Read Online Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel by Avichai Schmidt - Free Book Online
Authors: Avichai Schmidt
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done a professional job, for after about 10 seconds of hard effort with the iron bar he managed to work loose a piece of the wall beside the track of the gate and make a hole in just the right place. Shining the flashlight into the hole, he was gratified to see he had gained access to the inside of the electric motor.
He lay on the ground and, holding the flashlight in his left hand, inserted the screwdriver into the hole and into the motor. Again and again he probed, until finally he found the point he was searching for. He held his breath and tensed his body, pushing the screwdriver as hard as he could until, with a metallic click followed instantly by a humming vibration, he made contact between one of the poles of the motor and a live wire. For a second the sound and sudden movement startled him, then he let out his breath in satisfaction at his success: the heavy gate had moved aside enough for him to slip inside. He quickly stood up and brushed the dust from his clothes. He knew he had no time to rest, but must finish his business there as fast as possible.
With customary cautiousness, Greenberg squeezed past the gate then closed it behind him. He found himself before the same underground parking lot the car had brought him to that morning. Slowly and quietly he descended the steep asphalt drive, taking care not to slip.
The place was completely still. The only sound to be heard was Greenberg’s involuntary curse, as the faint beam of his flashlight finally gave out, leaving him in utter darkness. He took a careful step, then another two, then stopped and strained to see around him. To his relief he could just barely make out the rough concrete he had walked on in the morning. Now the parking places were bare, which he assumed meant that the building was empty.
Greenberg relaxed, filing his lungs with a deep yawning breath, holding it, and letting it out with a sign. On his left he could make out the shape of the control panel. Without hesitation, he punched in the code he had etched in his memory. He was not mistaken. A humming sound followed by a click was heard above the other side of the door. He pushed it open.
He was greeted by the familiar sight of the staircase. Into the lion’s den! He thought, swiftly mounting the stairs. Arriving at the metal door at the top, he stopped and put his ear to its surface. Utter silence. He delicately placed his fingers against it and, taking up the pressure, gently pushed. To his delight – and surprise – it gave. Once again he listened out and, hearing nothing, he finished pushing the door open. He felt for the light switch and turned it on, then stood blinking in the harsh light of the small reception room, recognizing the couch along the wall.
The door on the right – that was where he would find the answers to all his questions!
This door, too, was not locked. The handle turned without resistance, and Greenberg found himself in the room where he had met with the man from The Rising that same morning; now empty but for the furniture. With a quickness bordering on impatience, Greenberg crossed the room, went behind the desk, and tried the main drawer. It was not locked. Looking inside he saw the file the man had consulted that morning.
What negligence! Thought Greenberg; he should at least have locked the drawer. He impatiently pulled the heavy file and opened it.
What he saw made him catch his breath and sent blood rushing to his head. Spread before him was a series of photographs from his childhood, ranging from a shot of him at nursery school to a class picture from high school. There were copies of his report cards and of his driver’s license; panoramic upper and lower X-rays of his teeth – even an X-ray of the leg he broke falling out of a tree, more than 30 years before.
Then his entire body went rigid and he almost dropped the file. Staring out at him were the images of his dear departed parents, standing beside each other in a photo that had
He lay on the ground and, holding the flashlight in his left hand, inserted the screwdriver into the hole and into the motor. Again and again he probed, until finally he found the point he was searching for. He held his breath and tensed his body, pushing the screwdriver as hard as he could until, with a metallic click followed instantly by a humming vibration, he made contact between one of the poles of the motor and a live wire. For a second the sound and sudden movement startled him, then he let out his breath in satisfaction at his success: the heavy gate had moved aside enough for him to slip inside. He quickly stood up and brushed the dust from his clothes. He knew he had no time to rest, but must finish his business there as fast as possible.
With customary cautiousness, Greenberg squeezed past the gate then closed it behind him. He found himself before the same underground parking lot the car had brought him to that morning. Slowly and quietly he descended the steep asphalt drive, taking care not to slip.
The place was completely still. The only sound to be heard was Greenberg’s involuntary curse, as the faint beam of his flashlight finally gave out, leaving him in utter darkness. He took a careful step, then another two, then stopped and strained to see around him. To his relief he could just barely make out the rough concrete he had walked on in the morning. Now the parking places were bare, which he assumed meant that the building was empty.
Greenberg relaxed, filing his lungs with a deep yawning breath, holding it, and letting it out with a sign. On his left he could make out the shape of the control panel. Without hesitation, he punched in the code he had etched in his memory. He was not mistaken. A humming sound followed by a click was heard above the other side of the door. He pushed it open.
He was greeted by the familiar sight of the staircase. Into the lion’s den! He thought, swiftly mounting the stairs. Arriving at the metal door at the top, he stopped and put his ear to its surface. Utter silence. He delicately placed his fingers against it and, taking up the pressure, gently pushed. To his delight – and surprise – it gave. Once again he listened out and, hearing nothing, he finished pushing the door open. He felt for the light switch and turned it on, then stood blinking in the harsh light of the small reception room, recognizing the couch along the wall.
The door on the right – that was where he would find the answers to all his questions!
This door, too, was not locked. The handle turned without resistance, and Greenberg found himself in the room where he had met with the man from The Rising that same morning; now empty but for the furniture. With a quickness bordering on impatience, Greenberg crossed the room, went behind the desk, and tried the main drawer. It was not locked. Looking inside he saw the file the man had consulted that morning.
What negligence! Thought Greenberg; he should at least have locked the drawer. He impatiently pulled the heavy file and opened it.
What he saw made him catch his breath and sent blood rushing to his head. Spread before him was a series of photographs from his childhood, ranging from a shot of him at nursery school to a class picture from high school. There were copies of his report cards and of his driver’s license; panoramic upper and lower X-rays of his teeth – even an X-ray of the leg he broke falling out of a tree, more than 30 years before.
Then his entire body went rigid and he almost dropped the file. Staring out at him were the images of his dear departed parents, standing beside each other in a photo that had
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