by JT Sawyer
“What caused them to part ways? In my experience, guys like that are tighter than brothers.”
“I never really knew. I just remember things being so good between them and then all of a sudden they stopped coming over.” Dev shrugged her shoulders. “It wasn’t something I wanted to press my father on.”
“Either way, it sounds like quite a diverse group of talented men,” said Mitch, readjusting his bow-tie for a fourth time while his eyes glared at the mirror as if it was conspiring against him.
“Uri was always the fast-talking schmoozer out of the three. It was he who initially helped my father gain some of his early contracts for Gideon.”
“And Victor—is he gonna be there tonight too?”
“Victor—no, he disappeared a few years ago. He used to come over to our house for dinner when I was younger and tell me fantastic stories about adventures he had in some far-flung place I’d never heard of. To me he was my ‘Uncle Vic.’”
Dev applied a faint touch of red lipstick. “But then he stopped visiting and we never heard from him again. My mother said he was doing relief work in Africa and his village was shelled by rebels.” Her voice grew quiet and the pace of her movement slowed. “She and my father assumed he died, based on the reports, since we never heard from him again.”
Mitch raised an eyebrow at her then finished wrangling his bow-tie in place. He didn’t want to linger too long on the past for fear of causing Dev to get enveloped again in the dark clouds of sorrow she had been pretending to ignore. He knew it was tearing her up inside but she responded to turmoil the way she always did, by immersing herself further into Gideon and the next mission.
He shrugged back his shoulders with a grunt of satisfaction, admiring his handiwork with the bow-tie. “Not bad. Just glad I’m only going to be wearing this strangulation device for a few hours before we shove off to Romania.”
She looked over at him and gave a crooked smile. “You can lasso cattle and skin an elk but that bow-tie nearly did you in. I honestly thought you were gonna have some words with your old pal.” She nodded her chin at the porch outside where a punching bag was suspended from the rafters.
“You sayin’ I got a temper?”
“Like a rattlesnake in August.”
He came up behind her and gently squeezed his arms around her, resting his smoothly shaved chin on her bare shoulder. “But not when I’m with you.”
She chuckled, then turned around to face him, her expression softening as she kissed him. “Uh-huh, until I start delegating orders and you remember that you have to listen to your new boss.”
“Yeah, that lady CEO can sure be a handful. I think a raise might be in order if I’m to continue working under such demanding conditions.”
Dev shoved him back and smiled while playfully faking an uppercut to his chin.
Mitch parried and went into a boxing stance, weaving around her. “Damn, girl, you must know your Krav Maga doesn’t stand a chance against my Filipino Martial Arts training.” He tapped her on the shoulder and jumped back out of range. “I don’t want you to show up at this event tonight looking frazzled.”
“You mean like you were a few minutes ago, wrestling that bow-tie into submission.” She flung her purse from the counter towards him. “Here, do something useful and hold this for a minute, cowboy. I have to get my cellphone and text Petra a few more details about our sunrise flight, then we can be on our way.”
He stopped bobbing and clutched the purse as, mesmerized, he watched her walk away, her black high heels clanking on the tiled floor.
“A rematch later then?”
“You’re on,” she said, turning with a wry smile.
Chapter 5
Forty minutes later, the Gideon company limousine planted them on the curb before the Norman Hotel in the heart of downtown Tel Aviv. With Uri Belkin certain to be ushered in as the newest member of the Knesset, the right arm of the Israeli government, he couldn’t have chosen a more opulent setting for his inaugural speech to his financial donors. The restored luxury resort boasted 1920s architecture, and the lobby and grounds were brimming with Renaissance art. With its artistic emphasis reflecting a romantic nod to another era, it was the perfect setting for someone like Belkin who embraced the best of both old school Mossad and modern politics. Standing at every street corner and entrance to the hotel were the Knesset security guards, clad in their traditional blue clothing, officer hats, and armed with Galil rifles.
Mitch leaned closer towards Dev as they walked along the carpeted hallway. “So, what are this fellow Uri’s political affiliations that he can swing renting a fancy joint like this?”
“Like I said, Uri sure knew how to work his way up the food chain in Parliament. The past ten years have all led up to this moment—joining the Knesset, the legislative branch of the government, though they’re just a bunch of friggin’ back-scratchers in my opinion.”
She paused to crane her head around the room, examining the priceless artwork and the décor which was specifically laid out in honor of Uri.
“His funding is off the charts,” Dev said. “I’m not surprised, actually. He always was a showman. He was a brilliant strategist on the battlefield but he liked to make an impact on his audience whether it was the U.N. or the media. I think that’s why he and my father only got along up to a point.”
“Yeah, Anatoly was much more reserved and liked working behind the scenes.” Mitch looked up at the teardrop chandeliers and intricate murals painted on the arched ceiling. “This wouldn’t have suited him one bit, though from what you’ve described of Uri it still doesn’t account for his meteoric rise to his current position.”
“He’s certainly got the credentials and connections but, I agree, his selection for the position came as a surprise even to me. That crowd tends to be more inbred and often only select internally. Uri must have had some decent connections.”
“The Knesset, this sounds like our Senate—the guys in control behind the scenes and without much accountability.”
“Similar, only the Knesset elects the president and prime minister, passes all the laws, and can even dissolve the government, though that’s only happened once back in 1990.”
“How many people are we talking that hold the office?”
“One hundred and twenty members each with four-year terms.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. Pretty typical of our political system too, so you can always root out a corrupt bastard after his first term, at least in theory.”
“And there are plenty of those here, like in any large government. I put more faith in the leadership of the prime minister than in the Knesset—there are just too many fingers in the pie with that group and little oversight, which is maybe the draw for Uri.”
“He was Mossad though.”
“Was, is right. I’ve felt, and maybe this comes from too much of my father rubbing off on me, but Uri always seemed like someone whose morality was somewhat pliable when he needed it to be.”
Mitch looked around the crowded room of well-dressed attendees who were busy mingling. “Then he’d fit right in with this bunch.”
Mitch and Dev walked side by side, her folded arm interlaced with his as they navigated through the security checkpoint at the entrance to the ballroom. Mitch scanned the cavernous room, habitually noting the emergency exits, number of security personnel, windows, and then searching through the crowd for the seemingly inconspicuous elements of Belkin’s personal security detail. He spotted four men within ten feet of Belkin who stood motionless except for their hawk-eyed glances over the large crowd. These men were clad differently than the obvious Knesset security guards in their pressed uniforms and service caps.
As Mitch and Dev pressed through the crowd of nearly a hundred people, Uri Belkin, who was turning to walk to the podium, stopped in mid-stride and made a beeline for Dev. He reached out both his hands while his wide eyes gazed upon her dress. “My dear, you made it. You look simply stunning. So far off are the days wh
en you had pigtails and played by the pool with little mermaid dolls.”
She lowered her chin while blushing, accepting his hand in hers and returning the squeeze while he kissed her on either cheek. “They weren’t mermaids, Uri, it was Achilles and his myrmidons who were going to crush Troy.”
Uri laughed then leaned back, glancing over at Mitch. “She always had the heart of a tiger, this one,” he said. “And you must be Mitch Kearns, the fellow who joined Gideon’s ranks recently.” The two men exchanged handshakes, both of them exerting forceful grips while moving in closer to each other. “I recall hearing about you from Dev’s mother, whom I ran into a few months ago.” They continued squeezing hands until both of them conceded at the same time.
Mitch started to respond but was cut off by Uri, who returned his gaze to Dev. “And how is your lovely mother these days? Well, I hope.”
“Yes, she is holding her own.”
He lowered his eyes for a second then touched her on the side of the arm. “I know this has been a difficult year for you both, my dear. Anatoly was—” He paused, glancing towards the podium, where the lights had just dimmed. “He was like a brother to me. There will never be another man, or operative for that matter, like him. He was truly one of a kind.”
“On that we can both agree,” Dev said.
A lean bodyguard moved beside Uri and whispered something to him. Mitch noticed the man’s weathered hands and a chipped front tooth. Despite his dress clothes, he seemed out of place amongst the other bodyguards hovering around Uri. Like the others, this man seemed more like a brawler than a professional bodyguard.
Uri patted Dev on the arm. “I’m informed that the audience is patiently awaiting my speech.” He started to move away, then paused. “Come by and visit me sometime when your schedule permits.”
“I will,” Dev said, brushing a lock of hair off her ear as she watched him leave. Mitch and Dev found their assigned seats and sat at a round table cloaked with a coconut-white tablecloth. Surrounding them were unfamiliar faces whom Dev surmised were some of the wealthy elite helping to secure Uri’s position in Parliament.
As Uri took his place at the podium and began his presentation, Dev studied his inner circle. There were six older men seated at a banquet table to Uri’s right. Dev recognized a few of the political figures from Israeli TV but there was one who stood out above the others. Her puzzled gaze caught Mitch’s attention and he leaned over towards her. “Whenever I see you with that kind of look, I know it’s time to clear out of the area.”
She replied without removing her predatory stare from the portly man seated closest to Uri. “That bald mannequin with the gold bracelet on his left wrist is Martin Bollousa. He used to work for Gideon. He was hired shortly before my father died and retained by me for a while during my transition to CEO. I got word that Martin was being courted by another firm and I was never one hundred percent sure of his loyalties so I cut him loose.”
She ran her fingers along her necklace while keeping her eyes fixed on the table of men next to Uri. “Nothing criminal ever occurred but there were times at Gideon when his whereabouts couldn’t be accounted for. I just got this feeling he was too shifty a character to have there.” She rested her elbows on the table and interlaced her fingers, continuing to look at Bollousa then up at Uri. “The big fish gets to the top of the food chain by either swimming against the current until he hits calmer waters or by eating the little fish around him and expanding his territory.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like me—I must be having some influence over you.” Mitch glanced at Bollousa’s shiny shoes beneath the tablecloth, the toe section of which came to an abrupt point like a cowboy boot.
“Maybe,” she said, nudging his elbow.
Dev looked over at the seat to her left and remembered that she and her father had sat together in another location like this during last year’s annual counter-terrorism conference. She noticed her throat go dry and her breath seem to cease. Her train of thought came uncoupled momentarily as she reflected back on that night.
She felt Mitch’s hand slide up along her back and heard his voice, which seemed miles away. “You OK?”
Dev couldn’t speak, only managing to pat his other hand resting on the table. She tried forcing her lips into a smile but only summoned a faint ripple in her cheeks. Dev took another breath and refocused her attention on Uri as he finished his speech.
Chapter 6
The sound of the grandfather clock chiming its midnight bell was the only noise echoing throughout Uri Belkin’s home as he sat in his den staring out at the moon. The reception for his election had grown tiring after the first thirty minutes and he found himself barely recalling the blur of dull faces. He massaged his cheek muscles, which had grown fatigued from so many hours of feigned pleasantries. He did however recall the stunning figure that was Devorah Leitner and was glad he was able to look upon her innocent face one last time before he shredded her world.
Uri leaned back and retrieved a glass of single malt scotch from the table beside a photograph of his third wife and another of him, Anatoly, and Victor in younger days. The three of them were smiling, their faces covered in dirt amidst a backdrop of faint dunes along the horizon.
He heard Anatoly’s words ring out in his ears as if his old Mossad colleague was sitting beside him. “The key to a good life is in what you emphasize. You can either make yourself happy or make yourself miserable; the quantity of effort is the same.”
Uri raised his glass up to the photograph, smiling at Anatoly. “Except neither is worth putting effort into since both are fleeting emotions, you old fool.” He tapped a finger against his chilled glass then held his drink up to the photo in a toast. “What I am embarking upon will change worlds.”
With the promising ascension into the Knesset, Uri was securing a place that would allow him and his backers to shape Israeli politics internally and eventually extend his reach beyond Israel’s borders. Within the Knesset there had always been five prominent parties, each with more than ten seats. Only one other time had a single party held all of the sixty-one seats. Uri’s goal was to use his considerable funds to surreptitiously blackmail, extort, and eliminate members of the opposing parties to allow his group to secure complete control of the Knesset. While the public perception of his donors at tonight’s event provided cover in the form of the blessing of some of the Israeli elite, it was his considerable offshore accounts from his diamond mining efforts in Sierra Leone that had enabled his swift rise in political circles during the past three years and would see him through the coming months of dominion over the other parties. This financial freedom would allow him to wield his power according to his own design and not be beholden to any special interest groups or tightfisted benefactors.
He thought back to the mission eleven years ago that had changed his life forever. With the diamonds he and Victor had pilfered from the mining camp, he no longer had to hide in the shadows as a covert operative. He had grown weary of working in the Mossad for so many years where his actions always went unrewarded by his superiors. Too many missions abroad where he lost friends from shoddy politics then tried to convince himself it was all for national interest. The daring life of an operative was one he had once longed for in his youth until he quickly learned that the same government officials who had signed off on the missions were the ones also hamstringing the Mossad’s funding and capabilities on the ground.
During Uri’s long career in the military, it seemed like the very authorities sanctioning the missions were the same ones investigating his actions upon returning. They wanted results but didn’t want to know the full extent of what they had asked for. Towards the end of his military career, he sensed the atmosphere at Mossad Headquarters becoming more claustrophobic and his superiors continually preventing his advancement for the slightest deviation from their orders. Even the younger generation of field operatives were leaving the Mossad after a few years, their actions abroad continually being ham
strung by Parliament’s absurd new restrictions on rules of engagement. Gone were the halcyon days without oversight. Most of the time, Uri had felt like a wild dog with its foot caught in a steel-jawed trap, painfully waiting for time and the elements to erode his willpower.
Parliament was a broken system with too many divided houses clamoring for power. With his financial windfall in Sierra Leone, he would use his funds to radically alter the system in which he had too long served as an indentured servant. After leaving the Mossad, and with a series of Ebola outbreaks crippling the already fragile security of West Africa, Uri swept back into Sierra Leone with a team of mercenaries to re-establish the diamond mine that his and Anatoly’s Mossad team had shut down years earlier. Using small-scale hand-sifting techniques in alluvial deposits, he only needed twenty men digging through sand with shovels to procure a small handful of raw diamonds each month. Uri could avoid the attention drawn to larger operations with their heavy machinery, unsightly infrastructure, and massive workforce. Using his experience with logistics and clandestine entry across the porous borders, he was able to move his small shipments of diamonds to his buyers in Eastern Europe. Once an alluvial area was depleted, he would shut down operations and then dispose of the workers, most of whom were young men abducted from nearby villages.
Everything had gone according to his plan, until fourteen months ago when word surfaced from Martin Bollousa, his mole inside of Gideon, that Anatoly was looking into some of Uri’s old diamond mining operations in West Africa. As fate would have it, Anatoly perished in the United States a short time later and Uri never learned the full extent of what his former colleague had uncovered. Before being relieved of his duties at Gideon by the new CEO, Martin obtained an encrypted data file that Anatoly had in his possession during his research into Sierra Leone. It was a uniquely designed black box with two USB ports and a ruggedized exterior designed to withstand considerable impact. The palm-sized device was unlike anything Uri had seen before. With the black box safely in his hands and later decrypted, Uri discovered that Anatoly had identified some of his shell companies in Africa. It was intel that could possibly affect his chance of securing his seat in the Knesset if enough of the dots could be connected. Uri had planned to destroy the device but he discovered there was a failed transmission of a series of JPG files that Anatoly must have attempted to send from an undetermined location only days before his death. Unable to pinpoint the source, he knew that having complete access to Gideon was the only way to locate the origin and eliminate this threat.