“No, though you are halfway through your MBA. I’ve hired Derek to help me on the business end of things. I need you to help me walk through the Arabian labyrinth.”
He pushed his chair away from the table. “Look, we’re not holding you hostage here until you give us your decision. Take all the time you need.” He got that impish look that made him look ten years younger than he was. “At least until we get home tomorrow.”
They all stood. Alex extracted a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it on the table. Then he looked up at Marc. “You think it over, Marc. Think it over very carefully. This kind of opportunity doesn’t come along every day.”
Marc gave him a long, quizzical look, then a tiny smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Does this mean I have to sell my Volkswagen?”
It was almost midnight when Ardith and Alex Barclay finally came to their cabin and began preparing for bed. Alex sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off his shoes as his wife went into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
“Gerritt cornered me a few minutes ago,” he called quietly, mindful that others were just on the other side of the bulkheads.
Ardith poked her head around the door. “Oh?”
“He asked me why I brought a college professor along on this trip.”
“And what did you say?”
He laughed and let one shoe drop. “I told him I thought he was a promising young man and refreshing to have around.”
There was a pause as she rinsed out her mouth. Then she reappeared with a towel. “It’s called integrity.”
“What?”
“The thing you find so refreshing about Marc Jeppson.”
He looked at her sharply. Even after so many years, she could still bring him up short with her insights. “Yeah, I suppose it is. I don’t deal with many who have it in great abundance anymore.”
“So, did that satisfy Gerritt?”
He finished undressing and slid under the covers. “No. Gerritt is sharp enough to know I didn’t bring Marc along just to provide a refreshing change.”
Ardith turned off the light and slipped in beside him. “Gerritt is too sharp. I’m not sure I like him.”
“If I did business only with people you like, or that I like, for that matter, we wouldn’t be sitting in a yacht off the coast of Mexico nor would we be considering building a new home in Pacific Palisades.”
In the dark he couldn’t tell whether she agreed. They were both silent for several minutes. Finally Ardith turned her head. “Do you know what it is about Marc that you like so much, Alex?”
“No what?”
There was a soft touch of sadness in her voice. “You and I were like that once, too.”
Chapter Twelve
Nathan Shoshani suppressed a yawn and glanced at his watch as the team filed into the room. It was nearly 7 P.M., which meant he was coming up on thirty-six hours without sleep. He had stayed up the greater part of the night, supervising the watch on Quinn Gerritt and his wife as their high-rolling party covered half the exclusive bars in Los Angeles and Beverly Hills. And the loss of sleep had been basically for nothing—as had most of their last week’s work on Gerritt. When Nathan had returned to his apartment just after dawn, word was waiting that Moshe Gondor was on his way to Los Angeles. That had been a blow, for Gondor had been Nathan’s control officer before. While he was competent and supportive of his operatives, he kept a tight leash, keeping his hand in rather than letting his men have their head. Nathan had spent the rest of the morning getting ready for his arrival, and most of the afternoon briefing him on where they stood.
Gondor entered at that moment and almost instantly the room grew quiet. Then Nathan’s head came up sharply. Yaacov Shoshani, white hair in gleaming contrast to a simple black suit, shuffled in behind Gondor and took a seat in the back. Their eyes met briefly—Nathan’s full of surprise and questioning, his father’s veiled and noncommittal. The older Shoshani was drawing curious looks from several others in the room as well.
Gondor came forward and took a seat next to Nathan.
“What is he doing here?” Nathan asked in a low voice.
“I just found out he was here. He’s been in California for better than a week. You’d better let me introduce him.”
A week! And not even a call. Nathan didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. Gondor’s coming was bad enough, but this? He let out a long breath, stood and faced the small group scattered around the room. “All right, let’s get started. This is Moshe Gondor, who is taking over as control officer for this operation. As of today, Moshe has moved the headquarters of the operation here to L.A.”
There were a few murmurs of surprise. This meant their team was in the heart of the action and was no longer on the periphery.
“He’s read all of the reports, and I’ve briefed him on where we stand, but he’d like to get a feel directly from each of you. Then we’ll talk about where we go from here.” He stepped back. “Moshe.”
Gondor stood and took Nathan’s place behind the small table, opening a thick folder, laying out some papers, then finally facing the group. “Before we begin, let me introduce to you Yaacov Shoshani.” His tone of voice left no questions about how Gondor viewed the presence of the man in the room. “Most of you know that the Prime Minister has appointed Mr. Shoshani as a civilian advisor to this operation. He is to have full access to all information and is free to sit in any planning sessions. However, he is not considered as part of the operational team. While his counsel should be considered carefully, it has no binding force.”
Yaacov was nodding thoughtfully, as most of the room turned and surveyed him openly. Nathan leaned forward, staring at the floor.
“Nathan will continue as team leader. Because of the importance of this particular operation, I am reporting directly to the Deputy Director. Are there any questions about the chain of command?”
There wasn’t, and the uncomfortable silence stretched on for several moments. “Okay. I want a brief rundown from each of you. Yitzhak, you begin. What about Barclay? What’s your gut reaction? Can a small-time arms dealer really put together a two-billion-dollar arms deal?”
Yitzhak ben Tsur, a descendant of numerous generations of Moroccan Jews, was small and dark, lean as a greyhound and just as quick. He stood. “Well, at first I thought this assignment was going to be no big trouble. Barclay is an established and legitimate arms dealer, but he has never handled anything near this big. Mostly light stuff—rifles, mortars, a few vehicles.” He shrugged. “Basically, he is a little boy playing soccer in the World Cup Championships. Except for one thing. If Gerritt Industries ties up with Barclay, it would make a tremendous difference.”
“More than one thing,” Gondor corrected. “While in Washington, I learned that Barclay also has some powerful support in the State Department.”
Yitzhak nodded soberly. “Yes, that too. There is still much that he must do. The competition will be very fierce for this one, but I am no longer thinking that the Barclay deal will die its own death. It is going to need some help from us.”
“And what of this new radar system Gerritt Industries is supposed to be developing?”
The Moroccan Israeli lifted his shoulders briefly. “We think Gerritt and Barclay are close to striking a deal. Yossi has the details on the system itself.”
“Okay, thank you.” Gondor turned to a larger man on the third row. Even on the streets of Jerusalem, few people would have guessed Yossi Kittelman was a third-generation Israeli. He had fair skin, flaming red hair, and a thick coating of freckles. “Yossi? Tell us about Mr. Quinn Gerritt.”
Yossi stood. He too had spent the night tracking Gerritt, but either he had slept during the day or had a face that showed no weariness. “Ah yes, Mr. Gerritt. This one is harder to get to know. He has been very rich all of his life, and so he knows how to protect his privacy. There is no question but what Gerritt Industries was in serious trouble a few months ago. Then suddenly they received a massive tran
sfusion of capital. We have not yet found out exactly where the money came from, but we are sure it came as a result of this new radar system.”
He shifted his weight, not sure how much detail Gondor wanted. “As you know, many of the high tech companies engaged in weapons research for the Defense Department allow Israeli technicians to study critical new projects. But to this point, Gerritt Industries has not done that. Since this system is being developed privately and not being funded by the government, that is not likely to change.”
Nathan stood and stepped forward. “Unfortunately, we did not know Gerritt was going to be a principal until he came to Barclay’s office a week or two before Christmas. So we haven’t been tracking him as long, and, as Yossi says, he is much more difficult to keep under the microscope.”
Gondor let his gaze sweep the room. “Okay. Gerritt is critical. We will continue to place the major portion of our manpower on that connection. Anything else Yossi?”
The redhead shook his head and sat down.
“What about the two men Barclay has hired?” Gondor asked.
A couple of men in the room stirred.
“Udi?”
Yehuda Gor stood slowly. He was large-boned and seemed awkward, more like a farmer than one of the Mossad’s best operatives. He said little, but when he spoke, he was listened to. He and Gondor had been raised in the same kibbutz, which accounted for the use of the nickname.
“Bringing in new men for a project like this fits Barclay’s pattern,” he began. “Those who know Barclay call these kind of men ‘throwaways.’ He uses them on one project, then dumps them. Derek Parkin came out of the law firm Barclay uses. He is very bright. His expertise is in law. He also has a reputation for being ruthless in negotiating his way through complex situations. The college professor, Jeppson, was almost certainly brought in because he’s a qualified Arabist. Both have recently applied for passports, so we expect Barclay plans to use them heavily.”
“Thanks, Udi.” Gondor surveyed the men. “All right, anything else?” No one moved.
“You need to know that while we had great hopes that this whole problem could be solved in New York and Washington, it looks more and more pessimistic. The president is holding firm on his promise to sell the planes to the Saudis. Congressional and other pressure is not helping much. Even the Prime Minister has talked to him, but the president will not back down. As a sop to us, he told the Prime Minister that he would authorize sale of the F-22 to us as well. That could help him get it through Congress. The Iran-Iraq war, the latest penetrations of Saudi air defenses, the growing madness of the Ayatollah—these and other things have America very worried.”
Gondor sorted through the papers and picked up a letter. “I have here a directive from headquarters. The essence of it is that we here in this room are to undertake every covert effort possible to torpedo the deal before it is made. That is the best way to prevent the sale without alienating American goodwill toward Israel.”
Yaacov Shoshani stirred, as if he was going to speak, and Gondor paused, fixing his eyes upon him. But finally, he settled back in his chair, his face impassive.
Yitzhak raised his hand, and Gondor nodded in his direction. “We have found a way to get someone inside the Gerritt laboratories. We could sabotage the prototype.”
Gondor shook his head, starting to pace back and forth as he continued. “No. At this point, we are only looking for a way to throw gravel in the gears, to let the deal fall apart naturally. If we fail in that, then we will have no alternative but to go to more direct methods.”
“Sabotage is illegal.”
Every head in the room jerked around to look at Yaacov Shoshani.
“If you were caught, or if the Americans found out, it would be very bad for us. It could do us irreparable harm.”
“I said we would only resort to that if we could not find another way,” Gondor snapped, openly irritated.
“Sometimes we say there is no other way, simply because the wrong way is the easier way.”
Nathan groaned inwardly. Here it comes.
When the older man spoke it was almost as if to himself. “If we abandon our commitment to doing what is right and use expediency to justify such a course of action, then we become no better than those we fight against.”
“Look, Mr. Shoshani! I admire your ideals, but what we need here is not preaching. We are after solutions. Do you have solutions, or just lofty phrases?”
Yaacov stood slowly. “What would you say if I told you the name of the man who came to Quinn Gerritt with fourteen million dollars?”
There was a startled intake of breath throughout the room.
“Or what if I told you the name of the engineer who designed the radar device? And that he was on the verge of selling that device to another company because Gerritt Industries couldn’t meet his price, then suddenly changed his mind and signed a contract with Gerritt for one fourth the amount he had originally asked?” He removed his glasses and started rubbing them with his tie. “Tell me, Mr. Gondor, would you think those were solutions, or just lofty phrases?”
Nathan was staring. Gondor spluttered. “Well, I…If you really have that information. Where did you get it?”
Yaacov shuffled forward, looking at the floor as though lost in thought. “I read the reports. One of them indicated that a Mr. Theodore Wuthrich, the controller for Gerritt Industries, is dissatisfied with his boss, Mr. Quinn Gerritt.”
So that was it! Nathan had flagged Wuthrich as a potential, and they had made a low-key, first contact. But so far it had produced nothing.
Yaacov had reached the front of the room and stood face to face with Gondor. “Actually, to say Mr. Wuthrich is merely ‘dissatisfied’ is a vast understatement. He hates Mr. Gerritt bitterly, totally, and with great passion. A possibility for revenge came as a golden opportunity. Then, with the recent financial troubles of Gerritt Industries, Mr. Wuthrich has also lost considerable income from bonuses, stock options, and so on. He is experiencing a rather acute need for some ready cash at the moment. Together, those conditions made him very easy to talk with.”
Nathan was shaking his head slowly, half amazed, half irritated at himself. This was basic intelligence work. If they hadn’t been running Gerritt so hard…
His father reached in his coat and drew out a slip of paper. “Here is the name and address of the man bankrolling Gerritt. Also, there are two other names on the list. These men were recently hired under Gerritt’s specific orders to work the night shift in the shipping department of the Gerritt plant in Hawthorne.”
He handed Gondor the paper. “I find that somewhat touching, don’t you? That a man as important and busy as Mr. Gerritt would take the time to see that two very minor positions were filled properly.”
Gondor was reading the sheet, his face flushed, his mouth tight. “What about the engineer?”
“I would like to follow up on that myself.”
For one moment, Gondor opened his mouth, then his mouth clamped shut and he turned to hand the list to Nathan. “Get on these right away.”
Nathan took the list, but he didn’t look at it. He was staring at his father, who had turned and was walking slowly back to his seat. The older Shoshani did not notice the grudging admiration that had replaced the earlier resentment in the eyes of those in the room, including those of his own son.
Chapter Thirteen
“Daddy, is this a volcano?”
“Uh-huh.” Marc was typing rapidly on his computer and didn’t turn.
“Daddy! You didn’t even look.”
Marc turned to where his son was sprawled on the floor with the World Book Encyclopedia, and gave it a two-second look. “Yes, Matthew, that’s a volcano.”
“Daddy?”
“What, Son?”
“Have you ever sawn a real volcano?”
“Seen, not sawn. But no, I haven’t.” He turned a few pages of the book he was working with, found the reference on Saudi currency, and started to type it
into the computer.
“Why not?”
“Hmmmm?”
“Were you too scared?”
Marc let out a quick breath of exasperation. “Scared of what?”
Matt sat up, the green eyes showing his own efforts to be patient. “A volcano! Is that why you never saw one? ‘Cause you were scared?”
“No, Matt. Volcanos are a long ways away. I’ve never been there. Now, Matt, I’ve got to get this report written. Just look at your book.”
“Oh.” He turned back to the book, disappointed. He turned a few pages, then looked up at his father again. “Daddy?”
“What?”
“At breakfast you said you’d play a game with me.”
Marc took a deep breath, then turned clear around. “I know, Son, but I’ve got to get this paper written. See if Brett will play with you.”
“Brett’s at Cub Scouts.”
“Oh, that’s right.” And Mary, who was assistant den leader, had gone with him. He took a deep breath, feeling the frustration build. He had promised Alex he would have this report for him in the morning, and he was still two or three hours away from completing it.
He turned back to the computer and his books. “Look, Matt. It’s still an hour before bedtime. Go out and see if Martin or Jody can play with you for a while.”
“I can’t, Daddy.” He held up one leg. “I’ve got my bare feet on.”
Swinging back around, Marc held out his arms, laughing. Matt was up and onto his dad’s lap in an instant, grinning happily. “Well,” Marc said, holding back a smile, “why don’t you take off your bare feet and put some shoes on?”
“I got my shoes wet in the gutter. Mary said I had to stay in the house.”
He shook his head helplessly. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Play a game with me, Daddy. Please! You promised.”
At that moment, Valerie stepped into the doorway. “Hi. Your housekeeper sent her daughter over to rescue a beleaguered father.”
“Valerie!” In an instant Matthew was off his father’s lap and throwing his arms around Valerie’s legs.
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