Abigail – The Avenging Agent: The agent appears again (19 page)

“This is yours, study it and memorize
the details.”

Karma opened his eyes wide in surprise. 
He opened the booklet, looked at his tiny photograph and the number marked underneath
it as he heard San speak quietly.

“Let’s review the details.  Tell me
where you were educated, where you grew up and what you do for a living.” 
Karma understood that San was checking what he recalled of his cover story.

“Ah, I completed my studies at Yale in
New Haven, Connecticut.  I graduated with a degree in Global Geography and I
also lecture on that subject.  I came to Azerbaijan on a student exchange
program and was offered a job as a guide and tour leader.”

“Good.  Who offered you the job?”

“The Azerbaijan Ambassador to Israel,
Karim Kodor,” and immediately added:

“I am betrothed to Naima, a Persian
woman I met in the student exchange program.” And frowned when he said that.

“When will you marry your Persian
fiancée?”

“I don’t know.  We’ll see what happens.”
Then, he asked in a whisper:

“Does she know about this?”

Instead of receiving an answer, he heard
another question:

“What is the university’s phone number
and where is your student card?”

“(203) 432-2332 is the phone number and
I don’t remember where I put my student card, but I will find it by tomorrow.”

They were silent and Karma continued
leafing through the booklet in his hand.  The waitress set down two glasses of
lemonade on the table and when she turned to leave, San spread out a paper.

“Yes, it’s the key to the codes for
deciphering electronic messages,” He said, but at the same moment there was a
loud noise of a motorcycle and San could not hear what Karma was saying.

“What did you say?  Repeat what you
said,” he yelled.

“I asked, who am I supposed to
contact?”  Karma shouted, trying to be heard over the noise of the motorcycle.

“You will be Lucy’s operator."

“When am I supposed to go?”

“You will depart on Saturday, at 6:00
am, from Terminal 2, where you will receive a one-way ticket.”

The noise became even louder and San
signaled him to go inside the restaurant.

“I didn’t understand,” Karma said.  “I
heard you say that I am to leave this Saturday, in five days’ time.”

“Yes, this coming Saturday.  You will
land in Azerbaijan and get to the appointed country on your own.”

“Will someone be waiting for me?” 

When he saw how San was looking at him,
he repeated his question, raising his voice.

“I asked, who am I supposed to approach
after I land?

“Someone will approach you.  It’s been arranged.”
Then added, “Tomorrow you will meet with Michael for a briefing. You can ask
him whatever you want to know.”

The noise of the motorcycle became
deafening and suddenly it stopped in front of them.  It was huge and they
stared at it from between two trunks of trees that grew on the sidewalk.  San
got up from his chair and a short burst of gunfire hit him, his glassed flew in
the air and landed somewhere.

Karma immediately turned his gaze to the
motorcyclist, wearing a helmet.  His muscular arms were tensed, holding
the handlebars, and on his arm that held the rifle, a shiny
green tattoo of a striped snake on a background of stalks and flowers could be
seen.  Just then, the motorcycle lurched forward, crossed the traffic lanes and
disappeared from sight.

Karma leaned over San, heard a siren
that cut out all at once.  A policeman in a dark uniform got out of the police
car and surveyed San, lying on the sidewalk.  He talked into a communications
device and minutes later an ambulance with a whining siren arrived and drove
onto the sidewalk.

Karma quickly withdrew into the
café and followed from there how they lifted San onto a gurney and
rolled it to the ambulance.  He wondered to whom the gunfire had been directed
and that, perhaps, the gunman had erred when he hit San.  When the ambulance
disappeared to the sound of its whining sirens, he repeated the details he had
memorized; Saturday, 6:00 am, Terminal 2.  His legs were trembling as he made
his way home and committed the drawing of the snake tattooed on the
motorcyclist assassin’s arm, to memory.

For two days, San hovered between life
and death, sedated and on a respirator.  On the third day, he opened his eyes
and gathered that he could only see out of one eye.  He immediately touched the
unseeing eye and discovered the empty indent and eye socket and burst out
laughing.  Barak, who was sitting beside his bed, jumped up in fright at the
sound of his laughter.

“Oh, thank God!  Have you woken up?!  May
I know what’s amusing you?”

“Listen, I’ll tell you.  I was used to
seeing you with both my eyes and, now, I can even see you’re here with only one
eye.”

Barak continued sitting silently and
resisted the urge to burst out crying because, at last, his partner had
revived.

That same day, San was flown out and
transferred to a hospital in Israel.  And from there, they mounted all the
efforts to locate the attackers and get to their dispatchers.

They did not get to the motorcyclist,
but they did succeed in reaching the source that sent him, but that only
happened, by chance, a long time later.

*
* *

            On
the way home, Karma was unable to suppress his thoughts about the stormy
beginning to his work in the field.  Now, only one thing bothered him – how to
tell Salima, his wife.

            He
spoke to himself:

            ‘Well,
you did warn her of this, years ago.’  But, today, when the moment finally came,
he didn’t know how or where he could possibly begin this conversation.

            He
climbed the stairs to his apartment slowly and found himself counting the
steps. By the time he reached the seventh one, he already knew that he was not
going to share the story of the attack, the gun shots and the motorcyclist with
Salima, his wife.  When he stood in front of the closed door, he took a deep
breath before he turned the doorknob.

“Daddy, daddy!” Kahit cried out as she
ran on her little legs with her arms stretched out to him.  He picked her up
and went to Salima, who was at the sink, washing dishes.

“A’halan,” (Welcome) she greeted him,
standing with her back to him.

He put the child down, drew closer to
his wife, and embraced her from behind with both arms.  He kissed her hair and
didn’t see how she frowned as she wondered what had got into him and what this
demonstration of affection was all about.  When she turned to him, he pressed
his lips to her forehead and, in the same breath, said:

“We have to talk.”

Salima was still holding a wet glass in
her hand when she sat down and, just from the gravity his eyes expressed, she
understood that their conversation would determine their fate.  The little girl
skipped off happily to her room, looked back, smiled and heard the question:

“When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know yet,”  He replied
immediately, unable to find the courage to tell her that, five days hence he
would no longer be at home.

“For how long?  Where, exactly?” Her
face expressed her great displeasure.

“It’s not clear right now, they will
tell me.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between
them and they could not look each other in the eye.

On his way home, Karma planned how he
would tell her and rehearsed what he would say.  When he sat in the car, he
spoke out loud to himself.  He tried to imagine her response and how he would
answer her, but it really wasn’t anything like what came out of his mouth now.

“You know that I am obliged to them and
have no choice.”

“You have no choice?  Nonsense!  Who says
so?”

“Enough, my love, you knew that from the
start, long before our marriage, right?”

He put out his hand to caress her
arm, but she shook him off and tears welled up in her eyes.

“Karma, please take us there, let’s all
go together.”  A beseeching tone entered her voice. 

“No, Salimi, I am on a secret mission. 
I have to play a role and it’s impossible for you or the girls to be there…
please understand.”

“Please let me see why not!”

“Salima, there is no way one can live a
family life in a job like this. And, and you will also face unnecessary danger.”

“Lovely, so what are you actually
telling me that you’re leaving us here alone and taking off on an assignment,
you may never return from.”

“Enough, Salimi. Don’t say that. You
know it’s not exactly like that.”

“Isn’t it?! Then tell me how it is,
exactly!” She screamed.

They heard Kahit crying in her room. 
Salima got up and disappeared into the room and Karma sighed.  He wondered what
more there was to say in this situation and knew that the voice of reason was
not being heard. 

He heard his wife shouting, almost
screaming from the room:

“Fine, Y’allah, Go!  You are
irresponsible, running away and leaving the girls and me without support,
without anything!”

“That’s really not true!”  Now, he was
also raising his voice.

She peeped out at him, as she held the
child and shouted:

“It’s not true?  Then how am I supposed
to manage here on my own?”

“You really aren’t alone. You have a family
here and you’re not in the desert.  You know very well that you can call and
ask for whatever you need.”

“Ask for what, and from whom?  I need my
man! I don’t want someone else to take care of me!  What isn’t clear about
that?”

Karma shut up.  He stared at her, at her
flushed cheeks and her dark eyes from which tears of fury were flowing.   He
didn’t know what to say. What came out of his mouth was:

“Salimi, you and the girls are all my
life.  You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, really!  So why are you leaving
us?!

Now, Karma lost what remained of his
patience and yelled:

“You knew about this, years ago, long
before our marriage, right?  I told you that I would get an order like this and
that I am waiting to be called to the field.”

“That’s not true!  I didn’t know
anything!  What I do know, right now, is that you are leaving and deserting us
and that’s all!”  She screamed bitterly.

“Salimi, come on, enough, come to me.”  He
went to her and tried to embrace her, but she pushed him, slipped out of his
grasp and slammed the door in his face.  He heard her weeping and muttering
aloud.  Naziah, the baby, woke up and began crying. Karma opened the front
door, walked out and slammed it shut behind him in a storm of emotion.  He
skipped down the steps, two at a time and went out into the darkened street.

Salima struggled to deal with what Karma
had told her for a long while.  She cradled her baby in her arms and wondered
who she could enlist to help her attempt to prevent him from leaving.  She
looked at her watch.  It was 9.30 and she phoned her brother.

“I’d like to speak to my brother,
Effendi,” she spoke into the receiver as she rocked her baby, who had long
since closed her eyes.

“Yes, I’m listening.” She heard.

“Karma is leaving to go on an assignment
and…”

“Speak, sister, but no names please and
keep it short.”

“Ah, Effendi, he’s left the girls and me
and is telling a story of a secret assignment.”

               
“Oh, really?  Where are they sending him
to?” 

            “He
said to “the field,” he spoke of ‘them'.  I don‘t know and I don’t care.”  She
cried.  “Can he be stopped?  Perhaps, the assignment can be canceled?  Can you
do something to intervene?”

            There
was silence, but she heard her brother breathing and supposed he was busy
thinking what could be done.

            “Tell
me, what is he doing today?  What are his plans?”

            “The
usual, you know, lecturing.”

            “Okay,
I understand.  It’s good you called today, Salima.”  Then, with excitement she
couldn’t quite understand, he added animatedly:

“I always knew that you were bigger than
life!”

When he rang off, she was happy because
she thought she had done the correct thing.  She was convinced that this way
she would prevent her husband to go on this strange assignment.

Salima had no idea that the telephone in
their house was under constant surveillance by the ‘Mossad’ since the apartment
belonged to it and their calls are always recorded. She did not know also that
this particular call will led the ‘Mossad’ to Effendi, her brother, who
belonged to the ‘Kaukab’ terrorist organization.  This specific call had just
opened Pandora’s Box, releasing all the evil shadows from their prison.

At a quarter past ten, the phone rang
and Salima answered immediately, presuming that she would hear her brother,
Effendi’s voice but, recognized a different voice.

“Hello, I am Karma’s replacement
lecturer.  May I speak to him?”

“Ah, he went out.  What shall I tell
him?”

“Nothing. Thank you,
and sorry for calling so late.”

On the following day, Karma reached his
lecture hall, bleary-eyed and harassed.  He had tried to sleep on the back seat
of his car the night before and he ached all over. 

To his surprise, he found Michael waiting
for him at the entrance to the room.

Michael was a handsome man, in his
fifties.  His gray hair and blue eyes lent him a grandfatherly demeanor and the
impression of a typical English Lord, of the kind that appears in commercials
depicting aristocratic families.  Born in Canada, and his real name was George.
Mossad gave him a new nickname, "Michael".

He stood up now and extended his hand to
Karma and when Karma looked at him, he mused that he would never have imagined
this man supervising intelligence agents in enemy countries.

Karma apologized and entered the lecture
hall.  He was surprised when he saw another instructor standing on the podium. 
The man stepped down and introduced himself as Gentelani, a lecturer in the Far
East studies and immediately returned to the rostrum.  He turned round suddenly
as if he remembered something and called out from there:

"Ah, I would like to convey my
apologies to your wife for calling so late.  I wanted you to know that I am going
to replace you.”  When he saw Karma’s expression of surprise, he added:

“Ah, did she manage to give you my
message?”

Karma waved his hand to thank him and
wondered angrily why Salima hadn’t conveyed that message to him.  However,
after the meeting with Michael all the mundane details of his life melted away
and were forgotten.

“Come, I have something to show you,”
Michael said and quickly left the building.

He led him to a restaurant, selected a
table far from the windows, and did not miss seeing how Karma quickly looked up
and paid attention to the traffic outside the restaurant.

“Are you with me?”  Michael inquired. 
“Calm yourself, the road is far from here,” Michael said and Karma tensed his
lips in confusion.

“Here, I have a different kind of weapon
for you.”

Karma raised his eyebrows in surprise
when he saw Michael take a camera out of his bag.

“What, does it fire?

“Almost.  You have no idea how powerful
it is.  This is an exceptional “Fuji” camera,” he said. “Come, let’s practice
using it. Listen, you’re going outside in the street now to snap objects and
when you come back with the snapshots – we’ll talk.”

“What should I photograph?” asked Karma,
not understanding.

“It’s not important, whatever you
choose.  The idea is to shoot items as quickly as possible, without anyone
noticing that you are taking pictures.”

Karma went out to the street and took
pictures without looking through the lens, but aiming it at passing cars,
signposts and people.  He came back but Michael laughed when he looked at the
snapshots.

“Look, here’s someone’s hand and this is
part of a restaurant signpost.”

Karma went out again to try his luck
and, this time, they laughed together when they looked at the shots.  They saw
the profile of a man in one picture in which Karma was sure he had managed to
photograph all of him and a car driving by turned out looking like something
blurred and shiny.

“Try thinking for a second like a
soldier firing a rocket at a plane, flying in the sky,” Michael explained, and
picked up the salt cellar.

“Let’s say this salt cellar is a rocket
on course to a plane and that my hand is that aircraft.”

“I understand; you don’t need to say
more.  One has to aim a little ahead of the target for them to meet.”

“Bravo!” Michael cheered as he brought
the salt cellar up to hit his hand and said:            

“Boof!” and let his hand fall down on
the table as he called out: “That’s a hit!”

He looked at Karma, urging him to go out
again.

That day, they ate lunch at
“McDonalds”.  Scurrying around and taking pictures had made him tired but, he
was happy to get a complimentary pat on the shoulder at the end.  He glanced
again quickly at the large glass window, and when he recalled the motorcyclist
from the day before, he shuddered.  Michael saw it and said.

“It’s fine that you look there but, try
to keep your moves smooth, rather than sharp and abrupt.”

A young man appeared beside them and
Karma jumped back but, then noticed how much he resembled Michael, just
slimmer, and it was clear he was his son.

“Hello, pleased to meet you, I’m Timmy,”
the young man said but, he directed his words at Michael, his father, shook his
hand and they both laughed.  Perhaps they hoped to amuse him, but Karma watched
the scene and smiled politely because, for the moment he was not in the mood
for fun.

“Did you bring the page you received
yesterday?” Timmy asked. 

Karma trembled as he pulled the folded
note he had received yesterday from San, out of his shirt pocket.