Crossing the Lines

by Jacob Ganani

  A crucial step in this process was to undo the years of brainwashing he had received from his superiors. Erase every trace. Stubbornly and persistently, he expunged all preaching, persuasion, and justifications, until they no longer bothered him. From the standpoint of his commanders, any action against the organization’s interests was considered treason. They would call him a traitor, the worst possible word, and one that would render him an outcast, a pariah, with a stain that could never be removed or forgotten.

  Only, what “they” thought no longer mattered to him. He convinced himself that there was a thing called innate justice that surpassed everything else. If taking a life could sometimes be justified, then innate justice maintained that betrayal is merely a matter of interpretation. Hadn’t the police betrayed him first? Didn’t those self-righteous commanding officers block his promotion for no good reason? Didn’t they cheat him and exploit him for years? Surely there were two sides to every coin, and when you react to a betrayal, can you really be considered a traitor?

  But these thoughts were already a thing of the past. Like Julius Caesar, he had crossed his Rubicon and now the only thing that mattered was to adhere to the mission at hand.

  He shook his thoughts away and concentrated on the conversations going on around the room. It was always wise to keep his ear to the wind and learn something new. Only, this time, he quickly found it to be a waste of time. All he heard were meaningless casual conversations, idle chit chat from tired people who seemed to dread silence and were just passing the time. He disconnected, having the ability to do so even in a noisy environment, and returned to his thoughts. Cases and responses. He was meticulous about conducting case-and-response procedures and calculating the risk/reward ratio for each alternative. It was reasonable to assume that someone would raise the possibility that this was an inside job. This was one of his anticipated scenarios, yet he still assessed the risk as low.

  He cast another careful look at the man who had stabbed him in the back, the one who had committed an unforgivable act that would never be forgotten, no matter how much time passed.

  An act that demanded revenge.

  Strange - even ridiculous - that Cantor seemed entirely unaware of his crime. Nothing in his demeanor toward him indicated that his conscience might be troubled. Was he a great actor, or a complete fool? In any case, he was a bad person, a man who thought he deserved everything and was willing to step over bodies on his way to the top. Only, he’d soon find out the hard way the meaning of the word “unforgivable.” If he only suspected what was planned for him, he wouldn’t dare turn his back to him. But his time was limited. As they say, every dog has his day. No one else really mattered to him. In fact, he was no longer a part of this crowd around him. He had lost them forever the moment he decided to cross the lines.

  They just didn’t know it yet.

  He had to be careful. After all, these people were experts in detecting anomalies. Therefore, he’d better not remain silent for too long. He smiled at the first clown who told a cheesy joke. He even added to the banter, then stretched ostentatiously and stared at his phone screen in a casual manner that wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

  ***

  On the small dais stood a podium with a microphone and two chairs placed to its right. A large plasma screen hung on the wall behind it. Two clicks of the microphone interrupted the chatter. All eyes were directed at the commander of the operation, Superintendent Zohar Kalish. Cantor noticed the tension in his face as he turned on the display. Generally, failed operations tarnish the reputation of those in charge. The screen lit up with the heading “White Night.”

  Kalish had full, black, shiny hair that marked a stark contrast with his deeply-lined forehead. His eyebrows were thick and intertwined, reminiscent of a fat, hairy caterpillar. Beneath them, a pair of brown eyes, glistening with the redness of fatigue, were sunk deep in dark circles, the result of two sleepless nights. His prominent nose projected determination, his lips were large and fleshy, and his complexion naturally tanned. He was divorced - another victim of the profession. Rumors told of his many exploits with the ladies.

  The crowd straightened with the call for attention. The Head of the Central Police Unit, Commander David Zolden, entered the hall and strode vigorously across the room, as fresh as if he had just enjoyed a full night’s sleep. He was thin, tall and full of vitality. His face was now frozen as he greeted the senior officers sitting in the front row with a slight tilt of the head. Too slight. Among the high-ranking officers sat his lieutenant, Commander Baruch Goldman, and his assistant, The Shadow, as people called him, holding his ever-present notebook. Those who did not call him The Shadow often called him The Notebook.

  Cantor raised the almost empty cup to his lips and gulped down the remaining coffee.

  Zolden sat down on the seat nearest the podium and nodded at Kalish to begin. The severity of the situation, together with the late hour, took precedence over any of the usual introductions. Cantor glanced at the large clock on the wall and saw that it was almost 2:00am.

  The frustrated Kalish tapped his hand on the microphone once again, a bit harder, causing a loud feedback of staccato explosions. Ghosts of smiles appeared across the room, but vanished instantly. At once, his shrill, accusing voice suggested that he could not restrain his emotional outrage. “A grievous failure!” He paused for a moment, visibly trying to control his voice. But his choice of opening words was unwise, as Zolden waved his hand and he was forced to stop and wait for his superior’s response.

  “Not a failure. An error, for now. This will change only if the investigation determines otherwise...” Zolden corrected him. Cantor thought this was a significant statement, one that could save Dori’s career. Zolden signaled for Kalish to continue.

  “I stand corrected. An error. Let’s start from the end. These are the facts we’ve managed to gather in the past thirty minutes. After the operation concluded and the forces dispersed, Haddad and Cantor decide to return to the scene, believing another suspect to be hiding in the area. They bring in Gantz and Dori for back up. Backup is positioned on the roof of the guard post, while Haddad and Cantor enter to inspect the docks. Cantor inspects dock number three and then the suspect approaches him from behind with a raised metal pipe. Dori shouts, “Behind you!” on the radio and purportedly fires a warning shot at the suspect. The suspect manages to neutralize Cantor and disappear. Haddad approaches Cantor and, as he tends to him, he hears a cry for help from a yacht anchored behind Cantor along the course of the bullet’s trajectory. It becomes apparent that Dori’s bullet hit a civilian who was on board the yacht with his wife. The civilian was killed instantly.”

  Cantor mused bitterly that a warning shot for one can be deadly for another.

  Kalish paused and looked at Zolden, who rose from his seat.

  “Nothing I’m about to say shall leave this room.” The Commander’s piercing gaze scrutinized the crowd, who sat motionless and in total silence. “First, I will say that, for the time being, I don’t perceive any misconduct in the operation of the two units. The detectives in the first unit had their suspicions and decided to go back and investigate. This was the right call. They requested backup and began their search only after backup was in position. This was also executed according to procedure. Detective Cantor was in immediate danger, and Dori responded, according to him, with a warning shot at the assailant - an appropriate action that drove the attacker away. The unfortunate event that ensued as the bullet struck the civilian was a terrible tragedy. Terrible! As with any fatal shooting, the matter will be investigated according to procedure. That’s all on this subject for now. However, as you all know, this does not conclude this best-soon-forgotten night. Since we’re all here and everything’s still fresh in our minds, we’ll now conduct an operational debriefing. Kalish, please continue.” The Commander took a seat.

  As the District Commander concluded his words, Cantor breathed a sigh of relief, releasing the tension he had been under until t
hat moment. Here was the top-ranking officer praising their professional conduct - reassuring news for them.

  Kalish clicked the mouse and the first diagram appeared on the screen. It was a two-layered photograph of dock number three, the platform on which two warehouses were located. Cantor easily recognized the warehouse in which he first took cover; it was further from the water on the right side of the diagram. On the roof of the warehouse to the left, two circles marked Gantz and Dori. A large cluster of nets marked Haddad’s location. In another structure, near the pier, Uri’s hideout was marked. Along the dock, the pilings were highlighted in color. The available berths were marked on the water by yellow lines drawn in parallel to the dock. Five places in all. The rest of the berths were defined by photos of the yachts and boats occupying them. A photograph of the boat they had apprehended was missing from the diagram. But Cantor didn’t expect it to appear; as far as he was concerned, the diagram accurately depicted the situation in the field. Kalish’s voice disrupted his focused examination.

  “You all recognize the scene. There’s nothing to add here. Control confirmed that deployment proceeded as planned. There were no time constraints and no setbacks reported.” He stopped and let his words sink in.

  Straight and to the point, Cantor thought, and the thought of a drumhead court martial occurred to him.

  Suddenly the silence was broken with a shrill telephone ring. As if on cue, each man checked to see if he was the unlucky one who had forgotten to silence his device. However, it soon appeared to be coming from the Commander’s phone.

  “Zolden.”

  He listened with an ominous expression.

  “Already? A newsflash on local radio?” A few more seconds passed. “Okay, keep me informed if it spreads any further. Thanks.” Kalish looked at Zolden, wondering whether to continue the debriefing or wait. Zolden rose to his feet.

  “Unfortunately, the story’s already out there, and sooner than we expected. News of the civilian in the marina was reported a few moments ago by a local radio station. A report about a suspected shooting by a police officer. This means that, within thirty minutes, all the stations will be covering this and we’ll wake up in the morning to giant newspaper headlines. Some of you will soon be approached by reporters for comments and information. You will each answer all questions with ‘No Comment.’ Don’t let them trip you up! Okay? Kalish, continue please.”

  “How did they get on it so fast?” someone asked angrily.

  “It’s not that complicated,” replied another. “They listen in on the EMS scanners, and if there’s something interesting, they just need to make one phone call and it’s on the air -”

  “Okay, enough with that,” Zolden intervened. “Go ahead, Kalish.”

  Kalish cleared his throat and continued. “Our working assumption is that this was not an operational error.”

  So what was it, then? thought Cantor, noting Gantz lightly tapping Uri’s shoulder and Uri responding with a slow nod of approval. Apparently, he and Haddad were not the only ones to have speculated.

  The drama approached the first climax of the evening, meaning that it was time to pull out the first rabbit from the hat. It required lowering his voice by an octave, which Kalish had no problem doing.

  “I’ll say it straight and to the point: we’re certain the target had advance warning of our plans.” He took a slight pause. “So first they canceled the transfer, and now they’ve exposed us!”

  Cantor thought this was a problematic statement. The certainty was not so obvious. Whoever they were up against was not stupid and certainly did not seek publicity.

  “The bottom line,” Kalish reached the high point of his speech, “in one word - failure!”

  Now that the word “failure” had been expressed, various scenarios of possible technical errors were eliminated. He paused and let his words resonate around the room. His tense expression betrayed his frustration. He knew, like everyone else in the room, that years would pass before this failure, largely accredited to his name, would be forgotten. If ever. He took a sip of water and continued. “Therefore, the working assumption is that the details of the operation were known to the target, which means that the investigation will examine all possible angles. I repeat: all angles! No lead will go unexplored!”

  In short, Cantor reflected, a hint as subtle as an elephant indicating a leak from inside the force. He had a sense of déjà vu… a different time, a different place, but a similar situation, with Kalish believing that if he fell, he would take others down with him.

  The traitor knew in his heart that exposing the ambush was a grave and dangerous error. It was in stark contrast to the original plan, a reckless mistake that drove the investigation in the worst possible direction for him. Someone was accountable for every situation, one who would reap the rewards of success, but also bear the responsibility of failure... and, for failure, one must pay!

  Haddad leaned over to Cantor and whispered that this speech had Goldman’s style written all over it. Goldman, Zolden’s lieutenant, was disliked - or, rather, hated - by most.

  “What we’ll do now is review the teams’ initial reports,” Kalish continued. “We’ll then conduct thorough interrogations and cross-reference them to verify the integrity of the information collected. Team leaders will be assigned and begin these tasks tomorrow morning.”

  The rest of the debrief did not impart any new information for Cantor or any of the others. The southern and northern lookouts, as well as the helicopter team, reported that they had not identified the boat’s entry through the breakwater gate and into the marina. The solemn mood was broken when one of the lookouts called out, “We had a perfect view of the gateway. We’d have even seen a cat if it tried to cross it,” and someone called out, “You mean a catfish!” and the room burst into laughter.

  Kalish nodded toward the District Commander, indicating he was done. Zolden stood and approached the podium. The neon lights gave his eyes a rare, grayish-green hue as he studied the teams with a penetrating, laser-like gaze that focused intensely on every pair of eyes he met. The overall fatigue seemed to have been forgotten for a moment as the room grew silent and attentive until every word, though spoken quietly, was clearly heard.

  “Weeks of hard work have been washed away. Let’s ignore for a moment the fact that we’ve been fooled, because that’s nothing compared to the real damage that will be done when such a significant quantity of drugs reaches the streets… I don’t know, perhaps it was just a planning error after all. I don’t want to rule anything out. But it’s also possible that the worst-case scenario imaginable has occurred: someone tipping off the targets. This will be one of our working assumptions until we rule otherwise.”

  He paused to take a sip of water and ran his hand through his thinning hair. “It’s late, or rather, early, and we’re all tired.” He turned to his lieutenant. “Baruch, do you have anything to add?” Chief Superintendent Baruch Goldman signaled with a wave of his hand that he had nothing to add. “I thank you all. Good night,” he said and walked toward the door. The teams stretched to attention despite their fatigue.

  Chief Superintendent Goldman rose from his seat in the front row and signaled for everyone to wait. Kalish came back to the podium. He straightened his collar and tried to smooth down the wrinkles of his crumpled shirt.

  “Azar, Haddad, Gantz, Sasson, Zweig, and Cantor - remain here. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  The room quickly emptied. The six men required to remain behind moved to the front row. David Azar sat opposite them in the chair beside the podium.

  “Two things. First of all, your injury, Cantor. How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine. Really.” What had happened to him was nothing compared to Dori’s shot and its tragic results.

  “Okay. Haddad, Gantz and Cantor pay attention. Internal affairs have already received a report and will begin their investigation tomorrow. I believe they’ll start with Dori and get to you soon after. I suggest that tonig
ht, while it’s all still fresh in your mind, you each write down everything you remember. Go into detail, because that’s how you’ll be questioned - and don’t discuss this among yourselves. We don’t want to be accused of coordinating testimonies.” The hint was clear, and no one wanted to ask any unnecessary questions.

  “Okay. Haddad and Gantz, you’re free to go.” They both got up and Cantor found himself surprised. He looked at Haddad, who shook his head and spread his hands as if to say “Don’t ask me, I’ve no idea.”

  As the doors closed, Azar began: “Sasson and Cantor, tomorrow, you’ll each be appointed to investigate your team’s activities over the past week. The goal is to discover opportunities for accidental or deliberate leaks of information. Cross-referencing must be thorough. You’ll be authorized to access the operational log of each member of your team and to further clarify any questions you may have. Intelligence will release and share with you any data relevant to the operation. You may request anything you believe to be of consequence and report to me if you require additional clearance. Your investigation must include every contact the members of your team may have made with any of the targets. Any grounds for suspicion will be reported to me immediately. Regardless of your conclusions, you’ll submit a written progress report every forty-eight hours. Upon completion of the investigation, each of you will prepare a detailed report summarizing your activities. Amiel?” he turned to the Intelligence officer.

  “No problem,” nodded Zweig. “I’ll be happy to assist in whatever they need.”

  “Thanks, Ami. Questions?”

  Cantor raised his hand. “If we’re done here, I’d like a moment?”

  “Alright, walk me to my office, we’ll talk on the way.” He got up and turned to the others. “Good night, or actually, good morning.”

  ***

  “What is it?” Azar asked Cantor as the others left and they made their way to the elevator.

  “It’s just this assignment...” For a moment, he hesitated. “Why me?”