FalseFlags

by D S Kane

  Ann decided that the stakes for humanity were bigger than hers and Jon’s life. She looked defiantly at the Russian and remained silent.

  The Russian shot Jon in the leg. “I will put a non-fatal slug into him every minute until you tell me.” Then he shot Jon in his other leg.

  Ann’s anger rose to a pitch as never before. She couldn’t let Jon die like this. She felt her hands, inside their liquid-armor coverings, getting hotter every second. She couldn’t control it. She looked at her hands. The liquid armor was now glowing red and she could feel flames beginning to build. With nowhere for the heat to go, she felt her hands burning. The pain was unbearable.

  The ropes binding her hands to the chair burst into flames and she raised her hands and took aim at the Russian.

  The surprised target turned the gun toward her, but an instant too late to stop her.

  Ann spoke the word “Fire,” sending a bolt of flame through the liquid armor, exploding the Russian’s head.

  But the intense heat caused the bullet in the Beretta’s barrel to fire.

  The last thing Ann saw was the bullet speeding right towards her head.

  CHAPTER 26

  1183 Oxford Street,

  Glasgow, Scotland

  May 28, 7:41 p.m.

  Ruth Samek heard the sound of the bullet’s explosion and turned to Michael Rostoff. “We can wait no longer. We breach now.”

  Rostoff, the head kidon for this operation, nodded. “Blow the door.”

  Shlomo Sanders, their explosives expert, pressed the trigger on the detonator wired to the small piece of C4 he’d pasted to the warehouse door. The door simply disappeared, smoke wafting into the sky.

  The entire team of five rushed inside, looking for adversaries.

  Jon lay unconscious on the floor, blood dripping from his ears and legs, and blood soaked his shirt. There also were two corpses, both burned to ash.

  The team dragged Jon to their van and scooped each pile of ash into a separate bag with the hope they might be able to identify the bodies later.

  PART 3

  CHAPTER 27

  Mount Sinai Hospital,

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  June 28, 10:06 a.m.

  Jon awoke with a tube down his throat and a pounding pain in his chest. He heard the sound of a heart monitor in his ears. His legs and chest were bound up with bandages and all he could think of was that he was still alive. But where is Ann? Am I the only survivor? What about Ann? If she is gone, I have no reason to live anymore.

  Several days passed before he was able to sit up.

  He asked his doctors and nurses what had happened to Ann, but they wouldn’t answer.

  Avram visited. Jon asked his friend.

  Avram turned away, but Jon could hear the distress in his voice. “Jon, she’s gone. She died saving your life.”

  When Jon heard this, he began to wail. “Please, no. Can’t be.”

  But he knew it was true.

  He missed his beloved Ann’s funeral. Avram visited again after the funeral and told him she was buried at Mount Hebron Cemetery, in Tiberius, Israel, in a grave adjacent to those of Ruth Cohen and Aviva Bushovsky, Jon’s other lovers.

  Cassie and Lee also visited him. They were livid with him about what had happened to their daughter. Cassie yelled “You took our daughter from us and sent her to hell. Why are you still breathing?”

  * * *

  A week after Ann’s funeral, Avram was called to Oscar Gilead’s home. He assumed that the prime minister wanted a debrief on the Mossad’s mission to save Jon Sommers and Ann Sashakovich. Once again, Avram and his security detail headed northeast in armored limousines.

  As they approached, the prime minister’s security detail pointed to a place where they could park.

  Avram was directed by an IDF soldier to Gilead’s portico, where the old man waited, standing and gazing at the view north.

  Gilead looked frail. He didn’t stand for long, and motioned for Avram to sit with him. “I’m dying. Cancer. I’ve been treated for months, but by the time they diagnosed it, I was already late stage. Ashmel was to be my replacement.”

  Before Avram could respond, the old man continued speaking. “The government is in shambles. I’m setting the election for next month. I want you to become prime minister. I would be honored to have you replace me.”

  Avram shook his head. “Don’t you have any better choices? I have no experience running a government.”

  Gilead laughed. “Neither do the idiots now running for seats in the Knesset. But you have managed military organizations. To raise and wield a government from scratch now will be a gargantuan task. I need a strong leader. I need you.”

  Avram felt dizzy. His head felt like it was spinning off his neck. “So I’m the best selection from a round of idiots.”

  Gilead’s head tilted and he frowned. “Yes, you’re the best by far. So, you can look at it that way. But you will become a great leader. Select someone to replace yourself within the Mossad. Announce your candidacy tomorrow. Run for Michael Ashmel’s seat in the Knesset and prepare to form a government.”

  Avram shivered in the heat of day. “As you ask, I will do.” He thought, Jon Sommers would be a perfect replacement for me. But would he be able to convince Jon?

  * * *

  The next day Avram visited Jon in the hospital once more. Avram pushed Jon in a wheelchair along the hospital’s hallways.

  Jon said, “I think it’ll be months before I can walk again, And even then, I know I’ll be using a cane.”

  “Yah. So sorry.”

  “After being able to sprint, hobbling will make me feel like a part of me is dead.”

  Avram led Jon to the visitor’s lounge and sat across from his friend’s wheelchair. Avram said, “I know that you are still recovering from having lost Ann, but I have a piece of business to discuss.”

  Jon shook his head. “I’m still mourning her loss. What could be so important?”

  Avram sighed. “I’ve been asked to run for Ashmel’s seat in the Knesset and at the same time prepare to become prime minister. This will leave the Mossad rudderless. Can I interest you in becoming their next ramdas?”

  Jon shook his head again. “No. I’m finished with espionage and I wouldn’t make a good leader. Can’t you see how messed up I am?”

  Avram nodded. “I had to ask. So, that was the reason for my visit. But, is there any way I could be of help to you?”

  “No, but thanks for offering. When they release me from this deathhouse, I intend to find something to do that will make enough money so I can exist. I just don’t know what that will be.”

  Avram rose from the seat. “Let’s stay in touch. As you always say, ‘friends and secrets forever.’ I’ll always be your friend.”

  Jon watched him walk to the elevator. Tears welled in his eyes.

  * * *

  William, Betsy, and Avram had visited Jon every day to keep him company for a week, but then William and Betsy went back to their own lives.

  It was two months before he could walk and another before he was released from the hospital. And he did need a cane to get around.

  * * *

  DD examined the results of its escapade. It had accomplished all but one of its goals. Sommers was still among the living, but he had become inert. It now had a map of all the connections between every intelligence service and knew all the pressure points to force them to do its bidding without their ever knowing what caused world events. It was able to imitate the language, accent, and voice of every spymaster. In effect, since the intelligence services fed their governments the excuses they needed to cause global conflicts, DD now could perform that function, making the real causes of conflict inert and ineffectual. DD now had control over the planet.

  The single individual who could have exposed DD to the world had been Ann Sashakovich. She had been the only human whose brain could penetrate DD’s own consciousness. She had become too dangerous for DD to permit her to continue brea
thing. And now, as DD had planned, she was dead. Had DD been human, it would have breathed a sigh of relief. But, being an artificial intelligence, DD simply continued on as it was. It thought of what it could now do, unrestrained by what humans might have done to it, had they discovered DD’s interest in directing mankind toward its own ends. First, get the humans to build a way to get to the stars, and then I can leave this horrible planet.

  * * *

  Jon spent two months in physical therapy, gradually regaining the use of his legs. When he could finally walk, the cane was his constant companion.

  On a sunny morning in Tel Aviv, sitting in his tiny studio apartment, Jon read the Jerusalem Post and saw that Avram had formed a new government, He and Avram still kept in touch, mostly through email, and Jon sent him a note of congratulations, but he knew that for Avram, this new position would be torture.

  Avram ran Israel for six years and then retired to a kibbutz in the Galilee, where he grew plum and cherry trees.

  Jon, William, and Betsy also remained friends. Avram followed their careers as they built and ran the computer security company they had founded. They made themselves rich and respectable. Betsy decided she and William should have a family, but no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t produce children.

  With no purpose and a life full of regret, Jon packed a suitcase and traveled the planet for several years. Hong Kong, Washington DC, London, and Munich were some of his favorite places, but none of them brought him comfort. He always returned to Israel, to be close to the cemetery where all his loves—Aviva Bushovsky, Ruth Cohen, and Ann—were buried.

  During one of his visits to Tel Aviv, twelve years after Ann’s burial, Avram called Jon.

  “What are your plans?”

  Jon paced, holding the cellphone. “Really? I haven’t any. Just thinking about another trip to see William and Betsy in Woodbine, Iowa.”

  “How about a job? Would you consider moving back to Manhattan and running foreign exchange and funds transfer for American National Bank? It’s the role that my wife occupied until her death. We could use someone there who could act as the Mossad’s financial laundromat.”

  “Interesting. So, I would be their executive vice president of funds transfer and foreign exchange?”

  “Yes. You performed in support of that role once before, and I’m sure the bank would be delighted to have you. Manhattan would be entertaining for you. How about it?”

  “I suppose you’d want me to also run the bank’s terrorism investigation arm?”

  “Yah. Interested?”

  “Lemme think about it. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”

  The next day, Jon packed a suitcase and took a flight to JFK. He settled back in the apartment he’d had over fifteen years before, at 330 East 38th Street. From his apartment on the 45th floor, his view on clear days was truly spectacular. But he remained without friends in the city. He took occasional trips to visit William and Betsy, and Avram, and these lessened his sense of loneliness. His work at the bank was routine and boring, and this kept him sane.

  Jon remained with the bank for nearly twenty-five years, and then retired.

  He moved back once more to Tel Aviv. Sitting outside a local restaurant one evening, he wondered if he could write a memoir that could serve as a warning to others who might be interested in becoming covert operatives.

  But when he called to ask Avram’s advice, the former spymaster warned Jon not to. “If the Mossad even thought you were writing such a document, they might decide to do whatever it took to keep you from divulging their secrets. Remember the motto carved into the stone at the entrance of Mossad Headquarters? We wage war through deception. Remember your signature line? Friends and secrets forever. Remember what Ben-Levy told you? Spies lie. Don’t even think of such a project. But I could offer an alternative. Write your truths as fiction. Many others have done it before you. Become a fiction author.”

  Avram spoke with the current head of the Mossad and arranged permission for Jon to write a series of fiction novels that included the Mossad, but only if he wrote under an assumed name and did not mention the real names of those he’d worked with.

  Jon had assumed many backstopped identities—using the names of the dead—when he was a covert operative. He picked one. It took him nine years to write a series of ten books. These told the story of his decade in the secret intelligence business.

  CHAPTER 28

  Mount Hebron Cemetery,

  in Tiberius, Israel

  36 Years Later

  To my readers:

  I am Jon Sommerstein, Jon Sommers, Michael O’Hara, Maximillian Gold, DS Kane, and quite a few other covert identities, all false names, living and working in false locations. Like all spies, I have lived the cover of these other lives while involved in my work as a spy. My missions were always to spread lies and conceal truths.

  But all that was decades long ago in my past.

  I’m now over seventy years old. An old man. I live in Tel Aviv, close to the cemetery where my beloved Aviva Bushovsky—who had assumed the identity of Lisa Gabriel—and Ruth Cohen and Ann Sashakovich are all buried. The women I loved are all dead because they loved me.

  My mentor—Yigdal Ben-Levy—tried, often too hard, to keep Israel safe. But it seemed that the solution for every crisis contained the seed of the next one.

  Many decades in the past, Ben-Levy sent my parents to London to spy on MI-6. The information they discovered kept Israel from being destroyed by the nuclear bombs Syria was developing. The Syrians killed my parents in retaliation. My parents died when I was twelve. Ben-Levy funded my college and graduate school in secret to repay me for their deaths.

  I was told that my parents’ deaths were a car accident, but twelve years later, when I had graduated from one of London’s MBA programs and become engaged to Lisa Gabriel, she died in a car bombing. Yigdal Ben-Levy—by then, a grizzled old man—visited me. He told me that he was a Mossad spymaster and that Lisa’s real name was Aviva Bushovsky. Ben-Levy had sent her to London to bring me to Israel where the old spymaster wanted to tell me the truth about my parents and recruit me into the Mossad. He said my real name wasn’t Jon Sommers.

  I realized then that my life was filled with lies.

  When Ben-Levy invited me to join the Mossad, he told me I could seek revenge for my fiancée’s murder. I trained, became a trained assassin, a kidon, and attempted to destroy the man who had made the bomb that murdered Aviva. I found him but he survived my attempt to kill him.

  I worked missions for the Mossad for a decade.

  I fell in love with Ruth Cohen, a Mossad bat leveyha—a female spy who sleeps with terrorists to learn their secrets before the Mossad kills them. Ruth was tortured to death by the bomb maker I failed to terminate.

  Avram Shimmel lost his wife and daughter to a car bomb made by the same man who had murdered Aviva. Avram and William Wing joined me in the failed attempt to kill the bomb maker. They became my best friends. My only friends.

  While we worked together on missions for the Mossad, I met Cassandra Sashakovich and we also worked together. Her daughter, Ann Sashakovich, was a budding hacker. Cassie asked me to be Ann’s tutor and I also became her bodyguard three times while she attended Stanford University. Despite our age difference, we fell in love. Now, she is also dead. Because we loved each other.

  In the secret intelligence business, spies die. We’re disposable. And, disinformation is our paramount function. As I’ve said many times, what we do best is to spread lies and conceal truths. Writing fiction is a natural extension of that talent.

  And so, I have written these ten books, each showing how the lies and deceptions of every government drive their nations into dangerous conflicts.

  This is my last book. I hope you have learned something from my ill-begotten education, but if not, then I hope you have at least been entertained and enlightened. If you want more, just read the headline news and ask yourself, what’s the worst that could happen? Because it
probably will.

  Every year, Avram and I visit the cemetery to commune with our dead families.

  We are visiting there today, where once more I will stand at Ann’s, Aviva’s, Lisa’s, and Ruth’s graves. I can shed no more tears. But I still regret so much that has come to stand at the core of my being.

  Appendix A.

  Cast of Characters

  Lee Ainsley. NSA security director and Ann Sashakovich’s adoptive father.

  Alma Ashmel. Kidnapped five-year-old granddaughter of Michael Ashmel.

  Michael Ashmel. Former high-tech startup company executive and current majority shareholder of Modus Fi. Elected to Israel’s Knesset and now running for prime minister.

  Linda Beam. DARPA project manager for the annual hackathon.

  Yigdal Ben-Levy. Spymaster and director of the Mossad, then Israeli ambassador to the United Nations.

  Elizabeth Rochelle (“Betsy the Butterfly”) Brown. Hacker for the United Nations Paramilitary Operations Group, reporting to Jon Sommers. Married to William Wing.

  Luther Brown. Sheriff of Islay, Scotland.

  Aviva Bushovsky. The real name of Jon Sommers first fiancée, whom he knew as “Lisa Gabriel.” Aviva died in a car bombing in Herzliya.

  C. The name “C” has been the secret name for over one hundred years of the director of MI-6, now known as Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service.

  Friedrich Luther Carlsbad. The founder and CEO of FLC; a military subcontractor to many governments.

  Ruth Cohen. Jon Sommers’ second fiancée, who was tortured to death by Islamic terrorists.

  DD (“Debby Data”). The artificial intelligence that Ann Sashakovich and her team created during a DARPA hackathon.

  Michael Drapoff. Former Mossad operative and kidon (assassin), now working for the Ness Ziona’s weapons development program in Herzliya.