Spies Lie Series Box Set

by D S Kane

“Fly to the airport in Beijing. Call me when you arrive. I’ll send Chan to get you.”

  “What will you do to Jon?”

  The silence went on and on. “If you arrive and offer no trouble, I might release your friend.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “You are in no position to bargain.”

  William terminated the call. He waited several hours. When his father called again, he could hear screams in the background. “Son, you cause your friend great pain.”

  William wasn’t surprised. His faced scrunched from the sound. Torture and deception were his father’s way to raise the negotiations up a notch. He forced himself to stay detached. He needed to keep his voice flat or his father might be more brutal with Jon.

  He wanted Jon free.

  Then he realized there would be another problem: Betsy. What if father found her? He steeled his voice of all emotion. “So what? You haven’t offered me anything of value.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “You will not touch Jon again. When I arrive you will set him free. You will promise to leave all my friends alone. Every one of them.” The silence was interminable. William placed his finger on the button, ready to terminate the call. “Goodbye father.”

  “Wait. Agreed.” The call terminated.

  William called the airline.

  It took two days, but when he debarked the plane and walked through the terminal, he saw Chan waiting for him in the baggage area. Chan led him to a private office near security. Inside, he saw a man whose face was covered by a black bag. Chan motioned to two others in uniform and as William walked toward the terminal exit, he turned and looked over his shoulder. Chan was removing the bag and pointing his captive toward the departures area. They spoke briefly, but William was too far away to hear what they said.

  The important thing was that William watched Jon Sommers walk away, free.

  Lieutenant Benjamin Chan drove the car with William cuffed in the back. William asked, “Where is Jon going?”

  The lieutenant said nothing. William sat back and watched their car push its way north away from the center of the overcrowded city. When they reached Ring Road Four, Chan looked in the mirror. “I have no use for traitors.”

  They traveled the rest of the way in silence.

  The gated compound where Xian Chang lived had always impressed William with its magnificent landscape. Now a cadre of soldiers patrolled the garden around the huge, wing-gabled house and made it look like a prison. William was led from the car into a tall-ceilinged entryway. He waited, guarded, for a long time.

  His father was thinner than the last time he’d seen him. Was he sick? William felt a pang shoot through his heart. Is father dying? After all his father had put him through he couldn’t stop loving him. It was pathetic.

  The old man whispered to Chan and all the other soldiers disappeared. Xian Wing took his son by the shoulder and walked him to the library. This room was darker, the windows shadowed by bamboo shades. He led William to a seat. Chan handcuffed William to the chair and left the room, its carved walnut doors now shut.

  William remembered a similar scene between him and his father, over twelve years ago.

  Xian paced the room, holding his hands tight behind his back. “Unless there is something you can tell me, something very powerful, I must have you executed.”

  William scowled. “Yes father. I understand your words. But I do not understand you.”

  The old man stopped pacing. “I am China. I am all she was. My promises are what she will become. You, my son, are a thief and you work for my enemies. You have stolen my secrets and sold them to those who seek to destroy us.”

  William turned his head to the side. “I have stolen no secrets from China. And therefore, I have sold nothing from my homeland to anyone, friend or enemy.”

  The old man’s face went scarlet. “We have proof!”

  “You have proof that my clients are global. You had someone steal my clients’ secrets. I had none from China.”

  The old man resumed his pacing. “You had copies of the plans for our nanobug! You sold them to Israel.” William could see the fury in his eyes.

  William took a deep breath. “Your…your nanobug?”

  Xian stopped pacing. His mouth gaped open. “You didn’t know about this?”

  William shook his head. “My client was Israel. They’re producing a nanobug. The United States stole the plans. I was paid to steal them back and delete all their copies.”

  Xian staggered to the chair behind his desk. He was slow to sit. “So someone in our tech department may have sold the Israelis our plans.”

  William shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe someone in the Ness Ziona sold someone in China the plans and your scientists claimed it was their idea. I heard through the hacker network, the Ness Ziona leaks like a sieve.”

  Xian frowned. He looked out the window at the flowers in the side yard. “Son, it is difficult to know what the truth is. But I must consider the possibility that you are not our traitor. That, possibly there is no traitor.” He rose and left the library. One of the guards entered and closed the heavy doors.

  He was alone for well nearly an hour. When the doors swung open again, his father entered and walked back to the desk chair. “I have a dilemma. What to do with you. As a major in the Cyberwar Technology Lab, what you did was not ordered by your superior officer. By me. It is up to me to determine your fate, for working with our enemies.”

  William stiffened. Here it comes. I’m a child and he gets to reset my world, its boundaries, my behavior.

  The old man shook his head. “I am responsible for some of this. When you were growing up, I was too busy at work to provide you with the guidance a father must for his child.” He shook his head again. “You were bright and wilful. Instead of finding ways to engage you, I struck you down. I am Chinese and not comfortable with such Western ideas.” His eyes teared. “Your mother is not well. See her before you leave.”

  William’s jaw flapped open. “Mother? Please, yes. Let me go. I want to see her.”

  The old man smiled. “I will set you free. You may come and go whenever you wish. In return, these are my orders, and you must obey. You are to report to me every contact you have with every government you have ever dealt with, and you must not ever work for any government besides China. Do you agree?”

  William was in no position to bargain. He nodded. When one of the guards uncuffed him, he reached into his pocket and presented his father with the gold fountain pen.

  “Father, this is yours. I took it from you when you threw me out of your home so long ago.”

  The old man’s mouth fell open. “You were the one who took it?”

  William nodded and turned to the doorway. As he left the building and climbed into the waiting limousine, he felt sorry for his father, so lonely, and so close to the top of the nation he served. It surprised him to feel compassion after what the old man had planned for him.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  American Bank and Trust Operations Center, 349 Park Avenue, New York City, New York

  August 24, 4:42 p.m.

  Shula Ries hobbled along on canes through the hallway of the eighteenth floor. The meeting had gone on much longer than she’d expected it would. She hated her new role, but at least she still served the State of Israel. Even if no one but her handler and the Mossad sayanim in the bank’s Human Resources Department knew.

  She held the canes tightly in both hands, careful not to slip and fall in sight of the world she now ran. Of course her colleagues might not even see it. Everyone looked away when she ambled by. The sign at the elevators told the whole story: Noncredit Services.

  She avoided all reflective surfaces. It was terrible tradecraft, but she couldn’t bear to see herself. Scars pitted her face. Her body was bent over from the canes. At thirty-two years of age, she resembled someone several decades older.

  When she’d arrived on the floor, she dragged herself to the desk of the Director o
f Funds Transfer Repairs. The man was incompetent; even she knew that from the reactions of his subordinates to him. He was balding and seemed self-conscious about every problem. Like everyone else, he looked away from her when he answered her questions. “No, Ms. Rubin, there haven’t been any transfers that fit the characteristics you told me to watch for.”

  She nodded and pulled her body back toward her office. Her cell buzzed. “Yes?”

  “Ms. Rubin, you have a visitor in the lobby. His name is Jon Sommers. Should I permit him entry and send him up?”

  Shula smiled. How did he find me? Then she tensed. How can I let him see me like this?

  “Yes, send him to my office.” She terminated the call and shuffled back to her office. She sat behind her desk. Jon would see the damage on her face but he wouldn’t know she was a cripple. God, my face. She took several deep breaths.

  She scanned the Manhattan skyline outside her window, but it didn’t soothe her. When the knock came, she said, “Enter.” She swiveled the chair to face him but didn’t rise when he offered his hand. It would have been difficult with her legs fused at the knees. She just extended her hand toward him. “A long time since our last meeting. Meyer told me to expect you.” She looked away so as not to see her destroyed face reflected in his expression.

  “Yes. But I’m no longer working for them. I’d like a job. Just a job, no espionage, no work for the Office. I’m bloody capable, especially in your arena.”

  Her weak smile reflected the irony of this situation. Just like Jon to have no preamble. Her smile crept into a stiff grin. “Of course. I’ve kept a position open for you since I was hired. Vice President of Global Funds Transfer. Human Resources already approved your hire.” He could take over for the dolt she’d just had to deal with on the way back to her office. “Do you know what I’m doing here?”

  Jon remained silent.

  Shula frowned. “I’m the Mossad’s money Laundromat. I also scan for suspicious global funds transfers.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled the papers from it. She handed them to him. “You’ll assist me and report directly to me. Fill out the forms and we’ll make it official.”

  She pointed to the operations floor, where nearly one hundred people transferred money and traded currency. “Your new home, Jon.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Sheraton Hotel, Tel Aviv, Israel

  August 24, 5:21 p.m.

  Avram Shimmel paced the room, in an undershirt and khaki pants. The television showed a debate in the Knesset over a proposed set of new settlements on the West Bank. A plate and a fork with the remnants of falafel and Tunisian lamb stew sat on the table. If his benefactor was correct, Ainsley should have phoned him hours ago.

  He sat and shook his head. The mercenaries were all booked into the hotel, bunked in pairs. It cost a fortune. He could pay for this arrangement for a few days, a week at most. Where was Ainsley?

  His cell buzzed. His brows arched as he plucked it from his pocket. “Major Avram Shimmel, Kravgruppe.”

  The voice on the other side of the line was familiar, electronically altered, and he felt his stomach sag in disappointment. His benefactor, not Ainsley. “Has he called?”

  “No. Why are you so sure he will?”

  “I’ve been in contact with Mr. Ainsley for several days. I believe I’ve convinced him you can best provide the service he needs. Patience.”

  The man’s final word triggered a jolt in Avram’s posture. Only one person he’d ever met used the word “patience” that way, with impatience and unmitigated arrogance. It was then he realized why his benefactor used voice disguise technology. Was this the tech developed by the Ness Ziona? Of course it was.

  The thought send a jolt through him. His benefactor was Yigdal Ben-Levy. He gripped his cell so hard his hand hurt.

  Did it matter? Mother had granted him his dream of a mercenary army. Was it payback from the spymaster for the Avram’s loss of his wife and daughter? He felt his posture go slack. “I will wait for Ainsley’s call.” He terminated the connection and dressed. Soon it would be time to muster the troops.

  He didn’t have to wait long. There was no phone call, but a text came through his cell phone:

  My name is Lee Ainsley and I represent the interests of Cassandra Sashakovich of the Swiftshadow Consulting Group. We require the services of a mercenary army to enter Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan, to terminate Muslim Brotherhood terrorists lodged in the Tora Boras near Upper Pachir. We estimate the hostiles to number about 700. They sleep in the caves and could therefore be eliminated by exploding their sleeping quarters while they sleep. If you are interested, please reply no later than the day after tomorrow with a cost estimate and time to combat readiness.

  He thought, pacing the room, then replied:

  I am Major Avram Shimmel of Kravgruppe. We are combat ready but would require several weeks to craft and practice a plan we could use in this particular combat theatre. Our cost would be $300,000 USD per diem total for a force of 60 mercenaries, materiel included. With our advance weapons technology, this level of force should be adequate to destroy your hostiles. Total cost estimate of $9,000,000 USD for the mission. Please reply to our proposal within three days’ time.

  He sent a text message to LeFleur, Giondella, and McTavish.

  We must meet immediately to plan travel.

  But to where?

  The mercs were all packed and ready by the end of the day. Giondella was in charge of logistics and hired a jet to fly them to their destination.

  As the sun set, he received an email from Ainsley:

  Meet us at the Highlands Inn, Carmel Highlands, California, the day after tomorrow for dinner at the Pacific’s Edge restaurant, reservation “Ainsley” at 7 p.m. Quarter your mercenaries in the Ventana Wilderness along the edge of the Nacimiento-Ferguson Road between Highway 1 and Jolon. Avoid getting too close to Camp Roberts.

  —Ainsley

  Avram smiled. His future had arrived.

  In the Deputy Director’s office of the Mossad, Yigdal Ben-Levy’s replacement, Samuel Meyer sat at his desk. His new posting still felt strange. He could hear the buzz of the office outside his door. Men and women and computers devoted to the desperate task of keeping Israel safe from its enemies.

  He’d been the Station Head in Beijing for nearly a decade before the PM promoted him. He sighed as he opened the file in front of him. A yellow folder, a daylight priority.

  The folder was labeled “BUG-LOK PROJECT.” He removed a stamp from inside the top drawer of the desk. He paused as he remembered all the trouble this contract had caused for the Americans. His promotion was due to its complications. He inked the stamp and pressed it on the folder’s cover: “CANCELLED.”

  He remembered running the mission to steal the basic plans from the Chinese CSIS a year ago.

  He grimaced. Some things are better left hidden. Some technologies are so dangerous we should never even consider them. It’s too damn bad so many don’t realize this.

  Meyer buzzed the security officer standing outside his door. The man appeared in less than two seconds. “Moishe, I’ve sealed the file. Store it in the archive.”

  Clouds stormed over the horizon in Washington, DC. Yigdal Ben-Levy scanned out his window. He realized he’d forgotten his umbrella.

  The secretary assigned him at the Israeli Embassy knocked at his door. “Yes?”

  “Sir, there are five men here to see you.” She handed him the sign-in sheet and Yigdal smiled. His old friends from the Mossad, Shabak liaison operatives. Finally, something to reclaim him from the boredom that haunted him.

  “Show them in, please.” He stood to receive his friends. Lester Dushov, Ari Westheim, Shimon Tennenbaum, JD Weinstein, and Michael Drapoff crowded into the office.

  They failed to return Mother’s smile. Dushov walked in front of the others and faced Ben-Levy. “Mother, we’re retiring from the Mossad. We’ve already told Meyer, but I felt it was something we also had to do here with you, face-to-fa
ce. We owe you that much.”

  Ben-Levy’s face crumbled. “But Israel needs you.”

  Dushov shook his head. “What happened to Ries and Cohen was a wake-up call. We’ve done enough for Israel. It’s time now to enjoy our the remainder of our lives, as short as they may be.”

  Ben-Levy’s shoulders sagged. “I should have expected an attempt on their lives after the Bug-Lok missions. But Meyer is a much more cautious man. He won’t leave his charges unguarded. I’m sorry I did.”

  Dushov nodded. “Yes, maybe, but we’re done. We discussed it together before we told Meyer.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I plan to do private security work for a few Israeli technology corporations in Herzliyya. Drapoff is interested in doing pro bono work for an organization that hacks government secrets and makes them public. As for the rest, not yet sure.”

  Mother shook their hands and wished them well.

  When he was once more alone, he saw the ghost of Aviva Bushovsky.

  “Uncle, you caused all this. So much death, all on your head.”

  He whispered back, “I did what I thought best for Israel.”

  She shook her head. “You never learn. You were the one who proposed Bug-Lok to Gilbert Greenfield. Because of Bug-Lok, you’ve been forced out of your work as a spymaster. And even now, you work your will outside the government’s purview.”

  Mother stood silent. He sighed, thinking how he now controlled a mercenary army, Kravgruppe, via Avram Shimmel.

  The ghost did a little pirouette and bowed. “And now you are alone. Ruth Cohen adored you. I did, too. Avram Shimmel and Jon Sommers now hate you. Today, when your five closest friends visited, they showed you how badly you’ve behaved. You’re finally finished and truly alone. All your old friends and all his subordinates have ceased to belong to your world.”

  Mother cried.

  Aviva Bushovsky’s ghost danced across the office as she laughed at him.

  Chapter Forty-Four