Overwatch by Marc Guggenheim

Author:Marc Guggenheim [Guggenheim, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780316212458
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2014-04-15T07:00:00+00:00

HOTEL MONTEFIORE, TEL AVIV

2300 HRS. ZULU

Mossad case officer Ari Korman likes the Hotel Montefiore because it draws guests from all over the world. On any given night, its bar is packed with women from around the globe. And although he has no explanation for it, many of the women are astonishingly beautiful. Take, for example, the blonde he’s currently talking to. She has a lean, athletic body and beautiful white skin that’s just beginning to bronze in the Middle Eastern sun. The chances of the girl being Jewish are about as remote, Korman calculates, as the chances of her being older than twenty-one. But his plans for her don’t include an interaction long enough for their different faiths to present an issue. Nor do they require that he be fewer than fifteen years her senior. If it’s not a problem for her, it’s definitely not a problem for him.

And it doesn’t seem to be an issue, judging by the way she’s smiling at him and the way her hand keeps managing to brush against his fingers. And their flirty banter, while probably the result of the three Manhattans he’s bought her, gives him enough confidence to suggest that they might be more comfortable continuing their conversation in her hotel room.

“My friend’s up there.” She giggles. “I don’t think she’d appreciate it.”

“She might,” Korman suggests flirtatiously. With a lot of women, this crack might earn him a slap or bring an abrupt end to the evening, but intelligence officers know exactly how to read people to determine how far a situation can be pushed.

“That’s cute,” the blonde purrs, confirming his instincts. “But how about your place instead?”

“Best view of the city,” Korman tells her. He has his wallet out already to leave two brown one-hundred-shekel bills.

They’re back to his modest flat within twenty minutes. The view of Tel Aviv isn’t nearly as grand as he’d advertised, but the blonde doesn’t seem to care—she’s preoccupied with shoving her tongue into his mouth and rubbing her hands over his toned chest. She’s an actress; Korman thinks he remembers her telling him that. From Los Angeles? Maybe. Of more immediate concern is how to most efficiently remove the little black cocktail dress she’s wearing. Under the pretext of gentle caresses, his fingers search for her zipper. He finally manages to locate the damn thing and begins pulling it down. However, he doesn’t manage to get the dress off before falling unconscious.

The blonde adjusts her dress and looks down at Korman lying on the floor. The sedative has done its work faster than she’d anticipated. He’s inconveniently lying in the middle of the bedroom; a more conspicuous position than her operational plan had taken into account. At a hundred and seventy-five pounds, he’s too heavy for her to move. Without wasting another second, she goes to the closet and finds the gun safe exactly where the advance team had said it would be. They got the combination right too, of course, and within thirty seconds she’s wielding Korman’s Jericho 941 semiautomatic in her latex-gloved hand.

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