Intrigue In Geneva – Episode 11
Sami couldn’t conceal the tremor in his voice. “He can’t do that. He’s our Commander. There’ll be an enquiry. We’re Israeli citizens.”
“Sami, we’re also members of the Mossad. Anton will do what he thinks is best to keep the operation on track. I don’t think he’ll kill us yet.” She paused. “He needs some answers from me.”
She could feel Sami’s anxiety recede slightly.
“Do you want the gun?” he asked.
“No. He’ll check for it when he gets into the car. Slip it under the seat when he’s concentrating on the road.”
Sami voice shook slightly. “Are you going to kill him?”
“If I have to, I will,” she said. “I’m not going to let him take us out.”
Sami nodded. “Ok, we’ll take it in turns to watch him.”
He waited for a few seconds before asking, “What happened in the restaurant?”
Dvora briefly described the encounter with Rashid.
Sami regarded her a moment and then said flatly, “Something else happened?”
“A ghost came back to life,” Dvora said. “I thought he was dead. The Mossad think he’s dead. But he isn’t. I saw him.”
Sami took a cigarette packet out of his pocket and lit two with a Bic lighter. He handed one to Dvora. She took a long, calming drag.
“Are you going to tell Anton?” he asked her.
Dvora stared unseeingly out of the window. She paused and said, “Yes, I think I’m going to have to. You see, he recognised me.”
* * *
The passenger door was thrown open. Freezing air swept into the interior of the car and Dvora shivered again. Anton climbed in and turned to face them.
“Lucky for us that Dr Feinstein is at home.”
In the last few years Martin Feinstein had assisted the Mossad with several medical emergencies. He lived with his wife in a large villa on the edge of Lake Lausanne. It was a ten-minute drive away on a sunny summer’s day.
Sami said, “I hope he can fix my knee.”
Anton didn’t respond. He leaned over to the glove box, opened it and gave a small smile as he looked in the rear view mirror.
He pulled away from the car park and they drove in silence through the deserted streets of Lausanne. They didn’t see any pedestrians. Dogs wouldn’t be getting their walks tonight. A yellow taxi passed them, moving sluggishly in the opposite direction. Anton indicated and then turned onto the road that ran alongside Lake Geneva. No cars passed them. In another hour, if the weather forecast was accurate, it would be impossible to travel by road.
The snow had deadened Lausanne, wrapping it snugly under a tight white blanket. Not long to go now, Dvora thought, and then a few hours’ rest. Her head would be stitched and Sami’s knee could be strapped. She stretched, attempting to relieve some of the knots of tension that had formed in her shoulders.
After a time, Sami peered at their surroundings and said, “Nearly there. The Feinsteins live in Lutry.”
Dvora relaxed and allowed herself to imagine steaming soup, crunchy bread, a hot bath and drifting off to sleep in a soft, warm bed.
Suddenly Anton swore. “Shit.”
Headlights on full beam dazzled them from behind, lighting up the interior of the Mercedes.
