Just People

by Paul Usiskin

  He wanted to be sure the message would reach someone outside this room. He looked amongst the babyish toys, and found a cheap red plastic car with black wheels, never something he’d normally bother with, but this one was lightweight, with doors that opened and hollow inside its windows. He held it as he went to the toilet where he closed the door of the enclosure and after what he thought was the right amount of time, he flushed and ran water in the sink, all as Mummy had taught him.

  Yakub dropped the toy car in the sink and yes, it floated. He came out and sat on the floor again with his back to the light and rolled up the message and pushed it inside the red toy car and made sure the doors were firmly shut.

  He was ready with it when he heard the key turning the lock in the door. It would be the woman bringing him breakfast. He stood where the door would open so he’d be behind it, then the woman wouldn’t see him and he’d surprise her and run down the passageway to the sea and maybe find someone he could ask to get a message to Aba. If there was no one, he’d get as close to the sea as he could and throw the toy car in.

  The dash clock read 17.03 when Dov was in traffic approaching the Tel Aviv outskirts. The roads were still wet but less deluged than before. His cell rang and he worked the hands free, proud he’d finally mastered it. ‘Dov,’ said a gravelly voice he knew, ‘it’s Eli Barzel. The State Comptroller’s been asked by the Prime Minister to open an investigation into the fatality at the Justice Ministry last night. I know the background. Can we meet?’

  Barzel was Brigadier General (ret.) Eli Barzel, the Comptroller’s investigator on military and security affairs. He’d been Dov’s commander in the IDF, and they’d worked together on the Defense Ministry scandal investigation when it was past to the Comptroller.

  ‘I can hear the cogs meshing Dov. Don’t worry. I’ll be rigorously impartial and as fast as I can, bearing in mind what you’ve got on your plate. Meet at your place?’

  About an hour later, they were sitting in Dov’s living room, at the dining table, Barzel the Grand Inquisitor, Dov finishing his sixth cigarette. He sat still after he’d stubbed it out, resting his hands on the table’s edge. The water carafe was opposite him, and he saw tremors across its surface and couldn’t think why. He took his hands away. The tremors stopped. He put them back. The tremors restarted; his heart was racing and so was his pulse.

  ‘I was going to ask what possessed you to threaten Brenner with a handgun, but I think I know. Yosef Hassid’s briefed me on Trigon,’ Barzel said. ‘In court it would come down to cause of death and timing, how long between having Brenner taken to the holding cell the first time, and the second shorter interrogation and his death and what happened during both interrogations. We’ll need an urgent autopsy. I’ve had brief chats with Aviel Weiss and Amos Yerushalmi and from what you say, Yerushalmi was present for both interrogations and Weiss from the middle of the first, and both witnessed your use of your weapon and your armlock. You admit that Yerushalmi told you you shouldn’t interrogate Brenner alone, because you’d quizzed Eliyahu solo, and the outcome of that has queries all over it like a cluster bomb in slo-mo. So the autopsy’s crucial.’

  Dov inclined his head once.

  ‘Don’t you call Abu Kabir. I will,’ Barzel ordered. ‘And there’ll have to be some formula to handle the press. I’ll work something out with my people and let you know.’ His ‘until then say nothing’ remained unspoken but absolute.

  *

  Yakub raced out of the room and down the passageway. He could see water, it was the sea just as he’d thought as he came out of the mouth of the passageway and onto a jetty. But there was no one to save him, some boats tied up, but no people. He looked around desperately and saw that he was in a bay, rather like the pools on the beach near Aba’s apartment, but with the sea big and wide opposite the jetty. He could hear the woman running up behind him and he ran as fast as his seven year old legs allowed, right to the end of the jetty on the sea at the edge of the bay. He jumped in.

  *

  The Man had gone to sleep with the Obama second inaugural running on TV. Nothing was going right. Obama had not only been re-elected, he’d avoided the so-called fiscal cliff, and was braving fierce Republican opposition for his nominee for Defense Secretary.

  He was woken by the sound of an ambulance siren very loud, very close. His cook was being taken to hospital after she’d suffered a heart attack when she found two bodies in the wheelie bin with a note that read, ‘5 More Unless You STOP Investigating Our Heroes.’ It was all over the media, social and mainstream, before the ambulance left.

  Amos called Dov. ‘MAZAP are saying they were two of the Palestinian teenage kidnap victims. Abu Kabir’s got a busy day.’ Dov took that as his only reference to Brenner’s death.

  The Man called. ‘I thought you said you were close to fucking finishing this?’

  He wasn’t sure if the Man was shouting in anger or because he always shouted when dead Palestinians were deposited on his premises.

  ‘I think we may find the rest of the youngsters very soon.’

  ‘The fucking election’s in four days!’

  ‘I know…’

  ‘Given the choice between eight and a half Palestinians and a single Israeli life, there’s no contest.’ Dov could hear the Man breathing heavily. ‘We’re slipping in the polls, this situation’s fucking killing us!’

  Dov refused to rise to the bait, his son wasn’t half of anything, he was a human being, and he’d want to know how the Man knew about Lana and Yakub. ‘Those two young Palestinians in your wheelie bin would still be alive if you hadn’t ordered Brenner’s arrest.’ Dov’s finger swiped his cell to Off. The Man didn’t call back.

  The deaths told Dov that Hareven was volatile and vulnerable. Could he know about Dov’s visit with Dimi? Was this payback? Aviel and Amos had the same questions when they met that afternoon at the Ministry. Dov asked where was Hareven?

  ‘He’s about to land at the Knesset,’ Amos told them.

  ‘Who?’ Aviel.

  ‘Hareven.’

  ‘What?’ Dov.

  ‘In his white chopper.’

  ‘At the Knesset?’

  ‘He’s meeting the Prime Minister. So are you. They just called. You’re wanted at the Knesset, right now.’

  31

  The Man was coldly polite to the tycoon, as if everyone else in the room had no knowledge of the numerous private meetings the two had held. ‘Barry Hareven is known to all of you. Thanks for taking time out to be with us Barry.’ Around the table were the Energy Minister, the Trade and Industry Minister, the Chief of Staff, the head of Military Intelligence, the commander of Northern Command and a clutch of aides.

  Dov had made it from his office to the Knesset in eight minutes and enjoyed the hi-speed drive. It was in a white windowless SUV, with two others sandwiching his. He didn’t think he’d get used to not doing it after Trigon ended.

  Once again he considered the Man’s face. Fluorescent light was unkind to unmade up faces, he saw how much had been Photo-shopped out of the big photo portrait on the wall above. Sitting at the conference table the Man had a putty skin tone, dark rings and heavy bags round and under his eyes, wrinkles, skin blemishes. The only perfect part of him was his receding platinum comb-over, so unlikely a color, it had to be dyed.

  Amos messaged,‘Barry landed Sde Dov this pm from Cyprus, flew straight to Knesset. The Eliyon’s making for Maoz Yam.’

  Dov: ‘Noted.’

  Amos: ‘Patch iPad sound to us?’

  Dov: ‘OK.’ And set it up.

  Hareven spoke. It was the first time Dov had heard more than two or three bitten-off words from him. He sounded cultured and with a voice as smooth as silk, higher pitched than Dov imagined, his words slithering into each other. His calculating amber eyes were hard as diamonds in his hawkish face, sharp beak of a nose guiding his upturned head in its survey o
f possible prey on offer, always coming back to the Man.

  He painted the kind of prospective national prosperity Prime Ministers love to hear, emphasizing the huge long-term revenues from a pipeline that his company Timnun Gaz wanted to lay across the north to link with the trans-Arab gas pipeline. He indicated that Syria’s Assad was ready to participate.

  The outbursts were led by the military men.

  Dov imagined Amos’ and Aviel’s grins as they heard it.

  The Man kept his counsel, glowering from face to face for the room to quieten. He said, ‘It’s a very interesting proposal Barry, like your West Bank construction programs, but much more…’ the Man sought the word, ‘ambitious.’

  ‘Do-able, we think,’ Hareven nodded to give weight to his words. ‘We have a Syrian partner in gas, and we’d like approval to run our pipeline up to and across the Golan.’

  The Man delved. ‘Doubtless you’ve got the route mapped out, and all the feasibility data ?’

  ‘And all the money to pay for it,’ Hareven said and the Man laughed his mirthless parliamentary laugh; the others gave cold smiles. ‘It’s very plausible,’ Hareven said panning around the dubious expressions. ‘There’re plans to rebuild the old Turkish Jezreel Valley rail line, passenger traffic in the daytime, freight traffic at night, to and from Haifa and Jordan across the Valley. I’m proposing a gas pipeline to another neighbor, that’s all.’

  As the expressions on the faces became quizzical, Dov re-appraised Hareven. Late forties early fifties, good physique and tone, severe short fair hair above that controlled but pugnacious face. He knew all about you, didn’t waste eye-time on you unless you were his prey and then he’d pick you off so swiftly you wouldn’t know it until you were taking your last gasp, that kind of deadly, and right now because Hareven’s quarry was so sizeable, he wouldn’t be diverted and that made him very dangerous.

  ‘So you want approval and a tax break in return for self-funding?’

  ‘And one other thing.’ The beak rose and the eyes above it sought Dov, who didn’t flinch. He saw no crows feet around Hareven’s eyes and mused about whether he’d had them removed. His facial skin looked too perfect. Surgery? Either he was very vain or he had needed to alter his appearance.

  ‘What’s that?’ the Man asked.

  Hareven kept his unblinking focus on Dov. ‘There’s been surveillance on one of our industrial facilities. It’s disused and we can assure you there’s nothing there.’

  Dov stared back, equally unblinking.

  ‘Why’s it being surveilled?’

  ‘Something called Trigon.’

  Neither Dov’s nor Hareven’s eyes wavered in the sudden and total silence.

  ‘Trigon is Eyes Only, Barry,’ the Man snarled. ‘That means mine.’

  Hareven’s eyes shifted quickly to him and back to Dov, no change in intensity.

  ‘If the site is disused,’ the Man continued after two beats, ‘you shouldn’t have a problem with it being looked over. Empty sites attract criminals, drug dealers and their clients, even terrorists.’

  ‘Of course, and we employ the best security measures.’

  ‘I’d expect nothing less, but I won’t compromise on matters of national security.’ His people nodded almost in unison.

  ‘How soon can you have that approval?’

  ‘Can’t say until after the election. Meantime you’ll pass on the complete proposal?’

  ‘That’s already done.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d like our intelligence analysis of the cross border content.’

  ‘Yes, sometimes the dividing line between commerce and national security can get blurred. I’m sure you know we wouldn’t propose this unless we were sure of the other side’s willingness to partner with us.’

  ‘That’s why I want an in-depth intelligence assessment. Assad’s butchering his own people and I wouldn’t want it known we had any dealings with him even though circumstances often force ... well I don’t need to go there. I want guarantees that private and public interests are fully integrated.’

  ‘Integration only works with full cooperation, and that means being up front from the start. Assuring you the Maoz Yam facility is empty is us willingly cooperating.’

  ‘All I can do is ask about that Barry, and come back to you when I’m fully in the picture. OK?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  In the hubbub that followed after Hareven’s departure, Dov wrote Amos, ‘Hareven’s taunting me. The Man’s wary of him.’

  ‘Is it to do with his campaign contributions?’ Dov shut down his iPad and waited until the Man had finished. ‘I need a few minutes, for your ears only.’

  The Man looked at Dov and eventually said, ‘Give me the room.’ It emptied.

  ‘We think the remaining Palestinians are being held somewhere at that Maoz Yam facility,’ Dov chose not to refer to Hareven or the spheres. ‘We’re carrying out intensive surveillance. We won’t enter that site with force until we establish that the remaining Palestinians are there and we know their exact location and the size of any Jewish terrorist force deployed. I’ll update you with progress.’

  ‘Right,’ said the Man.

  Dov had a sudden flash. If Hareven had infiltrated my comms, who else’s? Irit topped his list, despite the sex they’d enjoyed, because of it, she’d pretty well seduced him, not pretty well, she had. Who told her to? He’d get Amos to remind her that her laptop activity was being monitored, and her cell-phone too. Then he speculated aloud, ‘Maybe Hareven has a mole in your staff, an aide, or a Minister, present just now?’ He watched the Man mull that.

  ‘What do you suggest we do?’ the Man asked.

  ‘This is beyond my team’s scope. Get someone from the security and intelligence community to nose around ...’

  ‘Without stepping on toes and egos? Unlikely. What about electronic vetting of all cell and email traffic of the Ministers and their aides, those who were here just now?’

  Dov concurred. ‘It’s a good start.’

  Back at the Justice Ministry Dov met his team.

  ‘Thermal imaging of the spheres is slow,’ Amos said. ‘We’ve had some of the worst storms in years and the coastal winds haven’t dropped. They’re making drone passes very difficult and the weather also rules out a chopper. Your balloon would have been lost at sea.’

  Dov shrugged.

  ‘The Prime Minister sounded quite stressed,’ Irit said. Dov hadn’t known she’d listened in.

  ‘You’re the expert,’ Amos, cheekily.

  ‘I am indeed,‘ she said haughtily.

  ‘There’s something I’d like you to do Irit,’ Dov told her. ‘It means a bit of research then profiling. Barry Hareven isn’t in any official records. You can erase them with the motive and the money to buy the best hi-tech. He has both. But there must have been people in his immigration and absorption process who would have written reports on him, the Jewish Agency’s the most obvious, they’re the ones that handled all immigrant vetting on the spot in Russia. I can’t believe he eradicated everyone he ever met from the Agency, though it fits his style. So let’s assume that Boris Kamien and Hareven are the same person and what I need you to do is to find any traces and give me a complete history.’

  ‘But if there’s nothing, where do I start?’

  ‘Well, the beginning’s always good, Russia, obviously. Dimi Demidov told me his aunt is Boris Kamien’s mother. Here’s his mother’s number.’ She wrote it down.

  ‘Thanks. I don’t speak Russian.’

  ‘I do,’ said Amos. Dov muttered, ‘you’re over-qualified’, and paused to consider whether he wanted Irit in the room for the rest of what he had to say, and decided he didn’t want her suspicious.

  ‘I’ve got something else,’ he said, ‘so you’ll have two start points, not as blank a sheet as you thought. Don’t ask why I’m suggesting t
his, it’s just a guess, but try the name Sara Moledet.’

  Aviel gaped at him.

  ‘She was a call girl, she was murdered and the perps were never found. She was born Sophia Gulkowitsch in Valga, Estonia, according to the data that emerged after her murder. My instinct says there’s a link between her and Hareven that predates their lives in Israel.’

  ‘OK, you’re the investigator with the hunches.’

  ‘They’re instincts, quite another species,’ Dov corrected her.

  ‘Talking of past data,’ said Aviel, ‘I’m getting the original site plans for the Maoz Yam facility and I’ve sourced the schematics of the spheres. Surveillance, such as it has been, has shown up no movements in the spheres, but there must be underground access points for gas feeder pipes from the seabed and it’d be useful to know their dimensions and routes.’

  ‘Simple but crucial Aviel,’ Dov actually patted him on the back.

  ‘I know I should have reminded you sooner, but as Irit’s laptop was hacked,’ Amos announced as if on script, Dov took moments to recall he’d been its author, ‘so Shimon’s guys cleaned it out and added his latest firewall. They couldn’t identify who got in to it, that’d be a big ask in this time frame, but it’s good to go for the time being. Shimon’s people’ll monitor traffic on it, and also your cellphone.’

  Dov watched as Irit looked worried and relieved in quick succession.

  Aviel stayed after Irit and Amos had left. ‘No reference to your relationship with Sara?’

  ‘It’s not relevant. Didn’t Amos play it beautifully with Irit? She’ll feed that on to Hareven.’

  ‘You briefed him to say that?’

  ‘Yes. Progress with the ground op preparations?’

  ‘We’re trying to combine elements from IDF and police special forces, but there’re Defense Ministry bureaucrats asking lots of inane questions and...’