00:03 / 12:03 A.M. IDT
Saad Salim, General Arash Mousavi, and Ali Kamal all sat on separate chairs, hands and feet bound. Nir noticed the surprise register on each when they saw him come in.
Nir snapped his fingers and turned to Azoulai, who was standing by the bar. “That reminds me. One of the staff is dressed like a doctor and will probably say he’s the ship’s medic. He’s not. I wouldn’t mind having a word with him.”
“Root.” Azoulai whispered something to one of his men, who hustled out the door.
“You boys look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Nir said.
“Just kill us and die, Jew,” said Mousavi.
Kamal’s eyes widened even more.
“You don’t look ready to be killed,” Nir said to him.
“No. Please. I am so sorry for what I did. It was these two. They forced me to do it—to try to extract information from you.”
“You know, that’s what I was figuring, Ali. You’re just caught up in this bad situation, right? Well, don’t worry. I’m really here for the general. He’s a very bad man.”
Kamal nodded. “He is. If you only knew the things he’s done. In fact, I can tell you all about them. Take me with you, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Mousavi was turning red with rage.
Maybe I should let Mousavi loose so he can kill Kamal. Cage match. That could be fun.
But that wasn’t why he was here.
He slapped his forehead. “Wait a second. I’m sorry. I’m not really thinking straight. You know, concussion and all. I’m not here for Mousavi. I’m here for you, habibi.”
Kamal’s eyes grew big again, and now tears streamed down his face.
“That’s right. I have a little message from your crown prince. He says… You know, I actually think your crown prince is kind of a jerk. So on second thought, I don’t think I’ll deliver his little speech.” Turning to Azoulai, he said, “Let’s go.”
“That’s all?”
“I don’t have the energy for anything else.”
Nir snapped his fingers again. Turning to Saad, he said, “You’re the art lover. You’ve got those two original Marcos paintings, don’t you?” Nir spotted them, each on a different wall. “There they are. Beautiful. I’ve got to know, are you a Marilyn or a fruit bowl?”
Saad did his best to look dignified, but his eyes were glassy. Nir wondered if he wasn’t a little drunk.
“I prefer the fruit bowl.”
Nir turned to Dima. “I totally had him pegged as a Marilyn.” He whispered something to the Russian.
The big man walked over and picked up the chair Saad was sitting in, then carried it to where Fruit Bowl hung. He set the man down so he had a full view of the painting.
“I’ll give your compliments to the artist.”
There was a commotion at the door. The doctor came stumbling in, apparently pushed along by his Shayetet escort. He fell into a large decorative vase, which shattered beneath him. He landed sprawled out on the ground.
“Dr. Ghasemi, welcome to our little party,” Nir said. He walked toward the man. “Yaron, would you kindly help him up?”
The Kidon operative hoisted the small man up by his zip-tied wrists. The doctor cried out.
Nir stood in front of the man and looked him up and down. He was whimpering and had turned his face so that he could only see Nir out of the corner of his eye.
“Look at me,” Nir said. The man whimpered more.
“Look at me!” Nir took the man’s face in his hand, squeezing hard into his cheeks. He twisted his head so they were face-to-face. “I’ve got one thing to say to you, you evil, little slug of a man.”
Pulling his fist back, Nir punched forward. His fist stopped centimeters away from the man’s face. Nir leaned forward and whispered in the man’s ear, “Boom.”
“Zip up his legs and put him with the others,” Nir said as he strode away.
As soon as he cleared the door, he collapsed into a wall. Dima pushed past everyone and picked him up, then carried him.
“Put me down,” Nir kept insisting, but the Russian ignored him.
When they got to the garage, it was packed with people being helped aboard the boats one by one.
Finally, Dima let Nir stand, although he was essentially holding him up.
“Bring me the captain,” Nir said.
Doron found the man and brought him over. “I’m counting on you to get these people safely ashore. Do you understand? If you double-cross them or any harm comes to even one, I will find you, and I will kill you. Tell me Yes, sir.”
“Ye-yes, sir,” the man stammered.
Nir held him with a hard stare, then said, “Go.”
“Excuse me. Excuse me.”
Nir turned and saw a young Filipino man. Although he couldn’t recognize his face, his voice brought tears to Nir’s eyes.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” the young man said, shaking his hand.
Nir pulled him close and wrapped him in a hug. “Thank you.”
As he held him, the Filipino whispered, “Jesus, friend. Jesus, friend.”
Nir released him and said, “Yeah, you just might be right about that.”
The rest of the staff and crew were loaded onto the boats, and they set off for shore. The Shayetet 13 and Kidon teams left soon after, heading the opposite direction.
ARABIAN SEA, OFF MUMBAI, INDIA—AUGUST 24, 2021—00:43 / 12:43 A.M. IST
The two hadn’t stopped arguing. Saad was doing his best to tune them out, as well as the incessant sniveling of the doctor, whom the Israelis had left hog-tied on the salon’s floor. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to die, but he was positive he would—and soon. He didn’t want to spend his final moments on this earth caught up in a blaming squabble. Ultimately, it really didn’t matter whose fault it was. That would be for Allah to sort out.
His eyes focused on the ugly brown globe contained in the fruit bowl. He’d finally looked it up last night and discovered it was a jicama. A perusal of Wikipedia informed him that it was not a fruit but a root vegetable, like a turnip. That was so odd to him. Amidst all these colorful, exotic fruits, Marcos had painted a colorless edible root. Something about that was so profound. Was that representative of her? Was that how she felt in her life or in the art world?
If only I had her back on my boat. The questions I would ask her. There’s so much I still don’t—
CARL, MOSSAD HEADQUARTERS, TEL AVIV, ISRAEL—22:45 / 10:45 P.M. IDT
The fireball was spectacular. It filled the large monitor on CARL’s wall with light. When the concussive wave hit the drone, it briefly went off course but then soon reacquired its position.
All those months of work, thought Nicole. It was all for this moment. Nir must be going out of his mind watching it from the water.
Minutes later, she learned Nir had missed the fireball and the concussive wave and the wake that rocked the boat and the moment when the last of the yacht’s bow submerged into the Arabian Sea. He hadn’t experienced any of it. Instead, he was passed out on the floor of the inflatable.