Ransom Read online

  “Not really. National security.”

  “When do you go back?”

  “Tonight.”

  She lifted the tray and rested it on the bed.

  “Baby, you know I’d stay longer if I could. We’re lucky they let me come home at all.” He picked up the tray and placed it back in front of her. “Come on Layla, cut me a break. You know how bad I feel about not being here to protect you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I told Savta I blamed you, but I didn’t mean it. I’ve tried to get it through my head. I married a man who serves a higher purpose. I know how important what you do is. But it’s not like a doctor who’s on call all of the time and gets an emergency at the hospital and has to report. You get a call, and you leave to God knows where, and your life is on the line. Maybe you come home, or maybe you don’t.”

  He fought the anger churning in his stomach. He needed to control his emotions. Layla was suffering from the after-effects of the bombing and the miscarriage. He had to be patient and let her vent. He removed the tray from her lap and placed it on the floor. He lay beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “I know this is hard for you, but I also know the woman I married. Beneath all of this fragility is the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Layla, we are not going to let this tear us apart. Ever. You are my breath, without you I’m nothing. I will never give up on us, and I beg you not to give up on us.”

  It was an emotional plea, and her eyes blinked back tears. Cyrus kissed her gently, and then fervently. When they broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily. “I love you so much, Layla. Every day I thank God I found you.”

  Her smile was radiant. “Superman would be pretty hard to replace.”

  He chuckled. “You better believe it. Now would you do Superman a small favor and eat your breakfast. It’s a beautiful day, and I’d like you to get dressed. Then I’ll sweep you off your feet and carry you downstairs to a nice lounge chair by the pool, and you and I can veg for a bit. I know Cerise would love to get in the pool. She’d also like to see her mommy return to herself. She’s worried about you.”

  “You’re right, poor baby, she went through so much in the last few days. Did she say anything?”

  “She said we need to get you another baby so you can be happy again.”

  “I suppose you agree wholeheartedly.”

  “I told her you needed to heal first.”

  “Poor, baby, she needs a little normalcy, we all do. What would I do without you?”

  “Those survivor genes are pretty strong. My guess is you’d stubbornly plow forward and make the world conform to your wishes. You certainly have a way of making me conform to them.” He laughed.

  Layla jabbed her finger in his rib. “You make me sound like some femme fatale or a spoiled brat who insists on getting her way.”

  “Well…You’ve managed to wrap me around your little finger. I imagine you could do that to any man you chose.” He picked up the tray and placed it in front of her, again. “Now don’t make me look like a failure to Dina. Eat.”

  Layla gave him a smirky grin. “Maybe I shouldn’t eat and make you deal with the iron lady.”

  “Even you aren’t that cruel.” He kissed her again. “If you don’t eat I’m going to take you over my knee.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  While Layla and Cerise took a nap after lunch, Cyrus watched television with Dina and Morris in the living room. The programming was interrupted by a news alert. The pictures coming out of Syria were alarming. Images of men, women, and children, spasming and frothing at the mouth from the deadly use of chemical weapons. Assad had again, disregarded the Geneva Protocol banning the use of chemical or biological weapons. The man was a monster.

  Cyrus was on a mission to stop the use of EMP, but what was to stop Hezbollah, or Iran, or some other bad actor in the Middle East from getting their hands on and using chemical weapons against Israel? His phone vibrated in his pocket. He walked outside to take the call.

  “Have you seen the news coming out of Syria?” It was the Ramsad.

  “Horrifying. What do you think about it?”

  “I think we have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “I’m sure there will be an appropriate response. I think this is something the world can agree on.”

  “We will see. How’s Layla and Cerise?”

  “She’s a wreck, but I’m getting through to her. Cerise is a miracle. The child takes what’s thrown at her and bounces back. I guess all kids are like that.”

  “Not true. It’s her nature. I call it the survivor gene.”

  “Yeah, she’s got them in spades.”

  “What time is your flight tonight?”

  “Midnight. It’s hard to leave, but this attack in Syria only reinforces my commitment to stop these killers.”

  “I spoke with Aryeh. The team can’t wait for your return. Tomorrow night Aryeh will meet with Nasrallah and will see his nephew. It’s important you’re there to lead, just in case anything goes wrong.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your time with your family. Kiss Layla for me. Shalom.”

  “I’ll talk to you from Beirut. Shalom.”

  Chapter Ten

  Beirut, Lebanon

  Aryeh turned the do not disturb sign facing out and closed the door to his room. He’d attached door sensors to the door; no one could search his room without his knowledge. If the door opened, a minuscule hidden camera would be tripped and would video the entry.

  Earlier he’d received a text from Zara. I’ve heard from our friends. Take a taxi to the Starbucks at Fursan El Haykal Street and wait inside. They will text me when they arrive. A gray Mercedes will pull up. You’ll have two minutes to exit. No weapons. Expect to be searched. I have no idea where they are taking you. Good luck, mon ami!

  Before leaving the hotel, Aryeh had spoken with Cyrus who’d just returned from Tel Aviv. Aryeh was not completely on his own; the team would be on standby ready to move if necessary. He was wearing new tracking technology. What looked to be a mole on his ass was a tracking device sending signals back to Elon in the technology center of the Mossad safe house. If anything went wrong, the team would have a general idea of his whereabouts. Not much in the way of protection, but it provided him with a modicum of confidence.

  The whole team had joked and put in their two cents about where to put the mole. Nira had come up with the winning location. “No one is going to be checking your ass too carefully. If they do, you’ve got bigger things to worry about.” That was enough to set off a string of crude jokes all at the expense of their former leader who took them all in stride. The team was operating like a well-oiled engine since they’d learned Aryeh wasn’t their target.

  After learning about Layla being the target of the deadly bus attack in Israel, they’d rallied around Cyrus. He was now one of them and whatever trepidation had existed before was no longer an issue. Aryeh also made it clear he’d thrown his full support behind Cyrus.

  It was a cool night in Beirut and Aryeh drank a steamy black cup of coffee, his gaze switching from the parking lot to his cell phone. He’d spied a couple of Mercedes cruising the street in front of the Starbucks, but none of them had been the one. He was anxious to see his nephew and his condition. He also wondered who he would be meeting with from Hezbollah. It seemed unlikely it would be Nasrallah. However, the puppeteer would most certainly be watching. His phone dinged indicating a text. Zara’s text read, Hi, two minutes. Good luck.

  He stood leaving his coffee and walked out into the night.

  Two men jumped out of a gray Mercedes and quickly frisked him. They took his cell phone and indicated he get in the car. He slid into the backseat, and the two men bookended him on either side. Both men were right out of central-casting, bearded and brawny, with bulging muscles that strained against their jackets. The guy who took his cell phone opened it and pulled out the SIM card before tossing the phone out the window. He p
ocketed the SIM card. Before the car had left the parking lot, a cloth sack came down over Aryeh’s head.

  He leaned his head back against the seat and shut his eyes, letting his mind drift. He expected this to be a long drive. There was no way they were holding Gideon anywhere near the city. He wasn’t afraid, just anxious to get to Gideon. In the heat of an operation or a fight, adrenaline kicked in, and the body and mind ran off of training and experience. This slow-dance was excruciating. He needed to see his nephew alive.

  Three hours later they arrived. The foot-soldiers jumped out of the car and pulled him from it. Their meaty hands encircled his arms and propelled him forward. A door squeaked open, and they escorted Aryeh inside. They descended a stairwell. Their footsteps echoed hollowly on the stairs. They passed through a locked door which automatically clicked open and strode down a passageway. Another door creaked open, and they removed the sack. He blinked rapidly, the fluorescent light blinding him. He was told to strip, and one of the bookends inspected him thoroughly. However, the transmitting mole on his ass garnered no attention and Aryeh breathed a silent sigh of relief. After searching his clothing, they told him to dress. Producing a chair, they told him to sit. Finished with him the two men left the room.

  Aryeh looked around. No windows. Just a desk and two chairs, one of which he occupied. Gray-black walls of concrete surrounded him, and the same concrete was duplicated on the floor. Above the desk, a fluorescent fixture flickered and buzzed, the way they do when the bulb is about to die. Nothing distinguished the room from any other prison cell he’d ever seen. Silence engulfed him, no sound emanated through the walls, which probably meant they were several feet thick.

  After a few minutes, the door creaked open. A large muscular man entered, dressed in the para-military camouflage uniform of a Hezbollah officer. Seating himself across from Aryeh, the two men studied each other. On the desk, he laid a file, which he opened.

  He spoke in Arabic. “We understand you’re interested in a combatant prisoner, a soldier detained in Syrian territory.”

  “Gideon Reise, my nephew, was on border patrol on the Golan Heights, which is not Syrian territory. If you study your history, you’ll find the British Empire mandated it to Israel. It would serve you well to remember, Lebanon, Syria, and Israel were all created from the mandate. So I differ from you in my interpretation of where Gideon, I reiterate, was illegally seized.”

  The man smiled thinly. A smile which never reached his eyes. “A man who is a traitor to his country is not in a position to defend his country’s borders, or it’s right to exist.”

  “I am only stating the facts. My traitorous actions are a last attempt to protect my family. Even you must acknowledge the justifiability of putting family first.”

  “We think differently. My work is Allah’s work and takes preference over my family. But we are not here to speak of our beliefs. We are here to consider your offer.”

  “May I know who I am addressing?”

  “You may address me as Amir, and I will address you as Aryeh. Tell me Aryeh, what is it you would ask of us?”

  “I want my nephew, Gideon Riese, to be exchanged for fifty-million in diamonds. Diamonds which I have hidden in Beirut.”

  “And if we should agree, what then? You can’t return to Palestine.”

  “I’m a spy. I’ll disappear.”

  “We have something else in mind.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “For years the party of God has been infiltrated by Israeli agents. With their assistance, there have been assassinations and missions compromised. It is time for us to counter this espionage. It is our belief you will make a perfect deep-cover agent.”

  “I stole diamonds from Mossad, which you’re going to take possession of if we make a deal. The only secrets I’ll be privy to are those whispered by other inmates in prison.”

  “You’re going to return the diamonds and bring home your nephew and two other prisoners. You will return a hero.”

  Aryeh nodded. “An interesting proposition. Why would you trust me to fulfill the deal?”

  “First, everything that’s transpired in this room has been recorded and can be delivered to Israel in an instant. Secondly, we know about your relationship with Zara Zayani. We’ve suspected her for some time as being an agent in her own right. She will remain free at your dispensation, but if you fail us, she will be taken into custody and tried as a spy. Prison for a woman like her would be painful in many ways. So painful she might wish for death.”

  “Certainly you realize I might tip her off and she could flee Lebanon for France.”

  “She won’t flee.”

  “Why not?”

  “Her partner photographer Faiz Khouri was picked up this evening. I’m afraid he is to remain in our custody. I don’t believe she wishes to be the cause of his death. I understand he has a family in Marseilles. She has a choice. Keep him safe by cooperating with us and continuing in her persona as a Le Figaro journalist or sign his death warrant. The situation is similar to your own. She too will work for us.”

  “I need some time to consider this.”

  “Of course. Perhaps you’d like to see your nephew. It might help in your deliberations. Afterward, you’ll be driven to Beirut where you’ll be set free. We will be in touch with you. I trust you will make the right decision.”

  Aryeh followed a prison guard down a dark hallway with flickering motion detector lights. It was dark and dank and elicited an eerie otherworldliness. The guard unlocked a steel door. Opening it, he motioned for Aryeh to enter. Once inside the door was locked behind him. The room was cold and odoriferous. He tried not to breathe in the disgusting smell of excrement. A single light bulb lit the darkness. A cot rested against a wall, and on it, a figure huddled under a thin blanket.

  “Gideon?”

  The prone figure on the cot tried to speak, but a coughing spasm overtook him. He was shaking.

  Aryeh perched on the edge of the cot and raised Gideon up to a sitting position and studied his face. Red rimmed, dilated eyes stared back at him. His face covered with bruises and dried blood was unrecognizable. Aryeh could only imagine the beatings he’d endured. Gideon’s once muscled body had withered to skin and bones. But he was alive, and Aryeh focused on the positive.

  “Dodd Aryeh?” Gideon’s voice was hoarse and sickly. His body shook uncontrollably. Aryeh felt his forehead, and his palm burned with heat. Gideon was running a high fever.

  “Yes, I’m here Gideon. I’m going to get you out of this hellhole, I swear it.”

  Gideon’s shoulders shook, and he broke into tears. “I never thought I’d ever see any of you again. I’ve done my best to believe, but…” He broke into sobs, his words garbled and incoherent. Drugged. He swayed and Aryeh helped him to lie down.

  “Listen to me, Gideon. Arrangements will be made soon for you to be released, but it’s going to take a while longer. You need to be brave.”

  “Oh, God, you’re leaving me here!” He gagged. “I need to throw up.”

  Aryeh stood and grabbed the only thing in the room, a disgusting bucket filled with refuse. He held Gideon’s shoulders as he puked into the bucket. When he finished, Aryeh used the filthy blanket on the bed to wipe his face. “I don’t want to leave you, son, but I promise you it won’t be long before you are free. Okay?”

  Gideon nodded. “All I want is to go home, Uncle.”

  “Have they been drugging you and beating you daily?”

  “In the beginning, they beat me, but when they realized I had nothing to tell them the beatings stopped. Today was the first time they drugged me and beat me again.” A wry laugh escaped his lips. “Not a good thing to be punched when your head is already spinning.”

  Aryeh smiled and stroked Gideon’s head affectionately. “I see you’ve kept your sense of humor. It is important for your sanity. Why isn’t there any water in this room?” He stood and banged on the door. When the guard returned, he ordered him in Arabic to fetch some water.
Thankfully, the guard returned a minute later with a bottle of water. Aryeh thanked him and returned to Gideon. He twisted off the top and raised Gideon’s head helping him to drink. When he finished, Gideon managed a smile. “I’m ashamed to have you see me like this.”

  “I promise you’ll recover and heal. You’ll regain your strength, and this will become just a distant nightmare.”

  “I’ll never forget this, Uncle. But I’ve learned how precious life is and will never take it for granted.”

  Aryeh nodded. Agreeing and offering support was the only thing he could do for the moment. Getting his nephew out of Beirut and home to Israel was what mattered. “Listen, Gideon, the sooner I get out of here, the sooner you’ll be free. I promise I will not let you down.” He stood and walked to the door and banged. It opened. He turned back to his nephew and said, “Lahitraot.”

  Gideon’s eyes brimmed with hope. The word’s meaning struck deep. Goodbye, for now, see you again soon.

  Aryeh was led back to the room where he’d met with Amir. The officer sat where he’d left him. “I hope your reunion was satisfactory.”

  It was all Aryeh could do to contain his anger. “If you want my cooperation I suggest you clean my nephew up. He needs to see a doctor. He has a fever and a violent cough, and I want him released alive—not dead.”

  “Have you come to a decision?”

  “Yes. I agree to your terms. Now explain to me what I tell Mossad as to how I arranged the miraculous release of Israeli prisoners?”

  “You are holding seventeen Hezbollah operatives in your prisons. We will exchange your three for seventeen of ours.”

  “Fine. As soon as I return to Beirut, I will make the arrangements with the government. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince them.”

  “Oh, by the way, until you do I’d be careful. Your government sent a team to extradite you to Israel. It seems it doesn’t sit well with them, your stealing their diamonds. It’s a pity we can’t relieve you of them.”

  “Thanks for the tip-off, I’ll keep my head down until Mossad calls them off.”