Massive Attack (A Guy Niava Thriller Book 1) Dana Arama (ebooks children's books free TXT) 📖

and desperate horn changes into the song ‘Happy’ which was so successful as a mantra that I had chosen it for my ringtone on my phone.

The words “Code Red” woke me up completely. In a matter of minutes, I had washed myself in cold water and wriggled into one of the skirt suits I left in my locker because they didn’t require much thinking. I pulled out one white shirt from the dry-cleaning bag and finished the look with matching shoes, elegant but equally comfortable. Ten minutes later I was out of the room and once again in front of my desk. In the hallway leading from the relaxation room to the offices I could manage to see a bit of the sky. There was a promise of a multicolored sunset or maybe from prior knowledge, knowing that the sun would rise and set and once again. It would be hours until I got to open my food box and warm it up in the microwave, hours until I would get to see my bed and fall asleep without interruptions.

***

The information reached our office as ongoing intelligence before I retired to go to sleep. It wasn’t directly addressed to me because I was not in charge of the Israeli desk, but then it was decided that it was ‘Code Red’ and the whole office was enrolled into helping. The telephones didn’t stop ringing and people ran around in the corridors, seemingly deep into the matter. I prepared a strong cup of coffee for myself and sat down to work. In the beginning I scanned over the latest news and then ran across a name that sent a shiver down my spine. Like a signal received from life after death, he appeared in front of my eyes. Murat Lenika.

I wanted to go towards the closed room, without an invitation, to enter and announce: “I saw the new information just received, I want you to appoint me to be in charge of the case.” But I waited. The will to do it, to be at the front, to receive all the new information that included places and names of people involved, was burning through me and still, I just watched the phone. After a moment I would take a deep breath, dial his secretary’s number and, with the utmost restraint, request a meeting. That would be my compromise between sitting in my place and barging through the door.

When the phone rang, I jumped in fright. It was the secretary’s number on the screen. I immediately turned my head towards the closed door of the room. There were rumors that he could read people’s thoughts. This was the first time I saw it happening.

I carefully picked up the receiver and politely said, “Yes?”

“Please come in.” After a moment she added my name, as if to make sure she was talking to the right person. Of course she was talking to the right person. There had only been three women in the unit to begin with, and right now, one was on maternity leave. The other had quit over two months ago and so I was left as the only female official in the department. I pushed the chair back and strode towards the office of W.M. Scott, the legendary head of the department. I didn’t often get to go inside his office. The last time was after the terrorist attack on the newsroom in France.

“How are you Laura?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. He immediately continued, “I want you to give Gordon all the information you have on Zorro.”

“Is this about the latest piece of news that we received about the kidnapping of the Israeli boy?” I asked, courageously.

“Yes…” He looked tired. He removed his glasses and cleaned his lenses. “A disturbing case. He could almost be considered American.”

“I want to handle this case.”

“The Israeli case?”

I hated his smug look on his face, but I ignored it and simply answered, “Yes.”

“Have you learned Hebrew in your free time and forgot to tell me?”

“That has nothing to do with it… We are talking about Israel, every representative of theirs speaks English. You know very well that it doesn’t pose a problem.”

“What I know is that you don’t belong to the Israeli desk and that Gordon does belong there and I also know that he is available at the moment and will take the case. I also know that I asked you to transfer all information concerning Zorro.”

“Gordon? Again?” I lowered my head for a moment. I didn’t want him to see the disappointment in my eyes. Gordon would never share any information with me, and I had to be there. I had to! I raised my head and quietly said, “You keep me away from any interesting case that has real activity. I am beginning to feel as if there is no place for women in this department.” I knew I was playing a dirty game. Any hint of gender discrimination would prompt defensiveness.

“What does it have to do with you being a woman?”

“The only woman here now,” I corrected him. “And the only person who wasn’t ever in charge of a case.”

“What can one do if there are no diplomatic incidents with the French faculty?”

“That’s exactly the question… Why am I in charge of the French desk? My French is as good as my Hebrew. Why in fact did you appoint the only woman in this department to a desk that doesn’t have any intensive activity in it? Maybe you thought that in a moment of crisis, a woman would be able to handle the situation better with the French faculty? Maybe the only reason you accepted me into this department is because of my looks?”

“No way!” I saw the look of shock on his face, of the idea I had brought up. He avoided looking directly at me. For the first time I understood that this was exactly the role women played in the department. They kept us small and