ONE MONTH LATER
HEATHROW INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, LONDON, ENGLAND—FEBRUARY 15, 2010—19:10 / 7:10 P.M. GMT
Nir spotted her immediately. Nicole was sitting on a bench with her long legs crossed, her bag and a newspaper occupying the space next to her. A smile spread wide across her face when she recognized him among the crowd exiting immigration and customs. She rose to embrace him, and he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around her. Once again, he wondered what a woman this beautiful was doing with someone like him.
As soon as the debriefings in Tel Aviv had completed, Nir convinced a friend to look up Nicole’s information in the Mossad database. His mind was still reeling. Her being in that room running the coms for a Kidon hit team was beyond absurd. On the flight to Zürich, then back home, he’d racked his brain trying to come up with logical answers. But he was at a loss.
He was hesitant when he made the call to her, but she seemed genuinely excited to hear from him. He’d pushed her for answers, but she’d said she would tell him the story only in person. So he told Omer Goren, his supervisor, he needed a few days to “process” the assassination and booked a flight to London.
Holding her now felt so familiar, so good. Her body was warm, and her hair smelled of honey and citrus. Nir was reluctant to let her go. Then Nicole turned her head and kissed him. It lasted only a few seconds, but Nir was pretty sure he would remember that kiss for the rest of his life. He realized he’d never fully gotten over her. The women in his life during the intervening years hadn’t meant anything to him. They were just stand-ins for the real thing. Now that real thing was in his arms. When they finally separated, she looked at him with a coquettish smile.
“Nicole.” That was all he managed to say.
“Welcome to London. How was your flight?”
“Five and a half hours breathing other people’s air. Otherwise, not bad.”
He stepped back and looked at her. She wore a belted gray aviator jacket, what he thought were called harem pants in a light brown, and dark-brown boots loose at the laces. Her dark hair was hanging with its natural curl, and she wore just enough makeup to smooth any rough edges that might possibly be on her face. “You look amazing.”
Nicole did a practiced 360-degree spin. “Why, thank you. The perks of living in the fashion world, along with a little help from a secondary employer of mine.” She winked.
“Okay, I’ve got to know about your secondary employer. How in the world—”
Nicole touched her finger to his lips. “Let’s talk about it over a nice dinner.”
Nir acquiesced—but reluctantly.
Nicole moved her hand to Nir’s cheek and stroked his short beard. “What is this?”
“Oh, just something new. Going for the rough and rugged look.”
“I like it. Quite manly.” She still had that deep, alto voice. “So are you hungry? Do you want to go to a restaurant? Or would you rather just pick something up and take it to my place?”
“Option two sounds good to me.” He hefted his duffle back onto his shoulder.
Nicole drove a four-door Mini Clubman, blue with white racing stripes. A nice mix of function and flair, Nir thought as he opened the split doors in the rear and threw in his bag. Then, after walking around to the left side of the car, he squeezed his body into the passenger seat.
Nicole laughed. “You can put that seat back.”
Relieved, Nir found a button on the side and slid it backward. His legs thanked him for every new centimeter of space they gained.
The 30-minute drive into London allowed them to catch up on each other’s lives. While there wasn’t much to say about Nir’s family, Nicole’s loved ones were struggling. Her grandmother’s alcoholism was catching up with her, causing a wide assortment of medical maladies. Nicole said she would be surprised if her grandma was still alive this time next year. Her twin brother, Christiaan, had his own issues to deal with. It was becoming more and more apparent that his partying had turned into addiction. Nicole’s voice broke as she talked about him. Soon he would be the only family she had left. If she lost him, she’d be alone in the world.
Nir wanted to tell her he would make sure she was never alone, but in his head the words sounded trite. Besides, it was way too soon to make a promise like that. Instead, he put his hand on the back of her neck and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
As they drove, Nicole had him call ahead to Cafe TPT and order two Brisket Curry on Rice and Singapore Noodles. When they arrived near the restaurant, Nir jumped out to pick up the order while Nicole maneuvered her car on the tight street so it would face the other way. Located just past the ornately colorful Chinatown Gate, the restaurant could be approached only on foot. The brick pedestrian street was crowded with people. It was a festive atmosphere, complete with clowns making balloon animals, portable magic shows, and people dressed as Pokémon characters for photos with tourists.
Three doors past the gate, Nir found the small storefront he was looking for. The food was ready for him, and when he carried the brown bag out, he found Nicole in a dispute with a cab driver. He was refusing to move his car, which he’d left sideways in the narrow street.
“You shouldn’t even be this far up,” the cabbie said. “This is commercial traffic only.”
“Who are you? The zoning police? Move your car so I can finish my turn.” Nicole was clearly angry.
“I’m no bobby, but you’re about to meet one. They’re on their way, and you can just stay right there until they get here.”
Nir sized up the man. He looked to be about 20 years older than him, and he was shorter and lean and wiry. His nose was a little crooked from at least one break in the past. It was also a little bulbous, which likely meant he appreciated his ale a bit too much.
This man isn’t dangerous. But he might be scrappy.
“Hello, friend. What seems to be the problem?” Nir stepped into the fray.
“Well, this little tart—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Nir waved his hand. “No need to be rude.” He walked closer, and the man retreated a step.
Nir smiled. “Listen, I just came in from out of town to spend some time with my lady. In this bag I’ve got some beef curry and Singapore noodles. I don’t even know what a Singapore noodle is. What I do know is that if you and your sideways car make me eat cold noodles, you and I will have a problem.” The smile left Nir’s face, replaced with as much menace as he could muster in so ridiculous a situation. “Are we going to have a problem?”
“No, I don’t suppose we are.”
The man’s eyes held Nir’s, and Nir had to give him kudos. He’d backed down, but he’d also kept his dignity while doing it.
“Thank you, my friend.” Nir’s smile returned to his face. “Now, if you’ll kindly remove your car, we’ll be on our way.”
The man complied, and Nicole pulled away. There was silence in the Mini until they’d driven a few blocks and made a right-hand turn. Nir wasn’t sure if Nicole was mad at the situation, mad at him for interfering, or just embarrassed by the whole thing.
Then she broke into laughter. “I was so totally in the wrong. I had no business being there.”
Nir laughed too. “Then why were we there?”
“Oh, I just didn’t want you to walk too far. Besides, I can usually get away with it.”
“That’s your ethical standard? You can get away with it?”
“So says the professional assassin.” She grinned and winked at him.
“Fair point.” Though he had to admit that jab went a little deep. He was still getting used to the idea that killing people was his job.
Nicole was staying in a third-floor flat in Soho in the West End of London. It was small and looked like it had been decorated 60 years ago by someone’s spinster aunt. All the furniture was straight-backed and proper, covered with flowery fabric, and designed specifically for discomfort.
“This will be a wonderful place to hold a celebration when we finally defeat Hitler and the Germans,” he said.
Nicole laughed. “I know. Isn’t it horrible? But it’s just a two-month rental, and it’s only a short bus ride to Somerset House, where they’re holding Fashion Week.”
Nir tried an Elizabethan chair with needlepoint upholstery. The design was so angular he almost felt like he was leaning forward. He stood. “Nope, that won’t work. Is any furniture in this place comfortable?”
“Try the sofa.”
Nir sat, then agreed this was the best option. As stiff, uncomfortable furniture went, the sofa seemed as if it was probably less stiff and slightly less uncomfortable than the rest. He pulled a coffee table close and put the food bag on it while Nicole gathered some plates.
“Would you mind bringing a fork too? I can do chopsticks; I just can’t do them well. So I figure, why aggravate myself just to look global?”
“Makes sense to me.” She brought the dinnerware, and Nir dished out the food.
“Ah, so that’s a Singapore noodle,” he said, twisting some thin rice noodles around his fork. The brisket was amazingly tender for takeout, and the yellow curry had just enough spice to make his nose run a little. “Good choice. This is amazing.”
Nir noticed Nicole was only picking at her food. Something was going on in her head, and he had a feeling they were about to discuss it. He gave her space to work out the words.
Finally, she said, “Okay, are you ready for the story?”
Nir put down his fork, then leaned back against the perpendicular rear of the sofa. “Let’s have it. What is a South African model like you doing in a Mossad like this?”
She paused but only for a moment. “I’m hesitating because I don’t know how you’ll take this. I don’t want you thinking I’m some crazy stalker.”
Nir had no idea where this was going, but he was certainly intrigued.
“So after you left for Jo-burg, we kind of lost touch. I was pretty confused, and after what happened with my mom, I guess I have some abandonment issues. I don’t know. I just know I felt like you’d dumped me, and I didn’t understand why.”
“Listen, Nicole, I am so sorry. I didn’t have a chance—”
“Stop. I know. You couldn’t tell me what was going on because you weren’t allowed to tell me. I know that now. I just didn’t know it then. So one night I was bored and sad and kind of lonely, and I decided I needed to know what happened to you. So I kind of hacked my way through the firewall protecting the computer system of Israel’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”
“Kind of hacked your way?”
“Okay, I busted right through. Tore that wall down like it was 1989 Berlin. And I learned you’d become a part of the Mossad.”
“I have to admit, you’re the first woman who ever committed a felony for me.” He laughed. “At least that I know about.”
But Nicole wasn’t laughing. She seemed genuinely embarrassed by her actions, yet Nir felt flattered over the attention.
“It gets worse, Nir.”
He stopped laughing. “Worse?” He was absolutely intrigued.
“I was curious about what kind of work you were doing in the Mossad. So…”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“How?”
Nir’s reaction seemed to be loosening Nicole up. It was as if the fact that he wasn’t mad at her or hadn’t made fun of her had given her huge relief.
“You really want me to explain how I hacked into the un-hackable computer system of the world’s foremost intelligence service?”
“Most definitely! Just keep it simple—on my level.”
“Okay, on your level. I pressed the little clicky buttons on Mr. Computer until the Mossad computer said, ‘Oh, hi! Come on in.’”
Nir smiled. “Ah, makes sense. Mr. Computer is very powerful.”
Nicole told him about Zamir and Asher’s visit, then looked at him with hopeful eyes. “So you don’t think I’m a crazy stalker?”
“Let’s just say I don’t think you’re crazy.”
Nicole laughed and threw a fringed pillow at him. “I’m not a stalker either. I just wanted to know what happened to you. We had something. At least I think we did.”
Nir slid closer. “We did. And I’m hoping we still do.”
Then he kissed her, the Mossad forgotten.