by Brad Taylor
The interrogation had lasted most of the night. When Johan finally tired of the questioning, Aaron had been thrown into the back of a dented Toyota 4Runner, his hands and feet flex-tied together. He’d lain still, taking stock of his condition. Johan had been clinical in his beating, taking care not to do any permanent damage, but Aaron still felt the pain in the soles of his feet and had trouble seeing from the swelling around his eyes.
Still, he surmised he would live, and he was sure he’d given them enough to want to hunt Shoshana, feeding on their mistaken belief that she was his control and had to be contained as well.
His thoughts turned to Alex, wondering what had befallen her. His biggest fear was precisely that they’d surmised she was nothing more than she professed—an employee at the diamond exchange—and thus expendable. To prevent that, he’d debated sprinkling her with a little bit of intrigue during his interrogation, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Giving them the idea that she had lied—that she was hiding something—was asking for her to undergo the savage pain he was experiencing, and he simply didn’t have that in him.
Now the decision tore at him. Maybe he should have. She’d have been tortured—most likely sexually—but she’d be alive. The second-guessing and recriminations were pinging back and forth in his brain, like a handful of rubber balls, when he was rewarded with the one bright spot over the last twenty-four hours: Alex was unceremoniously thrown into the back with him.
Relieved to see she appeared unharmed, he whispered, “How are you? Okay?”
When she saw him, her lips trembled and her eyes began to water. Clearly, his condition wasn’t that reassuring. She said, “Oh God, what have they done to you?”
“Nothing. It looks worse than it is. It was a necessary evil to get us out of here. How are you?”
“Get us out? How is you getting beat on helping? Are they going to do that to me?”
He realized she was on the verge of breaking—but also that she hadn’t been touched. Yet. He said, “Keep calm. We’re alive because they want us to be. We’re useful, as long as we aren’t a liability to them. You need to be strong, because if they feel you’re incapable of following orders—if you curl into a ball and just quit—they’ll kill you. Understand?”
She nodded, then slid her hands forward, touching a bruise on his cheek. She said, “We’re truly screwed, aren’t we? You can tell me. Be honest.”
He smiled, the expression turning to a grimace when the smile reached his split lips. He said, “No, we’re not screwed. At least not totally. What we are is alive, and we need to keep ourselves that way, because there’s someone coming for us.”
She said, “The Mossad?”
They heard the car doors open and close, and they remained silent. Someone lifted the back hatch and threw a section of carpet over them, hiding them from view, then slammed the hatch closed. The SUV began moving, and Aaron whispered, “Not the Mossad. My partner. Shoshana.”
Alex looked deflated at the answer. “What on earth can she do all by herself against this? She doesn’t even know we’ve been taken.”
Aaron said, “She will soon. Have some faith, because believe me, she does. Hopefully I’ve set in motion something that will force her to track us. And she will not quit. Ever.”
Alex began to softly weep, saying, “They’ll just kill her, like they’re going to do to us.”
Aaron said, “They’ll try, but they won’t be able to.”
Alex wiped her nose and said, “How can you say that? They caught you. They’ll kill her. She doesn’t even know they’re coming.”
Aaron took the barb and let it slide. He said, “Look at me.”
She did. He locked eyes with her and said, “You are my responsibility. You will come home. Stay alive. Whatever it takes. They’ll probably separate us when we stop, but don’t give up hope. Shoshana will come for me. She’ll come for the both of us.”
Wanting some spark of hope, Alex said, “She can’t stop them. Even you couldn’t. What can she do?”
Aaron held her hands and said, “She’ll come. And when she does, she’ll be bringing enough friends to ensure success.”
“What friends? Who?”
“I honestly don’t know. But I trust her. And you should too. Keep the faith.”
That had been twelve long hours ago, and now that he was facing a cell full of hostile prisoners, Aaron wasn’t nearly as sure as he had been in the back of the SUV.
He had an iron faith in Shoshana and knew she would unravel what had happened to him, but that would take time. He’d naïvely thought he’d just sit as a hostage until Shoshana arrived, but that was not to be the case.
If he wanted to leave the prison alive, he would have to fight to stay that way. He watched the waning rays of the sun out of their lone window and knew that when it hit the horizon, the waiting would be done. They were coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
16
The morning air was a little bit chilly, but not unbearably so. Still, it required a jacket to knock off the edge. I’d never been to Israel in the winter, and honestly, I was surprised at how cold it was. I guess that made me an ignorant American. I mean, it was the Middle East, wasn’t it? Should be hot. The sad thing is I’d spent a winter or two in Iraq and definitely knew that place got cold.
Watching the people walking on the promenade, you’d have thought it was the Antarctic, with women dressed in full-on parkas complete with fur-lined hoods, and men wearing Michelin Man puffy jackets. They clearly didn’t like the cold weather any more than Jennifer did.
She was curled up tight next to me, snuggling in to get away from the wind. Our surveillance position was a bench situated on a bluff high above the walking/biking promenade that ran adjacent to the Mediterranean, at a spit of green space called Independence Park. The location did make the weather worse, as the breeze was heavier up here than it would be down on the promenade itself, but the position gave us an optimum view of the exits out of the Tel Aviv Marina, and I had to cover all bases with only three surveillance bodies.
Last night we’d kept tabs on our targets—Tyler and Ivan—and all they’d done was have dinner at a sushi restaurant in the lobby of the hotel. That wouldn’t have been much to speak of, except one of the South Africans had joined them. Unfortunately, not the one with the Apple watch. So now we had Tyler himself complicit in whatever the South Africans were doing, which, when I’d reported back to Kurt Hale, was enough to warrant surveillance on the meeting we knew was occurring this morning.
Since I was going to use Brett in the morning, Jennifer and I had left the hotel last night and sauntered the five hundred meters down the promenade to the marina. We’d found the restaurant—a unique place right next to the water, with inside and outside sections, complete with a folk singer—and had ordered dinner. From there, we’d both gone to the “bathroom,” which happened to be located outside the restaurant in the marina proper, which allowed us to identify all the choke points for the next day’s surveillance. Mission complete, we’d had some more vacation time, enjoying the music. Honestly, I wanted to enjoy it, but I was dreading another round of “What are we doing with our lives?” Luckily, Jennifer could smell my angst and settled for the extra downtime. We’d gone to bed without any drama.
We’d gotten up bright and early and had been in position for an hour, with the wind chill starting to bite. I pulled out a set of small binoculars and scanned the entrance to the marina while Jennifer cowered under my arm looking for some warmth, like a cat seeking to escape the snow. She said, “This is bullshit. You should have told me to pack a coat.”
I said, “It’s the Middle East. With global warming, I thought it would be a hundred degrees.”
She punched me and said, “Liar.”
I said, “Got an Orthodox Jew entering, but he’s not our guy.”
She perked up. I relayed to Br
ett, and he said, “Still no sign of our targets.”
Five seconds later, he said, “He’s inside, looking around. I think he’s the contact.”
We waited a bit, and I saw two other men walk down the small access to the marina. One of them was Apple Watch. I called, “Two targets inbound, neither from our primary deck. It’s the guys from Jaffa, but Apple Watch is in the mix. Get ready to record.”
“I’m set. Pwnie phone is ready to go. Creed is online.”
“Roger all.”
From there, I was helpless to affect anything, just sitting in the cold waiting on some report. It was the worst part about surveillance. We sat in the wind for another twenty minutes, and then I saw the Orthodox Jew leave. I waited on the readout of the meeting from Creed, but nothing came. One minute went by, then two. The Jew was sauntering slowly down the promenade, about to be lost from sight, and I still had no report. I called Creed and said, “Get me something. I don’t need it clean. I need it now.”
Creed said, “Pike, we have to eliminate audio errors. The wind is huge, they were outside, and a lot is lost in that. We need to work it to get you the transcript.”
I snarled, “He’s walking away. Get me what you have right fucking now. I need to know if I should focus on him.”
I heard nothing, then, “The only thing I can break out right now is a hotel in Haifa. The Dan Carmel. I have no idea why that was mentioned. Most of the conversation is lost in the wind noise. If you’d give me some time, I can figure it out.”
The Dan Carmel? That’s where Shoshana is.
I hung up the phone and slapped it onto my thigh, my mind racing. The action caused Jennifer to jolt upright. She said, “What?”
“I don’t know. I think they’re after Shoshana.”
“What?”
I stood up, calling Brett, “Blood, Blood, I’m taking that Jew down. Be prepared for backup.”
He said, “Come again? I’m with the targets right now. They’re having breakfast. I’m still recording.”
Shit.
“Okay, okay, you stay on them. We’re going hunting.”
“Pike, we don’t have Omega authority. You can’t kill or capture here.”
I stood up, my eyes on the Orthodox Jew, saying, “I can’t take him with me, but I can certainly take him down.”
He said, “Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I think I do.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Gotta go. I need to use my phone. Remain in place. Get what you can. We’ll see you back in the room.”
I clicked off, and Jennifer said, “What’s gotten into you?”
I dialed up Shoshana yet again and got voice mail, yet again. I cursed and started jogging down the path to the promenade, Jennifer right behind me. She said, “What are we doing?”
I said, “They mentioned they were hunting a person who might have worked for the Mossad, and one of them said it was a ‘she.’ They had the address, but the target wasn’t there. They had to locate the target, and it’s at the same hotel that Shoshana is in.”
I saw our target and slowed to a walk, saying, “I think they’re hunting her.”
17
Jennifer looked at me like I was from a distant planet and said, “How on earth did you get Shoshana out of those tidbits? Pike, that’s crazy.”
“Yeah, maybe, but we’ll know soon enough.”
We reached the promenade, and I saw the target walking up it, about a hundred meters away. She said, “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to wring that guy out.”
“What?”
I stopped and looked at her. “Look, I can’t explain it, but I’m right. I know I am. I can feel it. I just need to confirm.”
She scrunched her eyes and said, “You sound like Shoshana.”
That brought me up short. I said, “Stop it. I’m not saying I’m some empath. I’m saying the evidence is there.”
She saw the guy getting away and started walking, saying, “There is no evidence. You have two sentences.”
I said, “So, you want out?”
We saw the guy mount some stairs, moving toward the surface streets of Tel Aviv. She picked up her pace, closing the distance to the staircase, but said nothing. We rounded the turn, now headed back the way we’d come, going up the stairs. He was already lost from sight.
I said, “Jennifer, I’ll do this alone.”
She turned to me and said, “No. I can’t have you execute something heinous. You’ll probably lose it and kill him.”
She started taking the stairs two at a time, and I followed, saying, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
She kept striding forward, saying, “Whenever you get around Shoshana, you devolve into what you once were. It’s like you guys compete to see who can be the most sociopathic. I’ve seen it, and I’m not allowing it to happen here.”
I jogged behind her, saying, “That’s not what’s happening. She’s in danger. I can feel it.”
We reached the top, and she sighed, saying, “I know. I believe you.”
Confused, I said, “Now you believe me?”
She smiled and said, “I always believe you. Shoshana is right. You are like her in some ways. I just don’t want to see the other side of her come out in you.”
I swiveled my head left and right, looking for the target. I said, “You have such little faith.”
She did the same thing, saying, “Best predictor of future performance is past performance. And I’ve seen your past performance.”
Before I could answer, she said, “There. Going toward the parking garage.”
We were on an open deck that was decrepit, looking like its heyday had been in the eighties, the area falling into disrepair. I saw the target headed to a structure that was empty, with a FOR LEASE sign in every window. It looked like an entertainment center that had gone bankrupt, with crumbling concrete and graffiti left behind.
It didn’t take long to assess my options. This place was perfect. I said, “We take him here. Before he gets to the street.”
She nodded, agreeing. She said, “Let’s do it. But don’t kill him.”
We waited until he disappeared into the shadows of the abandoned structure, then sprinted forward. We entered the dark, the concrete strewn with detritus, and I held up a hand, listening. I heard the footsteps to my right and slid forward. He was now shuffling through the gloom. I heard him inadvertently kick some trash, and I sprinted forward, running past an open area full of pillars and balconies that might have been pretty cool in the day but now looked like a set for Planet of the Apes. I heard the traffic of the street below, and I knew I had to get him before he reached it.
I caught a glimpse of him through the pillars and then saw a spiral staircase headed down. He was almost to it. He was going to make it to the street and prevent me from taking him down. I improvised. I shouted, “Hey! Help me.”
He heard the words and whipped around, trying to find the source. To Jennifer, I said, “Lie down, now.”
She did. I said, “Help me! My wife has collapsed! Help me!”
He paused, looking at the stairwell, then at us. He made up his mind, running back to our location, Jennifer prostrate on the ground and me kneeling over her.
He said, “What happened?”
I said, “Nothing,” then exploded upward, throwing a wicked uppercut that lifted him off his feet. Jennifer leapt up, and I said, “Cover the rear.”
She did.
I turned my focus to the target and said, “Who were you chasing? Who did you give to the men at the restaurant?”
He struggled to ascertain what I’d said, my earlier blow clouding his head. I slapped his cheek and said, “Answer me.”
He covered his face and said, “What are you talking about? Why are you attack
ing me?”
I jerked his hands apart and began searching. I found a slip of paper with a name, and I saw I was right.
Shoshana Weinberg, room 747, Dan Carmel, Haifa. Reservation for seven days.
I became incensed, batting the guy’s head back and forth. “Why are you hunting her? Why did they want this?”
He waved his hands around, trying to prevent my strikes, whimpering. He said, “It’s a drug thing. She’s causing issues with that organization. They aren’t going to hurt her. Just scare her. I promise.”
That really set me off. Fucking liar. I started punching, hard, snapping his head back. I felt his nose break, and Jennifer sprang back to us, grabbing my arm and shouting, “Don’t!”
I calmed down and returned to the target. “I want the truth, or you’re fucking dead. Why. Are. You. Hunting. Her.”
Through the slobber of snot and blood, he said, “I told you. Don’t kill me. All I do is find them. I don’t do anything else. I get paid to find people. You should talk to the drug guys.”
And I realized he thought he was speaking the truth. I said, “Where’s your phone?”
He pulled it out, saying, “Take it, take it.”
I did, then said, “Show me the number of the man you met in the restaurant.”
“I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Show me.”
He did, and I noted it. I then said, “Show me the number of your partner. The one who sent you here.”
