“As good a summary as any. We have a situation. I can explain when you arrive.”
“He mentioned my family as well.”
“Yes, that’s right. All of you. No extra charge for volume.”
“How do you get us out of Italy without the authorities getting wise?”
“Let me worry about that. Put our man back on the line. I’ll see you shortly.”
She hesitated. “I’m not happy. We had a deal, which you reneged on.”
“No, which prudence dictated I act upon, at the time, but which I subsequently kept. I haven’t bothered you, have I? Although I’ve kept an eye on your misadventures, I haven’t lifted a finger. As to Isaac, tell me that you would have handled that differently.”
“Haven’t lifted a finger until now,” she corrected, ignoring his rationalization.
“There was no other way. Put him on the phone.”
Jet hesitated, and when she spoke, there was steel in her voice. “I need to talk this over with…my partner. I can’t give you an answer yet.”
The director’s breathing sounded labored as the silence on the line stretched for several tense seconds.
“We got you out of jail.”
“I need to explain it to him. That’s not negotiable. It’s his life too.”
The director’s tone thawed a tenth of a degree. “There’s a time element to the offer.”
“I understand. I need…twenty-four hours.”
The director laughed humorlessly. “Absolutely not. I can give you…twelve. After that, you’re on your own, and believe me, with the Italians on alert and our American alphabet agency friends winging their way to Italy, you don’t want to be.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not. We both know they want you dead, and they’ll get you this time around. The EU’s systems are too integrated for you to make it far. They’ll take you down, and your daughter and your, uh…partner, as well. I understand they can be vindictive. You shouldn’t risk it.”
She ignored the menace in his words. “Twelve hours, then.”
“We can’t run interference for you if you’re not in our custody.”
“I appreciate your concern. But like I said, it’s not negotiable.”
The director sounded angry, but resigned. “You’re making a mistake.”
“It’s mine to make.”
“Put my man back on the phone.”
Jet handed the operative the encrypted cell and slowed as he walked several steps away so she couldn’t overhear his discussion, which lasted less than half a minute. When he finished, he pocketed the phone and extracted her slimmer burner cell from the breast pocket of his shirt. “Here,” he said. “I’m to hold on to your passport.” He powered on her phone, entered a number, and pressed send. Another phone chirped from his satchel. He terminated the call and handed Jet her cell. “That’s my number. Call me. You have twelve hours. If you stiff us, there’s nothing we can do for you, so forget you ever met me when they catch you.” He paused and looked her in the eyes. “Which they will.”
He veered off down a side street, and then he was just another pedestrian, indistinguishable from the rest. Jet continued straight, and when she’d put another two blocks between herself and the police station, she called Matt’s burner. He answered on the second ring.
“Where are you?” he asked, clearly relieved.
She took her bearings from a street sign on the corner. “Safe. Where are you?”
He gave her the name of the hotel. She repeated it and then paused. “I’ll find it.”
“Is everything…are you okay?”
“I’ll tell you in person. You’ll need to pay the cab when I get there – I don’t have any money. Wait for me in the lobby. I’m taking the battery out of my phone. It’s probably compromised. Got to go,” she said, and disconnected as she waved at a taxi, leery of spending any more time than she had to on the cell. The police might be crooked, but she couldn’t bet they were incompetent – and she wouldn’t have put it past the Mossad to have set up tracking on the cell, which made sense given it was the only thing of hers they’d returned. She stared at the little screen and memorized the number the operative had entered, and then pulled the battery and dropped it into the gutter as she climbed into the taxi and gave the driver the hotel name.
A block away, she hung the phone out the window and released it as the driver changed lanes, secure that it would be smashed to splinters within minutes beneath the wheels of the cars behind her, and then sat back, the director’s words echoing in her ear. His offer was a bad one for her – but probably the only one that would keep Matt and Hannah alive.
Chapter 18
Tel Aviv, Israel
The director glowered at an abstract painting that hung on the far wall of his office. Smoke curled from his ever-present cigarette, his gray curly hair and basset hound face yellowed from many decades of chain-smoking. His gambit hadn’t played quite the way he’d planned, but he was confident that the woman would come around to his way of thinking and take the deal. There was really no choice for her.
And besides, he knew her kind. She wasn’t meant for civilian life. She was a highly trained killing machine, and you didn’t just turn that off and walk away. She’d tried, but trouble had continued to find her, and now she was back at square one: either she cooperated with the Mossad and in return her family was sheltered, or she was hung out to dry and wouldn’t live the week.
She might be stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. She would see things correctly once she spoke with the American.
He would be more of a problem. Keeping the CIA in the dark about the Mossad sheltering him was a delicate dance, but not an impossible one. After all, that would be about the last place on earth they would expect him to be: hiding in plain sight.
The director took a long drag on his cigarette and nodded to himself.
Jet was ideal for the task he had in mind. He needed someone deniable, skilled, highly efficient, who could pull off an extremely difficult mission without a hitch. He had others who might be able to do so, but no females of sufficient ability at present – and the opportunity they had required a woman.
Fortunately, the universe had provided, as it had so many times before. Jet would return to the fold, and he would have his super-operative to carry out the impossible.
Assuming she took the deal.
He inhaled another deep draught of toxic smoke and blew it at a discolored spot on the ceiling, his lungs protesting the ravaging, as they had much of his adult life. It was a filthy habit he detested – his clothes stank, his skin, his breath. His teeth were yellow and foul, his lungs scarred beyond recognition, and he’d stopped getting annual physicals because he didn’t want to be told this was the year he was going to die.
He was honestly amazed every morning he came to and was still breathing. Given his stress levels, his abysmal diet, his nonexistent exercise regime, and his nicotine intake, every day was its own little miracle, and one he wouldn’t take for granted.
Which brought him back to the problem at hand.
He’d considered the recommendations of his advisors on the Azerbaijan problem and had determined that the only suggestion that had any real chance of success, now that their assassination scheme had failed, was the one proposed by Amit Mendel.
But it would require a delicate hand, and someone who was expendable.
Jet fit that bill perfectly.
The director had long ago given up moral or ethical considerations of things like the taking of life to accomplish an objective. Those were for more innocent souls who didn’t have to stare into the abyss over their morning coffee and determine the fates of regimes by noon. While he didn’t order the assassination of someone lightly, he did so without hesitation if it was the best, or only, way to achieve an end. That was simply how the world worked, and there were plenty waiting to replace him if he ever lost the stomach for it. Powerful forces organized, manipulated, connived, an
d oppressed, all to get their way; and like it or not, his job was to achieve objectives set by his masters by whatever means necessary.
In this case, they had determined that the current president of Azerbaijan must win re-election, and had chartered the director’s agency with ensuring that happened.
The only viable challenger to the president’s bid was the head of the Nationalist Party. But the assassination plot against him had fallen apart, so there would be no chance to take him out in time.
Which was where Jet entered the picture. Mendel’s plan was so audacious, so over the top, that nobody would see it coming, which ensured it would have the desired effect. Like a Russian doll, there were exquisitely complex layers to it, twists and surprises that would be pointed to as being too difficult for anyone to predict, and thus any conspiracy theory that approximated the truth would appear so outlandish it could be easily dismissed.
The director smiled as he lit a fresh cigarette using the lit butt of his last.
Machiavelli had nothing on them.
He reached forward and depressed the intercom button on an ancient handset that he’d been using almost as long as he’d held office.
“Get Mendel in here,” he said. “Now.”
Chapter 19
Milan, Italy
Jet spied Matt waiting on the street outside of the hotel, and the taxi pulled to the curb. Matt jogged over, money in hand, and paid the driver while Jet stepped out. They waited until the cab had disappeared into traffic before entering the hotel.
“Where’s Hannah?” Jet asked.
“I had her stay in the room. Don’t worry. She’s trustworthy by herself.”
“I’m not worried.”
She covered her face while pretending to cough as they walked past the desk clerk, who seemed utterly disinterested in her as Matt led her to the stairs. When they reached the room door, she glanced down the hallway and pursed her lips. “Nice place.”
“One step above cesspool,” Matt agreed. “But at least it’s expensive.” He paused as he reached for the doorknob. “How are you?”
She tiptoed and kissed him. “I’ve had better days.”
“You going to tell me what happened?”
“Let’s get out of the hall.”
Hannah came cannonballing across the room at the sight of her mother and hugged her tight. Jet returned the favor and then sat with her on the bed as Matt took a seat on the other.
“So?”
“They arrested me. One of the punks died. And my prints triggered the intelligence service…and my former employer.”
Matt’s face fell. “Then how…”
“Mossad got me out. Long story, but the short version is they’re offering us a deal.”
“Us?”
“They know about you and Hannah.”
He nodded. “Right.”
“And they seem confident that if I don’t do as they ask, we’re toast.” She filled him in on her call with the director. When she finished, Matt’s expression was drawn.
“You didn’t agree?” he asked.
“No. I stalled for time. I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them.”
“Then what do we do?”
She looked at her watch. “We have seven more hours. They’ll have my face all over the news soon. I need to dye my hair, at the very least. Go really dark, and maybe trim my bangs.”
“So you want me to get you some dye and scissors?”
She gave him a tired smile. “Would you? That way Hannah and I can have some quiet time together. Oh, and maybe an eyeliner pencil and some darker base?”
“Okay. But if the system flagged your prints, you have to know that our immigration status, coming in together, will eventually surface.”
“I’m betting on the chaos at the borders keeping them from being lightning fast in their data entry.” She smiled again. “We are talking Italy, here.”
“Good point. I’ll go find a pharmacy.”
Matt headed downstairs and was nearly to the entrance when the desk clerk called to him in heavily accented English.
“Sir?”
Matt slowly turned. “Yes?”
“I saw a woman with you, yes?”
“That’s right.”
“Rules say I need identification if she’s staying here.”
“Oh. Okay. When I get back, I’ll see to that.”
Matt exited the hotel and set off down the block, troubled by the clerk’s request. Had he gotten a better look at Jet than they’d thought? Was he suspicious? Had her image already appeared on the television?
If so, their problems were compounding quickly, and they might not even have the seven hours Jet had indicated.
He found a pharmacy and went inside, hurried to the grooming and hair product section, and selected an ebony home dying kit that promised natural results in about an hour. At least that was what he intuited from the starburst and exclamation-pointed capitalized Italian. He grabbed a box and found hair shears on the same aisle, paid for his purchases, and retraced his steps to the hotel, his nerves shot to hell after the last few days.
The clerk looked up at him when he walked through the door. “Remember, the papers…”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll see if she’s going to stay past dinner, and if she does, I’ll get you something. I trust you don’t need anything if she’s just here for an hour or two?”
The clerk offered a salacious grin and winked in complicit understanding, as only an Italian male could.
Jet had showered by the time Matt made it back and was wearing one of his shirts. He admired the way she filled it out and gave her a wan smile.
“Doesn’t look the same on me,” he said.
“I need to buy some clothes. The cops got my bag, too.”
“That limits our moves.”
“You have my other passports in your bag, right?”
“Yes. But if they distribute your photo, that could be a tough one to dodge.”
“You get the dye?”
He handed her the bag and she padded to the bathroom with it and shut the door. Hannah followed her and knocked. Jet opened it a crack and she squeezed through, and then the door eased closed again, their voices muffled.
An hour passed as Matt channel surfed for news programs. Jet reappeared, her hair gleaming and wet, now raven toned and trimmed differently. She angled her head and raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think?”
“You’ve found your next career, if you need one.”
“Will it fool anyone?”
“Better than nothing. I mean, it’s different, but I wouldn’t want to bet on it. I can’t remember how close the passport photo was to how you actually look.”
“I had heavier makeup on so it would mask some of my natural features. But there’s a limit.”
“What about the base?”
“That’s next.”
She returned to the bathroom and spread makeup in her palm, and then applied it from her neck to her hairline. After inspecting the results, she went to work with the eyeliner pencil, shading beneath her eyes and along her subtle frown lines. When she was finished, she looked easily ten years older than her twenty-nine years, the subtle shadows she’d created with the pencil hardening her face with a stern cast.
Matt inspected her work and nodded. “The clerk wants ID for you if we stay.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“We can give him one of your passports.”
She shook her head. “We need somewhere we can go to ground while we figure out what we’re going to do.”
“Mama. It’s you!” Hannah called from the television. They spun toward the screen, where Jet’s booking mugshot was on the news, along with a sonorous voice-over advising the public that if they saw the fugitive, she was wanted in a murder investigation. When the program switched to parade footage, Matt eyed Jet.
“There’s your answer about whether they were going to publicize things. Think the Mossad had anything to d
o with it?”
“Certainly turns up the heat.”
“So what do we do?” Matt hesitated. “What do you want to do? You’re the one who has to pay the price if you decide to take them up on it.”
She sat down and pulled him beside her on the bed and stared deep into his eyes. “Do you see any way out?”
“We can bribe someone to ferry us over to Sicily.”
“Maybe. But they found us again, Matt, and they know we’re in the region. I’m getting the feeling the world’s closing in on us. If it was just me, maybe I could vanish, but with you and Hannah…technology’s not our friend.”
“So you’re leaning toward doing it?”
“I want you and Hannah to be safe. They’re promising that.”
“They’ve lied before.”
“Yes, but this doesn’t cost them anything besides a little house or apartment somewhere and some new documents. It’s an easy one from their standpoint, and they get their operative back. They obviously need me for something serious or they wouldn’t bother.”
“And once you’re done?”
“That’s part of the problem. If I agree, I’ll never be done.”
Matt’s frown deepened. “Then you’ll be in constant danger. That’s not a solution.”
Jet sighed and considered Hannah’s profile. The little girl was sitting on the floor, watching the screen, unaware of the drama playing out between them. “Seems like that won’t be much of a change. It’s not like we’ve been out of the crosshairs for long.”
“Putting yourself in harm’s way on a mission is different. We both know that.”
“I’m all ears if you have any alternatives.”
Matt proposed several, but even as he spoke, they sounded impractical to his ear. As they drilled through their options, the truth became apparent: the Mossad held all the cards. Jet rose and checked her appearance in the mirror again and, when she returned to the doorway, shook her head. “It’s no good. They’ve got us in a box.”
“And?”
She held out her hand. “Give me your phone. I need to make a call.”
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