by D S Kane
As she turned, the question on her face altered to a sunshiny smile. “Jon!”
“Ruth DeWitt. What’s your real name?” He found himself lost in her perfume.
“When you left me, I got the idea you never wanted to see me again.” She cast her eyes down and to the left. A lie.
“That was long ago. Things have changed. Look, can you just tell me your name?” He tried to smile back but his mouth wouldn’t work.
“My name is Ruth Cohen. I’m one of Yigdal’s bat leveyhas. But you knew that, didn’t you?” Her eyes lifted to his face.
Jon nodded. “Yeah. Well, Ruth, I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” He smiled. “Were you telling the truth when you met me?”
Her smile fell away. “I wasn’t under orders. I came on my own, worried that Aviva might have left you in a dangerous position. I knew she’d been sent to recruit you. I was curious, wanted to get to know you.”
His lips tightened. “But you almost let me seduce you. Was that what you were told to do?”
She shook her head. “You just looked delicious to me. If I’ve offended you—”
He reached out and touched her shoulder. “No. Listen, I’m new in town. Do you know any blues clubs in Tel Aviv?”
She laughed and it melted his heart. “As a matter of fact I do.” She pulled a card from her purse, scribbled on it and handed it to him. “I’ll take you there. Let me know when you’re free.”
Elizabeth Rochelle Brown wondered what to do when he arrived? Kiss him or punish him?
He’d been a pain in her ass in every way. Cheating her when they competed. Slamming her on blogs after he’d faked winning. Asking her for favors, with payment in the form of favors to be granted in return at some distant later date. Arggghhhhh! Kiss him or punish him?
He’d also been sweet to her. He’d guided her to nirvana on the phone, often spending hours as she climaxed and drifted and climaxed again. Kiss him or punish him?
But this would be different. It was obvious Little Wing was deep into dangerous terrain. It was a place she feared. Would she find herself compromised? Hackers were often sent to prison if they were caught. A few corporations already had her on their hit lists. She feared walking in public, let alone being stranded in captivity. If they met, would the danger transfer to her? Of course it would.
Kiss him or punish him?
No, it would be better if she was never in the same room with him. He was becoming dangerous. She wondered if it was too late to cancel their date.
She picked up her cell phone.
“Father, it’s your son.” William wondered if his father could detect the petulance he tried to hide.
“I have waited for your call. Have you been successful?”
“How are you?”
“I’m well. What progress have you made?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “There is an American intelligence agency without a name. Its budget is hidden from Congress. Gilbert Greenfield runs it. The man responsible for setting up the hack is Mark McDougal. His covert agent Bob Gault ran the project, paying DEFCON independent hackers. The hackers had no idea what they were doing or who was running them. It was their action that caused the border war.” William held his breath.
“You have done well, son. You have my everlasting gratitude. Please come home now.”
“No. I have things to do before you see me. But soon, I will visit. Soon. Until then, father, know I do love you. Give my love to mother.” William terminated the conversation, frowning from his lies. He’d have to call Jon, so Sommers could coordinate with his Mossad masters. And he’d need to visit Betsy as soon as he could, to coordinate all the additional hacks.
Yigdal Ben-Levy pressed the Enter key, approving the funds transfer to Betsy Brown’s numbered account. Soon, it would be over, and his Bloodridge black operation would be untraceable. He exhaled. How had Jon discovered the operation? Was it through Rimora? She’d done the analytical work and the setup of the project for the spymaster.
As an IDF sniper years ago, and then as a Mossad kidon, Yigdal’s soul was drenched in the blood of Israel’s enemies, and he felt no remorse for their murders. He knew, more than most, how Israel’s precarious fate was no more settled than a leaf floating in the breeze.
He remembered how proud he’d been of Jon Sommers, his godson. He’d visited the family in London several times, but there was no reason for the young boy to remember what had happened so long ago. He thought of his promise to Jon’s parents. He’d had great expectations for the young boy, following his life until the tragedy of his parent’s death. And from then on, he took a role arranging Jon’s life until the young man was ready for first contact. After training, Yigdal felt Jon could hunt Houmaz.
When the mission had gone badly, Yigdal was ready to forgive Jon. But when Jon told him about his recruitment to work as a double for Sir Charles and MI-6, the spymaster knew it would be a death sentence. Oscar Gilead hated Crane and the Brits for what they’d done during the years preceding Israel’s independence.
To keep Gilead from ordering a terminate-with-prejudice order for Jon, Yigdal had sent a kidon team headed by Shula Ries to find and hold Jon, while Yigdal called Crane and offered a deal to trade intel. The spymaster hoped if he brought the deal to Gilead, the Deputy Director would assume it wasn’t Jon who’d been recruited. If Gilead declined the deal, Yigdal would tell Jon to stay away from the Brits.
But, he’d convinced Gilead of the value the Brits could provide. To keep Gilead from discovering Jon was working with the Brits, Yidgal kept Jon from returning to the Mossad while he sought a way to fix the problem. And Jon’s work over the months had provided evidence he’d become an effective katsa, or case officer.
The Brits had done what they’d promised. After Mother convinced Jon he’d been captured to be sent to a better place, they’d rescued him and made him one of their own. And, Jon had performed, just as his father said he would. A perfect spy, without whom, Israel would have been rendered to dust. Yigdal had kept both his promises, to Jon’s father and to the state.
He smiled with pride.
But he felt empty and hollow. Something else disturbed him, kept him awake every night.
He removed a yellow folder from the locked, hidden drawer at the bottom of his desk.
Opening it he stared at the photograph of Aviva Bushovshy, his sister’s daughter. He wiped a tear from his eye.
She’d smiled at him as she entered Yigdal’s office in mid-December. He remembered how she took her time getting to her reason for the meeting. “Uncle, I need permission from you and Mossad for something. If you can’t grant it, well, I’ll resign.”
No one ever resigned from work at the Office. Mother had sighed. “What?”
“I want to marry Jon. He proposed, and I accepted.” Her face had glowed.
Mother remembered shaking his head. “I’ll speak with Oscar. If he agrees, you have my permission. But, you cannot resign. You know that. Right?”
He’d seen the anger in her eyes. Her voice had raised up an octave. “It’s my life. I want Jon in it.” She’d seemed defiant. “Let’s hope Deputy Director Gilead agrees.” She hadn’t even smiled at him.
He remembered taking the elevator to the top floor to see Gilead. As he’d neared the office, Oscar’s door had swung open, and he seemed to be in a controlled state of rage. “Yigdal. I was just coming to see you. Please come in. Shut the door.”
Before Yigdal sat, he’d told his boss of her intention to marry Jon. Gilead looked at the floor and shook his head. “Aviva Bushovsky. She’s what I was going to see you about. I just learned something disturbing. One of our surveillance teams had some trouble tracing her. Several times she ran counter-surveillance detection routes when she knew we were ghosting her. The day before Sommers took her to the airport, we saw her with Sir Charles of MI-6. She’s become a double.”
Ben-Levy’s lips had moved but he couldn’t produce a sound. He’d never suspected, blin
ded by the love of his niece.
“I’m sorry, Yigdal, but you know what I have to do.”
Gilead had opened the door. “Wait here for me. I have to see the Prime Minister.”
Stunned, he’d stood in Gilead’s door as the Deputy Director rushed out past him. Why had she worked with the Brits? They must have known about her budding relationship with Sommers. Had they threatened her with Jon? There had been no way for him to know.
When Gilead returned, his face was red with rage.
Gilead was the only man alive whom Yigdal feared. He ordered Mother to authorize the mission terminating her life as a warning to other Mossad agents and MI-6 as well. Ben-Levy argued with every bit of passion he could muster to have her dismissed from the service or put in prison. Anything but a terminate-with-prejudice order.
But the Deputy Director had shouted back a single word: “Orders!”
The rest followed like a clockwork mechanism. Yigdal lied, telling Aviva there were pressing matters and he couldn’t see Gilead until tomorrow. They argued and she’d left his office, slamming the door.
While most of the Mossad took its lunch break, Yigdal called Shimon Tennenbaum for an urgent task. The kidon took a tiny bomb from the weapons locker and followed Aviva’s car to the parking garage. Tennenbaum placed the device in the gas tank, and wired it into the ignition just before she’d arrived. He watched her start the engine and blow apart. It was all in the report Ben-Levy had removed from the yellow folder.
When Tennenbaum returned, his face was ashen. “Was it really necessary to do this?”
Mother clenched his fists, fighting for control. “Orders.” His voice cracked.
Tennenbaum nodded. “It wasn’t a clean kill. She thrashed as she burned to death. I’m so sorry.”
Mother’s voice was weak. “We have to find a suspect. Find a Palestinian student. Shoot him several times but don’t let him die. I will interrogate him.” A week later, he visited the hospital and placed one of Dushov’s undetectable poisons into the boy’s IV. He wrote a report indicating the boy carried a bomb made by Tariq Houmaz.
Then he’d had Michael Draper hack the servers of the newspapers, placing the name “Lisa Gabriel” into the stories of the terrorist bombing in place of Aviva’s, hoping Jon Sommers would see it.
Mossad intel had indicated the terrorist was planning something big, and Amos Gidaehl had been sent with a team to find out what it was and stop it. But Gidaehl’s entire team had vanished. After his recruitment and training, Ben-Levy had sent Jon to track Houmaz.
He stared at the photograph of the young redheaded woman with olive-colored eyes. Tears formed and fell as he clenched his fists. The sound coming from him was just above a whisper. “Oh, God. Forgive me!”
Across the desk from him sat the ghost of Aviva Bushovsky. The ghost laughed back at him. Never! When Jon finds out what you did to me, and someday he will, your life will become a real hell.
Chapter Forty-Four
Mount Hebron Cemetery, Tiberias, Israel
October 20, 3:11 p.m.
The sun gleamed off marble tombstones placed on the earth in fond remembrance of passed loved ones. Most headstones had several stones placed on them, the traditional marking placed by a Jew who’d visited a grave. A stiff wind blew as Avram Shimmel and Jon Sommers left the car at the curb.
Avram walked to where Jon stood. “I’ll always consider you my friend.” He extended his hand.
Jon shook it. “Yes. Friends and secrets forever.” He smiled. “What will you do now? Where will you go?”
Avram shrugged. “I hadn’t had time to sit shiva and properly mourn them. After visiting their graves, I’ll sit in our apartment with the mirrors covered. Maybe some of my friends and comrades from IDF and Aman will pay their respects. After that, I’ll think about what I’m going to do. I think I may wander for a while until I figure it out. I have to think some things through.” His voice cracked. When Jon stepped forward to get closer, Avram stepped away. “No. Please, leave me be.” He shuddered, then faced Jon. “Uh, what about you?”
Jon stared off into the cemetery. “Dunno. I’ll work with Mossad, but I’ll never trust them again. Or any other intelligence service, for that matter.”
The big former soldier stiffened as the breeze hit his face. “Can’t blame you. I’ll be here for about half an hour. I can give you a ride back.”
Jon wondered if Avram wanted his company. Probably not. He shook his head. “I’ll be here a bit longer. Perhaps you’d best leave when you’re done. I can find a taxi. I know our paths will cross again. Here’s hoping it’s better times.”
Avram just nodded and hiked away.
Jon closed his eyes for a second. Who was it that had long ago written the lines, “He who seeks revenge must first dig two graves?” Shakespeare? Today I’m here to visit two graves, and remarkably, neither is my own. But neither belongs to Tariq Houmaz, either.
He watched Avram shuffle toward the other end of the cemetery to visit the graves of his wife and daughter.
Jon walked on in a different direction, seeking the stone marking the first site he was here to see.
The grave’s grass was brown but the headstone was clean and elaborately carved. No stones were left on the headstone. He could smell flowers in the breeze.
As he took another breath, the aroma of ozone from a brewing storm hit his nostrils. Grew clouds moved in on him, but he felt nothing beyond a twinge of pain in his left arm and others in his gut and his chest, remnants from his recent escapades.
The stone read, “Lisa Gabriel. Born February 18, 1994, Died September 12, 2014.” He murmured, “Lisa, I never knew you, but I’m here to thank you for loaning me the name of the woman I loved.”
All the nearby graves had small stones on them, but Jon had come with a bouquet, wanting to mark this visit with something temporary. He dropped a single red rose from the bouquet, and stood for a minute in silence.
Examining the cemetery map, he searched for his final destination today.
It seemed like he walked on forever, into a remote area of the graveyard where the markers were naked white posts with numbers painted on them, each topped with a star of David. No tombstones with names for the dead spies of Gideon.
Jon read the numbers, searching. As he neared the one he sought, rain clouds moved closer and the wind picked up. Finally, the number on the page he held was a match to the one on the post. He stopped and stared at the grave of Aviva Bushovsky. He folded the map and dropped it into his pocket, then placed a small rose close to the gravepost.
“There was something I asked. Marry me and be with me forever. But I didn’t know then who you really were. Your lies, your terrible deceptions. You crushed my heart and destroyed my life. I did your bidding after you died. Your voice in my head compelled me. Will you free me now?” Jon paced the turf in front of Lisa’s grave.
There was just the sound of the wind. Her voice in his head, his constant companion since her death, was silent.
He felt somehow lighter as the wind grew fierce, blowing drizzle into his face. He smiled.
The sky opened and rain poured heavy on him, mixing with the the salty tears from his eyes. He’d come here to say farewell. But now, with her voice absent, he felt alone. “Goodbye, darling.” He dropped the remainder of the bouquet on the soil where she rested.
His hands empty, Jon Sommers turned away and walked toward the cemetery road. He had no plan to guide him, no voice compelling him. His friends were headed to their homes.
He wondered what lay ahead, knowing he could survive under the most difficult and dangerous circumstances.
Jon reached into his pocket and fingered the envelope Ben-Levy had given him. It was Phil Watson and Jenny Stolworth’s wedding invitation. In two weeks. It would be his next stop.
He wondered where the Mossad would send him and what cover he’d have for his work. He might even be a banker for them.
Jon thought once more about the woman who would alwa
ys be “Lisa” to him, and smiled as rain washed away the tears that had streamed down his face. He remembered her lies, but they no longer disappointed him. What did hurt him was the realization he could lie to the next woman he found interesting. What else could he do if the calculus of the situation demanded it for his survival? For his people’s survival?
He was now capable of anything.
So be it.
Apendix A
Russia and the Russian Mafia
Cyber War: The Next Threat to National Security and What to Do about It, Richard A. Clarke and Robert K. Knake, Ecco Press, 2010
“Russian Mafia,” from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russian_Mafia
“Wikileaks Demonstrates Even Russia Not Immune,” Dec 02, 2010, by Robert Weller, http://www.allvoices.com/contributed-news/7494949-wikileaks-demonstrates-even-russia-not-immune
“The Global Reach of the Judeo-Russian Mafia,” by Gordon Wagner, http://open.salon.com/blog/gordon_wagner/2010/02/25/the_global_reach_of_the_judeo-russian_mafia
“Are criminals in Russia sending missiles to Iraq?” by Lucy Komisar, Sacramento Bee, Feb 23, 2003, http://thekomisarscoop.com/2003/02/are-criminals-in-russia-sending-missiles-to-iraq/
“Eastern European Arms Sales to Rogue States,” by Sam Vaknin, 12/25/2005, http://www.globalpolitician.com/21506-arms-sales-eastern-europe
“Russian Mafia Abroad Now 300,000 Strong,” March 2, 2010, http://mafiatoday.com/other-mafia-orgs/russian-mafia-abroad-now-300000-strong/
“Russian Mafia - Politicians - Mogilevich and Birshtein,” http://www.telusplanet.net/ public/mozuz/crime/lemieszewski20001103.html
Appendix B
Novelsisterhood.com Interview with D. S. Kaneon March 15, 2009
NS: So you have a special ops agent in your story, what does he/she do? You want to make it believable!