RISTORANTE AMBASCIATA D’ABRUZZO, ROME, ITALY—13:30 / 1:30 P.M. CET
If a meeting between Mossad agents took place in the city of Rome, chances are it was in Ristorante Ambasciata D’Abruzzo. Located in the upscale district of Parioli, the restaurant was opened six decades ago by members of the Poggi family. Over the years its reputation had only grown, and despite its being “off the beaten path,” it had become a must visit for many who did their web research before visiting Italy’s capital city.
But why the Mossad? Nir wasn’t sure. It could be the cuisine. Abruzzo was a region in south central Italy that had developed its own style of food. Heavy on ingredients like bread, lamb, garlic, and truffles and spices such as saffron and licorice and rosemary, many identified Abruzzese cuisine as some of the best in Italy. Or it could be several other factors. It was somewhat isolated from most tourists, it tended toward noisy, and it was only a brisk ten-minute walk from Israel’s embassy.
Whatever the reason, if a person were to visit the Poggi family’s establishment today and see an out-of-the-way table with two men—both who had somehow managed to arrange their chairs so they were facing the front door—that person just might be looking at two agents of the Israeli Intelligence Community.
Today Nir was one of the two men angled on the corners of that out-of-the-way table with their faces toward the door. The other was Efraim Cohen, assistant deputy director of Caesarea.
“Holy mother of Mordecai, I love this place,” Efraim said, excitedly opening the menu. He’d flown in that morning, and despite Nir’s protests, he’d insisted on meeting at Ambasciata D’Abruzzo for lunch.
“Nothing kills you faster than routine,” Nir said.
“Yeah, I know. You’ve only told me that about 40 times. But whoever said that never tasted Roberto Poggi’s fettuccine with lamb ragout. That sauce alone is worth risking a car bomb.”
Nir chuckled. He’d been pleased when he saw Efraim was the one who had come to meet with him. The man always kept him laughing, even when working in difficult situations.
The waiter came with a basket of fresh, warm bread and a bottle of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo wine. The two men started their order with a plate of spinach and ricotta ravioli and a stewed artichoke with garlic and mint to share. For their main course, Efraim ordered his precious fettuccine while Nir went with the grilled langoustines and a side of roasted potatoes.
“You know shellfish is not kosher,” Efraim said with a grin when the waiter left.
“Good thing I didn’t get the wild boar. That really would have gotten you in full-on Pharisee mode.”
“Here, let me show you something.” Efraim pulled his phone out of his pocket and leaned toward Nir. He loaded up a video and hit Play. The feed from a night vision CCTV camera showed on the screen. Suddenly, in the left corner, an explosion rose up into the air.
“Bye, bye, Soleimani?” Nir asked.
“Precisely.”
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Did we have anything to do with it?”
“Sadly, no. Or at least not much. We passed on some intel about his whereabouts, but the American president authorized it, and a U.S. drone fired the missiles.”
That made sense to Nir. There had been talk in the past about putting a Kidon hit on Soleimani. He’d even spent a long weekend in Tel Aviv with a team working through intel and brainstorming potential scenarios. In the end, the Quds Forces commander was just too protected to get to or even to reach with a car bomb. There’d been only one plausible method for removing this murderer of thousands of innocent people, and the Americans had just employed it.
The waiter brought out the starters, and Nir topped off their wine glasses. “To American drones and Iranian bones,” he said, lifting his glass.
“Here, here.” Efraim clinked Nir’s goblet with his.
The artichoke was opened like a flower and coated in a high-end olive oil and spices. The raviolis were served in a brown butter sage sauce that added an amazing, herbed toasty-ness to the dish.
“I am going to eat like a pig, then sleep all the way back to Tel Aviv.” Efraim pulled a few leaves from the artichoke.
“Achi, you came all the way here just for one meal with me?”
“What better way to spend my brief time in Rome than with the infamous Nir Tavor?”
“Infamous Nir Tavor, my backside. Just tell me why you came.” Nir sat back in his chair, hoping to digest enough room in his stomach for the main course.
“You’ve seen the uptick in UAV activity among the militias.” Efraim also leaned back with his wine glass in his hand.
“Certainly. It looks like the Houthis have bumped up their use of aerial drones against Saudi targets, as have a lot of the Iraqi insurgents.”
Efraim leaned forward again and lowered his voice to the point that Nir had to tilt in as well so he could hear him. “Precisely. We’ve got two moles buried so deep in the IRGC that they could tickle the Ayatollah’s bum. Only a couple of people at the very top of the agency know who they are. They’re telling us that Soleimani is planning—sorry, was planning—something big in the Gulf area using drone technology. As always, Iran wouldn’t dirty their own hands. They’ve been planning on tasking one of their proxy militias to carry out the job.”
“But that’s over and done with now, right? Remember? Boom, down goes Soleimani?”
Efraim set down his glass, then pulled off a piece of bread and rubbed it around in the remaining brown butter sage sauce. Before putting it into his mouth, he pointed it toward Nir to emphasize his words. “I think, achi, that this is much bigger than Soleimani.” Then he popped the bread into his mouth before adding, “In fact, I think the Islamic leadership in Iran may use the Soleimani hit as a pretext for carrying out whatever it is they have planned. They’re desperate right now to destabilize the region.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of the peace accords the U.S. president’s son-in-law is working on. If those go through, suddenly you’ll have Oman, the UAE, Morocco, and Saudi Arabia all looking to make friends with Israel. Even now, the intelligence swaps and under-the-table business deals between us and the Saudis and the Gulf states are the worst-kept secrets in the Middle East. So Iran wants to get everybody distrustful of one another.”
“Is that why we’re sticking our nose into this? Normally, if an attack is going to take place, we pursue it only if we’re asked, like what happens in Europe so many times.”
“Exactly. Think about it. A decade ago, when someone potentially matching your description allegedly went to Dubai to presumably bump off a notorious bad guy, it had to be done secretively with forged passports. Now we might be invited right in if we bring viable information.”
Efraim was right. It was a different world now. Former enemies were now, if not exactly friends, working acquaintances.
“Do we have any idea what they have planned?”
“No clue. But again, we think something…drone-y.”
“Something drone-y.” Nir shook his head. “And you’re asking me to take that incredibly helpful word and do what?”
“Stop the attack, of course.” Efraim smiled a big smile and slapped Nir’s shoulder.
Nir shook his head again. “Chai b’seret.” The phrase that literally meant “living in a movie” but was common slang for when someone had wildly unrealistic expectations seemed appropriate.
Their main courses came, as did a second bottle of wine. Whether because of the exquisite nature of the food or the absurdity of the assignment, the two friends let the topic rest for a bit. Nir asked Efraim about his family, and Efraim asked Nir about his business.
Finally, when Nir had cracked his last langoustine and Efraim had twirled his last piece of fettuccine, they returned to business.
“I have to admit, achi, I don’t even know where to start.” Nir moved to divide the last of the second bottle of wine between their two glasses.
“That’s why I’m giving you a team. You’ll have four full-time operators, plus as many more guns as you’ll need. You’ll also have a logistics support staff of four, and one brilliant and beautiful hacker babe.”
Nir stopped over his glass mid-pour. “Come again,” he said, setting the bottle down.
“We need the best on this. You’re our best operator. I’m giving you the best logistics team we have, and nobody is better than Nicole with computers.”
“Have you talked with her about this? I’m not sure she wants to work with me right now.”
“I don’t care if she wants to work with you or not. I just need to know whether you can work with her. And before you try to come up with any other answer, let me tell you that the answer is yes. ‘Yes, Efraim, my friend, I can put to the side any schoolkid crushes and stupid emotional crap and do my job.’ That’s your answer.”
Nir glared at the other man, but he couldn’t get mad because he was absolutely right. This was about saving lives. “Yes, Efraim, achi, I can put to the side any schoolkid crushes and…” He looked for help.
“And stupid emotional crap…”
“And stupid emotional crap and do my job.” Nir lifted his glass and drained it.
The men walked to a café a little later and talked about past missions and agency gossip. Eventually, Efraim left for the airport and his flight home.
Back at his hotel room, Nir tried to picture what it would be like when he saw Nicole for the first time in months. Would she be able to put their differences behind her? Would he be able to pretend like they didn’t have a past? Any way you looked at it, it would be strange and awkward.
The next morning, he flew back to Antwerp. Efraim had some work to do to figure out the logistics of the team, but he was optimistic that while the killing of Soleimani might not stop the planned attack, it would certainly slow it down.
Nir would take that time to get his business in order. This operation might last weeks, and he wanted to ensure that Yael Diamonds was prepared to survive during his absence. Then, on January 12 he would fly to Tel Aviv, and the operation to stop “something drone-y” would begin.