A special section of the file was compiled by the economic division, which examined the subject’s standard of living and sources of income. This department evaluated the worth of the subject’s property and kept a constant watch on his bank accounts, including credit card purchases, and payments of taxes, rates, and fees – in short, any expenditure.
The last section, as in all files of this type, focused on the unusual: deviant personal contacts, felonious activity, tax crimes, moral lapses – all of which were always a firm base for the application of pressure, if not outright blackmail.
On the basis of all this information, the operations officers and department directors had to evaluate the possible inclusion of the subject in accordance with the needs of the Mossad. On the last page of every file was a full photographic treatment of the subject from three different angles. These photos were fed into a computer which compared them with other subjects, with government ministers, and with any person whose position or mission might require him to employ a double.
It was nearly 4:30 p.m. when Nahum Porat closed personal file No. 832 and leaned back in his chair, moving his head around to loosen his neck muscles and humming in satisfaction. “Good work,” he complimented the empty room. Then he leaned forward and pressed the intercom button.
“Get me Shai Uriel,” he demanded.
* * *
The psychologist looked at Porat with tired eyes.
“And you want me to outline an operational plan with you right now?! Just on the basis of a superficial look at a file? I don’t believe it; it can’t be done! You simply –“
“Don’t tell me it can’t be done,” Porat cut him off. “Just tell me in general terms how you would suggest motivating him.”
“Motivating him – for what? What do you want him to do?”
“To leave the country, for example.”
“To leave the country?” the psychologist echoed, nodding his head in amazement.
“That’s all our senior psychologist has to say? If you can’t even do that…” hinted Porat.
“All right, all right, I understand you,” signed Shai Uriel, making a calming motion with his right hand. This wasn’t the first time he had encountered the organization’s contempt for his profession. Many believed they could direct a person any way they wanted, without professional assistance, and that psychologists were just along for a free ride. He now realized that if he continued to complain about the short amount of time at his disposal, Porat would simply excuse him and tell him he would get along without him, thanks very much.
The room remained still for a moment as Uriel tried to pull the details together and collect his thoughts before expressing them.
“This man,” he began, “has a need to control events. He must be certain that the decisions he makes are his own. He would never act in accordance with the desires of others. We must let him think that he knows what he wants – and then oppose him. That is, to provoke him. If we plan it intelligently, this rebellion will be exactly what we want.”
Uriel took a sip from the plastic bottle of mineral water he had brought with him, then continued.
“In order to make him leave the country, we first of all have to pull the ground out from under his feet here in Israel. For example, we have to bring him to the point where he has no job, no place to live, and has almost no money. The man must be made to rely on himself alone. Then we can assume with a great degree of certainty that he won’t turn to his friends for help – either because he doesn’t want to involve them or because he doesn’t trust them enough.”
“We can easily mess up his life the way you describe,” said Porat. “That’s no problem. But I don’t believe that just these things will be enough to guarantee his departure from the country – his escape.”
“You’re right,” said Uriel. “There’s one sure way. He must be made to genuinely fear the continuation of his life here. If he’s left without a roof he could still live in a tent in the park with the homeless,” the psychologist joked. “No, we need something else, something much more radical. Murder, perhaps. Yes, murder. Why don’t we make him a murder suspect?”
“How?”
“How, I don’t know. That’s your problem. But I’m convinced that if we publish his photo in all the papers and on TV, you can be sure he’ll come to the one desired conclusion – fleeing the country.”
“We just have to make sure that no one can identify him and screw up our game,” Porat murmured. “But that’s really no problem – there’s no difficulty in changing his Identikit image so that only he himself will know he is a wanted man. Yes, it is certainly likely that under such circumstances he will try to flee the country. Actually, I don’t’ think we’ll be leaving him much choice.
“But on the other hand,” Porat raised his voice, “if we deprive him of all his financial resources, how will he…”
“Don’t worry about him,” smiled the psychologist. “This man is a born survivor. He’ll be all right. He also won’t hesitate to rob someone if he has to.”
Porat nodded his head. “And if we want to direct him to some specific place?” he asked.
“Then we have to make him understand that all his problems stem from one person, and make sure he knows clearly that this person is to be found in the specific place we want him to go to. The man you want to maneuver is certainly liable to think that going after that person is his own idea.”
* * *
Nahum Porat finished writing his notes to himself on the piece of paper in front of him. With a furrowed brow he went over everything he had written, then heaved a sigh. There was no question that a better plan could not be devised in such a short time. The time had come for the next stage: the operational stage.
He bent over the intercom and called for Ya’acov Nissan, the Mossad's chief of operations.
“I want to meet this man,” he told Nissan, pouting to the file on his desk. “Arrange a meeting with him.”
“No problem,” replied Nissan, as he always did when given a clear order.
Chapter 11
Again and again Porat thought over the previous day’s brief encounter. The lips twisted slightly in irony, the eyes that had stared straight into him…there was no doubt that Dan Greenberg did not suffer from a lack of self-confidence or would lose his self-control under pressure. Nevertheless, he had been correct in choosing the middle-aged salesman for such an important mission? The head of the Mossad scrutinized the first surveillance report. There was nothing unusual in his behavior, for a man who had just discovered that he had lost his identity and his property. Until yesterday afternoon, at least, he had behaved by the rules that had been dictated to him without his knowledge.
The intercom cut off his thoughts, and he cursed when he heard the brief message. Porat launched himself from his chair and stormed into the office of Ya’acov Nissan, swinging open the operation officer’s door without bothering to give his customary knock.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
Nissan took a deep breath. “We lost him,” he answered quietly.
For a moment of painful silence, Porat digested what he had heard, then asked in a voice trembling with rage, “Did he lose you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” Porat mocked his interlocutor’s response. “That’s not good enough! I want to know” – the head of the secret service angrily emphasized each word – “to know with certainty whether you simply lost him, or whether he perhaps discovered he was being followed! I also want to know who was in charge of the surveillance detail, how many back-up units took part, and when and how contact with the subject was broken!”
The chief of operations quickly hid his face behind the surveillance report and began responding to his superior’s points one by one. But Porat cut him off at once.
“Six surveillance teams? Six teams – and you lost him?! This is incredible! This is an amazing failure. What steps are you taking right now?”
Nissan bit his lower lip. “They’re looking for him. He hasn’t been seen since yesterday afternoon, therefore –“
“Yesterday? Afternoon? Yesterday afternoon! And you only now thought of telling me about it?”
“Look, Nahum,” the senior officer interjected, “I didn’t know the matter was so important. You didn’t tell me that –“
“You didn’t know that the matter was so important,” Porat mocked him. “Who asked you to know everything? I asked you to act; I asked you to perform! I asked –“ Porat abruptly stopped speaking and shook his head from side to side in helplessness. He began to pace the room. Finally, he halted by the window and gazed out in silence.
“We’re investigating every detail we can find,” said Nissan as soothingly as possible, trying to placate his troubled superior. “We’ll find him soon. I’ve reinforced the unit and the guys are working like crazy.”
The head of the Mossad inclined his head skeptically and replied with some bitterness. “Look, the matter is much more complicated than you could imagine. I regret that I cannot give you more details, but believe me: I must find that man, and quickly. For some reason I have the idea it’s not going to be easy.” He resumed his silence.
“What do you want?” asked Nissan finally, giving in to his compulsion to ask for unequivocal directives. “What do you propose doing?”
Porat spun away from the window. “First of all, I want – of course – for you to station people in every place where there is a chance of his showing up: friends, possible sources of money, even the graves of his parents, sister, and nephew. In addition,“ he continued as he looked his colleague straight in the eye, “I want you to activate plan ‘Headhunter’.”
The chief of operations recoiled as if he had been jolted by an electric shock. He was speechless. Even after taking a moment to recover, all he could mumble was, “Plan Headhunter?” To the best of his knowledge, that operation had been mounted only once since the establishment of the state in 1948, and only then not to the fullest extent. He quickly recalled the circumstances.
It had been after the murder of Gil Shamir, a youth killed by a grenade thrown into a crowd of left-wing demonstrators protesting against the government’s defense policy. Beside the fatality, dozens had been injured. For many months afterwards the police had conducted a quiet investigation without turning up the slightest lead. Public opinion was outraged and, according to its expressions in the media, the public’s patience was wearing thin. Those in power had to demonstrate that they were indeed doing everything they could to find the guilty and to bring them to justice. The government’s critics cast doubt on this and unpleasant voices began to be heard even from the opposition benches in the Knesset. The ruling coalition began to feel shaky, and this with an election approaching. Everyone understood that something had to be done – and fast. The Mossad was called in, even though according to the traditional division of responsibility this was a job for the General Security service, the Shin Bet. The Mossad had achieved a great success; but at a great price. The veteran officer was clearly agitated. It was obvious to him that his superior was also abundantly aware of the full implications and significance of the emergency plan he had just ordered him to activate. The moment the code word was given, every Mossad agent in Israel or abroad was to cease all operations, immediately contact his or her controller, and await instructions. Upon the designation of the mission, the departments of planning, coordination, research, communications, security, logistics, training and technology, plus the political action unit, were all combined into a single strike arm. The mission would be carried out, but the damage to other operations could be irreversible. Whoever decided on such an operation would be taking a heavy responsibility upon himself, a very heavy responsibility. Nissan had no doubt that the decision to begin the operation had required the approval of the highest political echelon.
“What do you want to achieve?” he asked hoarsely.
“First of all, to find the man.”
“And after we find him?”
“You mean, if we find him,” responded the head of the Mossad venomously.
“We’ll find him,” said Nissan, as decisively as he could.
“When we find him, I want him under surveillance 24 hours a day, followed wherever he goes, so he doesn’t get away from us again.”
“And what then?”
“For the meantime, nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing? You don’t want him arrested?”
“Absolutely not! Just do as I said.”
“Just a moment, I don’t understand! For this you are activating an emergency procedure of such magnitude? What the hell do you think you are doing?” The chief of operations had finally lost his patience. “It’s possible to find the man without enlisting all –“
“You will report to me every four hours on the situation,” Porat cut him off, ignoring his contradictory tone and the open criticism it conveyed.
Nissan regained a measure of control and tried again. “What I mean to say is that I don’t understand…I hope you know what you’re…I’d like to know –“
Porat stopped him with a wave of his hand. I could have told you that, the last time, years of investigation were required, he thought to himself; I could have told you that we’ve run out of time, and we have no chance to look for someone else. Utterly exhausted he sat down on the chair next to him, leaned over the desk, and placing his hand on his subordinate’s arm said, with a friendly yet sad tone:
“Believe me, Ya’acov, you don’t want to know – and I hope that you never do.”
* * *
“We’ve almost found him.”
“Almost found him?! Are we in kindergarten?!” Rage and helplessness were taking their toll on Nahum Porat.
“We apparently missed him by minutes,” the chief of operations said, carefully inspecting his shoelaces.
“What happened?” asked Porat drily.
“We’re staking out every place he’s likely to visit. Among them I put a team on his parents’ apartment, which is rented out. I thought perhaps he’d go there and try to get the tenants to pay him a few months’ rent in advance, and thereby get himself a rather large sum of money.”
“Good thinking,” said Porat.
“In any case, one of the boys – out of boredom – checked the mailbox and was surprised to discover that the dead couple still gets mail at that address. He checked further and found that the tenants collect this mail and our subject comes to pick it up every few weeks. We looked through the pile and found something particularly interesting: a bill for the annual use of a safety-deposit box. That’s how we found out that he has access to his parents’ safety-deposit box, and we of course hoped he would go there.”
“And your hope was fulfilled?”
“Yes – except we got there just after he had left.”
“You’re sure he was there?”
“The clerk in the vault refused to cooperate with us. He said he would not violate the trust that clients place in him, even if it would cost him his job. We wasted too much time questioning him. The one who positively identified him, and had no scruples about telling us so, was a female clerk on the ground floor. She confirmed that the man whose picture we showed her had entered the bank at 8:30 a.m. and went straight down to the vault. What do you think he took? In my opinion – money, jewels he could sell and perhaps some documents he kept there. So now we know he was there and that perhaps he has money. The question is, how does that help us?”
“We know clearly that he has money,” said the head of the Mossad, “and that’s important. If so, and if Shai Uriel is right, this man would not even hesitate to rob if he were pressed for money.”
“That’s all we need,” replied Nissan. “Imagine what would happen if the police arrested him for robbery? How would we get him out of that without arousing his suspicions – or those of the police?”
“All right,” Porat said, thinking that there was more
than one answer to his subordinate’s innocent speculation, but not having any intention of getting into a discussion of the matter. “Keep staking out every possible place. Has operation Headhunter begun?”
“Of course.”
* * *
Esther Rubin put a mattress on the folding cot in the communications room of the Israeli Embassy in Rome, even though she doubted she would have a chance to sleep. Tomorrow morning she had her final exam in anatomy. Afterwards she could look forward to a promising weekend with a few Israeli friends, fellow medical students at the university – but the exam still threatened to cast its shadow over the weekend.
The pretty young woman had with her the large travel bag that accompanied her on night shifts at the embassy, and she took from it a toiletry bag. She intended to comb her hair, brush her teeth, and then, instead of sleeping, to sit on the cot and study her material perhaps until dawn.
On her way back from the bathroom she heard the sound from the computer indicating an incoming email. She ran into the communications room and immediately activated the encryption program and sent a confirmation message.
A few seconds later the letters appeared on the screen. Even though she did not know its meaning, the transmission made her catch her breath and give out an uncustomary oath. “Operation Headhunter. Check emergency procedures,” was written there, and Esther Rubin understood she would not be doing any studying that night, and doubted she would be going away for the weekend. Heaving a sigh she went to the phone and dialed the number of the security officer.
Major Yoram Ben-David was the duty security officer that night at Israel’s Italian embassy. There were officers of Israel’s secret service at every one of its embassies throughout the world. Their jobs were precisely defined by headquarters and extended over several fields. Despite the fact that Ben-David and his colleagues were termed “security officers” by the personnel department of the Foreign Ministry, there was no connection between their work and providing security for Israel’s legations or accompanying visiting VIPS from Jerusalem. These tasks were entrusted exclusively to government security units. The Mossad officers themselves preferred being called “station chiefs” by their colleagues.
Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel Page 12
