Free Esther's Sling by Ben Brunson Page A

it. She brought her left hand up and wrapped her long fingers around the back of Amit’s hair, pulling his head down to hers. The kiss was tender and, to the pleasant surprise of each of them, emotional. They lingered in the moment. As their lips parted, Enya smiled. “Very nice,” she said softly.
    In the city, a scattering of firecrackers could be heard. On the beach, a few parties were underway with sparklers and the occasional Roman candle or bottle rocket. No large fireworks display could be seen as would be happening in major cities all over the world that night. Israel did not formally recognize the Gregorian date of January 1 as a holiday. In the ongoing tension between secular Israel and observant Israel, this battle had been won early in the State’s history. Only Rosh Hashanah, the new year for humans as determined according to the Torah, was officially recognized as a holiday. By the time Amit and Enya were able to think beyond the moment, they realized they were alone on the balcony. They sat down. Enya broke the silence. “You are not what I expected in a Mossad man.”
    Margolis looked at her. He was not happy. “Is that what Dov told you?”
    “Oops, am I not supposed to know that?” She reached across and caressed his right forearm. “Does that mean you have to kill me now?”
    “No, it means I have to kill Dov.” Enya laughed openly, almost choking on a sip of champagne. Amit pulled out his wallet, retrieved a business card and handed it to her. “That’s my business.” He pointed to the name on the card. “I own a financial consulting company. Dov likes to bullshit. Still like me?”
    Enya wasn’t sure who was being honest. Her girlfriend had told her that both Dov and Amit were Mossad agents and that thought was exciting. But as she looked at Amit she concluded that it didn’t matter at this moment. “Yes, very much.”
     
     
    Amit Margolis woke up at a little after 8 a.m. on Friday, January 1, 2010, with a dry mouth and a slight hangover. The room was not familiar to him, but he knew he was still in the apartment of Dov Hirsch. He turned on his right side, his body gliding easily under the single tan sheet. He reached across the short distance of space between him and the naked body next to him. Enya was lying on her right side and still asleep. He ran his hand gently through her long soft hair, down her shoulder, coming to rest on her hip. He knew from that simple act how dangerous this woman was. He was no stranger to waking up with a woman by his side, but his usual emotion was to get out or get her out. His emotional response this morning was the opposite. He had not felt that in a very long time.
    Amit rolled back over to check his cell phone. He lift ed his slacks off the floor, reached in the pocket and pulled out his phone. A red light flashed in the upper right hand corner. He pressed the power on button and pushed the icon for email messages. He had one email waiting. Amit touched the screen and the message opened.
     
    Conference call with client anytime this morning. You set the time .
     
    There was no day off for Amit, and his employer wanted him to stop by the office sometime this morning. He did not get this email too often and he did not want it now. But he had a job and that job had ruled his life since he returned to Israel from Durham, North Carolina and joined Mossad in September 2002.

7 – Back to Work
     
    “You don’t look too good, Amit.” Shlomo Fiegelbaum was the no-nonsense director of the Collections Department of Mossad, the Israeli equivalent of the CIA’s deputy director of operations. This was not the man who usually gave Amit Margolis his assignments, so Amit was more than curious as he sat down. “You need coffee?”
    “No, sir. Just a late night. I’m fine.”
    “You weren’t hanging out with Dov Hirsch last night?” The question from Fiegelbaum was rhetorical. “I miss Dov’s, shall we say, ‘liveliness.’ His skills, however – I