FalseFlags

by D S Kane

  “Yes. The phone numbers that connected with Ashmel’s burner were located in Moscow. But the phone itself was manufactured and sold in China, to a member of the Chinese CSIS. The State Intelligence Service.”

  Now, Avram had a new piece of the puzzle, and several questions relating to the massacre. Are the Chinese and the Russians working together? he wondered. Why kill so many Israelis that were members of its governing bodies? Did Israel pose some kind of threat to both Russia and China?

  * * *

  Cassie and Lee sat in the kitchen at their home, eating dinner. Cassie stared at Lee and saw his frown. “What’s bugging you?”

  Lee shrugged. “I’d thought we’d be seeing a string of young Stanford graduates as Ann’s suitors. Not our boss. Not someone a decade older than her. I still can’t find a way to reconcile all this.”

  Cassie nodded. “Me too. But, Lee, Ann’s right. She’s an adult and responsible for her own life now. We can offer counsel but we can no longer make demands. The bigger question now is, is there anything we can do to guide her? Will she listen to us at all?”

  Lee shrugged again. “I don’t know. It was difficult for me nearly a decade ago when I became her adopted father. It’s much more difficult for me now seeing Jon as her future husband.”

  Cassie nodded. “We’d better hire a wedding planner.”

  * * *

  As Ann walked from the campus to her apartment, her phone buzzed.

  Ann scanned its screen. “Hi, Dad. Has anything important happened since we spoke earlier today?”

  “So when you move to Israel with Jon, what are your career choices.”

  “The Mossad. I’d work there as a hacker. Not very dangerous.”

  “Israel itself is dangerous. We heard about two hundred government officials dying at some bigwig’s home just a few days ago.”

  “So, you saw the news reports about the explosion in Michael Ashmel’s home?”

  “Who is Michael Ashmel?” Ann could hear the confusion in his voice.

  “Ashmel was elected to Israel’s Knesset and was running for prime minister. But he suicided with a bomb vest and many in the government died, including Samuel Meyer who headed the Mossad and Shula Ries, Avram’s wife. That’s when the prime minister appointed Avram to be the head of the Mossad. So with Avram recalling Jon to the Mossad after Jon and I get married, it looks like all my interviews were for nothing. Jon says I can work for the Mossad as long as I don’t report directly to him.”

  Lee breathing was all she could hear. Then: “When did you find this all out?”

  “Today.”

  Lee said, “Wow. I need to think about this. Israel is more dangerous than most places you could live and even farther away from us than California.

  “Yeah, Dad.”

  “But I’m worried about your working for an intelligence agency. Especially the Mossad. The Middle East has always been a time bomb. It’s a dangerous place, and—”

  “Dad, I know all this. But I’m marrying Jon. No more arguments, okay?”

  “Oh, Ann, you know how I feel about spies. I—"

  “You mean spies like Mom used to be?”

  She could hear Lee’s breathing and imagined his frustration. She was sure that it would take him time to reset himself and she waited.

  “Yes, Ann. Mom was a spy long ago, and it almost cost her life. Multiple times. You remember that she was shot in the head as a direct result of her assassinations of the Houmaz brothers. Remember how she lay in the hospital with you waiting for her to live or die? Remember how you had to kill the man who tried to murder her? All because she’d been a spy. And now, you’re telling me this is the career you want? This is the life you want to live?”

  She knew that sooner or later, Lee would push the conversation back to what he and Cassie wanted her to do, wanted her to be. They always want to direct me, as if I’m some automaton. As she’d intended, her comment had Lee stuttering and unable to craft a vocal reply. Finally: “Oh, Ann, I’m disappointed. With your education, you could be the CEO of a successful startup. You could be rich and powerful. Be careful what you wish for.”

  “I’m uniquely qualified. And, Daddy, that’s what I want. You’re being overly dramatic. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

  “I pray you’re right.”

  “So do I. Look, I’ve got to get myself dinner. Give my love to Mom.”

  “Okay, Ann. But one more thing I want to talk to you about. Mom and I would like to have your wedding in Washington. There are several venues that each hold over two hundred guests. We’ve also crafted a guest list. There are one hundred sixty-nine names, mostly couples. That would give you space to add your friends.”

  “Daddy, this is going to be a spectacle! You guys are inviting everyone living in Washington.”

  “Tell me who you want to attend and who we should remove from the list. I’ve emailed it to you just now while we were talking.”

  “Crap. Okay. Lemme go, now.” She ended the call, furious that they wanted to design her wedding the way that they wanted.

  She entered the supermarket, but no longer felt hungry. None of the deli choices looked at all appetizing. She cursed.

  Every muscle in her body remained tense after the conversation with Lee.

  She longed to speak with Jon. She glanced at her wristwatch. His work day in Manhattan might well have ended by now. The small café in the supermarket looked like a good place for the privacy she’d need.

  She bought a latte and sat at the most remote table. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she entered Jon’s number. “Hello, babe. How was your day?’

  “Uneventful. How are you my love?

  “Angry. I just had a brief conversation with Lee.”

  “Oh?”

  “Jon, they want a huge wedding. I want an intimate wedding where the people we invite are close friends and close relatives, I don’t know how to stop them.”

  “Remember what I told you?”

  “Yeah, yeah. But this is annoying me. Why can’t we just elope?”

  “I’d like nothing better. But, Ann, this is your parents’ last chance to push you into something they want for you.”

  “I know, but Lee is also unhappy with what I want to do for my career. He thinks if I become a covert operative or a cyber warrior, I’ll be in danger. I think he’d prefer I become a startup cofounder.”

  “Well, that would be safer.”

  “It would be boring. I want to do something that makes the world safer. Not something that makes me richer. I was at the helm of a startup last year as part of my Stanford coursework. Once is enough.”

  This time Jon was silent for a long time. Then: “Sweetie, I’ve already offered you the alternative that will change your life the way you want it. Work for the Mossad.”

  “Did Avram say it would be okay? Have you talked with him?”

  “Not yet. Time zone differences. But by tomorrow morning, I will have had the chance. Soon, my love. Very soon.”

  “Well then, good luck. Thanks, Jon. I feel better now. Talking with you always does that.”

  “Good. I’ve got to get going. The cleaning crew is now working this floor. Soon their noise will drown out our call. So, goodnight my love.”

  “G’nite, lover.” She heard the call end.

  * * *

  Oscar Gilead used his chopsticks to pick up a piece of har gow where the “shrimp” was really flavored cod. “What do you think of the dim sum? China Class isn’t the only kosher dim sum place in Herzliya, but reviews say it’s one of the best on Sdem Ben Gurion.”

  Avram chewed a piece of beef siu mai. He’d never had dim sum before. “Do you eat this stuff frequently?”

  Between chews, Gilead nodded. “About three or four times a week. Sometimes lunch, sometimes dinner. I’ve even had staff meetings in this place.”

  Avram wondered if he’d be eating here often. He’d been called to China Class by the prime minister earlier this morning. “I’ve been able to determine
that Alma Ashmel was kidnapped by either the Russians or the Chinese, or both working together.”

  “I already know. I am the prime minister.”

  Avram felt foolish. “Would you like to hear what we’re planning to do next?”

  “You could tell me, but I already know that as well.”

  Avram felt a little bit of surprise take hold at his core. “Will there ever be anything I can tell you that you haven’t already heard?”

  Gilead chuckled. “Probably not.”

  Avram nodded back, but he was feeling useless. Suddenly, he realized that with the entire government of Israel in turmoil, Oscar Gilead had suddenly become a de facto dictator. There were no longer any constraints on Gilead’s behavior. He asked the much older man, “What about calling an election to fill all the vacancies?”

  Gilead shrugged. “Soon, I’ll need to think about how to make the new government appear as a seamless transition.”

  Avram hid his alarm. Would there ever be another election?

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 13

  Mossad Headquarters Building,

  Herzliya, Israel

  March 18, 1:38 p.m.

  When Avram arrived at the conference room carrying a fresh cup of coffee, only one chair at the conference table was empty. All the others were filled, most with analysts and two with kidonim he’d invited. Avram took the empty seat at the head of the table.

  He scanned the faces seated at the table. He knew three of the ten. Two of those were faces he remembered from his single mission working for the Mossad nearly a decade in his past. That mission had led to the reprisal deaths of his daughter, his first wife, and their unborn child. He’d acquired two submarines that terrorists had paid for, and delivered them to Israel from Vladivostok. But that wasn’t worth his personal tragedy. And that was why he’d quit the Mossad and become a mercenary.

  He’d built and run a mercenary army for Yigdal Ben-Levy, one of the Mossad’s spymasters for years. The army had been owned by Cassie Sashakovich. Then he’d become the director of the UN Paramilitary Force, working out of the United Nations in New York. After substituting for the Israeli ambassador to the United Nations for a single speech at the General Assembly, Oscar Gilead had named him to that position. And then Gilead posted him to be the Israeli ambassadorship to the United States, based in Washington DC.

  Now, he was back at the Mossad, seeking vengeance for the death of his second wife. What a wild trip my life has been, he thought.

  He took a deep breath. “Good afternoon. My name is Avram Shimmel, I’m the person you’ve heard so much about in the last day. I brought the bagels, lox, and cream cheese on the table. Please help yourselves.” He purposely scanned the face of each individual, one by one.

  “Over the next few days, when I meet with each of you, I’ll want to assess your departments, their current status on your assigned projects, and your priorities. But right now, I’m here to answer any questions you have about me, my past, and my creds. So, any questions?”

  As he expected, no one dared to be heard. They all saw his huge frame and his deep voice. It might be respect and it might be fear, but they remained completely silent. No one moved.

  “Let me tell you a bit of my background. I served in the IDF for nearly a decade, rose to the rank of major, and wrote a book on tactics. The Mossad called me and I worked for them for just one mission. I’ve since run a private army, served as the director of the United Nations Paramilitary Force, then became Israel’s ambassador to the United States, and now as you can see, I’m back at the Mossad.”

  He scanned the faces again. This time, he recognized the interest showing in their expressions.

  “Right, then, you’re all dismissed. Please take the bagels. I’ll be forced to eat any you leave behind.” And that broke the ice. He heard laughter. Avram smiled back and watched the bagels, lox, and cream cheese disappear from the room, along with all his direct reports.

  Left alone once again, all he could think of was Shula. Why had she decided to retire from the bank and become a politician?

  * * *

  Ann read through the guest list Lee had sent her via email. She recognized most of the names, but nearly fifteen were total strangers. She copied the unknown names to a header on her reply email and titled the header, “Please Delete.” She continued through the remainder of the list and moved more names to the “Please Delete” header. When she had completed the work, she had eliminated nearly fifty of the invitees. She sent it back to Lee and also sent a copy to Jon. That should do it. If Mom and Dad can agree to this, the number of guests we invite should number one hundred and two. And I expect some will decline.

  She sighed. This is supposed to be the most important day of my life. What do I do if Lee and Cassie decline to accept my changes to their list?

  * * *

  Avram had returned to his office after the last bagel was picked up by a large woman he’d never met before. He tried sitting at the desk again, but it still felt foreign to him. For the first time he wondered, Do I really belong here? This wasn’t something I’d ever had the ambition to run. He shook his head. He’d felt the same way when he was asked to run the UN Paramilitary Force several years ago. And when he was asked to become Israel’s UN ambassador. Each new direction had been an unwelcome surprise. This one was simply the biggest and most unexpected change. He shook his head to clear it. I have work to do.

  He opened the notebook computer on his desk and crafted a new document:

  Discover those responsible for Alma Ashmel’s kidnapping.

  Manage her recovery.

  Avenge Shula’s and Samuel Meyer’s deaths.

  He’d need to staff at least one mission. He opened another document: “Department Directors and Staff.” He read the file in detail for the first time. He finally could put names to the faces he’d seen in the meeting. He reread the file three more times and used the individual files to rank their effectiveness. Then he selected a set of ten names. Two were directors: Miriam Roth was a kidon who headed Mission Operations, and Rachel Schwarz was the heth the tracker who headed Logistics. The other eight were reports from their respective departments, five (Sanders, Rostoff, Samek, Mostov, Tobolov) from Mission Operations, two officers (Rabinowitz, Krasnow) from Logistics, and Talb from the Collections Department:

  Name

  Department

  Position

  Miriam Roth

  Mission Operations

  Director

  Shlomo Sanders

  Mission Operations

  Kidon

  Michael Rostoff

  Mission Operations

  Kidon

  Ruth Samek

  Mission Operations

  Kidon

  Gabriel Mostov

  Mission Operations

  Kidon

  Samuel Tobolov

  Mission Operations

  Kidon

  Morris Talb

  Collections

  Director

  Rachel Schwarz

  Logistics

  Director

  Oscar Rabinowitz

  Logistics

  Senior Officer

  Roberta Krasnow

  Logistics

  Junior Officer

  Then, he reread their files a final time. He smiled. He had the best team available to work the puzzle. He’d need to uncover the puzzle’s pieces so he and his team could put the picture together.

  Next, he’d need an operational plan. Planning was a task he’d never felt confident about. Jon was the planner, and his plans were operational disasters more times than not. As bad as Jon’s plans were, at least he knew how to craft them. Avram hadn’t ever been taught the skills for espionage planning. His forte had always been battle tactics. At this, he smiled. The book he’d written on battle planning was still in use at IDF.

  He remembered the headings for one of Jon’s old plans. It was the gun battle inside the Mutra Souk in Muscat, Oman. If the team hadn’t had ten
mini-Claymore mines, none of the team would have survived. This was the only plan of Jon’s that had ever worked flawlessly. And even it had resulted in the wounding of Jon and one of the other team members in the ensuing skirmish.

  He needed Jon, but Jon wouldn’t be available until he’d returned from his honeymoon.

  And, as of now, there was no suspect, no one to find, interrogate, and terminate. Of course, crafting a list of suspects would be the first task on the list of objectives.

  Avram visualized the pages and typed page headers on his computer screen:

  Operational Mission Statement

  Staff Requirements and Rationale

  Suspect List

  Sequence of Proposed Locales and Tasks

  Expected Casualties

  Possible Gains from Mission

  Then he filled in the text below the headers. When he had finished, he read his product and cursed. There was at least one untenable assumption in each header. He had no idea how to budget and schedule activities listed along the vertical left side of the page, like “Buy Intelligence from Other Services,” or even if he could find agencies that might sell him intelligence. As for “Vet Intelligence,” he wondered, How long would that take? Who among his staff had a track record of these activities? What was their success rate?

  He would have to review the folder containing records of his subordinates and those they commanded.

  Too many things could go wrong. He felt his fingers form fists.

  He moved the cursor to the top of the document and began editing. But all the time he was working, he kept thinking about how much easier his job would be with a planning expert.

  How soon could he have Jon working with him?

  CHAPTER 14

  Sashakovich-Ainsley compound,

  Chevy Chase Street, Washington, DC

  April 16, 7:54 p.m.

  One of the many things Ann was able to force her parents to compromise on was the wedding venue. She begged them to use their compound because it would limit the number of attendees. Surprisingly, Cassie and Lee seemed delighted with this. Ann had wondered whether it was because this would save them money, but that wasn’t an issue for her.