by Adam Palmer
However he had been seriously compromised and could not now work in the field or indeed anywhere outside Israel. Technically wanted for murder on an Interpol warrant, he had to stay in Israel, unless he travelled in disguise under a false identity.
But his experience made him a very good desk officer too. Of the many cases that he was covering, the one that concerned him most was the one that Daniel Klein had got caught up in. Although not a “Sayan” — i.e. a co-optee or asset, run by a field officer — Daniel was a non-Israeli Jew who had recently stumbled into a conspiracy that could have led to the deaths of millions of Israelis, had he not acted on his own initiative with courage, wisdom and haste.
For this reason alone, Dovi Shamir considered Daniel to be under his “protective wing” and the fact that Daniel was now in a British gaol awaiting trial for a murder that he almost certainly did not commit was most displeasing to Dovi. Accordingly, he was taking a personal interest in the case.
But there was a limit to what he could do. It had taken a lot of diplomatic string-pulling to save Dovi himself after the British police had him “bang to rights” on a charge of murdering Ismail Shahaid on British soil. The fact that his face had been plastered all over the news media made it even harder for the British to let him go, as to do so would be seen as a sign of favouritism to Israel, fuelling all the old conspiracy theories about the Zionists running the world. Even the Israeli authorities themselves had been ready to throw Dovi to the wolves.
In the end, what saved Dovi’s neck was the fact that he had done for Britain what Daniel Klein had done for Israel: saved a lot of innocent lives using his own initiative and working practically alone. Specifically, Dovi had prevented Ismail Shahaid’s terrorist colleagues from blowing up the wreck of the Richard Montgomery — a munitions ship from the Second World War that was sunk in the Thames Estuary and lay precariously on the seabed off the coast of Sheerness for several decades thereafter packed with unstable explosives.
This successful thwarting of a terrorist operation that would have left thousands of British citizens dead and caused millions of pounds worth of damage, gave the Israeli authorities enough leverage to bargain with and gave Dovi personally enough kudos to enable the British to release him with a nod and a wink. However, the international warrant was still open and technically he was still a wanted man.
Daniel Klein had also fallen afoul of the Metropolitan Police in London, when he had come under suspicion of murdering his mentor, the late Harrison Carmichael. He also came under suspicion over an attempt on the life of Egyptian Minister for Antiquities Akil Mansoor and for stealing antiquities from the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, but these were all cleared up by further evidence and some adroit diplomacy.
So right now, all Dovi could do was sit tight and wait for these events to play out. From what he had been able to ascertain from local sources, the case against Daniel wasn’t all that strong. He had been lured into a meeting and then ambushed. Dovi even had proof that there was a plan to kill Daniel and of who was behind it. If necessary, this information could be made available to the British authorities through the appropriate diplomatic and shared intelligence channels. But Dovi wasn’t ready for that yet. Once they went down that route, it might tip off Shomrei Ha’ir that the authorities were on to them. Dovi wanted to play his cards close to his chest for a while longer, even if that meant that Daniel Klein would have to sit it out behind bars for a while longer.
Yet it was hard to understand why they had even arrested, let alone charged, Daniel. It was obvious that he had come close to being killed himself. He clearly had no motive to kill Martin Costa and phone company records would show that he had been lured there. And why kill by starting a fire? Then Dovi remembered that Harrison Carmichael had been killed by violent blows and then his house burnt down. The parallels were remarkable.
But Daniel had been cleared in that case. Did the police in this case really think that he was guilty in the Harrison Carmichael case after all? Or had the copper in charge of the present case just got hold of the wrong end of the stick? Dovi hoped that when the matter came to the remand hearing, wiser counsel would prevail. But in the meantime, he decided to hold tight. However, all that came to an abrupt end when a report came through on his eMail.
Internet Intercept summary — 9 August, 2012 — 16:30 IST
Client user(s): “Baruch Tikva” (Identified by IP address, MAC number, username and password) [on file]
Client computer locus: Mea She’arim, Jerusalem, Israel
Client computer IP address: 86.44.87.146
Client computer Mac no.: A7-DB-3C-9A-E0-6B
Respondent server owner: lastminute.com [listed organization]
Respondent server locus: Zurich, Switzerland
Respondent server IP no.: 2.17.241.8
Respondent server Mac no.: D2-FE-78-2C-29-A7
Reason(s): 1) Client user on SHaBaK watch list for monitoring.
SUMMARY:
Subject booked airline tickets in name of “Baruch Tikva” for travel to London on 10 August, 2012 at 07:10 IST on British Airways, Flight BA162.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Dovi realized immediately that this had to have something to do with Daniel Klein still being alive despite the ambush and Sam Morgan’s arrival in Israel. He would liaise with SHaBaK, who were keeping tabs on Morgan and the Tikvas — father and son. But right now he had a more urgent priority.
He logged on to lastminute.com and seeing that there was only one place remaining on that flight booked a ticket in the name of Siobhan Stewart. Then he picked up the phone and called an all too familiar mobile phone number.
“Hi Sarit. I have an urgent assignment for you.”
Chapter 23
The trip from the police station to the Crown Court had been brief but uncomfortable. The road had been somewhat bumpy. Either that or it was just a bad driver. Either way, Daniel couldn’t escape the paranoid feeling that this was a way of “breaking” a suspect, even though they had been perfectly polite to him, almost to the point of deference.
At the court he was able to meet with a new solicitor whom he had retained on the advice of a colleague who had told him that duty solicitors are a “waste of space.” Peter Hackett, the man he had hired in place of the duty solicitor was known to be very unpopular with the police.
“There’s a reason for that,” the solicitor had explained to Daniel over the phone.
“And what’s that?” Daniel had asked, already anticipating the answer.
“I’m good. I get results. That’s something the police don’t like.”
Like Daniel, Hackett was a man in his early forties of average height and athletic build, but athletic in the sense of lean and trim, not big or muscular. But there was something about him that inspired confidence. He radiated self-assurance and Daniel suspected that when he was in his element, he could be quite formidable.
“Okay let me brief you about what’s going to happen when we go into court. You’ll be asked to confirm your name. At that point you just say yes, nothing more. Don’t say anything else at that stage unless they actually get your name wrong, which almost certainly isn’t going to happen.”
Daniel nodded.
“Okay then the next thing they’ll do is read out the charge and ask you whether you plead guilty or not guilty. At that point you say ‘not guilty’ and nothing else. You can even sit down after that.”
“What about bail?”
“That’s what I’m getting to. At that stage, the judge will ask if there’s an application for bail. At that point I’ll make an application for bail. The judge will invite counsel for the prosecution to respond and needless to say he — or she — will oppose the application. There may be a bit of too-ing and fro-ing between me and the lawyer from the CPS and then the judge will rule.”
“What are my chances?”
“Of getting bail on a murder charge?”
“Yes.”
“It can happen. Y
ou have don’t have a criminal record for a similar offence, so the legal presumption is in your favour. On the other hand you did breach your bail conditions that time you were accused of killing Harrison Carmichael.”
“If I hadn’t done that I’d never have come up with the evidence that proved my innocence.”
“I can argue that, but it’s not the sort of thing that the Courts like to hear.”
“What do they like to hear?”
“That you’re sorry about that time, but that it was a very different case. That you came back of your own accord. That you’re a man of unblemished record when it comes to actual criminal convictions. That you have a permanent residence in this country. That you have a job. That you’re ready to surrender your passport and wear an electronic tag.”
“And you think that’ll swing it?”
The lawyer gave this a moment’s thought.
“We can but try.”
“Is that a coded way of telling me not to get my hopes up.”
The lawyer smiled.
“We’re on the same wavelength.”
“Is there anything I can do that might help tip the scales in my favour?”
Again the lawyer paused to give the answer the care and consideration it deserved.
“Nothing at this stage. When it comes to the committal hearing, what we really need is evidence.”
“What sort of evidence?”
“Something that might counter the prosecution’s theory about Costa changing his mind.”
“Like what? He never had a chance to tell me anything.”
“No but he sent you the image already. So we could argue that changing his mind was irrelevant.”
“Yes, but like I told the police, the image was blurred. That’s why I was meeting him. He was going to show me the original — at least I assume he was.”
“You know what they say about assume. But let me ask you this: why didn’t you just ask him to send you another copy of the image — a less blurred copy?
“I told him it was blurred and left the ball in his court. He chose not to do it that way.”
“But you see, that’s the problem. That suggests that maybe he decided not to be so open with you.”
“Or maybe he just felt that a face to face meeting would be more productive.”
“Now that is pure speculation. Can you take a look at the image and see if you can decipher it… or read at least part of it?”
“It was on my phone. I dropped that when I escaped.”
“It’s a pity you didn’t make a back up.”
The words jogged Daniel’s memory. He just about to blurt out that he had, when he decided to hold back. It occurred to him that he didn’t really know anything about this man who was representing him. Sure it was his lawyer, and as such some one who had a professional duty to him as the client. But how much did he really know about him? He had hired him on a recommendation. But even if Hackett was a hundred percent trustworthy, what if he was being watched? Whoever had tried to kill Daniel, it was evidently some one dangerous. Anything he told the lawyer might merely put the lawyer in jeopardy… and might leak out to the unknown enemy who was still out there.
Daniel decided to hold back for the time being.
Chapter 24
“I hope you didn’t take it personally,” said Baruch Tikva as he helped the young redhead get her hand luggage down from the overhead compartment. She was twentysomething and petite, yet athletic. But he wasn’t supposed to notice that. When she had first taken up her window seat next to him, he had objected to the airline staff, explaining that he was an orthodox Jew and that he couldn’t sit next to a woman. She had pointed out that she was modestly dressed but he insisted that either she or he be moved so that he could sit next to a man instead.
She agreed to move in principle, but explained that her bag was already in the overhead compartment and that as the plane had now more or less filled up, she might not be able to find room for it elsewhere. The flight attendant said that she could leave the bag there and collect it at the end of the flight. She agreed to this but insisted that if she needed anything from it during the flight she must be free to get it. The flight attendant diplomatically extracted a promise from Baruch Tikva that this would be no problem.
Baruch realized that he had probably come over as rather pushy, but he believed in standing up for his principles and he knew that airline staff tend to try to be accommodating. In the event the girl hadn’t come back during the flight and he actually felt grateful that she had agreed to be the one to move. Without giving way to the feelings of lust from his loins, he actually warmed to this girl somewhat, perhaps because she was clearly not Jewish. If her morals were loose, that was of no consequence, because she was a stranger. This meant that she wasn’t a traitor in the way that fallen Jewish women were.
So when she returned for the bag at the end of the flight, he realized that it made sense for him to take advantage of his considerable height to help her get it down. And she, for her part, seemed grateful. He had already picked up on the girl’s Irish accent and as he took the bag down, he noticed the name Siobhan Stewart on the baggage tag. Clearly Irish! But she didn’t look like a nun or even a convent girl. He suspected that she was simply a returning tourist who had just visited the Holy Land and that she either lived in London or was going to get a connecting flight to Ireland.
At passport control he was surprised to see that she was ahead of him in the non-EU passport queue. He assumed that Ireland was part of the EU. But again he dismissed it from his mind as he cleared Passport Control. Paradoxically, the queue for EU passports was longer than for non-EU — because border control staff had been re-assigned to customs in accordance with the government philosophy that catching smugglers was more important than facilitating the fast through-flow of passengers.
He didn’t have any stowed luggage of his own, only hand baggage, and so he went directly to the green channel with his small suitcase, passing through unimpeded, until he spotted a powerful man bearing a sign with the name “Tikva”. Baruch Tikva was a big man himself, but he sensed that the driver was a fighter who would be a formidable opponent. He suspected that this man was not merely the driver of the person he was going to see, but also the bodyguard. And he knew well why a bodyguard was needed.
The driver took his bag and led him to the short-term car park, where a white Rolls Royce was waiting. The driver opened a rear passenger door deferentially for Tikva, who stepped into a white leather-upholstered interior while the driver placed the bag in the boot. The half hour drive took them to Chesham Place in Belgravia.
Tikva was not a worldly man, having only rarely set foot outside of Israel and then usually only to Jewish areas of major metropolises like London’s Stamford Hill. But the townhouse in Belgravia lived up to his expectations. He had once seen an episode of a British television series set against the background of the British aristocracy in Edwardian times and this place reminded him of that.
After a five minute wait in an anteroom, Tikva was led into a rosewood-panelled drawing room where he found himself facing an elegant lady in her sixties, remarkably attractive for her age. He remembered that she had once been a model in TV adverts. She was dressed in an beige evening dress, but he was relieved that it was suitably modest.
“Good evening,” she said in the most upper class English accent he had ever heard. “I am Lady Lefou. But you may call me Chienmer.”
He looked at her blankly.
“My first name.”
She held out her hand. But he hesitated. As an orthodox Jewish man he was not supposed to shake hands with a woman. But it would seem impolite if he spurned the hand of his hostess. It would feed all the prejudices against the Jews that this woman was known for. On the other hand she would surely understand. She had criticized western women — or at least the younger ones — for the immodesty of their dress. And she had praised the Muslims for their standards of modesty, in contrast.
“A plea
sure to meet you,” he replied, keeping his hands by his sides but bowing from the waist, like an old-fashioned English gentleman.
Bowing from the waist was acceptable, he told himself, as long as he didn’t bend the knee.
Orthodox Jews only bend the knee before God.
Lefou lowered her hand, as if realizing Baruch Tikva’s dilemma.
“Well sit down.”
She pointed to an armchair that bore an embroidered design of pink and purple on a fabric of pale gold. He sat, but realized afterwards that he had committed a faux pas and should have waited for her to sit first. She smiled at his obvious embarrassment, as she took her seat opposite him.
“First of all,” she said, “I want you to know that I don’t see you as tainted by the same brush as the Zionists.”
He remembered that although she had positioned herself as anti-Zionist and not anti-Semitic, she had also declared herself to be against Judaism, as a religion, claiming that it was “dishonest, inhumane, supremacist, hate-fuelled, predatory, treacherous and does not deserve to be called a religion at all.” She claimed, however, that she was not hostile to people of Jewish descent per se. But that did not prevent her from accusing them of being part of a conspiracy with the Freemasons, from whom, she asserted, they were indistinguishable. A self-styled “atheist”, she also professed to be an admirer of Iranian Shi’ite Islam, which she claimed was similar to Hellenism!
However, although Shomrei Ha’ir believed, like other orthodox Jews, in the same Talmud that Lefou had lambasted, she had already made it clear, in their online communications, that she was ready to make an exception for them in the name of expediency. He nodded his acceptance of her “graciousness”, thinking that now was not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth.
