by JT Sawyer
Dev stood abruptly, pivoting away from both men and standing with her arms hanging loosely at her sides. “Am I free to go now, or will there be any further questions?” She dragged out the last word.
Tamir clenched his teeth, looking at Ben then back at Dev. He adjusted his red necktie and then nodded over his shoulder to the guards by the door. “Escort Ms. Leitner off the Gideon property. This place now belongs to the Israeli government until further notice.”
As she neared the door, he called to her then tossed her company phone. “For those panic-stricken calls you’re going to make to your lawyer,” he said with a grin.
As Dev walked along the familiar hallways of Gideon with the two guards beside her, she felt an ocean of fury welling up inside of her. She wanted to turn and strike down the men and then go back and unleash her fists upon Tamir’s pruney face. Instead, she focused on pounding her boots into the tiled floor as she walked, rattling each plaque on the wall as she passed while the fire within her soul raged like a wildfire consuming a parched forest.
Chapter 12
After his brief questioning by the Shin Bet agents, Mitch waited outside the Gideon headquarters for half an hour, hoping for some news of Dev, Petra, and David. His cellphone, which had been given back upon leaving, hadn’t showed any texts or messages from the others so he assumed they were still inside being verbally grilled. He had tried calling Eva, Dev’s mother, but the phone went directly to her voicemail.
A fine mist of rain had moved in over the region and lightly dappled his cheeks as he stood under the eaves of a nearby bakery. All of their company gear and his own personal blades had been confiscated at the airport and he felt stripped of the defensive everyday-carry items that he viewed as an extension of his appendages. His questioning by the Shin Bet agents had only lasted forty minutes and consisted of cursory questions which he found odd given the severity of the charges they had tossed out. The lead agent read off a sheet of paper in a monotone voice, hardly glancing up at Mitch and not demanding any further elaboration of the answers he provided. The whole thing seemed more like a checklist they had to sign off on before they could let him go. He surmised that maybe it was because he hadn’t been with the company as long as Petra and David but he wasn’t sure what was unfolding, his mind as hazy on the day’s events as the gray clouds above him.
He glanced at his watch. “Damn, 1836, I didn’t think it was that late.” Mitch thought about the media frenzy they witnessed upon arriving back at Gideon and how quiet it was now, as if someone had flicked a switch on the activity of the reporters. He wondered why the Shin Bet agents brought them back to Gideon and why they weren’t taken to a federal office for questioning. That’s not the protocol I ever would’ve used with the Bureau. You want the subject to feel off balance in an intimidating setting, not back on their home turf.
He rubbed his chin while glancing up at the third story window, which had a light on inside. Whew, they could keep Dev here for hours. He looked down at his watch again as if it would tell him what to do next, then he glanced to the east, towards the foothills outside of Tel Aviv where Dev’s mother lived. Better get up to Eva’s place and let her know what’s happening. She’s probably only got an earful from all the lizard-shit news reports.
Crossing the street, he kept his eye on a white sedan with dark-tinted windows that had been parked at the curb, twenty yards away. Upon leaving Gideon, he noticed that the car was the only one without a heavy spray of raindrops on it and he surmised that it had just come out of the parking structure to its present position. He could just discern the silhouettes of two people inside and noticed the exhaust trickling out from the tailpipe.
As he walked along the sidewalk, he glanced to his right to examine the reflection in the distant storefront windows that he was walking parallel with. At the first pedestrian intersection, he caught sight of the white vehicle slowly creeping out from the curb. Why tail me like this? They’re after something, but what? Something connected to Gideon—otherwise they wouldn’t have shut down the whole place. And that bullshit op in Romania— He stopped in mid-thought and clenched his fists. I need to start there and find out who was pulling the strings.
He glanced back over his shoulder at Gideon headquarters, which was slowly becoming obscured by the approaching fog coming off the coast, as if a sinister hand was enveloping the building. Gonna be hard to trace anything now without all our tech support and files. He caught a glimpse of the white car hanging back in the distance and figured he would be better off on foot than trying to get his motorcycle out of the parking garage.
At the next intersection, Mitch ducked into a sushi restaurant and made a beeline for the restrooms, veering off at the last second and making his way out the rear exit near the kitchen. Before he shoved open the door, he grabbed a small paring knife off the rear counter. He stepped into the alley and trotted to the end then made an abrupt left onto another street.
An hour later, after taking two separate buses to make sure he wasn’t being followed, Mitch arrived near the street that went past Eva Leitner’s house. He and Dev had last enjoyed an amazing lamb dinner there a few nights ago and then spent time poring over old family photo albums. As the evening wore on, it was Mitch who sat beside Eva and listened to her recount stories about Anatoly while Dev remained on the balcony outside, occasionally issuing a stone-faced nod over her shoulder at the distant memories that unfolded. Though each woman was dealing with their loss in their own way, Eva seemed as if she had crested the all-consuming wave of grief that was still threatening to submerge Dev.
Mitch walked up the street past a few houses then stopped when he saw the same white car parked down the block. Shit, didn’t I just leave this party—how did they locate me, or is this another car?
He stood beside a large olive tree, his form cloaked in the shadows under the canopy. Unless this was their secondary objective. He thought about the implications—were they there to stake out the Leitner household or to apprehend Eva for some reason? He didn’t wait to find out. Mitch retreated back and hopped over the chainlink fence of the nearest house. He ran through the yard, trying to recall who had dogs in the neighborhood and hoping he wouldn’t have to find out.
When he was one yard away from Eva’s house, he crept up to the fenceline and slowly lifted his head between some grapevines. Scanning Eva’s backyard, he saw a short man with a wispy mustache heading towards the back porch, a suppressed pistol visible in his right hand. The other man was nowhere to be found.
Mitch backpedaled a few feet and grabbed a rusty hand trowel from the small garden and stuck it in his beltline. He quickly leapt over the fence and sprinted to the lone figure, who was climbing up the wooden steps of the porch. As the man spun around, Mitch slammed his arms around the man’s knees, driving him into the steps. The startled figure started swung his pistol up as Mitch backhanded him with the trowel. The blow was followed by two more that pelted his forehead. Mitch then took the tip of the small shovel and jammed it against the man’s carotid. He glanced over the nearly unconscious figure, who was dressed differently than the neatly attired Shin Bet agents back at Gideon. Mitch reached down and grabbed the suppressed 1911 pistol from the steps.
“You sure ain’t an agency guy. None of those boys can afford a piece like this.” He waved the silver barrel of the weapon in front of the man’s dazed eyes. Mitch was worried about the man’s accomplice. He raised up the pistol and struck the moaning figure across the side of the temple then shoved his body off the steps. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to finish up with you, friend.”
Mitch darted up the remaining steps and entered through the back door using a key that was hidden beside the rear gutter. Entering the doorway, he heard the sound of a struggle upstairs. There was a loud thunk followed by something shattering. A second later, there was the familiar discharge of two suppressed rounds followed by silence.
Mitch’s stomach churned and he felt queasy as he tried to interpret the sounds. He
gasped and ran forward, double-stepping up the flight of stairs with the 1911 extended outward as he hastily cleared each corner. Cresting the upstairs landing, he nearly lost his footing as he tripped over a body in the dark that was surrounded by shards of white porcelain. Then he felt the whir of a bullet sail past his head and thump into the drywall near the front bedroom.
“Shit,” he yelled as he dropped to one knee inside the bedroom, taking cover by a walnut armoire. He raised his pistol and prepared to launch a volley of rounds at the other shooter, then looked down at the body on the landing, where a bearded thug with a neck tattoo lay sprawled out on the paisley carpet, blood seeping down onto the first step below.
He took a deep breath and whispered, “Eva, is that you?”
“Mitch? Dammit, boy, I almost put a round in your head. What the hell were you thinking?”
He was certain it was Eva’s voice but he never thought he’d hear such a venomous tone from a sweet woman like her. Mitch eased himself up and felt the constriction on his ribs lighten as he took a deep breath. Out of habit, he kept his pistol at a low-ready as he moved forward. He looked down the hallway to the right and saw the bathroom door ajar and the porcelain cover from the toilet tank missing, then glanced down at the lifeless figure with the bloody forehead. Eva had already moved up alongside him, the suppressed 1911 pistol in her hand resembling the one Mitch was holding. He noticed that Eva’s trigger finger was already indexed above the guard and she held her weapon like a professional.
“I already took care of our other visitor out back,” he said. He looked her over for any injuries then he shook his head in wonder as the older woman glanced down the stairs then back at him.
“What’s wrong?” she said, brushing a lock of gray hair from her sweaty forehead.
“Well, ma’am, it’s just…well, I’m just used to seein’ you with a spatula in your hand in the kitchen whenever I’m here.”
“Did you think my daughter gets her fighting spirit only from her father?”
Mitch could still see the rage from the battle lingering in Eva’s eyes and he knew that look all too well from the woman he lived with. He placed his hand on Eva’s shoulder and smiled. “I just hope that’s the only time you ever point a weapon in my direction.” He glanced down at the dead man. “I’d hate to have either of you Leitner women for an enemy.”
He motioned for her to follow him down the stairs. They proceeded to the kitchen and then through the back door. Mitch walked down the steps, scanning the yard for anyone else. He knelt down beside the moaning figure on the grass and shook the collar of his leather jacket. “Wake up, shit-nugget. We got some talkin’ to do.”
Chapter 13
After the Shin Bet had finished questioning Petra at Gideon, he hurried to the parking garage adjacent to the structure and sped out onto the street. His mind was racing as quickly as his vehicle as he tried to piece together the bizarre events of the past twelve hours.
The sun was setting along the Tel Aviv skyline and he remembered Dev’s last orders about making it to the safehouse on the east side of the city. His cellphone didn’t indicate any messages from the others and he fired off a text to David upon hitting the first red light. He didn’t know what had happened to his friend and grew more worried with each passing streetlight. The last he knew, David was being escorted by two Shin Bet agents up to the third-floor conference room, probably to endure the same asinine questions Petra had endured: How long had you known Anatoly Leitner? Have you ever been put in a situation abroad that violated any international laws? Who sanctioned your activities in Romania? Have you ever done any ops in West Africa?
Petra mulled over the last question, wondering what bearing it had on the investigation. Drawing a blank, he refocused his vision on the road ahead, while occasionally casting a furtive glance in his rearview mirror. Whatever setup we walked into in Romania was only the beginning. Someone or some group with resources and cash had to stage that—and with plenty of forethought. I need to get to my personal laptop and start tracing the breadcrumbs. He ground his teeth and clenched the steering wheel with both hands. No way in hell someone is going to fuck with Anatoly’s company—or with Dev.
Petra thought back to the glory days working missions with Anatoly. As a young Mossad agent, he had always heard the legendary tales of Anatoly and his team, before the oversight committees and government watchdogs. After Petra left the service, he was approached by Anatoly, who had just started his company. The job offered him the chance to right the wrongs that he couldn’t speak out against while in the military—a private company like Gideon that had its own code of ethics that wasn’t shaped by political agendas. Plus the thought of getting paid to work with former spec-ops warriors like himself—what was not to like? After his first year, Anatoly took a liking to the young operator and he became like a father figure. It was the kind of structure Petra had sought in the military, which was the first place that he glimpsed a better life than the one he had known bouncing around juvenile detention centers during the swampland of his adolescence.
Petra thought back to that fateful day a year ago when Anatoly, his old master, died before his eyes. It was then that he felt the mantle of responsibility shift to himself for watching over Devorah. Like a wolf pack that has lost its alpha defaults to the next strongest member, Petra put aside his own needs and focused on helping Devorah navigate the murky waters of despair when she returned to Gideon. Though she was the CEO of the company and issued the orders, Petra was ever-watchful of his little sister, often handling the behind-the-scenes activities of Gideon that would relieve her of some pressure.
With the light turning red at the busy street ahead, he brought his black Volvo to a standstill and focused on the pedestrian activity while flitting his attention to the vehicle mirrors, instinctively scanning his immediate surroundings. He had been too preoccupied when he exited the parking structure to notice but he was certain that a tan Mercedes Benz was following him. At the next intersection, Petra made an abrupt right turn and then re-examined his mirror. There it was again.
There’s one way to make sure if I got a bug on my ass. He paused slightly at the next intersection and noticed that the car slowed down. Petra made another right turn and sped up, swerving between several slower moving vehicles, then he made a tire-squealing left turn along a narrow side street. He glanced back in his mirror. No one there. “Hmm, maybe I’m too…” He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the headlights of the Mercedes inch into the street.
Petra hit the gas pedal and shot straight ahead, flushing a group of gray pigeons congregating around a mud puddle. He swung to the right at the first cross-street and blasted through a red light, then made a series of three more turns before parking the car in a large grocery store lot. He hopped out and trotted along the cement embankment near the side of the building then dropped into a pedestrian walkway near Tel Aviv University. He walked briskly amongst the other students then ducked out under a bridge near a cluster of fast-food restaurants. He waited near the corner of Tippy’s Burger Shack and watched the route he had just taken. When he was sure no one was following, he continued walking through campus, taking three more evasive turns in his route just to be certain, then headed on foot towards the Gideon safehouse two miles away.
A half mile later, he turned down a narrow alleyway which would cut his travel time down. Passing under the shadow of a large cypress tree, he caught movement to his right. A lone figure in a green windbreaker emerged behind him as he passed. It was too close for comfort and Petra sidestepped off the curb and circled back around a cluster of trash cans, quickly grabbing an aluminum lid and whisking it at the man’s face.
The figure deftly jumped to the left but the edge of the lid still crashed along his ear. His swift movement confirmed that this was no ordinary street thug. Petra leapt forward, slamming the man into the cypress tree. He heard some ribs crack as he unleashed a volley of punches into the man’s mid-section. The determined figure kicked Pet
ra in the right shin, causing him to jump back as the thug removed a curved blade from his beltline. Petra recognized the deadly karambit from the Indonesian fighting arts he had studied in younger days. It wasn’t the typical everyday carry blade, especially in Israel. As the lanky figure shuffled forward, Petra delivered a vicious side kick to the outer thigh, causing the man to buckle. A single palm strike to the chin sent the pursuer crashing into the trash barrels along the curb. Petra pounced on the groaning figure and came up behind him, bracing his arms around the man’s neck in a sleeper hold.
“You’ve got one second to decide if I choke you out and you wake up with a helluva headache or if I snap your fucking neck.” Petra cinched his grip down until the man turned white, then eased up. “Now, you don’t look like Shin Bet to me and you sure aren’t after my wallet, so who sent you?”
The man tried to arch his chin up, looking at Petra. “You and your buddies are at the end of your rope.”
“And who’s tugging on the other end?”
The pale figure spat out the words in between gasps. “This is bigger than just you—bigger than your pathetic company.”
Petra looked at the glimmering karambit blade lying in the street and then noticed several tattoos on the man’s wrists as he struggled to paw backwards in the air. “You have to be a mercenary for hire. Unless you want a chiropractic adjustment, you better start talking.”
“Piss off, pretty boy.” The man started fluttering his legs, trying to gain some footing.
“While I always like to give the illusion of choice, I kinda figured you’d choose the second option,” he said, swiftly reconfiguring one hand around the man’s head and violently twisting; the man’s neck made the sound of a handful of wet twigs breaking. He shoved the man’s limp body to the street and then searched the pockets, finding a cellphone, a gold lighter, a knife sheath, and the car keys to a Mercedes Benz. “Guess I found my tail; my only question is how did he find me?”