Crossing the Lines

by Jacob Ganani

“Wasn’t this an attempt to really get me? Making it seem like I’m a guy who tries deceitfully to obtain classified information? Information that’s worth its weight in gold on the streets? Isn’t that serious enough? What could be worse - someone trying to kill me?”

  “I wouldn’t rule anything out,” Tzahor retorted sarcastically, taking unusual pleasure in his colleague’s despair while his fingers placed another perfect ball of bread on the table.

  Farhi merely shook his head, hopelessly acknowledging that there could be no limit to his colleague’s cynicism. He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Enjoy your lunch,” he said sardonically, and left.

  Uri Tzahor’s eyes followed him as he walked away. The faint smile at the corners of his lips lingered and his busy fingers began to shape a new ball of bread. It occurred to him that self-composure was a fairly rare commodity.

  CHAPTER 21

  Haddad picked up Cantor from outside the department. They rode in silence, each wrapped in his own thoughts. Cantor thought of the device lying in his safe and wondered if the hitman had any military background. There was no doubt that he was now asking himself why the car had not exploded. Was it a technical failure? Or perhaps an assembly error? But Cantor knew that the device had been flawlessly constructed - an impeccable assemblage, down to the ends of the electrical wiring, which were coated with a thin layer of grease to protect them from the cold, damp, night air. And so, he thought, it was likely that his would-be assassin now suspected that some kind of human intervention was the reason for the failure of the device. In other words, he was now aware that his target had advance warning - a very significant new factor. It’s one thing to take down a trained, yet unsuspecting, lawman, but another to do it when he is ready and waiting for you.

  Cantor thought that this would compel the son of a bitch to recalculate his course of action.

  ***

  They parked near the restaurant entrance. Cantor quickly examined the area for suspicious activity. The hitman had gotten into his head. With his contract still unfulfilled, he might be following them at that very moment, waiting for his opportunity. Cantor, an expert sniper himself, was determined not to provide such an opportunity. Cantor was familiar with the restaurant and chose their table accordingly. It was a corner table, hidden behind a concrete wall. There was no high vantage point overlooking this area. Their seats offered a diagonal line of sight to the entrance that ensured that the advantage would be theirs. The table was also far enough away from any inquisitive ears. Cantor made sure he had immediate access to his revolver.

  They waited in silence until the waiter took their orders and walked away. Cantor chose to be direct.

  “Albert, who would be interested in eliminating me?”

  Haddad, looking a little surprised by the question, looked straight into his eyes and a small smile began to form at the tips of his mouth.

  “You mean who’d be interested in eliminating your career?” his smile widened and reached his eyes. “Good question. Who wouldn’t? Nah, just kidding. What are you talking about?”

  “Okay, let me put it another way: who would want to kill me?”

  Haddad’s smile faded and he asked slowly, “Are you serious?”

  “Completely.” Cantor fell silent as the waiter walked over to them carrying a tray of drinks.

  Wordlessly, they each poured their soda into their glass. Ice cubes and slices of lemon swirled through the drinks. Cantor took a sip and said, “Last night, at 3:00am, I disabled an explosive device attached to my car.”

  Haddad narrowed his eyes. “The Hyundai?”

  “Yes.”

  Haddad reached out and scratched the back of his neck. “Three in the morning, outside your apartment?” Cantor nodded. “Stupid question: how did you know about it? Or were you sleeping in your car?”

  Cantor took another sip from his glass. “The truth is, I was expecting something of this sort. I saw the perpetrator from my apartment in real time.”

  Haddad leaned forward and growled, “You were expecting this? How? How come I didn’t know about this?”

  “Forget about that for a second. Actually, I'll just go ahead and tell you: yesterday afternoon I received some information that prompted me to install warning equipment in my car. I borrowed it from the Mossad.”

  Haddad's face flushed and he stretched in his chair in a sharp gesture of anger and shock. “You received information yesterday afternoon? And where was I?”

  “Look, Albert, I thought I'd feel around a bit before I raised any alarms -” Cantor, who was certain of his strong sense of friendship with Haddad, expected at most a paternal rebuke, but what came next utterly surprised him. He suddenly realized that he had misjudged their relationship. Haddad’s angry words came at him like a hailstorm.

  “Now you listen to me, Cantor,” - he wasn’t “Oded” anymore, he noticed - “do you know what this means? It means I'm going to have to report you! And I thought I’d succeeded in teaching you something about police conduct... so I thought.” His voice was a mixture of disappointment and scorn as he went on, “You can expect some serious repercussions, I promise you. Such things are not condoned around here. Maybe you thought you were only jeopardizing yourself by taking such a stupid risk, but you’ve made a big mistake. Up until this moment, I was sure that, under my training, you were headed down the right path, and you know I don’t do this with every newbie. But now I clearly realize how wrong I was!”

  Haddad stopped abruptly, turned in his chair and scanned the area. Cantor knew all too well what troubled him. After a moment, he apparently decided that their location was relatively secure and went on, clearly still angry. “Consider this conversation an official inquiry, and mind what you say as it may be used against you. You also have the right to refuse an inquiry in my presence and I can defer this to Azar.”

  Cantor felt that he had just lost not only the professional credit he had built with such great effort, but also a friend, which he believed to be a far worse consequence. He was overcome with a wave of disappointment. For a moment, his anger at the assassin and whoever sent him was forgotten. Apparently, he was wrong in thinking that Haddad had been his friend over this past year. Evidently, friendships in the force were conditional upon personal interest. Just when things got tough, when a friendship was truly tested, it failed. Haddad was worried about saving his own hide and wasn’t willing to risk protecting his partner from the system. He had no problem throwing him to the wolves, so unlike himself, who had often laid his reputation and his life on the line for the sake of a friend. Apparently, it was easy to play the role of a true friend, nursing him in the hospital when there was nothing to lose and everything to gain. Okay, well, so maybe he did deserve some credit for Vietnam, but he was no longer worthy of being a friend. Fuck it, he wants an official inquiry? Let’s hold an inquiry!

  “Go ahead. I’ll take the risk,” Cantor replied quietly.

  “Okay.” Haddad’s tone turned to detached professionalism. “Give me the exact details without leaving anything out. And don’t try to change your story later on.”

  “Okay, yesterday afternoon, a few minutes after you left, my CI reported that there was a contract out on my head.”

  “Is this informant reliable?”

  “Yesterday I wasn’t so sure, but I’m sure now.”

  “So someone wants to kill you because of the investigation?”

  “Could be. Can’t rule anything out at this point.”

  “So then you make the stupid decision to attempt to find out if the rumors are true before you go and raise the alarm!” Haddad couldn’t restrain himself.

  Cantor stayed silent.

  “Tell me about the attempt on your life.”

  “Yesterday evening, I installed a warning sensor in the car, professional equipment with motion sensors that send an alert to my phone. At three this morning, I received an alert. I watched the suspect from my bedroom window. I believe it was a male; he wore a cap, so I didn’t see
a face. He was through in less than five minutes and drove off in a white Fiat van. I went downstairs and deactivated a device consisting of three explosives - military TNT with a detonator designed to explode on ignition.”

  “That’s a serious device... it wasn’t meant as just a warning. And the van?”

  “Like I said, a white Fiat van with an image on its side that I couldn’t make out. Couldn’t see the license plates, either.”

  “Where’s the device now?” Haddad had regained his usual composure. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from one pocket and a box of matches from another. He lit the cigarette and looked at Cantor.

  “In my safe, at home.” He paused as the waiter approached them, placed cutlery, napkins and two full plates of food on the table and left. “What do you think?”

  But Haddad was in no mood for business as usual. “Listen, Cantor, I’m not going to brainstorm with you now, not before I decide what to do with you. I hope you understand that our meeting this morning put me at risk, too, without you even bothering to warn me. I understand now why you scanned the street so carefully before leaving the car. If you have an assassin on your tail, then, at any given moment, he may try to shoot you or blow you up and I’m stuck here with you. Let’s get out of here.”

  Despite his disappointment with Haddad, Cantor smiled as he glanced at the food on their untouched plates. “Too bad, isn’t it?”

  “Ever heard of the Last Supper, Cantor? You want to reenact it? I’m beginning to suspect you’ve got some sort of death wish.”

  There was nothing more to add. Haddad waved the waiter over for their check. He pulled out his wallet and placed a couple of bills on the table. The look on his face suggested that not everything had been said yet.

  “Is there anything else?” Cantor asked.

  “Yes, regardless of what’s going on with you, I want to tell you something. I’d rather you hear it from me than from someone else.”

  “Okay...”

  “You’ve told me before that I seem obsessed with the Sexta brothers. You were right, and I’ve got a good reason to be obsessed. Last night I spoke with Dolly. I often share my dilemmas with her. She’s certain my obsession with the Sextas stems from the death of my nephew, Sa’ar, God rest his soul. A pure, innocent boy. Died at seventeen from an overdose. I personally investigated the case. The son of a bitch who sold him the fatal hit bought it in south Tel-Aviv, in a brothel owned by Sexta. And before you ask, no, I couldn’t tie them to it. By the time I got there, the drugs were gone.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” Cantor said softly.

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “So you have a good reason to have it out for them, that’s why you’re trailing Sexta, you’re looking for an opportunity to find real evidence -”

  “And there’s no expiration date on vengeance, right, Cantor? That’s what you think? Well, you’ve got it all wrong! I’m not out for vengeance, I’m an officer of the law, a professional cop, which - unfortunately - is more than I can say about you right now. I know how to put my personal feelings aside. So now you know.”

  “Regardless of what you decide about me, I appreciate you sharing this,” Cantor said.

  “Yeah, too bad it had to be under these circumstances.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Thursday - afternoon

  The cop was well aware of the risk he had taken when he presented Ezra Sexta with an ultimatum. Ezra was a man who wouldn’t waste a moment on sympathy or compassion once his interests were adversely affected. As head of a crime organization, he was king of his own private herd of predators, a king whose every order was carried out immediately and without argument. At his disposal were tough, motivated soldiers, and for special undertakings, there was his brother Isaac, equally ruthless. Isaac may have been stupid and primitive, but he remained obedient and unwaveringly loyal to his older brother.

  In another world, one that embraced the term “tolerance,” the cop may have been more appreciated. His contribution to the organization was undoubtedly significant. The information he had provided was of the highest quality. He had assisted in foiling many police raids on the organization’s brothels and gambling dens - and all this even before the highlight of his efforts: exposing Operation White Night. Moish, his liaison within the organization, told him explicitly that the information he provided had allowed them to succeed big time. He had not hidden his appreciation.

  There was also another crucial consideration. A crime boss like Ezra Sexta understood that harming a police officer was always the worst possible option. He knew that cops were like a family, a law enforcing family, and, as head of a crime family, he understood where loyalties lay. Policemen were blood brothers. Causing serious harm to a cop had led - and would always lead - to big trouble.

  With all this in mind, the cop believed that his relationship with Ezra Sexta was like a rope; perhaps this rope could still carry some additional weight, allowing another little pull, while taking all the necessary precautions, of course.

  All in all, he was pleased with himself, firstly because, in his telephone conversation with Sexta, he had confronted him like a man, stating his position with determination. The timing was also right, since there was only so much he could milk this. These days, when the entire division was busy searching for traitors, clues indicating his culpability were liable to appear at any moment. Liable? Who was he kidding? It was clear that Detective Cantor had the motivation of a mad dog to advance his career through this investigation... which meant that he had to cut off contact and wipe away any incriminating evidence that could lead to him. Failure was not a conceivable option.

  He felt he was on the right track for success. Financially, he was doing great, the best he’d ever done. All he had to do was pay off his debt to Sexta. The rest that he had hidden away would remain his. He would never have to tolerate dreary mediocrity again, never deal with the daily struggle for survival with no future prospects or hope. The miserable life he had spent in despair and frustration was no more. Most importantly - and, here, a big smile lit his face - the greatest prize of all awaited him.

  But enough thinking about Sexta. Until his ultimatum met with a response, he had nothing left to do but wait. The thought that he had left Sexta fumbling in the dark without inside information about the operational teams’ next moves made him smile. Yes, it would cost Sexta in pain and money - a lot of money - but that was the price he would have to pay for his lack of generosity toward him now.

  Suddenly, his mood turned sour. A wave of despondency engulfed him, as it had so many times before, times he wished he could now forget. The proud satisfaction he felt from standing up to Sexta was replaced by fear of things to come. Another wave brought on thoughts of the latest failure, another failed elimination attempt. This truly enraged him, as this failure had thwarted his most important objective - to ruin the life of the woman he once loved, to destroy the great traitress.

  Their last phone conversation still burned in his memory. After recovering from his initial shock as she told him it was over between them, he had called her, begging for an explanation. And her answer? In a tone of indifference that jabbed at his soul, she said that she had simply fallen in love with another man, and she must follow her truth. Clearly. Even if she killed another on the way to this truth. But then he had discovered, to his great astonishment, the man she had chosen over him. He had not been able to get rid of these relentlessly tormenting thoughts ever since. In his mind’s eye, he could see them laughing at him, mocking his weakness, his misery.

  Could he ever feel pleasure again in sharing his life with a woman? No, there was no longer such a possibility. All that awaited him now was frustration and heartache. He would never again experience the pride he had felt when she walked beside him, her tall body close to his, her hand on his arm, his eyes drawn to her beautiful face like a magnet. He remembered the glances of other men as they passed, envious of his good fortune.

  The intimacy they shared...
such thoughts sent stabs of pain to his heart. Clear, detailed images flooded his mind. Him sitting by the bed watching her sleep. Her lying on her back with her hands at her sides, sleeping serenely as only someone who is completely at peace can do. The gentle sounds of her breathing. He leans toward her, breathing in the air she exhales. His lips fluttering on her lips, touching her nose, and then she opens her eyes and smiles at him and he melts into an all-consuming happiness.

  His mind now altered the images of happiness into poisonous ones. Helplessly, he watches Cantor bend over her, his heart torn to shreds as her sighs fill his head and his shoulders feel her fingers digging into them again and again and again. If only this dog, Cantor, knew what a world he had destroyed! How he had shattered his soul into fragments that could never be pieced together! How he had emptied his existence of any reason to go on. How he trampled on his spirit and his honor. Cantor, together with the great traitress, had destroyed his faith in humanity.

  There was a moment where he was sure he had managed to even the score: when this woman, who had crushed him, stood in the street in Hanoi, frozen in shock, watching her dreams crumble as the man she loved was taken from her in one cruel instant. It was meant to be a lesson which she deserved to be taught.

  That attempt had failed, just like the second. Pini Levy! Called himself a professional assassin! Boasted a title he did not earn! Yet again, as usual, there was no one he could rely on. If you want something done right, you must do it yourself! Frustrated, he slammed his fist down on the table with a force that cracked the glass tabletop. He cursed loudly as he felt the pain in his hand. Looking at the drops of blood on the floor and table, he cursed again and, blinded by hatred, he rushed to the bathroom and wrapped his injured hand in the first towel he found.

  It all came down to a single objective: suppress the trail of evidence that may lead back to him. Thus there could be only one verdict for Pini: guilty - of unforgivable failure.