The Peace Killers

by Ty Patterson

  ‘Yago,’ Levitsky interrupted. ‘I think this is highly unusual. We are discussing highly confidential state matters that not even the entire cabinet is privy to—’

  He jumped when Cantor slammed his palm on the table. ‘Jessy, I am still the prime minister of Israel. I will decide who comes into my residence and who sits in my meetings.’

  Levin cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed. ‘Only the prime minister and Nadav know this. It is not something that will be disclosed to the public and should not be discussed outside this room. Brown and the two ladies took down Abdul Masih and Alam Qadir.’

  Levitsky’s jaw dropped. His eyes bulged and he stared at Zeb, Beth and Meghan, hostility disappearing from his face. Jore Spiro looked on with a thin, enigmatic smile on his face, as if he knew who Zeb was.

  He might know, Zeb thought. I met him several years back, on a mission when he was an active soldier.

  ‘You shot him?’ the minister for public security whispered.

  ‘The prime minister is right,’ Zeb replied noncommittally, ‘there are more important matters to discuss.’

  ‘How did Masih know which hotel to target?’ Cantor growled when Levitsky dropped the matter. ‘How did he assemble people so quickly? What story do we tell the people?’ A muscle in his jaw flexed. ‘You have seen what’s being discussed on social media. People are saying Mossad is behind the attack. I have a press conference in another hour. I need something to tell the people.’

  ‘About the hotel, it’s too early to say, Yago,’ Spiro answered. ‘The police are looking into the security camera footage. They are questioning everyone in the vicinity of the attack. IDF teams are canvasing the entire neighborhood.’

  ‘Was there a leak?’

  ‘That is a possibility—’

  ‘There was no leak.’ Heads swung toward Zeb at his emphatic reply. ‘I know what happened. Masih followed the ambassador’s vehicle. He put two and two together and made his plans.’

  ‘You know this for certain?’ There was a question in Levin’s eyes.

  He’s wondering if I kept something from him.

  ‘I’m reasonably sure.’ He launched into a quick account of how he had felt after the ambassador had given her speech.

  ‘You didn’t spot anyone then?’

  ‘No. But it wouldn’t be hard for Masih to organize surveillance without being detected.’

  ‘We didn’t know he was here? Masih?’ Cantor asked Levitsky.

  ‘No, Yago.’

  ‘We had the same intel, Prime Minister,’ Levin backed up his ministerial colleague. ‘That Masih was in Gaza. As to your second question, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to get suicide bombers and gunmen.’

  ‘What about my third?’

  The ramsad leaned back. What story to spin was a job for politicians.

  ‘Why don’t we tell the truth?’ Spiro suggested. ‘That EQB was behind these attacks.’

  ‘I can do that. But questions will arise about the previous attack. We haven’t made much progress, have we?’

  ‘No, Yago,’ Levitsky admitted.

  ‘Sir,’ Levin hunched forward, ‘If I can suggest?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Why not claim the EQB is a suspect in the previous killings?’

  Sounds of surprise echoed in the room.

  ‘Why would the EQB kill Palestinians, Avichai?’ the prime minister asked, puzzled.

  ‘To put us in the position we are in. We are questioning our own organizations, searching for traitors. We don’t know whom to trust within ourselves. Sir, there’s someone smart behind these killings. Someone very smart, who knows how to use social media to their advantage. Look what’s trending now. We know for sure that Mossad operatives weren’t involved in this latest attack, yet we are on the backfoot.’

  ‘You want us to play their game,’ Cantor nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. ‘Nullify the misinformation they have sown. It will also buy us time.’

  ‘More importantly—’

  ‘Yes, Avichai.’ The prime minister managed a smile despite the gravity of the situation. ‘It will help us manage the coalition partners. EQB is a good target to blame. It will help President Baruti, too. He has long condemned EQB.’

  ‘Those killers are still out there, though,’ Shoshon reminded everyone. ‘The ones who killed the Palestinians.’

  ‘And they need to be found. I think they will be thrown off-guard by my statement, wondering what we are playing at … which is what Avichai wants.’ He glanced at his watch and rose, his cue for ending the meeting. ‘I have several calls to make. Presidents Morgan and Baruti, the British prime minister … Avichai, Alice, can you stay back? Agent Brown, you too, and the ladies.’

  He clasped Zeb’s shoulder when the others had left the room. ‘Agent Brown, I cannot thank you enough—’

  ‘Stop right there, sir. No thanks are needed. We happened to be at the right time and place. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s not all. Avichai and Nadav briefed me on exactly what went down. You and the sisters,’ he looked at the twins warmly, ‘had the presence of mind…’ he trailed off when he sensed Zeb’s embarrassment. ‘I hope you know how grateful we are.’

  Zeb nodded.

  ‘That other matter?’

  ‘Which one, sir?’

  ‘Finding who the Palestinians’ killers are and clearing Mossad.’

  Zeb shot a look to Levin, who shook his head imperceptibly.

  He hasn’t revealed my identity.

  ‘Sir, I’m with the FBI—’

  The prime minister silenced him with a raised hand. He looked like he hadn’t slept in hours and had come off several crisis meetings. Despite that, there was a glint of humor in his eyes.

  ‘We can drop the pretense, Zeb Carter. Avichai said I had met you a while back. He also said I wouldn’t remember you. I didn’t, but when he said you had found his daughter’s killers … I did some checking of my own and made some calls.’

  He sobered quickly. ‘Let me know if there is anything you need in your investigation. Avichai’s suggestion of blaming the EQB will buy us some time. But not for long. Journalists will ask questions. People up and down the country will, too, once heated emotions have cooled down.’

  Zeb looked at him. Unassuming was a word commonly used when describing the prime minister. Shrewd and master strategist were others.

  It struck Zeb like a lightning bolt as he stood there with Beth and Meghan beside him, Alice Monash next to Levin.

  I know what these negotiations are about. I now know why the secrecy. Why Baruti and Cantor are playing it so close to their chests. Why even Clare didn’t tell us.

  Cantor seemed to read his mind. ‘You know what’s at stake.’

  ‘I do, sir.’

  * * *

  ‘What was that about?’ Levin whispered to Zeb as he walked them out. ‘You and the prime minister seemed to have a moment.’

  ‘I think I know how to draw the killers out.’

  The ramsad stopped abruptly and grabbed Zeb’s sleeve. ‘How?’

  ‘We’ll arrange a welcome for them.’

  Chapter Fifty

  Ein Kerem, Amman

  Six days after Assassinations

  Five days to Announcement

  * * *

  Magal left early in the morning armed with nothing but his backpack. It contained toiletries. No weapons. Identification, showing that he was a businessman, was in his wallet.

  * * *

  He and Shiri had stayed up the previous night and watched the news in fascination. Yago Cantor had come on TV several hours after the hotel attack. He had stated that the EQB was responsible for the suicide bombings. That Abdul Masih and Alam Qadir had been killed during the shootout. The prime minister declared that the terrorist organization was also behind the Palestinians’ assassination and that Israel would hit back at anyone who threatened its security and peace.

  He ended up with declaring that while the hotel atta
cks weren’t related to the negotiations with Palestine, those discussions were going ahead smoothly.

  He took questions from journalists and in every answer blamed EQB for the spate of recent killings. He denied that the negotiators were in the affected hotels. A dogged reporter said a fleet of armored vehicles had been spotted leaving the scene. He asked who its occupants were. ‘You want me to tell you who was in every car on Emek Refaim?’ the prime minister had responded sarcastically. That had brought a titter of laughter.

  ‘Clever,’ Shiri murmured, ‘EQB is responsible for everything. That takes the heat away from them.’

  Social media was already responding. The terrorist organization had replaced Mossad as the trending topic.

  ‘You think they believe it?’

  Magal shrugged. He didn’t know what to believe. He exchanged a flurry of messages with the handler while Shiri looked on. ‘He, too, is confused. Doesn’t know why Cantor is adopting this strategy. Said he will try to find out.’

  ‘What do you think Epstein will do now?’

  ‘Let’s wait and find out. If he continues the investigation, then Cantor’s statement was a ruse.’

  * * *

  Magal took a cab from their apartment to Beit Shean, a historic city in the northern part of Israel, standing at the convergence of the Harod and Jordan valleys. That location made it one of the gateways to the neighboring country.

  The taxi ride took a couple of hours. Not much traffic on the road, but the military and police presence were unmissable. His cab was stopped a couple of times, and he was questioned. His credentials were checked and they were waved on.

  He made a checklist as the cab drove on.

  Find where the negotiators are. That’s for the handler to discover.

  Find a way to infiltrate that location. That shouldn’t be hard. He and Shiri would offer their protection services to the ramsad.

  Then make plans.

  That was the hardest part.

  Magal was reasonably sure that the Israeli and Palestinian teams were in an IDF base. There was no other location that could be more secure.

  Attacking such a camp from inside isn’t impossible. But what about getting away?

  Let the handler discover the location. We’ll then figure out a way.

  He cleared his mind and focused on Peter Raskov.

  The taxi dropped him off on the Israeli side of the border, where his passport was checked, his story listened to. Several calls were made as hard-eyed guards checked him out. One of them finally waved his hand and Magal was free to go.

  He received similar treatment on the Jordanian side, with the difference that his passport was stamped. That didn’t bother him. It’s a fake passport.

  A line of taxis awaited on the other side of the border, standard practice at border crossings in Israel.

  ‘Amman,’ he told the bearded cab driver, whose eyes lit up. It would be a minimum two-hour drive. Money to be made.

  * * *

  Magal reached the Jordanian capital at eleven am. He had slept for most of the ride, and when he stepped out of the cab, he was refreshed, good to go.

  The taxi dropped him at Jabal Amman, downtown, where he wolfed down a meal at a food truck. He washed it down with water and set off toward Abdoun. Shades and a cap over his head to combat the heat, and a brisk forty minutes later he was in the most affluent neighborhood of Amman.

  It was where embassies were located and diplomats resided. He knew where Raskov lived from their countersurveillance. A gated, three-bedroom house bordered by thick vegetation, not far from Abdoun Circle.

  Magal passed the house twice. It didn’t look occupied. He leaped over the small gate on his third approach and ducked behind the bushes. No car in the garage. Windows shut, which was normal given the heat. However, no sound from the air-conditioning equipment.

  He crouched low and darted to the rear of the house. Peered through several windows. The house looked empty.

  He checked the rear door. No visible alarms. It took a minute to break through the adjacent window and enter the house.

  No questioning shouts.

  He went to the kitchen. The sink was empty. The tap looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. He grabbed a knife from its stand and checked out the rest of the house.

  It took him only twenty minutes to confirm that Raskov no longer lived in the house.

  He returned to the kitchen and poured water into a glass as he made a call to the handler. He was using a burner phone, but it still was a risk.

  Can’t be helped.

  ‘He isn’t here.’

  The handler didn’t reply for several moments. ‘He might have returned to Moscow.’

  ‘How urgent is this?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘It will affect the plans.’

  ‘Those are already affected … by the other developments. Can you go to Moscow?’

  Magal calculated swiftly. The Russian capital was a four-hour flight away. He knew there were evening flights from Amman. If I catch the first one, I will be in Moscow by midnight. Which will work, because chances are good Raskov will be home. I can be back in Jerusalem tomorrow.

  ‘Do you have an address?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can go.’

  * * *

  Moscow

  * * *

  Grigor Andropov hadn’t made as much progress on Raskov as he wanted. He had to depute the hacker on another mission: finding the money trail of a Russian Mafia boss who was suspected of smuggling nukes. That took priority over an FSB agent. His attention was brought back to Raskov when he heard about the attacks in Jerusalem.

  Zeb. This may or may not be connected to Raskov. He felt guilty at not helping his friend.

  ‘Yuri,’ he shouted.

  The hacker came running.

  ‘Where does Raskov live?’

  ‘You called me off that assignment,’ the flunky protested. ‘You put me on another job.’

  ‘Don’t you multitask?’ Andropov roared.

  Yuri disappeared, shaking his head at the injustice.

  It was an act. The Russian spymaster made out like he was a tyrant, and his staff behaved as if they were terrified of him. The reality was, Andropov’s employees revered him.

  * * *

  Jerusalem

  * * *

  ‘I need a hotel which can be destroyed,’ Zeb told Levin.

  They were in an anonymous Mossad office in the city. Zeb on one side of the table, the ramsad on the other, flanked by Alice Monash. The ambassador had insisted on knowing what his plan was when she heard his mysterious comment the previous day. Beth and Meghan were where they wanted to be: by his side, on their screens, working with Werner, going through the footage of the previous day’s carnage.

  Levin pursed his lips as the ambassador gasped. ‘Destroyed? Just what do you intend to do?’

  ‘If Mossad has traitors, they’ll be very careful. After yesterday.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘We have to assume they, whoever the killers are, still want to kill the remaining Palestinians.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s make it easy for them. Let’s tell them where they are.’

  The ambassador looked uncomprehendingly at the two of them and then at the sisters.

  ‘That’s the way he is, ma’am,’ Beth said helpfully. ‘He comes up with these outrageous ideas. Like reducing a hotel to rubble.’

  ‘Hotels. Especially them. Something about their glass fronts makes him want to crush them,’ Meghan piped up.

  ‘You see who I have to work with?’ Zeb told Levin.

  ‘I can take them off your hands,’ Levin offered. ‘I would love to have them in Mossad.’

  Meghan nudged Zeb in the direction of the ambassador, who was staring at them glassy-eyed and slack-jawed.

  ‘You’ll arrange to leak that the negotiators are at this hotel,’ he carried on, seriously. ‘I’ll take the fifteen kidon, the ones we are sure of, int
o confidence. They, along with the three of us, will set a trap.’

  ‘Whoever turns up will be the killers,’ Levin nodded his head. ‘You need those fifteen because they could recognize the killers, if they are Mossad.’

  ‘Correct. And we could do with their presence. More security.’

  ‘That easy?’ Alice Monash collected herself, ‘Surely you need more to make it look realistic. A military presence, police. Coming and going.’

  ‘You’re right, ma’am. But I can’t risk any more casualties.’

  ‘Those operatives, they are risking their lives, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Levin answered for Zeb. ‘But they’ll volunteer. It’s in their nature.’

  ‘Why can’t you ask for volunteers from the police and the army?’

  Zeb looked at the ramsad, who fingered his cell. ‘We’ll get volunteers. I am sure of that. The trick, as Zeb said, is to reduce collateral damage. Let me work on that. I can get you the hotel, too. There’s one near the International Convention Center. Its management owes me.’

  ‘They’ll be okay with it being damaged?’ Alice Monash asked dubiously.

  ‘They owe me, ma’am,’ Levin emphasized.

  ‘I will be there, too,’ the ambassador stated.

  Zeb choked on the water he was drinking. ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘You heard me. I can come and go at the hotel, just as I was at yesterday’s. That will build credibility.’

  ‘Ma’am, that’s a bad idea. We don’t know who will attack and how. Having you there—’

  ‘She’ll be protected,’ Levin said, supporting the ambassador’s idea. ‘She’ll have a ring of kidon around her. I like her suggestion.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’s agreed, Zeb,’ Alice Monash smiled sweetly at him. ‘I’ll be there. In fact, the other party leaders that I am meeting … I will call them to that hotel.’