‘Seems you were right about the Israelis, Beck.’
Beck nodded slowly; he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
Lee Kellner had met Beck off the plane at Chicago O’Hare Airport and driven him to an old FBI detention and interrogation centre on the city’s outskirts, now shared with the CIA.
Constructed to cool off some of Chicago’s most notorious gangsters in the twenties, the second-rate Art Deco block had seen through every colourful and colourless phase of America’s extraordinary history of crime. Now surrounded by derelict land, its old pink walls had recently been whitewashed in a sprucing-up initiative funded by the Department for Homeland Security.
Homeland Security was muscling in on many aspects of cherished Bureau and Agency autonomy, causing the security services some discomfort. The threat of terrorism diminished the good humour that might have greased the inevitable changes. The media had them all in the dock.
Was Mati Fless a Homeland Security case, an internal criminal matter for the Bureau, or an aspect of Agency overseas ops? The answer was to bang him up in the Wrigley-St Francis facility and see whether the suspect himself offered any clues.
Kellner pushed open the steel door of Interrogation Chamber No. 1. Two agents stood to attention.
Beck was surprised to see Fless dressed in an orange prison boiler suit, shackled at the feet. Having read a detailed report on Fless’s capture, such precautions seemed excessive.
‘You guys wanna get some air.’
‘You deserve it.’ Kellner stared at Fless. ‘Don’t get up, Mr Fless.’
‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘I’d like you to meet Agent Beck. I think you two have a lot in common. Had Beck been faster off the mark, it might have been him you killed, and not Agent Buckley.’
‘I did not kill your Agent Buckley.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘No. He killed himself.’
Kellner looked at Beck and raised his eyebrows.
Beck looked back at Kellner. ‘Anything yet from the Israeli Embassy, sir, on Agent Matthias Fless?’
Fless perked up.
‘Embassy denies all knowledge of the operation, but admits Fless has on occasion been employed in a freelance capacity by the security services. The usual bullshit.’
‘What about our own internal Mossad contacts, sir?’
‘They say they’re investigating the matter and ask us to keep them informed.’
‘Fairly safe to conclude this was a Mossad operation, sir.’
Kellner looked to Fless, who was smiling. ‘Used to be in Shin Bet, didn’t you, Mati?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Interesting work?’
‘Mr Kellner, I did not kill your man. You know as well as I do that surveillance operations often go wrong. I had no idea al-Qasr was protected by an agent.’
‘What happened to Buckley?’
‘He was torturing me.’
‘Torturing?’
‘Tied me up to the mains.’
‘Unorthodox, wouldn’t you say, Agent Beck?’
‘Fless’s story’s been confirmed, sir. Exposed mains wires located at the scene.’
Kellner’s eyes did not shift from Fless’s. He continued speaking to Beck. ‘Could’ve been planted.’
‘It’s a bit baroque, sir.’
‘What?’
‘Baroque. A bit intricate.’
‘These Mossad boys can be very smart, Beck. So, Fless, who did kill Buckley?’
‘He shot himself.’
‘Oh please!’
‘Stupid, I know. My team—’
‘His team, as he puts it… I’d say four henchmen – where do you find these guys, Fless? His team, Agent Beck, is sitting next door.’
‘Doing what, sir?’
‘Awaiting deportation.’
Beck looked surprised.
‘Executive orders, before you ask.’
‘My team arrived, Mr Kellner. They saw your agent. Buckley was on the metal stairs trying to phone his team – or should I say henchmen? Buckley turned to see my men, tried to reach for his automatic while putting the cellphone down. He dropped the phone. My men saw me – saw what he’d done to me. He fumbled with his gun in his shoulder holster and shot himself. I can only presume it was not deliberate.’
‘Very amusing, Fless.’
‘I gotta say, Mr Buckley did not seem quite “all there” that afternoon. I think he’d been drinking. I think your forensic people will bear this out.’
Kellner whispered to Beck, ‘They do.’ He turned again to Fless. ‘Whatever you say, Mr Fless, a court of law may see things differently.’
‘Sure. I understand. You want me to cooperate. What do you want to know?’
‘Agent Beck, I believe you have some questions for Mr Fless.’
‘Mr Fless, what do you know concerning the deaths of Gitana, Daley, Rikanik – and the British man, Kelly?’
‘The last one I’ve heard of. Who are the others?’
‘You’ve never heard of Gitana, Daley or Rikanik?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘Will you take a lie detector on that?’
‘Sure.’
Beck consulted his file. He pulled out a large black-and-white photograph and placed it on the table in front of Fless. ‘Do you recognise this man, Mr Fless?’
Fless laughed.
‘Do you recognise this man?’
‘My double! At last! Do you know the story about the man who killed his double – only to find he had killed himself?’
Lee Kellner stifled a laugh. He was privately concerned that Fless might run rings around the Bureau man with a foot in the Agency door. ‘This man, Fless, is you.’
‘There’s a resemblance.’
Kellner was annoyed. ‘It’s not a fucking resemblance, Fless. This is you. And you know we know it is.’
‘If I knew what you knew, would you know what I know?’
Kellner sighed. ‘Just tell him, Sherman. Jeez! We’re s’posed to be on the same fuckin’ side!’ Kellner shook his head.
Fless addressed Beck. ‘So you think it’s me.’
‘What do you know of the deaths of five Russian microbiologists. October 2001?’
‘Refresh my overworked memory, Agent Beck.’
‘October 2001. A commercial flight from Israel to Novosibirsk in Siberia. Blown up over the Black Sea by a Ukrainian surface-to air-missile.’
‘Yes. It was all over the news. Everyone was killed.’
‘Novosibirsk, Mr Fless. Home to a research institute; the scientific capital of Siberia.’
‘That a fact?’
‘It has fifty facilities and thirteen universities.’
‘Even so, I’d prefer to study elsewhere. Are you suggesting I killed these five microbiologists? What do you think? I just ring up the Ukrainian military and “Hey! I’d like you to blow up a civilian plane”?’
‘A Mossad team was sent to investigate.’
‘Naturally.’
‘The report has never been published.’
‘Of course not. And who says there was a report?’
‘This photograph, Mr Fless, has a date on the back.’
Fless turned it over. ‘What do you know! October 2001. You’re a magician!’
‘It’s not only the date, Mr Fless. It’s the place. Do you recognise it?’
Fless gave Beck a doe-eyed look.
‘Let me refresh your memory. This photograph was taken at the Institute for Biological Research. One of the most secret places in Israel.’
‘Not any more, apparently. But do tell me more.’
‘The visible parts of the facility are in the Tel Aviv suburb of Ness Ziona.’
Kellner studied Fless’s eyes; they gave nothing away.
‘Most of the institute’s twelve acres of facilities, Mr Fless, are underground. Laboratories are reached only via airlocks.’
‘Are you sure you should be telling me all this? As an Israeli citizen, I should be innocent of such knowledge.’
‘David Kelly was connected to the Institute.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘About the time you were photographed there.’
‘Was I photographed there?’
Beck sat back in his chair and drew breath. ‘Does the name Dedi Zucker mean anything to you?’
‘Of course, Agent Beck. Anyone with an interest in politics in Israel – which I suppose is everyone – has heard of Dedi Zucker.’
‘Zucker caused a storm in the Knesset. Claimed the Institute was trying to create an ethnic bioweapon.’
‘A what?’
‘A weapon that could specifically target Arabs by the manipulation of DNA sequencing.’
Fless laughed. ‘Beware of the Israeli lunatic fringe, Agent Beck. Many of my compatriots have a kind of epic, biblical, even apocalyptic feeling for current affairs. They would not be surprised if scientists could make the Red Sea part again for Moses and the children! These kinds of conspiracy claims get made all the time. I know plenty of people who think God Himself is going to acquire real estate on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem and rule the world like a sultan! It’s all bullshit.’
Beck looked to his notes again as Kellner mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
‘Why were you involved in the surveillance, as you put it, of Professor al-Qasr, one of this nation’s most respected scientists?’
‘At last! At last, a realistic question. You say, “one of this nation’s most respected scientists”. Is that an honorary citation? Or is that a fact?’
Beck turned to Kellner. Kellner’s eyes motioned to the door. He stood up. ‘OK, Mati, we’re going outside to consult for a few minutes. You take a break and clear your thoughts.’
‘Sure. Take your time.’