Jerusalem
Six days after Assassinations
Five days to Announcement
‘I am Jarrett Epstein,’ Zeb announced to the kidon assembled in the room.
Riva and Adir had returned from Istanbul and were in the front row. They looked at each other but didn’t speak. They hadn’t known him as Epstein.
Carmel and Dalia were beside them. Nachman, Yakov, Danell, Osip, Uzziah, Navon, Abraham, Mattias, Cale and Yonah, they were all present, some lounging in chairs, some leaning against walls. Meir wasn’t there because Zeb hadn’t interviewed him formally.
I want to make eye contact with him before clearing him.
Fourteen kidon, Zeb and the sisters and Levin, in the same office that the ramsad had taken them to earlier in the day. It was evening. Levin had returned to his office after their meeting to make arrangements. He had secured the hotel. He had leaned on a junior minister, who had slipped up in a TV interview and revealed the new location for the negotiators. The ramsad had then requested the kidon to assemble for an urgent meeting.
The operatives didn’t react to Zeb’s announcement. They looked at him, considered the sisters, and then turned to their director, who remained blank-faced.
‘You have seen me differently. This,’ he gestured at himself, ‘is who I am.’
‘I don’t even know you as Epstein,’ Yakov glowered. He had reacted with a start when he had entered the room and seen Zeb but hadn’t said anything then. ‘Is that your real name?’
‘You’re going to be a problem?’ Zeb looked at him pointedly.
The kidon flushed and settled back in his seat.
I need to win their confidence.
‘Epstein is not my real name. I am Zeb Carter. I’ve known Avichai Levin for a long time, and when the first killings happened, he turned to me.’
Because he wasn’t sure which kidon he could trust. The words, unspoken, hung heavy in the air. Feet shifted on the floor; a few operatives darted glances at their neighbors.
‘Beth, Meghan,’ he looked in the direction of the sisters. ‘The three of us are a team. We have been investigating all of you the last few days. You are clear.’
‘We could have told you that,’ Yakov said sullenly.
‘Yes, and many of you did. Pointed out that you had passed the polygraphs. If you were in the ramsad’s position, would that be sufficient?’
The kidon remained silent.
‘I am sure we all accept you had to do what you did … even though we didn’t like some of the methods,’ Carmel said as she crossed her legs, her calm voice helping defuse the tense atmosphere.
‘I wouldn’t have liked it if I was investigated in that manner,’ Zeb admitted and saw a perceptible lowering of shoulders.
‘Let’s move on,’ he said crisply. ‘Any of you know where the negotiators are?’
‘The Jerusalem Galaxy,’ a voice shouted from the back. ‘It’s all over the news.’
‘Correct. Some bureaucrat wasn’t tightlipped enough. The Israeli and Palestinian teams will be there for three days, and on the fourth, they will be taken to an IDF camp.’
‘If the first killers were Mossad kidon,’ his eyes swept over the operatives, ‘we think they will strike on the third day. The day after tomorrow.’
Silence.
‘You said first killers. I thought they were EQB.’ Dalia leaned forward curiously. ‘That’s what the prime minister said yesterday.’
‘Guess why he said that?’
Carmel swore colorfully and loudly when the implications sank in. ‘We are still suspects,’ she said bitterly.
‘Some of you, yes. But the investigation is wide-ranging. I am the only one who is focused on the kidon. Other agencies are involved as well, looking into other aspects.’
‘That doesn’t make me feel better.’
‘I understand. But I think you can guess why you are here, now.’
‘You think we’ll recognize whoever comes,’ Riva’s fingers unconsciously drifted toward her shoulder holster.
‘Yes, if they are kidon. And your presence has an added benefit. Extra security. Any questions so far?’
Yonah raised his hand. ‘What if they are kidon? Someone we know?’
‘We want them alive if that’s possible.’
‘That may not be feasible.’
‘A dead traitor is no loss to me,’ Levin’s words said coldly. No further questions were asked on that matter.
They made plans until late in the night. The operatives organized themselves into khuliyot, each team taking on a security aspect. Carmel, Dalia, Riva and Adir teamed up. Their focus was the entrance to the hotel and the lobby. Yonah, Danell, Uzziah and Osip looked into the rear. Yakov and Nachman, the floor where the negotiators would be. The remaining kidon broke down the rest of the hotel and assigned themselves to various tasks.
Zeb watched silently, along with Levin and the sisters. He flashed a glance at the twins and sensed they were impressed. It was the first time they were witnessing kidon work in this manner.
After a hasty dinner break, takeaway from a nearby restaurant, the teams presented their plans to Zeb and Levin.
‘There will be other agencies involved,’ Levin said after hearing his kidon out. ‘IDF, police. We will need to coordinate with them.’
‘You have brought your go-bags?’ Zeb asked them.
‘Yes,’ all replied in unison.
‘You’ll move to the hotel right away. Occupy your positions. Security teams are fitting extra cameras on the various approaches and exits to the hotel. Those feeds will go through a facial recognition program. You will check out anyone who looks like a kidon.’ He broke off as a thought crossed his mind. ‘Drones.’
‘Drones?’ Levin frowned.
‘Yes, stealth drones. They need to go up from right now until the relocation to the IDF camp. They need to cover a wider area, surrounding the hotel. They should record vehicles, pedestrians, everything they can look at.’
‘Drones,’ the ramsad repeated. ‘What can I offer the three of you? To join Mossad?’
They broke up after a couple of hours, the kidon departing to the Galaxy. Zeb caught Navon’s sleeve. ‘Where’s Eliel?’
‘He had to go to Haifa. His foster mother is in critical condition. I thought he messaged you.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘He told me,’ Levin overheard and stepped in. ‘His mother has been suffering for a while. He said he will return tomorrow.’
Moscow
Magal hailed a taxi when he landed at Domodedovo Airport. ‘Kuntsevo District,’ he told the driver and rattled off Raskov’s address.
He brought out his cell phone and saw that he had several missed calls. Shiri.
‘Yes?’ he asked when he returned the call and his partner picked up.
‘Zeb Carter?’ he lowered his voice and switched to Russian. He didn’t want the driver to remember a Hebrew-speaking passenger. ‘I haven’t heard of him. Describe him.’
‘No,’ Magal shook his head. ‘I am sure we haven’t come across him.’
He kept listening as Shiri broke down the night’s developments in Jerusalem.
‘You can check the hotel from inside. Make an escape route for us. See if you can assign yourself to that particular floor. This can work,’ he said excitedly.
‘We need a distraction,’ his partner pointed out. ‘The two of us alone cannot deal with all the kidon inside. There will be police and IDF as well.’
‘I know. I will get the handler to arrange that.’
He hung up and called the handler.
‘Look into one Zeb Carter. He is Epstein. His is the photograph we sent to you. American operative.’
He repeated Shiri’s information, hearing a faint scratching from the handler’s end. He’s taking notes.
‘We’ll take the Palestinians out. We have this opportunity. However, we need something.’
‘What?’ the handler asked.
‘Killers. Expendable ones. As many as you can muster in Jerusalem.’
Magal stepped out of the cab ninety minutes later. He paid the driver and watched him leave. He destroyed the burner phone and dropped it in a sewer. He unwrapped a new one from his go-bag and powered it up.
Raskov lived in a multi-floor apartment building next to a park. It was dark, deep in the night, but there were a few strollers, one couple, a dog walker.
Magal nodded at them, pulled his collar tighter around his neck and went inside the building. Entry was buzzer-controlled. He pressed several buttons randomly until an irritated voice squawked and the door clicked open.
A small lobby. An elevator bank in a corner. Magal checked out a door that opened to the stairwell.
He started climbing.
Raskov was half asleep on his couch, the TV flickering silently, playing a soccer match. He was tired. He had returned from Amman, and since then he had been drowning in paperwork. He hadn’t reported the presence of the Israelis to his superior. There was no need to. The handler had acceded to his demands.
He heaved himself upright and staggered to the bathroom. He returned, wiping his hands on his jeans, and grabbed the half-empty beer bottle on the table.
He put it to his mouth and drank deeply, wondering if he could squeeze the handler for more money.
And then his front door opened.
His jaw dropped as the sliver of light at the entrance widened and a shadowy figure slipped inside.
He wasn’t an FSB agent for nothing, however. He reacted fast. He threw the bottle at the intruder. Didn’t wait to see it land. He rushed to his bedroom, where his revolver was.
Magal ducked the incoming missile easily. He’d had no time to plan a covert entry and had decided to come in through the front door. As luck would have it, Raskov was right there, in the living room.
He followed the Russian, saw an open door to his left. The kitchen. A few seconds was all it took to arm himself with a knife.
The blade felt good in his hand. It had a sharp edge, was well-balanced. It put him in the right frame of mind.
For killing.