by Brad Taylor
He scrolled through the call list and pointed again.
I pulled his wallet out of his pocket, thumbed through it, then stood up, towering over him. I said, “You leave here, and never mention a thing to anyone. You did your mission, and it was uneventful. You understand?”
He nodded, hope flooding through him.
I said, “If I find out you’ve spoken to your crew, if I see they’ve been warned, I’ll come back and carve you up. You understand?”
He nodded his head hard enough to cause bloody snot to fling off, saying, “Yes, yes, yes.”
I squatted down again, getting close to his face. I tapped his head with his wallet and said, “If I have any trouble in the next few days, I’ll know why. And I’ll hunt you. Trust me, you think you can find people, but you have never met anyone like me.”
He sagged back and said, “I won’t talk. I promise.”
I stood up and said, “You picked the wrong girl to chase. If she were here, you’d get a lot worse than this.”
And I hammered my boot straight between his legs, hard enough to lift him an inch off the ground. He screamed and rolled into a ball.
Jennifer jumped at me, jerking my shoulder back and shouting, “What the hell are you doing?”
I said, “Making a point. Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”
18
Shoshana heard the knock on the door and thought about just not answering. Aaron had scheduled and paid for an in-house masseuse, and it was supposed to be a double, with her lying right next to him. Now it seemed a little bit of an obscene indulgence. She’d never had a massage in her life, and doing it alone was not what she wanted. Even as she knew Aaron would want it for her.
She went to the door and looked through the peephole, seeing a lithe woman and a portable table. The woman turned toward her door and knocked again, and she felt the heat. Saw red.
Shoshana snapped back from the peephole, confused by the feeling. She’d had nightmares every night she’d lain down to sleep, and now she was reading this woman as a threat. But she couldn’t be. Aaron had scheduled her. Aaron had planned this.
What is going on with me?
It was the girl. Alexandra. She was clouding Shoshana’s judgment. For the first time, Shoshana doubted her own instincts.
Aaron hadn’t contacted her since she’d been at the hotel, and neither had the Mossad. But she’d had two calls from Pike. She’d heard the phone ring, saw the strange number, and refused to answer. If it were the Mossad, they’d leave a message. She didn’t get one, which meant it was Pike. And he kept calling.
She was too embarrassed to answer the phone and admit she was here by herself. He’d tell Jennifer what had happened, and she couldn’t take the pity. Her “honeymoon” was a sham, and her lie would expose a truth like lancing a boil full of pus: She didn’t have what they had.
She decided to banish such thoughts and continue with her “vacation.” Like Aaron would have wanted. She opened the door. The woman entered, told her the parameters of the massage, and then asked her to disrobe while she set up the table. Smiling the entire time, she made Shoshana feel ridiculous about her earlier instincts.
Shoshana went to the bedroom of her suite and closed the door. She dropped her jeans and pulled off her blouse, wondering if she was supposed to take off her underwear. She poked her head out and asked, and the masseuse told her yes, all she would need was a towel. The masseuse smiled, and the red returned. Shoshana closed the door again, forcing the feeling away.
She removed her bra and panties and wrapped herself in a large bath towel. She looked at herself in the mirror, sighed, and opened the door.
The first thing she saw was the masseuse casually leaning against the wall, hands behind her back, entirely relaxed—but her aura radiated danger like a neon sign in Shoshana’s brain. The next was a man appearing from the kitchen alcove, a suppressed pistol in his hand.
Before she could react, she felt the suppressor of another pistol seat against the side of her head. She slowly turned and saw another man, his finger to his lips. He said, “No shouting.”
He expected her to become instantly compliant, because of both the pistol and the fact that she was wearing nothing but a towel, the setup designed specifically to make her feel vulnerable.
It failed miserably in its task.
Shoshana snapped her head down, clearing the barrel, and rotated her left arm over the gun hand of the intruder, trapping the pistol. Simultaneously, she slammed a palm strike into the man’s face hard enough to shatter his nose. He screamed, and she jerked the pistol free, then slipped behind him, the towel falling down.
She took aim at the other man while using the first as a shield. He leapt forward, looking for a shot, the barrel of his pistol waving all over the place in an attempt to hit her without harming his partner.
She had no such restrictions. She tracked his movement and pulled the trigger, hitting him twice in the chest and dropping him to the floor. She jumped backward, then lashed out in a front kick, pushing the second man away from her. He hit his knees, then stood up, turning around with his arms held high, his face streaming blood from his ruined nose. “No, no, no, wait—”
She lined up the front sight on the red coming from his nose, a liquid bull’s-eye, and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back, and he collapsed in a heap. She stalked forward, doing nothing to cover her bare flesh. She put another round in the head of the first man, then closed on the masseuse.
She was crouched on the floor, her arms over her head. When she looked up, seeing Shoshana, naked and holding a pistol, her eyes sprang comically wide.
She said, “They paid me to let them in. They said it was a prank. They didn’t say they were going to hurt you. Please.”
Shoshana shot her in the forehead. She watched her slump to the ground, then stood up, checking through the peephole. Sure enough, there were two more men providing rear security down the hall near the entrance to the elevator.
She ran back to the bedroom, throwing on her clothes. She knew she had only seconds before the men outside grew curious at the lack of activity in her suite.
She went to the sliding door and opened it, looking down from the balcony. She was on the seventh floor, but it looked like she could go from balcony to balcony and reach the ground. It was a hard climb, and not without enormous risk, but she’d seen Jennifer tackle much worse.
But she’s a monkey.
She shoved her newfound pistol into her pants and circled over the railing, mentally attempting to channel Jennifer’s skills.
19
I saw the Dan Carmel hotel above me, on the top of Mount Carmel, and realized I’d somehow missed the turn that would take me up there. I was one road down the slope from it, next to something called the Louis Promenade. I cursed and pulled into a tourist bus parking area for a garden of some sort, making sure Brett was behind me. I saw him pull into my bumper, and I pointed up the hill.
I glanced to my left and said, “Wow. Take a look at that.”
Falling below us, in leveled terraces down the side of Mount Carmel, was a manicured landscape that was so perfect it almost looked fake, like a computer rendition of what man could never achieve on his own. Stairs, trees, and flowers all seamlessly blended together, providing a lush path to the bottom of the hill.
Jennifer leaned over me and said, “That’s the Baha’i Gardens here in Haifa. Glad you ignored the GPS.”
Our GPS had been woefully inadequate since we’d arrived, with map data that was clearly older than the roads around Tel Aviv. After a few screwups, with us being on streets the GPS didn’t recognize, I’d ceased using it, which Jennifer thought was ridiculous.
She’d said, “Most of these roads were built before Moses smashed the tablets. I think we can trust the GPS for ninety percent of what’s here.” I, being smarter than any computer, had disagreed.
And now I was parked in a tourist bus stop trying to read my map.
Jennifer said, “The gardens were just deemed a UNESCO heritage site. Maybe we should go check it out. You know, before we get in a gunfight and have to flee.”
I ran my finger down the map, finding my location and considering her request. Maybe we would, once I’d confirmed Shoshana was okay, since I’d already tortured Jennifer once today.
We’d come up the coast highway, and in so doing, we’d literally driven right by the Caesarea archeological site, with Jennifer longingly looking out the window, like a child in a car seat pulling away from home for the first time. She’d turned away from the site and glowered at me. I’d simply shrugged.
It had taken about an hour and a half to get here, and we’d burned another thirty minutes before that doing initial planning and a map reconnaissance. Brett was bemused at the whole thing, but, because he was Brett, he rolled right into the mission. Left behind was the fact that we had no sanction to do anything here. We were now using US government assets to protect a foreign target, potentially causing an international incident with no tangible tie to United States security. That’s how the Taskforce would portray it. I’d simply say it was no different than taking up for a friend in a bar fight.
A little chagrined at Jennifer’s comment about the gardens and her attitude toward Shoshana’s and Aaron’s well-being, I looked up from the map and said, “Looks like we need to backtrack to that last traffic circle.”
Jennifer saw my face and said, “Hey, come on. I was just teasing about the gardens.”
I put the car in gear and said, “I know.”
I looked behind me, getting Brett’s eye, and rotated my finger in the air, telling him we were doing a U-turn. Jennifer slapped a hand to my wrist and squeezed, saying, “Pike, that car up the hill. Apple Watch is in it.”
I whipped my head forward, and as sure as shit, he was sitting in the passenger seat of an SUV, another man behind the wheel. I called Brett, saying, “We got Apple to our front. I’m going to do a U-turn and head to the hotel. I want you to remain here and keep eyes on. Let me know what he does.”
He said, “Black SUV?”
“That’s him.”
“Got it. Call when you’ve got the precious cargo secure.”
“Roger that.”
I pulled to the right, then put the car in reverse, starting a three-point turn. I had my head facing to the rear when Jennifer said, “Pike, Pike, the SUV is getting antsy. Two guys in the back are digging through backpacks, and Apple is shouting into a phone.”
No sooner had she said that than a figure came flying over the stone wall of the Louis Promenade, hitting the street hard enough to land on a knee, one hand breaking the fall. I saw a pistol in the waistband, and the figure stood up, looking right at me.
It was Shoshana. She locked eyes with me and snarled, then took off down the street, running toward the gardens. What the hell?
The SUV jumped into the road, racing down the asphalt straight at Shoshana. He was going to hit her. Kill her right here.
I jammed our car into drive, bolting forward and shouting, “Seat belts, seat belts! Hang on!”
Shoshana leapt onto the sidewalk, and the SUV attempted to follow, now fewer than ten feet behind her. I jammed the accelerator to the floor and braced for impact. My rental slammed into the front quarter panel of the SUV, the impact flinging us both sideways, glass from the shattered headlights spraying the road. I saw Shoshana enter the gardens and begin leaping down the stairs; then she was lost from view. I got on the radio and shouted, “Blood, Blood, get on Shoshana!”
He said, “Easy day.” I saw his door open, and he sprinted across the road. I heard, “ROE?”
I opened my own door, saying, “Protect the asset. Lethal force authorized.”
Apple exited, cursing and yelling. I walked across the road, seeing the two in the back also get out. He pointed into the gardens and they took off; then he turned to me. I held up my hands and said, “Sorry about that. I lost control. I spilled my coffee.”
He said, “You dumb motherfucker.” He saw the crowd gathering around the accident and said, “It’s okay.” Not wanting to get enmeshed with any authority figures, he retreated back to his SUV and drove away.
I ran back to my own car, saying, “Blood, you’ve got two on foot behind you.”
He said, “I got ’em. Shoshana’s running straight down the hill. She’s about to enter a gaggle of tourists. A big gaggle.”
“Keep her in sight, but don’t close on her.”
Brett was one of the fastest men I’d ever met. There wasn’t any way Shoshana would outrun him. He was a little bit of a freak on foot.
“That’ll be easy. But why? I thought I was protecting her.”
“She looked at me when she came over the wall. She’s in death mode. I don’t know why, but don’t push it with her. She’ll kill you.”
“Well, that’s fucking great.”
20
Shoshana reached the crowd and immediately snaked her way to the middle, making sure her shirt covered the pistol at her back. There were about forty tourists, all on one of the free scheduled tours, and with any luck, she could use them as cover all the way down to the traffic circle at Ben Gurion Street.
The crowd moved forward slowly, and she kept her head on a swivel, looking for anything out of the ordinary—single men or couples paying too much attention to her and not enough to the splendor of the gardens.
She tried to make sense of what had just happened but came up blank. She had no known current enemies and had done only one operation in the last year for the Mossad, and that had turned out okay, with her eliminating the one man who would be a suspect here. He was dead, and his boss was currently in an American prison.
There was only one connection she could come up with, and it scared her to her core: For whatever reason, the Americans wanted her. Probably wanted Aaron too, but she was lucky he was out of the country. It was why Pike was here with a team, supposedly just wanting to come visit. When she’d said no, his plan of suckering them into a trap had fallen through. He’d clearly kept calling in an attempt to salvage that course of action, and when it had proven fruitless, he’d come in hard.
The realization was crushing to her. She’d been lied to and manipulated her entire life and had only just now begun to find some semblance of normalcy, and that had first come with her trust in Pike and Jennifer. He could have killed her once, and he hadn’t. And now he had used that trust against her.
But Jennifer would never do that. It’s not in her makeup.
Was it? What if Pike had told her some monstrous lie? Would she believe him over what she knew about Shoshana?
She was unsure but certainly not willing to test it. Pike was the one man she’d ever encountered who measured up to her skill. Not even Aaron could do what he did. She’d seen him operate, and he was an apex predator. A wrecking machine that had an uncanny talent for succeeding, even with the odds stacked against him. If Pike was hunting her—even here, in her home country of Israel—she was in trouble.
* * *
Brett watched Shoshana blend in to the tourist crowd and thought, Good girl. He located the two men from the SUV, then held up until they passed him, Brett pretending to gaze at the splendor of the gardens falling down toward the Haifa harbor. When they were down the slope in front of him, he picked up the follow, seeing the tour group approaching the Shrine of the Bab, a large temple that housed the founder of the Babi faith—the forerunner of the Baha’i religion. He saw the men split up, with one speed walking to the left, getting ahead of the tour group.
Going to attempt a blocking position.
He was the threat. Shoshana would walk right into him. She’d see the man to the rear, he was sure, but since she was focused on the rear, she’d miss the one to her front. Ignoring any looks that came his wa
y, he began running, taking the steps of the slope three at a time and eating up the ground. He circled left, getting off the stairs and into the gardens themselves. He saw his target fifty meters away, going down a stone stairway next to the shrine. Brett cut back to the center, entering the stairwell and skipping down the stone, not worried about the man looking at him, because he was a complete unknown. He’d done this many, many times, and he would use his race as deflection. The target would see him—a black man in Israel—and never assume he was a threat. He would have to be a tourist, simply because he stood out too much to be of any use as an intelligence asset.
The man turned at his approach, his hand snaking to his waist. Brett said, “The gardens are amazing. I never thought I’d see something like this.”
The man relaxed and said, “It’s truly a wonder, but I’ve lost my wife.” He chuckled and said, “She disappeared somewhere up top.”
Brett said, “I know how that is. Where you from?”
With some irritation, the man said, “South Africa. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to find my wife.” Brett nodded but stayed a step behind him.
Brett said, “Hey, you ever seen the Batman movies? Where that guy appears out of nowhere and crushes the bad man?”
Confused, the target said, “What? No, I don’t watch those movies. Sorry, but your American films are stupid. Please leave me alone.”
He turned away again, presenting Brett with his back. Brett saw a peculiar lump and realized he was wearing a plate hanger. Level III body armor. Brett glanced to his rear and saw they were alone. He snapped forward, looping his arm around the man’s neck and kicking the back of his knee. The man struggled for a second, then Brett lowered him to the ground, unconscious.
He whispered, “You should watch them, dumbass.”
* * *
Shoshana stuck with the tour group as they approached the Shrine of the Bab, its golden dome towering above the terrain of the gardens. The tourists began to spread out, viewing the expansive garden next to the temple and entering the shrine itself.