Tel Aviv, Israel
“Don!” The man seated behind the massive wooden desk stood as Don and the three young officers were ushered through the door.
“Binya,” Don replied in a much less boisterous tone. Benyamin Albedano’s dark eyes, arching eyebrows, and carefully trimmed goatee lent an air of aristocracy to his look, but behind the refined appearance was a sharp mind that Don had come to know well during the years-long international manhunt for the terrorist Rafiq Roshed.
The Mossad director of operations stepped from behind his desk and moved across the room with light, quick steps. He wrapped his arms around Don and kissed him on both cheeks. Don blushed at the show of affection and patted his longtime friend on the back.
“Always good to see you, Binya.” Don introduced his three officers one by one.
Binya took Janet’s hand in both of his own, looking her in the eyes with his penetrating gaze, and said his name again. He did the same with Dre, but he paused when he came to Michael and cocked his head.
“Michael Goodwin. A pleasure.” Binya shot a look back at Don. “This is the one you were telling me about?”
“Michael is the one who figured out what we were dealing with,” Don said, choosing his words carefully.
The young man blushed as he shook Binya’s hand. “It was a team effort, sir.”
Binya stepped back and stroked his goatee. “Hmmm. I don’t think so.”
He studied Michael for another moment; then his face lit up with a bright smile. “You all have traveled such a long way, and here I am being an uncivilized host.”
He ushered them across the room to a small conference table. A quick phone call later and a young man entered with a tray containing coffee, tea, and a plate of sandwiches. When the refreshments arrived, so did a young woman, who took a seat next to Binya at the table.
She had dark hair that she wore in a thick braid down her back. She had high cheekbones, sharp features, and quick, birdlike movements. She said nothing as she studied the Americans, especially Michael.
“This is Shira Fishbein,” Binya said. “She works for me.”
He introduced Don, Janet, and Dre, but when he came to Michael, he said to Shira, “This is the one.”
Shira shook Michael’s hand stiffly. Don took a sandwich and passed the tray while Binya poured coffee and made light conversation. Shira refused a sandwich and a drink. Finally, Binya settled back in his chair and crossed his legs. He balanced a coffee cup on his knee.
“Donald,” he said. “Your message about this encryption method was surprising to me—to us.” He indicated Shira, who bristled. “Perhaps you could explain how you came to the conclusion that Israel was mixed up in this Mahdi situation?”
Don let Janet take the lead. The two women officers had wanted Michael to lead the discussion, but Michael insisted Janet was the group spokesperson.
Janet cleared her throat. “We have been monitoring the Mahdi website for months now. Despite our best efforts, we have been unable to hack into the website. We found this very unusual and frankly we took it as a challenge. We’re pretty good at what we do.
“It was really Michael who made the connection,” Janet continued. “We found subtle changes, which led us to the idea that this site could be using a form of metamorphic encryption—”
“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Shira’s voice had a sharp, penetrating quality. Two spots of color appeared on her cheekbones and she leaned into the table when she spoke.
We’ve touched a nerve somewhere, Don thought.
“Michael figured it out,” Janet said. She met Shira’s aggressive gaze without flinching. If anything, the young woman’s reaction seemed to make Don’s team even more curious about what was going on.
“Exactly what did you do to figure this out?” Shira asked again. She glared at Michael. “I want to know how you decided this was metamorphic encryption.”
Michael rested his elbows on the table and responded in a calm voice, as if determined to show he was not intimidated by Shira. “I compared the live coding of the site with two prior copies simultaneously. I looked for differences. I found them.”
“And what program did you use to do that?” Shira pressed.
Michael shrugged. “I didn’t use any program. I used my eyes. I’m pretty good at pattern recognition.”
Shira stared as if daring him to lie to her. “I don’t believe it. No one could compare three code bases simultaneously and find these kinds of subtle differences. It’s just not possible.”
Don decided to step in. “I assure you, Ms. Fishbein, it’s not only possible, but it happened. Ensign Goodwin is one of our finest and he has a rare gift for pattern recognition. It’s been proven in operational situations before.”
Don shot a look at Binya. The Mossad director was one of the few people outside of the United States who knew what had happened in North Korea and Michael’s role in that operation.
Don returned his attention to Shira. “We didn’t come here to be questioned about our capabilities. In fact, you asked us here because we apparently found something you didn’t want us to find. Is that correct?”
Binya put his hand on Shira’s arm. “I told you,” he said. “We can trust them. If my friend Donald says they found this by visual means then I believe him. And you should, too.”
The young woman sat back in her chair as if willing herself to relax.
Don saw the opening he’d been waiting for. They’d obviously passed some kind of test, and it was high time they got some information in return. He leaned his elbows on the table.
“It’s time for you to come clean, Binya. You drag the four of us halfway around the world on a moment’s notice to tell us something that could not be entrusted to any form of secure communications. We’d like to know what’s going on.”
To his surprise, Binya deferred to Shira, who stood. “Follow me, please.”
The young woman marched out of the room and led them to the elevator. Once inside, she used a security card to access the lowest level of the building. The elevator doors opened onto a rough concrete hallway, which led to an unmarked door. Binya and Shira left their mobile phones in a bin outside the door. For operational security reasons, Don’s team had left all of their electronics with their American driver outside the Mossad building.
Inside was a plain conference room table and six chairs. There was nothing else in the room, not even a wastebasket, let alone a telephone or a whiteboard.
When everyone was seated, Shira flipped a switch on the wall, and the light over the door turned from red to green.
“I should introduce myself more formally. I am the head of cyber operations at Mossad.” She gave a wry smile. “We call this room the ‘bubble.’ It is the most secure room in the entire country of Israel. Electromagnetically sealed and swept continuously with electronic noise to jam any possible listening device within twenty meters. It is not possible for us to be overheard in this room.”
She glanced one more time at Binya, who nodded encouragement before she continued. “What I am about to tell you has only been shared with one other person within the Mossad directorate or the political structure of our country. It absolutely must stay within the confines of this room. Do you understand?”
Don nodded along with the rest of his team.
Shira took a deep breath. “The code that you found on the Mahdi website was first created in Israel.”
Dre broke in. “So, the Mahdi is an Israeli front?”
“Of course not!” The two spots of color returned to Shira’s high cheekbones. “We would never do such a thing.”
Binya interrupted, his voice tense. “What Shira is trying to say is that the encryption you discovered was stolen from Mossad.”
The Mossad operations chief sat back in his chair, exhaled, and became very serious.
“We have a mole, and we need your help to find him.”