Page 3

Chapter 3

Aaron Bergman picked up the Guinness beers at the bar, paid the tab, and turned back to the table, ignoring the fact that the bartender recoiled at his mere presence. He’d seen that before. He did his best to hide it, but short of wearing a burka, there was no way to camouflage what he was. People just instinctively recognized him as a threat, like a pit bull growling at a visitor.

He saw his partner staring intently at the door, waiting on someone to enter. He unconsciously shook his head, hoping the man who came in didn’t have a problem for them to solve.

Anytime the Mossad asked for their help, it was because they didn’t want to risk actual assets. It was painful to admit, but they were expendable. But thatdidgive them options. If they weren’t officially Mossad, they could solve the problem like they wanted, without the oversight.

Small blessings.

He went back to the table, set a beer in front of his partner, and said, “Irish bar. Irish beer.”

She scrunched up her nose and said, “Seriously? They don’t have any rum?”

He smiled at the inside joke. A good friend of theirs only drank rum and Cokes, and she’d taken to the drink to prove she had something to hold on to as a human being. Using his normalcy to prove she was normal. Which she was decidedly not.

“They have it, but the beer is the near side signal.”

She took the drink and said, “What’s taking so long? The meet time has come and gone.”

Aaron took a sip and said, “Calm down, dark angel. He’ll be here.”

They were in a place called the Temple Bar, an Irish watering hole that was one of several such franchises in Tel Aviv, Israel. This one was unique, in that it was within spitting distance of the headquarters of the Mossad. If one looked on Google Maps, one would see a hundred different stores or restaurants surrounding a large field of grass with nothing. Roads going in and out, but nothing to say why. Go to satellite, and one would find a large building in that field, with once again no representation of why that building was there.

Because that’s the way the Mossad wanted it.

His partner took a sip of the beer, winced, then said, “You think they have a mission for us? Is that why the call came in?”

Aaron grinned at her eagerness and said, “If it is a mission, when it comes to us, it’s guaranteed to be a shit storm. I’ll listen, but I’m not jumping in just because they want us to. We’ve both been here before.”

She said, “Yeah, but this is the Caesarea. They wouldn’t have called unless it was urgent.”

Caesarea was the section in the Mossad that dealt with targeted killing. The sharp end of the spear. In a previous life, Aaron and his partner had belonged to the unit, eliminating terrorists all over the world. Now they were private contractors, sometimes working for the Mossad, sometimes for others.

Aaron said, “We have the wedding. That’s more important. We leave in two days.”

“Yeah, but that’s just the rehearsal. We could probably do this mission and make it in time for the real thing.”

Aaron looked at her and said, “Seriously? After what they did to attendourwedding? You’re really going there? This was our vacation.We haven’t been anywhere for over a year because of the damn pandemic. And you love Charleston.”

Chastened, she said, “Nephilim would understand. If it’s important. But you’re right. Some things are worth more than others. I won’t miss the wedding, no matter what this guy says.”

She took another sip of the beer, winced again, and said, “Why on earth did you buy this mud?”

“Because that’s the near signal. If we had a rum and Coke, he’d wave off the meeting.”

She muttered, “Well, that’s one strike against this asshole.”

She turned to the door again, her urgency causing him to smile. He took her hand and said, “You look like a dog waiting on someone to throw a ball. Do you mean what you say? Because when he comes inside, he’s going to ask us to commit.”

She turned from staring at the door to him, took his hand in both of hers, and said, “Yes. I will not let Nephilim down. Or Jennifer. No matter what he says.”

Aaron nodded, and the door opened, the commander of Caesarea walking through it. He looked around the room casually, saw them, then the beers in front of them, and came over.

The bartender watched the scene intently. He didn’t have any ulterior motive, but he knew where his bar was located and was curious. He saw the man lean across the table and kiss the woman on the cheek.

The visitor turned to the seated man, and the size difference was palpable. The new man looked like a bureaucrat. The one seated looked like a killer. He stood and was a head taller than the visitor, his frame overshadowing the other. The pairing with the woman was confusing to the bartender. She was lithe, like a teenage boy, without any womanly curves, but her face was like a porcelain doll. Model pristine, buthiding something sinister. When she’d talked to him, it had been disconcerting. She did some kind of weird stare, reaching into his soul. It scared the hell out of him.

Both of them were people he didn’t want to meet ever again. He didn’t even want to serve them again. If they left right now, he’d be happy. He knew something was happening in his small bar a stone’s throw from one of the deadliest intelligence agencies on earth, but he knew better than to pry.