Fletcher’s gut feeling was that these three men, who also bore responsibility for his wife’s death, were representing some person or entity even more sinister than Ali Rajad.
Suddenly, Fletcher’s need for vengeance returned in a fury. His blood began to boil. He had become a drug addict whose “fix” was revenge. He slammed the table, causing the mug of coffee to spill all over the papers and on to the floor. He thought to himself. “I don’t care who these people are, they must pay for killing my Mary!”
Suddenly Fletcher noticed the picture of Bobby and Jane playing in a park taped to the fridge. It suddenly dawned on him that he hadn’t seen his children in three days. He dropped everything and rushed out of his apartment. Exiting to the street he spotted his white Ford Fairmont sedan with its embassy plates. He assumed it was brought for him from Jerusalem where he left it on the day of the attack.
Fletcher did a routine check for planted explosives. When he finished, he reached behind the auto’s left front tire well and removed a magnetic box which held the car keys. He hopped in and within minutes he was on the highway. Soon he arrived at Tel Hashomer Hospital, just outside of Tel Aviv.
As Fletcher parked the car next to the entrance of the hospital grounds, he saw a young recruit reporting to the nearby military base. The recruit looked like he was barely eighteen years old. Given his crisp new combat boots and the fact that he wore his beret straight like a European cab driver, Fletcher assumed he had been in the Israeli Army for less than a week.
Fletcher thought about the new reality the young man was facing. He knew that the army base next to the hospital was called Bakum, short for Basis Klita u’Miyun, the Army Base for Induction and Classification. He had been briefed by his Israeli colleagues and toured Bakum within the first month of his arrival as the new Education Officer for the United States Embassy.
As he walked, Fletcher thought about the briefing he had gotten from his Israeli colleagues regarding the draft processes. “Less than a year ago the boy received his Tzav Hityatzvut, or Order to Report, to Bakum. When he reported he was given an aptitude test, a medical examination, and an interview. He was then assigned a profile based on those tests. A composite score of 81 or above was needed for him to become kravi, a combat soldier. Israel Defense Forces selection officers reviewed his file and tentatively decided to which branch of military service he would be assigned. Several months later, he received a letter from the Lishkat HaGius, the Army Draft Induction Board, to report to Bakum. At the base, he was fingerprinted, photographed, and then issued his pinkas choger, army identity card, which contained his mispar ishi, or army serial number, his new identity for life.
“Then he and the other new recruits joined something of an assembly line. First, he received his uniform and gear. Then he received a buzz cut, a haircut even shorter than a crewcut. After saying goodbye to his hair, which represented to him his former civilian life, he walked between medics who injected him with a number of different vaccinations and booster shots. He was then given eight minutes to dress in his new uniform. This was the first time he used gummiot, rubber bands around his ankles, to tuck his pant legs into his boots.
“After filling out a number of forms, he was interviewed again by a selection officer, assigned a tent number, and given a postcard so he could write his family. Minutes later, a sergeant yelled at him that his hair was way too long and ordered him to report to the barber shop and get another haircut. Perplexed, since he just got a buzz cut, he went to the barber station. He was probably approached by a professional photographer who would offer, for a nominal price, to take his picture so the recruit and his family could remember what he looked like on his first day in Tzahal, the Israel Defense Forces.
“That evening he and his fellow recruits were taken to a special ceremony where he swore his oath of loyalty to the State of Israel, shouting at the end, Ani Nishbah, meaning, “I swear,” three times. Within a week he would be transferred from Bakum to one of the basic training bases for the Israeli Army, Navy, Air Force, Tanks, Artillery, or Paratroopers.
Fletcher thought, “For the first eighteen years of his life, this kid was pampered by doting parents. They shielded him from the grim reality that the entire Arab world would like nothing better than seeing Israel wiped off the map. He was probably convinced that the reason that they don’t act is because of the strength of the Israel Defense Forces. Now he’s going to become part of it. He’ll be made to run the gauntlet, including hellish training that will ravage his body and mind. At the end he will become a warrior ready to face the hordes of Israel’s enemies that want him and his family dead.”
Fletcher walked through the main gate of the sprawling hospital campus and found a map. He had been told that Bobby and Jane were being housed in the Children’s Ward of the Department of Psychiatry. When he arrived, he saw that the ward was a one-story building in a park-like setting, surrounded by trees and bushes.
Fletcher walked directly to the main desk and asked the receptionist, “Do you know in where Bobby and Jane Fletcher are staying?”
She answered, “You must be Mr. Fletcher. Hold on, let me get the doctor.”
A few moments later a tall psychiatrist arrived.
”I’m Dr. Yonah Katz, chief psychiatrist in the Children’s Ward. Your children are under my supervision.”
“How are they doing?”
“Jane is doing wonderfully. She has responded very positively to our treatment program. I can assure you, aside from the expected period of grief, she will completely recover,” Dr. Katz answered confidently.
“Bobby is an entirely different case,” he continued. “It appears that he is having a major identity crisis. He has withdrawn from his surroundings and is not responding to outside contacts.
“In my opinion, he feels responsible for his mother’s death. Growing up in a family of military men and war heroes, Bobby apparently feels he has failed to live up to the standards of his male role models in the Fletcher family.”
Fletcher was taken aback. “That’s ridiculous,” he protested. “Bobby is only twelve years old! What could have he have done?”
“Age is not the essential issue here. It’s his understanding of the situation. Bobby is convinced that if you had been there, his mother would still be alive. Perhaps he feels that in your absence it was his responsibility to act in your place.”
Dr. Katz paused. “What do you think? If you had been there, could you have done something?”
The psychiatrist’s words hit Fletcher like a bombshell. He felt like his head was going to explode. He thought to himself, “Damn right, I would done something. I would have pounded those murdering bastards faster than they could say the word ‘Jihad!’” The thought gave him a fuzzy feeling.
Instead of responding, however, Fletcher regained control of himself and just stared back with a non-committal expression.
“Mr. Fletcher, your friend Mike Barnes had informed me that you would be away for at least another week.”
“That’s true. I still have some pressing matters to attend to.”
“In that case, I would strongly advise you not to see your children. It has taken them some time to accept that they wouldn’t be seeing you in the short term. It might even be harmful to have a brief visit today, only to leave them again. Why don’t you wait until you can give them your full attention?”
Fletcher understood Dr. Katz’s concern and reluctantly agreed. “I’ll come back in a few days. Thank you for all of your efforts. If anything should come up, please contact Mike Barnes. Do you have his phone number?”
“Oh yes, he’s been wonderful. He stops by every day with gifts for your children. Even Bobby seems to be listening to him when he visits.”
Fletcher was about to leave when he was stopped by a nurse.
“Mr. Fletcher, I ‘m sorry to disturb you, but I have a request from Mrs. Zelda Steiner. She’s in the intensive care ward. Mrs. Steiner asked that when you came to visit your children, she would lik
e to speak to you.”
Fletcher paused for a moment, trying to recall the name. Then he realized the nurse was referring to the woman who shot and killed his wife’s murderer. He thanked her and asked for directions.
In the corridor leading to the intensive care unit there was a man in a wheelchair selling flowers. He had undergone above-the-knee amputations of both legs, and his face looked like it had undergone several surgeries for burns. Judging by his IDF uniform and relatively young age, Fletcher guessed that he had probably been in a tank or armored transport vehicle which had been hit by a missile. He had seen similar wounds on other Israeli war veterans. Fletcher picked out the most expensive flowers he had for sale for Zelda, and a copy of Newsweek Magazine for himself.
Fletcher entered the ward and went to the front desk. Spotting an intern, he asked how Zelda Steiner was doing. The intern shook his head, saying that it was only a matter of time. He escorted Fletcher to her room.
Fletcher looked at Zelda lying on her bed. She had an extensive array of tubes and wires attached to her frail body. Monitors above her bed were beeping away furiously. She looked up and saw him.
“Shalom,” Zelda said in a weak voice, “You’re the father of the children on the beach. I’m sure of it, the boy looks just like you.”
Fletcher placed the flowers in an empty vase on the nightstand next to her bed. Then he mustered a courteous response in Hebrew. “There is no way I can express my enormous gratitude to you for saving my children,” he said.
Zelda smiled. “Thank you for the lovely flowers. I’m happy that I had the opportunity to trade my life for those of your lovely children. Still, I’m so very sorry that I couldn’t help your wife, Mr. Fletcher.”
Fletcher interjected, “Please, call me Ron.”
“O.K., Ron it is. Things happened so quickly. Especially for an old lady like myself.”
“You’re not so old.” Fletcher teased.
“Oh, really, you are too kind. I know it will be difficult for you to raise your children alone. They will demand twice as much from you.”
Fletcher felt ashamed. His real responsibility was to help his children through this horrible tragedy. Instead, his burning desire for revenge had completely warped his priorities. After hearing from Dr. Katz about the mental anguish his son was experiencing, he knew that, from a rational perspective, he should drop everything and stay with him. But Fletcher was no longer acting rationally.
Fletcher knew he should leave and let Zelda rest, but he couldn’t help to ask the question that had been bothering him. “Why did you risk your life to save my children?”
“If you must know, I did it for selfish reasons.”
Zelda Steiner began to cough uncontrollably. Fletcher went to the door to call for help when she suddenly stopped.
“Don’t leave,” Zelda called out, “I want to answer you!”
Fletcher turned and saw Zelda reaching toward him.
“I won’t leave,” he said.
“You are a good soul. I must tell you my rather tragic story. Please sit down.”
Fletcher took a seat next to Zelda’s hospital bed.
“Before World War II, I was happily married to a young lawyer. We lived in a large house in Warsaw and had two wonderful children, Paulina and Michael.
“When the Germans invaded Poland, my life collapsed around me. One day, I went with my children to buy some food. A group of Nazi soldiers stopped me. They knew that we were Jewish by the yellow Stars of David we were forced to wear. They handed me a toothbrush and ordered me to polish their shoes. My children had no choice but to watch the cruel act while a crowd of Poles gathered and had a good laugh.
“Later we were forced to live in the Ghetto. I suffered as my family was systematically starved to death by the Germans. My husband gave us most of his rations and, as a result, he became deathly ill from pneumonia and died. I was alone, and I barely managed to scrape enough food together to keep my children alive. I didn’t know what I could do to save my family.
“One day, I was walking down the main street in the Ghetto when I passed a large poster that was just being put up. It stated that anyone who reported to the railway station by noon would receive a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk. I rushed home and told my neighbors. My friends warned me not to trust the Nazis, and I knew they were right. But I was crazed by hunger. I grabbed my two children and went to the train station. There were hundreds of others waiting for rations, just like us. Then the Nazis appeared with their vicious dogs. We were herded into the cattle cars like animals.
“We stood for hours in the packed train. My children were crying the entire time. Then the train stopped. I looked through a crack in a wall and saw a sign that read ‘Auschwitz.’ When the door slid open, we were pushed into a line by vicious Nazi soldiers. When we finally got to the front of the line, there was a man sitting at a table who was dressed like a doctor. He looked at me and pointed with his baton to the right. Then he looked at my children and pointed to the left. I begged the doctor to let me go with my children. He didn’t even look at me. I was whipped by the guards and forced to the right. That was the last time I saw my little Michael and Paulina.
“I was forced into a delousing chamber. One of the Jewish workers, a kindhearted soul, congratulated me. He told me that I was lucky. Then my heart broke when he said that all those sent to the left were taken to the gas chambers and murdered. I went hysterical. My children were sent to be killed and I couldn’t even comfort them. They had to face death alone. I felt totally lost and helpless. There was nothing I could do to save my children.
“Only one thing kept me going for the two terrible years I spent at Auschwitz. I prayed for the day that I could see with my own eyes the Germans suffering for their crimes against humanity. Eventually I was transferred to the Dachau concentration camp on a forced march. When the American soldiers came in to liberate us, my prayer for vengeance was answered. I watched with joy as the Americans forced our Nazi tormentors to bury thousands of Jewish bodies. The Germans were treated like the scum of the earth, as they deserved.
“With my wish fulfilled, I felt that there was no reason to go on. I found a discarded razorblade and went behind the building that housed the crematoria. I was about to slash my wrists when a young American officer grabbed my hand.
“He said, ‘Don’t add another tragedy to the list of Nazi horrors.’
“I broke down and cried. I poured my heart out to him, telling how helpless I had been to save my two children. He patiently listened to my ranting, not leaving my side.
“Finally, I finished. All the pain had left my soul. I was now ready to listen myself.
“The soldier said to me in a soft voice, ‘You must go to Palestine, and find peace for yourself.’ He said that the Jews there were making progress in establishing their own country. They had pledged that never again would they allow such a tragedy befall their people.
“He took me to the hospital and arranged for my needs. He even visited me several times over the next few weeks while I recovered. He was truly a good man. I am sorry to say that over the years I have forgotten his name.
“Slowly, I grew stronger. I made friends among the other survivors. I even went to Zionist gatherings. Finally, I decided that I would take the American soldier’s advice and build a new life in the Jewish State.
“A representative of the Jewish Council gathered a group together to go to Palestine. I was the first to volunteer. We travelled by train through post-war Europe, eventually making our way to a small port in Greece. The British were not allowing Jews to immigrate to Israel at that time, so we had to be smuggled in. Our boat ran the British blockade surrounding Palestine and landed on the beach, where I was taken and hidden by members of a nearby kibbutz. I later married one of the men that had helped hide me and became a member of his kibbutz. We fought for the Haganah during the War of Independence. When it was over, we returned to the kibbutz and had a normal life. A safe life. A life filled with ha
ppiness. We had many children. Two of them became officers in the IDF.
Zelda paused for a moment. Fletcher looked at her curiously. He felt as if he had a spiritual connection to this elderly woman.
“When I was on the beach and saw the terrorists running towards your children, the feeling of hopelessness that I felt when I had arrived at Auschwitz suddenly came back. I felt as if my children were being taken away again. However, this time I was in my own country. It was as if I had a second chance to save my dear Michael and Paulina. I took my gun out of my purse and, this time, I was not going to go down without a fight.
“Now you know my selfish motive for what I did. By explaining this to you I have finally found peace with myself. I hope you too will someday find the same peace.
Fletcher had the feeling that he had heard Zelda’s story before. He was racking his brain trying to remember, but couldn’t place it. Finally he said, “Whatever your reason was for saving my children, I am forever grateful.”
Zelda look at him. “You may think this is strange, but when I saw your son, I was amazed by the resemblance he bore to that young American officer. Now looking at you, I see that very same officer. I suppose both my mind and eyes are failing.”
With those words Zelda closed her eyes. The alarm on the monitor went off and a team of doctors and nurses entered. But it didn’t matter. Zelda died with a smile on her face.
Finally, Fletcher remembered where had heard the story. When he was a young boy, some of his friends had teased a classmate because he was Jewish. When he came home, he asked his father about it. His father sat with him for a long period trying to explain about differences between people and while some people choose to hate. He told him about his own experiences during World War II serving in Patton’s Eighth Army. His regiment was among the first to enter the Dachau concentration camp. Among the tragic stories Fletcher’s father told him was one of a woman who he had saved from committing suicide.
Agent of Vengeance Page 15