Rudnick sat patiently. But Uzi did not elaborate. “What changed?” he finally asked.
Uzi pulled a cellophane wrapped toothpick from his pocket and tore it open. He stuck it in his mouth and played with it between his tongue and teeth. “I ran into someone from my childhood. This man was very special to me, kind of like a hero. Other kids had Batman, or Superman, but this guy was real.” Uzi rolled the toothpick around a bit, then said, “Ever hear of Rafi Eitan?”
“The man who ran the operation that captured Adolf Eichmann.”
Uzi’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. I didn’t think an American would know his name.”
Rudnick’s expression did not change. “The Nazis held special meaning for me. Why do you bring him up?”
“Rafi was a neighbor of mine. On summer afternoons he used to sit in front of his house and tell me and my friends about the time they kidnapped Eichmann and brought him back to Israel to stand trial. It was an incredibly daring operation, filled with intrigue and the sexiness of a good spy novel. Only this mission was real, and the peace it brought to the survivors ran deep. And it proved to the world that Israel’s intelligence agency was a player, capable of anything.” Uzi stared off for a moment. “I remember sitting there as a kid the first time he told the story. I was mesmerized. I knew then I wanted to be a Mossad agent.”
“But instead you went into technology.”
“My first year with the Shin Bet, I put in an application to the Mossad, figuring it was a sure thing. But I was rejected.”
“Do you know why?”
“They don’t tell you. You just never hear from them.”
Rudnick rose from his chair and took a water pitcher from his desk. He poured Uzi a glass. “How did that make you feel?”
“I thought I was good at what I did, and I had this burning desire to serve. I felt it was something I was born to do.” He took the drink from Rudnick.
“But how did it make you feel?” Rudnick locked eyes with Uzi.
Uzi shrugged. “Angry, I guess. Left out. Like someone was preventing me from doing something I really wanted to do. And that just made me more determined.” He gulped some water. “One day when I was with Intel, I went home to visit my mom and I found Rafi in his backyard welding scrap metal into these really cool sculptures. We talked for several hours, late into the night. He told me about missions he’d been on, what he’d been doing after he’d retired. But then he asked me why I never went to work for Mossad. I told him I’d been rejected.” Uzi paused for a moment. “What I tell you stays here, right?”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality is the cornerstone of trust in a relationship like ours.”
Uzi nodded slowly. He didn’t know if he should continue, but his instincts told him he could trust Rudnick. Besides, the doctor would have no reason to betray him. “A few days later,” Uzi said, “I got a call from Gideon Aksel, the director general himself, asking me to come to his office for a meeting.” He took another drink. “Rafi had vouched for me. And when Rafi Eitan vouches for you, they listen. I resigned from Intel the next day.” Uzi set the glass down, then stole a glance at the wall clock. “Look, Doc — I really don’t have time for this. Fifteen minutes is all I can give you today.”
Rudnick’s shoulders slumped. “I feel like we’re making some good progress here. How ’bout you give me another fifteen, hmm?”
Uzi rose from the chair, unwilling to verbally concede that talking about the past had felt good. “Too much going on.” He gave Rudnick a pat on the shoulder, then turned and walked out.
The encrypted cell phone had already rung five times. Echo Charlie knew he wouldn’t be dumped into voicemail, so there was no disadvantage in letting it ring.
Charlie leaned his car seat back and waited. He rolled down his window, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. The sweet scent of cherry blossoms was absent from the winter air, replaced by barren branches and musty bay odors blowing off the Chesapeake. No matter. He did not need flowers and breathtaking landscapes. Power and influence were more intoxicating than Mother Nature — and vastly more significant than sensory input, which only diverted his focus.
“It’s me,” Charlie said when the phone was finally answered. He rolled up his window and dropped his head down, in case someone was trying to read his lips.
Alpha Zulu said, “Go ahead.”
“We need our G-man monitored more closely. Controlled. Need be, he might have to be dealt with quickly.”
“We can handle your G-man. We know things.”
Charlie checked his scorpion-engraved pocket watch, always aware of the length of the call. Though it theoretically could not be traced, he was not taking any chances that the CIA or NSA had developed new ways of unscrambling the transmission and eavesdropping on his conversation. Technology changed so fast it was best not to take the risk.
“Our package is ready to be dropped off,” Alpha Zulu said. “It’s packed neatly and waiting to be delivered.”
“Deliver and install. And make sure it works before you leave the job site.”
“Our associate will see to it. I’ll contact you after the job’s complete.”
Charlie ended the call, then stared out at the choppy Chesapeake water. There was no substitute for power.
None at all.
Alpha Zulu sat beside Oscar Delta in the doctor’s parking lot of the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, eyes slowly moving in a grid pattern, left to right, from the farthest areas to the closest. Observing, watching.
Finally, keeping his gaze on the landscape before him, he said, “We’re good. Go.”
Oscar Delta shifted his weight in the bucket seat and pulled out his cell phone, then tapped out a message:
table set. invite the guests.
Delta pulled on his baseball cap, and then slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Ten minutes later, he popped open his door and walked to the visitor’s parking lot, where a black Hyundai Dynasty was waiting. After a final glance around the vicinity, he slid behind the steering wheel and moved the car onto the hospital complex. His orders were to park the vehicle in a specific location and then move to an area where he would be capable of observing the aftereffects.
He locked the doors and peeled off his thin leather gloves while hiking the planned two hundred steps toward his perch. Once in position, he sent a text to Zulu:
great seats. cant wait for the show to start
Uzi pulled out of the FBI Washington Field Office parking garage, having just completed a briefing with most of the task force agents. Despite the pressure he was under, he felt refreshed and energized. Moreover, he had a sharper awareness of the things around him, as if he’d just gotten over a cold and could smell the pot of fresh-brewed coffee.
He hadn’t felt that way in years — six years, in fact. As he turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue, he realized that it had to do with his session with Rudnick. He now understood, intellectually at least, that the more he tried to contain his feelings, the more elusive their underlying meaning became.
Could talking about your problems be so liberating that it permeates your attitude toward everything? He was instantly grateful for Shepard’s insistence that he start treatment, though he was still cautiously optimistic the effect would last. And he had no idea if he would even be able to keep his next appointment. Or the one after that.
Uzi parked his car near the National Mall and walked along Madison Drive, eyes roaming the area for DeSantos. He located him a moment later, sitting on a park bench thumbing through an edition of the Post and chewing a piece of gum.