by Unknown
Everyone in the room watched Rafjani, as if this was a banquet in his honor and they were waiting for him to make his speech. His jaw was clenched, and when he spoke he pointed at Mahmoud.
“When you die, it will be by my hand.” He glared at Mahmoud with wild eyes. Mahmoud trembled.
A small, sadistic smile curled on Galim’s lips.
There was fear in Mahmoud’s eyes. He was stripped naked and strapped to a straight back, wooden chair. Galim sent his two security men away and Rafjani was left in the dark room with Ali and Mahmoud. A single, bare bulb shined directly over Mahmoud’s head, accentuating the pointed features of his face with long shadows. It was like something out of a movie.
Rafjani realized he was breathing hard and his heart was racing as he watched Galim put on a pair of rubber gloves. Mahmoud watched him, too, with wide, fearful eyes.
Rafjani knew nothing about torture. He knew it was used.
In the business of intelligence it was usually the most effective method of extracting information from enemy agents. Rafjani never felt the desire to have any part of it. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to witness it right then. He was sure, however, he wanted to see Mahmoud, or whatever his name was, dead, and he wanted the satisfaction of being the one to kill him.
Ali Galim would perform the torture himself. He chose heat 158
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as the persuasive element. On some days he used electricity, and on others he simply beat a man senseless. At the start, Rafjani was horrified and pitied the man who had been his friend for what he was about to go through. When Galim burned the palm of Mahmoud’s hand with something that looked like a hair curling iron and Mahmoud screamed, Rafjani felt his skin crawl.
“What is your name?” Galim demanded.
“Mahmoud Azzizi,” he said.
His eyes were closed and his teeth were clenched together.
Galim seared his palm again and Mahmoud screamed again.
Rafjani watched in horror, unable to turn away even though he wanted to so badly.
Galim appeared to enjoy this. He asked the question again.
Mahmoud squeezed his lips together in defiance. Galim pressed the iron into his scorched palm. Rafjani could smell the burning flesh and could hear a sizzling noise between screams.
“What is your name?” Galim shouted.
“Mahmoud ... Mahmoud-”
He screamed again when Galim pressed the iron into the palm of his other hand. Mahmoud squeezed his mouth shut again, desperate to defy Galim with every last bit of his strength.
Rafjani felt admiration for his courage. Mahmoud was sweating and shaking and tears ran from his eyes. He knew he was going to die, yet still he was defiant.
Galim, however, had obviously dealt with defiance before, and had no patience for it. He closed his fist and slugged Mahmoud in the jaw, twisting his head. Then he jammed the smoking iron into Mahmoud’s genitals. His head lifted and he squealed. Rafjani cringed and crossed his legs, feeling sympathetic pain.
“Your name!” Galim shouted, his mouth an inch from Mahmoud’s ear.
“Benrubi!” the man screamed.
His head lowered and he sobbed. His body shook.
Galim took the iron away. The room was silent except for the man’s sobs and the quiet crackle of burned flesh on the iron.
Rafjani stared at him with his mouth open. He was a spy. He Change of Heart
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was the enemy. Galim knew and Rafjani never suspected. Galim turned and looked at him. If he was gloating, Rafjani could not tell.
He wore the expression of a craftsman engrossed in his work.
Galim picked up a cigarette from an ashtray beside a cassette recorder, took a puff, and put it back.
“Benrubi,” Galim repeated, his voice calm once again. “What is your full name?”
“Avram ... Avram ... Benrubi.”
His voice was weak between the sobbing, the voice of a defeated man.
Rafjani’s pity and admiration vanished. He had no compassion for Jews. Their adoption of western ideals was the consummation of everything he stood against. They were invaders in a land that did not want them. Their culture was contradictory to the rich and ancient heritage of Persia and Central Asia and he felt the Jews had no right to impose their own cultures and beliefs on such a world.
Ali Galim began to interrogate Benrubi in a gradual, methodi-cal manner, and Rafjani gained a new respect for the man, although it was a reserved, fearful admiration. Galim was not a man to be crossed. Rafjani liked this quality the most, to be feared and respected by those under him. Such power must be an incredible sensation.
The torture went on for what seemed like hours. Galim started by asking Benrubi who he worked for, who trained him, then moved on to more probing questions. Whenever Benrubi hesitated or gave an unsatisfactory answer, Galim was quick to prod him with the iron or one of the other devices laid on the small table.
Benrubi’s strength faded. By the end, he was nothing more than a quivering mass, hardly recognizable as the proud, jovial man Rafjani ate lunch with earlier that day.
Rafjani felt little better himself. Just watching it all took a lot out of him. His morbid fascination at the start turned to boredom by the end. He was exhausted, and he had been sitting the entire time.
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Benrubi’s answers became inaudible. His head hung limp to one side and his mouth hung open. A string of drool ran from his mouth down his shoulder. Parts of his body were scarred with bright red burn marks. Rafjani looked at him impassionately, as he would at a dead animal at the side of the road.
Galim repeated a question. Benrubi did not respond. Rafjani expected Galim to force a response with the hot iron, but he did not. Instead, he pressed his fingers to the side of Benrubi’s neck, just above an ugly burn mark. Then he turned and picked up the cigarette.
“He’s dead,” Galim said though a cloud of smoke as he pulled off the rubber gloves.
Rafjani stiffened. He was dead. That was it. He sighed. He was not disappointed that he did not get the opportunity to finish him off. He was glad it was over. Now he would find out his own fate, and he hoped it did not lie in that chair.
Then, to Rafjani’s surprise, Galim bent his head and mumbled a short prayer.
“What was that for?” Rafjani asked when he raised his head and puffed the cigarette again.
Galim looked at Benrubi.
“He was a warrior and a good soldier for his people. He deserved to die with dignity, not like ... this.”
“What about me?”
Galim stubbed out the cigarette. “You’re done here.”
“Then I’ll go back to my office.”
Galim shook his head.
“No, I mean you’re finished. You’ll have to leave. I won’t kill you, but you can no longer remain with this agency. You’ve become a liability. The Mossad know too much about your movements and your appearance. You have to leave.” Rafjani stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re kicking me out?”
“This is not a club. We take our business very seriously.”
“I would think no one knows that more than me.” Galim considered it for a moment.
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“You’re probably right, but that does not change the facts.
You’ll leave Iraq today and you’ll never return.” He picked up the recorder and left.
Rafjani looked at the body of the Israeli agent. Just like that, Ali Galim eliminated them both. Rafjani worked so hard to get his career that far, and it was over, at least as far as Ali Galim was concerned. Rafjani still had plans, those plans just no longer included his friend. He walked past the body and left the room.
Chapter 9
Kawamura was on the bridge. Josh stood next to him, staring out at the growing coastline of Northern Japan. Kawamura’s mood was somber and Josh could certainly understand. He felt responsible for the damage to Kawamura’s
boat, and this boat was his livelihood. It was also the livelihood for his crew. What would they do now that he damaged their boat?
That was crazy. He didn’t break their ship, the Russians did.
Kawamura happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Josh glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He was glad, though, because if he hadn’t come by when he did, that attack ship would have cut Valeria and him to pieces just like Jurgen and the other guy in the Zodiac. That image was still vivid in his mind. Limping to dry land in a slow, leaky boat was a whole lot better than being chopped into bite size shark food without sight of land.
“I have contacted the authorities,” Kawamura said in an offhand way.
Josh’s ears pricked up. This was something that had concerned him. Kawamura continued.
“They knew nothing of you or your vessel, but this didn’t surprise me. I was able to report the loss of your vessel and that you and your wife are safe. They will be waiting for you when we arrive.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have our passports,” Josh said. “They were on the boat when it went down.” 162
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He was getting so used to telling these stories he began to believe them himself.
Kawamura nodded. “That will be difficult. What can you do about that?”
“I’ll have to call the American Embassy. They should be able to get new identification for us.”
Kawamura nodded again, his head bobbing.
“That will be satisfactory.”
Satisfactory? It would be exactly what he wanted. He would hand Valeria off to someone at the Embassy, then jump on the next plane back to the States. He would be glad to be back in his own bed. It felt like he’d been gone a week.
He went below to check on Valeria. She had just awaken and was sitting up on the bench.
“Good morning,” he said.
She looked at him without speaking. He wondered if she was still angry with him.
“We’ll be in Japan shortly. Kawamura talked to the authorities. They’ll be waiting for us. I think I can get them to let us go to the U.S. Embassy in Tokyo. We’ll be safe once we get there.” She nodded. He wondered what she was thinking. Why didn’t she say anything? She looked so vulnerable, like a little girl who fell and skinned her knee. He knew how much she had been through in the last couple of days and he could imagine how disoriented she must have felt. He wanted to make her feel more comfortable and let her know everything was going to be all right.
She reminded him of a girlfriend he had back in high school, whose father just died. It was their prom night and she was sitting in the hospital waiting room in her prom dress, wearing that same disoriented, frightened look on her face. He remembered sitting next to her, wanting to comfort her and not knowing how.
Looking at Valeria, he decided he’d better not sit next to her and put his arm around her. He was afraid she might bite his head off.
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knew nothing about her. She could have a husband, two kids and a dog back home in Russia. He was not briefed on her background, just told to go get her.
“Are you hungry?” he asked in Russian.
She suddenly looked cross.
“Why don’t you leave me alone?”
Josh winced. “You know, you make it hard for a person to like you.”
Her face softened and she smiled.
“Maybe I do. I am hungry. Are there eggs and ham on this boat?”
The thought of scrambled eggs and a stack of pancakes made Josh hungry, too.
“I doubt there’s anything fried on this boat. I know they’ll have food for us when we get to the Embassy. I’m gonna have a cheeseburger.”
“Cheeseburger?”
“Yeah, it’s ... ground beef, fried, on a bun, with cheese. It’s delicious.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Only until you have one.”
The drone of the motor died to a low rumble and the boat slowed. Josh grabbed the edge of the doorway to keep from losing his balance.
“I hope that’s not more trouble,” he said, and went back up to the deck.
They were close to land, less than a mile from the coast. He could make out buildings among the trees on the hillside that came down to the water’s edge. Other boats drifted in the water around them. Josh assumed, as he climbed up to the bridge, Kawamura slowed to navigate the channels.
Kawamura turned to look at Josh when he entered the bridge.
He steered the boat away from other traffic with both hands on the wheel.
“Mombatsu,” Kawamura grunted with a nod of his head in the direction of the harbor ahead of them.
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Josh stood next to Kawamura. He had never seen Mombatsu, although he was familiar with it. During his stays in Japan he learned that a large portion of the fresh seafood sold in restaurants and stores in Japan came through Mombatsu.
Kawamura seemed uptight about something. He shifted on his feet.
“Is something the matter?” Josh asked.
Kawamura stammered and shifted. Josh realized he must be ashamed of what he had to say next.
“I’m sure you’re aware that I was fishing in Russian waters.
Obviously, this is in violation of many international laws.” He coughed and glanced at Josh. This was obviously difficult for him to get out.
“Naturally, when the Russian ship attacked us, I assumed it was for this reason.”
He turned to look at Josh and appeared to calm down as he continued.
“I don’t know how that ship was sunk, but now I have to believe it has something to do with you. The fact that the authorities are interested in you confirms my suspicions.” Josh stared at him. He did not know Kawamura well enough to know if he was a man of conviction or a man of greed. If he wanted a bribe, Josh had nothing to offer. If Kawamura turned Valeria and him over to the Japanese cops, would they be protected by the Embassy?
“What do you want?” Josh said.
Kawamura shrugged and turned his gaze back to the view of the harbor out the window.
“Merely a deal.”
“Which is?”
“If you will agree to keep my secrets hidden, I will agree to keep your secrets hidden.”
Josh smiled. Kawamura was a man without scruples who had no idea how far over his head he was.
“It’s a deal,” Josh said.
Kawamura nodded and smiled.
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A pair of police cars were waiting on the dock. More than two feet of water flooded the bottom of the bilge by then and Kawamura could not afford to stop at his own dock. He had called ahead and made arrangements to put his boat in the dry dock, at the end of the row of docks. As Kawamura steered his boat toward it, the police officers scrambled back to their cars to follow.
They caught up with the boat at the dry dock. Josh and Valeria and the crewmen disembarked while Kawamura remained on board to tend to his boat until it was secured on the supports and the water was pumped from the dock.
From the group of policemen, one man, wearing a brown suit and an overcoat, stepped forward.
“I am Detective Hidaka of the Japanese Federal Police, from Tokyo,” he said in perfect English. He did not hold out his hand for Josh to shake. “I understand you have lost your boat at sea.”
“Yes,” Josh said.
He couldn’t understand why a Japanese Federal cop would have such an interest.
Detective Hidaka held out his hand to direct them to the police cars.
“If you would come with us, please, we would like to ask you some questions concerning the accident.” Josh looked into the man’s eyes. There was no reason for them to suspect anything, unless Hidaka did some investigating and found out the story was made up.
“If you don’t mind, we’d really lik
e to get some rest and some food.” He put his arm around Valeria, hugging her like she was his wife. “Plus I have to call our family back home and let them know we’re all right. Then there’s the insurance-”
“There will be time for that later,” Hidaka said, cutting Josh off. “Please get into the car.”
Josh looked at the car. He knew if the police decided to charge them with a crime and hold them pending a trial, there was nothing the Embassy could do. If this Hidaka had done any sort Change of Heart
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of investigation, he already knew Josh and Valeria were not who they said they were. If he interviewed Josh and Valeria separately, which Josh expected, Hidaka would immediately know their story was made up. Josh could invent family names and an insurance policy and the name of a home port and even if they didn’t check out his information, Valeria would not give the same story. If there was a trial and the truth came out, the charges against Josh would probably be dropped.
Valeria’s fate, however, might be different. There was no love lost between the Russians and the Japanese, and there was no telling what the Japanese courts might do with a known KGB
spy in their hands.
However, Josh did not see that they had much choice. The cops outnumbered them four to two and, although Japanese police didn’t carry guns, he and Valeria didn’t stand much of a chance if they decided to run. He could only hope the Embassy came through for them before they were locked up as spies.
Josh nudged Valeria toward the car and they got in. Hidaka got in the front seat with one of the uniformed officers, who drove.
Josh hoped Hidaka would ride in the other car so he and Valeria would have a chance to go over their story. Now Josh tried to figure out some new tactic.
“Your English is very good,” Josh said.
Hidaka turned to face them, resting his elbow over the back of the seat. The car was right hand drive, and he sat in what would have been the driver’s seat in the U.S..
“UCLA, 1975,” Hidaka said. “College of Criminology. That was John Wooden’s last year. We beat North Carolina for the National Championship.”
He smiled and Josh smiled back, wondering what kind of interrogation they were in for.