Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel Read Online Free Page B

Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel
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opportunity and advanced to the counter. “Excuse me,” he began. “My car –“
    Before he could complete his sentence, the sergeant had shoved a form to him.
    Twenty minutes later, he watched intently from over the counter as the officer quickly typed the details he had listed on the form into a computer terminal. He knew from rumor that finding a stolen car in Tel Aviv was no easy matter. Who knows, by now his three-year-old Audi 4 was probably over the Green Line, being dismantled for parts in a Palestinian chop-shop. He resigned himself to the thought of most likely having to be a pedestrian for the next few weeks. The very thought depressed him.
    After a moment, the requested data streamed from the computer printer. The sergeant casually ripped the sheet from the machine and glanced at it, then a puzzled look came over his face. “What the hell, is this?!” he murmured to himself. He looked at Greenberg and said, not without a measure of impatience, “According to this, sir, your car was taken of the road for safety reasons, after being severely damaged in an accident three days ago. It was declared a total loss.”
    It took Greenberg about 10 seconds to digest what he had heard. “That can’t be!” he exclaimed. “I’ve owned that car for almost three years and it’s never been in an…”
    “One moment, sir” the officer cut him off. ”There could easily be a mistake. Do you have the registration with you?”
    “Of course.”
    Greenberg reached into his back pocket – his wallet was gone!
    He quickly retraced his moves since leaving home, while continuing to pat his other pockets in vain. The café. He had probably left it at the café.
    “Kept the registration in the car, eh?” the sergeant smirked, shaking his head. “It’s always the same story. People won’t learn not to leave valuables in the car, especially not documents – “
    “No, no,” Greenberg protested. “The papers are probably in my – “
    “Sir,” the sergeant cut him off, “without the registration I have no way of checking. As far as I’m concerned, the car with the number you gave me doesn’t exist!” With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned to an elderly woman standing behind Greenberg. “Yes, how can I help you, ma’am?”
    Greenberg turned and walked outside.
     
    *     *      *
     
    The female clerk at the Interior Ministry counter was about 25 and, in Greenberg’s estimation, wore too much makeup. He slipped his completed application forms through a slit in the greenish-tinted glass barrier, along with two passport-size photos that were still damp. The clerk took the forms, then scanned the computer screen for a moment and then looked up at Greenberg with what seemed to him suspicion in her eyes.
    “What’s the problem?” he asked.
    “No problem,” came her unconvincing reply. “Would you please go to inquiries, Room 51? There seems to be some problem in the registry. It’s down the hall, on the left, right after Information – second door on the right. I’ll tell them you’re on the way,” she concluded, and with unexpected efficiency, picked up the phone.
    A metal frame engraved with the number 51 was fastened to the left of a dark green door. In the space usually reserved for the name of the clerk inside was written a single word: Inquiries. He knocked once and went in.
    The middle-aged woman sitting behind a simple office desk looked up at him as if she had been awaiting his arrival and motioned for him to sit down. Her blue rinsed hair was immaculately coiffed and her eyes were hidden behind fashionably tinted glasses.
    “Just one more moment, sir,” she said. “The material in your case should arrive from the archives in just a minute.”
    Indeed, she had barely finished speaking when a messenger boy entered the room carrying an armful of files, most of them to be delivered to other offices. He stood next to the woman’s desk and waited patiently for her to pull the wanted

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