Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (3 page)

            “Listen, I don’t know what
they taught you, but you can’t always depend on force.  We will learn about
weak points to aim for with a kick, punch or anything you like.”

            “Good, I’m ready.” She
declared but even before she had readied herself, he surprised her with a
shove, this time without supporting her.  He laughed and looked at her expression
of disappointment
,
and when she sat up, he stood over her with his arms
folded across his chest.

“Look, Rania, the person who comes to
attack you isn’t going to warn you. You won’t manage to prepare to confront him,
and he certainly won’t wait till you’re ready.”

“Oh, so how am I to defend myself?”

She attempted to get up and Khalil
extended his hand to her, but she didn’t take it.  Khalil laughed and waited
for her to stand up without his help.

            “After you Ma’am, to the
gym.”

In the gym, he stood beside a rope holding
a brown leather punching bag that hung down from the ceiling.  He embraced it
and set it in front of him.

            “Let’s say that this bag is
your enemy and you have to neutralize him.”  He challenged
,
and Abigail
struck it with violence and aggression she didn’t know she was capable of, and
he yelled at her:

            “Hey, stop, stop!  Don’t go
crazy.  You’re insane.”

Abigail stopped, gasping wildly and
looked at him in surprise.

            “You asked me to neutralize
him, right?

            “Right, but I want you to
learn to control your responses, not go crazy and lose control of yourself.”

She panted, wiped her perspiring
forehead with her arm and stamped her feet impatiently.

            “Listen, it’s important that
you never lose control and even more important that you know how to manage the
craziness before it takes control of you.”

All
at once, she stood facing him with two fingers stuck out at him like a
revolver, and laughed:

            “What do you do now,
Khalil?  I’m aiming a gun at you.  Defend yourself!”

Khalil grabbed hold of her two fingers
and pulled her forward.  She tripped and fell on him as she cried out in pain.

            “Like
that” he called out, “the gun itself serves as an excellent means of control. 
I used it to make you fall.  If you have someone holding you at gunpoint,
that’s what you should do, okay?"

How could she have known that one day, she
would find herself in that precise situation?

From somewhere in the building, they
heard the beeps that precede the radio news
,
and they had no choice but to
listen to the broadcast.

            “Due to sanctions and
threats to attack its nuclear facility at Purdue, North Korea has decided to
move it underground.”

            “Did you hear that?” she
asked and continued listening.

The announcer spoke of a new Iranian
subversive organization that the United States had added to its list of
terrorist organizations
,
and she waved her hand dismissively.  She
pulled a dress out of her kitbag and threw it over her head as she turned to
leave and heard Khalil shout at her:

            “They asked me to remind you
to come to the office this evening at six!”

Khalil slung his backpack over his
shoulder and joined her, speaking to her, by the way:

“Do you have a license to drive a
motorbike or a bus?”

“What?”  She stopped and looked at him. 
“Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason,” as he raised his
arm to say goodbye.

Abigail
stopped in her tracks and mused as she watched his back moving away.  She was pretty
sure that he could not have ‘no particular reason’ for asking that question.

* * *

At ten minutes to six, Abigail parked
her car, two streets away from the where the meeting was to take place.  She
crossed an alley that ran between two streets but didn’t enter the building
immediately.  Here, she leaned against a hedge and fidgeted in her handbag
while checking that no one was observing her.

When she reached the door on the second
floor, she knocked hard once, and followed with three softer taps and smiled to
herself as she noticed that someone was looking at her through the spyglass. 
Momentarily, she felt like covering the spyglass with her finger, just to be
mischievous, but when she entered and saw the grave expression on their faces,
her mood became quieter.  A stranger sat close to Barak and San
,
and she
hesitated for a second.

Barak noticed her reticence.  He waited
for her to take her seat and whispered to her:

            “Did you learn to speak
Russian?”  She replied immediately:

            “When,
exactly?  Before my story or when I returned?” And she stared at the stranger.

He was a handsome man.  His skin was dark,
and his eyes were blue and she mused how they were unusual with such dark skin,
and made him all the more remarkable.  Short stubble grew on his cheeks
,
and his square chin had a large dimple.

The
stranger heard Barak’s question and asked:

            “If
you were in Iran, did you manage to learn the Persian language?”  Abigail recoiled. 
She answered but something in her objected to him and she turned to San and
asked:

            “May
I ask who this gentleman is?”

San
quickly introduced them.

            “This
is Rania, and that’s Mas’habi,” he said and attempted to lighten the
atmosphere.

            “Mas’habi
is a member of the organization.  His father is Persian and his mother is a
Persian Jewess.”

Then
Mas’habi interrupted.

            “Just a
moment,” he said and raised his finger, “I want to emphasize that my father was
of genuine Persian origin.”

Something about his boastfulness put
Abigail off once again
,
but she decided to keep her feelings to herself.

            “Our
Rania speaks Arabic and, in my opinion, will pick up Persian with ease,” Barak
stated and Abigail threw him a sharp glance.  Suddenly, it was important to her
that San and Barak should not reveal her Bedouin heritage.  She pursued her
lips at them as a signal to keep quiet.

            “Does
she speak Arabic? No, I don’t believe it.” Mas’habi said and smiled broadly.

            “Hey, you don’t look like an
Arab to me,” He claimed.  The color of your eyes is like the sky on a hot
summer’s day.”

            “Yes, that’s right.  But
your eyes are also light
,
and you’re an Arab,” she responded.

The man burst out laughing and banged on
the table enthusiastically.  The stone in her ring sent a little shock along
her finger, and a tremor of revulsion passed down her spine.  She had just
grasped what San said to Mas’habi and immediately asked:

            “Did you mention Persian? 
Why?”

            “We’ll discuss it later,’
San beckoned with his finger and Mas’habi began to speak without having been
asked to.

            “Listen.  There is a plan to
operate on the strategic websites of the Islamic Republic.”  Abigail was
shocked; the muscles in her stomach twisted into a knot
,
and she looked
angrily at San.

“That’s right, it is the plan,” Barak stated
,
and Mas’habi’s blue eyes glinted victoriously.  He turned to Abigail again.

“Have you heard of the nuclear reactor
in Bushehr?”

“Of course, I understand that you are
one of the partners, who built it, right?” she asked, jokingly making fun of
him, but Mas’habi continued enthusiastically.

“Did you know that reactor began
producing electricity last September?  In fact, it’s been operated by German
companies since 1975.”

He looked at her to see what impression
his remarks were making on her and continued chattering.

            “The project was stopped
five years later when the Iran-Iraq war broke out.”

            “No, that is not accurate,”
Abigail said sharply.  “To date the construction there has never stopped and
everyone knows that the Russians streamed funds in to continue building this
reactor.”  Now, Mas’habi’s tone and expression became less friendly.

            “I don’t know where you collect
your data, but I can tell you that it resulted from disagreements about money between
Russia and Iran.  That is the only reason the construction of the reactor is
still incomplete.”

            “Really?  Did they fill you
in on the details regarding the completion of its construction?” She asked, not
expecting an answer, but he replied:

            “The construction will end
when the reactor becomes fully operational.  That will happen when the reactor supplies
the national electricity output with a thousand megawatts.”

There was silence.  San got up and went
to the kitchen. He returned with a tray from which the aroma of coffee arose. 

            “Just dark tea for me, I
never drink coffee,” Mas’habi said as he looked at Abigail.

            They heard a weak tap at the
door
,
and Abigail noticed that San and Barak showed no sign of surprise. 
A woman entered the apartment.  She wore black, her head and face were covered,
and only her fiery eyes were revealed.

            “Hello,”
she said and her voice sounded muffled by her veil.

            “I
would like to introduce you.  Aisha, please meet Rania.”  Barak rose and said:

            “From
now on you two will spend time together and learn from each other.”

            The
woman nodded obediently and made a gesture to Abigail to join her, but San
raised his arm to object and directed Aisha with a nod to the back room.  She
acquiesced and disappeared into the room and closed the door behind her.

            All the while, Mas’habi
watched and followed the figure in black with his eyes without saying a word,
then turned his attention back to Abigail as if nothing had transpired.

            “Where
are you from, in Israel?”

            “From
Tel Aviv.”

            “Do
you live alone?”

            “Abigail drew in her breath
sharply and instead of replying, she picked up the coffee cup and defiantly drank
noisily from it, as she glanced angrily at Barak.

            “When did you join the
‘Mossad’?” he asked.

Abigail turned sharply to Barak and San.

            “Are the two of us supposed
to be friends?  Did you call us here to exchange personal information today?”

            “See
here,” Mas’habi said in an ingratiating tone, “I am prepared to tell you
everything, even before we become friends.  For example, today I came with
fresh information for our ‘Mossad’ and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  It isn’t
even considered espionage.”

With that, Barak stood up, indicating
the meeting had come to an end.  He intimated that Abigail should remain and
waited quietly till Mas’habi left the meeting.  Abigail wondered whether to
share her suspicions and realized he was talking to her.

            “Firstly, calm down, the man
is just very verbose.  He’s a show-off and a great womanizer.” He said.  “He’s
just trying to impress you, nothing more.” 

            “What was the purpose of our
meeting?” she inquired, “You knew it was important that I shouldn’t meet other
people, who are involved.”

            “Listen,
you are likely to meet up in the field, in the course of taking part in our
activities.”

            “So
what use will come of our meeting here?”

            “How
would you know that he is one of ours?”

Abigail
stared at him sharply.

            “Why
are you staring like that?  Tell me, what’s bothering you?”

            “I’m uncertain, but it seems
that man was doing a hard sell of Iran’s projects with a sense of pride, as
if…”

            “And what’s wrong with
that?”

            “I don’t know.  In my
opinion, he’s not with us.  At any rate, any connection between us is unnecessary.”

            “Nothing is irrelevant,”
Barak said and glanced at San.

Prior to the meeting they discussed her
criticism of every issue and Barak thought about Abigail’s statement that this
man was not on their side.

            “I understand that I’m going
to learn to ride a motorcycle,” she said and they exchanged looks of surprise.

            “Perhaps. 
It did arise, and we thought you should also get lessons to drive heavier
vehicles, too.”

            “Ah,
a train?  What about a plane or a helicopter?

            “How did you find out?” San
inquired.  He was not pleased that the information had reached her before they
spoke to her.

            “Ah, so the answer is affirmative
then,”  She replied as she avoided mentioning Khalil’s name.

            San
and Barak decided to send Abigail back to her home that day and have her come
back to the apartment in Ramat Gan the next day to continue the program they
had planned for her and Aisha.

Abigail
was unable to fall asleep that night.  She got up and stood in front of the
open window.  The street below was illuminated, and all was quiet and
mysterious.  Just then
,
the street lights were extinguished
,
and
a breeze blew the drapes inwards, bringing in the chill of dawn. Something
flashed close by her and shook the curtains and on the sidewalk below something
orange flashed.  She heard a dull sound behind her
,
and when she turned around,
she saw a miniscule hole in the wall.

As
usual, a flashlight lay on her bedside table, ready and available, and she
turned it on.  The ray of light illuminated a car, its door opened and closed. 
Abigail managed to see that it was a Fiat, and the number registered in her memory
though she was unsure of the last two digits.  She called in immediately.

            “Barak, write this down
quickly.” She panted excitedly into the phone, “85-088” and I’m not sure, but
the last two digits were 65 or something like that.”

            “I got that.” He said and
without clarifying or questioning, he added:

            “Get dressed and leave the
house immediately and openly.  Take whatever you need for the next two days and
come here.”

“Right now? Come to you openly and not
furtively?

“Of course, I feared something like
this.  That shot was not aimed at you but at the apartment you’re staying in at
the moment, I repeat, Abigail’s apartment, not yours.  Now, no one knows you,
especially none of them.”

“But, Barak, Abigail is dead, she no
longer exists.”

“Exactly,
but surveillance on the apartment still continues and hasn’t ended.”

An
hour later she reached the hideout apartment
,
and she settled herself in
one of the rooms.  In the afternoon, Barak arrived and informed her that her
new home was on the same street where she lived, only opposite, in the building
at number 30.

            “Five
buildings away from mine?  So what was so smart about that move?”

            “First of
all, it’s two buildings away from your apartment and opposite it.  The idea is
that your new apartment is on the other side, facing the old one.  You’ll be
able to see if anyone comes to call, without knowing they’re being watched by
the owner of the apartment they’re scrounging around in.
"
  He was silent for a moment and then added:

            “Your car
will also be replaced with a different one tomorrow.”

In the early evening a
young man with sunglasses covering half his face arrived and placed a hard
object that rattled in a bag on the table and Barak examined it with great
interest.

            “Wow, look
at what they found in your apartment,” he announced. “It’s a bug.”

            “Did they
shoot a bug at me?”

            “Yes, now
it’s clear you weren’t the target.”

            “Explain.”

Barak waved the
transparent bag. It contained a metal object with thin metal wires sticking out
of it.

            “What could
be simpler than planting a bug from a distance instead of risking breaking into
the apartment?  The bug will record and transmit and do the job without being
discovered.”

            “But what’s
in that apartment?  After all, the owner is already dead.”