Jerusalem
One day after Assassinations
‘Tunisian hitter!’
That had been Carmel’s warning to her partner on the staircase. The words had come to Zeb as he was falling to the ground floor.
Why would they think I am Tunisian? he wondered as he headed back to their apartment.
He was sure of one thing. They weren’t involved in the Palestinians’ killing. Otherwise, Carmel would have warned her partner differently.
Well, I’m almost sure. Only one way to find out. I’ll ask them.
He donned a pair of headphones and plugged them into his cell as he hurried. His phone would pick up the conversation from the bugs he had planted.
If I was them, I would sweep the apartment … so those devices will be spotted soon.
Sounds from the apartment came to him. Bodies moving. Objects being shifted.
They’re checking out their place.
‘You’re sure about him?’ Dalia’s voice.
‘I think so. Who else would it be?’ her partner replied. ‘His reactions. The way he counter-punched. He wasn’t someone from the street.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not sure if he was the commander’s man. It’s not as if we got an opportunity to question him.’
Commander? That must be the Tunisian they were gathering intel on.
The operatives fell silent. Something heavy moved. One of them grunted and silence fell. Zeb looked at his screen. The bug in Carmel’s room had turned off.
Looks like they’ve discovered it. They’ll find the other one too. Will they think of checking the dish on the upper floor?
He thought not. The device he had planted there wasn’t just a tower. It also had a powerful bug in it, and that kicked in as the one in Dalia’s room turned off, too.
Looks like the fifth-floor apartment is empty. Lucky, otherwise it would have been a pain to separate conversations from the two places.
Zeb was within sighting distance of their building, now. The sliding doors to their balcony were open.
To let in air? Or to keep a watch on the outside.
‘That’s the last of it,’ Dalia spoke.
‘Let’s check once again.’
He thought he saw shadows move inside the apartment, but he couldn’t be sure. He reached the cross street and waited for the light to change. Heard bodies move in their flat.
‘We’re clean,’ Dalia announced.
‘Yes, but we need to move,’ Carmel announced. ‘Our place is compromised.’
‘We’ll go in fifteen minutes.’
No acknowledgement.
Zeb joined a bunch of tourists as they crossed the street. Kept his head down and reached the building. He was directly underneath the first-floor balcony.
They can’t see me.
He waited for the group of people to make their way through the neighborhood. Looked in all directions. A car passed. A couple, holding hands, approached, their attention on each other.
He waited until their backs were to him and then jumped up and caught hold of a railing on the balcony.
He climbed swiftly, knowing he was under time pressure. Also, either of them could come out. And they wouldn’t greet me warmly if they saw me.
He reached the bottom of the kidons’ balcony. Raised himself cautiously until he could see inside.
Curtains swishing at the side. Living room seemed to be empty. He listened hard. Muffled sounds in his headphones.
Packing. In their rooms.
He hauled himself over the railings and climbed inside. Padded silently across the marble floor, Glock in hand. There was a couch that faced the sliding doors. An ornate mirror mounted on a showcase in a corner.
Zeb seated himself on the couch, his backpack to one side of him, his weapon to the other. Narrowed his eyes when he noticed that, by shifting his position, he could see the insides of both the rooms reflected in the mirror.
Another security measure.
Shadows moved in one of the rooms. Carmel came into view … hugging Dalia, brushing back the hair from her face. She pressed her lips to her partner’s.
Levin’s files on them are wrong. The two are in a relationship.
They drifted out of view. He heard soft murmurings and footfalls. Carmel came into the living room holding her girlfriend’s hand, their bags strapped over their shoulders.
They didn’t see him initially, and when they did, both kidon froze for a moment.
‘Don’t,’ Zeb warned them in their native language, raising his Glock. ‘If I wanted you dead …’ He didn’t complete it.
‘Kalb must have sent you,’ Dalia spat, her eyes flashing. No fear in either of them.
Rashid Kalb. Zeb recalled the name from the ramsad’s dossier. The Tunisian they were targeting.
‘You’re an Israeli killer?’ Carmel asked contemptuously, as she inched toward Dalia’s room. ‘He must have paid you a lot for you to go after your own people.’
Zeb shot into the floor near her feet, the report echoing loudly in the room.
‘Don’t move,’ he told them. ‘I want your phones.’
They think I am a shooter, here to finish them. No fear in them, however. They didn’t even flinch when I fired. He couldn’t help admiring them, even though they could be the killers.
‘Your phones,’ he repeated. ‘Reach into your bags and bring them out. Carefully. One at a time.’
The women looked at each other. Phones? Carmel shrugged her shoulder and her purse dropped into her palm. She opened it and fished out her cell.
‘That’s your Mossad one?’
‘Mossad? We aren’t—’
‘Please. We are beyond that.’
She glared at him, and then nodded once.
‘I want your personal one.’
‘Since when did a killer go after phones?’ she snarled. Nevertheless, she brought out her personal device.
‘Drop it to the floor.’
It fell to the carpet.
‘Kick it toward me.’
The phone slid across the surface and came to rest near him.
‘Now you,’ his Glock pointed at Dalia, who went through the same maneuver.
‘Drop your bags to the floor.’
The women followed his orders.
‘Go, sit on those chairs.’ He gestured at the dining table.
They seated themselves and glared at him.
‘You know who we are.’ Dalia cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘You’d better kill us fast. The more time you take, the more we have to figure out how to overpower you.’
Zeb didn’t reply. He swiftly grabbed the phones from the floor and powered one on.
‘Password?’
Dalia uttered one.
He entered it, his eyes flicking between the screen and the women. He navigated to the various apps but didn’t find the one he was looking for.
He reached into his backpack and brought out a cable and another device. Hooked his equipment to Dalia’s phone and copied its contents. Did the same with her partner’s cell. All the while, the kidon looked at him, a thoughtful look now in Carmel’s eyes.
He fingered his cell, put it on speaker and called Meghan. He knew she would be awake and at her screen.
The women’s eyes widened when the international dialing tone sounded in the apartment.
‘You’ve got two data dumps coming,’ he told his friend when she accepted the call.
Carmel looked at Dalia swiftly. Seemed to tense, ready to spring at him. Froze when he raised his Glock.
There was a reason he had asked them to sit. It put them at a disadvantage, since it would take them more time to act from that position.
‘Got it,’ Meghan replied crisply.
‘Check out where those cells have been for the last week.’
A keypad clicked as she worked.
‘You’re American,’ Dalia stated flatly, switching to English.
He didn’t respond.
‘Who’s with you?’ Meghan asked.
‘Later,’ he told her, feeling a surge of pride within him. A lesser operative would have called him by his name. None of his friends would do that.
‘Tunisia,’ she came back a few moments later. ‘I’m narrowing it down.’
‘I’ll call later.’ He hung up.
And then Dalia acted.
Her hand flew to the fruit bowl on the table. She grabbed an apple and flung it at him. Carmel slid out of her chair, pivoted on her heel with balletic grace, grabbed the back of the chair and threw it at him.
The two kidon spread out and charged toward him.
Zeb was anticipating a move like that. He was moving even before the fruit reached him. He dived out of the couch and landed on the floor on his left shoulder.
The women lost a fraction of a second as they changed direction toward him. Which worked to Zeb’s advantage.
He fired over their heads, the round thudding in the wall behind them.
They stopped, their eyes glittering.
‘You were in Tunisia all along?’ he asked them in Hebrew.
‘Kill us, or fight us.’ Dalia pounced at him, Carmel close behind.
Zeb twisted his body quickly, but he wasn’t fast enough. She landed on top of him, her palms clamping around his gun hand.
‘Keep him down,’ Carmel yelled and sprang toward her bag.
Zeb kept down, offering no resistance, and when she returned with ties, he couldn’t help grinning.
‘That’s not needed,’ he told both of them.
Dalia didn’t relax, but that questioning look returned to Carmel’s face.
‘Just who are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m Jarrett Epstein.’