NightSide - Asynchronous Mud

Then it was learned the General had a house in Switzerland, and an interesting -- if complicated -- new wrinkle developed: what about an operation in neutral Switzerland? Was that off limits? But then word had come down to Captain Benni Goodman: the situation with the General needed to be resolved -- in case the Shah retrenched and consolidated power once again. Because it was hoped, the message would be clear: to those enemies of Israel who might think the Mossad wasn't watching -- and waiting -- you had better think again.

So, first the team had planted a vast net of very attractive crumbs -- revealing faint bits of Dana's Goodman's background -- that even the flat-footed Iranians would be sure to find. Next, they pulled her from the design house in Zurich she'd been tasked to and sent her to a safe house Geneva. She might then have returned to Tel Aviv, but her handlers decided against the risk; instead, Captain Goodman had briefed his niece, Dana, on the mission and her target, leaving out the rather personal backstory behind this sanction on a walk beside the lake. Captain Goodman conveyed the hope that once Dana's identity was 'discovered' -- she would become an irresistible target, perhaps one the General would think worth blowing his diplomatic cover for. Their superiors in Israel were counting on that, Captain Goodman told her...

Once she'd arrived in Zermatt -- where she'd first located his house and observed his routine -- she'd signaled 'contact made' to her handler in Geneva. She had checked in a small hotel for a few days, until word came to make her move to the Zermatterhof, then she waited for the formal authorization that had been hand delivered two days ago, in Cervinia. Then, once the OP had been irrevocably green-lighted, she'd initiated contact at the bakery.

But every operation of this complexity, she knew from even her brief experience, develops at least one serious complication along the way, and that fly in the ointment had arrived at breakfast that morning, and then later, on the trail beneath the Gornergrat. She didn't know who this Paul Ruddesheim was, or who he might really be working for, but her instincts screamed CIA, and if he indeed was working for Langley then she had to assume he was here to protect the old man. Or worse...to take her out before she could make her approach.

The ties between the United States and the Shah of Iran ran deep; those between the SAVAK, the Shah's secret police, and the CIA ran deeper still. The only question bothering her now was what to do if this Ruddesheim interfered with her mission if he tried to protect the general. More worrisome, if he knew she was Mossad -- in effect, who she really was -- and if he tried to take her out, oh well, she'd have to go hunting off the reservation -- as the training officers in Virginia liked to say. That was one complication she really didn't want to deal with, and now there wasn't time to report this new wrinkle without the possibility of compromising her mission. 'Abort -- or proceed?' she asked herself as she walked through the village.

But she already knew the answer. The stakes were too high, weren't they?

She got to the hotel and went down to the ski room, then once she'd checked to see if she was being followed she went beyond, deeper into the mechanical bowels of the old hotel. She'd been briefed on this last detail in the little note passed to her the day before, and in a dusty corner behind a jumbled mountain of cardboard boxes, under a pile of turpentine-soaked tarps, she found a small, black plastic box. She picked it up and carried it back to her room.

She unlocked the box with the key given to her by her handler the week before, took out the Walther TPK and screwed the suppressor onto the end of the barrel. She slipped the clip of.22LRs out of the box, checked the load, then slammed it home and racked the receiver, chambering a round. She put a phone book under the mattress and fired a round through two pillows: the serrated hollow point splintered into four equal shards, and she dug two from the box springs, two from the phone book. She wrapped these in toilet paper and flushed them, then showered and changed again. After she dressed and was ready to leave, she tossed things about the room, leaving the appearance of a state of casual disrepair, wanting the room to look like she'd been planning on returning after dinner.

'The Leica!' she thought in a panic. She'd almost forgotten the most important element to the entire operation! She went and got the camera body out it's case and cleaned it up a little, then she pulled open the false bottom of the hard case. She slipped the Walther inside the case, as well as the two extra clips, and then she held her right hand up to the bottom of the case and pushed hard, locking the false bottom in place. She cleaned her new lens and kept the 50mm already on the body, then closed the case and locked the top latch. Then she looked at her wrist out of habit, remembered her new Rolex was gone and was sorry she'd not been able to pick it up, then she grabbed the camera case and headed for the elevator.

He was of course already downstairs, waiting in the lobby, and curiously enough, he was alone. She assumed his minders were already in the dining room as she walked over to him.

"So nice to see you," she said as she held out her hand, and she smiled when she saw his eyes fixed on her legs.

"My, but you do look lovely tonight." He was almost leering at her when their eyes met, then he looked at her case. "The Leica?" he asked.

"Yes. I thought I'd bring it along. Shall we go to the dining room?"

"We could, but I was hoping you'd let me take you to my favorite place."

"That sounds lovely," she said gayly, though inwardly she groaned as she followed him to the door. She stood aside and let him open it for her, then they walked out into the night -- together -- as she had taken his arm in hers. She had to admire his basic street-craft, too: keep your opponent guessing, keep changing agreed upon plans to mess up strategic orientation. She was counting on his not quite knowing her real identity, but if that had been compromised he might be assuming she had tactical support on the ground, so the General's men would be following them now, looking for her support team.

But, of course, she was solo, and that just might help ease their suspicions -- for a while.

They came to the restaurant, and as it was near the main train station she considered trying to make the last train down the valley to Visp. She might just have time, she knew, if things went according to plan.

"Here we are," the general said as he opened the door for her, and she recognized his men from the street, already inside and waiting. "These are my associates," he said. "I hope you don't mind if they join us tonight."

"Not at all," she said brightly, then the group was led to a large table by a freestanding copper fireplace. "So, what line of work are you in," she asked the old man.

"Political trouble shooting," the old man said, smiling.

"Government work, I take it?" she replied. "So, fondue?"

The more senior looking of the old man's associates was looking at her case, then he spoke to the general in Farsi.

"May I see your camera now?" the old man asked.

"Certainly," she said, handing over the case and the key.

"Hassan heads my security detail, so I defer to him in these matters."

"I understand."

Hassan opened the case and took out the camera. He looked it over and handed it to the general, then he pulled out the other lens; she took a sip from her glass of ice water while she looked around the restaurant. A moment later Hassan handed her the case and she put it under the table, while the general held the camera in his hand.

"I've never understood why some people consider the Canadian body inferior," he said. "I'm given to understand that the tooling is identical in both facilities."

"Oh, I think there's the intangible belief in the superiority of German manufacturing techniques," she replied, smiling.

"Not to mention Germans," the old man added, his grin a jab at her history.

She laughed. "True."

"Where is your family from?"

"Minnesota," she said.

"Ah. So you are used to the cold."

"And skiing," she smiled.

Several pots of bubbling cheese and oil arrived, baskets of bread and plates of meat and shrimp appeared, and the old man's team dug in, apparently used to eating here -- frequently, she guessed by the way they attacked the food.

"Here, may I fix you a plate," the old man asked.

"Please."

He moved formally, slowly, put sauces on her plate, then bread and a few long fondue forks. "Help yourself to whatever appeals to you."

"Thank you."

They ate in silence for a while, then suddenly his men excused themselves one by one, eventually leaving just the two of them at the table. Alone.

"Not a very talkative bunch," she said.

"They take their duties seriously," he said, looking directly in her eyes.

"You must have an important job," she said -- as naively as she could, under the circumstances.

"Would you like to head up to my chalet?"

"Whenever you're ready."

"Well, let's go then." He dropped a wad of francs on the table and stood, then helped her as well. They walked out into the night and back through town, then to a street that led up the west side of the village. Ten minutes later they came to a modest chalet and he led her to the front door, but she noticed his hands were shaking.

"Are you alright?" she asked while she looked at his hands, then his face.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not so sure."

"What's wrong?" she said, her voice sincere, full of concern.

"I had a dream last night," he said. "A very unsettling dream. I have not been the same since."

"A dream?" she asked, in a daze. "What was it about?"

"You," he said.

+++++

'Paul Ruddesheim' kept to the shadows a few hundred yards back, Hassan by his side -- looking up the hill as the general walked slowly across an icy patch in the road. He knew Goodman's Mossad cover, MI6 had for at least a year, the CIA a few months more, and both agencies knew it was only a matter of time before Mossad made a play for the general. Still, his orders were not to blow her cover, not interfere with her mission, but not to help her, either. He was almost ashamed of taking her off that cornice run, but he'd wanted to know how tight she was, how resourceful, how physically adept.

And he'd been impressed. Cute, in an athletic way, her long auburn hair and dark eyes wild and elegant at the same time, but he was sure she was an amateur, not used to playing in his league. He wondered if he'd have to pull her out, save her ass when she encountered the general's full team...

Hassan's objective was to let the old man get her into the house, then move in and take her down. He'd said something about 'hurting her' before they eliminated her, and Rudesheim was under no illusions what that meant. Group rape before a bullet to the head more than likely, then dropping her body outside the Israeli consulate in Zurich tomorrow afternoon, probably with a pig's head with her in the body bag. Well, non-interference meant just that, but he didn't want to watch that go down. He thought about lunch, her calm inquisitiveness. No, he wouldn't let them kill her...

"What's he doing?" Rudesheim asked, watching the general and 'Dana' standing on the walk that led to the house, apparently just talking. Two more members of the team joined them then.

"She's not being tailed," one of the men said.

"You're certain?" Hassan said. "No one?"

"Unless she has a locator, no one knows where she is."

"Too bad for her if a locator is her only backup," Hassan said, knowing all such signals were jammed in the valley.

"Are they talking? Still?" Rudesheim asked.

"Yes," Hassan said, handing his binoculars to the American.

Rudesheim took them and swept the area, especially the rooftops. "I see something over there, by that house," he lied, and the two new men looked that way. "Did you check that area?"

No, they hadn't, they said. He looked at Hassan, who scowled at his men. They looked down, chastened, then took off up the hill.

"You should get rid of those two," Rudesheim said. "Their skills are pathetic, and what I saw yesterday was embarrassing."

"I'll see to it myself, sir. I think the general is moving again..."

+++++

"So, what do you think the dream means?" she asked. "I think the stairway is an interesting symbol, but the statue, climbing into the womb?"

"I do not know. I struggled with that question all morning. Seeing you now only makes me more curious. Here, let's get inside before you catch a chill."

He unlocked the door and led her inside. Like most chalets in the canton of Valais -- where simple exteriors more often than not gave way to sumptuous interiors -- the General's was, if not quite opulent, much more opulent than a modest government pensioners hideaway. There were several small impressionist works hanging on the living room walls, and against one wall she saw a glass case full of Leica cameras and lenses. She couldn't help herself...she walked right to the case and stared in awe. He came to her side and smiled at her reaction, then she turned to him and he could see it in her eyes.

"You should be so proud," she said. "This is truly magnificent!"

And for some reason, the old man started to cry, gently at first, but then...

...and quite unexpectedly she came to him, held him to her breast. "Sh-h, sh-h," she whispered as an electric wave passed from her body to his, "Is it your dream again? Tell me, really, what do you think these visions mean?"

"That I turned my back to God and Heaven, that I turned away from living a righteous life, and now it is time for me to pay the price of my arrogance."

"The skulls? The bones?"

"Exactly."

"I think I understand," Dana Goodman said.

"Where is your weapon?" the old man said, his voice now a coarse whisper.

"In my case," she replied, finally understanding the true nature of the dream she too had experienced last night.

She felt his head nodding as if it was her own. "Get it now, would you, please."

She opened the latch and removed the camera, then she pressed the lock on the bottom of the case; the lock tripped, revealing the little Walther -- and she pulled it out.

He knelt, placed the side of his face on her womb while he held her thighs in his hands. He wanted to climb up her legs towards her warmth, enter the womb of her night and crawl up into the expanding universe he'd discovered in his dream, yet when he felt the silenced barrel of her pistol against the back of his skull he felt confused and alone...

"I am ready," he said at last, pulling her close...

He heard the front door opening, heard Hassan moving into the room, then she fired once, twice, but the old man didn't move, indeed, he couldn't move...

"What are you doing here," he heard her ask someone...

"Me? Just observing," he heard the American say -- before he heart two more shots...

And then she was running her fingers through his hair once again, and he felt the pistol against his skull again, only now the tip of the silencer was very, very hot.

"God will forgive you," the General said just before she pulled the trigger, and then again.

She walked to the entryway, saw the captain, Hassan, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his neck wound. She ejected the clip and slammed in her second, put the Walther to his temple, and fired again -- and the man grew still.

She walked over to Rudesheim and looked him in the eye.

"Observing, huh? Well, what did you observe tonight?"

He helped her pull Hasan's body into the living room, and then he went around the room unscrewing light bulbs. When he finished she took a seat and waited, her eyes closed tightly, while Ruddesheim melted away into the shadows. A few minutes later she heard the other members of the General's team coming into the house, and she waited until they were inside to room before she opened fire. In their confusion, she cut them down one by one. Then she turned to Paul Rudesheim.

"So? What do I do with you?" she asked.

"Nothing. We know who you are, your cover, and we have for over a year. Killing me will just lead to needless reprisals, and nobody needs that right now."

"I see."

"Do you?"

She nodded. "So? I just..."

"You just have time to make your train," he said, smiling just a little -- and then he tossed her a green and gold box.

"My Rolex?"

"Yup."

"You've been on me the whole time, haven't you?"

He nodded. "Since Geneva. Now...go! You've got ten minutes!"

She didn't wait, did not hesitate. She grabbed her camera case and walked back through town to the railway station. With just minutes to spare she purchased a through ticket to Geneva and waited on the platform for the train. With standard Swiss efficiency she knew she'd make the early morning Swissair to Athens, and as per the plan she'd disappear there.

She boarded the little train and it rumbled down the valley, and she spied a few errant splatters of blood on her coat. She went to the WC and took it off, put it in a trash bag, then went to the overhead rack and tidied up her camera case. When it was clean again she relaxed a little, and an hour later she transferred to the mainline at Visp, catching the overnight to Geneva.

She closed her eyes, felt herself falling and woke in a landscape of burnt gray mist, an infinity of black trees -- until she saw a lamppost looming in the bleak dawn just ahead. She turned when she heard a sudden cry for help and she saw the old man sinking into the leaves and skulls, his outstretched hand reaching out to her, and then an icy hand gripped her heart.

Part II: Synchronicities

New York City

December 2008

She lay in bed, lost in the sweaty aftermath of the recurring dream. Lost in the residue of her crumbling marriage.

She lay in bed, looking at him as he slept.

So broken, she thought. So brilliant, and so irretrievably broken.

No, she knew now beyond any reasonable doubt he was a shattered, lost soul.

So much of his understanding of himself was lost in delusions of his own self-importance, perhaps even of an immortality only he knew about -- a real Master of the Universe from Wolfe's Bonfire of the Vanities. Twenty years on Wall Street had done nothing to dispel that notion, but then in a matter of days all that had come crumbling down. The last fifteen years of his at Lehman Brothers had defined him, then the bubble burst and the end of the game came on like a freewill into darkness -- first as disbelief, then as a creeping inner dissolution took hold of the man. Until now, months later and he still stayed at home, drinking in the darkness of his life. Drinking, if he even bothered to get out of bed. She took their daughter to school most mornings these days, at least when she was home, but she was back on the west coast run this month and going to be in LA the next two days; now she wondered if he'd even bother to wake up in time to get their daughter to school.

No, she needed to talk to her sister as soon as possible. Tonight, if all went according to plan. If anyone could help her through this, her sister could.

Her stomach already sour, she looked at her watch and got out of bed, walked quietly to the shower and washed away the night's sweat. She packed in silence, went to the kitchen and put on coffee, then went to her daughter's room and kissed her on the forehead, looking longingly at the girl's blissfully carefree sleep.

But then she stood inside the shadow of dark panic once again, the dream intruding even into her waking mind. What was happening to her? Was she, too, losing her mind?

How long had she been having the dream? A matter of weeks? A month, already?