The Deadliest Game

by Hal Ross

  He paused, tempted to come clean, but knowing he could not.

  CHAPTER 38

  By the time Blair reached his condo in New York, he was worn out from the drive. He had no sooner unpacked than he began to repack for the next day’s trip to Israel. He did not plan on staying long so he chose as little as possible. As for Sandra, he would purchase clothes for her as soon as they arrived in Tel Aviv.

  He opened the top drawer of his bedroom dresser and found his daughter’s passport. Another stroke of luck, he figured. He had insisted they apply when Sandra had turned three. The passport arrived just before the breakup of his marriage. As far as he knew, Mandy wasn’t even aware that he still had it in his possession.

  Blair was in bed early but didn’t get to sleep much before two-thirty in the morning. The alarm may have gone off but he missed it. When he finally awoke, he had to rush. The cab got him to Kennedy Airport with an hour to spare. He thought that was pretty good under the circumstances.

  The clerk at El Al, a middle-aged woman with red hair, was not pleased, however. And the look she gave him was none too friendly.

  Blair was disappointed to not see his daughter. Yes, they were holding Sandra’s seat, the clerk advised, but they would not hold on to it much longer. “Our regulations call for each passenger to be here no later than two hours before departure,” she admonished, pointing to the list of rules on display. “You have ten more minutes before we lock out all pre-assigned seats.”

  He turned away, tension creeping into his neck and shoulders. At the window he noticed streams of people disembarking from cabs and private cars.

  There was no sign of his daughter.

  His flight was called and passengers began lining up.

  “Blair?”

  He turned.

  Rena Castaway, looking as fetching as a model out of Vogue, approached.

  “Wh…where’s Sandra?” he asked.

  “Get on the plane,” she said. “Your daughter will not be joining you.”

  It took a nanosecond for everything to connect. She had played him, just as John Dalton would have done.

  He dropped his attaché case. He took hold of her arm and twisted it behind her back. “You gave me your word!” he said.

  She leaned in close, turned halfway, suddenly broke clear. “Don’t make a fuss,” she said, surprising him with her physical prowess.

  “Where’s my daughter?” he asked again, heart beginning to pound.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” came the evasive reply. “You take this trip and complete your assignment. Sandra will be waiting for you upon your return.”

  He couldn’t believe that this was happening.

  “Blair—”

  He felt the con, could almost taste it. But what choice did he have? If he refused to go, the inevitable would only be delayed. He took hold of her arm again, wishing he had it in him to hurt her. “If anything happens to my daughter,” he said, “I don’t care how insignificant, I’ll come after you. I swear I will!”

  Something flared in Castaway’s eyes. It was defiance and something else; something cold and impenetrable.

  Before Blair could say anything more, she yanked her arm free, turned, and walked away.

  CHAPTER 39

  His flight was delayed. At first they kept all passengers onboard. Then they were allowed to deplane. After two more tries, many became incensed. Blair, on the other hand, was so distracted, it all washed over him.

  He tried to rationalize BIS’s position. John Dalton’s murder had obviously rattled the agency. If they were desperate enough to hold on to Sandra, they were capable of doing much worse. He had to put an end to it.

  After they became airborne, Blair remained deep in thought. For one of the few times in his life, Johnnie Walker had no appeal to him. Neither did the meal that was offered.

  He dozed for a while, tried reading a book. The irony of his situation didn’t leave him. He was flying to see one of the few people he liked. A man who, he’d been told, was a secret terrorist. He had no other argument he could use. Yet if he couldn’t get Jeremy to change his mind, he had no idea what he would do next.

  Even though it was late, Jeremy insisted on dinner at his golf course.

  Yam Ve’chal, only open a few months, was already the hottest ticket in town. Privately owned, the initiation fee alone cost well over a hundred thousand American dollars.

  On their way, Blair’s neck became sore from twisting it so often, looking for anything untoward. And he realized that his paranoia was getting worse.

  It was dusk by the time they entered the property. But there was still enough light for Blair to marvel at the landscape. Here he was, in a supposed arid land, yet the grass was a brilliant green, the ponds crystal clear. Manmade, of course. Which proved once again what money could buy.

  As they neared the clubhouse, Jeremy turned in his seat. “This is so nice of you to help me celebrate, by the way.”

  “Huh?” Blair said. “Celebrate what?”

  “Cyber-tech. We’ve stopped the competitor in its tracks. Our lawyer is putting the finishing touches to the agreement.”

  Blair wished he could care more than he did.

  They parked. But instead of going directly to the dining room, Jeremy insisted on relaxing first.

  The bar was a throwback to another era. Clubby, it had a smoky atmosphere without the smoke. Dark brown, leather chairs. Blow-up photographs on the walls of famous golfers, from Ben Hogan to Jack Nicklaus to Rory McIlroy.

  There were three other patrons. They took a seat as far away from them as they could get. Jeremy was about to say something, when his attention was drawn to the TV. The announcer was describing another car-bombing in Times Square. There were no deaths, apparently, but over a hundred injuries.

  Jeremy’s demeanor changed. “Bloody terrorists!” he said. “You ever notice how much attention they get? It’s as if the media love them. You watch—this story from New York is all we’re going to hear about for the next several days.

  “One feeds off the other. The press believes it is their obligation to keep us informed. They know the average guy on the street has a morbid curiosity that has to be constantly fed.

  “The terrorists crave publicity. But if no one was told anything, if there was a world wide news blackout, for instance, do you think this crap would happen in the first place?”

  Blair frowned. “And how would you possibly manage that?”

  “Ah-ha. Collusion by governments around the world. Call it state censorship. Call it anything you like. The proliferation of social media has resulted in too much power. There are no checks and balances. No control. Take away the voice of these madmen and what do they have? No one to publicize their deeds or their dogma.”

  Blair studied his friend for a minute. What he said was spoken with a passion that could not be faked or misconstrued. Could he really have a secret agenda? One involving the very terrorism he was railing about?

  “How many years have I known you?” Jeremy asked out of the blue.

  “Umm.” Blair thought for a moment. “Seven? Eight?”

  “Nine years this September. Yet in all that time, all you and I ever talk about is business. Not much else. Oh, sorry, and women. That, too.”

  “On your part, maybe. Not mine.”

  “It doesn’t matter whose part. I talk, you listen.”

  “So?”

  “Isn’t it refreshing to discuss something meaningful for a change?”

  “Excuse me,” the waitress interrupted. She was a nubile, peroxide blonde. Blair was ignored as she leaned forward, cleavage exposed. She asked Jeremy what he wanted to drink. He asked for a Coke. As if an afterthought, she turned to Blair and took his order.

  Jeremy laughed as soon as she was gone. “It’s my charm,” he said. And he gave the back of Blair’s head a playful tap.

  CHAPTER 40

  The following morning, they were seated in the coffee shop of Blair’s hotel. Jeremy was weari
ng mustard-colored shorts and a yellow, short-sleeved shirt. Blair, in his suit and tie, felt not only overdressed but conspicuous.

  Their night had ended early. Jeremy wouldn’t stop talking about his idea of censoring the news media. When he wasn’t lamenting the reach of fanatics in the Middle East, he was expressing his disgust with the way the war on terror was being fought. Blair decided that broaching the one topic on his own mind would best be reserved for today.

  The hotel was busy but they were able to snare one of the last available tables in the coffee shop, where the buffet spread was extensive. From tuna and salmon to smoked fish; herring, hummus, and couscous. Plus a variety of breakfast meats, as well as dairy products.

  Blair was too nervous to eat. He chose a single slice of rye toast and coffee.

  Jeremy, on the other hand, heaped more onto his plate than the plate seemed able to hold. Eggs and sausages, pancakes and bacon. He’d even added hash brown potatoes and a grilled tomato. “Good thing I’m not hungry,” he said.

  Blair leaned back and kept his thoughts to himself. Jeremy began to discuss Cyber-tech’s potential now that their rival had been eliminated.

  Once his friend completed his meal, Blair steadied himself. But before he could speak, Jeremy said, with a grin, “Still have that huge bug up your ass?”

  “What bug is that?” Blair asked, playing dumb.

  “You mean, I have to spell it out for you?”

  “Jeremy…”

  “I’m listening. What bullshit story are you ready to tell now?”

  “It’s not bullshit.”

  “Oh, no? What is it, then? Didn’t you come back here for the same bloody reason as before?”

  Blair could see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes. “I’m here to ask for a favor,” he said.

  “Sure you are. And why is that?”

  “I explained on my last trip. My bank—”

  “Fuck your bank! They can’t tell you how to run your business!”

  Blair’s spirits sunk. “I have to make this happen,” he said quietly.

  Jeremy remained mute.

  Before losing his nerve, Blair removed a check from his shirt pocket. It was for seven thousand dollars. All the money he had in his saving’s account. He handed it to him.

  Jeremy’s look went from disbelief to anger.

  “Call it an investment,” Blair quickly explained. “To be used at your discretion.”

  “Do you want dessert?” Jeremy asked.

  Blair shook his head.

  “Some fruit, perhaps?”

  He waited.

  “They have great kiwi here. Or maybe some watermelon?”

  Blair prepped himself, knowing he had no other card to play.

  Jeremy handed the check back. “I can’t accept this,” he said. “And you should be ashamed for even offering it.”

  Embarrassed, Blair held his tongue, but he soon started to feel awkward. Finally, he thought to ask his friend why he left the city of his birth, Los Angeles, to start a new life in Israel.

  Jeremy regarded him with a bemused look in his eye, but he held his tongue.

  “What?” Blair said. “It’s something we never discussed.”

  “So, after all these years, you’re suddenly curious?”

  “That’s right.” Blair’s smile was forced.

  Reluctantly, it seemed, Jeremy began to explain about his past, how his father had split when he was still a boy. “It was just me and my mother,” he continued, “left to fend for ourselves. My mom was a breast cancer survivor. She slaved away as a bookkeeper, putting in well over sixty hours a week. We weren’t exactly rich, but we never lacked for anything. She made sure I had what I needed to get through college.

  “After I graduated, I ended up working at a number of sales jobs in the toy industry, eventually becoming a Costco specialist. Which was fortuitous, as you know, what with Costco being one of the few major accounts still headquartered on the West Coast.

  “After a few years, I was able to build up a decent nest egg and I decided to do something meaningful for my mother. She’d been working so hard, never taking time off, never taking a vacation.

  “Week after week I tried handing her brochures on some of the most exotic places in the world, from Hawaii to New Zealand, to Bali in Indonesia. She kept turning them aside.

  “But I persisted. I told her people got sick, had nervous breakdowns, even died from too much work, and I wasn’t going to let this happen to her. She didn’t say yes overnight, but eventually I got her to understand how much this meant to me.

  “Almost another month went by. And I guess she grew tired of my pestering her, because she finally agreed. Her choice was a cruise to the Middle East.”

  “To Israel?” Blair interrupted.

  “It was part of the itinerary,” Jeremy said. “Anyway, by the time she was packed and ready to go, she was acting like a kid, and I knew I had done the right thing.

  “I started to receive emails almost from the first moment her ship left Frankfurt, Germany. I got to know about every port she stopped at, every city and country she visited.

  “Then days went by without a word. One minute I was inundated with information, the next there was nothing. I figured she must be in one of those blackout zones that happen when you travel, especially by sea.

  “It was at the end of day five when she got in touch by phone. Apparently, my mother wasn’t feeling well so she had visited the ship’s doctor who, in turn, had insisted she see a specialist in Tel Aviv.

  “The news couldn’t have been worse. My mom’s cancer was back. This time, it had metastasized from her breast to her lungs. She needed immediate treatment.

  “My mother wanted to have it done there. I didn’t like that idea, told her it would be best to get a second opinion from her oncologist in LA. She wouldn’t listen. So I immediately dropped everything and flew to Israel, met with the doctor, did not like the prognostication. I stayed for almost three weeks before returning home.

  “Two trips later I knew what had to be done. My mom had sacrificed so much for me as a child; I couldn’t allow her to fight this battle alone. I wrapped up my affairs and left America for the last time.”

  Blair sat at rigid attention. This was not the kind of story he expected.

  “The first thing I did after arriving in Tel Aviv was move into my mother’s flat, just on the outskirts of town. She had picked the apartment in haste and there wasn’t much to recommend it, but it suited her purpose.

  “In just a short period of time my mom lost a ton of weight. As a matter of fact, her health in general seemed to deteriorate before my eyes. You have no idea what it’s like to care for someone and see this bloody disease eat away at them, to consume them.

  “We talked for hours at a time, my mother reminiscing about her childhood in Hungary, where she was born. It was a great relief to immigrate to the United States, she told me, but it still did not quite feel like home to her. Israel was where she always felt she belonged, where she wanted to be buried, where, before she died, she wanted to rediscover her Jewish roots.”

  Blair’s ears perked. Jewish roots?

  “For the next few months,” Jeremy went on, “I helped her do just that, arranging meetings with history buffs and scholars, volunteers for the most part, all well-versed in fact and fiction. My mother took it all in with a zeal I never knew she possessed, right up until the final weeks of her life, when she was bedridden and barely conscious.

  “After my mom’s passing, I realized I wanted to stay in Israel. Truth is, the moment I first set foot here, I became enthralled with the people.

  “Not only did I want to stay, I decided I wanted to make a difference. And I did. In ways that would surprise you. In ways you couldn’t imagine.

  “End of story.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Blair now understood it was decision time. His intention in coming back to Israel was to cajole or bribe Jeremy into agreeing to switch the DVD production. The
truth about his daughter was never to be revealed. But what Jeremy just said changed everything.

  He stood and excused himself, saying he had to use the washroom.

  At the sink, he splashed cold water on his face. Then he dried off with a paper towel.

  Jeremy was not who Rena Castaway, and John Dalton before her, said he was, but the complete opposite. Not a terrorist at all. Not a gentile in a Jewish land, as he himself believed, but someone actually Jewish.

  Did this mean he could trust him, however? Bring him into his confidence? Ask him to help find a solution? What if, even though it was a large “if,” the story Jeremy had just related was a lie? An elaborate and contrived one, but a lie nevertheless?

  He knew he wanted to believe him. No one could be that good an actor.

  Or could they be?

  When al-Qaeda attacked North America, years of planning had gone into it. The destruction of the World Trade Center didn’t succeed because these people were stupid.

  And why would Jeremy bring up his background today? After all these years? What did he mean about making a difference in ways Blair couldn’t imagine? What was that all about?

  Was Jeremy a friend? Blair asked himself now. The person he said he was? And more importantly, could he be trusted? Unconditionally?

  He returned to the table still undecided. Before he could say anything, Jeremy accused him of hiding something from him. “You’re not yourself,” he said. “Haven’t been for quite some time. You don’t have to confide in me, if you don’t want to. Although, I thought we were friends. Close friends, as a matter of fact.”

  “We are,” Blair quickly jumped in. He didn’t know where Jeremy was going with this.

  “Not by the way you’re acting.”