Several hours passed. He began to wonder if he had made a mistake coming to Tel Aviv and should have simply stayed in the States. A woman came to the door, the same blonde woman who had sat at Daniel’s right. She was lithe and athletic with a fierce, barely-in-check intensity to her, and there was no friendliness in her eyes or tone.
“Come with me.” She turned without waiting to see if he followed.
The woman led him back to the conference room, where Rachel and two of the instructors he had fought sat with Daniel. The man he had kicked in the head had an ugly-looking bruise and goose egg on his temple. For his part, Stryker’s right eye was swollen nearly shut.
“What exactly happened?” Daniel asked.
Stryker began to answer, but the instructor with the bruised head beat him to it. “Mr. Stryker suggested we skip the training and go straight to a final test. He fought both of us and Efraim at the same time. He fights like a whirlwind. He could have killed Efraim.”
Then, to Stryker’s surprise, the man smiled. “But he didn’t. He saved Efraim’s life. As far as I’m concerned, I would fight beside this man any time.”
“That goes for me as well,” the other instructor said.
Daniel appeared pensive. The woman who had escorted Stryker had sunk into the chair at Daniel’s right once more, and now she whispered into his ear. Daniel nodded and finally turned to Stryker. “You were not just in Special Forces?”
“No. Delta.”
Daniel nodded again. “No more training or evaluation will be necessary. I am satisfied.”
“If it’s all the same, I would like another turn on the mats.”
Daniel looked surprised. “You want another chance to kill my men?”
“Knife fighting,” Stryker said. He swiveled in his chair to smile at Rachel. “I have certain skills, but your people have a reputation for being among the most dangerous in the world. I’d like a chance to learn from the best.”
“So be it, then. Sara and Rachel are our main instructors in the use of knives. They are fast and lethal.” Daniel paused. “They are Kidon.”
Kidon. The Mossad’s elite killing squad, the best of the best. Sara, the blonde woman, was looking at him with just the corner of her mouth quirking up. She had produced a thin silver blade from somewhere and was twirling it between her long fingers.
“Have your session with them,” Daniel said, “and after we will talk.”
Stryker followed Rachel and Sara to a smaller gym down the hallway. As Sara walked to a weapons locker to retrieve training knives, Rachel spun to face him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a Delta Operator?”
“Well, you didn’t tell me you were Kidon.”
She uncrossed her arms, frowning. “Fair enough. All right, look, we’ll need to start being more honest with each other if this is going to work.”
“Agreed. For now, just teach me what you know. I want to have your speed with a knife.” Sara approached, knives in hand. She appeared to be a few years older than Rachel, mid-thirties, and both her face and her hands were crisscrossed with innumerable thin scars.
“I don’t know if you’ve been formally introduced,” Rachel said. “Sara was my instructor. She can kill you faster than she can say hello.”
“I’d rather she said hello,” Stryker said.
Sara didn’t smile. She handed Stryker a knife.
“OK then,” Stryker said. “Let’s get started.”
For the next four hours, they worked Stryker relentlessly. He was a quick study, and by the end of the session, his knife-fighting skills had improved, and he had been no slouch with a blade to begin with. Still he did not come close to the skill level of these women. He wanted both of them on his side if things got bad. Rachel spoke often, encouragingly, but Sara said hardly a word. She pushed him brutally, slicing and stabbing and not letting up, and when at last they stopped, she gave her first sign of approval—a grudging nod of respect.
“You’ll do,” Sara said. She gave the knives to Rachel to put away and left the gym.
“She’s a serious one,” Stryker said.
“Lost just about her whole family,” Rachel said. “She doesn’t talk about it. Just wants to take out as many of our enemies as she can.”
“I can respect that.” He respected both of them, he realized, and the Mossad and Kidon in general, when he thought about it, despite the way they had handled this meeting. They knew now how far he would go and what he was capable of. This was more valuable knowledge than anything they could read in a file, no matter how classified.
Stryker went back to his room to change clothes and wait for someone to call him to meet again with Daniel. He did not have to wait long. He had barely gotten changed when a man knocked on his door and beckoned him to follow.
The meeting occurred in another part of the building, in a more official-looking room with two unblinking men holding Tavor bullpup assault rifles posted outside the door. Inside were computer terminals, monitors, and white boards covered with maps, blueprints, and photographs. Around a table, Daniel, Rachel, Sara, and five other men were seated. Stryker was the last to sit, and Daniel began the meeting.
“What I’m about to discuss is at the very highest level of security clearance. The information cannot leave this room.” He stared directly at Stryker. “The Mossad has never before shared its most sensitive information with anyone other than Kidon. It’s a testament both to the pressure of the times and the way you have handled yourself that we are breaking that tradition now.”
Stryker nodded. “I know how to keep secrets. I will never reveal what is said in this meeting without permission.”
Daniel gestured to a balding, middle-aged man who passed out folders containing reports and photos. Daniel asked everyone to read the files and in ten minutes they would open up the meeting for discussion.
Stryker opened his copy and quickly found a picture of Herman Kaesar along with numerous other people he did not recognize. There were intelligence briefings and classified reports, mostly spanning the last eighteen months but some going back to the early 1990s. There was also a stack of photographs showing bomb sites and victims post-detonation—grisly, graphic pictures of rubble, dismembered bodies, adults and children dead and dying. Ten minutes passed, and Daniel began speaking.
“Mr. Stryker, we are Israelis, and you are an American. We in Israel live every day not knowing if we will even exist tomorrow. In your country, there are threats, but your country is strong and armed with distance between your enemies. We, on the other hand, exist by our intelligence and our caution.”
“And by America’s backing,” Stryker couldn’t help adding.
“Yes. But we never have the luxury of being complacent or, as you might say, taking a vacation.” Daniel paused. All eyes were on Stryker. “I watched you closely as you went through your folder, Mr. Stryker, and you never winced or frowned or showed any emotion. The pictures show the effects of bombs on our children and civilians, our loved ones. How can you look at them and feel nothing?”
Stryker stared at Daniel, his pulse rate rising. He had to consciously keep his voice level. “I’ve seen what these pictures show. I see images like these when I close my eyes. I have been there, and I have lost friends and loved ones.” He drew a slow breath. “I joined the Army because of 9/11. Your people are not the only ones who have known loss, or fear, or anger. I’ve killed many men while looking into their eyes through my riflescope. And now you ask me how I can feel nothing? I do feel one thing. I have a resolve to kill those who need killing, and I have the skills to do it.”
Stryker realized his hands were trembling from the accusation. Daniel’s words had gone under his skin in a way few things did. Looking up, he found Rachel’s eyes, and she was watching him again with something between sympathy and respect—understanding, perhaps.
She gave a small nod.
“I believe you,” Daniel said. “And you have shown that you can work with a team, trusted both to pro
tect them and be protected. I suggest that we work together, at least on those projects we agree on. We can start there and let things evolve as they will. In the meantime, we will also help you track down those responsible for your information leaks.”
“Why do you need my help?” Stryker asked.
“You are the only one of us that is American. We have contacts in the US, but you will be able to do things that are difficult for us, particularly with your skill set.”
“Are Americans at risk?”
“We believe the next attacks will be in the United States,” Daniel said. “We have been following an Iranian who we believe is responsible for a number of bombings over the past two decades.”
“How much time do we have?”
“Perhaps six months. Perhaps less. We are not sure of the details. But there is chatter, and it’s clear that Iran is involved with Middle Eastern backing.”
“Is that the reason you are interested in Kaesar?” Stryker said.
“Yes.”
Stryker looked at the faces around the table and saw pure determination written on each. Even Sara gazed back at him now with quiet acceptance. “I will join you,” he said. “Whom will I report to?”
“In this team we are all equals,” Daniel said. He then told the group that Mossad Intelligence had confirmed Herman Kaesar moved money from a wealthy Pakistani into the United States, laundered the money, and moved most back to off-shore accounts involving Iran, Hezbollah, and others. These groups were coordinated by an Iranian whose full name remained unknown, and no pictures of him existed. The Mossad believed terror sleeper cells throughout Europe and the United States were being activated in anticipation of an Israeli-Iran War. The terror attacks in the United States would make sure the United States paid a price for backing Israel.
“That is where things stand,” Daniel finished. “Are you still glad you joined us, Mr. Stryker?”
He closed the file before him, bulging with photographs of death and destruction. They had to make sure the file grew no larger. “Nowhere I’d rather be.”
Chapter 10
New York City, New York
October 2009
Rachel was asleep on the couch in the New York safe house when the secure phone rang. Stryker answered; it was Kaesar, calling after his trip to London. They arranged a meeting while Rachel stirred and stretched, like a cat uncurling in the sun.
Stryker wrote down directions and glanced up to see Rachel looking at him with sleepy eyes. “Somebody’s getting lax,” he said with a smile. “Maybe I should just go while you finish your nap.”
She launched off the sofa and knocked him against the wall. She pinned him with the length of her body, eyes narrowed, the side of her arm wedged up against his windpipe. Her mouth opened to make some smart remark in response, when she apparently noticed his grin and realized he was enjoying himself. Rachel released him and stood back, shaking her head and fighting a smile.
“Focus, Stryker,” she said. She walked into the bathroom to get ready for their meeting with Kaesar.
Rachel and Stryker had left Tel Aviv while the rest of the Kidon team remained in Israel making arrangements for supplies needed to hunt down terror cells in the United States. The problem involved not only securing all needed equipment but also figuring out ways to smuggle items into the country. They decided to move supplies in small quantities through Canada.
Because no one knew the time and place for any of the planned attacks, safe houses and storage space would be spread out.
Stryker and Rachel met Kaesar in Central Park. They wore masks, as Kaesar had never seen their faces, and Rachel watched for followers or security, but he came alone. Stryker called Kaesar and had him move to a new location as an extra precaution, and they picked him up in a car and drove him to a nearby safe house.
They were uninterrupted as they discussed Kaesar’s meeting in London. When asked about the terror groups and the Iranian connection, Kaesar told them his Pakistani contact, Seif, would not name any names.
“I tried,” Kaesar said. “Please leave my family out of this. Seif would not budge.”
Stryker and Rachel had expected this; the main objective had always been to have him followed. Daniel had told them the Mossad was able to positively identify Seif, verifying Kaesar’s story, as well as a few associates and armed security traveling with him. Seif worked for the wealthy Prince Turki Assiri and had other financial interests in the Gulf Region. He had operated as an Islamic banker and did business with the Russians and members of Iran’s ruling regime. Daniel had hinted that Seif would no longer be a concern.
“You just keep doing what we tell you, Herman, and everyone will go about their lives.”
“I’m not so sure. I got a call as soon as I was back in New York. An old associate.” His voice was high and frightened, and a drop of sweat ran from his forehead down over his face. “He told me Seif had disappeared, and no one has seen him for days.”
Stryker was not terribly surprised to hear this; he suspected the Mossad. “You will not be harmed as long as you cooperate, but we still want bank account information and the name of Seif’s replacement.”
“I believe the replacement will be a man named Fayez. I can call you when we make contact.”
“Good. See that you do.”
They blindfolded Kaesar, drove him several blocks away and released him.
After waiting six hours at their safe house due to the time difference, Stryker and Rachel placed a secure call to Daniel. He told them he had the other members in his office and began the briefing by bringing Stryker and Rachel up to date on Seif.
“We’ve learned information confirming pending attacks in the United States and Europe,” Daniel said. “We believe the financing for the attacks is being provided by a Russian and a Pakistani Prince, most likely Turki Assiri. Our team is still trying to identify the Russian as well as a second man seen meeting with Seif in London.”
Rachel spoke up. “According to Kaesar, the likely replacement for Seif is a man named Fayez. It’s possible that’s who Seif met with.”
“All right. We’ll follow up and see what we can learn about this Fayez.” Daniel paused. “There’s another player, one who seems to be in the shadows of every operation and connection. All we know about him is that he’s Iranian, and he’s referred to as Ali. That’s all we have. Our major focus needs to be identifying the target locations for the first attacks and finding this Iranian.”
“Understood,” Stryker said.
The call ended. For a moment, he and Rachel sat in tense silence. There were still so many unknowns. The first attack might take place tomorrow and they would be powerless to stop it.
“I don’t even know what to do next,” Rachel eventually said. “We need dinner.”
“Sorry?”
“Come on. We have to eat sometime, so let’s find a place to relax and talk.” He stood and moved toward his travel bag. “Get dressed up. We’re going someplace nice.”
About twenty minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom. She had put her hair up and wore a lacey shawl and a blue cocktail dress with a slit up one side. She looked stunning, and from the charming smile that she gave when he stared at her, she knew it.
“Shall we go?” Rachel went to the door and stood before it until he opened it for her, and then she swept through in high heels.
No wonder she’s dangerous, he thought.
They drove to Le Bernardin on 51st Street, one of the best restaurants in New York City.
Even better, it was private. Stryker ordered a bottle of Chateau Cos-d’Estournel. Rachel’s eyebrows raised—perhaps she saw the price on the wine list—and Stryker felt compelled to explain.
“I have a substantial inheritance from my parents,” he said. “It gives me the ability to go to places like this.”
“It’s very nice,” she said in a small voice. Her confidence on display in the safe house had evaporated in the fancy surroundings, leaving about the time one of t
he staff asked to take her shawl and she looked as if she wondered whether she would get it back. At the table, she picked up the knife from beside her plate and kept fidgeting with it as if its familiarity gave her comfort.
“You can relax,” he said. “Be yourself.”
She smiled. “At my pay grade, I could never afford luxury like this. So, hey, I guess I should go all out. Lobster it is.”
The server brought their wine and took their order, and for a few minutes they simply sipped and enjoyed the quiet. After the first glass, she seemed to relax and even set down the knife. He watched her, and whenever she looked at him and caught his eyes, a bit more color seemed to come into her face, though perhaps it was the wine.
Stryker refilled her glass. “Rachel, what do you have planned for your life? Beyond all this, I mean.”
He suspected she might shut down, a guarded wall going up, but instead she gave him a puzzled, thoughtful expression. “I’ve never given it much thought, I guess. It’s a little overwhelming to think about.”
“I’ve had similar issues since getting out of the military. I hoped you might have some insight.”
“I never believed I would live long in my type of work, so what was the point of planning, you know? I suppose at this stage I’ve given up hope of having a regular life. It’s part of the price you pay.” Her eyes fell to her glass, watching the red liquid swirl. “As long as there are bad people doing evil things to those I love, I plan to make a difference. Even if it costs my life.”
Stryker identified with her completely, although he wasn’t sure what to say in response. He decided on lighter conversation and asked about hobbies and interests, and it turned out she played the violin and was an artist. As they drank more wine, they got around to telling funny stories from their pasts. The food arrived, and Rachel said it was the best she had ever tasted. Stryker had never seen her smile so sincerely. There usually seemed to be a degree of hurt behind her smile, but this one came uninhibited. They finished the bottle of wine while they were still eating.
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