Nev went on alert, like when his boss asked him questions about his granddaughter, Anna. This could be another minefield. He said, “Forty-nine.”
“How many pushups can you do?”
“You mean how many can I do now, or when I was in Mossad?”
“Now, Nev. You’re not in Mossad anymore.”
“Umm, twenty-five.”
“How many could you do when you were Mossad?”
“Umm, two hundred fifty.”
“So you’re out of shape, is that right?”
Nev didn’t answer. He felt like he was surrounded by mines.
Stirg said, “We didn’t do too well last time we attacked the fucks, did we?” Nev understood this was a rhetorical question. “We’re going to attack again, Nev, and we have to do better. We have to stick it to that fuck Roger June and his wife. Do you know what we’re going to do?” Nev was afraid to ask. “We’re going to get that Stravinsky music from them. Steal it from them and take it back to Russia, where it belongs.” He looked at Nev, who thought this sounded interesting, even though he was embarrassed at the current state of his commandobodyguard fitness. Former commando. “That music is a national treasure. It’s going back. When we get it back there, I’m going to make the ballet thing from it. There, in Saint Petersburg, like they made ballets from his music before. The old style. They call it classical ballet. I’ve been reading a little. You been looking at those ballerina websites?”
Nev had been looking at those sites, though not exactly for a lesson in history or culture. It’s just that he had gotten hooked on those legs. Those long, long, legs. He liked Gelsey Kirkland’s legs best, even though she was American. He was not as prejudiced against Americans as Stirg recently had become, due to the actions of the fucks. Some of the Russian babes had great legs too, but not as nice as Gelsey’s. He said, “Yeah, I been looking at some of them.”
“The Mariinsky Ballet in Petersburg is still good. They have a full program, and a school, and they have the great theater on Theater Square. I’m taking the music back to them. Tell them to do it. Tell them if they do it before the fucks do theirs here, I’ll fund the whole thing. All the money they want. I don’t care what their schedule is, I’ll get them to change it and do this Stravinsky piece. What do you think?”
“Sounds good boss. When do we steal the music from the fucks?”
“As soon as you can do two hundred fifty pushups again. You’re going to do the stealing. Get in shape, Nev, get in shape. While you do that, I’ll be talking to the Mariinsky people. Tell them what’s coming. Tell them to start planning. Maybe I’ll fly over there, talk face to face. I don’t know. You better start figuring out how you’re going to steal the music. Need to do it soon. The sooner the better.” Stirg got up and left the room.
Nev felt energized, knowing his boss still had faith in his abilities. He was going on an op, just like the old days. He dropped down and did twenty five, right then and there; got up puffing a little. If he increased his quota by ten each day, he’d be in shape in….in….he went and got a calculator. They didn’t require a lot of math in Mossad.
That afternoon he began his reconnaissance of The Hall, doing a walk around. He checked out John Street, and the alley in back, and the surrounding blocks. He was tempted to knock on the front door and try to get inside, but his old training kicked in, and he restrained himself. Nev went and got a cup of coffee, and started his attack planning. The first big decision was whether this would be a strong arm op or a clandestine op. Would he burst into the theater in the middle of the day, broad daylight, armed to the teeth, threaten the fucks with death, and demand the score? Or would he infiltrate in the depths of a dark night, man in black, all movements cloaked in a graveyard like silence? Either way would be great fun; he liked both styles of attack.
He wasn’t sure he needed to wait until he could do all two hundred fifty pushups. He felt ready to go right now. But orders were orders.