Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) by Dana Arama (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

“Listen,” I stared hard at him, to preempt any defeatism that could lead to hopelessness. “There isn’t anyone in all of the security agencies who knows Zorro better than me.” I could tell him that I knew Zorro even before Zorro was given the nickname. I could tell him, but I waited with this information for a more suitable time.

“I expected to hear the end of that sentence. I am wondering what you aren’t telling me,” Guy said.

“The rest of the sentence is that, with that fact in mind, I am the best person to help you find Zorro, and if I say we have to start in Miami, then your only question should be when are we leaving.”

He smiled. “I have a feeling that something else is hiding here, more than the dynamics between a woman of the law and a man of crime.” And as if he realized that I wouldn’t answer him, he asked, “Where do you know Zorro from?”

“Do you know the origin of the nickname?” I thought that this was the time to reveal some information, enough to arouse his curiosity, yet not enough to deter him.

“No. Do you know?”

“Like The Legend of Zorro. Our Zorro is an undefeated Olympic fencing athlete.”

“I assumed something of the sort, though the competitive part doesn’t go with the character.” He glanced again at his watch, then said, “The fictional Zorro was a lone wolf.”

“Zorro is definitely competitive … as I said, an Olympian.”

“So Zorro competed?”

“Yes. And excelled, too! Was the object of everyone’s jealousy.”

“Did you know Zorro from the competitions?”

“I -- was considered very gifted and was on the American team. Zorro was gifted as well, and on the Soviet team. We competed together quite a few times.”

A puzzled look crossed Guy’s face. He was glancing again at his watch and cell phone, which lay open in front of him, but still listened to me. “Competed against each other? Was there a co-ed competition?”

“This is no time for modesty. So I will say honestly that, back then, we could have beaten many of our opponents, regardless of gender. Certainly myself, and especially Zorro, who was known back then as Alex Romankova.”

Guy’s cup was halfway to his mouth when the realization hit. He asked, “Is Zorro a woman?” He put his glass down. “Romankova is a female surname in Russian.”

I said, “Correct. Whereas in Israel you are named after your father. It would be Romankov. And then you lose the Russian identity.”

“So, you competed in fencing? It’s not a sport I understand too much about.” He glanced at his cell phone, agitated. I smothered a smile. My scheme, prodding him to ask for an alternate plan, was starting to take effect.

“It is hard to understand the rules.” I answered, with studied calm. “It is hard to follow a match, as they move quickly and proceed according to very specific rules. Fencing is divided into three categories. Fencing with a foil, an epee, or a sabre. In the past, the sabre was heavy, which made fencing with it more aggressive, faster. It involved more physical contact between the competitors, and so it was considered a sport for men only.” I finished my drink and stared, contemplating the empty glass.

In order to test him, to ensure that he was the right person for my private operation, I continued with the tiresome and unnecessary explanation. “It wasn’t until the Eighties,” I babbled on, “that women were allowed to compete, and even then only with the foil. When I first began to compete internationally, it was already common practice to find women athletes in fencing.”

My cell phone vibrated on the table. I read the new text: ‘A suspicious car was found. Disappeared in an underground parking lot. We are trying to locate the owners. Without betraying that I’d read the message, I continued. “Zorro may be the most talented fencer I’ve ever seen.” I smiled, and added, “And she may be the most beautiful fencer of all.”

“About the ‘beautiful’, well…I look at you and you are also very beautiful. But why ‘may be’ the best?” he inquired.

“Because in all the championships we competed in, our results were close. Very close. Probably because we both had what it took to compete in the field.”

“And that is?”

“Aggressiveness, agility and a cool temperament. We both had it in abundance and yet, I never managed to beat her. The last time, the difference was so slight that the judges argued between themselves for over ten minutes. In the end they decided that the victory was hers. I knew that the next time we met, I would win. I knew it and I needed it, like someone drowning desperately needs air, and yet feels the earth slipping from underneath him. But the next time never arrived. I was left with the unknown.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t really know. Something strange happened to the Russian team. I think the government decided that some oligarch would take control of the team and something didn’t pan out there. Long story short, Zorro never participated in the competition and didn’t continue competing and I never got my chance to beat her.”

“What happened to her after she stopped competing?”

“This is where her life became interesting …” Before I managed to finish my story, the cell phone gave a single ring. I grabbed it and answered, “Ashton.” After hearing what they had to say I said, “Damn!” and hung up.

The look on Guy’s face silently asked all the questions and I assumed that the look on my face gave answers he didn’t want to hear.

“What happened?” He was clearly worried.

“We tried to follow the tracks of the laptop but lost the signal somewhere between New Jersey and New York.”

“I assume you are looking for his bag, right?”

“Large forces… We aren’t sparing a single expense.”

“And Murat Lenika’s phone?”

“He uses disposable phones. He buys new ones constantly. He is the prince of crime, born into these kinds of habits.”

“What about the street cameras”

“They thought that maybe they found