Yariv finally appeared to be comfortable in his element. “So, you have all these crazies in the government with their hands out. Then you’ve got the terrorists with their hands out too. The only ones who know how to navigate them even somewhat decently are the French. That’s why in 2022, the French CMA CGM Group were awarded a ten-year contract to clean up and rebuild the port.”
“Do I care what CMA and CGM stand for?” asked Nir.
Yariv shook his head. “No. Just some French words that have to do with maritime stuff. So, they got to work and spent the last couple years planning. Then, just two weeks ago, Lebanon’s caretaker Prime Minister Najib Mikati held a press conference with the leaders of the French group to reveal their new plan. Two French engineering companies, Artelia and Egis, have been given the task to reinvent the whole area for the twenty-first century.”
Nir took the last bite of his Twix as he thought. Balling up the wrapper, he tossed it toward a trash can along the wall. But the foil wrapper sprung back open and dropped to the ground.
“Walla, you kinda suck,” a disappointed Dafna said.
“The crosswinds got it,” said Nir. “So, new guy, how does all this background help us? Based on what you know, tell me what we should know.”
It was Yariv’s turn to think. He picked up a Snickers bar, examined the label, then tore it open. But before he took a bite, he said, “Security is somewhat lax at the port because there is no overall system. It’s like the times of the Judges. Everyone does as they see fit.” He took a bite of his candy, then said between chews, “But I doubt that goes for the Russians. I would suspect that they have their warehouse locked up tight and guarded well.”
“Yeah, I’m betting you’re right,” Nir said as he leaned forward and began sifting through the pile on the table looking for something a little healthier than candy or chips. Then he remembered that he had purposely avoided the machine with the healthy options. He leaned back.
“Yeah, snacks aren’t as easy as you thought,” said Liora, giving him an accusing look.
Nir glared at her. “Show me a picture of the Beirut port,” he said to Yariv.
“I’ll get it,” said Dafna, spinning her chair and rolling to her workstation. Fifteen seconds later, a Google Earth image popped up on the screen. To the north was the Mediterranean. On the west was a series of warehouses. To the east was the blackened area of the blast zone, along with more warehouses. At the bottom of the screen was the Charles Helou Highway, and below that was downtown Beirut.
A cursor appeared, and Dafna drew a red circle around a building by the second roundabout on the left. “This is an older picture,” she said. “The building here has been torn down and a new one has been built.”
“Then why am I looking at this instead of the new one?” Nir demanded.
“Because you asked to see the port, not just a single warehouse. I went with Google Earth for the sake of expediency,” Dafna said, air-quoting the end of her sentence. “Look it up if you don’t understand the word.”
Where was Nicole? She had a mediating calm that helped him get along even with the smart-mouthed girls. Without her, meetings tended to devolve into chaos.
He breathed deeply. “Dafna, would you kindly retrieve for me an updated picture showing the new building the Russians have erected in the port?”
“Of course, Mr. Tavor. All you had to do was ask.”
About a minute later, a new image appeared on the screen. The trashed cement building was gone, replaced by a modern metal structure. Even from elevation, Nir was able to count 14 armed guards—two in the back, four on each side, and another four in the front.
“Lovely,” grumbled Imri.
“We could try a candygram for Mongo,” said Dima. But even he didn’t laugh at his bad joke.
“That place is wrapped up tighter than a rabbi’s purse,” said Yaron.
There had to be a way in. “What do we know about it? This picture is during the day. Are there this many guards at night?” Nir asked.
Liora answered, “Because these guys are military, there’s not much else for them to do other than to guard this building. At night, the sides are cut to two each, as is the front. So you’re still looking at eight armed personnel with nothing to do except wait around to shoot people.”
“Tell me about the building. How tall is it?”
Yariv flipped through some notes. “Ten meters. And, before you ask, the buildings to the west are also three stories. That’s also true of the new construction across the street to the south.”
“What about the security system? Can we hack into it?”
Again, Yariv read from his notes. “It’s an autonomous system. Totally self-contained, so there’s no getting into it. That’s also true about all the electronics in the building. We can’t touch the lights or the HVAC or anything.”
“Beautiful,” mumbled Nir.
“Boker tov, you guys are such idiots,” said Lahav. All faces turned his way—the operators with scowls and Nir and the analysts with curiosity. “The answer is obvious. You can’t get there on the ground, right? And you can’t burrow in from underneath. So, go in from on top.”
Gil dropped back into his chair. “Brilliant, analyst-boy. We’ll just helicopter in. No one will hear that. Or, even better, we’ll drop in with our magic camouflage parachutes and land perfectly on the roof of the building.”
Lahav laughed. “You’re so cute when you let your ignorance show.”
Gil leaned toward the analyst, but Dima’s large arm pushed him back. “Hear him out. We can pound him later.”
“Dafna, can you go back to the Google Earth pic again?”
Dafna complied.
“Okay, now, check out the Russian building.” This time Dafna circled the structure.
Nodding toward Yariv, Lahav continued. “Now, Curls here talked about the buildings to the west and to the south. All the same height. No good to anyone except a tightrope walker. But look farther south, across the parking lot. Check out the size of the cars next to those buildings compared to the Russian one, and tell me they’re not taller.”
Yariv looked closely. “He’s right—probably four stories, possibly five.”
Lahav was shaking his head. “No, they’re not five stories. But you’ve got an extra three meters from that roof. You connect a line from that building to the Russian building, and you’ve got zip-line roof access.”
“Dude, you’re crazy,” said Dima. “I’m no Tom Cruise, and three meters is not enough angle to zip anyone that far.”
Lahav reached over and patted Dima on the arm. “Leave it to me, little man. I’ll get you there.”