CHAPTER 3

The Israeli Embassy, Brussels, five days earlier

The quiet that permeated the room was exactly what Ehud Amar needed, even if it was the calm before the storm. His problems would not be limited to today’s events. He was sure of that. As nightfall came, his notion of time became fuzzier. At least the phone had stopped ringing.

He got up from the couch, where he had hoped to get some shut-eye. Despite his fatigue, he had too much adrenaline coursing through him. He decided to open a bottle of Italian wine—a present from his counterpart in Rome. Perhaps that, along with a cigarette—just one—would do the trick. Ehud had been saving the wine for a special occasion and hadn’t had a smoke in a year, but drastic times called for drastic measures.

He jumped when the door to his large office swung open. A man sauntered in—as though he owned the place, Ehud thought. He sat down on the couch where Ehud had been just minutes earlier and leaned back. His olive-colored face was lined with deep wrinkles, and his balding head was covered with liver spots. But his blue eyes were piercing, despite his age.

“Where is he?” the man asked without even a greeting.

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Karman,” Ehud replied.

“There’ll be time for pleasantries once I see him. I’ll repeat the question. Where is he?”

“In the basement of the embassy. We are equipped with a medical unit in the event of an emergency or if one of our agents needs immediate, and let’s say discreet, attention. Follow me. I’ll take you to them.”

“Them?” the visitor asked.

Ehud grinned. Maybe he was just a military attaché, but he had thrown this hotshot from Mossad for a loop. Secret agents thought they were gods. They had no respect for laws and regulations. The superheroes stirred up the shit, and the worker bees—diligent diplomats and other government workers like him—had to clean up after them.

In silence, the two men headed toward the elevator. Ehud took out a key and slid it into a small lock next to a button that was missing a floor number.

“Need I remind you that you are about to enter a top-secret zone?”

Karman shot him a look that eliminated any further impulse to joke around.

“I guess not.”

About twenty seconds later, the elevator opened onto a long hallway lit dimly by flickering fluorescent lights. Large pipes ran along the concrete walls. They made a loud clunking noise that sounded like a sputtering truck. The two men walked about a hundred feet to a gray door that had no handle. Ehud took out a magnetic card and swiped it across a sensor on the right-hand side.

The door slid open silently to reveal a state-of-the-art operating room. Ehud was well aware that it was on par with those of the most reputable hospitals in the world. In the center of the room, a young woman with long legs and short red hair was strapped to a surgical table. Two electrodes connected to her temples were transferring her cerebral activity to a monitor screen. The infrequent spikes on the display left little to the imagination. She was in a deep coma.

Karman walked over to study her face. It was hard and angular, as if sculpted from marble. Her skin was milky white, tarnished only by a purplish bruise on the left side of her forehead and strangulation marks that formed a chilling necklace around her throat. But aside from those small traces of violence, Sleeping Beauty was quite peaceful, her lips fixed in a half smile. Ehud surmised that Karman had never before seen an attractive woman in such a cold and disturbing condition.

“I came for him, not her,” Karman blurted out as he accidently brushed his fingers against the woman’s hollow cheek. He quickly pulled his hand back, seemingly afraid of waking her up.

“We rescued both of them, sir. I assumed she was part of your team. But judging by your reaction, I was wrong.”

“Precisely. She’s not with us. For the last time, I don’t have a moment to spare. Where is he?”

“Your agent’s in the next room. We have abided by your instructions, but I won’t lie. Our surgeon needed a lot of convincing. And it was quite difficult to find a tub of that size.”

Karman headed toward the door to his right and opened it.

“I’d appreciate it if you waited here, Colonel Amar.”

All right. Ehud was definitely going to break down and light up that cigarette. And he was going to enjoy every last drag. As soon as the nutcases cleared out.

Karman closed the door behind him. He had prepared for the worst, even the possibility of recovering a body. But not for what he saw.

In the middle of this drab storage room, lined with shelves holding boxes of gauze pads, medicine bottles, and surgical gloves, was a tub filled with water. And in the tub, a man whom Eli Karman—keeper of Mossad’s archives—feared he’d never see alive again was happily splashing.

“Eytan Morg, I think I hate you!” he announced with a burst of laughter.

The giant gave him a huge smile while he kicked his feet like a playful child learning to swim.

“I was expecting to find you on the verge of death, Eytan. You could have let me know you were okay.”

“Yeah, but if I had done that, you wouldn’t have come. Plus, you’ve seen me make it through too many cliffhangers with no bites or bruises. I needed to remind you that I’m not actually invincible,” Eytan said with a wink.

“You think I really need a refresher course? Does it seem like I’m taking your condition lightly?”

“Of course not, Eli, but my last mission was a close call, and I had to see you. I almost didn’t make it. To be honest, I didn’t want to at one point.”

Eli looked at the floor. He had worried that the agent’s determination would wane, and, in fact, he had feared that they would lose him altogether.

“I’m anxious to see your report, but not here,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. “We’ve already caused a great deal of trouble for the embassy staff. And playing the part of an evil, secretive character is tiring. Do you feel well enough to get out of here?”

“Yep. My shoulder wound is no big deal. I’ll be a bit of a gimp until the hole in my thigh heals, but things could be worse. I’m assuming it was your call to put me in this freezing bathtub?”

“I’ve gotten to know you over the years, Eytan. Thank God you were injected with the serum in time. One of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack, for Christ’s sake. I’m not twenty anymore. Get dressed. I haven’t been working with you all these years just for the opportunity to check out your perfectly sculpted body.”

Eli looked away as his friend stepped out of the tub.

“We’ll go over the details of the case back at the military attaché’s office. The poor guy must be blowing a gasket on the other side of the wall. We might as well fill him in. He did a good job, and given the mess you left behind, I doubt that his troubles are over—especially since the ambassador isn’t here in Brussels. He’ll have to handle everything on his own.”

Eli Karman left the room to return to the unlucky Ehud, who was most likely worrying up a storm over what was to be done with the tall athletically built woman strapped to the table.

“He’ll be joining us,” Eli informed Ehud in a surprisingly friendly tone. “He’s going to share his report with us in your office, if that’s okay with you.”

“Uh, I believe so. But when you say us, you mean that I will be present for the debriefing?”

“Yes, Colonel Amar. You deserve to know more, since we’re responsible for your troubles, and we could use your services in the future. Plus, you never know—you might be in for a surprise or two.”

A few moments later, the two were seated across from one another in the ambassador’s drawing room. There was no harm in borrowing the diplomat’s lair, given his absence and the exceptional circumstances, Ehud told himself. The friendliness of the Mossad top gun persuaded Ehud to dig into the embassy’s reserve of fine liquor. He wasn’t hiding his desire to get hammered.

Eli was now brimming from ear to ear—a complete reversal from his churlish attitude just twenty minutes earlier.

“You did good work, Colonel, and I am extremely grateful.”

“I’m happy to comply with your orders, sir.”

“Please, call me Eli.”

“All right, Eli,” Ehud replied. He was beginning to relax, thanks to the visitor’s newly calm demeanor and the effects of the cognac.

“What I am about to share with you is strictly classified information, Colonel.”

“Yes, I know the song and dance, Eli. I’ve worked on cases with Mossad.”

“Ehud—may I call you Ehud?”

The military attaché nodded.

“Nothing you have ever seen or heard before is anything like the story of Eytan Morg.”