Blood Line by John J. Davis Page A

years.
    “Waiel Hiemlich, the Nazi in our dossier, had been tried in absentia at the Nuremberg Trials and found guilty of murdering Latvian Jews. He’d been sentenced to death, but escaped Europe and lived in seclusion in Argentina. The Mossad found Hiemlich by spreading lots of money around the region. I arrived on a Monday evening and made my way through the city to a hotel near the café the target frequented every morning. He would drink two cups of coffee and smoke two cigarettes to start his day. My plan was simple. I knew from the medical portion of his dossier he suffered from hypertension and refused to take medication for the condition. That fact coupled with his smoking was a deadly combination, and one I could use to my advantage.
    “I arrived at the café early Tuesday morning before the target. I wore a loose fitting blouse and bikini top underneath, and short shorts and sandals. The pictures I’d seen of the target showed a thin, older man, very reminiscent of his younger self. I hoped my attire would help provide the distraction I needed. I didn’t have to wait long before I saw the target approaching the café. He took a seat at the outdoor table next to mine and even greeted me. The information in his file proved accurate, and as a waitress appeared as if on cue with his first cup of coffee, I leaned over towards him, letting my breast caress his shoulder, and asked him for a light. As I held my cigarette, I slipped a tiny capsule of colorless, odorless epinephrine into his coffee as he produced his lighter. He lit my cigarette and one of his own, and we chatted in Spanish and sipped our coffees. When he ordered a second cup, I leaned over again and dropped in another dose of epinephrine. Then I got up slowly and said goodbye with a smile and a light kiss on his cheek.
    “As I walked away from the café, I heard the screams from the waitress. I was back at school before the Buenos Aires newspaper reported the death of the local man as a heart attack. A copy of the article was slipped under the door of my dorm room at Yale.”
    “Did you feel bad killing an old man?”
    “Not a bit. This man was responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of Latvian men, women and children. All Jews. Not a soldier among them. And he was free, living a comfortable life without a drop of guilt or remorse. He’d already lived longer than he should’ve.”
    “You mentioned three other missions. Can you tell me about those?”
    “I didn’t have another mission for a while. My training continued and by the middle of my second year at Yale, I knew I would have enough credits to graduate early. Like I said, I hadn’t had much contact with the family back home, because the schedule I was keeping was intense, but I knew the family business was struggling. So, I called Leona and asked her to ask her contacts about my attending graduate school. Whoever they were, they were all too happy to pay once again and like before, there was only one caveat: I had to get an MBA, a Master’s Degree in Business Administration, with a specialty in international economy. I agreed and they paid, so off to Wharton I went. My plan was two-fold. One part of the plan was to save the family business by growing sales overseas, and the other was fulfilling my obligation to the Mossad. I owed them one year of service for every year of education I received. That was the deal I agreed to.”
    “By the start of my first year at Wharton, I’d been able to pitch my new plan for INESCO’s future to your Uncles David and Isaac. Then the three of us convinced our father. I was on schedule to graduate in the spring of 1989. I was on cloud nine. I was a graduate from Yale and a soon-to-be graduate of the Wharton Business School, and all in four years. INESCO was moving in the right direction, and I was working with the Mossad fulfilling my four-year commitment.
    “My second assignment was a little more complicated. I was sent to Beirut to