DEAD BEEF (Our Cyber World Book 1) (28 page)

Chapter 38

An hour later, the president fulfilled a campaign promise by signing an education bill that, while reversing much of what previous administrations had passed by way of education reform, promised to revolutionize the American way of learning from K to 12 while saving the tax-payer billions of dollars per year. Details were fuzzy as to what really would change, and where the savings would come from, but the president’s staff had already projected how much the Federal deficit would drop once the bill was fully implemented.

The usual crowd of supporters, members of the opposite party and VIPs attended and cheered as the last ink drop forming the president’s signature dried. Only one person in attendance there did not really belong. She didn’t much care about this particular achievement by this president, though, as much as she’d prefer to never admit it, something stirred deep insider her when he made his opening remarks.

“Oh, Albert, my Albert,” she thought, remembering back to that summer her little Albert, not so little then, and now bigger than life as the purported leader of the free world, spent a summer plus the following semester in her Tiberias villa as a high school exchange student.

Chana Bauman remembered how lonely she had been when her husband, now ambassador to the U.S., busied himself with state affairs and seldom came home. She remembered how Albert had shattered that loneliness and filled her with life. She remembered how her career in the Israeli Secret Service had been in tatters and under a forced sabbatical during the review of a failed mission. She remembered how, naked atop a hot roof, Albert had told her she was still beautiful, that her life was still full of promise and hope, the best yet to come, and how filled with his inspiration, she’d demanded her job back and fought off the unfair blame that belonged not with her but her superiors. Even then, his simple, heart-felt and direct oratory could move. It was purer, then, truer, too, she supposed.

The crowd was dissipating now, and lest she be noticed, Chana Bauman made her way out of the garden until someone cupped her elbow and directed her through a passage intended for none of the other visitors. She received a badge with a large green “V” and “SITROOM” emblazoned in smaller red letters. Her escort told her she did not need to sign the roster. After announcing her arrival into the microphone in his sleeve, he took her into a large conference room, and then to the door of a smaller conference room to the side of the larger room.

He knocked, heard a voice say, “Come in,” and opened the door for her.

Chana stepped in and the door closed behind her. “Cozy,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the cramped room. In her heels, she struggled to make her way around to shake the hand of her little Albert, not so small then, now bigger than life.

“You seem in good health, Chana,” the president said. “We didn’t talk about it last night, but the ambassador tells me your treatments have gone well.”

“Done with the last round,” she said. “Will have further results soon. Hair has mostly come back, though a little wavier.” She tilted her head sideways and ran a hand through her thin mane.

“Great to hear that. Anyway, it was good to see you last night, happy and in good health.”

“We didn’t so much see each other last night, as we watched each other and ourselves, lest someone notice or reveal our little secret,” she said, hugging him.

He seemed to enjoy her touch for just a second, then pulled away awkwardly. “Please, have a seat,” he said. “We have some important business to discuss.”

She ran her hand along the table. “Any microphones in here?” She asked. “Cameras?”

“None,” he said. “Not even a speaker phone. It’s also soundproof. No one will be able to hear us even through the door. We call this the quiet room.”

“I suppose we could test how quiet it truly is by reliving one of my favorite memories of you... and I. But this table would be a bit hard, though not as hot as that hot, flat roof, even with a blanket between it and us.”

Albert scratched his widow’s peak, as he had done back then when something made him uncomfortable and he didn’t want to seem rude by rejecting the conversation topic.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am an old woman with a ruined mind. I like to think of certain parts of my life as the brightest and purest, and there you are, right at the very pinnacle of my list, towering above all my failures and disappointments. But I don’t want to be pushy.”

“You are still a terrific woman,” he said. “A woman full of grace.”

“But way past my flowering,” she said, and rotting from the inside out, she wanted to add.

Chana adjusted her hair and added, “Our mutual friend from Tel Aviv tells me you have something interesting to show me.”

He slid a thin file across the table. She opened it and extracted three 8x10 photos, one showing 6 individuals, 3 men, 3 women; a second showing 4 of them, 2 men, 2 women, closer in now; and a third showing what appeared to be a crop of the second shot, zooming in on a slender woman wearing a bra top and a heavy bandage across her abdomen.

Chana did her level best to maintain her composure, even when Albert said, “One of yours, I take it?”

“One of my precious children, the only one that got away. I put her through graduate school, even, and she repaid me with ingratitude.” She scrutinized the photos in greater detail, in case she had missed something in her initial shock. “Oh, I do believe that is Martin Spencer. I understand you have misplaced him of late.”

“He’s found now.”

“Good for you.” She looked up. “These look like screen shots from a video?”

“Correct.”

“May I see it?”

“It’s sensitive.”

She smiled. “It’s all sensitive, and the best things are the most sensitive, aren’t they, Albert? Besides, we specialize in sensitive, you and I, in this high drama world of ours.”

“I would prefer we not review the video.”

“But you are prepared to share because you understand and appreciate that we too care about that stranded payload. That we are far more vulnerable than you if it makes it to our doorstep.”

He turned in his chair to access a computer terminal on a small desk. Like the thin file she hadn't noticed straight away, the computer had also been there all along, and she had missed it. She would have to exercise her rusty observational skills, Chana told herself.

Albert pressed some keys, and the screen at the front of the room lit up. He pressed another key, and a video started playing. Chana heard and memorized all the words, but she primarily focused on the woman in a bra and a bandage, her demeanor, and the one cynical remark about wearing something more appropriate to her debriefing.

I don’t care what you wear to our debriefing, dear. Come naked, if you’d like, but come at last.

Chana heard, too, the impossible promise by her sweet and idealistic Albert, heard how he’d excused himself from the room, and then heard the rest of Spencer’s discourse, with a brief intermission by Sasha Javan to give her full confession of treachery against no fewer than three nations and assurance that, in her words, “I will be a good girl now and only toil to help Martin in his cause,” and how she had already proven that in spades, and so on.

Once the video stopped, Chana turned to Albert to notice he’d been watching her all along.

“She’s mine, Albert.”

“Two countries can make that argument just as strongly, and if it still holds true that possession is nine tenths of the law, she’s ours. She spied on us, for you, by the way, and that makes us more, shall we say, disappointed and reluctant?”

“I personally recruited and trained her. Taught her with my own hands how to shoot a pistol and wield a knife. She belongs to me.”

“When she comes in, we will make arrangements for a joint debrief. You will know what we know.”

“That will not do, first and foremost because she will never come in. She’s been out in the cold for fifteen years, Albert. Her blood has turned to ice, and she likes it.”

“What is she to you now, after fifteen years? Whatever she knew or had, surely by now is obsolete.”

“It’s personal,” Chana said. “I don’t like it when people betray me. And as a service, we don’t allow it.”

“Please, Chana. I’m not a teenager anymore. Surely you can be more forthcoming than that.” Albert waved at the screen. “I showed you mine, and you must agree, it’s pretty sensitive.”

Chana sighed. “She’s got something of ours, something she developed with our resources and under our direction. Something she never fully delivered.”

“And that something is?”

“She has electronic hooks into Iranian intelligence. Hooks she designed and set in place under our noses, and which she’s maintained for fifteen years.”

“And how do you know that it’s still in effect?”

“Put two and two together, Albert. How do you think they know about the coming attack in Wyoming, Nebraska and Colorado? You know, that question you keenly asked and which Spencer adroitly tabled, never to address again?”

He rubbed his widow’s peak again. “See, you are still beautiful and just as sharp. I normally would make that connection in my sleep.”

“Of course I am still beautiful. I’m just no longer worth your time.”

He stood up and almost crashed into her. He kissed her with such force, Chana thought her teeth would implode. When her little Albert lifted her onto the table, she thought her life had begun anew.

When they had readjusted their clothing and assured each other they were once again presentable, Chana said, “Will my country be as thankful as I am right now?”

“It will not hurt to have a capable and seasoned team shadowing this situation.”

“We will be grateful for the opportunity to assist you.”

“We normally don’t let you operate on our homeland,” Albert noted. “I don’t plan to let anyone know in my administration. Leave no footprints, be invisible.”

“Of course. We will be extremely discreet.”

“And you will not interfere with Spencer’s operation and will make no moves on Ms. Javan until the operation is accomplished or known to have failed.”

“We will act in accordance to your assurances to Mr. Spencer and his colleagues.”

“And you will lead Ms. Javan’s debriefing, but will keep us man-in-the-loop during all interrogations and reporting.”

“Absolutely.”

Albert came over and hugged her. “You’re not personally going out on this one, are you?”