Chapter Fourteen

 

 

Mossad Station Office, southeast Tel Aviv, Israel

June 17, 9:00 p.m.

 

The rest of the briefing went on smoothly and without any outbursts. Justin steered clear of any pointed questions, since he was not expecting any truth to come out of Kessler’s mouth. The minute she lied to him about the informant, he could no longer trust her or anything she was giving them. Adler was Kessler’s guard dog on a not-so-tight leash, so she was not going to jump in front of her master and volunteer any useful information. And if Roth truly wanted to share some valuable piece of intelligence, it would have to be at a later time, away from Kessler’s prying eyes.

They finished their meeting and shook hands. Roth escorted them down two flights of stairs, which they descended in silence. When they reached the oval hall by the reception desk, Roth offered Justin his hand for a firm handshake. Then he held his outstretched hand and asked, “Plans for supper?”

Justin hesitated for a moment. “We were going to grab a quick bite, then check on McClain.”

Roth nodded and dropped his voice to barely a whisper. “Coffeehouse around the corner. Twenty minutes.” He gave Justin and Carrie a conspiratorial look and added for the benefit of the two guards behind one of the long reception desks, “Send McClain my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“Will do. Thank you,” Justin said.

Roth shook Carrie’s hand and headed back up the stairs.

Justin and Carrie left through the main entrance under the watchful gazes of the two guards. The evening was a bit cooler than the day, but the air was still dry and filled with smog and dust from the heavy traffic of the two-lane street across from the station. Once they were on the sidewalk, Carrie asked, “You think he knows the informant?”

“We’re about to find out. During the briefing, it seemed the picture jogged his memory, but of course he couldn’t contradict Kessler.”

“She was lying through her teeth and wasn’t doing a good job hiding it.”

“Yes, you noticed the eye twitch?”

Carrie nodded. “I did. She needs to get a handle on that tell and control her temper.”

“It must be something very serious if she was rattled so easily.”

“Well, you accused Mossad agents of treason. The best way to fight back is with a counterattack. It’s only natural she reacted that way.”

“The question of the connection between the rogue Mossad team and an informant is very clear. Whether he’s within Mossad or not and whether he’s the informant we’re looking for or not—those are still up in the air. But I had to point out the obvious facts. And seeing her reaction, it worked.”

Carrie smiled. “We didn’t repair our relationship with Mossad, like McClain was hoping for.”

“I’m sure McClain has bigger things on his mind at the moment. Like not dying or losing his arm.”

“Roth’s update made it sound like his condition had improved.”

“Yes, barring any grave complication or infection.” Justin’s voice turned low and somber. “I’ve known people who died from more minor wounds. Let’s say a prayer his recovery is speedy and complete.”

Carrie nodded.

Justin said, “And in terms of making friends, we’ve already got Roth in our corner.”

“Unless Kessler clues in to his moves.”

“Roth is a pro. He knows how to hide his steps and spot a tail. Plus, he’s not breaking any rules by having a cup of coffee with us, his CIS colleagues.”

Carrie cast Justin a sideways glance accompanied by a grin. “That’s not all he’s coming for. Even if it was, Kessler will find it extremely suspicious.”

Justin nodded.

They exchanged no other words until they reached Café Renaissance at the end of the block. The strong aroma of freshly brewed java hit Justin as soon as they opened the door of the classy coffeehouse. Its red-brick walls matched the countertop and the leather chairs. The place was half full, with most patrons in their early thirties and only one couple perhaps in their mid-forties.

Justin ordered black coffee or kafe shachor, as the Israelis called what was known as Turkish coffee in the rest of the world. The barista boiled the fine-grind coffee in a pot of water, and when the muddy-looking layer formed at the top, he poured the hot liquid carefully into a tiny little cup that packed the punch of a large standard coffee.

Carrie usually drank tea, but this time she ordered kafe hafuch or opposite coffee, the Israeli version of a cappuccino, but creamier. The steamed milk was poured at the bottom, thus the name. It came with a shot of espresso, topped with milk froth, and it was served with a generous portion of dark chocolate.

They paid for their drinks and took a table near the window but out of earshot of the closest patrons. Carrie’s eyes covered the main entrance while Justin had in his line of sight the window, the kitchen, and the back exit. Old habits die hard.

Justin took a small sip of his coffee. He pursed his lips in satisfaction as he enjoyed its bitter, powerful flavor. “Mhhhh, this is so good.”

Carrie licked her small spoon and scooped up more of the frothy cream covered in a thin layer of cocoa powder. “Delicious. How come we can’t get this back home?”

“So many local delights never make it across the ocean. Such a shame.”

Justin glanced out the window at the occasional pedestrians walking on the cobblestone sidewalk. A small square was across the street, and groups of youths were clustered around it, chatting and hanging out under the dim streetlights.

He ran his hand over the edge of the smooth veneered wooden table, then checked his wristwatch. “Ten more minutes. The suspense is killing me.”

Carrie smiled. “Just enjoy your coffee and relax for a moment. Roth will show up on time.” She took a small bite of her chocolate, closed her eyes, and hummed with pleasure.

Justin took another sip of coffee, the thick foamy top sticking to his lips. He licked them and wiped them with a napkin. As soon as he had placed the napkin on the table near his cup, he felt the vibration of the satellite phone in his waistband holster. Usually his SIG pistol occupied that area on his body, but McClain had insisted they leave their weapons at home. Israelis did not like foreigners bringing along guns when they came in for peaceful intelligence-sharing meetings.

“It’s the office,” Justin said after checking the phone’s screen, referring to the CIS headquarters in Ottawa. “Cyber section.”

Carrie scrambled to collect her Bluetooth headset from the briefcase near her chair.

Justin answered the phone. “Hi, this is Justin.”

“Hi, Justin. Deb here at the tech lab. How are you guys doing?”

“All right. I’ve got Carrie on the line as well.” Justin nodded at Carrie, who was just clipping her Bluetooth set to her ear.

“What’s up, Deb?” Carrie said.

“It’s all good, all good,” Deborah replied in an excited tone, her Texan drawl coming alive in her voice. She had spent the last ten years in Canada and seven of them working for the CIS, but still had kept her home accent. “I’ve got some good news for y’all.”

“Your team was able to reactivate the informant’s handle?” Justin asked.

He had hoped cyberspace security technicians would be able to use the informant’s Internet handle, FreePalJan7, on jihadi chat rooms and websites to track down his location.

“Even better, even better. Someone just used that handle and his accounts on a couple of extremist forums.”

Justin asked, “From where? And what did they say?”

“I’ll answer your second question first. The user—I can’t confirm if it’s the man we’re after, for it could be anyone using his pass code—logged in to check the message boards and a few threads. Didn’t post anything and didn’t stay long online, less than ten minutes.”

“The location, Deb?” Justin’s voice grew impatient.

“Yes, it’s Amman, capital of Jordan.”

Justin nodded. He knew where Amman was and had twice run undercover operations in that city. Both times he had clashed with the fearsome General Intelligence Department—Jordanian intelligence service, better known as mukhabarat—and had barely escaped with his life and those of his local contacts. He was not looking forward to sneaking back into Amman, but if that was the only way to get to the informant, then he had no choice.

Justin said, “Amman is a large sprawling city of over two million. Have we narrowed down his location to a neighborhood?”

“We have the operator’s ISP. It belongs to the Blue Zone, a local Internet provider, and it seems the websites were accessed from a personal account. We’re still working on identifying the exact log-in point, but it’s not a government institution, an Internet café, or other commercial establishment.”

Justin sighed. It was a start but not much. “It’s unusual for our man to use a personal account. Are we sure he’s not hiding behind a series of virtual private networks or other cyber tricks to avoid detection?”

Deb took a moment before replying, “We can’t be absolutely certain, but we’re positive the handle was used by someone who, as of an hour ago, was physically in Amman.”

“Thanks, Deb,” Justin said. “Anything else?”

“No, not really. I’ll post the report on our servers, and you can access it in about five minutes, once I’ve completed the encryption. And I’ll call you as soon as we have a location.”

“Yes, please call at any time.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Deb,” Carrie said.

“You’re welcome. Be safe,” Deb said.

“Yeah, we will. Bye.” Justin ended the call.

Carrie brought her cup to her lips and took a small sip. “You think our informant is in Amman?”

Justin leaned back in his seat and rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure. His behavior doesn’t fit his profile. The informant used to be a ghost for so long, but now he’s making a beginner’s mistakes.”

“Perhaps he’s desperate.”

“Even the most desperate man can find the closest Internet café or piggyback on an unsecured wireless connection.”

“This could be someone else’s account, an unsuspected relative or friend.”

“Or this could be someone else using his handle.”

“Yes, so many possibilities, and all valid.”

Justin reached for his cup and the spoon and stirred his coffee. Then he finished it, but the coffee grounds had formed a thick layer of “mud” at the bottom. He tipped his cup over his lips to get the last drops.

“You can always order another cup,” Carrie said.

“Yes, but why waste great coffee?”

He had just put the cup back on the table when Roth entered through the main door. The director scanned the coffeehouse until his eyes found Justin and Carrie. He walked toward them with intent and purpose, without looking over his shoulders or glancing through the windows. If he had been followed, Roth would have realized it and gone past the shop. The fact that he came in meant there was no surveillance, or he had successfully evaded any team shadowing him.

He pulled a chair from one of the nearest empty tables and sat at the end of the table between Justin and Carrie. “Hello, again,” he said in a low, quiet voice.

“Hello, Roth.”

Roth shook his head. “Friends call me Daniel.”

“All right, Daniel. What would you like to drink?” Justin gestured to the barista, who nodded back his understanding.

“I wasn’t going to take anything, but since you summoned him, I’ll get a cup of coffee. How are you liking our kafe shachor?”

Justin was tempted to ask how Daniel knew what he had ordered but the tiny cup in front of him was a clear sign, and the coffeehouse was probably famous for their black coffee. “I love it. It’s my kind of coffee. I should buy a package and take it home.”

“You should. It’s excellent.”

A waitress appeared along Daniel’s left side and offered to take his order. He asked for a cup of kafe shachor and Justin did the same. Carrie was still working on her kafe hafuch, so she declined to order a second cup at this time.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Daniel said after the waitress had left. “I wish we’d had this conversation in my office, but under the circumstances . . .”

Justin said, “I understand.”

“The man who evaded capture in Berlin. The last remaining terrorist involved in that attack. I’ve seen him before in our office files,” Daniel said as he dropped his voice to barely above a whisper.

Justin leaned forward so he would not miss a single word.

Carrie stopped swirling her spoon in her cup.

Daniel continued, “It was about three, maybe four years ago. Kessler and I were working on evaluating potential assets for development. Let me explain our system: Agents identify Palestinians who have shown signs of dissatisfaction with Hamas, the Palestinian Authority, and the general situation in the territories. People who are tired of the war, the anarchy, the overall chaos, and thugs terrorizing their daily lives. People who maybe would be willing to provide us with intelligence so we can do something they can’t. Eliminate the thugs.”

“Informants?” Carrie asked.

Daniel nodded. “Yes, potential informants. Some of them may have suffered in the hands of Hamas and other terrorist groups filling the territories. Their relatives may have been executed on a whim of a trigger-happy and doubt-ridden jihadist, or accused of being spies or supporters of the Zionist cause and endured daily public humiliation. People who had decided they weren’t going to take it anymore.”

“Makes sense,” Justin said. “And this man was one of the potential informants?”

“Yes. It took me a few moments to recognize him. He did not have the burn on his face at that time, but his nose was the same, I would say even more crooked. He had probably just gotten it broken.”

“Was he developed as an asset?” Carrie asked.

Before Daniel could offer his reply, the waitress materialized with a tray in her hands. She flicked her hair back and glanced at them with her dark hazel eyes. “Here are your coffees,” she said in a warm voice with a hint of excitement and a bright smile.

Justin smiled back and reached for his wallet.

“I got this,” Daniel said.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Justin said.

“You’re guests in my country. My treat,” Daniel insisted.

“All right. Thanks,” Justin said.

Daniel gazed at Carrie. “Would you like something else?”

“Sure. I’m almost done here and the chocolate was fabulous. I’ll have another kafe.”

Daniel spoke to the waitress in Hebrew as he handed her a few banknotes. She nodded and flashed her big smile again.

“Force of habit.” Daniel shrugged when the waitress had left as he met the curious eyes of Justin. “I know she speaks English.”

Justin asked, “The Palestinian?”

“Oh, yeah. He seemed to be ready for engagement. I advised we carry out further assessment of his situation, evaluate all circumstances, and then, if everything came back in order, make first contact.”

“But Kessler refused,” Justin said.

Daniel nodded without the smallest sign of surprise on his face. “Yes, very adamantly. I remember she said it didn’t feel right and she had a bad gut feeling. Like he was trouble.”

“So you put the file aside, but Kessler didn’t. She went behind your back and probably behind the agency’s to activate this man, this informant,” Justin said.

Daniel frowned and his aqua-blue eyes took on a dark glint. He took a small sip of his coffee, before replying, “Yes, she did.” His frown relaxed a bit as he added, “Of course, I don’t have the evidence to prove it, but the signs are there. Kessler wasn’t truthful with you during the meeting, and she lied to me after the meeting. I asked her point-blank if she knew the informant and whether she had contacts with him. Her answer was ‘no’ to both questions, but I’m sure, absolutely sure, she knows him and she’s running him.”

“Is there a way we can unearth this evidence and locate the informant?” Justin asked.

Carrie craned her head and peered at Justin. He slightly shook his head, taking advantage of the moment in which Daniel had lowered his head and his eyes and was slowly stirring his coffee. It’s not the right time to tell him about Amman.

Daniel looked up at them with tired, wary eyes. “I know Kessler and how she operates. During the meeting, she said your description of the informant would be useless for identification purposes, and that is true. She has already cleared the files and erased all tracks connecting her to the informant. It will be a waste of time to focus our attention on Kessler.”

Carrie tightened her lips. “Kessler’s involvement with the informant explains the hit on Nassar and its disastrous ending.”

Daniel’s eyes went back to their black, angry glint. “Now, wait a second. You’re jumping to unfounded conclusions. The fact that Kessler is running this informant doesn’t mean she was involved in that operation or that she’s a traitor.” He said the last word in a muted whisper, trying to suppress the irritation rising in his voice.

Justin nodded. “You’re right. It doesn’t mean that, but it puts the event in a different light.”

“How’s that?”

Justin filled Daniel in about those details of the Berlin operation they had left out of the official report handed to Mossad during their briefing. Daniel learned about the informant’s being a ghostly SIS asset, the text message they had received from the informant during the stakeout outside Berlin’s Central Train Station, and the standoff with the informant at the Victory Column.

The waitress brought Carrie’s kafe hafuch, and she noticed the chocolate portion was almost double the size of the first serving.

“I’m sure you had something to do with this,” she said to Daniel. “You don’t think I’m too bitter, do you, that I need chocolate?”

He shrugged. “Not more than I had expected,” he said with a grimace.

Carrie smiled and took a small piece of the dark chocolate.

“So perhaps this informant passed on intel to the Mossad kill squad in Ramallah,” Justin said. “With or without Kessler’s knowledge; that’s something we can’t tell for sure.”

Daniel gave a small head shake. “The way Kessler runs her assets, the informant would not even breathe without her permission.”

Carrie said, “Is there a way we can retrieve intel from Mossad about the informant?”

Daniel sighed, then shrugged. “I can search our databases and check with a few people. But it’s a long shot. Kessler is an expert in deception.”

Carrie held Justin’s eyes. He understood her gaze, so he said, “Before you got here, we received an update from our HQ. Our tech team has gotten a hit on the informant’s Internet handle.”

“From where?” Daniel’s eyes glowed with a sliver of hope.

Justin said, “Amman.”

Daniel shook his head and with it the short-lived glow disappeared from his eyes. “Amman, a true hellhole and the cradle of the devilish GID. You know they still call the GID ‘the fingernail factory,’ because they used to pull the fingernails of suspects. Where exactly did the hit come from?”

“Our team’s still working on it. They know it’s a home, a house, or an apartment, since they’re using a residential Internet address,” Justin said.

“Will they be able to zero in on the target?”

“We hope so. Before the informant or whoever used his handle vanishes again.”

Daniel placed his palms on the table. “Then, we should wait no more. We can’t afford to lose him again.”

Justin flinched at Daniel’s use of “we” and talking about them as one single team. Was he planning to join them in Amman in their hunt for the informant?

Daniel must have read his mind or at least his facial expression, because he said, “It would be too obvious if I left the country. Kessler is not a fool. She’ll clue in and hinder our efforts.”

Justin nodded.

“But I’ll give you a couple of men, trusted operatives, who know Amman like their own backyards. After all, McClain wanted our two agencies to mend our relations and become closer partners. What better way than running a joint operation?”

Justin tried to read Daniel’s cryptic face. The director was conveying what seemed to be a genuine interest in Mossad and the CIS working together to locate the informant. Justin and Carrie would need all the help they could get if they were to navigate the darkest maze of Amman’s crooked streets and avoid the GID agents lurking in the shadows.

The director brought his coffee cup to his mouth and drank the last of it in a slow, meticulous swig. Then he offered his hand to Justin. “We have a deal?”

“We do.” Justin shook Daniel’s hand.

“You made the right decision,” Daniel said as he stretched his hand toward Carrie, and she gave it a firm shake. “I’ll let you grab that bite and visit McClain. Since we have the logistics, I’ll make arrangements for you to take off as soon as you’re ready. I’m thinking midnight—so the team can be in Amman by daybreak—but since you’re the team leader, I’ll let you make that decision. And all other decisions about the operation on the ground.”

“I appreciate that and your assistance, Daniel,” Justin said as they all stood up. “Let me talk it over with McClain and get his authorization. We’ll chat once he sanctions the operation. At that time, we’ll go over preparations, logistics, the works.”

“Sounds great,” Daniel said. He took a side step, allowing Carrie and then Justin to walk in front of him.