Among Luxembourg’s more eccentric attributes was that a large portion of its professional workforce commuted into the country each day. They came by car and by train, from France, Belgium, and Germany. So great was the influx that each evening the city’s population was cut by nearly a third. It made for a hectic city center on workdays.
For that reason, Slaton sought refuge for his call to Bloch.
He found it quickly in the relative quiet of a corner coffee shop. To keep up appearances, and also because he was famished, he ordered a large coffee and a ham sandwich at the counter before slipping behind a high-top table in a neatly carved alcove. He slammed down half the sandwich before impatience got the better of him.
It was rare for a Mossad director to personally manage an ongoing mission, but given the scale of misadventure unfolding in Luxembourg, Slaton had no trouble getting through.
“Have you got anything new on Ramzi?” he asked without preamble.
“David, our priority has to be …” Bloch’s voice trailed off, his thought process interrupted. Slaton suspected he knew why—the Mossad-issued phone he was using was transmitting location data.
“Where are you?” Bloch asked.
“I think you know.”
“I gave you a direct order to leave the country! I expect you to—”
“No,” Slaton said, cutting off his boss in a low but sharp tone. “We’ve been looking for Ramzi for years! We can’t get this close and not follow up.”
“We? Are you telling me you’ve gone back for God and country?”
“My objectives and Mossad’s are in perfect alignment. Motivation is irrelevant.”
“The information on the laptop is not definitive—it only implied Ramzi might be in Luxembourg. That’s not enough reason to throw yourself back in the fray. The foreign minister is contorting himself trying to clean up this mess.”
“Whatever the mess, it’s not one of our making. We broke into Moussa’s room and hacked a computer. That was our mission. We’re not responsible for his death.”
“The police in Luxembourg aren’t convinced—and it’s hard to blame them.”
Slaton wanted to move on. “Do you have anything more on Ramzi’s whereabouts?”
Bloch hesitated, then said, “We’re working on it. Until we hacked into Moussa’s laptop, our analysts were confident he was in Gaza.”
“With all respect, he’s been two steps ahead of your analysts for years.”
“I am still wondering who disabled the camera.”
“My money is on Ramzi,” Slaton said.
“He is a murderer of the worst sort, but to kill his own brother? We’ve never seen evidence of friction between them, and in their own ways each was indispensable to al-Qassam Front.”
“Not indispensable. Terrorist organizations are hydras—cut off one head and another appears.”
“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t get hopeful about finding Ramzi in Luxembourg. If he did kill his brother, he wouldn’t remain in the city. If someone else did, Ramzi would sense a threat. Either way, he is likely halfway back to Lebanon or Algiers by now.”
Slaton felt as though he was caught in a dreadful eddy, a vortex pulling him down. The idea that the man who’d killed his family might be near had been intoxicating. Yet Bloch was right. If Ramzi had come to Luxembourg, he now had every reason to flee. “It’s a valid point,” he admitted.
“Since you’ve ignored my orders and gone back, I might as well put you to good use.”
“How?”
“Our foreign ministry is deeply involved in Anna’s case. They’re trying to keep this operation from blowing up in our faces. The interior minister of Luxembourg has agreed to release her.”
“When?”
“Sometime later today. She’s being held at police headquarters.”
“I’ll meet her as soon as she gets out. I can escort her to the French border and—”
“No! I don’t want you anywhere near Anna. The police are looking for you as well, and I’m tired of begging for favors to get my operatives out of jail. Go to ground, find somewhere very quiet and stay out of sight. I want an asset on the ground until Anna is out of the country. But you are not to intervene in any way. We’re still going over the files on the laptop and they may provide leads. Money managers, bankers, hawala merchants. Ramzi, or someone in his orbit, will have to reestablish those contacts to keep the money flowing.”
“All right, I’ll stay out of trouble.”
“Why does that not fill me with confidence?”
Slaton allowed a thin smile. “Trust me, Anton.”
He ended the call, and immediately switched to the map on his phone and began studying the layout of streets around the main Luxembourg police station. It was near the river, separated by a stand of urban forest. Across the street were apartments, and farther on a minor stadium, home to a local soccer club. From where he sat, it was a twenty-minute walk.
He quickly downed the rest of his sandwich, then purchased a refill on his coffee. He struck out south, swerving through the crowds, his eyes watchful and wary behind wraparound shades. It felt like a new operation, different from yesterday, and he knew why. No comm, no coordination, no pre-mission briefing. Slaton was no longer running a team of operatives.
For however long it lasted, he was running solo.