The Target

by Brad Taylor

  He said, “What’s the Caesarea saying?”

  Caesarea was the select unit that conducted Mossad special operations, and its head was referred to by the same name. It was the wing that did covert action—compartmented from all other Mossad activities—and the one to which the Samson team answered. The commander was the man who had dictated the parameters of the operation in Amman. And in so doing, had dictated its failure.

  Aaron’s secretary said, “Nothing. He came with the ramsad. They’re both in the conference room, waiting on you.”

  Great. No backup there.

  He stood and said, “Shoshana, would you like to meet the ramsad?”

  Taken aback, she said, “I’m not sure that’s my place.”

  Aaron laughed, putting on his jacket. He said, “It might be the only time, because I believe that this is the end of Samson.”

  She nodded, remaining mute.

  Daniel laughed at her reticence and said, “You showed courage in here. Might as well keep it going. Can I come?”

  Aaron moved to the door and said, “The more the merrier.” He opened it and made a show of waving his arm forward, saying, “Shoshana, it was good to know you. You can officially put on a resume that you were part of Samson. For all the good that will do.”

  Aaron led the way down a small hallway, the walls adorned with travel posters for the supposed tour company that employed them. He took a left, walking down a narrow corridor to a conference room door that looked nothing like the simple wooden ones of the offices. This one was steel, complete with a digital keypad. It was a specially shielded room, with copper wiring preventing any electronic emanations or penetration.

  The keypad went green and Aaron entered, finding two men inside: the ramsad and the head of Caesarea. Aaron remained nonplussed. To the ramsad, he said, “Sir, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit?”

  A man of about seventy, he’d been fighting for Israel since close to its inception, and had commanded Sayeret Matkal, the elite of the Israel Defense Forces. He had no aspirations at being chosen ramsad but had been brought forward after the debacle of Amman. Which could be both good and bad. As a Special Forces veteran, he might appreciate Samson’s pedigree, but the odds were just as good he would blame Aaron for the mess in Jordan. Sayeret units did not take failure lightly.

  The ramsad said, “I’m fairly sure you know why I’m here. The press reports and government inquisition of Amman have reached all the way to the prime minister. Someone has to pay.”

  Aaron nodded, thinking about throwing the Caesarea under the bus, but he simply said, “So it’s to be us? You can’t even announce it to the press. How will this matter?”

  The ramsad said, “No, you’re right. We can’t announce it. But we can let it leak. The population wants a sacrifice. An indication that we are correcting our deficiencies. But that’s not why I’m here. I have another problem. Something worthy of your attention.”

  Unsure of what he’d heard, Aaron glanced at Daniel. “So we’re disbanded?” Aaron said.

  “Yes. From the Mossad. But not from me.”

  “What’s that mean? Sir . . .”

  The ramsad said, “Shoshana, is it?”

  She jerked upright at her name, saying, “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re apparently wanted less in this organization than even the screw-ups of Samson.”

  For no reason whatsoever, Aaron immediately became protective, already believing she was Samson. Or maybe he wanted to defend his latent choice to accept her. He gathered himself and said, “Sir, maybe you should review the record before you begin casting aspersions.”

  The ramsad smiled and said, “No. Maybe you should look at who assigned her to you in the first place. I know the record. Did you accept her?”

  Confused, Aaron said, “Yes, sir. I did.”

  “Good. Because I know her skill. Something you will learn soon.”

  Now the entire Samson team was confused. None of them said a word.

  The ramsad said, “I have a mission for you, and it’s even outside the scope of the Mossad. Yes, you’re being cut free, and because of it, you can walk away, but I’m asking you not to. I’m asking you to take this on without the backing of the state of Israel.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment. In a measured tone, Aaron finally broke the silence. “We won’t do something heinous. If you’re looking for a team to do dirty work, you might want to look elsewhere. We don’t play for pay, cloaking ourselves in the flag of Israel.”

  The ramsad looked at Shoshana and said, “Is it the same for you? I hear you can be bought. Maybe not with money, but with other things.”

  Aaron glanced at her and saw the words strike a chord, but not in the way he would have expected. She seemed to fall into herself for a moment, then a darkness came out, spilling forward with a hatred he could feel from across the room, hinting at a hidden violence she was working to contain.

  She spit out, “You don’t own me, you shit, and nobody can buy what I have to offer. When I give what I have, it’s done freely, and I’m close to giving it to you.”

  The ramsad looked at the head of Caesarea and smiled. He said, “I told you.” Before Aaron could assimilate the change in conversation, the ramsad tossed a folder on the table. He said, “This is the targeting material for a man. We want Samson to kill him.”

  Aaron picked up the folder, saying, “We don’t kill on command.”

  “I understand that. At the end of the day, we must not succumb to the same temptations as the enemy. We must not become the enemy. But sometimes, rarely, we must do the unacceptable. This is one of those times.”

  Aaron flipped open the folder, seeing an ancient picture of a man in a Nazi SS uniform. He said, “What’s he done?”

  The ramsad said, “The man in that photo is Gunther Hoffmeister. He was the guard on the Wall of Death at Auschwitz. In addition to his duties as camp guard, leading our brethren to death in the gas chambers, he personally killed over five hundred people with his own rifle. None of them were Jews. All of them were accused of helping the Jewish population in the camp. Heroes who were attempting to stem the tide of the Holocaust. Nobody mourns their deaths. Common Polish peasants and Polish underground resistance groups who tried to stop the carnage. Now he will get his due.”

  Aaron stared at the face. The seeming innocence. He knew well the story of the Death Wall, having visited Auschwitz on one of his many tours in Mossad. After the Berlin Wall fell, it had been transformed into a monument, and what was inside was chilling.

  The wall was outside of Block 11, just down from the block where medical experiments were performed on the females. Built of simple wood to absorb the bullets and positioned in a brick courtyard, it had seen the death of thousands of people. An astronomical amount of murder in ordinary times, but compared to the butchery of Auschwitz, it was a drop in the bucket.

  He’d seen the basins just inside Block 11, where the condemned laid their clothes before being led out naked. Seen the last vestiges of a human life before that life was taken. He’d wondered how anyone could continue, day after day, to do the crime.

  Now he was looking into the eyes of the man who had done so.

  The ramsad said, “His name now is Gunther Baumhauer, and he runs a winery in Argentina. Your mission is simple. Kill him.”

  Aaron said, “Why don’t we bring him here? Like Eichmann?”

  “We thought of that. Truth be told, after Argentina’s reluctance to help with the bombings there in ’94, I decided not to. Times have changed politically. Nobody cares about Nazis anymore. Nobody but us. I just want him dead.”

  Four years before, in 1994, a suicide bomber had conducted the greatest terrorist attack on Argentinian soil, killing eighty-one people at Asociación Mutual Israelita Argentina, a Jewish assembly building. Nobody had ever been charged, and nobody appeared to be look
ing into finding out why. It was the largest terrorist attack against the Jewish faith since the creation of the state of Israel, and the odds-on favorite was Hezbollah, but there was nothing Israel could do about it, and nobody else seemed to care. Aaron instinctively understood the interplay with the hit. Kill this man here and disappear, and send a signal to Argentina that Israel wasn’t impotent.

  He said, “Why wash us of the Mossad? This seems right up the Samson alley.”

  The ramsad glanced at the ceiling for a moment, then said, “This doesn’t leave the room.”

  “Of course.”

  “As ramsad, I have an enormous amount of power. But it isn’t infinite.”

  Aaron hesitated for a moment, then said, “Meaning you’ve been told no on this mission.”

  The ramsad smiled and nodded, saying, “Correct. But it still must be done. We’ll lose him if we dither.”

  Aaron said, “I’m not sure I want to take on a mission that the government of Israel has said wasn’t worth it.”

  The ramsad leaned forward and Aaron saw fire. “It is worth it. The politicians grow weak, but the thousands who bled beneath that wall demand vengeance.”

  Shoshana interrupted, saying, “We’ll do it.”

  Aaron snapped his head to her, saying, “Maybe you should wait and hear the fallout. These people aren’t asking because of our patriotism, although they’ll play on that. They’re asking because they look at us as a bullet. Once fired, they no longer care what happens.”

  The ramsad said, “Aaron, what you say is true, except I do care what happens to you. And, yes, I’m asking because of patriotism, but I won’t cut you free. You have my word.”

  Aaron glared at him, trying to generate disdain at the perceived hollowness of the statement, but in his heart, he wanted to believe. He did believe. It was why he served.

  Shoshana stole his moment, saying, “I’ll do it. Alone if I have to.”

  He saw the dark angel in her blossom again, and wondered about the Palestinian mission, where she’d refused to kill.

  He glanced at Daniel, and got a nod. Aaron returned to the ramsad and said, “Okay, sir. We’ll do it.”

  4

  Konrad took the long way around the block, circling the café where he was to meet his contact. Located in the trendy, hipster section of Buenos Aires known as Palermo Soho, the neighborhood maintained a healthy cross section of expats and tourists from all over the world, making the café a good location for the meeting.

  From across the street Konrad recognized his contact sitting outside, sipping espresso. It was the same arrogant asshole he’d dealt with in 1994. He was a short man of about five foot six, with a swarthy complexion and a neatly groomed beard that made him look more Italian dilettante than the Iranian Quds Force commander he really was.

  Konrad jogged across the street, seeing the man he knew as Carlos follow him with his eyes. He went by the hostess station, ignoring the woman behind the podium and tossing out that he was meeting someone. He looped around the interior until he was exiting again, this time to the courtyard outside.

  Carlos stood as Konrad advanced, holding out his hand. Konrad shook it, then sat down saying, “We agreed not to meet again for another week. This is risky.”

  Carlos said, “Not here. In Palermo, we look like everyone else.”

  “And so does the Mossad. I would think you, of all people, would understand their reach.”

  Carlos sat down, holding out his hand toward the other chair and saying, “That’s exactly why I wanted to meet. Argentina has done nothing about the AMIA attack, but the Mossad has not been quiet. They have killed four of the team, and continue to hunt them. I want that to stop.”

  Konrad was brought up short at the words. He said, “And how will you do that?”

  “I want to kill the station chief here. At the least it will slow them down, but more importantly, it will send a signal to those Zionist dogs to stop interfering with my men.”

  “Wait, wait. The reason you attacked the Jewish center was precisely because Israel convinced Argentina to stop helping you with nuclear technology. You got what you wanted out of that strike. Argentina is helping you again, and they haven’t lifted a finger to investigate the bombing.”

  “But the Mossad assassinate us with impunity, and that must stop. I will not hide anymore.”

  A waitress approached, and Carlos grew quiet. Konrad ordered an espresso, waiting until she’d gone out of earshot before saying, “What do you want with me?”

  “The same thing. I need a car built. I have the explosives.” He slid a key across the table and said, “At a locker in the bus station. Not enough to do what we did to the Jewish center, but this time, it will be for a single man.”

  Konrad took the key and said, “You’re really pushing their patience. Argentina can’t allow another terrorist attack without a response.”

  “I don’t think so. It’s been four years, and this time we aren’t looking for massive carnage. We’re looking for one death. The killing of a man belonging to the organization that brought Eichmann to the Zionist gallows. I would think that would matter to you, given your pedigree.”

  Konrad said, “I’ll have to ask my father. I can’t make this decision unilaterally.”

  “Okay. One other thing: I don’t have a martyr here, like last time. I need the vehicle to be rigged to detonate remotely. Through a radio or some other means. Can you do that?”

  Konrad nodded and said, “Yes, actually, Derek’s been experimenting. He thinks it can be done with a cell phone. The usage will be limited to Buenos Aires because you’ll have to have cell coverage to initiate.”

  “That will be fine. I don’t envision we’ll need it outside of the city, which brings up another point: I need the pattern of life for the station chief. I need to know where to target him.” He slid another key across the table and said, “That key is to a safe-deposit box. It holds enough money to make it worth your while.”

  Konrad left the key where it lay, saying, “We provide support. You provide the action. I don’t have men trained to do what you ask. We’re technicians. We build things. We don’t do operations.”

  “My men, obviously, can’t do it. They are all known to him, and are being tracked. Even if I could get some unknowns here, they would stand out because of their ethnicity. Look, all we need is a pattern. Which roads does he use each morning and afternoon? I’m not asking you to build a target package. Just give me a location.”

  Konrad took the second key and said, “I’ll confer with my father. How soon do you need the vehicle?”

  “No timeline. His pattern will drive that. I guess I need the vehicle when you have the pattern. Say a week?”

  “Okay. I’ll get back to you by the end of the day.”

  5

  Aaron came out of the bathroom, finding Shoshana and Daniel arguing over their respective bedrooms. They stopped when he entered the den. He said, “Seems to be a pretty good safe house. Only one shower, but the kitchen functions and everyone gets their own bedroom.”

  Daniel said, “She threw her bags in my room.”

  Shoshana said, “He wasn’t even in the room. He went to the other room first, and I went to mine. I can’t help it if he decided he didn’t like what he found. First come, first served.”

  Daniel said, “Bullshit. Seniority gets first choice. I noticed you didn’t move immediately to the master bedroom, because you knew that was Aaron’s. I get second pick.”

  Aaron thought, These two act like teenage siblings, but he knew it would be left to him to resolve, and he didn’t need resentment from either one before they had gelled as a team. He said, “Toss a coin. The winner gets the master. The loser gets his choice. I’ll take what’s left.”

  Daniel and Shoshana looked at each other in embarrassment, the pettiness of their argument sinking in. Shoshana said, “He c
an have the room.”

  Daniel followed with, “She’s already started unpacking. Forget about it.”

  Before they could start arguing in reverse, Aaron said, “So it’s settled. Get your stuff unpacked. We need to start planning immediately.”

  Ten minutes later, Daniel and Shoshana entered the kitchen to find Aaron at the table, a folder in front of him, some type of uniform hanging from a chair, and a vial of clear liquid sitting in the center of the table.

  They took a seat and he said, “Okay, this is going to be a quick in-and-out thing. The ramsad has already laid the groundwork for us, and it’s pretty simple. Gunther’s seventy-fourth birthday is this week. As he does every single year, he will have dinner with his family at a restaurant called Espigón de Pescadores, on the coast next to Playa Bristol.” He reached over and held up the uniform, saying, “You, Shoshana, will be working there.” He saw her face and said, “Don’t worry. You’ve already been hired. Your first day is today. This afternoon.”

  She said, “Aaron, my Spanish is very, very weak. I won’t be able to do the job.”

  “You’re just a hostess. Nobody is hired as a waitress. You have to work your way up to that position. Your responsibility is to keep the water filled, bring out the food, and do things like provide the pepper for the salads. You won’t have to talk.”

  She nodded hesitantly and he smiled. “I have no doubt you can do it.”

  When she didn’t reply, Daniel said, “How did you bed all of those Palestinians? Surely that was playacting as well. You are Mossad, correct?”

  Aaron saw the darkness spread in her, and for a split second he worried for Daniel’s safety. So did Daniel. The rage was so palpable that he reflexively slid his chair back.