Planned Coincidence: A Thrilling Suspense Novel (International Mystery & Crime)

by Dana Arama

  ***

  On Tuesday, we took a break from training due to Natalia’s visit. They spent the morning by the pool, roasting themselves. I wanted to use the time for the trip up north, but because I suspected the Russian, I preferred to stay. I spent most of the morning in my room with the window facing

  the courtyard open. It was such a good listening station that I could hear their conversation, despite the distance.

  “And what does your husband do?" I stopped the game I was following and listened. "He’s a partner in a company that produces oil and gas in Siberia. He spends days at a time in a hole located in the middle of the coldest hell you can imagine."

  Name, Gabi! Ask for the name of her husband! She didn’t ask, much to my frustration.

  "How are you getting on with Israeli heat?"

  Natalia laughed. "I’m a Russian that can’t stand the cold. Know the phenomenon? I can’t stand the idea of staying stuck indoors when it’s forty or fifty degrees above zero outside."

  "Ah, that explains the tan. You made a good choice. You won’t suffer with the cold here, that’s for sure.”

  "But here, it’s so humid. That's why I prefer Morocco or Egypt, where it’s hot and dry.”

  "Is that where you got your beautiful beach clothes?"

  “No - Dubai. Speaking of shopping, it’s the place. It’s like New York and Paris rolled up together. In May, there was an exhibition of diamonds and fashion. Only royalty and dignitaries received invitations for the first day. I wasn’t among those, of course, but on the second day, you can find amazing bargains, though it’s all still expensive. “

  Dubai? The country that broke off diplomatic relations with us after the assassination of Mahmoud al-Mabhouh? And how exactly did she get in?

  "How did they let you in there?"

  Well done, Gabi! Good question.

  "Oh. You need to know someone, especially with designers showing there."

  "I didn’t mean that. I mean, how did they even let you into Dubai?"

  "I have a Russian passport, remember? I don’t like the Russian cold, but I’m very fond of their passport.”

  "Isn’t it dangerous for you? If they find out that you have an Israeli passport, you could be accused of working for the Mossad.”

  "Mossad? What’s Mossad?”

  Is she serious? Who hasn’t heard of the Mossad?

  "The Mossad… the Israeli spy organization. You haven’t heard of it?"

  "Not really. What I do know is that if I had to pay for my shopping on a government salary, I’d be broke.” They both laughed. I wasn’t amused at all.

  "In any case, you should be careful there." Gabriella's voice showed genuine concern.

  She laughed. "If you don’t tell them, I won’t either.” Natalia didn’t seem worried at all, which was even more disturbing.

  "And the fashion there? Oriental or western, too?"

  From that moment on, I never got even a shred of additional information other than the names of international designers and new Parisian nightclubs, recommended by Natalia. I thought that a Russian passport and a sea of money allowed Natalia to sell just about any story she wanted to. I believed these stories justified a thorough examination.

  For now, the only benefit of the visit was Gabi’s tanned legs. They looked great in shorts.

  ***

  On Wednesday morning I saw the redness of her tan had changed to a stimulating mocha color. She came down wearing white shorts and a tight, white shirt, which only further highlighted the color of her skin. At this point, nothing was left of the pale, conservative woman in loose fitting clothes that I knew at first. "With you looking like that, I'm thinking we should go over the rape training again today."

  There was something provocative in the way she looked at me. "Could it be that I heard a compliment in what you said?"

  "We only covered some of the work last week. Today, we should go on with it. Are you okay with that?" I replied in a businesslike tone. I saw no reason to reveal my attraction to her.

  "With the training or the compliment?"

  I smiled, giving in to her teasing. "With both.” I realized there was no use me hiding my attraction.

  "Another half an hour, then.” I was able to identify a half smile before she picked up her coffee cup and went to the office. From behind, she looked just as good.

  We met in the gym room, ready to work hard. I was ready with my professional restraint, too.

  "Today, we’ll try an exercise when an attacker is leaning and holding onto you, eliminating the space for movement that you had last time." I instructed her to lie down on the mattress and I sat on her. I needed no reminder that it was a good thing I’d relieved my lust for her while showering that morning.

  "Notice, one hand on the trachea and the other hand hits the face." The smell of her perfume was intoxicating. "Now turn. Move your legs closer to the buttocks, hips rising up and throwing the attacker away. Now a knee to the testicles and you’re in a good position." Maybe I should just kiss her?

  We repeated the exercise several times. Each time, we were more and more glued together. I felt like I was having sexual fully clothed. Goddamit, said a voice in my head, you've through your adolescence, change the exercise, do something else. I cleared my throat. "Maybe we should go back over the standing exercises?" I wanted her naked beneath me right now.

  "Great idea," she quickly agreed, but I didn’t get off her.

  It was the first time I recognized her embarrassment. "This is the moment you try to cast me away or we’ll be like this all day," I said, unable to stop the smile on my face.

  "All day, eh?" It made her put all her strength into it, and she put a little effort into the kick to the balls. "Oops!” she challenged me. This woman was fiery, and there was something very cool about that.

  "I deserved that," I said and jumped to a standing stance. I had to distance myself from her.

  She smiled and handed me the training knife. "I never argue with someone who’s right.” "Well, let's get back to practicing knife attacks. This time, we’ll strike from behind." I stood behind her. "It's a different feeling when someone draws you to him," I said, pulling her. "I could strangle you while I was dragging you at the same time, and drop you to the floor. If you’re being attacked, you have to flow with the movement."

  "Without panicking."

  "Yes. That’s the whole idea of the training: learning not to panic.”

  The change from lying on the mattress to standing reduced some of the sexual tension between us and we were able to finish another hour of training. A water break was necessary. The heat was just an extra touch that lasted for a long time and drove us both crazy. I felt that she wanted me too, no less than I wanted her. It seemed to me that any contact between us lasted a few seconds longer than necessary. I’m sure I wasn’t imagining it.

  "Wow. It’s already two." The clock stopped us from drifting on. "I have to make a few phone calls," she said as she handed me the training knife. "Will we go on this afternoon?”

  "Yes. Rest a bit and then we’ll do some cardio for fitness and strength. We’ll try some in the pool."

  "Water. Your second home. Okay. I’ll give it a try. I'll see you here again at four."

  I was glad for the opportunity to listen in to her phone conversations when Esther wasn’t at home. It seemed to me that all the really important conversations she had were in the office. My erotic feelings for her could have just been a craving for women in general. Maybe just a weekend would get it out of my veins, when I got back home. Perhaps the tiny woman with the long hair, the one from the pub.

  I went up to the house a few minutes later. I opened my bedroom door and slammed it shut without going inside and I immediately jumped to the other side of the living room. She left the office, glanced toward my closed room, phone to her ear, and went right back in again. Now the office door remained ajar. I was sure she did it so she could hear when I went out again.

  Moving in silence, I climbe
d the stairs and stood outside the office. Her conversation was conducted in French, in a perfect Parisian accent.

  "Pierre darling, you know my future isn’t here." Did I hear sarcasm in her voice? I wished she'd turned on the speaker.

  "I need an apartment, not too big. Three rooms in the center of Paris would be sufficient, if you still want me, so most of the time we won’t be there at all.” Her voice was flirtatious, but free of seduction. I was even more curious to know who she was talking to. Was it the Pierre she told me had failed her in the past?

  Quiet. Was the conversation over? Apparently she was listening. She was holding something, maybe a pen, which she tapped nervously on the table. The tapping of the pen reminded me of a machine gun.

  "He’s a means of fulfilling my goal." She lost her patience. The machine gun sped up. "Very soon, he won’t be with me at all. Treat him like my human punch bag."

  She was talking about me? Was I the punch bag? It wasn’t far from the truth; soon, I wouldn’t be here. Originally, the time I set aside for this job was only the few months until the start of the semester. Still, there was something that bothered me: a new tone in her voice. I’d run into it in the past, when we were first training… something strongly practical, even cruel.

  "Don’t ask. It's the only thing I ask of you. Just don’t ask what my plans are."

  She laughed. "Kisses to you too. You won’t have to wait for me much longer." I felt sorry for this Pierre. I got the impression that she was playing with him.

  I heard the phone disconnect and the chair rolling on the parquet floor. I jumped into the next room. I closed the door and I heard her footsteps turn at the far end of the hall to her bedroom. Now I looked around. The room was dark. The only light came through the half-closed shutters. It was her son's room. It looked like the room of a living boy: the bed was made up, there were books on the shelf, shoes thrown down next to the closet, muddy riding boots, riding helmet, and a whip sticking out of a backpack, as if someone had just put them there.

  Only when I heard the shower running in her room did I allow myself to go out and get into the office. It was arranged as if they did not really use it. Some box files that matched the color of the wall filled two shelves. I took one of them and glanced at the pages inside. It was full of tax bills for their home and for their property in Savion and other payments. Another box contained pages of bank statements. The amounts written in each row were equal to what I earned from serving five years in the army, including my discharge grant.

  On the bottom shelf, I found a thin, brown binder, half hidden. I took it, removed the rubber band and found the document I was looking for. The phone rang in the quiet office. On the second ring, it sounded around the house. The water stopped. I knew I had to rush out of the room. I took another look at the document, memorized the registry, closed the file and put it back. I stood for a moment at the door. The phone was still ringing. I heard her answer in her room. I left the room and closed the door quietly behind me.

  When I got to the staircase, her door opened. I turned around quickly to face her, as if I’d just walked upstairs. She stood in the doorway of her room, wrapped in a large towel and her wet hair pulled back.

  The last shred of my resistance snapped.

  With two steps, I crossed the distance between us. I hugged her and kissed her. The risk I took worked. Her response was immediate. I felt her body push against me, hugging me. Her towel fell to the floor, revealing the body I had wanted to take for a long time. She undressed me eagerly while pushing me toward the bed. There was something crazy in her own boldness. I pulled off my shoes and she knocked me onto the bed. You’d think I hadn’t had a fuck for a month. Desire made me close my eyes, but I opened them immediately. The expression on her face was better than any movie I've seen in all that time.

  "Don’t move," she ordered, and sat on me. I was hard and she pushed me into her. The heat between her legs was accompanied by such wetness that it concentrated my pleasure. She shook herself on me so I felt her vagina clamped on my penis, squeezing it and bringing me to new heights.

  "Oh God, that’s good!" I heard in her voice what I was already thinking. I couldn’t describe a better feeling. The tremor that attacked her made her tighten further. I felt streams of moisture on my testicles. I turned her on her back and held her hands up above her head. I entered her again and again, until she moaned and trembled. The look in her eyes made me scream and lose myself in her. The boundless pleasure was never-ending and contained a promise for the future.

  ***

  We lay in bed. She wrapped her long leg around my body and put her head on my shoulder. I put my free hand under my head and I thought that if we were in a movie, we'd pass a cigarette between us.

  Loud ringing returned to roll around the house. "What a waste of time."

  What was a waste of time? I thought she meant the time of the caller waiting at the other end of the line.

  "In any case, everyone suspects me. We should have done that before." She ran her long fingers through my chest hair.

  "At first, you weren’t ready for it. Did you have any other goal?”

  "You became an integral part of my goal." At that moment, with her hand continuing to explore my body, I wondered if she meant training or getting laid. "What were you looking for on the top floor?" She pulled away from me and gave me an inquiring look.

  For all my experience, I was confused. "I thought I heard you call me."

  "No. I didn’t call you. But it's good that you came." She again assumed the air of a temptress. Her hand slid down my body and her lips followed. She cupped my balls, and I felt the warmth of her mouth on my dick as it woke up.

  After this round, when she went to take a shower, I opened the nightstand drawer. There were the usual things that women store in drawers: tubes of cream, bottles without any pills in them, an ancient iPod, and a leather-bound notebook. I opened it. There was half a page covered with doodles and lines, which coalesced into a list. Only the last page with writing on it was covered in readable words, and contained an ordered list of items. Along with every line was a 'v'. Although they were clear to read, they were impossible to understand. They seemed to be registered in a certain code, hints that perhaps were only clear to her. I made out ‘bath sponge.’ A shopping list for the local chemist? Then I saw: metal chain, knife, handcuffs. The list ceased to be innocent. What were they for? Tasks fulfilled? Things she bought? I wondered if the acid was included in the list. If I had my phone on me, I’d have snapped the page and delved into it later.

  I quickly flicked through the notebook. I tried to find a list with no check marks, unfulfilled tasks, to help me understand what else this might be about, but there was no such list. Movement from the bathroom... I put the notebook back. I knew I'd have to check it again, in order to understand what it was.

  Chapter 15

  The next day I headed north, riding my motorcycle. I preferred to travel via the coastal road. I knew every bend in the road from years of travel to the base. But I didn’t have too much time. I had to take into account the fact that, even though she was hiding something from me, she was still in danger. As I drove north, toward the mountains, the landscape changed, as did the air. The dry central region changed to the green mountains of the north.

  All the way, I kept the number of the farm I saw on the acquisition agreement, in the thin brown binder, foremost in my mind. I had no trouble finding the place. The problem was getting into it.

  The farm looked abandoned and isolated. Not only was it the last in the row, but the strange terrain made it look as if it was hidden behind a low hill. I got off the bike and took off my jacket. Stretching after the long ride was as good as the mountain wind that caressed me. I considered leaving the helmet on my head, but I knew that if somebody came upon me by chance, they’d assume I was a burglar wearing a helmet and the local security officer would be there in a moment. I broke the lock on the gate and went in with the bike. Again, I went out a
nd closed the gate with rusted wire I found nearby. An open door invites questions.

  The most prominent building on the grounds was the small old-fashioned refrigerated room. In our moshav they’d converted them into large buildings and were more sophisticated, and yet, it wasn’t so easy to break into it. Above the door was a modest plaque which said, “Gabi’s studio.” The lock on the door required prior knowledge of in order to break into it.

  I turned around, trying to find a weaker side door, or a window through which I could enter. The only window was blackened and barred. I looked around and finally I picked up a big stone and hit the glass. The glass broke, but to my surprise, I found a hard sponge behind it. I went to the motorcycle to get the multi-purpose knife I always made sure to keep around. It wasn’t there. Fuck! The only thing I forgot to check. I went back to the sponge in the window. Now I stuck my fingers in it, along with the motorcycle key and a stick I tore off a dry orange tree. With great difficulty, I managed to dig out a hole and peek in. It was pitch dark inside. The building seemed to me to be entirely paneled with sponge.

  I used the bars as a ladder and climbed onto the roof. I was hoping to find the usual vent that was in all refrigerated rooms, to prevent mold. There was indeed such, but it was completely opaque. Using a coin, I tried to carefully remove the large screws. My fingers ached from the effort. My work took almost half an hour, and I was filled with satisfaction that the lid wasn’t destroyed. After I left, I could close it again.

  I jumped in and looked around. Wow! It looked like a set for a horror movie. Everything from the list was in its place. Steel handcuffs hung from the ceiling and another couple that matched them was fixed to the floor. Out of curiosity, I checked the height at which the handcuffs were placed, and immediately recoiled. It fit me exactly. Cold sweat crept down my back. I examined the chain attached to the upper handcuffs. It was connected to a crude hydraulic lifting mechanism. She's planning to lift someone heavier than her, I thought. Me? Is this what she meant when she said that I was a part of her plans?