by Nathan Ronen
71A FLIR, or Forward Looking Infrared thermal camera spots objects based on the amount of heat theyradiate.
Chapter 48
The Nocturnal Break-In at the Grand Mosque
The London night was moonless, cold, and damp. A light, annoying London drizzle had persisted all through the day. The time was four a.m., three hours before sunrise. A slim, black-clad figure was crouching on the roof of a large building sporting a dome surrounded by four towering, slender minarets. The figure wrapped a gray polypropylene and Dyneema HMPE rope, the kind used by mountain climbers, around the metal ventilation chimney, gliding silently toward the balcony. The city stretched out below, reaching the low point of its activity at this time of night. The stillness almost revealed the city’s slow pulse. The stream of traffic characterizing the streets of metropolitan London had dwindled down to a trickle.
A security company vehicle careening out of a nearby alley stopped next to the doors of the central market building adjacent to East London’s Grand Mosque in Whitechapel. Its arrival caused the gliding figure to freeze, suspended in the air, clinging to the building’s drainpipe. Two armed guards exited the vehicle and checked the locks at the entrance to the shopping center. The vehicle then took off for its next destination.
This was the Three Graces’ favorite time of day, which they called “the witching hour”: the hour between darkness and dawn, a time when the great majority of the human race was sleeping most deeply. In two hours, the muezzin would arrive and use his megaphone to summon listeners to attend morning prayers.
The gliding figure, frozen in mid-motion, used a finger clad in a black Nomex glove to lower a retractable lens to her right eye from a device worn around her head. She then activated a night-vision device that scanned the interior of the building through the double-paned glass. She let out a sigh of relief. Thanks to the caretakers’ negligence, the internal alarm mechanism, which included a motion detector, had not been activated.
A slight prodding of the lock on the large, glass window with two thin, metal fret-saws caused it to open. The figure snuck inside in absolute silence. The mosque, which on a day of prayer could contain 7,000 worshippers, had a parquet floor covered with thick Afghan rugs. The intruder’s silicon shoes made no sound on the floor. Her skintight nylon suit, also made of the fireproof Nomex polymer, left no doubt that the intruder was a woman. The black ski mask, concealing her face and fair hair, exposed only a pair of large green eyes, which were scanning the mosque’s large hall through a night-vision scope.
“Onion,” she whispered in Hebrew into the small mouthpiece taped to her cheek with a skin-colored Band-Aid. It was the code word meaning “I’m in.”
As she glided in, field agent Ella Oren lingered next to the mosque’s large chandeliers, which dangled from the ceiling on steel wires, in order to affix tiny, pin-sized cameras upon them with powerful five-second glue. The cameras were intended to supply the command post with visuals of what was going on inside the mosque.
“Open the front door for us,” Lia, commander of the Monkey Team, whispered to her from the van bearing the logo ‘Tesco Delivery’ parked on the corner of the street.
“Hold on, I need to take care of the guards,” Ella whispered.
She approached the room where the two security guards were fast asleep on some rolled-up mats. The heavier among them was emitting rhythmic snores, while the skinny one curled himself into a fetal position.
Ella shifted aside the Micro Uzi Pro submachine gun, equipped with a silencer, so that her fingers could access one of the pockets in her vest. She produced a small aluminum bottle containing a spray developed by the Israel Institute for Biological Research in Ness Ziona. She slipped on a rubber gas mask and soundlessly sprayed the two guards with a nitrous oxide anesthetic soon absorbed by their lungs. They would awaken tomorrow with a light headache and would not remember a thing.
“The front door’s open. Come on up,” Ella whispered.
“Alma, handle the cameras and the electronic notification monitors,” Lia commanded.
Alma retrieved a computer chip from her pocket and connected it to one of the outlets behind the communication center in the security room. She held a device that looked like a tiny laptop and tuned the small chip to its transmission channel. At that moment, the monitors announcing the times of prayer and various activities for children, youths, and women at the adjacent Muslim center and Maryam Centre became sophisticated surveillance devices that would transmit anything said or done within the mosque’s enormous hall to the Mossad’s command post on the other side of the road. In addition, the security cameras were transmitting to the control center even while they were off. Further tinkering with the recording system disrupted the timer and the footage of the team of intruders. It was all deleted.
Additional tiny cameras were concealed in the sensors of air conditioning units in the prayer halls, management offices, and the office of the chief imam.
The Three Graces team from Kidon worked in utter silence and efficiency. A small hole resulting from discreet drilling under the curtains was used to house a powerful nano-transmitter intended to disrupt the activity of any scanner seeking surveillance equipment in the room. The device was camouflaged with sheetrock compound squirted from a small tube, its color matching the wall so that it could not be spotted by a casual observer.
Strong infrared flashlights affixed to the Graces’ foreheads illuminated the large hall with invisible light. The night-vision lenses over their eyes gave them the ability to move around freely. In the quiet of the central prayer hall, they could hear loud knocking emanating from the basement.
Lia and Ella produced their pistols, equipped with silencers, while Alma gripped her small submachine gun and followed them. They began to cautiously descend, cat-like, down the basement stairs. At the entrance, they encountered a steel door that was electronically locked. They did not have time to hack the mechanism, and had also been instructed to carry out a quiet break-in. Any attempt to force their way inside and deal with the tunnel diggers might lead to casualties.
A cloth banner with Arabic print, white on black fabric, drew their attention. It stated, “Fight them; Allah will punish them by your hands and will disgrace them and give you victory over them and satisfy the breasts of a believing people and remove the fury in the believers’ hearts. And Allah turns in forgiveness to whom He wills; and Allah is knowing and wise.”72 Next to this quote was an ISIS flag, drawn in black and white. This was surprising. Apparently, someone had brought the sign over from the battlefields of the Islamic State organization in order to encourage those working onsite.
Ella brought her ear to the door and heard the knocking of excavation tools, an air hammer, and an electric hammer drill. The noise generated by the digging was muffled by the heavy door. As there were no residential areas nearby, there was no one to complain about the noise, which barely made it through the walls of the mosque. Someone was digging something there behind the door. In the basement, on a rug just outside the door, they found five disposable plates with leftover Mediterranean food, half-eaten pita bread, leftover hummus, soft drink cans, and to-go coffee cups. An ashtray contained numerous cigarette butts while a pack with “Cedar” written on it in French and Arabic with the logo of the Lebanese cedar in green, red, and white, contained Lebanese cigarettes.
Ella signaled Alma, who produced, from an internal pocket in her suit, a set of sealable, plastic bags of the kind used by forensics investigators. She placed the empty cups, the utensils, and the contents of the ashtray in the bags. This material would allow cross-referencing the DNA left behind by the anonymous diners with MI5’s databases, as well as those of the Office in Tel Aviv. No one would be suspicious over the disappearance of the leftovers. Every night, a cleaning person came by to wash and clean the mosque in preparation for the morning prayers.
Lia kneeled and inserted an endoscope identical to
the ones that doctors use to perform a colonoscopy into the crack between the steel door and its metal frame. It was a thin, cylindrical plastic tube containing optical fibers, which projected light on the examined area, transmitting an image back through a tiny video camera installed at the end of the endoscope to a monitor visible to the outside observer. The device brought into view a long, curving tunnel, metal supports to prevent the tunnel from collapsing, and LED illumination on the ceiling. Through the dust, Lia saw the sweaty backs of several men.
At that point, it was too dangerous to break in and risk a direct confrontation with those present. They would have to make their way inside at a later point in order to see what was being stored in the secret basement.
Less than an hour after infiltrating East London’s Grand Mosque, the team disappeared into thin air. The window through which they had broken in was closed from the inside, and the door was quietly slammed shut.
* * *
72The Quran, Surah 9, 14-15
Chapter 49
Thames House, British Security Service (MI5) HQ
Masha Kramer exited the Mossad vehicle that had transported her to the meeting with her English counterpart. She was holding the file regarding the findings the Three Graces’ ‘Monkey Team’ had brought from the mosque.
The cigarette butts and coffee cups collected by the team had been sent by diplomatic mail to the Mossad’s labs in Israel. DNA testing had uncovered the names of familiar Hezbollah activists. A comparison check established that they had recently entered the UK from Lebanon, camouflaged as a group taking part in a workplace soccer league championship recently held in Manchester, organized by the Labor Party. Masha had also obtained names, photos, and passport numbers. The suspicion was that the activists were an experienced crew of tunnel diggers, using a method first utilized by the North Vietnamese against the Americans during the Vietnam War. This warfare method had been conveyed to the Iranians, who used it against the Iraqis in their 1988 war. Hezbollah acquired this technique and designed tunnels meant for surprise attacks, taking prisoners, and bargaining. The suspicion was that Iman al-Uzbeki was using this tactic and hiding something in East London’s Grand Mosque. The big question was, what was he hiding?
In addition, Masha would be sharing the name of Ali Hassan Baraqat, a teacher of Islam in East London’s Grand Mosque in Whitechapel. His name did not appear on the list of those who had entered Britain in the last six months. Furthermore, through India’s intelligence services, the Mossad discovered that in the past, Pakistan had issued a passport under that name to a man who had passed away a long time ago.
Jessica Phillips, the British MI5 analyst, had a skinny, elongated face, thin hair, and dental implants that were too white. She had been instructed to cooperate but had not been explicitly ordered to put aside her routine work and prioritize the Israelis’ needs. Jessica was incredibly polite, smiled often, and offered coffee and biscuits. But she merely promised politely that in the near future, she would find the time to inspect the “very interesting materials” that Masha Kramer had brought with her.
When Masha left the building, she had the feeling she had just been holding a slippery eel. She believed there was no reason for a return visit. The Israelis could not rely upon anyone but themselves. She had no idea how cautious the British surveillance agency’s personnel were with regard to exposing information concerning cyber technology and innovative surveillance methods.
This was not the first time she had worked with analysts in allied intelligence agencies. However, this time it was clear to her that at this stage, all she had were suspicions and intuition. Other than the information regarding the Lebanese diggers, she did not have any well-founded facts. As in every intelligence operation, once again, they would have to embark on a painstaking process comprised of collecting details, cultivating sources, assessment, and research before she could form a picture, which she knew in advance would also include gaps and contradictions. But that was precisely why she liked her work. She was never bored even for a moment; work was her second family, and she suppressed any thought of ever retiring.
Masha updated Arik, who instructed her to pass on the names she had found to Nina and Yahli Lev from the cyber division’s hacker team.
Additional arrest warrants listing the names of the “tourists”—the Lebanese soccer players, as well as Ali Hassan Baraqat, the teaching assistant at the Grand Mosque—were properly filled out and distributed to the police’s computer network by the Mossad’s whiz kids.
The net had been spread out. The first traps had been set in the police network. At that stage, all that was left was for the network to automatically activate the officers of London’s Metropolitan Police every time they encountered one of the suspects. Meanwhile, the officers had no idea they were unwitting accomplices in service of the Israeli Mossad.
The game of evidence had now begun.
Chapter 50
The War Room
Arik was furious when he returned to the safe house from his foray into the field. He had no assessment of the situation. He didn’t even have a single lead.
“Do we already have initial fingerprints for Iman al-Uzbeki and his team?” he asked.
“At the moment, we only have the names of the people working in the tunnel in the Grand Mosque. It’s a Hezbollah digging unit,” Dr. Yuli Ebenstein said. “There’s also some suspicion regarding a teaching assistant in the Grand Mosque, Ali Hassan Baraqat, who might have entered Britain using a false passport.”
“Why would they build a tunnel, and where are they planning to go?” Arik wondered. They had a few initial shards of information here and there, which left him frustrated. Unlike the typical speed at which his people worked when dealing with terrorists who used credit cards, the internet, and wireless phones, in this case, the network was dead quiet.
“Break into that mosque again,” he instructed. “I don’t want to scare or kill the people working there. I just want to know what’s going on in there. I’m afraid it’s not just a tunnel but a stage for preparing and storing the bombs and the explosives. Judging by the number of exploding vests or the amount of explosives we find in there, we can get an idea of the number of targets and suicide bombers we’re looking for. And if there are concealed explosive charges there, the size of the bomb will tell us the size of the target he intends to blow up. Also, I want to know what information has been received from the team watching the mosque, including observing any carrier pigeons that have arrived there, and whether the observation drone spotted any dovecots anywhere.”
Etty Levkovich, the war room coordinator, checked the data and shook her head. “There’s a problem. Raising pigeons is a common hobby among Muslims, including raising them for food. Furthermore, in Muslim culture, pigeons are revered to this day, and the custom is to protect pigeons that nest in the cities, particularly the ones nesting in mosques or in their vicinity.”
Arik sat down in the armchair Masha Kramer had vacated for him in the war room, holding his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and tried a meditation exercise. He was a hunter. Locating people was part of his job, and he was good at it. Success depended upon identification. You had to think like your rivals, feel like them, see what they saw with their eyes, put yourself in their place. Turn into them.
On the other hand, he was well familiar with the ‘Eureka delusion’: intelligence personnel’s tendency to believe in what they seemingly discovered and in the stories that they told themselves. He remembered how Cornfield would scold analysts whose brains would manufacture points where there were no points to begin with, and who would then have a natural tendency to draw lines between those points to create a coherent story that was not always backed up by facts. His analytic mind was constantly seeking booby traps and gaps in logic that were not supported by the facts. He was always playing devil’s advocate.
Ruhama Saltzman came into the room and aske
d, “Do you have a minute for me?”
“Sit here next to me,” Arik said, looking at her with affection and taut expectation.
“We sat down to conduct an initial analysis of Iman al-Uzbeki’s psychological profile,” she began. “He’s a fascinating man, combining what we call ‘the dark triangle.’ He’s a psychopath, a narcissist, and also a Machiavellian.”
“And…” Arik tried to prod her into providing practical information that would help him locate his enemy’s hiding spot.
“I know he’s also paranoid, does not trust anyone, and suspects even his closest friends,” she continued. “We’re dealing with a psychopath who feels no guilt or regret, with daring, uninhibited, and selfish character traits. On the other hand, since he’s a simple, rural guy, I assume his weakness is a schematic approach to life without an ability to improvise, and I want to hope his modus operandi doesn’t change. Meaning he’s quite predictable in that regard, and as for his Machiavellianism…”
“Meaning?” Arik tried to prompt Ruhama into speaking more practically.
“Meaning that what was is what will be,” she said. “I’m assuming he’ll work within a pattern we’re already familiar with, like his attacks in Argentina or Morocco, a roll-over plan in several phases.”
Arik was only partially listening. His mind was concerned mainly with the topic of carrier pigeons. He was debating how to crack the Enigma-like challenge that Iman al-Uzbeki was posing. The primitivistic approach his rival had adopted created a state of electronic silence. He had nothing, no intelligence for an actual operation.
In any case, he had to take the randomness out of the equation. Any such operation had to be put together like a thousand-piece puzzle requiring meticulous planning. All that notwithstanding, however, it was always necessary to leave something unclosed, something that was not rigid, which would allow a commander on the ground to maintain mental and logistic flexibility.
