The Fifteenth Representative by Hilla Dagan (fiction novels to read .TXT) 📕

whole mess. It’s all computerized these days, you know. If you were accidently on a trip with your wife at the wrong place and the wrong time, you’re suddenly a suspect.”

“It’s better than being in the wrong place and blowing up,” I replied. “Where are you now?”

“In Goulburn.”

“What? Where?”

“Goulburn. It’s about 180 kilometers from Canberra.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I yelled. The explosion of anger left as fast as it came. “When will you get to Canberra?”

“In about three hours. There’s this ceremony at the war museum that I have to attend.”

“What war did these Australians even go through?” I scoffed.

“It’s a museum in memoriam of the fallen Goulburn soldiers of the First World War. It was fully renovated, and they sent me. And screwed me over while doing it.”

“You really did get screwed over. I’ll be picking you up in forty minutes from the entrance to the museum.”

“Why?”

“Because. I’m coming. I’m on my way. Waze says it’s forty-two minutes. Be ready to leave.”

“That girl won’t die there, you know. Where’s the fire?”

“No fire. I don’t give a shit about the girl. I need to have her out of there in less than an hour, Sagi. I’ve got Belgium waiting.”

“When’s your flight?”

“I can’t remember right now. They’re working on getting it pushed forward.”

“When’s the set flight, as of now?”

“I can’t remember, Sagi.”

“You’re flying out and you can’t remember when your flight is?”

“It’s either ten or elven PM,” I said, praying there really was a flight at that time. There had to be. Worst case, I’ll invent a connection flight.

“Anyway, Sagi, I’m really tight for time here. I’m making my way toward you now, and please make sure we’re not delayed for even a minute. Make sure you go to the toilet before.”

“Right. Fine. So, who is this girl?” he asked.

“Who cares?” I replied and hung up.

Okay. That was him sorted. So far.

“Byron, my friend.”

“Yeah, mate? What language were you speaking just now?”

“Hebrew.”

“Weird,” he said.

“What’s weird?” I asked.

“The speech patterns… I don’t know.”

“Listen, Byron. I’ll add an extra five-hundred bucks if you can make it—as fast as you can—to the war museum or whatever the hell it is in Goulburn. The Rocky Hill Museum, or something.”

“It’s a bit out of the way, sir, you know.”

“I’m not a sir, and I don’t know. I need to get there as quickly as possible,” I said seriously. He got it.

In a matter of four seconds, we went from 110 KPH to 145 KPH. Closer even to 150.

“Drive carefully.”

“Yes, sir,” he said and focused on the road.

The cellphone rang. Who could it be now…?

“Hello?”

“Eran? It’s Sagi again.”

“Yes, Sagi?”

“Listen, the Australian prime minister is coming for a meeting in the ministry there. There’ll be closed off roads, maybe even have some completely blocked. Take that under account.”

“Right, I’ll have a word with the driver. Thanks for updating me. When is she scheduled to arrive?” I asked. “Is it during the time we’re supposed to be there?”

“Probably right around the same time, at least according to the ambassador’s secretary.”

“Okay, well, worst case, we’ll get to see who all the fuss is about.”

“I doubt she’s your taste,” Sagi said.

“What would you know about my tastes? You haven’t even met me,” I said, making sure my tone sounded companionable.

“I’ll take a wild guess,” he chuckled.

“Fine. I’m on my way.”

Bingo.

Now I had to pick Sagi up and get to Canberra. And Sagi and Byron couldn’t talk to each other on the way. Sagi wasn’t allowed to find out I already knew about the prime minister being there before he told me himself. Okay… it’s not a problem. We’re far from chatty people.

Outside of what was indeed a rather impressive looking building, stood a man in a gray suit. He wasn’t tall or particularly short. Not fat nor thin. Neither handsome nor ugly… a man. Named Sagi.

Byron stopped the taxi next to him, and I asked who he was through the open window. He sat in the back seat.

“We’ll be at Canberra in about an hour and a half. Get ready to see the foreign ministry’s trees.”

The Australian Office for Foreign Affairs was surrounded by hundreds of tall trees. Excellent. They really should get off that tree they’re so high up on. No one climbed over my Noa.

“Byron.”

“Yes, sir?”

“First, stop that sir business.”

“Yes, sir.”

I gave him a look straight out of Noa’s handbook.

He smiled. I also smiled when she smiled at me. Who wouldn’t?

“Secondly, stop at the nearest gas station for a minute. There’s something I need to buy.”

“Okay,” Byron said while Sagi fished around his briefcase, ruffling papers as he went.

That pain.

As we passed the Goulburn Golf Club, I noticed a supermarket.

“Stop at the supermarket, Byron,” I requested. “Come on, Sagi.”

“What? Where?” he asked, still pulling out different papers.

“Come.”

He followed me out the car and we went into the supermarket.

“Do me a favor, buy me two Cokes. I need the restroom for a moment. Here—ten dollars,” I said, holding out the bill.

“Are you serious? Just go to the bathroom.”

I got into one of the stalls and took out a sedative, then pulled out a cigarette and finished it off in less than a minute. I swear.

Two minutes later we were already sitting in the car again. I still had to make sure Byron and Sagi wouldn’t start a conversation. The thing about the prime minister and the visit… you forgot about that, huh? Well, I didn’t.

I could have told Sagi right from the start that Byron had already mentioned the visit, but honestly, I simply didn’t want to go anywhere near that topic with him.

“Say, Byron,” I addressed him as he started driving like a maniac once more. “What was that awesome Australian basketball player’s name? Gaze, something or other? Right?”

“Yeah, Andrew Gaze. How did you know?”

“I know things. I even remembered his name—as you saw,” I said proudly.

“I don’t believe he was gay, however,” Byron said.

“I don’t think so either.”

“And if so, so what?” Sagi intervened.

“What?” I asked him.

“If he was gay—so what?” he repeated.

“Who’s gay?” Byron asked.

“I don’t