The Deadliest Game Read online

  The imam smiled as he took another sip of his tea. “You know a man by name of Taher Ramli?” he asked.

  Yassin rubbed his chin for a moment. “The name is familiar…”

  “Taher looks after another part of the world, one you haven’t been involved with yet.”

  “And?”

  “He has a few personal problems he has to attend to. But this couldn’t have come at a worse time. We have something going on that is close to completion. I was hoping you could replace him.”

  The buzz in his chest shot to his head. “What’s involved?”

  “Another trip to a foreign country.”

  “How soon?”

  “A few more weeks, maybe a month at the most.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “This can’t turn into a mission of revenge, Khalid. What happened in New York is over with and done.”

  “It won’t be revenge,” Yassin lied.

  CHAPTER 80

  Blair waited.

  “Sandra’s alive,” Jeremy said as he stepped inside the apartment.

  He wondered if he’d heard right. “She is?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  Jeremy’s smile was forced. “Don’t I at least get a cup of coffee?”

  “A coffee?” He paused. “Yeah. Sure. Where are my manners?” He went to make it, Jeremy following on his heels.

  “Let me ask you something,” Blair said, once the kettle was plugged. “You flew all the way here from Israel just to tell me that Sandra is alive?”

  “Yes. Why? Do you want me to go back?”

  “No. I’m surprised, that’s all. You caught me off-guard, showing up like this, to tell me something you could have told me over the phone. What’s really going on with my daughter, Jeremy?”

  “I told you.”

  “Yeah…” He let the thought hang as the kettle came to a boil.

  Once Jeremy had his coffee in hand, he took a seat at the kitchen table.

  Blair remained standing. “Tell me why you’ve come to New York,” he insisted.

  Jeremy hesitated. “Pull up a chair.”

  “I can hear you very well from here.”

  Jeremy took a sip of his coffee. “A couple of days ago we almost broke your daughter free,” he said. “We had her in our sights, only to have our plans foiled once more. We were so darn close.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “Through our contacts. I told you we would. It was just a matter of time.”

  “What exactly did you do?”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “What do you mean, it wasn’t you?”

  “I supervised a team of very good people from the sidelines.”

  “Bull! Weren’t you the one in charge?”

  “That’s what a person in charge does.”

  “So who was it, then, if not you? Who actually handled the physical attempt to rescue my daughter?”

  Jeremy turned introspective. “Lisa,” he finally said.

  “Lisa?” Blair couldn’t hide his surprise. “How did she get involved?”

  “She was always involved. Didn’t she tell you?”

  He tried to recall what was said. “All she told me was that she would be busy for a while. She gave me a phone number. I tried it a few times but could never reach her.”

  “No wonder.”

  “Yeah. So, where is she now? I’d very much like to talk to her.”

  Jeremy stood from the table.

  Outside, Blair noticed that New York was experiencing a beautiful September afternoon.

  “Lisa did more than take the lead in this operation,” Jeremy said, his gaze dropping.

  “And?” Blair pushed.

  “She actually put her life on the line.”

  “Okay. So that means what, exactly?”

  “It was a joint operation between my team and the FBI. The two agents you met, Prendergast and Eathorne, they were also in on it.”

  “And Lisa?”

  “I’m afraid she didn’t make it, Blair.”

  “Huh?”

  “Lisa didn’t make it. She was killed.”

  One minute he was looking out the window, admiring the sun-filled day; the next his vision blurred.

  “Blair?”

  “How do you know she’s dead?” he asked, half speaking to himself. “Have they found her body?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  The answer gave him hope. “Then how do you know, with any certainty, that you are correct?”

  “We know, Blair. The other people involved confirmed it.”

  “Maybe they are mistaken?”

  “They’re not mistaken.”

  He didn’t believe him, didn’t want to believe him.

  He stood in one place, eyes clamped shut, as if keeping them open would defile Lisa’s memory.

  The chill he felt was implacable.

  When he finally moved it was zombie-like—from one room to the next, hands shaking, unable to keep them still.

  His mind traveled back in time, to when he had first met Lisa. The immediate attraction he had felt, the love they had shared. Recollection after recollection filled his head, each hurting a little more, until the guilt manifested physically into a vicious headache, like an anvil pressing into his brain.

  CHAPTER 81

  Jeremy flew back to Israel. Blair could hardly recall him leaving, or even saying goodbye.

  Over the following weeks, a melancholy settled in. He wished he had the wherewithal to enact revenge on those responsible. But he knew that justice was a misnomer, intended to confuse, to deceive the gullible.

  He could also see how hatred could consume someone, turn them into a person they never thought they could be. Self-hatred was its worst form, destroying one’s confidence, ruining whatever hope still remained

  Time did not heal. This was another falsehood, promulgated by those who never experienced loss.

  He missed Lisa with every fiber of his being.

  Getting Sandra home safely was his only priority. Lisa’s sacrifice could not be in vain. Without apology, he reached out to Jeremy by phone and e-mail, no less than once, often two or three times a day.

  “Any news?” he would ask. “Are you getting any closer? Is there something I can do?”

  The answers were always the same: Jeremy and his Mossad team, along with the FBI, were doing all that could be done.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Blair’s frustration got the better of him.

  At home on a Monday evening, he poured a Scotch over ice and took a seat in the den, his favorite room.

  Absentmindedly, he picked up the New York Times and read the feature story. It involved al-Qaeda and a foiled attempt to explode a bomb near the White House.

  Even without Osama bin Laden they continued to push, Blair concluded. And eventually they would succeed. Evil had won in the past; it would triumph again in the future.

  Whoa!

  Was this who I’ve become? he asked himself. Mr. Doom and Gloom?

  He went to sip from his glass, then paused.

  Andrew Sciascia’s words came back to him, something about his wallowing in self-doubt.

  Self-pity was more like it, Blair realized. And he cringed.

  CHAPTER 82

  More and more, Lisa’s face would flash before Blair’s eyes, often co-mingled with Sandra’s, to the point where he couldn’t separate the two. And he knew, for obvious reasons, that they would be linked forever.

  It was this realization that made him want to do something meaningful. But what? What could he do, he wondered, that would serve Lisa’s memory?

  His need became obsessive. He considered one idea after another, only to discard them all.

  It took almost a week to find something.

  But it was one thing to formulate a plan, quite another to implement it.

  “Uh-uh,” Jeremy said over the phone.

  “Why not?” Blair asked.
<
br />   “Because. It won’t accomplish anything.”

  “It will.”

  “It won’t!”

  “Look, I am going to do this, with or without you.”

  “Blair—”

  “No, I won’t let you win this argument, Jeremy. I’ve already booked my flight.”

  “It’s a goddamn mistake!”

  “I don’t care. I don’t look at it as a mistake. I feel that it’s right.”

  Jeremy’s sigh was a long one. “When did you say again?”

  “Next week. On Wednesday.”

  “And I can’t talk you out of it?”

  “No one can talk me out of it.”

  CHAPTER 83

  Time passed interminably. Blair started to wonder if he was doing the right thing.

  But changing his mind was out of the question.

  He had spent hours weighing the pros and cons. When it came down to it, he felt it was far better to do something than nothing, even though there were not many options to choose from.

  And he felt, with some certainty, that this was the best one.

  Jeremy was not pleased when he picked up Blair at Ben Gurion Airport. He hadn’t been in favor of setting up this meeting with Lisa’s parents. And he had tried everything in his power to dissuade Blair.

  They were no sooner on the road, when Blair wondered aloud why Lisa had been picked for the mission in the first place.

  “She insisted,” Jeremy said.

  “As her boss, couldn’t you have dissuaded her?”

  “I tried. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said she wanted to help you. To show how much she cared.”

  “Christ!”

  “You mad at me or at yourself?”

  They rode the next few miles in silence.

  “She lied to me,” Blair stated miserably.

  “About what?” Jeremy asked.

  “She said her parents were American.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “They aren’t American. Never lived in the United States, as a matter of fact.”

  “So?”

  “So nothing, I guess.”

  “Be prepared for a cold reception, by the way.”

  “Why?”

  “Her parents haven’t adjusted very well. Lisa’s their only child. They didn’t want to have this meeting. They are angry.”

  “At me?”

  “At you. At me. At everyone.”

  “They don’t even know me.”

  “They don’t know me, either. At least, not very well. But it’s human nature to want to blame someone. Her parents won’t listen to reason.”

  “So, what are you saying?” Blair asked.

  “It’s not too late to turn around.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “I’m not turning around.”

  “Okay. Can’t say I didn’t try.”

  It took another twenty-five minutes to reach the southern suburb of Ra’anana. Jeremy parked, then led the way to a small bungalow at the tip of a cul-de-sac. They were met at the door by a maid or housekeeper and ushered inside.

  Blair felt the modern furniture was out of place, especially in a country as steeped in tradition as this one. Even the Judaic knickknacks, including an acrylic Mogen David positioned in the center of a bookcase lining the far wall in the living room, had a too-new look to them.

  Lisa’s parents remained seated in individual chairs next to the bookcase. They wore grim expressions. Neither went out of his or her way to be polite, even after Jeremy made the introductions.

  Mrs. Brandt was in her late fifties. Tall and statuesque, she had similar facial features as her daughter, with hair that was just as blond, but perhaps a little less full. Lisa’s father was slightly older than his wife. He had an impressive physique for someone his age, a bald pate, and eyes an unusual shade of greenish-blue.

  Blair followed Jeremy’s lead and took a seat on the couch opposite them. Self-consciously he placed the small box he had brought with him by his feet. No sooner did Jeremy begin to speak in Hebrew, than he was filled with trepidation.

  Jeremy paused, then translated his words into English, telling Blair that he had apologized for the intrusion. “I mentioned that the reason why you are here is to explain your involvement with their daughter.”

  Blair knew this was his cue. But he hesitated. And he asked himself what his real reason was for coming here.

  What do I want? he wondered.

  Understanding?

  Absolution?

  “Blair?” he heard Jeremy say.

  Finally, he began to speak, his voice low and as unemotional as he could manage. He explained when he and Lisa had met, omitting how and where this happened. And he went on to describe how they fell in love.

  He told them about the horrible situation he had found himself in, how he was tricked into believing that he was dealing with a legitimate government agency, and how his own daughter had been used as a pawn to ensure his cooperation.

  Every few sentences, he paused in order for Jeremy to handle the translation. The Hebrew seemed to take forever. And through it all, he noticed Mr. and Mrs. Brandt refrain from looking his way.

  “When I learned of Lisa’s connection to Mossad,” he went on, “I felt as if she had deceived me. I knew I was in love with her, yet I believed she had lied about loving me.

  “So you see, I am to blame. I should have given Lisa the benefit of the doubt. If I had, she would most likely be alive today…”

  The house became deathly quiet.

  Jeremy did not offer a translation.

  Blair had been in situations before where he had felt intrusive and embarrassed. This felt worse. Without the translation his guilt could not be expunged. Yet, he asked himself if this was something he truly wanted.

  He glanced at the box by his feet. And he hesitated. But he had no other way of expressing himself.

  He bent down and lifted the box. Then he stood and approached Mr. Brandt.

  He opened the box. “This is the Presidential Medal of Freedom,” he explained. “It is the highest civilian honor issued by the Government of the United States.”

  He placed the medal in the man’s hands.

  “I want you to have this,” Blair said. “I know it won’t bring your daughter back. But I hope it will act as a reminder to you and your wife of Lisa’s bravery.”

  Mr. Brandt did not hesitate.

  In one abrupt movement, he came to his feet—proving to be taller than Blair realized—and took him in his arms.

  He began to rock him, gently, as if he were a child.

  Behind him, Blair could hear Lisa’s mother crying.

  CHAPTER 84

  He was quiet during the ride back to his hotel, unable to get the meeting with Lisa’s parents out of his mind. Their pain was like a disease, insidiously infecting anyone who came near them. He wished he could have said or done more.

  “I want to tell you something,” Jeremy said, breaking the silence. “I heard what you said to Lisa’s parents. How you are to blame. Which is utter nonsense. This all happened because of circumstances beyond your control, Blair. Your behavior throughout this ordeal has been exemplary.”

  “Exemplary?” he scoffed.

  “Tell me one thing you could have done differently?”

  Blair knew of more than one thing, from his initial acceptance of Dalton/Yassin at face value, to turning aside Lisa’s offer to help. But he held his tongue.

  “I’m concerned about you, boychick,” Jeremy said. “You can’t keep this angst, this guilt, bottled up inside.”

  They decided on an early dinner at his hotel. Over a glass of Chardonnay, Blair began to question Jeremy about his past. “I mean, how did you make the transition from toys to working undercover for a government spy agency?” he asked. “It seems ludicrous.”

  And his friend smiled. “Suffice it to say that during my compulsory army stint, my superiors discovered I had a knack for the—uh—physical. An
d an analytical mind to boot.”

  “So they did what—conscripted you?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “But you had a reputable business, did you not?”

  “That’s what they liked. The fact that my business took me to many parts of the world. Especially North America. Anyway, I can’t tell you anything more. It just is what it is.”

  The night ended early and Blair went up to his room. Without consciously knowing why, he turned on the television set. An old movie starring Shirley Temple was playing.

  The curls in her hair brought back memories of how Sandra had looked at a younger age. He took a seat on the edge of the bed.

  No reminder was necessary of the promise he had made to himself. The incident with Meconium Aspiration Syndrome at Sandra’s birth was past. And Blair had vowed that no harm would befall her again.

  Rather meaningless as far as promises go, he reflected now.

  He stood. And for a moment, he didn’t know what he wanted to do with himself.

  Sandra was his pride and joy. Someone who brought meaning to his life. An innocent little girl.

  “So why is she being punished?” he wondered aloud.

  He went into the bathroom, washed his face and brushed his teeth, then got into bed.

  Instead of sleeping, however, his mind went into overdrive. Jeremy had arranged to pick him up in the morning and take him to the airport. But he had no intention of being here when Jeremy arrived.

  In New York a few days ago, Blair had Googled “Soldiers of Fortune” in this part of the world. Out of all the names he had found—and there were quite a few—three prospects seemed legitimate.

  He remembered his discussion with the man from Philadelphia, how phony he turned out to be. And he realized the risk he was taking. But he was not going to be dissuaded. Appointments with all three men were already set.

  CHAPTER 85

  Just before 5:30 AM he rushed into the shower, then shaved and hurried downstairs for a quick breakfast. No longer trusting cabs in this city, he had arranged with the concierge for a private car and driver. He was on his way before seven o’clock.