by D S Kane
The man spoke first, extending his hand and shaking Betsy’s and William’s. “Shalom and welcome to Israel. I am Morris Talb. My associate is Rachel Schwarz. Let’s get you back to headquarters.”
The woman smiled grimly but said nothing.
The traffic from the airport to Herzliya was the worst William had ever seen. It took forever to reach the garage of the headquarters building. And it isn’t even rush hour!
The elevator took them to the top floor. William remembered being there just over a year ago, but he sensed major differences here now. The quiet sense of bureaucracy was gone, replaced with a military precision he’d never experienced before, except in Avram’s own personal space. The place had been painted, with different sections of the walls in various colors. He wondered why, and what each color represented.
Morris led them to the conference room where William and Betsy had spent the better part of a month the previous year. Its walls were no longer wood paneled. The wood had been stripped off and the walls had been painted camo beige.
The huge wooden conference room table was still in the room, with fourteen chairs, nine of them filled with Mossad officers of various ages and description, men and women who reacted to the entrance of the newcomers by stopping a heated discussion.
From the head of the table, Avram Shimmel, massively tall and muscular, rose and smiled. “William, Betsy, thank you for agreeing to help us.”
Betsy said, “Condolences on your loss.”
William could see Avram’s eyes well with tears. “Thanks.”
William said, “Condolences from me too. Shula was a good woman. We’ll miss her.”
Avram nodded. “Both of you can help us retaliate. Let me brief you on what we know and what we need to know.”
After briefing them on their status and plans, he led them to a spare, tiny room. “This is all we have available right now.” Betsy and William would have to work in the makeshift office. It reminded William of the utility closet that Yigdal Ben-Levy had long ago preferred over his spacious office in the Mossad’s old Tel Aviv location.
Later that day, Avram visited them for their first daily update, Betsy smiled. “Hey, big fella, we’re almost done with the first task you assigned us. So, can you tell us why we’re no longer working for Jon?”
Avram thought about how much to tell them. “Jon is no longer the director of the UN Paramilitary Force. I’ve recalled him to the Mossad. He works for me now. I’ve just been made the new ramdas.”
Betsy and William exchanged confused glances.
“Are we now contractors to the Mossad?” William asked.
When Avram nodded, Betsy punched William lightly in the shoulder. “I told you this would happen.”
Avram asked, “You were about to give me a sitrep on your first assignment.”
William nodded. “Well, it’s more or less complete, but I’m afraid we overstepped the bounds you set out for us in this assignment.”
Avram’s eyebrows rose. “How so?”
William said, “You told us to hack into Ashmel’s personal finances and all his corporations as well as his bank accounts. But the trail didn’t end there. It led us to hack the Ness Ziona, the Iranians, the Russians, the Chinese, and the North Koreans. Oh, and also several corporations that are shells owned by other shells. I believe we have most of the picture in focus now.
Avram sat in the room’s only empty chair, next to the two hackers. “You did what?”
Betsy said, “We did what you didn’t ask but really wanted from us.”
Avram shrugged. “Well?”
William’s smile spread across his face. “We found that the massacre was planned and carried out by FLC, a global security corporation named after its founder and CEO, Friedrich Luther Carlsbad. FLC is headquartered in Munich and runs mercenary ops for several governments. Carlsbad’s granddaddy was a Nazi sympathizer during World War II and he still has extreme right-wing connections and loyalties. So, we hacked them to see who paid the bill, but the money trail is vague and leads nowhere. So, we’re still searching.”
Avram tapped his fingers on the table, his eyes seemingly focused within. “Any hope of determining who paid FLC for this?”
Now it was Betsy’s turn to smile. “Avram, do you know what little Wing and I have been doing in our free time for the last six months?”
Avram seemed to spring back into focus. “No. What?”
“We have an AI startup based on Ann Sashakovich’s DARPA AI contest entry. Its AI is limited by intention, focused on searching for whatever we specify. It’s almost as good as any hacker, since it’s the embodiment of William’s and my total hacker knowledge and all our techniques. The code is still rough and buggy, but when we work along with it, we can hack into almost anything. So, we’ve ordered the AI, called ‘Sharpie’ to hack everything there is on FLC. Its entire footprint. It will probably be just another day or so before it completes its work.”
William nodded. “Have patience big guy. Give us time to work.”
Avram smiled back. “Let me know what you find as soon as you have it.”
* * *
As the aircraft crossed the Atlantic Ocean, Ann woke and she felt Jon’s head against her shoulder. He was snoring. She smiled. So, this is what it feels like to be married.
She heard one of the flight attendants speak in an overly enthusiastic voice. “We have started our final descent into the United Kingdom. We’ll land at London’s Heathrow Airport in about thirty minutes. So, ladies and gentlemen, this will be your last opportunity to use the restroom.”
Ann touched Jon’s cheek. “Sweetie, we’re almost there. I’ve gotta get up and pee.”
Jon woke and nodded.
When they debarked into the airport, Ann felt excitement growing within her. My first time ever in this country. Somehow I already know I’ll always remember this.
When they left the taxi that took them to their hotel at 11 Cadogan Gardens, Ann felt overwhelmed by the Old World charm that exuded from the stately building and its attentive staff. They all smiled and asked if they could be of assistance.
She thought how everything here was both new and old to her. The Chelsea Hotel had a nineteenth-century-style lift that used a metal accordion gate for its door. It took them, very slowly, to the third story. An attendant toted their suitcases and led them to a corner room. When he opened its carved wooden door for them, Ann noticed how everything within seemed a new grade of perfect to her.
The attendant handed each of them keys. Real keys. Then, with a perfect British accent, he informed them about the hotel’s array of amenities, including a restaurant at its lowest floor.
Once Jon had tipped the stooped old man, he left them alone in the room.
Ann looked out the window at a view of a narrow street filled with upscale shops. “Nice.”
Jon smiled. “Let me take you on a tour of my old neighborhood.”
Ann nodded. “Okay, then. Sure you don’t want to unpack and take a nap with me first?”
Jon smiled. “I’m good right now. Excited to be here with you. But, let’s take a walk first.”
They left their suitcases where the attendant had placed them and exited the room, once again entering the ancient lift. Jon punched the button for the floor below the lobby and they walked through the restaurant and out into the alley behind the hotel that Ann had seen from the window. She made a mental note to visit the cheese shop in the alley when they had the time.
Cadogan Gardens was a one-block walk from the hotel. From there, it was another block to Cadogan Square.
Jon said, “There were fewer trees and no wrought-iron gate enclosing the square when I was a child living here. Changes.”
Ann saw no people within its gates. “So it’s a private park now?”
Jon shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Incredibly peaceful.” He led her around the square to Milner Street. He pointed along the Clabon Mews to a four-story building. “My parents’ flat was on the second floor of tha
t building. The last night of their lives it was bitter cold and raining. They owned a car and garaged it in the basement. They drove to a party and died on the way. I was twelve. My sitter told me they died in a traffic accident. Twelve years later, after my fiancée also died, I met Yigdal Ben-Levy and he told me my parents were assassinated by Syrian thugs in retaliation for what my parents’ discovery of a Syrian research facility that was developing nuclear weapons. The deaths of my parents and then my fiancée led me to become a Mossad kidon. Death led me to desire revenge. That’s how I became a spy.”
She drew closer to him and held his hand. “What are you now, Jon? What are we?”
He shrugged but did not reply. They stood together facing into the private park.
She faced him. “I think we’re just another married couple. We’ll be okay together. We’ll be fine.”
Jon bent and kissed her. “Yes. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
CHAPTER 16
Mossad Headquarters Building,
Herzliya, Israel
May 3, 2:06 p.m.
Once again, Avram sat at the head of the conference room table, surrounded by the ten senior operatives and managers who reported to him.
In the front of the room, William and Betsy stood beside the chalkboard that had once been used by Yigdal Ben-Levy. They presented their findings and then listed the still-unanswered questions their investigation had raised. Betsy said, “While you can see that we now have a ton of new facts, they lead to more questions that we, as yet, have no answer for. The most important one is, who or which country or corporation paid for the operation and why did they want so many in the government dead?”
William asked, “Do you have any doubles or moles in governments who might have had a role in funding or carrying out the massacre?”
Avram turned to Morris Talb. “That question is for you. I’ve cleared these two to be read in on everything. They’re more than mere sayanim.”
Morris nodded. “I think it’s time to ‘interview’ Carlsbad. We need a gray or black op to separate him from his security detail and take him somewhere quiet. We can administer drugs to him that will force him to tell us everything he knows. Then we can wipe his memory and leave the country in which we interrogate him. Of course, we can’t bring him back here.”
Avram frowned. “A risky operation. But, why get him on his home ground? Does he ever travel? Is there a third country in which to do this?”
Betsy shrugged. “Rarely, but he has a trip scheduled next week, to Cairo, Egypt, to speak with their current president. Three days, starting on Tuesday.”
Avram pointed to Rachel. “Get me a plan I can review.”
When Avram returned to his office, the only thing he could think about was that he missed Jon Sommers. He’d been through countless operations with Jon and admired the man’s ability to develop succinct, workable tactical plans and operational plans. He wished Jon wasn’t on his honeymoon and could offer his insights to Rachel. While he thought he could trust her, his first choice would have been Jon, since they had shared so many missions together. But, this is what is. I’ll have to do with what I have.
He sat brooding as the hours passed, then visited the cafeteria and brought back pastrami on seeded rye with dijon mustard for lunch. He had just bitten into the sandwich when he saw Rachel approaching his glass-walled office. She was about to knock when he beckoned her in. “Have a seat. What have you got for me?”
Jon had taught him how to work through the details of a plan and look for faulty assumptions, weaknesses, and places where the plan would need unavailable resources.
He read through Rachel’s first draft and shook his head. “There are several things that you need to review in this plan. Several decisions you make within the plan that might be suboptimal. Take this one: You think that Carlsbad will have only five bodyguards with him when he leaves the building for the airport and four will be in one car following the lead, which contains Carlsbad, a single additional bodyguard, and the driver. What if there are three cars, or more bodyguards than the five you think he’ll have? Do we need a fallback plan?”
Rachel nodded, “Yes, I have a fallback that considers these as well as many other complications we might encounter. I’ll send a copy to your computer.” She exited his office.
After she was gone, Avram smiled. Best she learn lessons without seeing the faults in her plan emerge during real-time operations.
* * *
The maître d’ of 11 Cadogan Gardens suggested a play, The Play that Goes Wrong, and they purchased tickets for that evening. The maître d’ was also able to make a reservation for dinner that night before the theatre at Le Gavroche, an exclusive restaurant in Mayfair. Jon told her, “This was once the only restaurant with any Michelin stars in the United Kingdom. It now has three. I promise you the best meal you’ve ever eaten.”
As the sun set, they took a taxi to Upper Brook Street. As they entered Le Gavroche, it started raining hard.
Jon ordered a bottle of Puligny-Montrachet, and they got pleasantly drunk. For their dinner, Jon ordered mousseline de homard au champagne et caviar, which he knew was lobster mousse with Aquitaine caviar and Champagne butter sauce, for an appetizer, followed by côte de veau aux morilles et pommes mousseline—Cumbrian rose veal, creamed morel mushroom sauce, and mashed potatoes—for a main dish, and they shared both. For dessert, they shared the crème cocoa ivoire, mangue et citron vert (set coconut and white chocolate cream, mango and lime salad). The service was slightly rude and arrogant, but neither Jon nor Ann seemed to mind.
The play was hilarious, and Jon told Ann that he might have pulled a muscle from laughing too hard. But by the time they returned to their hotel room, he seemed to have gracefully recovered, and she took his hand and led him to their bed.
Ann had experienced sex with Jon quite a few times since they first became intimate. And Ann had experienced quite a few partners, mostly male. Jon had been no surprise for her. And from the way he’d behaved in bed before tonight, it remained clear to her that Jon had also had multiple lovers. She thought, no surprises doesn’t mean no passion. She knew what turned him on and she made sure to hit all of his buttons. He responded by pushing most of hers.
They were very busy that night. They woke when the sun had already climbed the sky. Breakfast was served in the restaurant, in the floor underneath the lobby. Jon looked at the complimentary breakfast buffet and smiled. “Ah, yes, a traditional British breakfast.” He stacked both of their plates with thick-cut bacon, eggs, toast, and kippers. While he was fetching their meals, Ann nodded to the server, who brought two cups of coffee to their table. Jon sipped from one of them.
Ann asked him, “What do you have on our schedule for us today? Museums? Galleries? Exotic cuisines? Long walks around the city?”
“I’d like to show you my London. Where I went to school, where I met Lisa Gabriel, the first woman I thought I’d marry, where I took my school trips.”
Ann, nodded. This trip would give her more knowledge about her new husband. She leaned over in her seat and hugged him.
* * *
On a high floor of the CIA’s Langley tower, two spymasters stood in the coffee room, No one else was near enough to hear their conversation. Tom Angleton and Alan Hermish were less than a foot away from each other.
Hermish sipped from his cup. “This is very serious, Tom. Are you sure about this?”
Angleton nodded. “Yeah. When we made her an employment offer, we knew about Samantha Trout’s family history and all that it entailed. It’s exactly why we hired her. Now, anything we let her know, we think she’ll send to her mother in China. What a great vehicle for disinformation. When we’re through with her, we can simply throw her in a prison cell for spying on the US government.”
“So, you say her real name is Mou Chu and her mother is a spymaster in China named Hu Wan. Is that right?”
“Yup. And if we play this right, she’ll offer us more than any real patriotic employee ever
could.”
Tom beamed. “So, we just let her believe she’s been given a real clearance when, in fact, we won’t give her any clearance. And whenever we want, she can be disavowed and prosecuted.”
“Zackly.”
* * *
Dave Nordman sat at his desk and tried to keep his smile hidden. The prospect of a career working for the NSA made him feel blissful.
One of the senior case officers walk past him and, in a stage whisper said, “Newby.”
But even this insult wasn’t enough to destroy his overwhelming feeling of pride.
* * *
Laura Hunter studied the interview taking place in the chamber next to where she and twenty other trainees were watching.
Her trainer said, “Notice their tells; their giveaways. The tells are better than a lie detector at revealing truth from lies.”
Laura knew that Gargantuan Micro’s new interview vetting system, Show ’n’ Tell; would change job seeking forever. She nodded.
* * *
At the CIA’s “Farm,” Glen Sarkov walked slowly, listening for the next pop-up to trigger. When it did, he turned and fired the handgun, missing the target. But the target was an asset target and he wasn’t supposed to try to kill assets, only hostiles.
His group trainer called out over the loudspeaker, “Sarkov. You just fucked up. Come back here and watch the other trainees. You can see how to do it right.”
* * *
Avram and his team arrived in Munich one at a time. Each took a different flight and flew first through different intermediate destinations. Avram had convinced his bodyguards that he must travel by himself, but they all met up at a safe house in Munich that once, long ago, had been the apartment of Jon Sommers when he went by the backstopped identity of Friedrich Stamfel, an assistant vice president running a section of funds transfer and foreign exchange for Dreitsbank.
The apartment was small, just one bedroom. The team, five senior members of the Mission Operations Division of the Mossad, plus Avram, waited for Rachel to arrive with six sleeping bags. It was well after dark when she knocked on the door. Rachel dragged the sleeping bags into the apartment one by one and handed one each to Shlomo, Michael, Gabriel, Samuel, and Avram. She kept one for herself. Miriam and Ruth would share the bed. Rachel handed out snacks that would serve as the team’s dinner. Then it was lights out.
