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Mossad sent an agent right away. But they waited two weeks before giving him a go order. Time was on their side. A global operation like Whammy takes a long time to plan, but only a moment to stop. The right moment with the right leverage. So they waited for the right moment and kept watch for the right leverage.
The right leverage’s name was Shirley.
And the right moment was dinner.
Dalton and Shirley sat in the dim back corner of an obscure trattoria, almost invisible, squinting to read their menus by the feeble light. The Mossad agent, a tall young man with a godlike build, a bright white smile, and dark eyes, walked quietly past the host, stepped to their table, pulled up a chair, sat, and said softly, with a captivating smile, “Please don’t move or make a sound, or I will kill you both. But I’m not here to kill you. I just want information. Dalton, I’d appreciate it if you would go back to your office and bring back a USB stick with a list of all of Professor LaBranche’s targets. I’ll wait here with Shirley. She’s my hostage. And when you get back and give me the USB drive, I’ll leave. It’s that simple. You can go now. While you’re gone would you like me to order for you? I’d hate to delay your meal.”
Dalton was silent and motionless except for his eyes, which were as loud as sirens, and darted back and forth between Shirley and the agent.
Nobody moved ... The nearest movement was at the next table, where a young woman sitting with her back to them rummaged in her purse and fiddled with her phone.
After a moment, the agent repeated, “You can go now. I insist. I have a gun. Shoo.”
Dalton remained silent and motionless. It was Shirley who spoke. She said, looking at Dalton, “He’s low key, but he might as well have said he has an army.”
Dalton looked back at her.
A moment puzzled.
Then he understood.
He said to the agent, “I won’t leave Shirley. I have a faster idea. With your permission, I’ll call my secretary, and she’ll bring the USB stick. And I’ll stay here as your hostage. And you’ll let Shirley go.”
The agent thought for a moment, then said, “Go ahead and call. But Shirley stays here. And put the call on speaker so I can hear both sides of the conversation. Keep the call short.”
Dalton said, “But ... ”
The agent interrupted, “Shirley is not negotiable. I know she’s valuable to you. That’s why she’s not negotiable.” He smiled charmingly.
Dalton nodded, then pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed, laid it on the table, in front of him, and pushed the speaker button.
A woman answered, “Hello Dalton.”
Dalton said, “Hi there. Look, if you haven’t left the office yet, I wonder if you could do me a favor? Shirley and I just ran into a business associate at dinner. He’s sitting here with us at Trattoria Famiglia. You know the place?”
“Yes.”
“He wants me to share some data with him. Could you please copy a file onto a USB stick and bring it here?”
“Sure. What file?”
“It’s the target list on Bodin’s laptop. I don’t know the name of the file. You’ll have to check with him.”
“Okay. It will take about five minutes to copy the file. And another five minutes for me to walk to the trattoria. Is ten minutes okay?”
“Ten minutes is fine. See you then. And thanks very much.” Dalton hung up.
Ten minutes later Rachel glided into the trattoria, the reigning goddess of mature grace, beauty, and sudden death. She had a bright white smile and dark eyes. She held a USB stick in one hand at chin level, like a model displaying a tube of lipstick, and held her purse in the other hand, low on her hip, like a gunslinger in a duel. She glided up to their table, glowing like a supermodel with her own internal spotlight. She pulled up a chair right next to the agent, and sat so gracefully, ballerinas wept. She handed the USB stick to Dalton.
The agent stared at her, at first transfixed. Then quickly slid his chair three feet away from her as he said, “I thought you were in Tel Aviv.”
Rachel was facing Dalton. Now she swiveled her hips on her chair to face the agent. Those hips were born to swivel. And as they swiveled, they undulated. They made a man’s brain wobble like a tilt-a-whirl.
She leaned toward the agent, smiled ever so sweetly and, with a voice as gentle as an angel’s sigh, said, “Just visiting for the day. But that’s not your only mistake. They say cats have nine lives. That’s a lot more than you have. How many mistakes do you have left? Or have you made your last one?”
The agent’s dark complexion went three shades paler. His eyes locked with Rachel’s. He thought, Holy shit, she’s been here only thirty seconds and she’s fuckin’ OWNED me. I’m a mess. Pull yourself together man! You’ve got a job to do. Get that USB stick! And get out! Except, holy shit, I don’t think I’m going to get out of this. I think she’s going to kill me any second now.
Rachel thought, Okay, I’ve got my advantage. This is as good as it gets. In a moment he’ll start recovering his wits and his guts. I’ve got just a few seconds to use this advantage.
Eyes still locked on the agent, she said, “Shirley and Dalton, it’s time for you to leave.”
Shirley and Dalton started to stand up.
The agent thought, Oh my God, she’s about to kill me. The only thing keeping me alive is she doesn’t want Shirley and Dalton killed in a crossfire. I’ve got to keep them here or I’m dead.
He said, “No. If they start to leave, I’ll kill them. You may kill me, but they’ll still be dead.” His voice shook ever so slightly.
Shirley and Dalton sat back down.
Rachel thought, Standoff. Mutual assured destruction. He’s not a coward. He did what I’d do. And now I’ve missed my opportunity.
The agent thought, Standoff. How the hell am I going to get out of this alive? Maybe I bought myself a little time. But I’m still going to die.
Rachel thought, I should have shot him, or at least had my gun ready, when I came through the door. Stupid, stupid fool. I’m in deep shit now. He’s younger and stronger than me. Probably much faster reflexes. He can get his gun much faster than I can. He can take a lot more punishment than I can. I’m old and out of training. If I hit him, would he even feel it?
Agent: She wouldn’t have brought her purse if she didn’t have a gun in it. I’m unarmed. I thought I could bluff my way through this. Another mistake. She’s right about me making mistakes. Oh, God, I’m a stupid, stupid fool. I’ve made my last mistake. She can kill me at her whim. I can only pray to God she doesn’t know it. Please, God, make her think I have a gun.
Rachel: All I’ve got left is a bluff. Aloud she said, “If you stand up slowly right now, and walk out the door, I’ll let you live.”
Agent: She’s given me a way to live. But if I take her offer, if I stand up, she’ll know I’m unarmed. She’ll kill me instantly. And yet ... and yet ... what if she’s telling me the truth. What if she’ll really let me live if I leave. It’s my only hope to live for more than a few more seconds. Or is it? Is that a real hope? Or just what I want to believe? No. Everything I’ve heard about her says she’ll kill me anyway. And she won’t lose a wink of sleep. No. My only prayer to live a little longer is to keep playing the bluff.
Aloud, the agent said, “No. Give me the USB stick and the three of you can leave.” He paused. Then he added, “And I’ll have them send your dinners to your office.” Oh, God, that was a nice touch. I’ll die with a brash grin. Thank you, God.
He tried flashing his most devastating smile. But he could tell it came out slightly crooked.
Rachel: I’ve failed. He’ll try to kill me and then Dalton and Shirley. He has to. They can identify him. I don’t care about the USB stick. We could give it to him. Maybe he’d leave.
Rachel said aloud, “Another mistake you made: Project Whammy is personal for me. Very personal. It targets intolerance. I’ve had to lock my autistic son away from the world because of intolerance. And here you are putting yourself between me and something that could help my son. You are between a mama bear and her cub. That’s a bad place to be. Real bad. But I’m going to give you a way out. Take the USB stick and leave. That’s my final offer. And I do mean final.” She flashed a smile so devastatingly lethal it could kill most men at twenty paces. The smile was flawless.
Agent: Oh, God, she’s good. The best that’s ever been. So cool. So perfect. The perfection of utter ruthlessness. I’m so far out of my league I can barely see it from here. I’d love to do just what she says. But if I stand up she’ll see I don’t have a gun. She’ll kill me before I clear my chair.
He said aloud, “I’ll take the USB stick. But, no, you leave first.”
Nobody moved.
Rachel: He’s got me and he knows it. I can’t walk away. He’ll kill me if I do. He’s faster than me. My only prayer is to stay close to him, within hand-to-hand distance. If I’m close, I might be able to grab his gun when he pulls it. He needs me to move away. I can’t let that happen. I have to plan for hand-to-hand. Sweet Moses, he’s bigger and stronger than me. Remember my training. I need to go for his eyes and throat. If he’s got any brains at all, he’s wearing a cup. And he’s clearly got brains, so it’s pointless to go for his balls. Eyes and throat. Eyes and throat.
The agent shifted in his chair ever so slightly.
Rachel: Oh, no, he’s tensing. He’s about to make his move.
Agent: Damn, this is a fucking bad time for my underpants to bunch up. Ignore it. Ouch, that pinches. Ignore it, damn you! Watch her shoulders. They’ll telegraph her next move. Stay close. My only prayer is to grab her gun. This is going to be hand-to-hand. I need to be blazing fast. Ouch, that pinches. Remember my training. Go for her eyes and throat. And her boobs if I can. Those are pain points. Though I doubt she feels pain. Eyes, throat, and boobs. Eyes, throat, and boobs. She’s going to go for my balls, too. And I forgot to wear a cup. I’m the stupidest shit that ever lived. Oh my God, she’s losing her cool. Her face is getting reddish. There’s tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead and upper lip. I’ve pushed her too far. I’ve made her mad. Oh, God, no! She’s enraged! She’s gonna explode! This is about to go down. I’m about to die. I don’t want to die!
Rachel: Oh, fuck, no! Not a hot flash! For the love of God, no! This is the wrong time for a hot flash! Not now! Smile at him, damn you. Smile like you’re about to kill him. Don’t let him see what a mess you are. I am so fucked. Look at his smile. It’s beautiful. But it’s mechanical. It’s a lot like Benny’s. He looks about the same age as Benny. I don’t want to kill him. He’s a brave Israeli boy. Probably a former soldier. But it’s a moot point. I probably can’t kill him. It would take a miracle. He’s probably going to kill me. Then who will take care of Benny? Oh, shit, I want to live. I need to live. I have to live. But I don’t think I will. What’s the best that can happen here? I live. Which means he dies. Is that what I want? How would I feel if Benny died? I’d die inside. Everything important about me would die. Is that what this agent’s mother would feel if I kill her son? Is that the best that can happen here? Maybe it’s better that I’m the one that’s going to die. Maybe that’s the best that can happen here. But who will take care of Benny?
Agent: I’m out of my league. I made a bunch of mistakes and I’m going to die for them. I thought I could help my country. But she’s the best my country ever produced. Maybe the best ever in the world. I’m the wrong person in the wrong job. And I’m going to die for it.
Then Rachel said, “What’s your name, young man?” She wasn’t sure why she said it. It just popped into her head.
It was so unexpected, the agent answered truthfully, “Gavriel Ben-Netanel.” He thought, She wants it for my tombstone, no doubt. Or for her collection of heads.
“Oh,” said Rachel. She paused. “Any relation to former Sergeant Bethany Netanel of Haifa?”
Gavriel’s head whipped aback. All pretense of pretense evaporated in pure puzzlement. He said, “I have the honor to be her eldest son. But she doesn’t live in Haifa any more. She moved to a condo in Akko, overlooking the ocean.”
“Ah!” said Rachel. “Then you’re the reason why she left the Army so many years ago.”
Gavriel just looked at her, stupefied.
Rachel went on, “Is that your phone in your shirt pocket, Gavriel? Could you please take it out of your pocket? Slowly?”
Gavriel did so. Slowly.
“Now, would you please dial Beth’s number. Then put the phone on the table and turn on the speaker.”
Gavriel: She’s going to kill me while chatting with my mother? That’s a new one. No, that can’t be it. I don’t understand. But I’ll do it. I’ve got nothing to lose.
He dialed and put the phone on the table. The four of them, Dalton, Shirley, Rachel, and Gavriel listened to it ring. It rang three times.
A woman answered, “Gavi! It’s been only a week and a half since you last called. What’s wrong? Are you in trouble? Do you need money?”
“Hi, Momma,” said Gavriel weakly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Rachel spoke, “Hi Beth, this is Rachel Baruch on the phone with Gavi.”
Beth almost shouted, “Captain Baruch! Mazel tov! I haven’t heard from you in so long! How are you? Where are you? Are you nearby? Can Gavi bring you here for dinner?”
“Please, Beth, it’s just Rachel. Unless you want me to call you Master Sergeant? I left the Army shortly after you did.”
“Oh, yes, I heard. So, where are you? How did Gavi find you?”
“We’re calling from a restaurant in Venice, Italy. Beth, much as I’d like to catch up with you, we’ve got something more urgent to talk about first. Gavi and I find ourselves in a situation that we’re hoping you can help us resolve. You know how when two people are on different sides of a problem, it sometimes helps to get a third person, a third side, to help sort out the other two sides?”
“Of course. Common sense. Just a second while I set the rice to simmer.” A pot clattered on a stove. Then, “How can I help?”
“Beth, Gavi and I find ourselves at a bit of a professional impasse. You see, his employer ... you know who that is?”
“Of course. Mossad. I helped him get the job.”
“Well, let me tell you, you should be proud of him. He’s pretty good at it. Oh, he makes a few mistakes. But didn’t we all at that age? But the problem is, Mossad has ordered him to get some information from some American friends of mine, a young man and woman. And he’s taken them hostage until he gets the information. Well, we’re willing to give him the information. But we’re having trouble extricating ourselves from this hostage standoff. I think we’d all like to go home peacefully. I’d appreciate your advice on how to do that.”
“My, my,” said Beth. “Gavi, is this true?”
“Yes, Momma. It’s true.”
“Do you have anything you’d like to add? I need to understand both sides you know.”
“No, Momma. Nothing more to add. Except I agree with Mrs. Baruch that I’d like to go home peacefully.” He paused a moment. “Yes, I’d definitely like that.”
“Well, Gavi, I think I can help you extricate yourself peacefully from Rachel.” She paused for a moment, then almost shouted, “But not from me! You got yourself into a standoff without an exit strategy? No way to retreat? Didn’t I teach you any better than that? Didn’t I teach you never to paint yourself into a corner? Didn’t I?”
“You did, Momma,” Gavi shook his head miserably. “I thought I had one. But things changed when Mrs. Baruch showed up unexpectedly.”
“You had one exit strategy? Only one? And you were surprised when something went wrong? Something always goes wrong! Didn’t I teach you that?”
“Yes, Momma, you taught me that.”
“If you were here I’d whack you with this wooden spoon! Oy! And Mossad ordered you to take a young man and woman hostage? By the way, bring them with you to dinner.”
“Yes, Momma, those were my orders.”
“In other words, you were just following orders. Just following orders! Is this how I raised you? I was in labor for 28 hours. 28 hours! I gave up my career as a drill sergeant to raise you! While that meshugana father of yours played saxophone all over Europe. And now you’re out kidnapping little boys and girls to extort information! Is this the thanks I get for walking the floor all night for eleven months ... eleven months! ... with you in my arms when you were colicky?”
“Momma ... ”
“‘Momma’ he says. ‘Momma.’ He says it like he’s my son. Do I have a son? Would any son of mine do this to me? Oy, you were such a sweet little boy. It’s that new girlfriend of yours, isn’t it? She’s the one who got her claws into my sweet baby boy and made him do this schlock, didn’t she? She’s really a shikse, isn’t she? Oh, you don’t have to say it. A momma knows ... ”
“Momma, she’s not a shiksa. You know I met her at basic training. But you’re right. I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Of course I’m right, bubbula. I’m your mother. Now get your little tuchas home. Where are you? Way off in Italy? Following in your father’s footsteps, I suppose. Acch! Go raise children! And I just made some gefilte fish. You should be here. Why aren’t you here?”
“Gefilte fish? Yeah, Momma, since you mention it, I’ve been thinking maybe I need to find a different job. Maybe Uncle Jake can give me some advice.”
“Well, schnookums, you’re starting a little old, but it’s good that you’re finally thinking. I’ll bake a poppyseed kuchen to celebrate. And bring that new girlfriend of yours. What’s-her-name. I need to take a close look at her.”
“Yes, Momma. Her name is Elsa.”
“And it might be a good idea to release those goys you kidnapped. No good can come of that. Take the information they’ve offered, release them, and leave. You can trust Captain ... excuse me, Mrs. Baruch, to let you go. It’s not right to go around kidnapping people. It’s probably my fault. I should have taught you better. I’m a total failure as a mother, I know. Excuse me, I need to stick my head in the oven and turn on the gas ... just for a little while. It’s okay. You’ll all be better off when I’m gone.”
“Momma, it’s an electric oven.”
“While I’m at the stove, would you like me to make some cheese blintzes?”
“Yes, Momma, that would be wonderful.”
“I thought so. You hurry home now. And pick up blueberries and sour cream on your way. Oh, and cinnamon for the kuchen. I’m running low.”
“I will. Gotta run now. Hostages to release before people kill me. I love you, Momma.”
“Of course you do. I’m your Momma. I love you, too, bubbula.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Gavi stood, picked up his phone, and started walking away.
Dalton called after him, “Wait, you forgot something.”
Gavi turned and Dalton tossed him the USB stick he had been holding. Gavi caught it and looked at it, then at Dalton. “Why?”
Dalton said, “It was part of the deal your mother made. But, really, all you had to do was ask.”
“Then why didn’t you give it to me in exchange for Shirley?”
“I would have ... if I’d been certain you’d release Shirley. But it was the only thing I had for leverage to make you release her. And I needed you to let her go. She’s a lot more valuable to me than that data.”
Gavi thought for a moment. “I’ve learned some important things today. Thanks.” He turned and walked away.
Shirley looked at Dalton and said, “I’m more valuable than the data? That may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Technically, I didn’t say it to you.”
“And that may be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me. So I guess it averages out.” She leaned across the table and kissed him, a quick peck.
Rachel turned to the host, “May I get another menu, per favore? And the vino list?” Then she turned to Shirley and Dalton, “How nice to make contact with an old Army buddy. I’ll look her up when I get back to Israel.”
Shirley said, “Just so you know, Rachel, you’re not alone. Project Whammy is personal for all of us. Maybe not so personal as for you and Benny. But we know what it’s like to not fit in. People are cruel when you don’t fit in.”
Rachel nodded, then asked, “May I have your glasses of water?”
Shirley and Dalton nodded.
Rachel took Dalton’s glass, drank it in a gulp, and chewed the ice with relish, her eyes half closed. Then she lifted Shirley’s glass over her head, and slowly poured it over her head and shoulders. She tilted her head back to pour the water on her face, then tilted forward to dribble it down her back, drenching herself. She let out a slow, luxurious, orgasmically sensual moan of relief that, accidentally, nearly melted Dalton. She forgot he was within her kill zone. Then she turned to Shirley and, in a conversational tone, said, “Menopause sucks.”
After dinner Rachel followed Shirley and Dalton out of the trattoria. On her way past the table next to theirs, she nodded imperceptibly to the young woman who sat alone with her back to their table.
Lieutenant Hagar Jones, dressed in a blouse and slacks, looked so drab and unobtrusive as to be practically invisible. She imperceptibly nodded back. Then she finished her glass of wine and followed them out unnoticed.
As Rachel, Shirley, and Dalton walked back home along the quiet, nearly deserted calle, or walkway, Rachel thought, How could anyone believe I would let them out unguarded? I’m too old to be the bodyguard. But I’m not too old to be the decoy. An expendable decoy. And I don’t like that. Not that that changes anything. When you’re young you’re expendable ... but you don’t know it. When you’re old you’re expendable ... and you do know it. In between, you think you’re irreplaceable. And maybe you are. But so what? Cemeteries are full of irreplaceable people. I hate getting old.