Two days, Fran had said.
That meant tomorrow. That’s why Michal had been meeting with his men. Some sort of new mission was happening tomorrow and that’s when the CIA planned to strike.
She turned on the bedside lamp, threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. How could she lie there and sleep knowing what might be in store for him come morning?
But what could she do? How could she stop it? She couldn’t. Fran had said his number was up. That it was going down.
Revelation 19:11.
It wasn’t until that moment that Ami remembered the Bible verse. She hurried over to the table near the bed and opened the top drawer. The black leather-bound Bible that Fran had given her was there where Ami had put it when she’d noticed it in the kitchen after lunch. After Michal’s complete about-face where she was concerned. She shivered at the remembered iciness he’d emanated. Even his posture had been cold and unyielding, brutally so.
She quickly flipped through the pages until she located Revelation, the final book of verses. She slid her finger down the page until she came to Verse 11 of Chapter 19.
And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called “Faithful and True” and in righteousness he doth judge and make war.
Ami shivered as she read the words once more. She considered each part alone, then the verse as a whole. What did it mean? Fran Woodard was too smart to drop a clue that meant nothing at all. There had to be some connection to the mission and/or to Michal.
But what?
She read the verse again.
Okay, the white horse. That generally denoted goodness. The rider was called “Faithful and True,” that definitely was good. In righteousness he sat, judged and made war. That was the part that she didn’t fully understand.
Was Fran somehow trying to make her see that what the CIA had in store for Michal was necessary? Did she mean that Jack Tanner judged rightly? Or the CIA in general.
Did it even have anything to do with the CIA?
Ami hugged the Bible to her chest and did the only thing she knew to do.
She prayed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DAWN HAD SCARCELY climbed the treetops when Ami was roused from her bed and told to be ready in fifteen minutes. She pushed off the covers and sat up, struggling to think past the fog in her brain.
Another sleepless night had rendered her sluggish and barely able to form a coherent thought, much less deal with what the day would bring.
Fear shuddered through her.
She had prayed last night until she’d exhausted herself.
Still there was no divine epiphany.
No strike of inspiration.
Just a hollow sense of defeat.
By the time she was ready to go, Michal and his men were already climbing into the Hummer. Only three men accompanied them this morning, Thomas, the Spaniard and Kolin.
Ami tried not to read too much into the fact that the usual number wasn’t on board for this mission.
Michal had done this numerous times before, she reminded herself. He knew what he was doing.
Besides, what good would it do her to suggest otherwise? The few words he had conveyed to her were cold and unfeeling, leaving her to struggle with the hurt as well as the fear for what was about to happen.
After what felt like an eternity on the road, they stopped in a small village and picked up different transportation. This time they loaded into separate vehicles, both Jeeps and more than a little rugged-looking.
To her surprise, Michal had insisted that she ride with him. The others rode together in the second Jeep. The journey took them through the low-lying yet steep hills above the rich vineyards of wine country. To the west, across fertile plains, the Rhone flowed. The beauty of their surroundings did little to slow the pound of anticipation inside her. She tried to turn it off. To focus on anything else, but it kept breaking through the surface. Emerging with renewed intensity each time.
“Michal,” she began, desperately seeking a way to warn him that he would trust.
“This man-” he reached into a folder between their seats and withdrew a photograph and handed it to her “-will die today,” he told her frankly.
Startled, she stared at the picture of the man. He was thirty to thirty-five, she guessed. Tall, thin with angular features. He looked ruthless.
“He sells arms and various other items from our friends in the former Soviet Union.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “He has made himself quite a reputation in the past six months. But recently he auctioned a small stock of weapons-grade plutonium, which garnered some ill-will toward him from those who deal in that particular merchandise on a regular basis.”
Ami stared at him, wondering why he was telling her all this and at the same time relieved that he was even speaking to her. She couldn’t say how much time she had left, but she had to try until the very last. When she opened her mouth to speak, he continued.
“The price I was offered to execute him was very high.” He glanced at her. “More than ever before.”
The fact that his fee was higher than usual only heightened her already monumental anxiety. Didn’t he see that there was something wrong with that picture?
He maneuvered along the back road that wound through the pine and oaks soaring on the lower slopes as they climbed upward. As he spoke, he continuously surveyed his surroundings to ensure that they were not being followed. “I will be ridding the world of a serious threat and getting paid at the same time.” He laughed, but the sound held no humor. “They call me a murderer and yet I wipe evil from the face of the planet. How ironic is that?” He laughed again and shook his head.
“Michal-”
“When this is over…” He cut her off again, unable to bear whatever excuses she intended to give for her affiliation with the CIA, for her lies, and for stealing his heart once more. His words drifted off as reality crashed headlong into him again. She’d refused to tell him about their son, obviously considering him unworthy. Perhaps he was.
All this time his superiors had insisted that the role he played as the Executioner was far too important to risk. They needed him to stay under just a little longer. His cover would not be jeopardized under any circumstances. And yet, the CIA was plotting his assassination and no one had warned him. He had, obviously, outlived his usefulness.
Each time he was ordered to kill, they told him that his impressive record made his performance unparalleled. No one had gotten this deep and accomplished this much.
Not once had they told him that when it was over he would be terminated for fear that their ruthless tactics would be discovered. No one could ever know that the Mossad had sanctioned Peres’s murder.
Ron had risked everything to warn Michal that today was the day Michal Arad, the Executioner, was to die.
Amira Peres would take the blame, as she had for the death of her father. An old lovers’ quarrel, people would say. Michal’s assets in the numbered account would be seized and put to good use in fighting terrorism in his homeland. That was supposed to make him feel better. But who would ever know the real story?
“When this is over-” he repeated, getting his thoughts back on track “-you will need to keep moving until you’ve found a safe place to relocate. Take this.” He passed a small folded paper to her that contained the banks and account numbers he used. All his assets had been transferred in such a way that, without the account numbers, no one would ever locate them. He was one step ahead, just barely.
“There is enough money there to take care of all your needs for a lifetime.” And for my son, he didn’t add. He fought back the agony of realizing he in all likelihood would never know his son. But, if he did not survive this day as so many hoped, he had to be certain she and the boy were cared for. Even if she had chosen not to tell him about his child. That wasn’t the child’s fault. It probably wasn’t even Ami’s fault. Her mind had been tampered with, there was no way to know the full extent of the damage. She might never regain all that she’d lost.