Ghosts of War (8 page)

W
e were sitting in a pub called Whiskey in a Jar, forced to drink nothing but Coca-Cola because of the potential mission parameters. I said, “You made a decision? I mean, if Aaron comes back with what we asked for?”

Jennifer fiddled with her straw and said, “No. On the surface it seems like the right thing to do, I suppose, but I don't know about working for the Israeli government. I mean, is that even legal? I feel like a mercenary.”

“It's not about the money. You know that. I could care less about the cash.”

She looked into my eyes and said, “There are more forms of payment than just money. Do you crave the excitement of the mission, using the purpose as a cloak to allow you to operate?”

I chuckled, because she knew me too well. I said, “I honestly don't know. But you're in the same boat, except you're more worried about breaking trust with Shoshana than the purpose of the mission.”

—

Earlier, standing inside the courtyard to Ksiaz Castle, I immediately told Aaron there was no way we were helping him—meaning the State of Israel—steal an artifact from another sovereign country. Especially not as Americans. I said I was sorry, but that was just the way of it.

Shoshana looked at me with a touch of sadness, then turned to Jennifer, asking her the same question. Imploring her as a way to get
to me. Jennifer was torn by the look, and glanced at me for support. I shook my head, telling her no.

Aaron said, “Don't decide here. Let's go to Wroclaw, and let me lay out what we know. At least let me show you the plan, so you can make an informed decision.”

We drove the hour to Wroclaw in our separate cars, mostly in silence. Pulling into the parking garage for the Sofitel hotel on the outskirts of the Wroclaw old city square, Jennifer said, “Separate cars. Large suitcases. Reservations for hotels in two different cities. The cryptic talk from Shoshana. They were planning this all along.”

I pulled into the first available spot and said, “That thought has crossed my mind. And it pisses me off.”

We met in Aaron and Shoshana's room, to find Shoshana's suitcase open and displaying a selection of thin nylon ladders and assorted climbing gear. On the bed was a historical blueprint of Ksiaz Castle. Standing behind the bed was Shoshana, looking contrite.

I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak but Shoshana cut me off, saying, “Yes. We tricked you, but not completely. Don't tell us no out of revenge.”

I said, “Revenge? Jesus, you are a piece of work. How about I say no because it's stupid? Like you knew I would have in Washington, DC?”

Aaron said, “Wait. We didn't completely trick you. We
did
need your company for the mission, and I really had hoped to convince him to send the Torah on his own volition, but he declined. That truly would have been the better way.”

Jennifer said, “He didn't decline. He said he had to send it up to his boss. Why don't you just wait for the no instead of jumping into a theft?”

Shoshana said, “The Torah isn't going to be there much longer. None of the things recovered are. Someone is going to steal it, and the Torah will be lost forever.”

“How do you know that,” asked Jennifer, “and why didn't you say something like this to begin with? Why all the lying?”

Aaron said, “We didn't know. I swear, we didn't know.”

And I realized what had happened. “The man in the room. The one Shoshana zeroed in on.” I turned to her and said, “You saw something in him.”

She nodded, the earlier fire coming out of her eyes. “Yes, I did. He's working with someone. He had an aura coming off him like a pile of rotten meat. He's planning to steal the trunks.”

I heard the words and held up my hands, sick of the mental-magic crap. “Come on, there's no possible way you can read that intent in someone. I'm sure he's probably a bad guy, but maybe he's stealing from the petty cash drawer at the ticket booth.”

Shoshana slitted her eyes at me, saying nothing. Aaron said, “Look, I don't expect you to believe, but I do, and I'm breaking into that castle tonight. I could really use your help. Both yours
and
Jennifer's.”

I pointed at the climbing gear and said, “You need Jennifer to establish an anchor outside?”

“Yes.”

In a past life, Jennifer had been a gymnast, and had actually trained with Cirque du Soleil. She could climb up anything short of plate glass—and even that would be doable if she were given a little help.

“And you need me . . . ?”

I let the question trail off.

Shoshana said, “Why does anyone need you, Nephilim? Why would we ask for your particular skills?”

I was disgusted at the question, because I knew. And it didn't make me happy. “To break some heads.”

She smiled and said, “Yes. Your abilities are formidable in that sense, but that's not why. You bring with you the ability to succeed no
matter how bad things have become. You bring something we cannot. I can't describe it. But it's real.”

I looked to see if she was just blowing smoke up my ass, but she appeared completely sincere.

I said, “That's not me. You're remembering Tirana. When Aaron and I saved your life. It wasn't me. It was luck. Period. Luck doesn't follow a person. I've been in fights when luck went the other way. When people died. When
you
would have died.”

She looked me in the eyes, boring in, reading me. I could actually feel it. She said, “Nephilim, we need you tonight. I can't explain it other than to say
I
need you. Aaron doesn't agree. He thinks we can do this on our own, but I won't do it without you.”

She looked at Jennifer and said, “You and Koko. I don't know why, but it's critical.”

I paused, not sure how to respond. It was pretty compelling, even if it was a little crazy. I finally got out, “Okay, okay, I hear you, but what if we get caught? Get arrested? You'll have Israeli help. Jennifer and I will be hung out to dry. I can't risk that. Imagine the headlines—‘Grolier Recovery Services Arrested for Breaking into Ancient Castle to Steal Holocaust Gold.' Apart from spending some time in a Polish jail, we'd never work again.”

Aaron said, “I can fix that. If I can assure you that you will not—as you say—be hung out to dry, will you do it?”

I said, “Like I would trust that word. Your government will hang me out as soon as I'm not viable.”

With steel I had never heard from her, Shoshana said, “You're wrong.”

Jennifer raised her head at the statement, sensing a shift in the conversation. I remained silent.

Shoshana looked at Aaron, then at me. She shifted toward me, sliding in a way that made me wary. She came close and looked me in the eye. I tensed, and she said, “If I say you will be protected, you
will
.
Even if it means my life. Listen to Aaron. He does not lie. I know it. I follow him because of it. Do not sell us short.”

Shoshana snaked her hand into Jennifer's and squeezed without looking at her. Jennifer felt the touch and I saw the conflict on her face. Her wanting to do what was asked.

Aaron simply looked at me, knowing how much weight the words held. Understanding there was nothing he could say that would mean as much. I shook my head and sliced through the emotion. “We aren't doing shit until I see what brilliant plan you've come up with.”

Aaron smiled, the tension cut, and said, “It really is brilliant in its simplicity.” And he stood over the blueprints and laid it out. In the end, there wasn't much to it. If everything went right, we'd be in and out without issue. The only problem was if something went wrong. But I'd dealt with that before. I asked some questions about cameras and other surveillance, and Jennifer asked some about the facade of the building, but all in all there really weren't a lot of moving parts.

I told him Jennifer and I needed to discuss the proposal, and that he needed to bring some assurances we'd be taken care of if the worst happened, then we left the room. Jennifer and I wandered the old square looking for a restaurant or café to stop and talk in. That's when I saw the sign for Whiskey in a Jar. The perfect place.

Well, Jennifer would rather have found some old Wroclaw bakery, but I texted the location to Aaron, short-circuiting her ability to say no.

We were on our second plate of fries, and the Cokes were growing warm—because apparently ice is a rarity in Europe—and we still hadn't made up our minds.

Jennifer rubbed my arm across the table and said, “Maybe we do the job. For them. It's not that hard, really, and it would mean a lot to Shoshana.”

I said, “She's fucking crazy. You want to risk our lives for that?”

Jennifer said, “No. Of course not. But she's
not
crazy. We've done
several operations with her, and she's
always
right. Scary right. I think we should.”

I said, “You sure?”

“Well, you'd get some high adventure out of the trip. Make that flight worthwhile. But only if we get the support from Aaron.”

Before I could answer, Shoshana came into the bar, squinting her eyes in the gloom. Aaron followed close behind. I said, “Looks like we're about to find out.”

I waved and they came over, Shoshana beaming like she was a cat with a cornered mouse. Aaron said, “Well?”

I said, “Well, what? I'm the one waiting on an answer.”

“You are in. We have a lawyer in Warsaw. One with highly placed connections. You'll be covered and shuffled out without drama, provided we don't do any permanent harm to anyone.”

I simply nodded.

He repeated the question. “Well?”

I looked at Jennifer one final time. Shoshana went from me to her, then started bouncing on her toes, a smile on her face. “They say yes.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Can you turn that crap off for one minute and at least let us be the ones to say it? Just for formality's sake?”

She ceased moving and made a concerted effort to stop the grin, looking for all the world like a child. Nobody said a word. Shoshana leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, saying, “Thank you.”

Jennifer smiled at that. She said, “Yes, we'll do it.”

T
he car drove by the front gate at a steady pace, like a tractor dragging a plow. It neither slowed when the harsh lights of the gate came in view nor sped up once it was back in the darkness. It did nothing to give anyone concern that reconnaissance was in the works. Not that the guards would have believed it, no matter what the car did. The driver could have parked out front and pulled out a video camera, and the men manning the gate would have remained listlessly behind their drop bar and chain link. They couldn't be faulted for that. They were, after all, on a military base in the heart of the last dictatorship in Europe. The 61st Fighter Airbase, Baranovichi, Belarus.

In a country nearly impossible to enter as a tourist, with a secret police still enamored of the legacy of the Stasi and the KGB, Belarus was a dinosaur. An aging relic of the Cold War where “Let me see your papers” wasn't a satirical comment, but a daily occurrence. It would be preposterous for anyone to believe one could attack a military base in the heart of the state without substantial help from those same forces.

Unless one had help from forces that were just as good, and just as vicious.

Kirill Zharkov said, “Misha, keep going another mile. The turnout will be on the left.”

Misha said, “Same old Belarus. I'll bet those weapons aren't even loaded.”

From the back, Oleg said, “Yes, getting in will be easy, but we still need to get out.”

Kirill said, “We'll drive right through that gate in the chaos.”

“What if they lock it down?”

“They'll be looking for Chechen insurgents. Not Russian officers.”

Oleg remained silent. The headlights hit the gravel turnout, and Misha pulled into it, finding a rutted dirt road. He bounced down the track for about seventy meters, until he was hidden in the wood line, then stopped. He flashed his lights and received two small blinks from a flashlight thirty meters away. He pulled forward, getting off the track far enough to allow another vehicle to pass.

Kirill exited and met the man with the flashlight, standing next to a Belarusian army lorry. They shook hands and Kirill said, “Dmitri, really good to see you. I was worried you'd have issues. Any trouble?”

“No. Minsk is no different than Moscow. Weapons and uniforms were right where they were supposed to be.”

“You sure you weren't identified? Followed?”

“Would I be sitting out here in the woods if I had been? The Israeli passport was a genius idea. Two days of shopping and they quit looking at us.”

Kirill nodded. “Good enough. The special weapons are here as well?”

“Yeah. Two AK-74s in cloth bags. A note on them says not to touch them. What's that all about?”

“They were collected off a battlefield in Dagestan. They have the fingerprints of a Chechen warlord.” He smiled in the dark and said, “The FSB has been keeping them for a special occasion.”

The other two men from the car came forward. Oleg shook Dmitri's hand and said, “Where's Alik?”

Dmitri hooked a thumb at the lorry and said, “Changing. Getting promoted by about ten ranks from what he was when he was booted from the army.”

Kirill laughed and said, “Everyone, do the same. Guard shift is in one hour. We need to be through the gate before then. I want to attack
during the change, when there's confusion on who's in charge of what.”

Thirty minutes later, they were all dressed as Russian air force officers, Kirill the ranking man as a major, the rest captains and lieutenants. It might have been more imposing—and thus easier to penetrate—pretending to be a higher rank, but there was only a single Russian Su-27 squadron here, and that meant very few high-ranking members of the Russian military. Someone of that rank would be remembered—and questions would flow afterward. Captains and lieutenants were a dime a dozen.

Kirill gave the command to load, and they bounced down the lane, passing the car they'd used for reconnaissance, Dmitri driving with Kirill in the passenger seat. The other men were in the back, weapons under a blanket. They hit the blacktop and began retracing their steps.

They saw the glow of vapor lights in the distance, like a small stadium in the woods, and Kirill tensed up. He said, “Remember, you defer to me. I don't want to see your temper tonight. I outrank you, I'll do the talking.”

Dmitri nodded and said, “I understand. But if they give us any shit, I'm killing them.”

Kirill laughed and said, “It won't come to that. Remember your time in the military? Would you have given a shit about a couple of drunk officers showing up?”

The full glare of the vapor lights hit the windshield as they came around the bend. Dmitri said, “I'd have killed them, too.”

He pulled the truck straight up to the drop bar as if he belonged, which Kirill knew was half the battle. Act like you're confused, and you'll get a strong response. Act like you're in charge, and people will let you be in charge. He knew no soldier wanted trouble from his commander for being a jerk at the gate. Especially to Russian officers on a Belarusian base.

A guard popped out of the small shack next to the drop bar and
came forward, his AK-47 slung over his shoulder, a flashlight in his hands. Kirill leaned over and presented his Russian credentials outside the window. As if he'd done it a hundred times in the past. The guard took one look at the uniforms and that was it. He didn't even bother to turn on his light to see the identification. He waved behind him, and the drop bar rose.

Dmitri muttered, “Well, that was easy.”