Crossing the Lines

by Jacob Ganani

  “How’re you doing, Moish?” he asked him softly.

  “I-I’m fine, Yeremi...” he stammered weakly.

  “Why so stressed, Moish?” The friendly smile remained unfazed.

  Moish stayed silent.

  “So you want to become a witness for the state, Moish? Is that what you want? Why, Moish?” Gantz asked as his smile disappeared.

  “Of course I don’t!” Moish replied. “I was framed! They said I’ll get life if I didn’t cooperate!”

  “Think about it, Moish. What’s worse: a life sentence, or Sexta out for your blood?”

  Moish didn’t reply. Gantz glanced at his watch and asked, “Do you have anywhere you can go, Moish?”

  “Anywhere to go?”

  “Yes, a place you can escape to, disappear. You know, you’re lucky I don’t forget people who played fair with me. Get it? But you must leave the country by tonight. You’ll be a wanted man within an hour. Understand?”

  “Of course I understand, Yeremi,” Moish whispered, and, for the first time, he took a deep breath of relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his chest.

  “Okay, hold your hands out,” said Gantz, releasing one hand while leaving the handcuffs hanging from the other. He then bent down and took off the shackles as well. He glanced at the rear window and said, “Heads up, we’ll be there soon. The moment we pull over, I’ll open the door and you get out and run for your life. Call Johnny to arrange for a private jet to Cyprus and then just get as far away as you can. Understand?”

  “Yes, Yeremi. Thank you!”

  “Just don’t forget you owe me one, Moish.”

  “Of course, Yeremi. I’ll never forget!”

  The van slowed to a stop. Gantz looked out of the rear window with his hand on the door handle. He swung open the door and ordered, “Go! Now!”

  Moish jumped out and began to run.

  ***

  5 minutes earlier

  Cantor gently adjusted the crosshairs on the scope of his Remington M24 until they aligned perfectly to the center of the target guide. The laser rangefinder indicated 180 yards in bright green numbers.

  He released his right hand from the trigger and moved it back slowly, pressing his fingertips against his sore neck. He’d long forgotten about the neck aches suffered by snipers, because he seldom practiced anymore.

  Past experience had taught him that the rangefinder was a useful and reliable gadget. Together with his natural talent, all the elements should combine to achieve the desired result.

  At such distance, the scope would allow him to clearly see the impact of the bullet on his target. His goal was to obstruct the target, but not to kill. This rendered the matter much more challenging.

  The acid lurking in his stomach suddenly began churning, sending a burning, stinging sensation up his throat. He moved away from the rifle and pulled out a Zantac from his shirt pocket, a solution proven to settle his pain within moments.

  He kept asking himself if they’d made the right decision, yet he was sure it was exactly what needed to be done. Common sense would have sided with their decision every time, and so did their gut feeling. They were two seasoned officers who had seen a thing or two in their careers and they both agreed that, as complex as this situation was, all arrows pointed in one direction - a clear and definite direction.

  Regardless of whether or not they were right, their methods were unorthodox. To handle this on their own, outside the system, was breaking every law and police procedure. Cantor was particularly surprised that Haddad had even agreed to take part in this, but it turned out that he wanted to see justice being served at all costs. Ultimately, Haddad, too, felt compelled to take matters into his own hands and ignore all that the police had instilled in him.

  Cantor closed his eyes and concentrated on the yellow spot floating in the darkness. His breaths became deep and steady, pushing aside any disconcerting thoughts. A mantra echoed in his head: the decision was correct, the deed justified. By every standard of morality and basic justice, this was necessary. There was no other way. Within moments, it worked - his concentration returned, and so had his confidence in the rationality of his actions. He was ready.

  He began to ponder the possibility that this might all prove to be a ruse, and, at the last minute, things would suddenly be cleared up and easily explained - that all their conclusions would turn out to be wrong.

  Only he didn’t really believe that would happen.

  The rain had now subsided, falling straight down, indicating that the wind had also settled. The image within the telescopic lens was now his whole world.

  He took two sips from the water bottle and deemed that his breathing was too shallow - not surprising, given the cloud of dank dust in the deserted office space. He knew that a shortage of oxygen would impair the stability his hands required.

  He swallowed hard and inhaled slowly, but with greater determination. After a moment, he was relieved as the oxygen that flowed into his lungs soothed his nervous system and restored it to full control.

  His lookout window loomed over the main entrance of the courthouse. A camouflage curtain concealed his rifle from any random onlookers. He took a quick look at his phone screen, which remained dark and silent. Again, he moved away from the gun and stood up. He swung his right arm around quickly, trying to relieve the muscle numbness that was beginning to set in.

  He returned to his kneeling position with his eyes level with the windowsill and the synthetic stock of his rifle pressed against his shoulder. The back of his neck was crying out for a deep tissue massage.

  A quick glance at his watch indicated it was 1:10pm. The synapses in his brain flashed the word “phone.” The instinct was accurate. At that very second, his phone vibrated and the number 2 appeared on the screen.

  The signal!

  Cantor’s brain rebooted. He was now in full operational mode. He tightened the butt of the rifle against his shoulder as he released the safety with his thumb. His index finger moved from the trigger guard and hovered over the trigger. The crosshairs froze on the white lines that marked the designated parking spot.

  “On target.” His lips involuntarily shaped the operational directive.

  At that moment, it began.

  The blue transport van appeared in his scope. It stopped in the rectangular parking spot. The back door swung open and Moish leaped out and began to run. As Cantor tried to process what was happening, he saw Yeremi Gantz standing at the door of the van with a gun in his hand. Moish was already about twenty feet away when Gantz raised his gun and pointed it at his back.

  Just as they thought.

  Cantor aimed at Gantz’s right shoulder. The first joint of his index finger tightened gently as his fingertip pressed on the sensitive trigger. And in that split second, a sudden flutter of wings... a pigeon flew past the barrel of the rifle just as it recoiled back into Cantor’s shoulder with the blast of the shot. Cantor knew he had missed and realized Moish was doomed.

  Then, out of nowhere, a silver Audi with dark tinted windows appeared in Cantor’s scope. It braked hard and swerved between the two men.

  His telescopic lens offered him a crystal-clear view of the scene. Cantor saw Gantz turn his head in surprise. At that moment, he saw the long barrel of a gun jut out from the Audi’s window. The barrel moved quickly forward like a lizard’s tongue snatching its prey.

  As if in slow motion, Cantor watched the gun recoil. He didn’t see the flash of the shot, but he did glimpse a light swirl of white smoke, like a billow from a lit cigarette, suspended in the cool air as if searching for something to grasp onto.

  Yeremi Gantz flew back and landed on his back.

  And with the sound of an unmuted, large caliber gunshot ringing in his ears, Cantor realized that something had gone very, very wrong.

  His mind flashed back to that damned assassination attempt in Paris. The parking lot... the chance to eliminate the terrorist... the white spotlight suddenly blinding him… the paralyzing jol
t of the bullet that shattered his shoulder... and the black-uniformed anti-terror unit French officers who seized him, pushing him to the ground. Another world and another time, but a similar, startling incident that shuffled all the cards.

  He continued looking down at the surreal scene, with Moish stopping mid-run and turning to stare at Yeremi, who was lying on the pavement. He remained standing there, no longer needing to run away. Cantor, now operating on automatic, switched targets. He shifted his aim to the rear window of the Audi. The assassin was seconds away from his victim. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Only something stopped him.

  If in doubt, there is no doubt.

  For a long moment, he watched the scene unfold. Two figures, one sprawled on the ground, a puddle of red blood beginning to form around him, the other standing frozen a few feet away. And then reality crashed back in with the shrieks of police sirens and ambulances. From the street, he heard people screaming and car brakes screeching.

  The silver Audi disappeared as it raced down the street and around a corner.

  It was time for Cantor to retreat.

  He quickly disassembled his rifle into its bag, picked up his phone and ripped off the camouflage curtain and placed it in the bag, covering the rifle. A last glance out the window revealed Haddad running toward Yeremi Gantz’s listless body.

  At the door, he turned and gave the room one final inspection. Suddenly, he no longer sensed the smell of dust.

  He thought that was strange.

  CHAPTER 58

  “Officer down! Officer down!” the police dispatch radio transmitted over and over again. Forces from around the city responded to the call, racing to the courthouse with sirens blaring and lights flashing. Haddad was the first to reach Yeremi Gantz. Next to him, he found his gun and the document file. He immediately noticed that the gun’s safety was off, an indication that the scenario they had predicted did, indeed, transpire. Yeremi had been about to fire at Moish just a split second before he himself was shot. Haddad ignored Moish, who remained standing motionless, and knelt by the head of the wounded Gantz, whose body twitched uncontrollably. Quickly and without hesitation, Haddad lifted Yeremi’s head and cradled it on his lap, supporting him with both hands. Yeremi began to wheeze and blood spurted out of his mouth, but his eyes were focused and looked straight into Haddad’s.

  “Why?” asked Haddad in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.

  Yeremi Gantz’s mouth moved as if attempting his usual cynical smile and drops of blood trickled from his lips onto his chin.

  “Yeremi, just hold on. Help’s on the way. You’re going to be fine,” Haddad lied. He tightened his grip on Yeremi’s arm, giving him a few last moments of close human contact.

  “Yeremi, stay with me!” Haddad implored, turning the wounded man’s head to the side to make sure that he didn’t choke on his own blood.

  But Yeremi, with his last ounce of strength, shook his head as if to say that this wasn’t the right time for empty promises. His lips moved as he tried to whisper something. Haddad leaned over until his ear neared his mouth.

  “Because no one cares... always alone... like a dog...” He burst into a deep cough and splatters of blood flew up onto Haddad’s face. He didn’t wipe them away. “I wanted… different life…”

  Haddad held his arm even tighter. He knew Yeremi’s time was running out, but he had to be sure. A man on his deathbed seldom lied, so Haddad asked directly, “But Yeremi, why kill Cantor?”

  Another burst of heavy coughs jolted Yeremi’s body and bloody drool ran down his chin.

  “Daphne... he betrayed me...” He gasped for breath and fell silent.

  Shit, Haddad thought. Who’d have believed it? The oppressed childhood, the lingering solitude, the stalled career, and not even the economic hardships conveyed a true picture. There was another element that happened to be the most powerful of them all: revenge. Daphne had left Gantz for Cantor, and he never recovered from it. She left his life in ruins, but his love for her would not allow him to hold her accountable. He blamed Cantor, accused him of plunging the knife into his heart, sending his spiraling with no return onto a path of revenge. At last, it all made sense.

  This bitter comprehension made Haddad tighten his embrace of the dying man as the latter murmured, “It’s what I deserve... I’m a murderer... Albert... I’m sorry... tell Oded I’m sorry...”

  “Yeremi, breathe! Don’t talk now! Can you hear the ambulance coming?”

  Another unrelenting cough accompanied by a deep gurgle came from Yeremi’s mouth.

  “I’m cold, Albert... freezing...” The murmur was now a barely audible whisper. “In my trou...”

  “What?”

  “My trous...”

  Haddad heard a loud gurgle that ceased abruptly as Yeremi Gantz’s gaze took on the glassy hollowness of death.

  Haddad slowly took off his leather jacket and placed it under the dead man’s head. He then leaned over and patted down Yeremi’s legs until his hand felt the bulge of a gun, the incriminating evidence that Yeremi Gantz had left behind.

  Raising his head, he saw three of the court’s security guards standing beside him with their guns drawn. With one hand, he continued supporting Yeremi’s head and, with the other, waved his badge in their direction.

  Next to arrive were the cops from inside the courthouse. Haddad ordered them to secure the area. They held back the curious bystanders and requested that the security guards create a second perimeter at the other end of the courtyard.

  A few more moments passed, the air pierced every few seconds by the sound of another police siren. CSU arrived and took control of the area. Photographs and measurements were taken. The M.E. made a quick assessment. There was no need for a scholarly conjecture as to the cause and time of death, since the shooting had taken place in broad daylight and in front of dozens of witnesses. Five more detectives arrived from Central. They gathered Gantz’s Jericho, the .38 and the document file. Two of them hurriedly ushered Moish into their car and disappeared from the scene.

  In under an hour, CSU had completed their sweep and Yeremi Gantz’s body was transferred to the morgue.

  The courtyard now stood empty except for a white chalk outline of the body on the ground, like a photograph from which a figure had been cut out, leaving behind a ragged absence whose secret was known to only a few.

  CHAPTER 59

  Twenty years of civil service have come to an end for Cantor and there wasn’t anything anyone could say to change that.

  Twenty years of service in which he’d lived his dream, a dream, he now realized, based on a deceptive illusion. He had always believed this was his calling, dedicating himself to the defense of his country and its people against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

  Now, it turned out to be nothing more than a misconception, a fundamentally false belief - a complete lie, even. What ultimately truly motivated him was his selfish sense of adventure. He was an adrenaline junkie, getting his fix from the life and death endeavors he undertook in the name of the law.

  Now, for the first time in his life, he faced his true self. The events and the people he had encountered in the past two weeks offered him a mirror of his life, a reflection of the real Oded Cantor. And Haddad? He’d never bought his ‘calling’ rationalization. He had hinted several times that he suspected his motivation derived from other factors. Hadn’t he mentioned that his motives didn’t coincide with those of a dedicated police officer?

  As he considered this, he couldn’t help thinking about Johnny Rice. They had the same background, followed a similar path, but Rice had crossed the lines. He wondered what really motivated Rice and whether he himself, now that he had more insight into his true nature, had any right to judge him.

  It was all over now. If someone had told him two weeks ago that this would be the outcome of the case, he would have thought they were crazy. Reality had surpassed any scenario imaginable. The principles he had valued and deemed so solid had cru
mbled and overturned.

  He had become a new man, ready to discover a new life.

  CHAPTER 60

  Sunday - morning

  Cantor and Haddad were summoned urgently to David Azar’s office, only to discover that the order had not originated from there. Azar, who was a hard man to read, asked them to report to the lieutenant commander’s office. If he had any information or explanation about what was waiting for them there, he kept it to himself.

  This time, no one else joined them in the lieutenant’s office. Not the assistant, nor the secretary, only Baruch Goldman himself. His face was so tight and flushed that it seemed as if the man was about to explode from suppressed anger. Cantor and Haddad were hardly surprised. They knew it was coming and how it was going to end.

  “We have a problem with your state’s witness case.” He spat out the words without any preliminaries. Yes, now it was their case... “And do you want to know what this unforeseen problem is?” Goldman said in a quietly threatening tone that stood in stark contrast to the roar that now followed. “The whole fucking file is gone!”

  Azar was surprised. His expression indicated that he had no idea what was going on. He turned to the lieutenant with a questioning look, and when the latter didn’t respond, he looked at his men, but their faces remained blank.

  Goldman continued, “You’ve no idea what’s going on - right, Azar?” He sneered in both anger and ridicule.

  Azar did know something, and clung to it like a drowning man clutches at straw. “I know CSU found the file at the scene. No one said there were any problems.” He sounded disappointed to have been betrayed.

  Goldman opened a drawer and pulled out a thin file. He placed his index finger on it, drawing all eyes in the room to it. When he spoke, his voice was under steady control. “Like I said, there’s a problem, a very big problem. This is the folder they brought back from the scene.” His finger tapped the file. “They brought it straight here under my personal orders as soon as I heard what happened to Gantz, may he rest in peace. Because what’s more important than evidence that will bring down the Sexta family? Huh? And then I open this file and what do I find? There should be a signed agreement in here, right? Ready for the court’s approval, right? But there’s no such document in here, only a damned unsigned draft. Zero! Zilch! This is what I’ve got here! And to think that for such useless shit, a policeman lost his life!”