Eyal Lavin had swapped an assassination he actually wanted to do for one he didn't, called in three old and rather big favors involving a total of four intelligence agencies, and made himself unfortunately more beholden to Rivka, something she would not hesitate to take advantage of as quickly as possible. That was his version of asking a secretary to rearrange his appointments for the week. Now his schedule had opened up enough to allow him to sit there, on an awkward plastic and metal chair that was too small for him in every dimension and watch Annie try to put on a convincing smile. He had his own problems with a convincing smile, and with the uneasy hug that was interfered with by tubes and wires, and the way she had brushed forward a few strands of hair, probably to try and hide the bloating that had reached her face, even reached her fingers, making them pudgy, like a child's hand. She probably worried at his reaction to her looking the way she did.
Well, that was as good an excuse as any to skip the friendly, collegial, supportive embrace and to kiss her full on the lips - and to deepen that when he felt her tense, then respond. It was probably the most amusing and surprising thing that had happened to her in weeks, months.
He let her go with another kiss on the forehead, as she was breathing hard and the heart monitor was telling him in all too much detail how that kiss had affected her. A nurse rushed in, concerned. Annie was coughing.
"What's going on here?"
"Nothing," Annie choked out. "Just glad to see my friend."
Eyal flashed his best and most innocent-looking smile. Even so, the nurse said "Five minutes!" and he nodded.
Annie caught her breath, her eyes shifting toward him, almost as if she were too weak to make the effort of turning her head, or she was too afraid of entangling the wires and tubes.
"So I went about this all wrong," she said, breathless. "The tight skirts, high heels... weren't the look you really wanted."
"Any look of yours is the one I really want," he said, gallantly. And it was true - sort of. Right now she wasn't exactly inspiring his lust.
And so all that left him to feel was the love. Not that he'd turn her down if she suddenly pulled back the covers and invited him to share her bed. Au contraire.
"Yeah, right," she said, managing to put the two short words together and sounding normal for an instant.
He dragged the chair closer, wincing at the sound the metal legs made on the linoleum, sat down, took her hand. Lots of things came to his mind to say but none of them worked. Heard you weren't feeling well, he considered. Was just in town and thought I'd stop by ...
"I've got some good news," Annie managed, with two breaths.
"Really? What is your good news?" he asked dragging out the words a bit, giving her an instant more to recover.
"They tell me..." She stopped, coughing, her hand hit the adjustment button for the bed, raising her up a little more. "They tell me..." she started again. He waited, smiling, stroking her hand, feeling the edema in it, noting it in her abdomen bulging beneath the thin ICU blanket, knowing that the cough was not from an infection but from the rising tide of fluid building up in her lungs. "I'm moving up fast..." she continued, with no more ease, then stopped.
He waited, then prompted. "Moving up fast? How so? What do you mean, moving up fast?" again adding words, giving her a chance to catch her breath, trying to make it seem like a normal conversation.
"On the... transplant list."
Force that smile. Squeeze that hand, not too hard. "That's great news!" Annie lifted her eyebrows as if to agree, yet also dismiss it, without having to use those hard-to-speak words. "No, really. You're the perfect candidate, actually. Young, fit before this..." Shit! Don't imply she's not fit. Damn! He wished he could suck the words back into his mouth. "Compared to most people needing a heart, you're in great shape, even now..." he went on, trying to heal it.
He kept that smile in place. Both of them knew there was only one way to move up rapidly on that list, and it was how close to death you already were. For a short period, that got you the top slot but then, being too sick too long started pulling you back down, spot by spot, as other organ systems failed and the chance of surviving well with that precious gift unwrapped and installed in your chest cavity began to grow slimmer. Her magic moment would not last for long.
"Time's up! She needs her rest," the nurse announced. He knew it was true and obliged, a quick kiss this time, a promise to be back. He had another source of info in the hospital, a doctor on staff who had a brother in the Mossad. For now, he'd obey the nurse.
Because he still needed to get that information before he could go get her the right heart.
Most of Eyal's next task was data mining. Dr. Spielman had given him the particulars he needed, though he wasn't fully aware of the impact his information would have, it was just shop talk for him, helping out a colleague of his brother's, acting as a friend of Israel by doing so. Eyal already knew Annie's blood type, now he knew the size of heart, the right age ranges, male, female it didn't matter according to the docs, but he suspected that a female heart might match better with another female's body, though that made him wince. He put aside that feeling. He had already, according to the philosophers and rabbis, committed the sin by contemplating it so fully. Executing the action would hardly add to his burden. He took a convoluted path to get the information on potential targets as quickly as he could. He would assuage his conscience, what was left of one, by choosing from only those whose deaths could be easily justified. At least in his view. A few calls, questions. Who, matching the narrow set of parameters he needed, deserved to die? Would not be so much missed? There was enough darkness in the world to quickly provide him with a handful of candidates. One was, indeed a woman.
Very well.
Another visit to Annie. Not any encouragement there that things were turning around for her, on the contrary. She made the same joke, more slowly than before, about her good news, climbing up a few spots since the previous day. He reacted the same, with encouragement, even as he noted that the dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced, that she was breathless after fewer words than the time before. He left her and went on to his destination.
Child killer, his informant had told him.
Twice.
The woman had gotten off on a technicality. Had "forgotten" the first toddler in a hot car, who had sleeping drugs in its system, had "accidentally" driven into an icy river with the second, who also had the same sleeping medicine. Both kids with multiple healed fractures. A history of violence dating back to early teenhood, suspected of this, of that, slippery and lucky.
He hesitated. Could that contaminate? Could this woman's heart in his Annie do something to her soul?
Irrelevant. That soul would not be around very long for anything to happen to it if he didn't act.
He set up his weapon in the room across the street, his hands doing it mechanically, precisely, as he had done all too many times, generally at someone else's direction, but not invariably. He had cleaned up a few messes on his own account. The only difference here was that a death would lead to a life, a life very dear for him.
The lights went on in the apartment opposite. Based on his surveillance, now that she had returned home from her after-work yoga class, he knew she would now come to the window, pull down the blind, he'd take the shot at that instant.
Snap. Click. Check ammo. Ready.
His phone made a noise, not just any noise, the tone associated with messages, the tone associated with messages specfically from Annie. Even that was hard for her. Could someone be using her phone to notify him of ... of what? He retrieved the message as fast as his fingers could move. COME TO HOSPITAL. In that instant, reading it, his target had already pulled down the blind. He needed a clear head shot to prevent damage to the precious heart and that opportunity was gone. For tonight, at least. But what did this message mean? He packed up his weapon, got to his car, hit the road. It was raining heavily and traffic was dense but still moving fast. He maneuvered smoothly through it, pushing to get through it as fast as possible. He called her cell phone. No answer. Called his contact, Dr. Spielman. No answer, went to voicemail. Called the nursing station as he slid through traffic. They answered, the connection was bad, something about a procedure - was she having one? Did they find a heart? he found himself shouting into the phone, but before they could answer,. a car in front of him slammed on its brakes, Eyal swerved, managing to slide into a gap as another car behind him tried to avoid him and spun out of control. He wasn't doing much better, damn it, as a big pick-up truck veered aside and another vehicle clipped him. No question about it, despite all his skills, that retaining wall was going to meet his hood. He heard the beginning of the impact, and that was it.
Light.
Voices.
So she had come through. Someone was happy with her opening her eyes and the light they shone into one of them was bright enough to be painful. She closed her eyes again, defiant. Someone was moving her arm, another touching her. She heard murmurings, a textbook operation, she heard. Perfect match.
Waking up in hospitals was not something he did particularly well. His instincts and sense of helplessness, injury, made him combative, and that was exactly what had happened this time. He shook off the orderly who was holding his arm and pushing him back down onto the bed. "Please hold still, . You have a bad concussion. You're in the hospital."
"Which one!'
Well, the message had said to come to the hospital. He couldn't be faulted on answering that.
"Is this your latest disguise?"
Already she was sounding normal. Most of the darkness was gone from beneath her eyes. There was color, pinkness, where there had only been that ghastly grey before.
"Yup. Wouldn't let me see you outside of normal visiting hours, so I had to think of something to get behind the gates."
"You're lying."
"Maybe a little."
"I thought I'd killed you."
"What? You thought you'd killed me?"
"You never responded to my message. And you never showed up."
"Ah. That "Come to hospital"."
"Sorry about that. I was just feeling ... so bad. They were going to take some fluid away from my heart, a minor procedure, they'd done it before ... but I wanted to see you in case ...well, in case I didn't make it through."
So that was what kept him from taking the shot. "I saw it. I was on my way to you when..." He gestured at the bandage on his head. "Distracted driving and a rainy night. I got caught in a pile up I couldn't avoid."
"The news said there were dozens of accidents that night. I'm going to always love the rain...I shouldn't, I shouldn't love anything that was devastating to someone else, but I can't help it."
"How so?"
"That's where they got my heart. Bad accident on the loop near the exit for the hospital. Six-car pile-up. A woman my age was badly injured, horrible head injuries, she was brought here, her family gave permission right away - that was it." He felt the chill rise up his spine.
"Annie, that's where I was. That was the accident I was in." He could see her shiver, and feel the same sensation in his own skin. She looked at him, her eyes for a moment fearful.
"I didn't cause it," he said, thinking back - was that true, had he caused it? "But I couldn't escape it. That must be... where your heart came from."
She looked away from him, and at that moment he was so glad that his original plan had failed. She would not have accepted the heart he would have provided her, that black heart filled with anger and murder. It would have destroyed her and scarcely delayed the inevitable. But how had this need for them been answered?
She turned back to him. He grasped her hand.
"Kismet," she said to him. "Neshema, it was kismet."
"It was indeed, neshema," he said, and leaned forward to greet her to this new life with a new, fresh kiss.