JET, no. 3

by Russell Blake

  “I’m not sure I want to be seen with you,” she said, eyeing him skeptically.

  “I completely understand why.”

  “Do you have any cash? The sooner we can get you some adult clothing, the better. That’s just embarrassing…”

  “About a grand. We’ll need to access the bank tomorrow to get money for any weapons we buy.”

  “What have you got for ID?”

  “We’ll stop by my safe deposit box – I keep a kit there. It uses a hand scanner for access. I have three passports and about thirty grand in dollars. Some credit cards. The usual.”

  She nodded. “Is it too late to call your arms dealer tonight? Or does he keep business hours?”

  “Let’s go get a burner cell phone. I’d rather not make that call from the house. You have a car? I had to ditch mine after the attack.”

  “I rented one for a week. I have it for three more days.”

  “Let’s go get it and find me a clothing store, then get a phone. Walking around between stops should be adequate exercise for my first big outing.”

  Jet left the house first, scanning the street for anything amiss. It was quiet. She walked to the corner, and soon David joined her. She led him to the car and noticed he winced when he got in.

  “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “Just a twinge. I’ll be fine. It’s still going to hurt now and then. That’s expected.” He grimaced and gingerly probed his abdomen. “I wouldn’t recommend it as a way to lose weight.”

  Within an hour, they had acquired several shirts, a pair of jeans and a cell phone. When they were back in the car, he closed his eyes to focus on the arms dealer’s contact info, then called a number from memory.

  “Moshe – it’s Ari. Long time,” David said, using the alias Moshe knew him by. He paused for a few seconds, listening to the response. “Yeah, yeah. So listen, I need some stuff. Are you around tomorrow?” Another pause. “Where? The shop?”

  He hung up after another ten seconds.

  “Eleven o’clock tomorrow. In Jerusalem,” he informed her.

  “Sounds like a date. Now, how courageous are you feeling? You want to hear my idea, or wait till tomorrow. You may not sleep very well once you know what I’m thinking.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is it that bad?”

  “Worse.”

  “I can always take a sleeping pill.”

  “You’ll probably need to take two.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The drive into Jerusalem the next morning was difficult, the highway clogged with commuters heading into the capital for another day at work. It took longer than they had hoped, but once they were within the city limits, the stream of cars thinned out.

  The bank had been open since eight-thirty, and David disappeared inside. Jet watched the pedestrians hurrying down the streets, engrossed in their ordinary lives, and felt a stab of envy. She wondered for the thousandth time what it felt like to be normal, to have never killed anyone or seen the horrors that had been a routine part of her existence.

  And yet many of the people traversing the street looked worried or anxious, immersed in whatever made up their day – maybe a cheating spouse, or money problems, or a mean boss, or news of a sick relative. Had they spent just one hour by her side during one of her workdays their entire universes would have changed forever, but they were completely absorbed with their own perception of reality and believed themselves safe as they went about their prosaic business.

  It must be nice to not be afraid of bullets tearing you apart with every step you take, she thought absently – then mentally shook herself. There was no point dwelling on things she couldn’t change. She was walking her own path, which is all anyone could do. Everyone had their own problems no matter what their circumstances.

  David walked out of the bank after seven minutes and glanced in her direction. She watched him make his way down the busy sidewalk to the car, a messenger bag over one shoulder, and decided he looked pretty good, all things considered. No limping or other obvious signs of an injury, his color back to normal. If she hadn’t seen him at death’s door only a few days ago, she never would have believed it.

  He swung the door open and slid into the passenger seat.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  “You clean it out?” she asked.

  “Seemed prudent. I have no idea when I can get back here again, so…”

  “All right. How do we get to this Moshe’s shop?”

  They weaved their way through traffic and negotiated the teeming streets, horns sounding and jaywalkers darting between cars like daredevils with a death wish. Eventually they pulled to the curb a block from the arms dealer’s store, and David got out.

  “How well do you know this guy?” she asked.

  “Well enough. Wait here and try not to kill anyone.” He glanced at the Glock sitting next to her on the seat.

  She dropped her backpack over it.

  “I’ll do my best, but no promises. Remember the knives.”

  “I’ve got the list.”

  David took his time, ambling to the storefront, pretending interest in the displays in the other shop windows. His senses were on full alert, wary of a trap, but he didn’t detect any surveillance.

  He eased the shop door open and heard a buzz at the back. The showroom was empty except for a stunning young woman, no more than twenty, wearing skintight red pants and a top that accentuated her ample charms, chewing gum and looking bored out of her mind beside a glass case filled with military medals and insignia.

  “Can I help you with something?” she asked in a voice that clearly conveyed that she had no interest in doing so.

  He looked around at the walls and the displays. Every imaginable type of sword was represented – sabers, Roman short swords, katanas, ceremonial daggers, epees.

  “I was hoping to find a ‘Give Peace a Chance’ bumper sticker.”

  She gave him a blank stare. Her gum popped.

  He tried again. “Is Moshe here? I’m a friend.”

  She followed up with a look that said ‘figures’ and leaned over the counter, calling into the back area.

  “Moshe? Someone’s here to see you.” She returned her attention to David. “What’s your name?”

  “Ari.”

  “Moshe? Ari is here.”

  A gruff voice rang out from the rear of the shop.

  “Tell him to come into the back, Trina.”

  She cocked an eyebrow and gestured with her hand at the doorway. He followed her lead and moved through it into an office. A bearded man sat staring at him through Coke-bottle glasses.

  “Ari! Welcome. How have you been? Long time – forever, really.” Moshe shifted in his wheelchair, his considerable girth straining the seat.

  “Moshe. I’m good. You?”

  “Never better. They wanted me for the track team, but I had to decline. Makes the kids look bad.”

  “Yeah.” David cleared his throat. “New helper up front?”

  “Oh. Trina. Yes, a sad story. I met her dancing in a sordid place. Sort of rescued her. Gave her a glimpse of a better life on the straight and narrow.”

  David didn’t know whether to believe him or not. His face remained unreadable.

  “So. Come on back into the storeroom. You got a list?” Moshe asked, wheeling from behind his desk and moving to a door at the far end of the office.

  David handed him the short note Jet had drafted that morning.

  “Hmmm. Okay. I have one of the MTAR-21s in 9mm with a suppressor. No problem on a Glock 23 – popular, those are. As to all the rest, in stock. You want it now?” Moshe asked as he rolled into the storeroom.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not going to be cheap, my friend.”

  “Is it ever?”

  Moshe named a price.

  David whistled.

  “I presume you’ll want that in dollars, no shekels. Do you have anything that woul
d be comparable to the MTAR?”

  “Not really. It’s extremely compact and packs a wallop. But I can get another one within a couple of days with no problem. And dollars would be just fine, as always.”

  David considered it, and then shook his head. “I’ll get back to you on that. Let’s see the goods…”

  Moshe rolled to a wooden case and lifted the lid, then pulled out an evil-looking weapon that would have been at home in a science fiction film.

  “MTAR-21 – the good old X95-S. With integrated suppresor, laser sight and two extra magazines. Only fired by a little old lady. Comes with a hundred rounds of ammo. For you, I will make it two hundred, no extra charge. Perfect for home defense if a platoon of Hamas is bearing down on you. Light, accurate, deadly,” Moshe recited.

  “I know the weapon.”

  “Nothing like it.”

  Humming to himself, Moshe rolled to another box and extracted a new Glock. Within a few minutes, he had everything sitting on top of one of the crates.

  “Got a bag?” David asked.

  “Fifty dollars.” Moshe grinned. “Kidding.”

  David counted out the crisp hundred dollar bills while Moshe ferreted around in another box. He handed the bundle of notes to Moshe, who nodded and held out a rolled up duffle.

  “Call me if you need another MTAR. I gotta get one as a replacement anyway, but I can put a rush on it.”

  “Will do. Pleasure doing business with you, as always, Moshe,” David said, taking the sack from him.

  “Likewise. You need anything else?”

  “Don’t think so. Stay away from Trina. She looks like trouble.”

  “I have enough excitement in my life. Then again, she’s got a sparkling personality…”

  “I got that.”

  The men exchanged muted smiles.

  As David packed the gear into the black nylon sack, Moshe noted that he loaded the magazines and chambered rounds in the weapons, and said nothing. David shouldered the bag and made for the storeroom door.

  “I can find my own way out.”

  “Don’t be a stranger.”

  Trina was staring blankly at the street through the floor-to-ceiling windows when he stepped back into the showroom. She looked high. Not his problem.

  “Have a nice day,” she offered in a desultory tone.

  “You, too.”

  He swung the glass door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk, pausing to get his bearings before returning to the car.

  Jet was watching her side mirrors when he got in. He leaned over and placed the duffle on the rear seat, then sat back and fastened his seatbelt.

  “Did you get everything?” she asked, starting the motor.

  “Only had one MTAR. He can get another one within a couple of days.”

  “We don’t have a couple of days.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter 20

  Jet and David endured the clusters of stopped cars until they were out of Jerusalem, at which point the road opened up and they were able to make better time. On the outskirts of Tel Aviv, David announced that he was hungry, so they stopped for lunch at a seafood restaurant and took a table at the back, where they were alone. When the fish came, it smelled heavenly, and they eagerly devoured it as they debated their next move.

  “It’s dangerous to the point of being foolhardy,” David stated flatly.

  “Not if we’re careful.”

  “It also has us acting as judge and jury.”

  “Like all the operations I’ve ever been on. The only difference is that in this case I’m making the judgment, not some anonymous wonk I’ve never heard of,” she argued, “and we might gain useful intel on Grigenko.”

  “What if we’re wrong?”

  “We aren’t.”

  “The man is a legend in the Mossad. He deserves better than this.”

  “No, he doesn’t. Nobody argued my needs and wants, or tried to defend my right to fair treatment when the gunmen were trying to kill me.”

  They sat, eating in silence, David troubled by her intentions.

  When they’d finished their meal and were back in the car, he was still obviously upset.

  “What if I refuse to participate?”

  “Then you can sit this one out. I’ll deal with it myself,” she said.

  “Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this? Or at least to get you to slow down a little?”

  She didn’t answer, just threw him a look he knew too well as she drove wordlessly to the cottage.

  They found a parking spot a block away from the house. Jet retrieved the bag from the back seat before David could get it. He was still recovering, and there was no reason for him to carry the weapons, even if she was annoyed with him over his stubborn objections to her latest scheme.

  When they rounded the corner, Jet grabbed his arm and slowed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Up ahead. Hundred yards. Two vehicles. SUVs. Drivers are still in them. Not moving.”

  “You sure? Shit.”

  “Is the MTAR loaded?”

  “One in the hole.”

  She pulled the Glock free of her purse, slipped it to him and unzipped the duffle. Then all hell broke loose.

  Six men came running up the street wielding submachine guns and pistols. Jet pushed David away from her and dropped to one knee just as the lead man opened fire. She heard the telltale whistle of bullets slicing through the air as David’s Glock barked from a few yards to her right, where he’d taken cover behind a car. Throwing herself to the sidewalk, she whipped the MTAR free and squeezed off three short bursts. The two lead men went down hard, their weapons slamming into the pavement as her rounds tore through their torsos. A third man spun and fell after one of David’s shots clipped him, but they were too far away for the Glock to be accurate. Jet fired another burst, and the fourth man’s throat erupted a bright crimson arterial spurt. She crawled to the garage as David laid down covering fire.

  She just made it when slugs pounded into the wall. Jet let loose two more percussive salvos as David ran in a crouch to her. Firing down the street, she reached into the bag with her free hand, groped around, and then handed him another full magazine for the Glock. They changed positions. David peered around the corner and emptied the pistol at the gunmen as Jet stuck another magazine in her back pocket and ran to the rear of the house. David followed suit, slamming the new magazine into his weapon as he moved.

  Jet made a hand signal – David shook his head, no. She wanted to circle back around and take on their pursuers. What they needed to do was to get the hell out of there. Jet ignored his agitated expression and edged to the rear corner, then sprinted to the opposite side and tore as fast as she could for the front again.

  Footsteps thudded on concrete as the remaining men ran toward the garage. Crouching low, Jet set the MTAR on full auto and took cover behind a garbage can. One man passed her, then another. She sprang up and unleashed a hail of rounds, cutting the pair down before they had a chance to turn and face her. She spun and ejected the spent magazine and slapped the second into the gun, then carefully loosed a short burst at the first SUV that was bearing down on her in reverse, tires smoking.

  The fuel tank detonated, and the vehicle exploded with a whump. She felt the force of the blast on her face, and then David was pulling on her arm, dragging her back.

  “Let’s get out of here. Now. Come on.”

  She jerked her arm free and gave him a withering glance.

  “We don’t know how many there are,” he hissed, “and the police will be here in minutes. Think. If we want to fight another day, it’s time to move.”

  She took another look at the street where the truck was belching flame and nodded.

  “Let’s go.”

  They jogged together through the backyards of the surrounding homes, listening for sounds of pursuit. When they reached the car, she thrust the keys at him.

 
“You drive.”

  Within seconds, they were pulling onto the cross street.

  The second SUV skidded around the corner, and they could just make out three heads inside. David floored the gas and headed for the highway.

  She saw a gunman pointing a weapon out one of the windows.

  “Evasive maneuvers!” she screamed and turned in the seat, rolling her passenger window down.

  David swerved to present a more difficult target, and Jet’s hip slammed into the door as she fought to get the MTAR free of the car.

  A horn blasted at them, and an oncoming truck missed their front fender by a whisper. It continued honking as the SUV barreled at it, and then came the distinctive burping report of automatic rifle fire from behind them. David swerved again, and Jet braced herself, sighting at the SUV before spraying it with everything in the magazine.

  At least a few of the shots hit home. The windshield went snowy white, and smoke began streaming from under the hood. She pulled herself back into the car, and David rocketed around a corner, taking the left turn on two wheels.

  The engine roared as he floored it again. He wrenched the wheel to the right, propelling them up another street.

  David’s palm slammed against the horn as they nearly rear-ended a slow-moving old sedan taking up most of the lane. The driver stomped on the brakes, and David had to twist the wheel and slow to avoid smashing into the parked cars. He inched past, narrowly missing the sedan’s mirror, and was rewarded with an outthrusted middle finger in a universal symbol of insult offered by a wizened old woman barely able to see over the dashboard.

  The corners of Jet’s mouth twitched and the tension broke. She lowered the gun, glancing at David before returning her attention to their pursuers. David accelerated to the end of the block and executed another turn, and then they were on a large boulevard, headed for the freeway, no sign of the SUV anywhere.

  Once they were a few miles down the highway, she relaxed and turned to face him.

  “Still think I’m being rash?” she asked.

  “How…how do you think they found us?”

  “There are only three things I can imagine. Either they traced the supposedly-untraceable IP mask I used, or Rani told them, or they somehow found out about him and followed him.”