Hi-Tech Hijack
Authors: Dov Nardimon
HI-TECH HIJACK
Dov Nardimon
Hi-Tech Hijack / Dov Nardimon
Copyright © 2016 Dov Nardimon. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission, in writing, of the author.
Translated from Hebrew by Rona Zelivansky
Copyediting by Adirondack Editing
Contact:
[email protected]
Another great book by Dov Nardimon
To my children Hila, Noya, Amir, Shani, Mor
With love.
Thanks
I would like to thank Tsachi Raviv, Shlomit Moroko, Oury Estline, Yehuda Berman and Naama Zweig who spent time in reading my drafts for their constructive remarks.
To my family’s “advisory team” my daughters Hila, Noya and Shani and to my “super- reviewer” my wife Yael. Their sincere criticism upgraded the end result to be as such.
Although this book is a work of fiction, it’s based on the author’s involvement and experience in several hi-tech start-ups in managerial positions as a CEO, consultant, or chairman and his experience in this industry is expressed between the lines.
During the 1990s, when the hi-tech start-up industry was making its first steps, it was much like a gold-rush. Many people lacking the necessary qualifications and experience and who were driven by greed attempted to leach onto idealistic technical entrepreneurs and suck their knowledge, hoping to make zillions from them.
MBA graduates also flocked to the industry, believing that what they had studied qualified them to lead hi-tech investments. The flops were inevitable.
It took more than a decade until the successful technical entrepreneurs who really succeeded in materializing their inventions directed the wealth they gained to establish their own investment funds. Today the people who run the investment funds of the hi-tech industry are well experienced, many of them are former inventors, and their motivations are constructive unlike the greediness described in this book.
Ben Gurion Airport was shrouded in mist on that early May morning. Eddie Bartal stepped out of a taxi carrying a black computer bag. He opened the trunk and took out his little suitcase and walked toward the terminal door where he stopped and waited for Reuben. He had a sleepless night following the wedding of his best friend, Amit, who had returned from South Africa to celebrate his marriage to Sandra, whom Amit met during his two-year stay there. Eddie and Amit stayed up ’til the small hours of the night with their old army buddies, reminiscing about their time in the service. A few minutes passed, and Eddie, leaning against the terminal wall, started to drift off when a car pulled up and Reuben, his partner at Ebocell-Tech, stepped out. Ronit, Reuben’s wife, who was behind the wheel, also came out, gave Reuben a little good-bye kiss on the cheek, and came over to Eddie to shake his hand.
“Have a good trip, and take care of yourself, you hear? You’re not fully recovered yet.” She smiled at him and Eddie thought he sensed concern and longing in her green-brown eyes.
“I’ll be sure to do so, Doctor,” said Eddie, smiling, and he lightly brushed his hand over Ronit’s milky cheek.
“Good-bye, partners, and good luck at the conference,” called Ronit as she waved at them and quickly got into the car. Eddie followed her with his gaze, taking a mental picture of her long legs in her tight jeans and of her as-yet-unbraided auburn hair scattered over her bare shoulders.
Eddie and Reuben entered the terminal and made their way through the crowded hall to the economy class check-in counter. “I hope you brought some more appropriate clothes to wear to the conference,” said Reuben, wearing his blue jacket and beige trousers and looking with obvious concern at Eddie, whose clothes and sandals looked more like those of a hiker’s than a businessman’s. Reuben’s well-cut jacket did a good job hiding the newly-acquired love handles that made the tall man seem chunkier and older than his thirty-three years.
“Don’t worry; it’s all in the suitcase. I won’t embarrass you,” said Eddie, laughing. They had a long journey ahead of them. They were taking El Al’s morning flight to Zurich, and from there Japan Air’s evening flight that was scheduled to arrive in Tokyo the following morning. Following that, they had a three-hour train ride on the express Shinkansen to Nagoya, where the scientific conference was to take place.
Reuben and Eddie landed in Zurich at 9:00 a.m. at the spotless and efficient Kloten Airport. They made it through customs, collected their luggage, and deposited it along with their laptop bags at the baggage-storage counter. Then, luggage free and feeling light and loose, they went down the escalator to the train station for a short, quick ride right into the heart of Zurich.
Ten minutes later they were on the Bahnhofstrasse, the city’s main street that extends from the train station all the way along the Limmat River, a leisurely half hour’s walk. They were greeted by a sunny spring day and breathed in the crispy, clear air. Zurich had already shed its snowy winter veil, but the mountains surrounding it were still flaunting a white snow mane. They had the whole day to spend in Zurich before taking the red-eye to Tokyo, and Eddie, the insatiable traveler, already had every minute planned out.
“First we cover the Bahnhofstrasse down to Lake Zurich.” He had said this to Reuben earlier that morning when they took their seats on the plane from Tel Aviv. “At the end of the street, we’ll cross the bridge over the Limmat River. On the left bank, we’ll find what is reportedly the best little bratwurst stand in the whole of Switzerland.” Eddie had gotten that little bit of information from man-of-the-world Mickey Rush, the new investor who joined their company a month earlier.
“Once our tummies are full and our curiosity is satisfied, we’ll make our way back to the station and take a train to Lucerne, which Mickey says is an amazing town, and from there we’ll go up the Rigi, one of the most interesting mountains in the area, Mickey says.”
“Isn’t that a bit much? How about resting for a little while? After all, you’re still recuperating!” said Reuben, smiling, knowing full well the futility of his words—once Eddie got something in his head, there was no swaying him.
“We’ll rest on the plane on the way to Tokyo. We’ll have plenty of hours of doing nothing. Plus, this is our chance to assess Mickey’s taste and the quality of his recommendations.”
“He’ll grow on you eventually,” Reuben teased.
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“Don’t forget we’re the ones having a ball in Zurich while he’s back home working hard to move the business to the new location in Ness Ziona.”
“We’ll find out in a week’s time how good of a job he’s done—him and that slutty assistant of his, Tzipi,” mumbled Eddie, unwilling to spoil the mood talking about Mickey.
This was both Eddie and Reuben’s first visit to Zurich. They walked down the Bahnhofstrasse taking in the sights and smells of stylish cafés and mouthwatering chocolatiers. They stopped for a cup of cappuccino accompanied by a cube of dark chocolate at Sprüngli. Then they went on and made their way to the famous bratwurst stand. A delicious aroma of hot mustard and scorched meat filled their noses as dozens of pink and red sausages revolved slowly on the grill.
They each ordered a succulent sausage that was served on a cardboard tray with a slice of hearty, dark rustic bread. With a few dollops of mustard and a glass of draught beer, their humble culinary feast was complete.
“Excellent.” Eddie licked his lips, making the most of every bite. He sank his teeth into the sausage’s crispy exterior and its juicy, tender meat.
“It really is.” Reuben was obliged to agree, although he was the type who would usually prefer a fancy restaurant over a fast-food stand. “You have to admit this is one good piece of advice Mickey’s given us.”
“Let’s see how his other recommendations about Lucerne and Rigi turn out,” said Eddie, reluctant to say anything good about Mickey. “The real dilemma, however, is whether or not we should order another beer as well or just another sausage,” he said, smiling.
“I must say, for someone who was almost dying in the hospital only a month ago, you certainly seem to have a healthy appetite.”
“I have a lot of catching up to do. You never know when life will surprise you next.” Eddie patted his sunken belly.
“Let’s hope there aren’t any more of those kinds of surprises,” said Reuben, sighing, and he got up to order another round for the two of them.
After stuffing their bellies with another couple of hot dogs, they walked along the opposite river bank toward the old city gates where they took a left to the train station.
An hour later they were at Bahnhof railway station in the center of Lucerne. A few minutes’ walk took them to the magical, old wooden bridge—the Kapellbrücke. They watched the elegant white swans gently moving across the tranquil lake and sank into their own thoughts.
Eddie thought of Ronit and the longing look she had in her eyes that morning when they said good-bye at the airport. He felt himself drifting back to his hospitalization in Dr. Ronit Nevo’s ward.
Then the realization hit him that he was standing next to her husband. “Time to go,” he said, shaking off his reveries.
I wonder if Reuben is also thinking of her right now
, he thought, and he felt the twinge of a guilty conscience.
They headed to the railway station to take the train to Vitznau, a little resort town. From there they planned to take the old cogwheel train to the top of Mount Rigi. The train’s slow route included several stops, and a portion of the way was in short tunnels—underpasses beneath the winding road climbing the mountain.
Passing through one of these tunnels, the train suddenly stopped and the passengers were left in the dark. The stop seemed to be something of the ordinary and did not prompt any special reaction from the other passengers. Reuben and Eddie stood against the wall of the rear, most bottom carriage near the back door.
Suddenly they each felt gun barrels pressing against their backs and an unfamiliar voice whispering in English with a German accent.
“Don’t make any unnecessary movements. Don’t say a word. Your friend is being ordered to do the same as we speak.”
They had no option but to obey the mysterious voice. “Move slowly toward the back door and don’t do anything stupid,” it said.
They moved to the door marked Do Not Open and a third man, a Caucasian like the other two, opened it and directed them off the carriage.
“Excuse me, sir. You must not open the door when the train isn’t at the stop,” called a passenger in German. “It is dangerous to go out onto this steep slope.”
“It is all right, madam. We’re going to attend to the problem that’s causing the delay,” the man assured her in his flawless Swiss German.
Carefully but firmly, Eddie and Reuben were taken off the carriage and immediately right onto a short trail about thirty feet long between the bushes. The trail led to the road over the train tunnel where a spacious BMW with tainted windows stood, doors open. The men pushed them into the car and sat on either side of them, and the third man, who seemed to be in charge, sat in the front. Eddie and Reuben were shocked, and before they had a chance to even realize what was going on, they felt a fierce pain in their thighs—they were injected with a powerful and quick-working anesthetic and were out cold within the minute. They spent the next hour sound asleep and could not wake or sense anything at all, even as they were being moved to a private jet that had been waiting at a small airport between Lucerne and Zug.
