Still, the regret he suffered was great. The idea that his son was left without his mother for all this time ate at him like a cancer. He longed to know the child, but she had chosen to keep her secret. Hurt arced through his heart. He told himself again it was fear that kept her quiet on that score.
He hoped his emotions had not blinded him once more to the possibility of betrayal.
Michal closed his eyes and exhaled wearily. He was so very tired of this life. Every minute of every day was filled with the possibility of instant death, with the threat of betrayal from those closest to him.
But the killing was the worst. It never ended. There was always a new name added to the list. An endless roster of Who’s Who among the soon to die.
It was no wonder Ami did not want him to know about their son. Look what he had to offer an heir.
Money, certainly. Money tainted with the blood of a hundred men. An infamous name synonymous with death. His son would never know that he had served his country…that Michal Arad was, in fact, a hero.
No one would ever know.
Sick to death of the self-pity session, Michal pushed to his feet and left the room quietly so as not to disturb Ami. Strong, bitter coffee was what he needed now. He and his men had to be ready for tomorrow’s quest.
Another name on the list.
More money in their pockets, which kept his cover intact.
One more chink in his conscience. He feared that very soon he would have no conscience at all. That he would truly become like those he executed.
He paused, one hand on the carafe. He glanced at the place where Carlos had fallen less than twenty-four hours ago. Perhaps he was already like them.
The telephone rang, tugging him from the disturbing thought and thrusting him into yet another.
His gaze went immediately beyond the door to the place where he kept the telephone hidden. He’d tucked it away and rendered useless the one in the bedroom after Ami’s arrival. Since he rarely received calls, its presence had gone undetected. Michal’s orders came directly from Ron, never by telephone or any other means that could be monitored or traced.
Setting the carafe aside, Michal moved toward the sound, ticking off the names of the handful of people who knew the number.
This could not be good.
He opened the door to the sideboard that served as a liquor cabinet and pulled out the base, quickly picking up the receiver just prior to the fourth ring.
He muttered a frustrated French greeting, one he and Ron had agreed upon if the use of a telephone were ever to become necessary.
The men who weren’t on guard duty were still in their respective rooms. The three on duty were roaming the grounds. Despite that measure of leeway, he took no risk that he would be overheard.
“Napoleon is in the house.”
Michal hung up without responding, his heart kicking into high gear. There was no need to respond. The message was definitely from Ron. The code phrase precise in its meaning: Short fused orders awaited him in the usual meeting place.
This was the highest priority call. Anything but an outright emergency would have been handled in person at the usual time and meeting place.
Depending on the nature of the order, tomorrow’s mission might have to be put on hold.
Before leaving the estate, Michal awakened Thomas and stationed him outside Ami’s door with strict orders not to let her out of his sight.
Thomas had always deferred to Carlos’s lead, partly out of fear, partly from necessity. But that was over now. Thomas was Michal’s new right-hand man. He had not grown so cold as Carlos. Like Michal, Thomas killed only when necessary. That, Michal decided, would be a change for the better.
RON WAITED for Michal near the chapel, careful to stay out of sight since there was no church service this day. Meeting on Sundays had worked well so far. Risking a daylight rendezvous at any other time was dicey at the very least. Even in a city the size of Marseilles strangers behaving covertly were noticed in this time of heightened security all over the globe.
One look at his old friend’s face and Michal knew that something more than simply new orders had brought him here today. Anticipation knotted in his gut.
“You have orders for me?” Michal inquired in the same way he always did.
“It’s a trap.”
The weight of Ron’s words settled heavily onto Michal’s chest. He didn’t have to ask to know to whom he referred.
“There are reasons she doesn’t remember her past.”
“What reasons?” Michal moved closer so that he could see every nuance of his friend’s expression when he spoke.
“Two and one half years ago Amira Peres was abducted from her university dormitory in the United States,” Ron explained. “She was a second-year medical student whose mother had recently passed away. She had reportedly suffered from bouts of depression for quite some time. Apparently her mother was the only family she had. Her grandfather, a former ambassador to Israel, had died ten years prior, as had her grandmother.”
“What about her father?” Michal wanted to know. “Where was he during this time?”
Ron scanned the area before continuing. He was more than merely concerned about being seen in the usual sense. Michal had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be passing along this information at all.
“Amira’s mother and father separated when she was only five years old. She had not seen him since that time. He had, apparently, been cruel to her mother and she had chosen to avoid him at all costs.”
Michal ached for Ami and all she had lost. She must have felt so alone. “Is that why she chose to have him murdered?” He could understand how that kind of loss, combined with the depression, might have driven her to act in such an extreme manner.
Ron considered his words for a moment before continuing. “This next part,” he said grimly, “could get us both killed.”
Michal’s instincts moved to a higher state of readiness.
“The CIA and our own people had decided that Peres must be stopped. He continued to secretly support anti-American groups, undermining the sometimes tenuous but forever necessary Israeli-American relationship. He had to be stopped. But, understandably, someone else had to take the blame.”
Michal had known that part. “What is new about that?”
“We couldn’t do it, of course, not officially,” Ron explained, looking suddenly uncomfortable.
Michal shrugged. “That is why the order came to me.”
“But first, you needed someone who could get you close enough to him.”
A frown worked its way across Michal’s brow. No, that wasn’t right. He had met Ami first…then…
“The CIA sent her to me,” he guessed, the full impact slamming into him at once.
Ron nodded, his face grim. “They abducted Amira Peres and brainwashed her into thinking she was this nonexistent Jamie Dalton. Then, after they’d messed up her head completely, they trained her as a field operative. When she came to you, she truly believed she was Jamie Dalton portraying Amira Peres.”
So, their former relationship hadn’t been real. That realization shook Michal when he’d felt certain nothing else could. It had all been lies…the betrayal had been deliberate from the beginning.
“Michal,” Ron placated, “she did not know what she was doing. They set her up just as they set you up.”
“And did you know?” Michal roared, every muscle primed and ready to hit someone…to do some kind of damage to relieve the raging emotions erupting inside him.
“No.” Ron looked straight at him. “You can’t believe I had anything to do with this.”
Michal looked away, though he felt certain that his friend spoke the truth. Ron might omit as required, but he would never lie to him.