CHAPTER 6

Meanwhile, in a suburb of Tel Aviv

Avi Lafner hated working nights, and after a couple of beers with his coworkers, he would quickly confess his equal hatred for working days. His job—the title notwithstanding—was just shitty by nature. Those who didn’t know what he actually did would have easily imagined that he led the exhilarating life of a hero in a big-budget action-thriller. Far from it.

Avi’s primary task as a Mossad medical supervisor consisted of performing quarterly checkups on special agents who were devoid of all charm and pizzazz. Patient-physician dialogue was limited to “hello, doctor” and “good-bye, doctor.” That’s how he spent most of his night shifts at the private clinic.

Avi had never thought that he’d wind up employed as a company physician for the secret service. His dream was to be a medical superstar à la Dr. House. And he had all the prerequisites: a handsome face, a devilish smile, a distinguished physique, an exceptional IQ, and skills bestowed upon him by the very best professors. What a waste.

Tonight, hoping to plow through as much boring paperwork as possible before heading off on vacation, he hunkered down at his desk, threw on a mix of his favorite jazz classics, and sorted through the pending medical files. After two hours, he was tempted to write “unfit, denied” on one recruit’s file. It was just a prankish notion, though, as the agent’s health was excellent.

So that’s where he was—dreaming up mischief just to stay awake. If he continued down this slippery slope, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be putting a whoopee cushion under the base captain’s fat butt or itching powder in his clothes. At least it beat giving into depression.

When he wasn’t meeting and greeting secret agents or going over reports, Avi spent much of his shift in the small break room off the main lobby. There, he could hit on his female colleagues at the vending machine. The dispensed espressos were mostly water, depriving the drink of all flavor, along with any hope of a caffeinated energy spike. Avi had made a huge stink about getting the machine replaced, to no avail. Ever since then, he’d been looking for a way to break the piece of shit, forcing the purchasing department to cough up for a new one. He didn’t consider this vandalism. He thought of it as a humanitarian act.

It was about midnight, and the doctor was up for a little excitement. Sure, the pharmacy had an endless supply of more or less legal pick-me-ups, but he had encountered one or two dope fiends while doing his physical exams, and that was enough to dissuade him. Instead, he headed toward the break room, whistling as he went. If his scheme unfolded according to plan, no one else would be around. He would have the abominable vending machine all to himself. He’d be in and out. Unseen, unheard.

As he was going down the stairwell, the doctor felt the cell phone in his shirt pocket vibrate. Who the hell would be contacting him at this hour? As a bachelor whose parents had left the scene long ago, he couldn’t think of a single soul who’d want to contact him. He pulled out the device and read the message.

“Internee arriving. Needs preliminary exam before incarceration. Meet at reception ASAP.” It wasn’t just the sender’s number but his terse style that told Avi with certainty that the text was from the colonel at the military base about two miles away. The colonel had a short fuse and no sense of humor. He lived for two things: work and regulations. Because of this, people considered him either exceptional or obnoxious. Avi fell into the latter group. He loathed the man.

Five minutes later, or the time it took to go down three flights of stairs to the ground floor and make a detour to the secretary’s office for the oh-so-important admission forms, Avi was walking down the long dimly lit hallway that led to the clinic’s lobby.

That’s when he heard the first gunshots. Instinctively, he crouched and continued forward, hugging the wall. Once he arrived at the entrance, he glanced at the ceiling. Successive gunshots were knocking out the fluorescent light fixtures, one after another. Now all that remained was the red glow of the emergency exit sign. The doctor struggled to adapt his vision to the near-darkness.

To the left, four blue benches bolted to the floor faced the loathsome coffee machine. To the right was the receptionist’s counter, where the security guard was usually stationed at night. The gray linoleum flooring had been chosen to complement the mottled acoustic tiles and give the place a cold and medicinal aesthetic. On any other night—or day—the lobby resembled a soulless cube.

Avi fought to still his breathing. An empty gurney was careening toward him. The sound of metal sliding across tile attracted his attention farther down the hall—somebody had lost a gun. And nearby, on the floor, the security guard was writhing in pain. He cried out, holding his knee tight to his chest. Seeing the quickly growing puddle of blood, Avi feared that a bullet had hit his tibial artery. Having done his surgical training in a theater of operations—a fancy way of saying under a deluge of bullets—he felt compelled to give the wounded man emergency care. But the scene playing out before him held him back.

In the middle of three soldiers, an athletically built woman wearing nothing but her underwear was spinning around, throwing kicks and punches left and right. The men looked helpless and pathetic, compared with the fury that whirled before them. If one blow wasn’t enough to knock out each soldier, her frequent thrusts would soon get the job done.

Why the hell didn’t they pull out their guns? Avi was bewitched by the short-haired Amazon’s moves. The soldiers’ sloppy counterattacks were almost pitiful. And yet, by pure luck, one of the men took advantage of a simultaneous offensive, throwing a jab at the attacker’s face and making a deep cut in her lower lip. She lost her balance under the blow. The soldiers closed in on their target.

“Don’t forget the orders,” one of them barked. “We need her alive!”

Far from calming the woman down, the prospect of being subdued seemed to fuel her strength. And her rage. When the man on her right moved in to grab her, she struck him with a swift uppercut to the chin, which wiped him out cold. Avi shuddered at the sound of bones breaking. The soldier facing her quickly launched two nervous right hooks. This guy definitely knew how to box. But he wouldn’t be stepping into another ring anytime soon. Instead of blocking and dodging, the woman retaliated with two similar punches. Her fists collided with his knuckles. The man’s wrists could not withstand the impact. Stripped of protection, he was rushed by a flash of pounding right and left jabs. A final kick to the middle of his throat sent him flying against the vending machine, demolishing the all-but-worthless fixture.

Avi couldn’t believe it. The woman was getting faster and more powerful as the fight continued, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat! She was barely even trying.

The last man standing had drawn the same conclusion. With his confidence waning, he shot a bunch of fake punches to test his opponent’s nerves. The woman remained steady as a rock, carefully following his every move with her eyes. Then, with a wicked smile on her face, she bluffed an attack, causing the soldier to jump back in fright.

“Don’t be scared, kid,” she whispered, clearly delighted by the effect she produced. “Answer my questions, and you’ll get out of here alive. I promise.”

The soldier scanned his bloody companions strewn on the lobby floor. His will was hanging by a thread.

“To hell with the orders!” he shouted. “I’m going to shred you from head to toe, you bitch!”

He pulled his Uzi pistol from its holster. But before he could even take aim, the bitch in question had sprung on him, her fingers clasped around his neck. He never even had the chance to look into her cruel eyes before his windpipe was crushed. Gurgling noises rose from his throat as the woman’s relentless grip finished off the job.

“What an idiot,” she spat, half scornful, half stoic.

The lifeless body fell to the floor. The woman bent down to pick up the gun and played with it for a few minutes. Avi, unable to think, continued to observe the scene. She slowly approached one of the injured men, looked at him carefully, and pulled the trigger. She executed each one in the same fashion: a single bullet to the head.

The doctor, now plastered against the wall with his eyes closed, covered his mouth to keep from crying out in horror. He managed to remain silent, but he could no longer keep track of his thoughts. He was too confused and panicked.

Who was this woman? Why was she here? What should he do? Could he make it out and get help without being seen?

He decided that opening his eyes would be a first constructive step. Then he slowly stood up, despite the risk of being spotted. He felt a wave of hopelessness. Surrounded by quickly expanding pools of blood, the four dead men were sprawled on the linoleum floor. The empty gurney had crashed into a wall. Sparks were spurting from the shattered light fixtures. Avi looked at the smashed vending machine and wondered if he’d ever have the chance to meet its replacement. The raging madwoman responsible for this massacre was nowhere to be seen. Considering the labyrinth that was this clinic, he knew she could come down on him at any moment.

Avi was no longer of any use to those poor bastards. He decided to seek shelter in his office and call for help. He retraced his steps in the hallway and headed as discreetly as possible toward the stairwell.

“One more step, and you’re dead. I’m not afraid to shoot, as you can imagine.”

Avi froze and instinctively raised his hands.

“I love obedient men. Turn around. Slowly.”

He complied. The woman glided up to him. Considering the gravity of the situation, Avi thought she was supremely cool. She stationed herself three feet in front of him and stared him in the eye. Then she grabbed his chin and turned his head from one side to the other, as though he were a strange animal she was seeing for the first time. She let go and fingered the badge pinned to his white button-down shirt.

“Well, Dr. Lafner. I’m Elena. Pleasure to meet you,” she said before falling to the floor, unconscious.