part0051

Haeli tossed her knapsack into the backseat of the white Mercedes sedan and climbed in after it.

“Marhaba,” the driver said, “where do you like to go?”

Haeli glanced at the taxi license, displayed on the dashboard. Yusuf ibn Ibrahim.

“Yigal Alon Street, Tel Aviv,” she said. “I don’t know the address, but I’ll show you where when we get close.”

Of course, she did. She knew it well. But that was nobody’s business but her own.

Yusuf nodded. “I can give you flat rate. Two hundred twenty. Is this good?”

Haeli did the math in her head. Two hundred and twenty Israeli Shekels would be about sixty-five dollars, maybe a little more.

The main highway, Route 1, was notoriously congested during the daytime hours. The trip could take thirty minutes or it could take an hour.

Two twenty was probably a good deal. Not to mention, there was always room for negotiation. Afterall, only tourists accepted the first offer. But the money was of no concern. What she needed was flexibility.

“Just run the meter,” she said.

Yusuf smiled and pressed a button to start the meter running. He jerked the wheel, forcing the front end of the Mercedes between two other cabs that were waiting in line to exit the taxi stand.

Ben Gurion International Airport was as busy as Haeli had ever seen it. And she had seen it a lot. It was the gateway to countless missions and assignments. At the moment, however, there was only one mission on her mind.

“What’s your name?” Yusuf asked.

Halei had to think for a second. “Allison.”

She had chosen to use that particular alias by using a highly advanced, scientific method— it was the first passport she happened to pull out of her stash. In retrospect, she wished she had chosen a different one. She didn’t particularly like the name Allison Gaudet, though she wasn’t sure why.

If she could have, she would have brought documentation for several different aliases. But getting caught with passports, licenses, birth certificates and credit cards under multiple names would have been a huge red flag. Haeli was well acquainted with the security apparatus in Israel. It wasn’t to be trifled with.

“You are visiting?” Yusuf asked.

“Yep. Just visiting,” Haeli kept her answers curt. She didn’t want to be rude, but she hoped the short answers would dissuade the man from asking any more questions. She was in no mood for small talk and any conversation, no matter how trivial, would require more brain power than she was willing to devote. The backstory she had devised during the flight was still thin. It was something she would need to rectify before it became critical.

Yusuf merged onto Route 1. The traffic was not as heavy as she expected. But she knew that would change as they got closer to the city.

Haeli settled herself in for the ride and gazed out the window. Past the concrete barriers lining either side of the highway, there was only sky. In this area, none of the homes or structures along the flat landscape rose high enough to be visible over walls.

Israel loved its walls. It was the land of gates and barriers and partitions. Most notably, the enormous one that delineated the border of the West Bank, of course. But that wasn’t all. In the city, residential properties often looked like fortresses, with high fences and heavy iron gates. Especially in wealthier sections. Parking lots, driveways, parks. All secured with concrete stanchions or spike strips or high-tech surveillance systems.

It was no wonder. The Tel Aviv district, like many other places in Israel, had been the target of terrorists for decades. Haeli remembered a time when rocket attacks, launched at the city from the Gaza Strip, just forty miles away, were a daily occurrence. Suicide bombers on buses, bars and beaches. Just a normal Tuesday.

But the people of Israel were extraordinarily resilient. For most, the ever-present danger faded into the background of daily life. And it was no different for Haeli.

Since she was a young girl, she had never felt that her home was unsafe. But then again, she wasn’t the average child.

Growing up in a paramilitary facility, she was shielded from the outside world for much of her youth. Shielded, but not sheltered. Her experience was more demanding than the outside world could have ever been. All of it had been about control. Controlling her fear. Controlling her body. Controlling her world.

By the time she was a teenager, she was capable of killing a grown man with her bare hands. Not only in theory but in practice. Lots of practice. With rigorous daily training and relentless evaluation, she would be forced to prove it over and over again. It didn’t take long before she started to realize that the outside world should be more afraid of her than she was of it.

“There she is,” Yusuf said, “Tel Aviv. She’s beautiful, no?”

In the distance, skyscrapers of varying heights bristled out of the horizon. The skyline of Tel Aviv and Ramat Gan was a comforting sight.

“She is,” Haeli replied.

Since fleeing Israel more than a year ago, she had never felt like she fit in. Especially in the United States. But here, it was different. Here, she didn’t feel like an imposter.

As the jagged skyline loomed larger, she found herself wishing that she had spent more time appreciating the place. As an adult, she had been all business, rarely taking a moment to dip her toes into the Mediterranean or explore the rich history of the place.

Raised without religion, the significance of the holy sites never had the same draw they did to the rest of the population, Jews and Palestinians alike. But there was something to be said about the power of such antiquity, even from a secular point of view.

In different circumstances, she might have entertained a bit of soul searching. But not now. It wasn’t that kind of homecoming.

“Get off here,” Haeli said.

“Here?” Yusuf glanced over his shoulder, then back at the road. “It’s better to—“

“I know. Just get off here.”

Yusuf took the exit.

Haeli directed him to turn right onto Lehi Road. A green wire fence ran along the median, separating the eastbound and westbound lanes.

She directed him to take the next possible left and then rattled off a series of turn by turn directions that would snake them through narrow streets of the residential neighborhood.

Rows of small angular structures passed by her window. Each a variation of the last. A sea of cracked stucco and corrugated metal. It was almost imperceptible where one dwelling ended and the next one began.

“You are not visiting,” Yusuf said. “You are from here, yes?”

The surprise in Yusuf’s voice amused her. She knew why he assumed she was a tourist. English had been her first and primary language. Her tutors had always been American and her accent reflected it. Not that she couldn’t blend in if she needed to. As part of her schooling, she was required to achieve fluency in several other languages, including Hebrew and Arabic.

“Let’s just say I’m familiar with the area.” She left it at that.

They were close now. Two blocks from her intended destination. She took a deep breath.

Along the right side of the road was a pair of multi-story apartment buildings. In the courtyard between them, something that stood out in Haeli’s memory.

Yusuf stopped the car as abruptly as she had blurted the command.

“This is good. How much do I owe you?”

“Two hundred thirty-two.” Yusuf twisted his body to look at her. “See, flat rate is much better.”

Haeli handed over two hundred forty shekels, grabbed her bag, and stepped out without responding. Her attention remained fixed on the courtyard. Yusuf pulled away.

Behind a wrought iron fence, the faded colors of the plastic slide and swings stood out against the sand. A flood of memories washed over her and tears welled in her eyes.

Standing there on the sidewalk, staring at the vacant little playground, it was if she were nine years old again.

She remembered how, every weekend, she would beg her father to take her for a walk.

“One last time,” he would always say. Then they would walk to the market where he would buy her a sweet treat.

On every trip, they would pass by the playground. On the way there and on the way back. Every time, she would stop and ask if she could go in.

Maybe it was because it was such a foreign concept to her, or maybe it was an innate drive to play that exists in all children, but it called to her from beyond the fence. She could feel its draw, even now.

“This is private property. You don’t belong there,” he would say, as if reciting from a script. “Come. Let’s get you home.”

But this routine was not what triggered the emotional response. It was one particular memory, from one remarkable day.

Walking back from the market with a belly full of lemon wafers, Haeli stopped to look in on the playground. “Can I try it today?” she had asked. Her father paused. She knew the answer. Then, the unexpected. He reached down, lifted her up and lowered her on the other side of the fence.

“Come with me,” she said. And then, something even more unexpected. Something that had never happened before or since. Her father, the venerable Doctor Benjamin Becher, hopped over the fence, took her hand and jogged to the playground.

For twenty minutes, they played. Swinging. Hanging from the monkey bars. She even got him to go down the slide. And they laughed. Goodness, they laughed! It was the only time she could recall hearing him so much as snicker. Most importantly, it was the only time in her life that she could remember him treating her like a child.

She hadn’t realized how impactful that afternoon had been on her. Even now she felt the urge to hop the fence and take a few swings. But there were important matters to attend to.

She pushed the past from her mind and moved along toward the west. A few short minutes later she had reached Yigal Alon Street.

There, directly in front of her was a massive building that sprawled for blocks. From the center of the squat compound was a soaring tower sheathed in tinted glass. At the top, six foot tall letters read: Techyon.