“Screw you, Eli,” she says. Then she falls back into the seat and wraps the blanket around her.
“I’ll take him from here, sir,” one of the Shin Bet says. Horowitz is handcuffed and led away.
After an overnight stay in Tel Aviv, I pick up Sarah at a military hospital located at Ben-Gurion Airport. The doctor tells me that she’s undernourished and very weak but otherwise in pretty good shape, all things considered. Sarah had undertaken a hunger strike for nearly a week but wisely kept drinking fluids. If she hadn’t done so, she’d have been severely dehydrated and very ill. With a few days of rest and a slow buildup of food intake, she should be back to health in no time.
The psychological effects, however, might take years to overcome. The two Russians, who were identified quickly by the Mossad, apparently tortured her to get my contact information. I won’t detail what they did, but suffice it to say it involved pliers and a hammer. Thank goodness nothing is broken or maimed — just a lot of bruises that will eventually heal.
Eli Horowitz spilled his guts as soon as the Shin Bet had him in custody. He revealed that he worked for the Shop and there had been a standing order to find me and eliminate me. The only way to do so was through Sarah. I made a full report to Lambert, who is now making arrangements to keep a permanent bodyguard on duty for my daughter, no matter where she is. I realize the odds of this happening again are small, but I’ll certainly rest easier.
As for the Shop, the Swiss-Russian International Mercantile Banks in Zurich and Baku were cleaned out, and everyone associated with them has been interrogated and/or arrested. Unfortunately, the top thugs of the organization, including mastermind Andrei Zdrok, have escaped. No one knows where they are, but I’m sure we’ll hear from them sooner or later. A major concern for all of us is how our security might have been breached. The Shop had a hit list of Splinter Cells — how did they get it? I’m sure this will be a priority for me in the near future.
The Shadows is a crippled organization. Nothing was left of the shopping mall complex — or the Babylon Phoenix — and over a hundred of the men working there were killed. It’s unclear if the terrorists have the capacity to regroup and elect a new leader, but one thing is for sure — they’ll have a much harder time obtaining funding. The Turkish came out of the situation with egg on their faces, but in the end they owned up to the mistakes made with regard to Namik Basaran, aka Nasir Tarighian. The Iranian government sent the Turks a congratulatory note, thanking them for uprooting Tarighian and doing the job of getting rid of him. It saved Iran the trouble. Ironically, though, they didn’t send the U.S. a thank-you card.
Later in the morning Sarah and I board a military jet to take us to Washington. A couple of young U.S. Marines push her in a wheelchair and lavish her with a lot of attention, which she loves. She’s beginning to eat and, more important, starting to smile and laugh again. She’s tough, like her old man, so I expect her to bounce back relatively quickly.
We settle into our seats and wait the obligatory twenty minutes before the plane is ready to lift off. Sarah takes my hand and rests her head against my shoulder. She yawns and then sighs heavily.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say. “If anything had happened to you…”
“Shhh,” she whispers.
I chuckle and say, “All right, I won’t make a big deal out of it. At least not until we get home.”
As the plane lifts off, she says, quietly, “I love you, Dad.”
I answer, “I love you, too, kid,” but she’s already asleep.