jesus would have said. He loved people. Natasha tried to care about the people God brought into her life, to show them the love of Jesus. And now He had brought Keren.
"It's about time for you to head downstairs to the lounge," said Keren. She opened a small case. "We'll both have to wear a hidden microphone and earpiece. You see? Looks like jewelry."
"Amazing. I would never have thought you were wired for sound." Natasha put hers in place and faced Keren. "What do you think?"
Keren whistled. "No man will be able to resist you." Then she giggled along with Natasha.
"It does seem silly to think we can bag two guys in one night. Well, here we go. Would you mind if I prayed for us before I leave?"
Keren blinked twice. "I don't mind."
"Yahweh, I ask you to anoint the works of our hands and grant us success. Send angels to stand guard over us to keep us in all our ways, in the name of Yeshua. Amen."
Keren made no comment when Natasha moved toward the door and left.
While she rode the elevator upstairs and walked into the lounge, Natasha readied herself mentally. Focus on the job and nothing else. She felt ready to meet her opposition.
Chapter 4
Natasha's long black skirt billowed as she walked past the mirrored wall, reminding her of countless Miss America pageants. The V-neck bodice fit snugly across her bosom without drawing undue attention. On her left shoulder, the microphone brooch glittered. Elegant and attractive. Surely, she could pull this off.
She studied the room. A barstool seemed more appropriate for attracting attention. The one close to the door seemed ideal. A long mirror ran behind the length of the bar, allowing her to see when anyone entered or exited the room.
A napkin landed in front of her. "What can I get for you, Miss?"
"Ginger ale." At least it appeared alcoholic.
He set it before her, and the wait began. Ten minutes passed before the object of her hunt, Yosef, walked into the lounge.
Natasha took a sip of her drink. "Mmm, that's good."
The prearranged signal told Keren to invade the room of Yosef Meyer, who walked across the room to sit alone at a table and order a drink.
Minutes passed. Natasha took a sip of her watered down drink. Crossed her legs. Took out her compact to look at herself. Took another drink. Uncrossed her legs. Picked up the menu for the restaurant downstairs and pretended to study it closely. If not for Keren's running commentary on her progress in Yosef's room, Natasha would have been exceedingly bored.
"I'm in the room now. Incredibly simple lock," she said with disdain. "Remember that about our own door. Anyone could break in. I'm searching his room. If I were a safe, where would I be? Ha, there you are. It's in the same place as ours. No originality. This should be very easy. I practiced on the safe in our room while I waited for your signal. It's a rotating knob that causes the pinions to drop into a notched mechanism, opening the safe. Just a moment, I must listen…There, it's done. Now where…"
With startling abruptness, Yosef jumped out of his chair, gaping at the watch on his arm. Natasha's chin dipped swiftly and rose as she repeated one word over and over. "Nuts, nuts, nuts."
The panic code informed Keren that Yosef was leaving the bar. When he rushed past Natasha, she heard a faint beeping sound.
When he disappeared, Natasha rose and calmly made her way to the Ladies' Room. After a quick inspection of all the stalls to insure privacy, she explained to Keren what happened. "I think his watch had an alarm. Did you get anything out of the safe? Hello? Keren? You've got to get ou
t of there."
Natasha stood in a vacant stall, waiting for an answer.
The words came out in a rush as Keren panted for breath. "I got it, and I'm out of the room, but the elevator is about to open. He'll catch me."
"Quick, turn around. When the elevator opens, walk calmly down the hall towards any room door. If he's watching you, knock, and hope for the best."
Silence screamed in her ears as Natasha waited for an answer. She dare not make a sound that would distract Keren, so she turned off her microphone and listened.
"It worked. He's in his room. I'm coming down the stairs. Meet you in the lounge."
Natasha exhaled in relief. "Listen, I think we should try something different with the other guy. I'll try to get him to take me to his room then I can knock him out."
After a quick glance in the mirror, Natasha left the Ladies' Room. She paused at the sight of Orin leaning against the counter, requesting a drink from the bartender.
The bartender nodded at him then glanced up. He waved her over. "Excuse me, Miss, you forgot this."
He held up Natasha's black sequined clutch. Orin turned, his eyes alight with interest.
Natasha smiled. "I can't believe I did that. I never leave my purse lying about. Thank you so much."
She picked up her glass, glaring at it as if to say she needed a fresh drink. Orin responded quickly. "Allow me. Bartender, please fix the lady another of whatever she's drinking."
While they waited, Natasha introduced herself. "My name is…" Her mind raced as she realized it might not be a good idea to use her real name. "…Blond. Jane Blond."
"Orin Sharon."
"Orin." She repeated it to make sure Keren heard. "What a pleasure. Thank you for the drink."
Her amateurish attempts to appear alluring apparently worked. He leaned forward.
"You're welcome. Would you join me at a table?" The interest in his brown eyes was a little disconcerting.
Before she could answer, a little voice spoke in her ear. "I heard. You've got your mark. I'll be in our room listening to every word you say. No pressure. Ha, ha!"
Natasha answered them both. "Yes, that will be fine."
The Syrian (Natasha Kelly, Mossad Spy) Page 6
