MOSSAD SAFE HOUSE, ASTARA, AZERBAIJAN—08:15 / 8:15 A.M. AST
Why are you in Iran?” said the Mossad interpreter.
Nir had been communicating to Nicole through a headset, but once she’d said the lights on the police car were flashing, his conversation was switched to the speakers in the safe house’s control room. He closed his eyes as he once again leaned forward on his fists—only this time the knuckles on his balled-up hands were white as he listened.
“I’m sorry, sir. But as I was telling the other officer, I don’t understand your language.”
“She’s doing well,” Isayev said calmly, a slight tremor of his cigarette the only sign of nerves.
“Why are you in Iran?” the translator repeated.
“I’m sorry…Officer Kazemi, but I can’t—”
It took a moment for Nir to recognize the sound he’d just heard.
Furious—any trace of an Italian accent gone—he yelled, “He hit her! Nicole! Nicole! Can you hear me? Nicole, are you okay?”
Turning to Tzadik, he repeated, “He hit her!”
“I know! Shut up so I can talk.” Then turning to a tech, the agent in charge said, “His name is Officer Kazemi. Find out who he is, where he’s stationed, what division he’s in, who his superiors are—everything.”
Nir paced as he shouted, “Nicole! Nicole, can you hear me?”
Another slap, this one much louder, sounded throughout the room, immediately followed by a female’s cry of pain. Nir slammed his fists on the table in front of him, causing a coffee cup to go momentarily airborne.
Rage filled him as he gripped the table’s edges. The woman he believed he was in love with was being beaten 400 kilometers away, and all he could do was helplessly stand here and listen to it happening.
“Nicole! Say something!”
When she spoke next, he almost didn’t recognize her voice because there was so much venom in it. “And that was with my left hand, you goat-loving camel herder.”
Isayev cried, “Ha! Yes!”
But then the sounds of a struggle began, and a hush filled the room. Nir had always known a fury lived deep down inside Nicole, but this was the first time he’d heard it vented. It was obvious she was being dragged out of the car and was putting up a fight—physically and verbally.
A thud sounded, and Nir was certain they were pushing her up against the side of the car. He threw his headset to the floor and strode toward the room that held his Kidon team. Yaron was standing in the doorway listening, and the other guys were gathered behind him. The same intense determination Nir was certain showed in his eyes showed in theirs as well.
“Prepare your kits,” he called.
“Tavor, stop!”
Nir turned to see Tzadik marching toward him.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going—”
“Shut up, you idiot! That wasn’t a question.” Tzadik was at least four inches shorter than Nir, but his bearing was such that Nir felt he was looking upward at his superior. “Am I to assume you are going to invade Iran, break into a police station, rescue your girl, and then ride off into the sunset?”
“Yes, that sounds—”
“Did I ask you a question? Did I?”
Nir was pretty sure that was exactly what he’d done repeatedly. But he had the good sense to not answer. Still, he looked hard into the other man’s eyes.
Another thud echoed in the room, causing both men to instinctively turn toward the speakers. Nir had no clue what that was, but it sounded violent.
Tzadik’s hand came down on Nir’s shoulder, causing him to turn. “Follow me,” the man said, leading Nir away from his team. “Listen, Tavor, le Roux is an agent of the Israeli Mossad, and she is in enemy hands. Do we ever abandon our people?”
“No, Ha’mefaked.”
“Tell me about Jordan in 1997.”
“I understand,” Nir replied, knowing the exact incident his commander meant.
“Tell me about Jordan,” Tzadik said, insistent.
“Botched targeted killing of Khaled Mashaal. Two Mossad agents posing as Canadians were arrested. First, the ramsad flew to Amman to see King Hussein, and when that wasn’t enough, Netanyahu himself flew to apologize to Hussein and plea for the agents’ release.”
Tzadik was nodding. “Exactly. Both the head of the Mossad and the head of the country got involved. And who did we eventually trade to get just two agents back?”
“Twenty Hamas prisoners initially and dozens more later.”
“Including…”
“Including Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, a founder of Hamas, who was serving a life sentence for conspiring to kidnap IDF soldiers.”
Tzadik was right. These stories had been drilled into Nir from the time he started his training with the Mossad. There was nothing the government wouldn’t do to rescue someone being held for protecting the State of Israel.
“Exactly. We will get her out, son. A time when guns are needed may come, but right now our most powerful weapon is the telephone. So get in there with your men. Talk them off the cliff. Get your gear ready in case you’re needed, and let me do my job.”
“Yes, Ha’mefaked,” Nir answered, though reluctantly.
He turned toward his Kidon team, but Tzadik’s voice stopped him.
“By the way, what did we do to Yassin in 2004?”
“Dropped a missile on his scraggly head.”
“Israel never forgets.”
Tzadik turned away, and Nir watched the man go. He was right. It didn’t matter where Nicole was born or whether it was Jew or Gentile blood running through her veins. If she was risking her life for the State of Israel, then the State of Israel would move heaven and earth to safely bring her home.
That assurance was all well and good for when that time came. But at this particular moment, Nicole was in Iran being roughed up by a bunch of dirties—and there was nothing he could do about it.
When he entered the next room, his Kidon team was still gearing up. They all turned when he walked in. Tzadik was a strong leader, but these were Nir’s men. All they need is a helicopter, and they’ll raid the Ayatollah’s house if they need to.
He looked at each of them, letting them see the gravity of the situation in his stare. “Stand down,” he said, then walked out.
Cries of protest erupted behind him. He understood their frustration and appreciated their desire to save Nicole, but it wasn’t time yet, and he didn’t have the motivation to answer any of their questions.
“Yaron, fix it,” he called back. Immediately, his second began barking out orders for the men to unpack their gear, recheck it, and then pack it again.
The coffeepot was now half full, so Nir poured himself a cup and dumped in a couple teaspoons of sugar for energy. He found a chair within eavesdropping distance of Tzadik and sat down, then took a sip of the sweet coffee, set the cup on the table, and promptly forgot all about it.