Kill Them Wherever You Find Them (58 page)

"See? 'Young lady.' I'm starting to like
you."

He didn't let it show, but he couldn't help
but be amused at her response. His thoughts then went to escape.
Nothing, given the correct tools and time, was impossible.

Before long lunch was served. Moshe had no
appetite whatsoever, memories of his wife's vacant face in death
constantly returning unbidden to his thoughts - clouding and
pushing away the exigencies of the moment.

No desire to eat notwithstanding, he ate
heartily, realizing the basic fact that he had to maintain whatever
health and strength to effect an escape at the first opportunity -
or die trying. Eating the food he was surprised that he actually
was hungry, and the food
did
taste good. Were the
circumstances very different, he would have complimented the chef.
A cup of coffee topped the meal off.

"When you've had a chance to rest, and
acclimate yourself to your surroundings, we can go out to the
garden for a walk and afternoon tea."

"That would be nice." Moshe had no interest
in an afternoon walk, but an excuse to get outside to gain his
bearings and assess the layout of the property and whatever
security measures in place that were made visible to him.

"I love this time of year, the roses are
beautiful."

"You are a gardener then?"

"Oh heavens, no, my husband is the gardener
in the family. Not that much is allowed to grow, our two year old
son has a way of pulling all of the plants as he helps his daddy
weed the flower bed. Myself, I have a 'brown thumb.'" She's
married, with a husband and young child. Moshe took note of that as
well as every other detail about her as he could. She had a sturdy
body, the sinews of her arms and legs flexing in a way that
displayed a strength and energy otherwise hidden by her soft
mannerisms that could almost, but not quite, be described as
'dainty.' Walking around the 'garden,' a sizeable area with an
expansive lawn, beautiful hedges and rose bushes in full bloom
everywhere, he was glad to get outside, feel the cool British sun
on his face.

Moshe was able to observe five motion
detection cameras on the mansion and in trees. He had no doubt but
what there were many such more tech measures in place that were
hidden from view.

Eight roaming guards, one with a visible
weapon, roamed the perimeter of the 'garden.' Moshe took note of
the path, speed, and how often any potential point of egress might
be vacant and out-of-view. To his disappointment, it didn't appear
that any inch of the surrounding wall was ever obscured from their
line-of-site at any moment. Most likely, even if there were, the
electronic surveillance would cover any such areas.

Each of the roaming guards looked like a
human mountain of granite. Moshe doubted they'd need any weapon
beyond their hands to dispatch another human out of this life. They
didn't look in his and Marsha's direction, but he could tell they
were always aware of his presence.

Every once in a while they spoke to an unseen
person, pausing to listen to the same individual before speaking
again. Moshe wasn't sure if this was a standard 'check-in,' or if
their presence caused a change in the timing of this dialogue. The
window of the dining room in which he had eaten overlooked part of
the garden. He would 'enjoy the view' as he ate his meals so he
could take further mental note of the guards, their movements, and
how frequently they spoke with one another as well as the other
person - or persons - on the other end of the microphone
conversation. He needed to see how frequently they checked in and,
if possible, what was said to confirm that all was as it should
be.

"The roses are indeed lovely. I wish I had
spent more time in my garden than I did in my lab. Don't get me
wrong, I love - rather, loved - my work and it has given me a
lifetime of pleasure and satisfaction. Still, if I could go back
several decades, I think I would have spent more time in the
garden."

"Good," Marsha thought, "he's trying to build
some kind of rapport with me, gain my trust and confidence."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, Rivka and I were unable to have
children. I suppose we could have adopted, but with my youth spent
in education, then later years in research, it really never crossed
my mind. No, to be honest, it did - but I never gave it serious
thought. Looking back, I should have done it for Rivka's sake."
Moshe's voice cracked as he spoke the last words. Pausing to gain
his composure, he continued, "that is my one and only regret in
life. Gardening wouldn't have meant much to me, I'm really not into
plants. But the time with my wife," his voice broke again, but
composure returned quickly, "while home gardening, or any other
hobby at home, I think might have made her happy. Then again," he
added with a slight and genuine chuckle, "I've known couples where
the wife is happier when the husband is working. They get along
great until he retires and is at home most of the time.
That's
when problems start!"

"I know what you mean. When my husband stays
home for more than a week of holidays, he can get under my skin.
Weekends together are more than enough for me."

"What does he do for work?" Moshe looked her
in the eyes as he asked.

"He's an insurance adjuster." Moshe could
tell she was lying. Just as he hoped to have her see him as a
person, one who feels pain and sadness like any other, she was
trying to gain his confidence as well - no doubt in hopes of
getting him to eventually open personal insights to her, one friend
to another. The difference was, he really did wish he had spent
more time at home with Rivka. In Marsha's case, she didn't have a
husband who was an insurance adjuster. He could work with this.

"Oh? What's it like living with an Insurance
Adjuster? I imagine the table talk doesn't often go in the
direction of his work."

"You can say that again!"

Moshe knew that the Mossad was in high gear
as they were working to locate him and, if possible, get him back
home safely. He hoped that The Project was also being utilized, but
couldn't be sure of the latter. Use of this new technology was
under strict and carefully defined limitations, most of which he
authored himself. The greatest fear in his mind, and that of his
co-workers, was its potential abuse if even for the most noble of
reasons. He knew that using the powerful, nearly godlike technology
afforded them by the time manipulation function of The Project, was
strictly forbidden in the case of the protection of just one
person, or even a small group of people. It was approved, under
current restrictions, only to defend his nation and people. Moshe
hoped that an exception was made in his behalf, but doubted it,
believing they'd honor the limitations he put in place.

Little did he know the exertions made in his
behalf.

After returning from the stroll in the
garden, mentally noting his observations, his thoughts returned to
Rivka. He wondered how long it had taken for security to discover
the situation and what had become of her body.

He knew that, according to custom, her
remains would be treated with the proper respect that she deserved.
But he also understood and accepted the fact that in this situation
an autopsy would have to be performed if for no other reason than
to discover the caliber of the bullet that was used by the
assassin.

Knowing, as he did now, that the British were
responsible; he knew that the Mossad would automatically assume it
was an Arab or Farsi planned attack. He has hopes in the discovery
of evidence linking them to the British Isles. Given the nature and
complexity of the abduction Moshe realized that the GCHQ was behind
the recently transpired events. He had no doubt that the Prime
Minister gave his tacit, if not direct, approval.

Long ago he had hoped that his final sleep
would come before Rivka's. Nature had not been allowed to take its
course. Were it the last thing that he did, he would make sure that
she was avenged.

Marsha interrupted his thoughts, "That was a
pleasant walk; I enjoyed it. Would you like to rest a little bit
now?"

"Yes, I think I would, thank you."

Escorting him to his room, then locking the
door behind him once he entered the suite, she politely took her
leave. Moshe was certain she would be informing her superiors of
the events and conversations of the day. No, everything would have
been video and audio recorded, computer and human analyzed to
determine what course of action would be best to take with him. He
settled down on the large overstuffed chair and began to plot an
escape. Nothing came to mind but Rivka. He cried.

Table of Contents

8. Into the Lion's Den

"You will never do anything in
this world without courage. It is the greatest quality of the mind
next to honor."
- Aristotle

Facility in the Negev Desert - State of Israel

Merav Ben-David was one
of the people
selected to go back in time with the rest of the team to Brasil.
She had landed in the recent past eight times before, making her
more of a veteran than anybody else in The Project other than Jeff
Stauffenberg.

Merav was the first, and most obvious choice
of people to join Jeff. Her qualifications were many, not least of
which was the unique ability to remember everything she saw and
heard. She could even repeat, verbatim, entire conversations she
overheard including those in a language that was foreign to her.
She was also a math genius.

Agent Ben-David was also a seasoned soldier,
being recruited into the Shin Bet after helping to defend a small
settlement during the Third Intifada. Fearless, but also wise as a
serpent, she had sharp instincts that, coupled with her observation
skills, made her a formidable foe.

She loved children and had aspirations to
work as a special education teacher after her term of military
service had ended. She and her boyfriend wanted children, at least
three, but her prospects ended when he was killed in action. She
just couldn't see herself with anybody else. Her friends kept
telling her that she was young and shouldn't let her hopes die with
him. Years later she still hadn't found his equal, though with the
passage of time she hoped to. She refused to 'settle.' When the men
she dated didn't meet the standards he had established in their
time together, she quickly - but kindly - ended the
relationship.

Even Merav's eyes were kind. While not
catwalk model beautiful, Merav nonetheless was beautiful in her own
right - a beauty she refused to use to her advantage, though she
didn't doubt that it had opened doors. She preferred to be known
and valued for her brain over her body. All who knew her did,
indeed, acknowledge and respect her brilliant mind.

Born in Israel to Spanish immigrant parents
she spoke Spanish as Fluently as Hebrew. With her parents and
siblings they often spoke a mix of Hebrew and Spanish, flowing into
and out of each language - weaving them together with such unforced
ease - it was as if they had their own language.

Merav had a friend, and several
acquaintances, from Brasil. Being a Spanish speaker she first
thought that Brasilian Portuguese sounded like somebody who spoke
Spanish very poorly, with a horrible accent. The Portuguese as
spoken in Portugal sounded much more like the Spanish of her
country. It didn't take long for her to acclimate, even to speak
Brasilian Portuguese fairly well, but not well enough to pass for a
native-born Brasilian.

She was excited to go on this landing. She
never knew Dr. Levin, but certainly knew of him. Learning of the
circumstances surrounding his kidnapping, especially the senseless
murder of his wife, she was as eager as everybody else associated
with The Project to bring the kidnappers to justice. She wanted it
to be a swift and permanent justice, but that wouldn't be her call
to make.

The previous landings gave her headaches when
she returned, headaches that lasted nearly two full days. The same
happened to the others who were in training for landings. For some
the headaches didn't last as long, for others a little longer.
Nobody knew why it seemed to affect all of them except for Dr.
Stauffenberg. The prevailing theory was that there was something in
Jeff's physiology, brain chemistry or otherwise, that protected him
from the effects; maybe something genetic. If they could identify
any such genetic marker it would be easier to recruit people for
this aspect of
The Project
.

Merav was the only person to be able to go
back to a time significantly before she was born where the
lifestyle and technology was different from that to which she was
accustomed. She enjoyed using a telephone where you had to actually
turn the "wheel" to dial a number. The others who went further back
to a time too unfamiliar to them suffered not only headaches, but
also emotional side effects such as terrible night terrors and
paranoia. Because the technology was no different, it was a near
certainty that this was psychological - knowing you were living and
breathing long before you were born. Psychological effects
notwithstanding, a physiological explanation for longer time
distance landings couldn't be discounted until more data had been
aggregated.

Five of her eight landings were accompanied
by Stauffenberg. She liked the guy, he reminded her of one of her
brothers, though about ten years older. On first meeting him she
invited him once to her flat; he politely declined. Knowing he was
married she was still amused at his surprise. She knew he had a
different approach to socializing. His friend, Rachael Siwel,
explained to her that he'd not associate with a woman alone, there
had to be one more adult present. She thought this was kind of a
prehistoric way of doing things, but she appreciated the fact that
he lived his principles. His wife was a lucky woman.