by Ty Patterson
Packing. In their rooms.
He hauled himself over the railings and climbed inside. Padded silently across the marble floor, Glock in hand. There was a couch that faced the sliding doors. An ornate mirror mounted on a showcase in a corner.
Zeb seated himself on the couch, his backpack to one side of him, his weapon to the other. Narrowed his eyes when he noticed that, by shifting his position, he could see the insides of both the rooms reflected in the mirror.
Another security measure.
Shadows moved in one of the rooms. Carmel came into view … hugging Dalia, brushing back the hair from her face. She pressed her lips to her partner’s.
Levin’s files on them are wrong. The two are in a relationship.
They drifted out of view. He heard soft murmurings and footfalls. Carmel came into the living room holding her girlfriend’s hand, their bags strapped over their shoulders.
They didn’t see him initially, and when they did, both kidon froze for a moment.
‘Don’t,’ Zeb warned them in their native language, raising his Glock. ‘If I wanted you dead …’ He didn’t complete it.
‘Kalb must have sent you,’ Dalia spat, her eyes flashing. No fear in either of them.
Rashid Kalb. Zeb recalled the name from the ramsad’s dossier. The Tunisian they were targeting.
‘You’re an Israeli killer?’ Carmel asked contemptuously, as she inched toward Dalia’s room. ‘He must have paid you a lot for you to go after your own people.’
Zeb shot into the floor near her feet, the report echoing loudly in the room.
‘Don’t move,’ he told them. ‘I want your phones.’
They think I am a shooter, here to finish them. No fear in them, however. They didn’t even flinch when I fired. He couldn’t help admiring them, even though they could be the killers.
‘Your phones,’ he repeated. ‘Reach into your bags and bring them out. Carefully. One at a time.’
The women looked at each other. Phones? Carmel shrugged her shoulder and her purse dropped into her palm. She opened it and fished out her cell.
‘That’s your Mossad one?’
‘Mossad? We aren’t—’
‘Please. We are beyond that.’
She glared at him, and then nodded once.
‘I want your personal one.’
‘Since when did a killer go after phones?’ she snarled. Nevertheless, she brought out her personal device.
‘Drop it to the floor.’
It fell to the carpet.
‘Kick it toward me.’
The phone slid across the surface and came to rest near him.
‘Now you,’ his Glock pointed at Dalia, who went through the same maneuver.
‘Drop your bags to the floor.’
The women followed his orders.
‘Go, sit on those chairs.’ He gestured at the dining table.
They seated themselves and glared at him.
‘You know who we are.’ Dalia cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘You’d better kill us fast. The more time you take, the more we have to figure out how to overpower you.’
Zeb didn’t reply. He swiftly grabbed the phones from the floor and powered one on.
‘Password?’
Dalia uttered one.
He entered it, his eyes flicking between the screen and the women. He navigated to the various apps but didn’t find the one he was looking for.
He reached into his backpack and brought out a cable and another device. Hooked his equipment to Dalia’s phone and copied its contents. Did the same with her partner’s cell. All the while, the kidon looked at him, a thoughtful look now in Carmel’s eyes.
He fingered his cell, put it on speaker and called Meghan. He knew she would be awake and at her screen.
The women’s eyes widened when the international dialing tone sounded in the apartment.
‘You’ve got two data dumps coming,’ he told his friend when she accepted the call.
Carmel looked at Dalia swiftly. Seemed to tense, ready to spring at him. Froze when he raised his Glock.
There was a reason he had asked them to sit. It put them at a disadvantage, since it would take them more time to act from that position.
‘Got it,’ Meghan replied crisply.
‘Check out where those cells have been for the last week.’
A keypad clicked as she worked.
‘You’re American,’ Dalia stated flatly, switching to English.
He didn’t respond.
‘Who’s with you?’ Meghan asked.
‘Later,’ he told her, feeling a surge of pride within him. A lesser operative would have called him by his name. None of his friends would do that.
‘Tunisia,’ she came back a few moments later. ‘I’m narrowing it down.’
‘I’ll call later.’ He hung up.
And then Dalia acted.
Her hand flew to the fruit bowl on the table. She grabbed an apple and flung it at him. Carmel slid out of her chair, pivoted on her heel with balletic grace, grabbed the back of the chair and threw it at him.
The two kidon spread out and charged toward him.
Zeb was anticipating a move like that. He was moving even before the fruit reached him. He dived out of the couch and landed on the floor on his left shoulder.
The women lost a fraction of a second as they changed direction toward him. Which worked to Zeb’s advantage.
He fired over their heads, the round thudding in the wall behind them.
They stopped, their eyes glittering.
‘You were in Tunisia all along?’ he asked them in Hebrew.
‘Kill us, or fight us.’ Dalia pounced at him, Carmel close behind.
Zeb twisted his body quickly, but he wasn’t fast enough. She landed on top of him, her palms clamping around his gun hand.
‘Keep him down,’ Carmel yelled and sprang toward her bag.
Zeb kept down, offering no resistance, and when she returned with ties, he couldn’t help grinning.
‘That’s not needed,’ he told both of them.
Dalia didn’t relax, but that questioning look returned to Carmel’s face.
‘Just who are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m Jarrett Epstein.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Jerusalem
One day after Assassinations
* * *
‘Prove it,’ Dalia demanded, not relaxing on top of him.
‘Call the ramsad. Ask him.’ He could have given them the card Levin had provided him. They won’t trust me, however. They’ll think it’s a forgery.
Carmel fished out her work phone and dialed a number.
‘Sir,’ she told him, ‘there’s a man in our apartment. Says he’s Epstein, the investigator.’
She turned away and described him softly. ‘We passed the lie tests,’ she added. Fell silent, listened, then nodded several times. ‘Rega.’ One moment. She came to Zeb, who was still being held down by Dalia, and held the phone to his ear.
‘Carmel says they’ve captured you.’ There was a hint of a smile in Levin’s voice.
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Zeb acknowledged.
‘You think they’re—’
‘No.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. They’re two of my best. You can trust them fully, now. Give the phone back to her.’
Carmel rose, listened and nodded some more. ‘Toda,’ she said, thank you, and hung up.
‘He’s Epstein,’ she told her partner, and only then did Dalia release her hold on Zeb and climb off.
‘Levin explained?’ he asked Carmel.
‘Yes. We’re clear?’
‘Yes, unless you’ve tampered with your phones.’
He knew they hadn’t. Meghan would have run through a few checks before confirming her Tunisia announcement.
‘We haven’t.’
Dalia kept quiet as she went to the couch and straightened it. She pocketed their phones and returned the chair and the fruit to their
positions. No questions from her, and that impressed Zeb again.
They aren’t asking why I tapped their apartment. They know I had to use any means to investigate.
‘What now?’ Carmel asked him.
‘What do you know of the rest of the kidon?’ He went to his backpack and stuffed its contents back inside.
‘Not much,’ she shrugged. ‘We, Dalia and me, have been working together for a few years now. Before that, we were in different teams. It’s not as if we socialize a lot. Some kidon are good friends with others. We aren’t like that.’
‘You’ve met all of them?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not as if the ramsad tells us who else is a kidon. For instance, we didn’t know about you.’
‘He isn’t one of us,’ Dalia asserted.
‘Is she right?’ Carmel asked him.
Zeb debated with himself for a moment. Levin said I can trust them. His gut agreed with the director. He decided to go with his gut.
‘Yes. Dalia was right. I’m from the U.S. A long-time friend of the ramsad.’
‘You’re with the CIA?’ Dalia probed. ‘You speak Hebrew fluently. With the right accent. I have never come across any American who can speak so well. Your name … Epstein. Why do I think that’s a cover?’
‘None of that’s important,’ he deflected. He headed to the table and occupied a chair. His lips quirked when Carmel sat to his right, Dalia to his left, pinning him between the two of them.
He brought out the list of operatives and laid it on the table.
‘You know them?’ he asked the kidon.
Dalia ran a finger down the list and nodded. ‘Yes, we both have either trained with them, met them or have worked with them.’
She lingered over two crossed names, Riva and Adir. ‘What about them?’ she asked.
‘How well do you know those two?’ he countered.
‘Carmel said we didn’t have friends. She was wrong. We have one. Riva. We know Adir well, but not like a friend.’
‘You know what this is all about?’
‘Let me guess,’ Carmel replied sarcastically. She held a finger up. ‘First, there were those killings.’ Another finger shot out. ‘Then those accusations on social media.’ A third digit extended. ‘Of course, there was that email from the ramsad, about Epstein. We aren’t stupid,’ she glared at him.
Zeb made a peace sign and brought out a pen. He crossed out their names on the list as they watched in silence.
‘Riva and Adir,’ Dalia persisted. ‘You checked them out?’
‘Let’s just say I know they weren’t in Jerusalem when those killings happened.’
The kidon looked at each other, pondering his choice of words. They seemed to know what that implied. ‘We don’t work with other country operatives,’ Dalia said softly. ‘The ramsad must trust you a lot if you worked with those two.’
‘Levin and I, we go back a long way,’ Zeb offered, and with that, he won them over.
‘How can we help?’ Carmel leaned forward, staring at the list.
‘What do you know about these others?’
A frown creased her forehead. ‘You have to understand something … there will be some of us who think we shouldn’t negotiate with Palestine. That everything that’s happening is their fault. They started it. Not just Palestine. Iran, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, all the Arab countries. These operatives think Israel should always treat these nations as enemies. There will be others who think both Palestine and Israel need to compromise.’
‘Where do the two of you stand?’
‘Dalia lost her parents several years ago when Hamas bombed a bus in Jerusalem.’ She reached out and grabbed her partner’s hand. ‘My brother was killed in another suicide bombing attack. Our families have lost a lot.’
‘You both think Israel is wrong to negotiate?’
A smile ghosted over her lips. ‘Lo,’ no. She shook her head. ‘It’s easy to make that assumption. You’re wrong, however. We want our country to have a long future. That will not happen unless both sides agree to live as good neighbors. That will only happen with dialogue.’
‘How many others think like you?’
‘We rarely talk politics when we meet,’ Dalia answered. She took the pen from him and added asterisks next to several names. She slid the sheet across to her partner, who made more marks.
Zeb studied the list when they had finished. Fourteen names were marked, all male.
‘They think like you?’
‘No. Those, they don’t want negotiations.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jerusalem
One day after Assassinations
* * *
Prime Minister Yago Cantor understood the urgency when he took President Ziyan Baruti’s call.
He understood the importance of meeting in person. That was brought home when he had scanned the headlines of the newspapers scattered on his desk in the morning. Some suggested the Palestinians themselves were behind the assassinations. Others demanded that Mossad be held accountable. All of them wanted decisive action from him.
He had asked his aide to make arrangements, and the result was that he was now with Baruti in his office in Jerusalem.
This was an occasion in itself. The two men could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times they had met. Meeting in Cantor’s office was a first.
They barely spent any time on pleasantries before diving into details. They could speak freely, since the prime minister had cleared his office. The Palestinian briefed his counterpart on Masar Abadi’s threat and on Muhammed Bishara’s warning.
‘Abdul Masih,’ Cantor reflected, ‘we have been after him for a long time. We nearly got him last year. He’s hunting for you, now?’
‘That’s what Abadi claims.’
‘You have security?’
‘Yes, but what good will that be against a killer who is determined? And someone who doesn’t care for his own life?’
The Israeli nodded. The best protection in the world couldn’t guard against a suicide bomber.
‘You’re having second thoughts?’ he enquired.
‘No,’ Baruti growled, ‘The EQB have always disliked me. They think I am too conciliatory to you. In any case, I cannot be distracted by this. We have come this far. We cannot turn back.’ He brought out two files and handed them over. ‘The replacements.’
The prime minister flicked through the files and set them aside. ‘We should do something for their families.’
‘I have already called them and expressed my condolences.’
‘Israel needs to do its bit, too,’ Cantor pondered for a moment. ‘Why don’t we make a joint call, right now?’
He called for his aide when the Palestinian nodded appreciatively. Fifteen minutes later they were on speaker to Maryam Razak’s parents. It was an awkward conversation initially. The old couple lived in the West Bank and their distrust toward the Israeli was apparent.
‘I know how you feel,’ the prime minister filled a long pause. ‘I promise I will find her killers.’
Even as he spoke, he knew he wouldn’t be trusted. I have to make the effort, he thought to himself.
The call to Farhan Ba’s brother, his only brother, was even worse. The sibling accused Cantor of being a hypocrite and a liar and hung up on him.
‘You tried,’ Baruti said heavily when the Israeli disconnected. ‘That’s all you and I can do. Keep trying.’
‘Your political position…’ The prime minister reminded him, changing topics.
‘I need to show a win,’ Baruti said. ‘That might keep my people quiet as the negotiators work.’
Cantor pondered for a while. The aide came in, freshened their drinks and left silently. In the distance, a police cruiser wailed past, an ambulance following.
‘Let’s make an announcement,’ he declared. ‘Today. Saying that in ten days’ time, we will make history.’
‘Ten days?’ the Palestinian’s jaw dropped. ‘We can’t agree to terms in
that short a time. This will take months.’
‘I know—’
‘We agreed we will negotiate first and then declare it.’
‘Yes, but with the pressure on you, let’s change our approach. Let’s say that in ten days, we will announce the outline of a deal that has never been agreed on before.’
‘Without going into details?’
‘Yes.’
Baruti mulled it over. ‘It will certainly buy me time,’ he agreed. ‘But what about your hard-liners?’
‘I will have to deal with them.’
‘What do we announce in ten days?’
‘We’ll see how people react, and if the winds are favorable to us, we will announce our vision.’
Baruti gasped. ‘You want to let the world know? So soon?’
‘Yes, we don’t have the luxury of waiting anymore.’
‘They are still out there. The killers. They might strike again.’
‘Yes. That is a risk. The negotiators are in a secure hotel. More protected than ever before. Has anyone from your side wanted to back out?’
‘No,’ the Palestinian admitted. ‘I spoke to them before coming here. All of them want to continue.’
‘How soon can your replacements arrive?’
‘Today.’
‘In that case, let’s make our announcement in the evening. The discussions start tomorrow. And in ten days, my friend, let’s hope we can show the world a new future.’
Cantor’s aide set up the press conference later that evening. Baruti made several calls and got the replacement negotiators out of the West Bank. They would be met by an Israeli security team, who would escort them to their hotel.
Avichai Levin was in Cantor’s office when Baruti joined them. The Palestinian nodded at him stiffly and made to ignore him, but the ramsad wasn’t deterred by his body language.
‘Sir,’ the director addressed the president. ‘I know my agency is the most hated organization in Palestine. You have my assurance on this, however.’
He waved toward a window in the direction of Temple Mount. ‘One day, your people and mine will worship at the Dome of the Rock and Western Wall without fear.’
