Dangerous Bet: A financial thriller

by Jack Gardner

  ***

  For God’s sake, what was it that I saw that made them want to kill me?

  There is no doubt that the Head of Operations ran this show, but knowing this did not really help me. Caring for these kinds of operations for other offices in the Bureau was among his responsibilities. And there was also the option, as far-fetched as it may be, that this was “ordered” by a different institution, the kind of activity that is done under the authority and authorization of the Bureau.

  Unless it was something private. An inside job of the operations department—what one would call a “black” operation. On the other hand, I had no doubt that the higher echelons directed this. Only there could someone demand and receive such an amazing amount of resources in such a short time. And there were the extermination teams. This was not routine at all, and made this even more complex. What the hell did I know, or what did they think I know? It had to be important, so important that they would be willing to kill for it.

  I could try to disappear, to leave the country. There was some kind of risk involved, but I could do it, even if they were following me in different transportation hubs. Disappearing was an option, up to a certain moment. Any private small airport could be an opportunity to take over a light plane and leave the country. I could have done it by way of the sea as well, had I wanted to. I had the advantage of not being dependent on anyone. But deep down inside I knew it was nothing but an illusion. There was no place where I could hide from them. No matter how well I would hide, sooner or later they would find me. They were like a police dog who never lets his prey go. They had no restrictions or constraints. If I wanted to go on living, I had to know what was going on. It promised nothing, but the alternative was death.

  I did not know what to look for. I did not know where to look. I had to get a clue from someone on the inside; I couldn’t just hide and wait—I had to attack. And yes, there was someone inside. I did not forget the nameless informer who tipped me about the surveillance. The problem was that since that note in my show, he gave me no further hints. There was something encouraging about the fact that he was there, but for the moment it was a dead end.

  I definitely could not reach the Head of Operations. Security around him was too tight, and as far as I knew, flawless. And even if I could interrogate him, chances are that he would remain silent. I believed he was brave enough and proud enough to spit in my face, even if he believed he was about to die. But maybe he would act differently if someone close to him were to be in danger. True, it would aggravate my situation, but after all, you can’t kill the same man twice.

  His home was protected at all hours. They thought about his family and made sure that their security arrangements were perfect. The children were driven to school accompanied by an armed bodyguard. The wife had a chauffeur who was also a trained bodyguard. Approaching any of them in public would be a serious mistake. Only a plan based on a surprise had a chance of working, and it better be a smart plan that included no violence. Something that would change their minds. Maybe.

  The Head of Operations lived on a small street in a quiet tree-lined neighborhood. His house was surrounded by a 15-feet-tall wall with two lines of barbed wire on top of it. Between those, electric wires set off an alarm whenever a weight of more than one pound pressed against it. So birds were pardoned but that was just about it. All the trees close to the wall were cut down and so there was no way of climbing over the wall without being seen from the street or by one of four closed circuit televisions that were placed on each corner of the wall, transmitting a live video feed to a control room that was staffed day and night. In addition, this video feed was also transmitted to the nearest police station, less than half a mile away. I thought that the response time to any kind of suspicious occurrence should not be over five minutes. Seven at best, maybe ten.

  I needed a plan. After careful consideration of these details, I decided that a not-so-secret invasion would be my best shot. It had a chance of working.

  I needed a number of things and thought this was the best time to get them. It wasn’t a very complicated list: a pair of shoes, a police car, and a good story. As I was headed to the police car auto shop, I stopped at a shoe store and picked out the cheapest pair of brown shoes I dared buy without feeling ashamed. I wasn’t going to wear them, so there was no point in paying a high price for them. I drove two blocks away and pulled the shoes out of the box. I closed the empty shoebox and fastened it with a string. Then I drove on toward the auto shop. I parked three blocks away from there and walked over.

  There were many police cars parked in the auto shop’s parking lot. The ones that were already repaired, about ten of them, were driven to the car wash station and then parked in the exterior lot next to the entrance. I watched the two guys who were in charge of the car wash. They were very busy. Between the time they put a car into the automatic wash and parked it outside, they were supposed to deposit its keys in the office, but since they were working on so many cars, they preferred to do it in batches of three or four. I stood in a hidden spot next to the parking lot and waited for an opportunity. I didn’t have to wait long. There were three police cars with keys still in the ignition, clean and sparkly from the wash. One of them was in a dead zone, where the first guy couldn’t see it.

  The two guys were talking to each other very loudly, so it was easy to pick up on the name of the guy in the parking lot, Tony. Right above the auto shop’s office was a sign with two phone numbers. I called the office from my cellphone and asked to talk to Tony and quickly heard a female voice on the speakers calling for Tony. I saw him drop the yellow washcloth in his hand into a bucket and rush toward the office. As soon as he disappeared I walked the six steps I needed to the third car, which was hidden from the guy who stood next to the car wash station. I slid into it, started the car, and drove away.

  I did not forget to disconnect the call. I spent a second thinking about his astonished face as soon as he realizes that the line is dead, and his much larger surprise when he goes back outside and wonder if he’s not missing a car. Chances are he wouldn’t even notice it right away. The commotion and workload were too much and the cars were all the same model and color. Still, it was safe to assume they’d notice it quickly enough, but in any case I wasn’t planning on using the police car for too long.

  I drove to the Head of Operations’ home. At the corner I noticed a camera covering the space between the wall and the road. I could recognize the camera’s model—part of a control and recording system developed by the American company Geoprey—a model that connects to a monitor and a recording device. I also remembered that in addition to the closed circuit system there was a remote control system made by QSR that allowed the nearby police station to follow the images sent from the security cameras on computer monitors and react within minutes. The schedule I could work with was very limited. Whoever planned the security arrangements used the best technology available. I had no technology, but I had a plan and the key to its success was its simplicity. Simple plans are usually better: when it’s complex, too many things can go wrong.

  There was a side road next to the southern wall, and it was from there that the entryways to the yards of the neighboring houses diverged. I drove on the left shoulder where I would be outside the camera’s range, and parked the police car between two houses. There was no one outside. I tied the shoes to each other by their laces and got out of the car. In a long, circular motion I threw the shoes at the wires on top of the cement wall. I knew that the sensors turned on the alarm at that moment.

  I went back to the police car and drove it to the entrance gate within fifteen seconds. The guard at the gate just got off the phone and I could easily guess what the call was about. “We got a call about an intrusion,” I said with a routine voice, as should be expected from someone who receives this kind of calls incessantly and is no longer excited about them.

  The man was confused. “It happened only a few seconds ago…”

  �
�Yes, I was in an adjacent street and just got the call on our radio.”

  He surveyed the police car and my civilian clothes. I felt that he was expecting an explanation, and I did not hesitate to give one. Even though he seemed intelligent, I was quite sure he’d fall for my act. That’s what pressure, the feeling of responsibility, and an authoritative appearance can do. “Undercover policeman,” I remained polite but decisive. The decisiveness was in order to assure that he wouldn’t get any ideas in his head like confirming my identity. These words almost always had a very specific effect: they made people move quickly. “Why don’t you open the gate and we’ll see what’s going on?”

  Instead of answering that, he pushed a button and the gate opened to the right, exposing a twenty-meter-long entryway that led directly to the entrance of the house. I started driving before the gate was completely open, waving to the guard. I passed by the door and parked the police car next to some bushes that bordered the entryway. To my right, behind a large bush of red roses, was an open window with a desk by it. Whoever worked behind that desk was probably quite inspired by watching the lovely red flowers. Maybe the Head of Operations wrote love poems in his spare time. These things happen. Through the window I could see that it was an office designed according to the taste of a man who loved books and travel. Two walls were covered by bookshelves and a number of souvenirs from world travels were scattered between the books. The office was empty and its door—an expensive brown wooden door with a frosted glass window on its top—was closed. This room was exactly what I needed.

  I got out of the police car, looked back to ensure the guard at the gate could not see me, took the shoebox tied with the string and put it on the desk through the open window. I walked to the door. The second guard opened it within seconds. He was shorter than I am, about 5’10” with wide shoulders and muscular arms that showed through the short khaki jacket that served as the usual bodyguard uniform at the Bureau. I couldn’t see his gun but I was sure it was there on a holster fastened to his belt. I quickly thought about the fact that I could neutralize him right then and there, but that was not the plan. “We got a call at the station.” I knew I had little time.

  “Yes,” he said, “there is a signal in the south wall.”

  “We better look at it,” I said, and we both walked down a bushy path through flowerpots and green grass toward the south, in order to discover a pair of brown shoes tied by the laces hanging from the barbed wire.

  “Kids,” the guard nodded.

  “Seems like it,” I said, “but just in case, I’d better look around.”

  He was a quiet type—which suited me well—and so the walk back to the police car was only bothered by the pastoral sound of birds chirping, attracted by nature, or the artificial nature that is the garden. I walked from the back yard toward the front gate. My watch showed that four minutes have passed since the alarm went off, and the police car that was supposed to show up was still nowhere to be seen. Maybe the guard had already canceled the call, I thought, and drove away straight to my jeep.

  The first move has been done. I was hoping that I got the Head of Operations angry, or at least that I got his attention. I wish I could have seen his face when they told him about the box.

  ***

  I chose a payphone that was located next to a school in a residential neighborhood, a remote area where it was unlikely that anyone would be watching. Since not all phones could be covered, I thought it was likely that they would use the general surveillance system. They had a control board full of little light bulbs, one for each of the hundreds of phones scattered around the city. Whenever a certain phone was active, its light bulb was on and they could listen to the conversation. Since dozens of phones were used simultaneously they recorded most of the calls and listened to them at a later date. I had to keep the conversation short in order to reduce the chances that the random tapping would “lock” onto my call, which would spark an alarm that would lead large forces to surround the area. They had five listening devices and in routine situations two were staffed. My assumption was that this was not a regular day so I expected they would staff extra posts, maybe even four or five.

  My watch had a chronometer, which I was going to use in order to make sure that the call I make would not be longer than twenty seconds. From experience, I knew that as far as measurements of time are concerned, one shouldn’t trust their notion of it. The story I prepared did not require more than ten seconds, but there was always the chance of something going wrong. I knew the number by heart and I also knew that all calls to this number were answered right away. I also knew they were all recorded. As I dialed the last digit, I turned on the chronometer. As I expected, someone picked up the phone after the first ring.

  “Central library,” said Judy.

  “Hello Judy,” there was no point in being impolite, “I have the material and am willing to give it with no conditions. Clear?”

  “Who is this, please?” she tried to work by the book. I knew she was already trying to locate the call.

  “I wouldn’t want to think you take me so lightly,” I said. Seven seconds up to now.

  “Can you explain what kind of material you’re talking about?” She was still stalling but at least she stopped pretending she doesn’t recognize my voice.

  “Please give the message as is. The material in exchange for my life. I’ll be in touch to this number.” The chronometer showed sixteen seconds.

  “When will you call?” She asked.

  “Soon,” I replied and hung up the call.

  I had to shake the tree and see what would fall.

  ***

  I drove away while following surveillance procedures. I wasn’t in a rush since those were all my tasks for the day, and so I took an hour to drive through at least three surveillance sectors to make sure that I was not being followed.

  My landlady left me a note saying that she was leaving on a one-week vacation and asking that I check her mailbox and look over the house; if I don’t mind, of course. It gave me the perfect excuse to stay home for the next three days in complete privacy. I needed quite a bit of time before exposing myself again. Three more days of increased forces and no results would not only keep up their morale, but may also bring about certain flexibility on their end. And of course, I could use the rest.

  ***

  In the Head of Operation’s office, things seemed more urgent. Judy passed on Ram’s message to her boss on his private number about thirty seconds after the call. At the time, L was still preoccupied with the previous event reported from his house.

  The shoebox was discovered around 2:00 p.m., when L’s wife walked into the office in order to change the flowers in the vase. She was probably surprised to see it on the desk and as she approached it she noticed the word BOMB written clearly on the box. It was not hard to imagine the shock on her face, the hand clutching the chest, and the hope that if she doesn’t touch the box it would not explode.

  The bottom line was a scream that sent the guard running out of the control room. Then professionals took charge. The affair was reported directly to the Head of Operations, and a widespread search took place in his house. Extra forces were called in and an extensive investigation was begun in an attempt to connect the dots to one coherent picture.

  ‘Goddamnit,’ thought L when they described the undercover policeman who came to the house earlier. The guard was a reliable witness who was trained to pay attention to details and remember them well. L looked at Sammy, who was in the room, and nodded approvingly. They did not even need the report about the stolen police car, which was found in the meantime, and the confusion that took over the call center at the police station. It was obvious who it was.

  21

  A expert on national security issues, a gifted politician and man of great stature who, if only given the chance, would prove his ability to become a top-tier politician—that’s how his supporters saw the man they designated to lead the opposition party and later become
the head of state.

  A man who rose to prominence in the military, slowly climbing the army’s hierarchy while proving his courage and composure to his soldiers, who admired him, and his commanders, who trusted him with everything. A man who was so close to the top of the military ladder he could touch it, only that his aspirations never materialized.

  Once this was decided, he took off the uniform and retired. He then followed the political leadership, while noting his dissatisfaction of the way things were being handled, and decided that his only way to return to the decision-making circles was through political power. And thus, carried on waves of admiration from wide ranks in society, he started a new party and went to the general elections. Unlike the politicians, the people granted him the appreciation he deserved. He was elected to parliament and started a party that, due to its position in the fragile space between the right and the left, ended up being a decisive factor in the parliament at that time. He promoted the establishment of a national government where the two great forces of the nation’s politics would collaborate, thus finding the formula to lead to mutual agreement, and becoming a senior minister with growing influence.

  Yet the true, decisive power was in the hand of a different man—he who was at the top of the government, he who held all the responsibility. It was only natural that this would be the man’s true ambition. He was a large man with an impressive appearance. Even past his sixtieth year he was still handsome; his round face and his full head of white hair gave him the appearance of a lion. This was joined by an almost permanent smile, concealing the true thoughts behind it and giving the man an almost magical charisma that most people could not refuse. His supporters called him the “strong man,” and believed that he was the most deserving candidate to lead the nation at times of crisis and uncertainty. But most of these supporters had to admit that even as close as he was to the center of power, he did not have a decisive influence on future developments. And in order to change that, hidden and determined powers worked constantly behind the scenes to support this man who they believed was the only solution to the dangerous situation that was being created in front of their eyes.