The Marsh Angel by Hagai Dagan (best thriller books to read .TXT) 📕

Yes.

No more private investigations. Agreed?

Tamir remained silent. What else could he say? The department head gave Tamir his trademark soft, supple, self-indulgent smile, and said he was sure they we’re going to have a productive and successful relationship.

And so it was. The relationship was indeed productive and successful, mainly because from that point on, nothing else happened. It seemed like the Front/Jibril had exhausted itself pulling off the intricate Iranian-backed attack, and was now a spent force. The organization’s networks were once again dozy and uneventful, and external sources ceased to report any unusual or significant activity. Tulip’s reports were confined to political meetings and the occasional transfer of operatives or equipment between posts, while Raspberry disappeared completely. Where have you gone, Raspberry? Tamir thought. What fate has befallen you?

He wondered if she was being held in the country, but knew that was unlikely. The events by Hassan Bek Mosque— the cease-fire order, the fact that the Ultralight was hit only in order to incapacitate it but not kill its pilot, the car that whisked her away alive from the scene, and the people inside it who probably weren’t even really Shin-Beit operatives— all of that strengthened Tamir’s belief that al-Darija was Raspberry. But if she was indeed a source, if she collaborated with them, then they had no reason to incarcerate her. Could they have sent her back to Lebanon? Impossible. They know over there that she was either captured or killed, so how could they explain her sudden return? There were only two options: either they constructed a new identity for her to live a new life under somewhere else, or they debriefed her and got rid of her. He admitted to himself that the latter was the most plausible. Why would they go to the effort of constructing a new identity for her, investing time and money, if she no longer had any intelligence value? Out of the kindness of their hearts?

On a couple of occasions, Tamir tried to see if Yaki could help shed light on the matter, but he just brushed him off and told him to keep him out of it. It’s way over my head, he explained, it has nothing to do with my unit, and anyway, I don’t know anything about it. Tamir contacted Amalia again, and asked her to let him know if she popped up somewhere again. He knew that he could get in serious trouble for keeping his nose in the matter, but he took the risk anyway. Either way, it didn’t help. Amalia never heard of her again. Slowly, he gave up and let go of the idea that she might play another part in his life again.

His life. What became of his life? It stabilized, slowed down, became routine. Nothing notable happened at work, as if the rogue organization under his watch adjusted itself to the expectations of the new department head. Other units took center stage. The Hezbollah unit became the hottest unit in the department, while the Palestinian units slowly receded into obscurity. Keren called it terror-retirement. There were times, she recounted, when my guys hijacked airplanes, stirred up real messes, captivated hearts and minds around the globe with sexy freedom fighters like Lila Khaled… And now? What have we got now? A couple of geezers sitting around in camps, bickering over the budget of a youth movement in Sidon. I can’t recall the last time something ‘immediate’ came up on my network, let alone something ‘urgent’— that’s about as wild a fantasy as a visit to the Playboy mansion.

You want to visit the Playboy mansion?

No, but I know boys fantasize about that, she laughed.

Neta went off to bounce her curls in faraway lands. No new women appeared in Tamir’s life. He didn’t quite know why. Until then, he had always had long periods of solitude, but one way or another, someone eventually came along. But now, days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nothing seemed to happen. Sometimes, it felt as if nothing could happen. All around him, the city bustled in a flurry of hormones; painfully beautiful girls dressed in all black strutted proudly down the sidewalks between the dog turds, utterly untouchable, perhaps even themselves untouching. At the very least, they didn’t touch Tamir. Their gazes passed through him as if he were transparent. Maybe he really was transparent? It looks so, he thought to himself, looks like I’m transparent.

e. New Zealand

The days crawled by slowly. The only exciting things to happen in the department concerned change of personnel: Keren discharged and went to study English literature at Cambridge. Ilay left for officer training, and afterwards to intelligence-officer training, at which point he stopped by the department to say hello. He looked tan and even thinner, his second lieutenant rank insignia shimmering on his slightly hunched shoulders. His smile was still as sheepish as ever. Tamir asked him why he was doing all of this. Ilay answered that he didn’t really know, just some kind of absurd urge. Tamir asked whether he was thinking about pursuing a military career, to which Ilay replied he was pretty certain that he wasn’t— he was going to sign on for one year of additional service, and then travel to New Zealand to herd sheep. He always dreamed of herding sheep in New Zealand, spending his afternoons looking over the endless expanses, taking in their vastness, knowing that there was no enemy at the gate, nothing but sheep and expanse, rivers and skies.

And in the meantime, you’re sentencing yourself to a whole year of all sorts of slavish exercises, field-navigating at night, memorizing maps, bad food, and little sleep, Tamir said.

Yeah.

That doesn’t add up.

Right.

So, why then?

I don’t know. It’s not a rational decision.

I see. So, New Zealand, then?

New Zealand, Ilay repeated. He bid Tamir farewell and left. Tamir stared at the door for another moment. He felt all alone in the department.

f. Backlog to Be Taken Care Of

Over time, Tamir sank