The Deadliest Game Page 8

  “Molotov cocktail?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jeremy—”

  “I’m here, boychick.”

  “—what the hell happened to me?”

  “You mean, you really don’t remember? You’re a hero, my friend.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Don’t look so surprised.” Jeremy grinned.

  “But I didn’t do anything,” Blair said, confused. He tried to think his way through it. He had been in his favorite Italian restaurant … my god, the girl!

  “How is she?” he quickly asked.

  “If you mean the kid you saved, she’s fine.”

  It was coming back. “And the others?”

  Hesitation creased Jeremy’s brow. “Ten dead altogether. But most of the kitchen staff, you, and the girl, got out okay. I don’t know how you had the quickness of mind. You’re far more athletic than I’d given you credit for.”

  Blair winced. “Yeah, I’m a real athlete.”

  “Hey, don’t disparage yourself. You still work out at the gym a few times a week. It obviously paid off.”

  “Sure, it did.” All those people, he was thinking. The girl’s parents and their friends. The girl’s playmates. The elderly couple who had come in last. All dead.

  “What about the owner?” he asked. “That lady. I forget her name…”

  “Moira Feldman? She survived as well. She is the one who spoke to the press about you. She saw what you did. Reporters are clamoring for a chance to interview you.”

  “Did she give them my name?”

  “Uh-uh. She didn’t know your name.”

  “Good. I hope she never finds out.”

  “Why do you say that? This is your chance for glory. A bona fide American hero. Don’t you want to be famous?”

  “Uh-uh. Seriously, Jeremy. I don’t want you saying a word.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. If you value our friendship…”

  The police interview took time. Finally, he was told he could leave the hospital. Truth be known, his headaches hadn’t quite subsided to the degree he’d let on. But his purpose for coming to Israel weighed heavily on his mind. He disliked the position he was in. And he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

  Jeremy showed up, dressed in an open-necked white sport shirt and Bermuda shorts. His sock-less feet were adorned with brown leather sandals.

  Blair reflected once more on his friend’s youthful appearance, his red hair and freckles reminding him of a cartoon character whose name eluded him at the moment.

  Jeremy handed him a small envelope with Hebrew writing on the front. “Your get-well gift,” he said.

  Blair opened the envelope and smiled. If he couldn’t win the lottery back in the States, perhaps he could do so here.

  “It’s up to forty million shekels,” Jeremy said.

  He whistled at the amount, the equivalent of ten million American dollars.

  Winded from the simple exercise of putting on his clothes, Blair slumped down on the edge of the bed.

  “You sure you want to check out?” Jeremy asked. “That wasn’t a love tap to your head, you know. An inch or two to the left or right and you would have been killed.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for reminding me. But I feel fine. Really, I do. I’ve got to get back to the States, Jeremy.”

  “That quick?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Jeremy was quiet for a moment. “Stand up,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Stand up.”

  When Blair stood, Jeremy put his hands on his shoulders and positioned him in front of the full-length mirror.

  What Blair saw concerned him. Both eyes were swollen and bruised. A barely healed cut crisscrossed his cheek. He could spot some coagulated blood in his hair.

  He turned to Jeremy. “No big deal,” he said, lying. “I’ve seen worse.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Once in the car, it took less than ten minutes for Blair to fall asleep. Jeremy shook him awake as soon as they reached his office. Blair couldn’t quite get his bearings. This area of Ashod, in the central-eastern portion of Israel, catered to small and mid-size manufacturers. Despite having come here many times before, nothing looked familiar. “Where are we?” he asked.

  Jeremy shot a curious glance his way. “What do you mean, where are we?”

  He stepped out. The sky was blue and there was no breeze to speak of. “Just give me a minute,” he said.

  When Blair finally approached the building, Jeremy hurried ahead to hold the door for him. The manufacturing facility and warehouse stood on their left. On their right was the stairwell leading to the offices on the upper floor.

  They climbed to the top. Blair took a seat in Jeremy’s cramped quarters. The air-conditioning did not have the same functionality as back home. While cooler than the outside temperature, it was far from comfortable.

  Files were strewn across the desk and piled on the floor.

  “As neat as ever,” Blair teased.

  Jeremy sloughed off the comment. “Tell me, why the sudden urgency in seeing me?” he asked.

  “I told you on the phone. I have a few concerns, not the least of which is the Cyber-tech knockoff.”

  “Alleged knockoff,” Jeremy said. “The company who offered it is run by an ex-employee of ours. The schmuck stole a few of our secrets and thought he could get away with it. We’re suing his ass. The bloody thing will be off the market before you know it. End of problem.”

  Blair steeled himself. “There is something else I’ve been made aware of,” he said. “Concerning the manufacturer.”

  “Of the hardware?”

  “Uh-uh. The software. From my recollection, I believe you said SDF would be producing most, if not all, of the mini DVDs?”

  “That’s correct. Hillel Electronics have been working with them for years.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t necessarily mean SDF are the best.”

  A frown crossed Jeremy’s brow. “What makes you say that?”

  “Didn’t you know? I’m a mind-reader.” Blair coughed, hoping to hide his embarrassment. “I found out SDF are not the only ones in their field. As a matter of fact, I’ve heard, from reliable sources, that On Time Electronics is far better at what they do.”

  “OTE?” Jeremy practically leapt out of his chair.

  Blair lowered his eyes.

  “Do you even know who OTE is?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “How do you know? Tell me, please. I’m curious.” Jeremy’s voice had risen a few octaves.

  “My bank told me about them.” He plowed ahead. “They investigated SDF and came up with some unusual business transactions. I believe it was stock related, some incident of fraud or insider trading involving their top executives.” To buy some time, he asked if he could have some water.

  Jeremy stepped up to the small fridge in the corner of his office and removed a bottle. Tossing it to Blair, he went back to his desk. Then he reached for his phone and dialed. He spoke a few words in Hebrew, a language for which he’d shown a proficiency before, and disconnected. After he completed a second call, he stood and indicated for Blair to follow.

  The offices and manufacturing plant for SDF were housed in a hundred-thousand-square-foot facility. This was large by Israeli standards. One needn’t be observant to notice that the company was above average when it came to up-to-date workstations and state-of-the-art machinery.

  The people Jeremy introduced, from a Mr. Rosen, to a Goldberg, to a Lichtenstein, all greeted Blair warmly.

  Touring their premises, a feeling of dread began to build. These people did not appear at all to be what had been described to him. Terrorists? Criminals? It seemed utter nonsense.

  Every facet of their operation was inspected, from the initial manufacturing process of the mini DVD and the descriptive sleeve it was housed in, to the assembly line where the DVD was inserted into its jewel case. He couldn’t find fault with any
of it.

  Jeremy’s grin was almost offensive. “Seen enough?” he asked.

  Another drive. Shorter this time.

  If SDF was the epitome of modernization, then OTE was the opposite. They weren’t as decrepit as some of the sweatshops Blair had visited in parts of China, but On Time Electronics belied everything he expected to find. The executives, for one thing, from the president on down, were unfriendly and distracted. There was something slovenly about many of their workers and how they approached their tasks. The building itself, smaller then SDF by half, had no sense of organization. Much of the machinery was in disrepair. What there was of an assembly line did not have enough workers or supervision.

  Blair now understood why Jeremy had seen the need for a “show and tell.” Once they were back in his office, he figured he had to play his final card. “You know how difficult banks can be,” he said. “Mine really didn’t give me an option. Before I left New York, it was made plain that they don’t want me dealing with SDF. And they control the purse strings. They can pull the plug whenever they like.”

  His bottle of water was three-quarters empty, and he was no longer thirsty, but he pretended that his thirst was unquenchable, draining the bottle and asking for another.

  Jeremy stood, got the replacement, handed it over, and reclaimed his seat.

  Blair took him back to the time he had started in business. He reminded Jeremy how his first bank nearly put him out of business. How it was the current bank that came to his rescue. “It all comes down to the relationship between the account manager and the client,” he said. “I owe my guy the benefit of the doubt. You can see that, can’t you?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leaned forward and pretended to be serious. “Look, I didn’t want to get into this, but I must tell you what I’ve learned, in confidence, about SDF. I have it on good authority that Mr. Lichenshmid is, in actual fact, a closet Nazi. His second in command, this Mr. Rosen, is a child molester. And Mr. Goldberg happens to screw around on his wife.”

  “Blair!” Jeremy stopped him, bursting into laughter. “First of all, it’s Lichtenstein, not Lichenshmid. And the man is Jewish. He’s been highly decorated by the Israeli Army. He’s lived in this country for over thirty years. If he’s a Nazi then I’m Joan of Arc.”

  “Joan, I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Furthermore, both Goldberg and Rosen emigrated here from Poland years ago and have exemplary records.”

  “Still, you never know about people.” Blair stopped abruptly. He realized he could only carry this nonsense so far. “Seriously,” he said, “my bank has given me instructions and I’m hoping to comply.”

  Jeremy frown hinted of incredulity.

  Feverish, embarrassed, no longer having the heart to continue, Blair wanted to go somewhere and hide.

  “You could see the difference in the two companies we visited today,” Jeremy said. “There is no comparison. SDF is professional, reliable, and well respected in the industry. OTE, on the other hand, is-notorious for screwing up their customers’ orders, for putting out an inferior product.”

  “All rumors,” Blair interjected.

  “Not rumors.” Jeremy said. “Fact. You can recognize the truth yourself. Bank or no bank, there is no way I can go along with you. I’m sorry. It just wouldn’t make sense to do as you suggest.” He paused. “I really don’t think so, boychick.”

  CHAPTER 22

  He arrived at the airport the following morning with his equilibrium still off-kilter. Waiting in line at the Business Class counter, he broke out in a cold sweat. If not for the pills the doctor in the hospital had prescribed, he probably wouldn’t have had the strength to stand.

  The clerk at the El Al desk was a bored young man who obviously didn’t appreciate his job. He impatiently thrust out his hand for Blair’s passport, then went about his business in a slow and deliberate manner.

  By the time the formalities were completed Blair felt feverish. He proceeded to the El Al lounge on feet of lead.

  The girl who welcomed him was far friendlier than the male clerk at the check-in counter. She seemed to recognize that Blair wasn’t feeling well. She immediately stood up from her desk, guided him to an empty seat, and asked if she could pour him a coffee.

  He gladly accepted the offer.

  The lounge was unusually quiet. The girl served him the coffee. Blair took a few sips and his head cleared a little.

  The restaurant bombing was still on his mind. It was too much of a coincidence to have the same man who drove him to his hotel from the airport involved. Blair believed that he himself was the target. But he didn’t know the reason why.

  A quick review of his life didn’t reveal anything unusual. If anything, his reflections pointed to a rather mundane existence.

  He hadn’t cheated anyone, abused anyone, or purposely hurt anyone.

  So what was it? What enemies had he made? Blair wondered. Who hated him enough to want to have him killed?

  He just didn’t get it.

  When his flight landed in New York, Blair was still out of sorts. He was too weak to carry his small suitcase, so he solicited the help of a porter. The wait for a cab felt like an eternity.

  He arrived at his condo after midnight. He did not bother to unpack. He dropped his bag on the floor in the hallway and walked into his bedroom. He was not up to washing his face or brushing his teeth. Instead, fully dressed, he collapsed on top of the bedspread.

  CHAPTER 23

  Eleven hours later he awoke feeling sluggish. Shaving and showering were onerous. He took a cab to his office. No sooner did he walk in than he was inundated with questions about the bruises on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he repeated too many times.

  Then he paused and shook his head. The old furniture remained. The desks, chairs, and file cabinets now stood upright. Some work had been done to repair the damage to the walls. But it was not what had been promised.

  Reluctantly, he approached the boardroom. The torn books, gathered off the floor and piled on the table, had not been replaced.

  Blair walked back to his office and took a seat. He picked up a stack of messages that were held together by a paper clip. The majority were from John Dalton.

  He leaned forward and shut his eyes. He desperately wanted his life to return to normal. The government agent had crossed the line more than once. He no longer wanted to deal with him.

  Lunch was a quick bite at a burger joint down the street. To his dismay, upon his return to the office, he found John Dalton waiting for him, seated in the chair opposite his desk.

  Blair’s secretary whispered an apology as he walked past her.

  He waved her worry away.

  “How was Israel?” Dalton asked the minute he closed his office door.

  Blair observed the agent for a moment. And he wondered if the man had even one redeeming feature. “Who invited you here, John?” he asked.

  “I invited myself. We paid for your trip, remember? The least we’d expect is a concise report.”

  “Concise report?” Blair remained on his feet. “There is nothing at all to tell you.”

  “Oh? You can start with the bombing.”

  “What bombing?”

  “Blair, Blair, Blair. Sit down, would you? I don’t like you hovering above me. It makes me nervous.”

  The thought of something making Dalton nervous didn’t compute. But Blair took his seat.

  “Now, tell me about your meeting with Jeremy Samson.”

  Blair noticed that the bombing incident had already been forgotten about. “Where are the replacement books?” he asked.

  “My budget’s been cut. If you’re patient, I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

  “Uh-uh. I want them now. Like you promised.”

  “I can’t do it now. Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

  Blair paused. “Our meeting was uneventful,” he said.

  “And that’s it?” The agent’s voice took on
a noticeable hardness. “No other details?”

  Blair hesitated, then decided there was no harm in telling the truth. “Jeremy took me on a tour of both factories,” he said. “SDF was professional and outstanding, way above average. Your suggested replacement, On Time Electronics, paled in comparison. Shoddy workmanship and even shoddier workers. It was laughable. Jeremy refused my suggestion outright. And I can’t say that I blame him.”

  “Didn’t you try to convince him?”

  A caustic remark came to mind, but Blair let it pass. “Of course, I tried. Used every argument I could think of. Even told him that my account manager at the bank was insisting on a change.”

  Dalton sneezed, was reaching a hand into his pants pocket for a tissue or handkerchief, when he winced in pain.

  Blair could see his arm going into spasm. “Is something wrong?” he asked, expressing more sympathy than he intended.

  Dalton’s look darkened. “Nothing’s wrong. But you’ll have to go back there.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’ll have to visit Jeremy again.”

  Blair was incredulous. “I can’t do that.”

  “It’s necessary, I’m afraid.”

  “Necessary?” he said. And the anger he’d been suppressing finally came out. “John, I don’t know who authorizes your operation, or makes you act the way you do. But I have to tell you, it really sucks.”

  “We are sanctioned by the Federal Government, my friend.”

  My friend? Now he was his friend, Blair thought. “Look, I hate to be rude, John. But I need you out of my life. I can’t put it in simpler terms. I want you to stop bothering me.”

  Dalton stood and calmly said, “We need you to go back to Israel. Let me know once your travel arrangements have been made.”

  “I won’t be going,” Blair told him.

  The man’s hands tightened into fists. “You have forty-eight hours. If I haven’t heard from you by then, I will not be responsible for the consequences.”

  CHAPTER 24