“How well do you know this guy?” she asked.
“Well enough. Wait here and try not to kill anyone.” He glanced at the Glock sitting next to her on the seat.
She dropped her backpack over it.
“I’ll do my best, but no promises. Remember the knives.”
“I’ve got the list.”
David took his time, ambling towards the storefront, pretending interest in the displays in the other shop windows. His senses were on full alert, wary of a trap, but he didn’t detect any surveillance.
He eased the shop door open and heard a buzz at the back. The showroom was empty except for a stunning young woman, no more than twenty, wearing skintight red pants and a top that accentuated her ample charms, chewing gum and looking bored out of her mind beside a glass case filled with military medals and insignia.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked in a voice that clearly conveyed that she had no interest in doing so.
He looked around at the walls and the displays. Every imaginable type of sword was represented — sabers, Roman short swords, katanas, ceremonial daggers, epees.
“I was hoping to find a ‘Give Peace a Chance’ bumper sticker.”
She gave him a blank stare. Her gum popped.
“Is Moshe here? I’m a friend.”
She followed up with a look that said ‘figures’ and leaned over the counter, calling into the back area.
“Moshe? Someone’s here to see you.” She returned her attention to David. “What’s your name?”
“Ari.”
“Moshe? Ari is here.”
A gruff voice rang out from the rear of the shop.
“Tell him to come into the back, Trina.”
She cocked an eyebrow and gestured with her hand at the doorway. He followed her lead and moved through it into an office. A bearded man sat staring at him through Coke-bottle glasses.
“Ari! Welcome. How have you been? Long time — forever, really.” Moshe shifted in his wheelchair, his considerable girth straining the seat.
“Moshe. I’m good. You?”
“Never better. They wanted me for the track team, but I had to decline. Makes the kids look bad.”
“Yeah.” David cleared his throat. “New helper up front?”
“Oh. Trina. Yes, a sad story. I met her dancing in a sordid place. Sort of rescued her. Gave her a glimpse of a better life on the straight and narrow.”
David didn’t know whether to believe him or not. His face remained unreadable.
“So. Come on back into the storeroom. You got a list?” Moshe asked, wheeling from behind his desk and moving towards a door at the far end of the office.
David handed him the short note Jet had drafted that morning.
“Hmmm. Okay. I have one of the MTAR-21s in 9mm with a suppressor. No problem on a Glock 23 — popular, those are. As to all the rest, in stock. You want it now?” Moshe asked as he rolled into the storeroom.
“Yes.”
“It’s not going to be cheap, my friend.”
“Is it ever?”
Moshe named a price.
David whistled.
“I presume you’ll want that in dollars, no shekels. Do you have anything that would be comparable to the MTAR?”
“Not really. It’s extremely compact and packs a wallop. But I can get another one within a couple of days with no problem. And dollars would be just fine, as always.”
David considered it, then shook his head. “I’ll get back to you on that. Let’s see the goods…”
Moshe rolled to a wooden case and lifted the lid, then pulled out an evil-looking weapon that would have been at home in a science fiction film.
“MTAR-21 — the good old X95-S. With integrated silencer, laser sight and two extra magazines. Only fired by a little old lady. Comes with a hundred rounds of ammo. For you, I will make it two hundred, no extra charge. Perfect for home defense if a platoon of Hamas is bearing down on you. Light, accurate, deadly,” Moshe recited.
“I know the weapon.”
“Nothing like it.”
Humming to himself, Moshe rolled to another box and extracted a new Glock. Within a few minutes, he had everything sitting on top of one of the crates.
“Got a bag?” David asked.
“Fifty dollars.” Moshe grinned. “Kidding.”
David counted out the crisp hundred dollar bills while Moshe ferreted around in another box. He handed the bundle of notes to Moshe, who nodded and held out a rolled up duffle.
“Call me if you need another MTAR. I gotta get one as a replacement anyway, but I can put a rush on it.”
“Will do. Pleasure doing business with you, as always, Moshe,” David said, taking the sack from him.
“Likewise. You need anything else?”
“Don’t think so. Stay away from Trina. She looks like trouble.”
“I have enough excitement in my life. Then again, she’s got a sparkling personality…”
“I got that.”
The men exchanged muted smiles.
As David packed the gear into the black nylon sack, Moshe noted that he loaded the magazines and chambered rounds in the weapons, and said nothing. David shouldered the bag and made for the storeroom door.
“I can find my own way out.”
“Don’t be a stranger.”
Trina was staring blankly at the street through the floor-to-ceiling windows when he stepped back into the showroom. She looked high. Not his problem.
“Have a nice day,” she offered in a desultory tone.
“You, too.”
He swung the glass door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk, pausing to get his bearings before returning to the car.
Jet was watching her side mirrors when he got in. He leaned over and placed the duffle on the rear seat, then sat back and fastened his seatbelt.
“Did you get everything?” she asked, starting the motor.
“Only had one MTAR. He can get another one within a couple of days.”
“We don’t have a couple of days.”
“I know.”
Chapter 20
Jet and David endured the clusters of stopped cars until they were out of the Jerusalem, at which point the road opened up and they were able to make better time. On the outskirts of Tel Aviv, David disclosed he was hungry, so they stopped for lunch at a seafood restaurant and took a table at the back, where they were alone. When the fish came, it smelled heavenly, and they eagerly devoured it as they debated their next move.
“It’s dangerous to the point of being foolhardy,” David stated flatly.
“Not if we’re careful.”
“It also has us acting as judge and jury.”
“Like all the operations I’ve ever been on. The only difference is that in this case I’m making the judgment, not some anonymous wonk I’ve never heard of,” she argued, “and we might gain useful intel on Grigenko.”
“What if we’re wrong?”
“We aren’t.”
“The man is a legend in the Mossad. He deserves better than this.”
“No, he doesn’t. Nobody argued my needs and wants or tried to defend my right to fair treatment when the gunmen were trying to kill me.”
They sat, eating in silence, David troubled by her intentions.
When they had finished their meal and were back in the car, he was still obviously upset.
“What if I refuse to participate?”
“Then you can sit this one out. I’ll deal with it myself,” she said.
“Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this? Or at least to get you to slow down a little?”
She didn’t answer, just threw him a look he knew too well as she drove wordlessly towards the cottage.
They found a parking spot a block away from the house. Jet retrieved the bag from the back seat before David could get it. He was still recovering, and there was no reason for him to carry the weapons, even if she was annoyed with him over his stubborn objections to her latest scheme.
When they rounded the corner, Jet grabbed his arm and slowed.
“What?” he asked.
“Up ahead. Hundred yards. Two vehicles. SUVs. Drivers are still in them. Not moving.”