Truths and Covert Lies: Chapter 36
A/N: This was a really hard chapter to write, because I felt very, very dirty while writing it. It's not easy getting into the mind of a Neo-Nazi, and I didn't particularly enjoy doing so, but I felt that it would make more of an impact if it was written from this POV. So, my apologies if anyone is offended by anything written here. I must stress, it is FICTION.
Klaus Öggl studied the figures below in the scope of his rifle, trying to keep his eyes from narrowing in disgust. Dirty Jews, the whole lot of them. Well, except for the one Enderlin had identified as the American boyfriend, the Catholic, but as far as Öggl was concerned, if he was sleeping with one, that made him just as dirty as the rest of them.
To his eye, well-trained at identifying the less-pure living amongst his Aryan brethren, their Jewishness was obvious, from their dark hair and dark eyes and their noses and superior attitudes, but they were doing nothing to advertise their affiliations, to warn the less-prepared of their presence, trying to hide in the crowd as if they were no different than anyone else. There should be rules about that, to keep the ignorant-but-still-pure protected from unintentionally doing business with them—or worse, doing as that Anthony DiNozzo did, to lie with them and make their bed with them. There should have been some regulation to make sure they were identified. Der Führer and the Third Reich had it right all those years ago when they made those dirty Jew pigs wear yellow stars on their clothes, making sure that the less-informed were given fair warning. Of this lot, only the girl displayed any sign of the contamination deep in her blood, in her soul, in the form of that six-pointed star she wore around her neck. He had to fight the temptation to aim his rifle at that small target that she had created for him, but Enderlin had made it clear—the priority was the man, the director of Mossad. He was allowed to take out anyone else he wanted after David was dead. David, he thought with disgust. The name of the first King of Israel, the Old Testament's King of the Jews. The very name stank of one belonging to a 'child of Abraham'. And they are so pretentious as to think that they are God's chosen, he thought bitterly. He'd show them just what God thought of them. They couldn't hide behind their whining and their lies about the Holocaust forever, he would make sure of that.
He tightened his attention on the two walking together, the ones not in the security formation - Director Eli David and his daughter, Ziva. They were making their way slowly toward where he was hidden in the rocks of the quarry, in no apparent hurry. They stopped often, their expressions serious, belying the intense tone of the conversation, although none of their words drifted to where Öggl sat. As if I could understand their dirty Jew language, anyway. Despite the fact that Enderlin had told him that they were there to see the so-called 'concentration camp', they seemed disinterested in their surroundings, only focused on the words between father and daughter.
They stopped on the third step of the long stone stairway marked with a sign that claimed it to have been a site where the pure-blooded soldiers of the Reich had mercilessly driven so many of their kind and other enemies to the Reich to their deaths in exhaustion so many years ago, and Öggl narrowed in on his target. He wished he could take both out with one bullet, to kill two proverbial birds with one proverbial stone, not wanting to waste his ammunition on such poor prey, but the way they stood, that just wasn't possible. He didn't have the time to find a better position for so symbolic a slaughter. So he focused in on Eli David, remembering his promise to Enderlin that he would eliminate the primary target before moving on. It was the death of the director of Mossad that would send shockwaves through the Jews of the world, to remind them of their weaknesses, to make sure they knew that they weren't safe. An unknown woman in her thirties... Well, that would be a 'tragedy', for sure, but people would forget. He had to remain focused on the goal. He saw the old man lean over and press his lips to his daughter's forehead, and although his scope didn't allow for such detail, he imagined her eyes filling with tears, as if she somehow knew that that would be the last time her father could do that. And then with one confident pull of the trigger, the director of Mossad was dead, the well-aimed bullet piercing his left temple and exiting the right before slamming into the stone step, sending sharp splinters and gray dust into the air.
And then things quickly fell apart.
The daughter immediately dropped to a defensive position and a handgun appeared, seemingly from nowhere, into her hands. Although he knew the range of the weapon she held and knew that he was safe, he still shrunk away slightly, watching through his scope as she pointed it directly at him and pulled the trigger. He couldn't stop himself from jumping back in surprise. Like he suspected, the shot went wide, but she had taken off running, sprinting up those stone steps toward him faster than anyone in a skirt and heels should be able to, almost before the bullet had left the gun. There was something to her that Enderlin had failed to mention, something dangerous. She was not just some pampered daughter here on a trip to learn about some family history; she wore advanced military training as obviously as she wore that Star of David charm. She knew exactly what she was doing, and his position had been compromised.
He tore himself away from the rifle's scope, just for a second, just trying to get a better handle on the situation around him, the figures now smaller but still easily distinguishable without the scope. One of the bodyguards was bent over Director David's body, his hand at his neck to confirm the kill—not a difficult task, considering the bullet hole through the man's temple and exit wound that took off the opposite side of his head. One other member of the security detail was following Ziva David up the stairs, while another had taken off in another direction, trying to cut the unseen sniper off from another direction. The remaining man, the American boyfriend, also had a handgun out, his body crouched in a ready posture as he simultaneously moved, scanned his environment, and barked orders to the others in clear, loud English that even Öggl could understand. Like the daughter, there was more to this man than Enderlin had made known. He was obviously well-trained with a weapon and knew what he was doing.
He returned his eye to his weapon's scope and quickly moved it to where he knew the daughter would be at the first opportunity that he would get a shot, and before he even had time to prepare, she was there, nearing the top of the stairs, her weapon unwavering in her rapid climb up the stairs, her eyes locked on him. Time seemed to slow down in that moment, and he saw something cold, something hard, in her dark eyes, something that was worse than any punishment in hell could ever be, and found himself incapable of going through the familiar motions to get another round in the chamber. He wasn't sure if he had actually heard her voice or if he was imagining things before he felt the lancing pain in his left chest, his heart instantly pierced by her bullet, but he could have sworn he heard a voice heavy with hatred say, schmor in der Hölle.
And in the time it took his brain to stop functioning due to the lack of oxygen on account of his heart no longer beating, he realized fully that he would, indeed, rot in hell.