Chapter 16
Tamir
Past
“I heard the commander talking about commendations for the mission.” Uri clapped his hand on my back as he announced his good news. Our team had spent months gathering intelligence and planning the assassination of a top enemy general, who had been a key proponent of suicide bombings of Israeli citizens.
“It would be well earned,” I replied, closing my front door after my friend had entered.
“Why don’t you sound pleased? That would be an incredible honor.”
I wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to many people about the thoughts I’d been struggling with, but Uri was one of them. We’d been through so much together; he was more of a brother than a friend. We walked farther into my house as I began to explain.
“When I chose to stay in the service, I thought what I was doing would make a difference. I know, it sounds ridiculously naïve. But at the very least, I thought we’d be working toward peace for our nation. An end to all the killings. After ten years of service, I don’t think there will ever be an end. Just a bloody river of retaliation and death. And what’s worse? I can feel hatred and intolerance growing inside me.”
“Should we not hate evil? Think of all the civilians—the children—these terrorists kill every day.”
“And do we not send airstrikes and bombs that result in undesired casualties? Six months ago, we targeted an enemy compound and ended up killing six innocent children inside and wounded thirty other people in the vicinity. What makes us so different from them?”
Uri’s fist came out of nowhere. Pain blistered across my cheek, but I’d experience so much worse in my life that it barely registered.
“Say that shit again,” he warned in a low growl. I had pissed him off even more than I’d expected.
“Look, I know we’re not the same, but lately, I’m struggling to see the point.”
“The point is, as long as there are terrorists on our doorstep trying to kill us, we fight. We aggressively defend our people. That doesn’t make us monsters like them.”
I dropped down onto my leather sofa. “I know, I know. It’s just getting to me lately.”
“You need to figure out a way to get past it. You have one week to get that shit sorted out, then we get back to work.” He stormed out of the house, slamming my door behind him.
I understood why he was upset. The atrocities we’d seen were horrific. It wasn’t that I felt guilt over our actions; I just didn’t want to be perpetuating the problem. At some point, when you continue to slam your own head against a wall, shouldn’t you stop and ask why?
I’d already been struggling with my doubts, but something that happened on our last mission truly shook me. A small team of us were raiding an enemy stronghold under a “no survivors” order. The timing was crucial, which meant a daytime attack, rather than a preferred strike under the cloak of darkness. Because of that, our gear was different. We’d had to arrive at the compound undetected. A fully decked-out team of assassins would have blown our cover. Instead, we wore flack vests under everyday clothes and left our helmets and other gear behind.
I’d gone in through the back, making sure to eliminate an escape attempt. When I entered the small kitchen near the rear entrance, I aimed my gun at an enemy soldier sitting at a small table, eating his breakfast. His eyes lifted to mine, and I instantly recognized him as the adult version of a boy I’d lived next door to growing up.
I froze in shock.
How had this member of our community become one of the enemy? We’d played soccer together and traded player cards. When I looked at him, all I could see was that same boy. It was the same way children never age in our minds when we don’t see them for long periods. To me, he was still that same person.
I could see the same recognition in his eyes. I had no mask or helmet to obscure my identity. We both remained locked in our moment of surprise until chatter sounded in my earpiece, urging me to move forward and join my squadron. My orders were to leave no survivors, but I couldn’t make myself to do it. To kill this man I’d grown up with. Forced to make a quick decision, I went with my gut. I ran past him, allowing him to escape out the back.
Our mission was successful. We killed the primary target and obtained more intelligence about future planned attacks on Israeli citizens. But I couldn’t celebrate our victory. I was too bogged down in worry about whether I’d made a mistake by letting the man live, along with a new myriad of doubts about the entire principle of our war.
After the mission, I didn’t tell anyone what I’d done. It was good to at least confess to Uri about my internal struggle, but there was only one person I could confide in completely. If there was anyone who could help me sort my thoughts, it was her.
Aliza wasn’t just my sister; she was my twin.
We had a deep-seated bond that was usually only found in identical twins who shared the same DNA. I could sense when she was upset, and she was the only one who could calm my razor-sharp temper. She had cried for days after I decided to stay in the service and set my sights on training to be in the Mossad. She was proud of my choice but extremely worried for my safety. When I struggled with the realities of my job, she was the one who brought me back into the light.
I picked up the phone and dialed her number. She’d be thrilled to know I was back on break. Even though she was engaged and busy starting a new job after graduating from the university, she always made time for me when I was between missions.
She didn’t answer, which wasn’t unusual. I left a message and began to tackle the chores that accumulated while I was away. By the next morning, I still hadn’t heard from Aliza and was starting to worry.
Throwing on my clothes, I made the hour drive to her apartment and pounded on her front door. Nothing. As I pulled out the spare key she’d given me when she moved in, a tremor shook my fingers.
I was a Mossad assassin. Trained using waterboarding and the most ruthless tactics to erase any hint of nerves from my system, but all of that programming vanished as a horrifying certainty settled into my gut. Something was horribly wrong.
As it turned out, I didn’t need the key. The door was unlocked.
Inside, Aliza lay in the living room, surrounded in a giant pool of her own blood. Her pale, slim throat had been sliced open. She had been cooking when it happened, our mother’s patchwork apron still tied around her waist.
My knees shook and trembled, but I refused to fall. This was no accident. No random hate crime or burglary. My old neighbor had told his superiors who I was, and my sister was made to suffer for my role in the war.
Maybe they thought it was a message. A threat to back off. Regardless of their intent, all it did was solidify my resolve. These cowards didn’t scare me. Quite the opposite. They had erased every hint of doubt I’d been struggling with. Erased every remaining shred of my humanity and empathy.
They created a monster, and I was going to bleed every one of them dry for their sins.
I left the scene without calling the authorities—Aliza would be discovered soon enough. I had a war to prepare for. Not just a counterstrike or a simple revenge killing, I would rain down the holy wrath of God upon every one of the enemy soldiers I could get my hands on.