Just People

by Paul Usiskin

  He was like an IDF operations’ officer, he controlled all the logistics, identified the targets and their collection points, set up a temporary collection base, fielded personnel drawn from YAMAM to secure it, arranged disposal of the vehicles, enabled onward transport of the targets to their holding location, and all with the old fashioned but effective Russian cell structure, in which each cell knew what it was doing, but not what the other cells were doing. Only the coordinator had the overall picture.

  The chances of Palestinian intervention during the operation was rated as low to insignificant.

  Timing was essential.

  It was once called Pursuit-Land Road, an unmade road following the contours of the wild hills of the Judean desert, all barren bluffs and wadis, not a grain of sand in sight. Terrorists who’d crossed over from Jordan in the 1960s and 70s were exhaustively pursued by the IDF. Route 458, also known as the Alon Road, incorporated the original Road and ran roughly north to south along the eastern edge of the West Bank, east of Ramallah down to Route 1, north east of Maalei Adumim.

  The vans carrying the targets from Tulkarem, Jenin, Nablus and Ramallah made their way to Route 458, the teams oblivious to the natural rugged beauty of the terrain. At the junction they turned left onto Route 1. At different times, those from Hebron, Bethlehem and Jerusalem came down Route 1 and followed the hi-way as it descended close to below sea level and the Dead Sea valley, skirting the Mitzpeh Yerikho settlement, and several Bedouin winter camps, until the turn off for Nebi Mussa.

  Muslim tradition recognized this as a shrine to Moses. It was located in moonscapes typical of that part of the Judean desert closest to the Dead Sea. Millions of years before, after the Jordan Rift valley emerged when the Arabian tectonic plate moved north and east away from the African continent, the land between the valley and the Mediterranean rose upwards and seawaters covering it drained away. The sun had baked what was sea floor into dun- to-gray earth; in winter rains, it all became emerald with wild shrubs and grasses.

  The goal for the TNT2 operation was to cause a seismic effect on the government’s chances of re-election, by openly challenging its authority. If Israel couldn’t thwart a Jewish terror operation kidnapping Palestinian kids in its jurisdiction, how could its government claim to be competent? And this was all about national security, the one issue every Israeli Prime Minister swore they would uphold. With a failure as gross as this, how could the Man be re-elected?

  The collection point location was chosen because it was in empty terrain, except for a paratrooper and tank training base neither currently in use, and ancient brick camel shelters. Five kilometers beyond one of the empty bases and along a wadi bed, the YAMAM unit had put up a large IDF tent as temporary transfer point. It was in a dog-leg so lights from it couldn’t be seen from the road that cut through the terrain to the training base. Not that there was regular traffic on that road anyway. As each van arrived, it drove into the tent, the targets were moved to a medical area and sedated again for the next stage. Two of the medics remained, whilst the drivers drove the vans away, followed by half of the YAMAM unit.

  Fifteen minutes after the last target arrived, a helicopter landed, the targets were carefully strapped inside it, the medics boarded to continue monitoring the targets during the flight, whose flight plan had been listed as an IDF recon for new training bases, and cleared. Flight time from the Judean desert to the coastal plain took twenty minutes; Israel isn’t a very big country, despite the noise it makes. By then the transfer point had been decommissioned.

  TNT2’s press release announced that seven Palestinians had been taken in reprisal for the Biderman family kidnap, and the UN’s reprehensible and persistent anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism in supporting the change in Palestinian status.

  The Palestinian street flared in anger. There were mass demonstrations at every checkpoint, every gate in the security barrier. Settler traffic on the West Bank roads was met with burning tires, roadblocks of rocks dug up from the surrounding earth, showers of rocks. It reminded Israelis of the Intifadas, but on such a surprising scale. And like in 2000 it frightened them because the incidents were so frequent and spontaneous, they were hard to control.

  Mikki Gomer, the Chief of Staff nearing the end of his tenure, moved reliable units - troops not sympathetic with the settlers and unlikely to start vigilante action against Palestinians - into areas where the largest outbreaks of civil unrest had occurred, the towns and cities from which the seven young Palestinians had been taken. Curfews were imposed and Public Security Minister, Hillel Telem, issued orders to the Border Police for restraint, after the Man demanded it. This was not publicized and the redeployment of the unreliable IDF units out of the West Bank also wasn’t. As ever the Man’s concern was for his image, nationally and internationally. Both were important, and the electorate watched foreign news coverage so he wanted to be sure he was portrayed as tough, uncompromising, and forever capable of facing any threat to national security. Which this patently was.

  None of these steps served to reduce the protests. The abductions were like incendiary devices; they inflamed Palestinians, their fury and frustration roared across the Occupation like a summer forest fire, threatening to spread into Israel’s Palestinian community. So far, in the thirty-six hours since the abductions and the TNT2 press statement, five Palestinians had been killed and fifteen injured in incidents involving settler live fire. So much for restraint.

  ‘It’s so familiar and so dangerous,’ Hisham told Dov when he called. ‘It’s like you’re punishing us for the abductions. You bottle us up for years in our homes with curfews, you restrict our movements when the curfews are lifted and the settlers take the law into their own hands shooting at protestors. It’s a miracle there haven’t been more fatalities.’

  ‘You’re right. We’re caught unawares, and we’re stretched to the limit trying to control this, this... third Intifada.’ He didn’t say that this was a distinct replay of the previous Intifadas and that his country was ill-prepared as before. If Hisham had challenged him on that, he wouldn’t admit to it. Why not? After all, thanks to Lana and to his PID investigations in the West Bank, he’d had an educated insight into the Palestinian psyche, on both sides of the Green Line. Was it his ‘Israeliness’ that denied his honesty? Yes, regrettably, he admitted to himself.

  ‘What else do you need? I sent you profiles of our seven young people.’

  ‘Can you keep tabs on Allerdyce? I think he may have known about the abductions.’

  ‘They’re kidnaps Dov, but who am I to quibble? Re; Allerdyce, he’s been replaced.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. Why?’

  ‘We thought he had something to do with the Shehadeh kidnap. My Chief had people keeping an eye on him, so we made representations to his bosses in Brussels. Allerdyce got six months gardening leave, you call it? And then termination of service.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dov. ‘Was there anything in your surveillance I could have used?’

  ‘ I’ll see.’

  ‘Thanks Hisham. We’ll stay in touch.’

  Cooperation after years of occupation wasn’t going to be easy, Dov concluded.

  Dov was busy. Or rather Amos was busy doing Dov’s grunt work, while Dov’s brain worked overtime, analyzing, adding or rejecting data, looking again for any patterns and links in the amorphous jigsaw of the Biderman role play, Palestinian kidnaps and the Mazal investigation.

  It didn’t take long for the most recent clue to drop into place. Amos called Rick Fetlock and he came back fast with results of analysis of the paint scrapings from the container Dov had collected at Highpoint Hill, showing they all matched to Avi Mazal’s Hyundai. That and the descriptions of the two men who’d delivered the container that Samir had given him, were enough to bring in Stein and Levin for questioning.

  Amos stood at Dov’s desk before he’d called him. ‘I’ve requested that Stein and Levin be brough
t in.’

  ‘Will you stop doing that!’ Dov barked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Saying what I’ve been thinking before I tell you.’

  ‘We’d discussed it and you said wait until we find the container. You found it.’ He stopped, looked at Dov, said, ‘you’re looking dyspeptic.’

  ‘What? Like ten Pepsi colas?

  ‘Ha.’

  ‘How does that look?’

  ‘In your case? Lips tight, controlling frustration at best, or anger at worst. No hint of humor. Like you want to burp.’

  ‘I couldn’t be more controlled. Let me know when they’re here. I want to sit in on your interrogation.’

  ‘My…?’

  ‘Not ready for it?’

  ‘Yes…I will be, but…’

  ‘See, you’re not infallible, you don’t always know what’s in my head.’

  But Amos wasn’t there to answer.

  Dov carried on working. Amos came back nearly an hour later.

  ‘We can’t find them.’

  ‘But we will?’

  ‘No question, so the interrogations’ll have to wait...’

  ‘Until we find them.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Dov was out of his office heading for the stairs when Amos caught up with him.

  ‘Yosef Hassid’s released Ron Calev and his wife from detention, pending further inquiries into evidence against them.’

  Dov blew a soft raspberry. ‘So? I should go and fire off a couple of verbal fusillades at Hassid for playing to his gallery, hoping to keep his bum on his Ministerial seat after the election? You know what Amos? I’m tired of it. I’m going home to forget about it all for just one night. Don’t call me unless it’s absolutely urgent. Use your discretion.’

  His cell rang. ‘Hi Dov, how’re you doin?’ The big voice of Rick Fetlock filled Dov’s ear and the stairwell, as he held his cell away from his ear.

  ‘Good Rick, and you?’

  ‘Bureaucratic resistance.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘S’what I uncovered when I went after the guy who lied in that RTA report, about rain when there weren’t none?’

  ‘He confessed?’

  ‘Damn right. I can be pretty persuasive when I wan’.’

  ‘Hmm. What’s bureaucratic resistance got to do with this?’

  ‘S’what the guy said he’d been told to do.’

  ‘Who told him?’

  ‘Some guys called Stein and Levin suggested it, for a fee. Know them?’

  ‘Hmm. Who or what was he told to resist?’

  ‘You.’

  Dov hated repetition, but managed one more hmmm. ‘ Where’s this guy now?’

  ‘In bureaucratic detention.’

  ‘Oh? What’s the difference between that and...never mind. Can you get me a copy of his confession?’

  ‘Least I can do.’

  ‘Thanks Rick.’

  ‘Pleasure working with ya.’

  ‘It’s mutual. I have to go now, OK?’

  ‘Sure...’

  Dov hung up.

  Amos was there. ‘8200 have found something.’

  Dov waited as a couple of staffers came down and past them in the stairwell.

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘No. Do you know what steganography is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about Data Mining, Deep Packet Inspection, SQL injection?’

  ‘Is SQL something I should have before getting on a long distance flight?’

  Amos’s lips tightened.

  ‘That’s really very good, with the lips. So, excavate the Mining and rip the Packet open for me?’ The Department head instructing a minion.

  Amos ignored that. ‘I have your undivided attention?’ Dov sighed and nodded. ‘Back in my room.’

  Once there Amos began. ‘Steganography. It’s the science of concealing data to secure electronic communication. A favorite method is to hide the data in plain sight. It’s all to do with digital compression.’

  ‘More jargon?’

  ‘I’m sure you know what a JPEG is.’ Dov nodded. ‘But it doesn’t create a precise duplicate, essential in embedding data for steganographic purposes, so GIF is a preferred compression system because it’s what’s known as lossless compression and duplicates exactly, specifically in image files where data can be hidden in full view. The binary representation of data is hidden by overwriting and inserting it within the image chosen as the cover for the stega communication.’

  Dov tried erudition. ‘How’s it differ from cryptography?’ It worked.

  ‘Good question. Crypto aims to make data unreadable by a third party. Stega hides it. Crypto encodes it, but to even the newest expert, encrypted data sort of waves a little flag saying, ‘You can’t read me but I’m here.’ Stega waves no flags. It doesn’t even have to be an image file; concealment can be in audio files too.

  ‘We, that’s Ruty at 8200 who’s handling our DPI request, and me working with her, began Data Mining Nahum Brenner’s Internet communications. That wasn’t so easy. He started with the Dark Web, which is like the dark side of the moon for Internet comms, as in criminal, as in the illegal purchase of drugs and exchange of child porn amongst so many other things, because it’s all anonymous. Don’t ask how we got into that. This is the world of the Internet outside of Google which most people use. Then there’s the Deep Web, much bigger than the Dark Web and bigger still than Google by far. It seems Brenner switched to Freenet, which isn’t criminal but is censorship resistant and anonymity protected. We’re guessing that even for him, the Dark Web was too out of character; he wouldn’t want to be associated with anything illicit.’

  ‘That’s relative. Depends on his definition of illicit, as in kidnap and murder.’

  ‘True, Dov. Ruty’s turned up some anomalies which point to steganographic encryptions.’

  ‘Anomalies?’

  ‘We assess that as Freenet is as I described it, Brenner thought he’d be safe with it. He’s repeated attachments of a painting which seem to be out of context with his regular email pattern even on Freenet, and to one particular recipient with a numbered email address which presently can’t be identified.’

  ‘How long before we successfully decrypt any of them?’

  ‘Can’t say, it’s very system intensive.’

  ‘And the hacking of my comms?’

  ‘Ruthy and her colleagues breached two firewalls of one suspected hacker with their own special malware but each time they get through one another comes up.’

  ‘You’ll let me know when?...’

  Like The Man Who Wasn’t There, Amos wasn’t there, again.

  Yardena Rotem was waiting to be collected. Levin had called to say she was needed. No more detail than that. She knew not to ask. Stein drove the black SUV. He and Levin were dressed in zip jackets and loose pants. They saw her standing on the sidewalk outside the offices of a political consultancy in Ramat Gan, virtually an eastern suburb of Tel Aviv, where a job had been found for her as a senior strategist. She readily got into the SUV and Ruby Levin smiled and said, ‘Hi Yardena.’ Jerry Stein also smiled, checked his rear view, and turned into the traffic.

  ‘Pity the legal side of things didn’t work out,’ she told them.

  ‘Yeah, isn’t it though,’ Levin grunted. ‘Can’t say we didn’t try with the video and the voice dub.’

  ‘We’ll have to more creative next time,’ said Stein.

  Ten minutes later they were in downtown Tel Aviv next to the promenade. Levin dialed his cell, let it ring three times, the signal to their spotter. Stein stopped at gates to an apartment parking lot. He keyed in numbers on the entry pad, the gates opened and he drove in, parked near the elevator, got out and walked in front of Yardena with Stein next to her and they entere
d the elevator. It rose and they exited and walked towards an apartment door. Levin, who’d put on surgical gloves in the elevator, took out a key and unlocked the door. Yardena looked alarmed.

  ‘Why are we here?’

  Levin put his hand over her mouth, and pushed her into the apartment. She struggled as Stein, also in gloves, zip-tied her wrists and ankles. He forced a handkerchief into her mouth, went into the bathroom, removed the tile on the shower wall to reveal Dov’s secret cache, ignored the money, removed Dov’s spare automatic, checked the magazine was full, loaded the gun, closed the cache tile and came out. Yardena was still struggling. Stein walked up to her and shoved the gun barrel up under her skirt between her legs.

  ‘Unless you want an extra hole, shut the fuck up!’

  They moved into the bedroom, where Stein stripped Yardena, ripping her clothes, tights and panties, and pushed her down on the bed. Levin took her clothes and left them in a trail from the living room and went to wait by the front door. His cell phone reverberated in his pocket twice, the spotter announcing Dov’s arrival. He produced a disposable syringe, removed the needle cap and waited.

  Three minutes later a key went into the lock, the door opened and Dov entered.

  Levin grabbed him round the neck and as Dov began to shift his weight to lift Levin off his feet, the needle went into his neck and in seconds he went slack. Levin capped the syringe and pocketed it.

  Levin carried Dov to the sofa, stripped him, scattered his clothes, then dragged him into the bedroom.

  Stein took out a cardboard cutter and slashed open Yardena’s ankle ties, pocketed the cutter and the ties and pointing the gun at her, told her to lie back on the bed and open her legs, her arms above her head. He linked another zip tie through her wrist ties and zizzed it around the head board. He held the gun under under her chin as Levin maneuvered Dov on top of her and managed to get Dov’s penis into her vulva, massaging until Yardena was wet and Dov’s flaccid penis gleaming. He pulled Dov off and positioned him on Yardena’s left side on the bed. Her eyes were wide with fear, face white, skin clammy. In her last seconds of life, Levin forced Yardena to stay still, Stein put ear protectors in his ears, Levin did the same. Stein held the gun to her left temple and squeezed the trigger. The shot would have deafened the killers without the protectors. Levin pulled Dov’s right hand up and held it, as Stein got the hand around the gun grip, pushed Dov’s forefinger inside the trigger guard against the trigger long enough to leave his prints, and let Dov fall back on to the bed, the gun in his hand.