by David Khara
“I’ll fly to eastern Canada and cross on foot. There are plenty of wooded areas where I won’t be spotted.”
“You’d better bundle up. The weather there is especially bad this time of year,” Attali warned.
“You really think snow and ice can stop me?”
Attali grinned. “I don’t think an avalanche could stop you. So gentlemen, you are officially flying under the radar now. From this point on, the agency is no longer protecting you. Exfiltration is not a possibility. Should you be captured, you will not be our concern. The only authorized contact will be via our cryptophones. Morg, what are you doing?”
Eytan was tapping away on his cell phone.
“I’ve had an agent, Greg Nadjar, watching Jackie and Jeremy for the past two years. I’m giving him the order to step up his surveillance until I get there.”
“Yet another discreet initiative on your part. At least this one happens to be useful. All right, I’m activating my Pentagon and White House connections. The ball’s in your court.”
Eli and Avi got up.
“Go ahead,” Eytan said. “I want to have another word with our friend.”
Eli and Avi obeyed without asking any questions.
“Whatever happens, Eytan, don’t get caught,” Attali said once they were alone.
“Don’t worry, I won’t create any international incidents.”
“It’s not diplomacy that I’m worried about,” Attali said. He stared at the Kidon agent until Eytan acknowledged his nonverbal message. This man did not want him to return to the hell he had experienced as a child. Eytan nodded, silently telling Attali that he would do whatever it took to avoid being captured.
He left the building and spotted his friends in the parking lot. They were already in the middle of a heated exchange over their flight to the United States. Ignoring them, Eytan headed for his motorcycle. This caught their attention, and they ran to meet him. They caught up just as he was putting on his helmet.
“We have to figure out how we’re going to work together on this,” Eli said. He was visibly annoyed with the doctor, whose sarcasm was beginning to grate on him.
“Hold up,” Eytan said. “I know we’ve been ordered to collaborate, but I don’t want either of you coming with me.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Avi protested. “If I don’t do what they want, I’ll be fired. And I know I make jokes about the clinic, but private practice isn’t really my thing. Do you want to push me into a job that consists of wiping kids’ noses and writing scrips for antibiotics?
“You can do better than that,” Eytan replied, unfazed.
Avi looked at Eli, clearly pleading for help. In response, Eli gave Eytan’s motorcycle a furious kick. It crashed to the ground.
“You’re not going without us,” Eli shouted.
Eytan bent down and picked up the motorcycle. As soon as it was upright, Eli forced it down again, smashing the rearview mirror. Still showing no emotion, Eytan made yet another attempt to bring his cycle upright. He was mumbling, but Eli could hear what he was saying: “There’s no way you’ll be put in harm’s way because of me.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Eli yelled. The man was known for his grace under fire, but Eytan could see that he had been pushed too far. Eli grabbed the giant’s combat jacket and pulled him close. “I’m going with you.”
“Too many people have already died because of my mistakes, Eli, and I won’t let you become one of them. Certainly not you.”
“We are not just people! You raised me. And him,” Eli yelled as he pointed to Avi, “he’s your friend, just like Jacqueline and Jeremy. I’ve always listened to you, even when you’ve told me it was time to retire. But I’m the one who’s making the decisions today. You want to fight? Fine. I’m coming with you, and if Avi wants to come with us, well, he’s old enough to make that decision for himself.”
The Kidon agent was beginning to weaken.
“I know what you’re dwelling on, Eytan. Loving others is not a flaw. It’s a driving force, the driving force that gives our lives meaning. You’re the one who taught me that.”
Eli was out of breath and on the verge of tears.
The giant surrendered. “Fine. You can both come. But I’m warning you, it’s not going to be easy.”
Chapter 15
The New Jersey coast, present day
The boat was pitching slowly on the calm sea. The single light bulb in the room was swaying gently with the swells. Sitting at the table while nibbling sandwiches and sipping sodas, Jacqueline and Jeremy were glued to Eytan’s every word. The Kidon agent was explaining Greg’s surveillance assignment and their mission to take out those charged with kidnapping the Walls-Corbin family. Every so often, Eli and Avi would add a comment.
“When did you all arrive in the US?” Jeremy asked.
“Eli and I flew into JFK last night,” Avi replied.
“But I had to fly into Canada and cross the border on foot,” Eytan said. A snowstorm slowed me down, and I didn’t arrive until this evening, barely in time to stop the commandos who broke into your house. Meanwhile, Eli was picking up Jackie and bringing her here.”
“This was all my fault,” Jackie said. “If I hadn’t taken that picture of you in Switzerland, we wouldn’t be here.”
She looked at her hands for a moment and continued. “Do you really think it was the CIA that tried to kidnap us? Isn’t that strange? The agency doesn’t do domestic intervention.”
“I can explain that one,” Eli said. “We don’t think your former employer is at the heart of this operation. The directions may be coming from the White House.”
“Wow! And what did you do with the commandos?”
Eytan slipped two fingers into a pocket of his jacket and took out a small black puck packed with explosives. It was identical to the one used in the Zurich hotel room to blow up the bodies of three Consortium members Jackie had killed.
“No prisoners,” he said coldly. No pity, no regret.
An uncomfortable silence settled in. When Eytan felt his cell phone vibrate, he got up and left the canteen to take the call. When he returned, he heard Jeremy asking where Greg was.
“Who do you think is steering the boat?” Jackie answered. Her answer was harsh, and Eytan could see the embarrassed look on Jeremy’s face. She quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just feel so guilty for...”
“Taking that picture? There’s no way you could have known,” Eli said. “Years ago, people took pictures for their own pleasure. These days, it’s all about having the images seen by anyone and everyone. Cell phones and surveillance cameras, plus the Internet and social networks make it possible. Take a selfie right now, and it could be seen by the world in a matter of minutes. What happened with that photo of Eytan was almost inevitable. Anyone could have taken it.”
“He’s right,” Jeremy agreed as he checked on Annie, who was still sleeping peacefully.
Eytan decided to get back to business. “We’re headed for New York,” he said. “Our anonymous informant would like to meet me tomorrow, early afternoon. The kidnapping attempt has apparently encouraged him to tell us more.”
“This informant, is he your contact in Tel Aviv?” Jeremy asked. Eytan could see that he was confused.
“No,” Avi answered. “This informant is the guy giving intel to Simon Attali. It’s complicated.”
“The invitation could easily be a trick,” Eli warned.
“I hope it is,” Eytan whispered in his ear, careful not to let anyone else hear.
“What about us?” Jackie asked.
“You have a choice,” Eytan sighed. “Either you go with your little girl to a discreet location under Greg’s protection. Or you come with us.”
“So basically, in the first scenario, we’d be waiting safely on the sidelines while you all take care of this shitty situation. And in the second scenario, we’d be jumping right into the ring. Is that it?”
Eli sat down next to Ja
ckie before Eytan had the chance to respond.
“In the event that there’s a fight, we could use your skills, Jacqueline. And if you’re close to us, we’ll be able to protect you. But it’s completely up to you, and we’ll respect your decision either way.”
“Is it okay if we take a few minutes to think it over?” she asked.
“Meet us in the cockpit in five minutes,” Eytan said. “In the meantime, boys, we need to come up with a strategy.”
With the others gone, Jeremy and Jackie walked over to the portable crib. They held each other as they gazed at their baby girl, untethered by the troubles of the adult world.
“He did say five minutes, right?” Jeremy asked.
Jackie took a deep breath, squeezed her husband a bit tighter, and laid her head on his shoulder.
“That gives us some time to say good-bye,” she whispered.
After savoring every last second with Annie, they rejoined the secret agents in the cockpit. Greg was steering the boat like a master mariner. Eli and Eytan were shouldering fully packed military bags, which, despite their great difference in build, gave the odd impression that they were siblings. Avi, meanwhile, looked like a tourist with his little wheeled suitcase. The three of them were bent over a hastily drawn map spread across a metal table usually used for consulting sea charts.
Greg cracked a smile and saluted the couple. Eli and Avi gave them a nod. Eytan stayed focused and unfazed.
“Jackie, for you I’ve set aside an automatic, some bullets, and a holster.”
“You knew our response before you even asked the question,” she joked.
“I prepared for the worst.”
Chapter 16
Somewhere outside London, June 1942
Water trickled down the cinder-block walls that bore vague traces of beige paint.
The military guard seemed oblivious to the decrepit surroundings. Neville was walking behind him, his eyes on the floor, which was full of puddles. His primary concern was protecting his leather shoes and the bottoms of his trousers.
The two men descended a flight of steps and entered a large corridor lit by five ceiling fixtures. The lights barely illuminated the dilapidated tiles, the rusted bars on the cells, and the white wooden benches.
The place reeked of mold and despair.
“How many prisoners do you have here?” Neville asked.
“Just one, sir,” Sergeant Howard said without looking at the visitor. “This place is reserved for resistant personalities.”
The stubby man had a triangular face and a thick neck. His little brown eyes didn’t show any signs of intelligence, but they did reveal an unbridled passion for rules.
Men who can’t be broken win battles, Neville thought.
Before he could make a cutting remark, his escort halted, pivoted brusquely, and stood straight as an arrow in front of a cell. The guy looked like he showered with starch every morning.
Neville reflected on the utter absurdity of these military rituals. When did a perfectly executed salute ever win a war?
“Attention!” the sergeant cried out.
“In your dreams,” a deep voice answered.
Howard pulled out his nightstick and brought his arm back, ready to give the bars a good whack.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Neville intervened.
The order, sudden and authoritative, dissuaded the prison guard from completing his swing.
“You may leave. I’ll find my way back on my own.”
Sergeant Howard hesitated a moment, but faced with Neville’s determined look, he returned the nightstick to his belt.
“Of course, sir,” he muttered before making a crisp about-face and marching away.
The man in the cell spoke again.
“I’d ask my lovely secretary to bring you a cup of tea, but I’m afraid she just stepped out.”
The young man moved into the light. He was of average height and was wearing faded green cotton pants and black combat boots, no laces. His oversized cargo jacket, which was missing all its buttons, was draped over a gray T-shirt that couldn’t conceal his bulging pectoral muscles. The prisoner’s strength was obvious. So were his rugged good looks: thick chestnut-brown hair, a strong forehead, prominent cheekbones, and a curved eagle-like nose. Despite his haggard face and a three-day-old beard that covered his proud jaw, the boy looked more like a Hollywood movie star than a soldier from the middle of nowhere and even less like a convict.
Neville understood that his looks couldn’t begin to compare. Despite his height—six feet two—and his tailored suit, his face was too angular, and his soot-brown eyes were too tiny. But that didn’t mean he lacked seductive power. Intelligence was his medium of entrapment. And Neville knew his power, as well as all the tricks.
Yet meeting this man behind bars, he felt every insecurity he had experienced as a child.
“Please, take a seat,” the prisoner joked as he waved his arm toward one of the wooden benches.
Neville ran his finger over the wood. He was surprised to find that it was neither dirty nor wet, only eaten up by woodworms. He removed his trilby hat and sat down.
“You obviously know nothing about prisons,” the captive said. “The only people treated to mold and muck in this place are the ones on this side of the bars.”
He lifted his arms, wrapped his hands around the iron bars, and began doing pull-ups.
Neville watched him in silence for what felt like an eternity in the foul-smelling hellhole.
The man finally quit and let go of the bars. He ignored his visitor.
Neville broke the silence. “Stefan Starlin. Born in Birmingham on July 3, 1910. Mother, a seamstress, and father, a police officer. An accomplished athlete, you joined the army in 1930. Your superiors quickly noted your surprising ability to adapt and improvise. They also noted your arrogant nature and a need for recognition. Based on the many write-ups you received, I can easily deduce that your acts of insubordination have their roots in these little quirks of yours. During the retreat at Dunkirk, you broke every record—and regulation. You alone killed twenty-three German soldiers to cover for your fellow soldiers. And you continued to cover for them despite orders to join the retreat.”
“The Germans had us surrounded. I wasn’t about to leave any guys behind!” Starlin shouted, banging the bars with his open hands. “These were guys I had fought with. It was a matter of honor.”
“Of course,” Neville replied. “However, your superiors judged your decision harshly, and instead of heaping medals on you, they heaped you with blame.”
“I don’t care about medals.”
“We have that in common.”
Neville cleared his throat.
“They took you out of action and had you training new recruits. That was until last week, when you made your ultimate slipup. You killed a lieutenant at shooting practice. The fact that the two of you were constantly at each other certainly didn’t help your case.”
Starlin curled his lip and slipped into the dark recess of his cell. “Stop this little game of yours. State your name and position, sir, along with the exact purpose of your visit.”
“One month from now, two at the most, you’ll go on trial,” Neville continued, ignoring Starlin’s demand. “Considering the charges you’re facing, I’d bet money that you’ll be hanged.”
“It was an accident!” Starlin protested. “I didn’t mean to take the bastard out. Everyone knows that. If he wasn’t a bloody daddy’s boy, I wouldn’t even be here!”
“Yes, of course. You’re the victim of a horrible conspiracy. Such terrible injustice. Do you know what I think?”
Neville stood up and marched over to the cell. Now he was the one grabbing the bars.
“I think you’re an out-of-control Polack who likes to stir up shit,” he seethed.
“And you’re a good-for-nothing asshole with his nose up in the air,” Starlin cursed. He sprang from the darkness and grabbed the visitor by the collar. “If I weren’t behind
this cage, I’d...”
In a quick and coldly executed move, Neville slammed his elbows against the prisoner’s wrists and broke his hold. Clearly stunned, Starlin pulled his hands back and held his wrists to his chest.
“I see your Polish origins are a touchy subject,” Neville said as he smoothed his jacket.
He knew he had gotten to Starlin, but that wasn’t much of a challenge. Starlin was one of those quick-to-anger guys. Neville walked back to the bench and sat down.
“You’re cut out to be a sniper,” he said. “Stick with that. You haven’t mastered hand-to-hand combat.”
“Most of my family lives in Poland, assuming they’re not all dead. So are you going to tell me who you are and what you want from me?”
“All right, I know your time is precious. My name isn’t as important as my position. You see, soldier Starlin, for the past two years, the government’s war cabinet has been developing a secret organization called Special Operations Executive, SOE. When I say secret, I mean it’s a secret from both our enemies and our allies. Most world leaders know nothing about it.”
“Fascinating. What the hell does it have to do with me?”
Neville sighed and started again.
“My work consists of selecting and training candidates for this underground combat unit. First we set up coordinated resistance teams in occupied countries. Once dropped in by parachute, our agents will conduct sabotage and elimination missions. Obviously, the risk factor is high. I’m here to recruit you. In other words, my dear friend, I have the power to rescue you from your death sentence. If you take the assignment, however, it’s probable that you’ll die anyway.”
“Fuck, I’m in! I’d rather die in combat than in this shit hole.”
“I’m touched by your enthusiasm, but you’ll require training before I allow you to jump into any mission. The training will correct your weaknesses and build on your strengths.”
Starlin rubbed his wrists again.“Message received, loud and clear.”
“No more slipups. Do everything you’re told, no questions asked. I mean it: no questions asked. One false move, and you’ll be back on death row. Have I made myself clear?”