Jerusalem
Four days after Assassinations
Seven Days to Announcement
‘We’re not leaving your side,’ Meghan insisted as she and Beth hurried along with Zeb.
He had asked them to look into other operatives they could investigate while he met the ambassador. The twins had refused point-blank. Beth had held up her screen when he pointed out that they could research the kidon while he was away.
‘You have a knack of getting into trouble without us,’ she had said, winking at him.
He gave up trying when he looked at Meghan and heard her response.
‘What does she want?’ the older sister asked, matching his pace.
‘No idea. I didn’t meet her today to escort her to the hotel. Maybe that upset her.’
‘Ha!’ Beth snorted in disbelief.
The sisters hadn’t met the ambassador but had heard of her. They knew she wasn’t that petty.
‘Zeb?’ Meghan raised her hand to get his attention. ‘What happens if we don’t clear all the Mossad operatives before Cantor and Baruti’s press conference?’
‘Bad things, for sure,’ he replied grimly. ‘Regardless of what’s declared, hard-liners on both sides will say each leader let their country down. Cantor or Baruti, even both, could lose their governments.’
‘If that happens, any announcement would be meaningless,’ Beth panted as she skipped to keep up with them.
‘Yes. And I think rioting would break out … that would apply more pressure on the two countries, until one or both took a step back.’
‘That doesn’t make much sense,’ Meghan argued. ‘What if the two announced a breakthrough peace deal?’
‘There were negotiations between the two countries previously.’
‘Five years back? Facilitated by our then secretary of state?’
‘Yeah. There was hope, then. Despite world support, those talks collapsed and then there wasn’t the backdrop of assassinated Palestinians. Look around you,’ he said, pointing to a group of Israeli protesters holding placards condemning the prime minister. ‘This region is on the brink of war. Each day, an Islamic nation makes a statement. That Israel should produce the killers or accept the consequences. In the Middle East,’ he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, ‘you don’t negotiate with the other party. You negotiate with history and your perception of it.’
‘Cantor and Baruti want to rewrite history. That’s all I can say.’ Alice Monash looked at them from her rear seat.
They were sitting in her car, in Beit Aghion’s car park. She had hugged Beth and Meghan when Zeb introduced them as his co-workers, saying, ‘I’m glad you’re here. Someone needs to watch his back.’ At which the younger sister had smirked.
Her ambassadorial mask had come on when Meghan had pressed her for details on the press conference.
‘You called us, ma’am?’ Zeb reminded her. He knew prying any details out of her would be unsuccessful. He had tried.
‘Yes. You know the nuclear scenario—’
‘Not finding the killers in time? Yes, ma’am. We were discussing it on the way here.’
‘Prime Minister Cantor thinks he has a way to defuse the situation if that happens.’ She smiled slightly. ‘It was your friend Levin who suggested it, in fact.’
‘What’s that?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I will talk to all his coalition partners. Especially the hard-liners. I will also go to the West Bank and similarly convince them, too.’
‘They will be convinced?’
Her tone hardened. ‘The United States is fully behind Cantor and Baruti. The two countries have no choice but to progress the negotiations. There is no alternative. The U.S. would not like it at all if the coalitions in both countries collapsed. I am convinced the various parties will listen to me. They will put off their saber-rattling. We are a powerful ally to have.’
‘And an enemy to be feared,’ Beth said.
Zeb looked away, thinking. Faint sounds of traffic came through the toughened windows. An armed guard walked past, giving their vehicle a long look.
‘It could work,’ he said, finally.
‘And that’s the reason I called you. You don’t need to escort me from the embassy tomorrow. I will be at the Knesset all day. However, I would like it if you were there at the hotel in the evening.’
‘We’ll be there, ma’am.’
‘And Zeb?’
He paused as he was climbing out of the vehicle.
‘It will be better if you find something before the announcement.’
They went back to Zeb’s hotel, where Beth and Meghan also got rooms. They gathered in his, with the twins getting to work immediately. Screens on the small table, steaming coffee mugs, headsets over their ears.
Zeb texted Abraham to set up another meeting.
Busy today, the kidon replied curtly. Tomorrow.
He reached for Meghan’s phone and played the bug’s recording. It continued for several more minutes from the last pause and then ended abruptly on a ‘What’s that?’
‘They were going to discuss it sooner or later,’ Beth shrugged. ‘I checked Cale’s phone. He was in the U.S. Nothing on his cell. Texts to his mother in Tel Aviv, various messages to friends, including one on-and-off girlfriend.’
‘Meir’s files.’ Meghan held a finger up to silence her sister. ‘Werner has decrypted some of them. Details of a house purchase, mortgage, car loans, financial records. All that seems to fit into his earnings. No irregular payments.’
‘You can access his bank records?’ Zeb’s eyebrows raised.
‘All his bank statements are on file. He might have other accounts, but these are clean.’
‘We can’t—’
‘I know. He’s still a suspect. Why don’t you interview Cale and Mattias today? We’ll check out the houses of other operatives.’
That’s what Zeb did.
Somewhere in the Middle East
The handler was restless. He knew Magal and Shiri were going to check out the hotel tomorrow. He had tried cautioning them but had been met with cold silence. Which was message enough. They were the operatives, not he.
No, that wasn’t the reason he was restless, however. Peter Raskov was troubling him.
He had turned the FSB agent a while back. The Russian kept feeding him useful intel in return for large contributions to a Swiss bank account. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. One that became very significant when Raskov turned up in Amman, too, tailing Gaber.
The handler reacted swiftly when he learned of Raskov’s involvement. He called the Israelis and told them about his plan. Gaber could be their alibi. They agreed.
His next call was to the Russian, and after a little convincing and a lot of cash, the FSB double agent was on board.
It went down like clockwork. Magal and Shiri reported that Epstein, the Israeli investigator, had bought their stories. Raskov’s photographs had helped.
The Russian had scented his opportunity, however. He demanded more money and threatened to go to Mossad if the handler didn’t deliver.
The handler didn’t like threats. He made his decision. Raskov had outlived his usefulness. He had to be taken out.
Problem was, who would do it? His own teams were busy, in different countries.
He fingered his paperweight again and thought through his various options.
There was only one that would deliver a quick result.
He didn’t like making the call, but he had to.
Magal answered his call.
‘There’s a problem,’ the handler said.