Crossing the Lines

by Jacob Ganani

  Zweig smiled. “That’s mine. Puzzles are my hobby.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I know it seems strange, but it’s something I’ve pursued my whole life. I don’t exactly remember at what age I started, or why, but it works for me. Makes me concentrate and relax at the same time.”

  Cantor thought that concentrating on something while relaxing at the same time was certainly not an easy task, unless you were concentrating on the view of a lake in the Swiss Alps.

  “The assembly of a jigsaw puzzle is dependent on narrowing down the range of possibilities.” Zweig looked up at the ceiling. “Surely you understand what I mean. Sometimes, it’s easier to identify the pieces that don’t fit and leave them out, and then look at the pieces that remain.” Cantor hoped he hadn’t just opened a Pandora’s Box. All this must surely be leading somewhere. He gave Zweig a questioning look and kept his silence.

  Zweig reached out to a small, ornate wooden box on the corner of the table. He opened the lid and turned it toward Cantor. Cantor peeked at the colorful candies inside, picked one up and put it in his mouth. The bitter taste of coffee was replaced by a pleasant sourness.

  Zweig continued. “I also conducted a similar process to yours and came to the exact same conclusion you did.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Cantor replied, feeling that he was missing something.

  Zweig cleared his throat. “But let’s not forget that the diagrams were prepared in advance. It takes time to prepare them.

  “Obviously, but they were with Intelligence, locked. Right?”

  “Of course. You can be certain that the diagrams did not leave this unit. You may be asking yourself how I can be so sure.”

  He was not expecting an answer, and Cantor was silent, letting the question hang in the air. He had grown accustomed to the fact that Zweig had his own pace and it was pointless trying to hurry him along.

  “Very simply because I was responsible, personally, so I know for a fact that they did not leave this room until the moment I brought them to the briefing.” He stopped, took a sip from his coffee and then went on. “We believe the target knew of our plan, including the arrangement of the boats and our stakeout on the docks, and we don’t believe in coincidences. We have enough experience to know that this was not just a chance occurrence.” He stopped for a moment and cracked his knuckles, making a popping sound that made Cantor happily realize that even Zweig did not always uphold perfect manners. “Furthermore, we’re talking about the final version of the plans! We updated them several times and only decided on docks three and eight at the last minute!”

  Cantor stopped rolling the candy around in his mouth.

  “Now you understand the problem, Cantor? If everything was so secure, how could information leak out?!”

  “So?” Cantor lost patience.

  “Look, I’d been working on those diagrams for three nights. You know how it gets around here at night, quiet and deserted, so I was utterly surprised -” Here it comes, Cantor thought, “- when, on the very last night, someone knocked on the door and opened it before I could answer. I was just completing the diagrams on the board, but was caught so off guard that it took me a while to draw the screens.”

  “Who was it?” Cantor heard the demanding shrillness of his own voice.

  Zweig folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, as if to distance himself from the words he was about to say. “It was your team leader, Albert Haddad.”

  Cantor felt as if he had received a sudden blow to the face, and when he spoke his voice was aggressive and bitter. “I know my team leader’s name!”

  If Zweig was taken back by his angry reaction, his voice did not betray it. “Now you understand why I asked you to come see me.”

  “So you called me and I came and listened to you patiently. We even discussed your hobbies… but I’ve heard enough. I don’t know why Haddad came here that night, but even if he did see the diagrams, he’d never have passed it on to anyone. That’s certain! I trust him like I trust myself. That’s all I have to say. Actually, there’s one more thing. Did you tell anyone about this? Did you challenge Haddad?”

  “Not yet. Maybe I should have, but I decided to talk to you first.”

  “Why? I have no secrets from him.”

  “I didn’t think you’d keep this from him. On the contrary, I thought you’d like to clarify the matter with him. I believe I can count on you,” he said simply.

  Cantor willed himself to calm down. Again, he was attacking the messenger, a bad habit that had worsened lately. “Sorry for the outburst.” Zweig nodded his head, indicating he certainly understood and forgave. “But tell me, Ami: how long were the diagrams visible?”

  “Not sure, maybe a minute. You understand - I was startled, but polite.”

  Cantor thought that even thirty seconds were enough for a seasoned pro like Haddad, especially since it was a diagram of a well-known marina, magnified and neatly marked. Yet he knew what the real and defining question was. He hoped the answer to this question would be negative, but suddenly he didn’t quite believe it would be.

  “Was the name of the operation marked on the diagrams?” he asked in a soft, conciliatory voice.

  Zweig gave him a grim smile that needed no further words. Bingo. Shit.

  “Yes, unfortunately. I was afraid that I was falling behind, so I failed to follow the procedure of adding the title only when everything else was complete. My mistake, of course.”

  Cantor believed that such a mistake could happen to anyone and everyone.

  “Let’s think for a moment. Theoretically, it’s a possibility, okay, but I’m sure nothing happened here. Thanks for sharing this with me… not that I know what to do with this information.” That much wasn’t true, but he wasn’t about to share his plans with Zweig.

  “So that’s that,” concluded Zweig. “Thank you for coming. By the way, did Haddad mention his visit to my office that night, by any chance?”

  “Should he have?” Suddenly, Cantor didn’t feel like playing along.

  “No, of course not, but I thought partners talked about everything -”

  “So you thought wrong.” He actually thought very accurately.

  Zweig nodded.

  Cantor stood up and looked straight into Zweig’s eyes. “First of all, Haddad knows about our meeting. I updated him before I came here. Second, he also told me about your encounter and asked me to let you know that he’s still working on the matter you raised.”

  “Thanks,” said Zweig dryly. He preferred not to respond with a clever remark to Cantor’s obvious attempt at manipulation.

  “Not that I have any idea what you asked of him,” Cantor clarified.

  “That’s fine. We’ll leave it that way, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay. Who can I speak with about the recordings?”

  Instead of replying, Zweig dialed a number. “Hi, Detective Cantor has come to see the materials we discussed. Can you come fetch him?” He looked up at Cantor. “He’ll be right along and help you with whatever you need. Good luck.”

  There was a knock on the door and a thin young man in his mid-twenties, wearing a T-shirt and faded jeans, appeared in the doorway. Trendy, frameless glasses adorned his long, delicate face. His mane of dark curls hung over his forehead. He strode briskly into the room and shook Cantor’s hand with a broad smile that bode well for cooperation. “Messiah,” he said.

  “You’re kidding!” Cantor blurted out. “Sorry -”

  “No worries, most people react like that to my name,” he laughed.

  “Well, if everyone does...” Cantor smiled at him, and thought they would get along fine.

  Lagging behind, Zweig introduced them: “Detective Cantor from Narcotics, meet Messiah, our computer systems supervisor. Messiah, take good care of Cantor so he’ll put in a good word for us in the Division.”

  “Thanks, Zweig, I’ll be in touch,” Cantor said and followed Messiah out of the door.

 
***

  Messiah led Cantor along an L-shaped corridor to a door marked, Data Processing - Authorized Personnel Only. He pressed the plastic card that was hanging from a lanyard around his neck against the electronic reader and the door unlocked with a buzz.

  “This is my kingdom,” he said and Cantor detected a tone of pride in his voice.

  “Impressive, definitely impressive,” he replied as he scanned the floor-to-ceiling shelves of CDs that lined the entire long wall opposite the door, privately thinking how primitive all this was compared to the Mossad’s network of storage servers.

  “How often do you update?”

  “I’m on it 24/7, so as soon as the data comes in from the field. That’s the procedure. When a lot comes in on the same day, you’ll see my lights on till midnight and well beyond -”

  “Weekends and holidays?”

  “Yes, we work shifts.”

  “Okay,” said Cantor, appreciating Zweig’s efficiency.

  “I understood that you wanted to go through all material pertaining to the Sexta brothers?”

  “Affirmative.” Cantor replied.

  Messiah pointed to one of four computers positioned on a long counter. “I have all of Sexta in one library according to dates and locations. Use the headphones so my keyboard rattle won’t bother you,” he smiled.

  “Sounds good,” Cantor said and sat down in front of the computer.

  “Okay?” Messiah checked. “Want some coffee?”

  “Yes, please – black, no milk or sugar.” Only his third since this morning.

  “Coming right up,” said Messiah and headed to his coffee station.

  For over ninety minutes and helped by two more cups of coffee from Messiah’s private stash, Cantor sifted through the data. He did not stint on the files that he marked for Messiah to transfer over, believing that the more files transferred now meant fewer return visits. He just hoped he wasn’t searching for a needle in a haystack.

  CHAPTER 13

  Wednesday - Noon

  Cantor crossed the parking lot toward the western building, which housed the Narcotics Division. Suddenly he changed his mind. He needed more time to think. Without a plan of action, he might be dragged into events without the ability to control them. His meeting at Intelligence had created a dilemma. Should he immediately confront Haddad with Zweig’s accusations? Or must he first update Azar with this allegedly incriminating information? Or maybe just wait at this stage, knowing that it may result in serious consequences later on? Though he didn’t want to believe that Haddad was the traitor, he was forced to acknowledge the fact that his faith was based on wishful thinking rather than facts.

  The nearest place to sit alone and ponder was Café Anna. He changed his route, heading for the gate, and noticed Yeremi Gantz about to get into his car.

  “How’s it going, Cantor? You look worried. Anything to do with your new assignment?” His disdainful tone clearly revealed what he thought of Cantor’s ability to conduct such an investigation.

  “Of course I’m worried,” Cantor replied in the same cynical tone. “I really hope I won’t discover that the person sitting at the desk next to mine is sticking a knife in all of our backs, huh?”

  Yeremi laughed with his mouth wide open, revealing beneath his uneven mustache a row of gapped, yellowish teeth that would frighten any dental hygienist. Cantor found it difficult to grasp how a single man with no responsibilities could neglect himself so much.

  “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do… no? By the way, there are rumors about downsizing the Division -”

  “Not rumors. It’s a certain fact,” Cantor tested him.

  “If I were you, I’d be worried,” Gantz replied in the same tone. “Last in, first out.”

  “Sure, I’m shaking in my boots. By the way, where are you off to in the middle of a work day?”

  “Doctor’s appointment. Say, is it true you have a degree in economics?”

  “It is. I also have an MBA with a specialization in financial markets. What is this? Are you already prepping me for job interviews, or do you just need some financial advice?”

  “You don’t say! Such a scholar… and the Mossad paid for all this education? Do I need economic advice? Who doesn’t? Just don’t tell anyone I said so… don’t want all the gossips saying I can’t manage my finances.”

  “All the gossips?”

  “You got your head buried in the sand? You haven’t heard the rumors flying around here? You kidding me?”

  “No. What rumors?”

  “White Night.”

  “What about White Night?”

  “The names of a few suspects who might have started up a little side business of selling information. All allegedly, of course.”

  “Really? Like who?”

  “You’re not going to hear it from me. I don’t participate in idle gossip, but I’m certain the great detective Oded Cantor will be able to find out for himself.”

  “Got it,” Cantor said. “Good luck with the doctor.”

  Café Anna was mostly empty and Cantor sat at a corner table, pulled out a notebook and pen and wrote: White Night - leaked by someone in the know (who?), from Intelligence? (Haddad?, Exposure of the stakeout (Sexta had a lookout?), another way?

  The sound of footsteps approaching and a familiar female voice who called, “Hi” broke his concentration. He looked up from his notebook and saw Tova, the long-time manager at Café Anna. They were friendly, and he had sometimes wondered if she would return his advances if he ever tried.

  “Afternoon, Tova.”

  “Afternoon to you, too. What’s this? Did they downsize your coffee allowances, too?”

  “I love you, too.”

  She placed a decorated porcelain cup in front of him. The coffee’s aroma was strong and fragrant and, as he inhaled it, he thought that, despite the tendency to overlook them, it was definitely the little things that mattered. His first sip of the frothy coffee put to shame the cardboard-scented beverage he had drunk in Messiah’s den.

  “Just kidding. You’re not becoming sensitive all of a sudden, are you? So, are you here for our amazing coffee, or did you just miss me?”

  “I always miss you.” He flirted without really intending to.

  “So?” she asked as she leaned toward him until her bulging bosom was inches from his face.

  Someone else inside him uttered the words, “Maybe we can have coffee together somewhere else one day?”

  She smoothed her hand over his shoulder. “One day?? What’s this Cantor? You planning a peace summit?”

  “Look -”

  “No need to apologize. Totally unnecessary.” She cut him off sharply and saved him from another awkward stammer. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Not today, I’ve got to get moving.” All of a sudden, he was eager to return to his desk.

  “Maybe a pastry to go?”

  “No, thanks.” He shook his head.

  “Okay - just don’t say I didn’t make a point of offering great service.” She hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Tell me something, Cantor, were you serious about inviting me for coffee?”

  Shit! Me and my big mouth, he thought, just as he made another mistake.

  “As if you’d ever go out with an old man like me.” He realized his blunder as the words came out of his mouth. This made her flinch and her body stiffened.

  “Too true.” She gave off an air of cold indifference.

  Cantor just wanted to get out of there. He pushed his chair back and stood up, slipping the notebook back into his pocket. “Gotta go,” he said, pulling out a twenty. Tova reached into her belt for change. “No need,” he said quickly.

  “As you wish,” she answered dryly and her distant voice again indicated that he had succeeded in hurting her feelings. He was angry with himself for hurting her.

  ***

  Cantor returned to the department and heaved himself into his swivel chair. The first thing he noticed was the clamor in the roo
m. Cantor, not usually bothered by the background hum, couldn’t manage to ignore it. The sound struck a sensitive nerve and made him feel uncomfortably bothered. In an attempt to identify its source, his eyes scanned the room until they met Haddad’s gaze. He was sitting at his desk with an annoyed look upon his face that Cantor understood exactly how to interpret - a look that said: you’re screwing up my schedule.

  “Hey, Cantor.” He heard Dan Farhi’s voice and turned to look at him. Farhi’s face revealed that he had missed his morning shave and his fair hair was tousled like a pile of straw. He waved a tired greeting. Cantor returned the greeting with a nod of his head and a slight twitch of his lips in an attempted smile that felt forced and false. Since he had taken that message, the question of why Farhi would need to see those logs from Vice had occupied his mind. He tried to discourage the growing suspicions that crawled up his spine. He wanted to believe that there was a simple explanation, but he didn’t really believe in simple explanations.

  “Any idea when Yeremi’s coming back?” asked Farhi.

  “Yeah, soon.” His gaze caught a gleaming object on Farhi’s desk.

  “What’s that?” he pointed in its direction.

  “What’s what?”

  “That thing that looks like a million dollars on your desk. Is that a new tablet?”

  “Ah, this. Yeah, I’ve wanted one for a long time now.” There was no enthusiasm in his voice.

  “Expensive?” Cantor was interested.

  “Relatively. If you want something good…” he replied with a kind of reluctance that made Cantor lose the urge to ask further questions. Whatever.

  “Haddad, what’s going on?” he called out and was met with a quarrelsome expression. Apparently his three-hour solo excursion had not gone unnoticed.

  “I must have misunderstood,” Haddad blurted out angrily. “I thought you were just stopping by Intelligence for a few minutes, so I allowed myself to confirm the meeting with the prosecutor in the Rama case for noon! Or did I mishear what you said?”