The Syrian (Natasha Kelly, Mossad Spy)

by Felicia Mires

  "I can do better than that. I brought an automatic stake and pulley that will tow you all the way up. It'll be quick, but you'll be covered with sand."

  "Excellent. I expect some noise will alert number one to our presence. Natasha, you be prepared to take him out as soon as you make the top. Then you can set the stake. It's better that number one has time to give an alarm. When numbers two and three leave their posts to respond, Keren and Ratin will strike." Illie took several steps back. "Gibor, you'll have to watch the lone wolf…number four. If he makes a move to intervene, you'll have to act."

  "Understood." Gibor answered without taking his eyes off the desert.

  "If number four remains hidden after all the others are taken, we'll surround him and shoot a drop net over his position. Does anyone have any questions? No? Then get your supplies and take up your positions. Radio in with your target number when you reach your position."

  Ratin pulled gear from the back of the jeep then gave instructions for the use of each device. Where in the world did he find time to learn so much more about equipment than any of the others? He must spend every spare moment in Equipment Housing.

  He caught Natasha's stare of wonder and grinned sheepishly. "My father taught me everything he knows. I'm second generation Mossad."

  He loaded each trainee with supplies. Keren, Gibor, and Ratin received high-powered paintball rifles for their target. Natasha had her dart gun for number one. The bogie sitting in front of that tent was going to get a nice snooze. She hoped it was Anya.

  Illie studied them all. "Move out. May God go with you."

  "And with you," they answered.

  For a few moments, they strode together. Then each veered off to their own rendezvous, leaving only Natasha and Illie. They maintained their march in silence.

  Upon reaching the wadi area behind the tent, they rested all the supplies in the soft sand. After a short interruption, when Keren and Ratin announced their arrival at their designated posts, Natasha climbed on Illie's shoulders. He stood perfectly still, waiting for her to balance, then he handed up the pole rigged with a long razor.

  Natasha waited, listening to the flutter of the tent in the light wind. Using the pole for balance, she lifted until it reached the tent back. The knife slid through the canvass as if it were soft butter. After she made a slit large enough for her to climb through, she lowered the pole to Illie. They waited, but heard nothing except the wind.

  Illie squeezed her hand to see if she was ready. The second he bent his knees, adrenaline surged through the butterflies in her stomach. She reached out with her arms as she catapulted through the air. Up, up, and away…

  A perfect landing. To decrease the sound of her impact, she dropped to her knees. Without a second's hesitation, she bounced to her feet and ran to the front of the tent.

  The agent heard her approach and spoke in the radio as he jumped up. But there was no stopping her. Before he could raise his gun, she shot him with the dart. Bogie number one sank to the sand.

  Natasha ran through the tent to the sloping wall of the wadi, holding down the button on her mike. "Send up the stake and pulley."

  Before she got a response, they heard from Keren and Ratin. "Targets in motion. Moving to intercept."

  "Roger one, two and three," Illie answered them all.

  The stake driver and the pulley came sailing over the edge. Natasha set the stake in place and pulled the trigger. It fired deep into the sand. She rigged the tow line and threw it over the side to Illie.

  The line flapped a few times, then she heard Illie's shout. "Go."

  Natasha flipped the lever, and Illie attempted to "walk" up the side, holding the handle of the tow line. Near the top, the sand caved away, flinging him against the side. He had no choice but to let the tow line drag him the remaining five or six feet. He stood, spitting sand and brushing himself off.

  Natasha wiped his eyes then blew briskly at his face. He blinked a few times then held out a hand. "I am well."

  While waiting for Keren and Ratin to verify the captures of numbers two and three, Illie lifted the sleeping agent and tied his hands. "You did a great job, Natasha. I don't think we could have pulled this off without you."

  "I couldn't have gotten up here without you. No one else could lift me so far."

  "Number three is taken," crackled Ratin's voice. "Should I bring him to the tent?"

  Illie glanced at Natasha, and she nodded.

  "Yes," he confirmed.

  Moments later, Keren spoke up. "Number two is taken. I'll bring him."

  That was all Illie needed to hear. He radioed to Gibor. "Number four, is there any movement?"

  "No," replied Gibor. "He hasn't acknowledged any radio messages or changed his position. I think he's booby-trapped."

  Ratin, dragging along his captive, joined Natasha and Illie. "It won't matter. The drop net shoots effectively from a distance of twenty feet. If we use poles and sensors, we can surround him without getting caught. Since he never moves, I suggest two people approach from his blind side. Most likely, any trap will be set on that side."

  "That sounds appropriate," said Natasha.

  "Gibor, Keren, do you follow?" Illie asked into the darkness.

  "Affirmative."

  Gibor certainly put aside his joking manner when he was on a mission. He'd barely spoken all night.

  Keren walked up with her captive. "Who'll sneak up from behind?"

  Ratin was the first to volunteer. "I'll bring the equipment."

  After a moment of silence, Natasha offered. "I'd like to use that stuff. I've never done it before."

  "Fine with me," agreed Keren. "Do I stay here and guard the prisoners? They're supposed to be dead when we shoot them with the rifles, so we shouldn't have to guard them."

  At this point, one of their instructors spoke up. "We're dead. If you don't mind, we'd just as soon pack all this gear."

  "Yes, sir," said Illie.

  He moved away from the tent to speak with Keren, Natasha, and Ratin. "We'll go toward Gibor's position. Keren and I will fan out while Ratin and Natasha approach from behind."

  Thus far, Anya wasn't among the captured bogies. Was she buried under all that sand? Perhaps she hadn't participated in the mission at all. Other instructors might have joined them.

  Ratin picked up his gear, and Natasha offered to carry some of the equipment. "Thank you, but the sensor is small. I have only this backpack to take."

  Leaving the others to gather supplies and follow behind, Natasha and Ratin hiked to the north of bogie four. This would bring them behind the target. Hopefully, he'd never see them. Unless he had eyes in the back of his head.

  They marched in silence, interrupted only by occasional comments from those they'd left behind. Illie and Keren reached a frontal position and settled in the sand to wait.

  The mike crackled again, and Gibor spoke. "The bogie remains in position."

  The very thought sent Natasha's mind reeling. She never wanted to lie buried in the sand for three hours or more without moving…without scratching…her skin crawled and itched just thinking of it.

  They trudged on another ten minutes then Ratin waved at her to stop. From his backpack, he pulled a small rectangular box that he set on the ground. When he turned it on, a green light flashed. Ratin's teeth flashed white in the moonlight as he smiled at her. "Aha, there is a motion detector buried in the sand."

  "How close can we get?" asked Natasha.

  "As close as we wish…after we disable his perimeter," grinned Ratin.

  "I'm glad I came with you."

  "Here, take this." He handed her the sensor and took out another and turned it on. "Now walk beside me."

  They moved cautiously toward the bogie. After ten feet, a red light appeared on the sensors. Ratin held up his hand. Natasha stopped. Ratin used his knife to dig the sand away, revealing a buried domed object, black, and about four inches across. He placed his sensor to the right of it. After taking the sensor from Natasha's h
and, he placed it to the left of the dome, then cut the line on both sides of the buried object.

  When he stood, Natasha followed. Twenty yards remained before they reached the bogie, so they crept forward. About fifteen yards away, Ratin finally stopped. He'd taken no chances the net would fall short.

  At a signal from Ratin, all the trainees would shoot. He clicked his mike, warning them to be ready. Natasha aimed her rifle, armed with paint.

  Swoosh! The net dropped on the unsuspecting bogie, who erupted from the ground, flinging sand everywhere.

  "Now!" yelled Ratin.

  Five rifles fired at once, knocking the bogie down.

  Grating laughter disrupted the night air as their instructor again rose from the ground, tripping over the net. "Kind of overkill don't you think! Someone get me out of this thing."

  They'd done it! All four targets eliminated.

  Natasha checked her watch 0105. Oops.

  Had they missed their deadline? Surely three minutes had gone by since Ratin shot the net.

  On the drive back to Tel Aviv, the tired trainees assessed their mission. Natasha barely listened while conversation volleyed around her. Her thoughts traveled ahead to her room. Would David Benjamin be waiting when she got back?

  Chapter 5

  When they reached the Mossad safehouse, Natasha rushed to her room.

  David Benjamin sat on the divan, his tall frame dwarfing the small couch. Worry lines and dark shadows under the eyes marred his good looks. But when he lifted his head to smile at her, warmth brightened his face. "Were you successful?"

  "We captured all four. And when I remembered to look at my watch it read just after one, so I think we made it." Natasha plopped down beside him, wanting nothing more than a bath and bed. "Why did you wait up? You look exhausted. Did you learn anything new about that exploding ship?"

  That seemed a lifetime ago.

  "I waited because I was anxious to hear of your success, and I wanted to see my best girl." He put his arm around the back of her shoulders. "You feel tense. Turn around, and I'll rub your shoulders."

  Warning bells pealed in Natasha's head. She was alone with David, and she was tired. Any ambiguous signals could be interpreted the wrong way. Still, she didn't want to hurt his feelings. "Just for a minute. I'd much prefer to talk about your day." She turned around and sat up straight.

  David rubbed her shoulders and her neck. "Relax. Let me know if I press too hard. I don't want to bruise you."

  "Mmm, I didn't even know I felt stiff."

  It felt much too good to continue. She turned around after a few moments. "Ok, I'm good. Tell me what happened today."

  "Why don't you go first? Start when you left the base." He leaned back, his hand reaching for hers, eyes intent on her face.

  She pulled her hand free with a quick gesture for the retelling of her tale. She attempted to gloss over the conversation which led Orin to her room, but David was sharp.

  "Exactly how long did it take to get that guy in your room? What did you say to him?" His bland face probably indicated a greater degree of interest than he let on. It usually did.

  "Nothing really. I just said there was probably something we'd enjoy more in his room, but he asked to go to mine. We talked less than 5 minutes. I believe he thought it was a trap. That's why I agreed to go to my room. It threw him off." To her own ears, Natasha sounded nervous and self-conscious. "It was horribly degrading. I felt stupid repeating pick-up lines I've heard on TV."

  "You must have been good at it. He hasn't yet reported the theft." His stony eyes belied the smile on his face.

  Was he annoyed after he set her up to learn all this stuff?

  "He hasn't called in because I knocked him out with my dart pen. I can tell something isn't right, David. Are you angry because I was good at my job? Isn't that the whole point? To be believable?"

  He closed his eyes then sighed. They popped open, and he relaxed. "Sorry. I want you to be good at your job…as long as you don't have to follow through with anyone. Did that louse touch you?"

  "David Benjamin, you are jealous. Orin put his arm around me in the elevator. Is that the end of this inquisition?"

  "Actually, no. These were faxed to my office."

  David reached under the couch to pull out a stack of 8x10 glossy photographs, which he handed to Natasha.

  She lifted them slowly, studying the scenes that represented her current stay in Israel, but with a lurid slant. The first showed her backed against the airport wall, eyes half-open as if enjoying the weight of the strange haredim man pressed against her, his hand intimately resting on her face.

  By no means would a casual observer think Natasha was being held against her will. Blood boiled through her veins. Who would misrepresent her like that?

  She studied the next picture--that first exuberant kiss she gave David Benjamin in the airport parking lot. Regret had gnawed at her at the time, but the photo told a different story. Enjoyment, unfortunately. She felt sick and a little afraid to look up at David.

  She flipped the picture out of the way to find another. She and David again, standing in the doorway to her room on the base. He was bent to kiss the top of her head as if they'd just enjoyed a rendezvous together. Her eyes were closed, and her hands rested on his hips.

  How could she ever appear that way? She looked disgusting. Is that what the rest of the world saw? Anyone who might have walked by?

  The next picture was a real piece of work. It showed Natasha in the Crowne Plaza lounge, leaning into Orin with a provocative expression on her face. Her hand gripped his leg, and Orin looked as if he'd like to gobble her up.

  Shame flooded her face, and she let her hair fall forward to hide her heightened color. She slid the photo underneath the stack and confronted the last one. In this, she looked every bit a prostitute. She and Orin in the elevator, their bodies leaning together, his arm draped around her, and his head bent close to hers. Obviously on their way to a room to do…whatever.

  Natasha dropped the stack of pictures on the coffee table and put her hands over her face. Silent sobs racked her body. What a big, fat, filthy mess! How could she have been that stupid! The Bible talked about avoiding any appearance of evil, and it looked like she'd hopped into a hotbed of sin. Would anyone she knew give her the benefit of a doubt?

  Had Mossad photographers followed her? Her head shot up to confront David as his arms reached for her.

  She jerked back. "No. Who did this to me? Where did you get these pictures? Is this why you were jealous of Orin? Do you think that's who I am…what I would do?"

  "Stop, Natasha. You're nearing hysteria. I realize you've been under more pressure than you think you can handle, but you can take this. Remember your training. This is not who you are. There is nothing personal in your job. We're fighting a war. Your enemy is fighting back in the way he thinks will hurt you most." He sighed. "These photos were sent to Dirk. He immediately sent them to me because he realized someone is following you. This someone knew when you would arrive at the airport and took your picture on the Mossad base. That is significant."

  Natasha leaned back and stared ahead. "Why would someone send these to Dirk?"

  "Obviously his cover story for you convinced someone you're important to him. By showing him these pictures, they might force him to call you home. A famous actor can't have his bride-to-be seen in compromising situations right after he announces their engagement." David picked up her hand and caressed her fingers.

  "Someone is blackmailing Dirk with those pictures? If I don't go home and be a good girl, those pictures will make a laughing- stock out of Dirk. And what about my parents?"

  "Do not concern yourself with Dirk's reputation. He knows how to handle this. Your parents will be informed of the inaccuracy of these photos. Well, except for a couple. I thought we made an attractive pair."

  His attempt to lighten the moment fell flat. She wasn't ready to be teased about those photos.

  Natasha had never considered h
erself to be a particularly passionate individual, and certainly never a tease, but these pictures…if that was how she'd looked at David, she definitely gave him the wrong impression.

  "I'm sorry David. I've been telling you I wasn't interested in a permanent relationship, but I've been gazing at you with eyes full of invitation. I feel ashamed. Can you forgive me?" At last she faced him.

  "Don't give it another thought. I've always known where you stand. If anyone should apologize, it's me, taking every opportunity to use your vulnerable condition here and your affection for me to sway you in my favor. I knew you'd be more dependent on me while you were here, and I used that against you." He grinned. "Really…I'm just despicable." He drew her hand to his lips and gazed in her eyes. "Forgive me?"

  "You're good at that, you stinker. But seriously, David, I think you're incredibly romantic and attractive. I could easily fall in love with you. But I'm not going to," she added.

  "You win. But, don't feel guilty about those pictures. That's not how you represent yourself to the world. Those pictures were taken to purposely give that appearance. You're not to blame in any way." He dropped her hand. "Now, why don't you go to bed?" He whined like a small boy. "I'm tired, and you're keeping me awake."

  Natasha stood and threw the couch pillow at him. He ducked easily.

  Once in her room, Natasha pulled her hair from its restraint, and grains of sand trickled down her neck. Before she could pull her T-shirt over her head, the phone rang in the living room. She hurried to the door and opened it a crack.

  "This is David Benjamin." There was a pause then David spoke again. "Are you sure? I'll be right there. Send someone to guard Miss Kelly's room…yes."

  "Natasha?"

  She walked into the living room. The poor man. Did they never leave him alone?

  "What is it now?"

  "Come. Sit down." He patted the seat, his face once again blank. "Look at me and listen carefully." He paused a moment, obviously laboring over his next words before he took her hand. "Orin…is dead. His throat has been cut. He was left in your hotel room. There is a warrant out for your arrest…and for Keren."