The Mossad team from the embassy, a man and a woman, arrived thirty minutes later. Her name was Neumann, his Feld, and Slaton led them to a bicycle rack around the corner from the building in question.
There the katsas arranged themselves not in a triangle with Slaton, but three abreast on the sidewalk. It was a nuance that an untrained would never have noticed, but to Slaton spoke volumes. They had put him on the right, and Feld on the opposite side. If anything went wrong, Slaton had a 270-degree field of fire. Feld held down the same on the opposite side, and their arcs intersected for complete coverage. It had nothing to do with anyone’s marksmanship, nor who was in charge, but was simply a practical intersection of geometry and common sense. The kind of precaution that cost nothing, and once in a career might save someone’s life.
“There hasn’t been any change since I got here,” Slaton said. From where they stood all three could see the face of the building in question. Slaton pointed out the particular third-floor window. He otherwise didn’t tell them how to do their job. After some deliberation, he gave them the number he’d been using to contact Talia and Bloch. “If something comes up, don’t call the embassy and don’t call me—only this number.”
“All right,” said Neumann, who was acting as spokesperson. “Can you tell us who we’re watching?”
“I don’t have a name. It’s a woman, and as far as I know she’s alone. The good news is, I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”
“The bad news?”
“She’s dangerous, definitely armed, and wounded.”
The two Mossad officers exchanged a glance.
“I think you can expect an all-nighter,” Slaton added.
Without comment, Feld walked around the corner and disappeared. Neumann smiled amiably for the sake of anyone who might be watching, and said, “Don’t know who you are, but you really screwed up my plans tonight.”
“Sorry. But believe me when I say, I’ve been there.”
“I’m guessing you have.”
They talked for another minute, Slaton describing the inside of the building, as far as he knew it, and taking a few more happy barbs. Then Neumann leaned in and kissed him, first on one cheek, then the other—a French custom virtually mandatory for two friends parting on a residential street in the eighth arrondissement. She walked away jauntily and disappeared around the corner. Slaton went the other way.
He was half a block away when he turned back and looked over the scene. From where he stood neither katsa was in sight. His attention was drawn to another building, the one directly across the street from where their suspect was holed up. On appearances that block of apartments was a virtual mirror image of the one they were watching. His eyes held each window from the second floor up, and casually roamed the roofline. He studied angles and lines of sight from a number of those points to the window presently under surveillance. It hadn’t come to that—not yet—but he always liked to be prepared. After a minute, he still saw no sign of the two Mossad officers.
Slaton turned away and set out for his room in Courbevoie.
* * *
Slaton considered moving to a different hotel, but with no reason to believe his location had been compromised, he decided that the risks in moving—to include carrying a sniper rifle in a roller bag over Paris streets that were teeming with police—far outweighed any benefits.
From his rented bed he turned on the television and followed the coverage of the latest attack. A massive search for a lone female assailant had so far turned up nothing. Slaton happily saw no indication that he was being sought for questioning—he had been sitting next to Baland, who according to news reports was one of the assassin’s two presumptive targets. The other, of course, was DGSI director Michelis, who’d been shot dead outside the restaurant.
Here Slaton saw further warning flags.
He replayed everything in his mind. Baland’s incredible admission of being Ali Samir’s twin, then his cool reaction to the attack. Moments before the woman appeared, Slaton remembered suggesting to Baland that his foresight in intelligence matters had verged on prophecy, implying rather obviously that he had a source. Baland had been considering a reply to that very question when he’d astutely picked out the shooter.
Slaton tapped a finger thoughtfully on the remote control in his hand. Finally, he pressed the mute button, turned on his phone, and placed the expected call to Tel Aviv. Talia answered on the first ring.
“Is the surveillance team in place?” she asked.
“Yes, they’re in position. Convey my thanks to the director for making that happen.”
Another three-way conference began when Bloch said, “Nurin allowed that much, but he is not happy with the risks you are taking.”
“Neither am I. When he finds out what I learned, though, I suspect he’ll run a new cost-benefit analysis.” Slaton covered his entire meeting with Baland, all the way to its inglorious end.
Bloch’s first remark was predictable. “Ali Samir had an identical twin?”
“It answers a lot of questions.”
“It also means Baland is not the traitor we thought.”
“Quite possibly—which makes me glad I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later.”
“What was your impression of him?”
“Initially he seemed surprised to see me, but once he realized who I was he didn’t seem overly concerned. It was almost as if he was expecting me.”
“Am I to take that as an accusation against Mossad?” said Bloch. “I can assure you, David, no one but the director, Talia, and me, knew of your plans.”
“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting. Talia, have there been any changes to his schedule in the last twenty-four hours?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve been watching closely. Baland canceled three appointments today. The only one he kept outside the DGSI building was Le Quinze. It seems fortuitous, does it not?”
“Very much so. And I see other curiosities.”
“Such as?” Bloch queried.
“So far I’m not being mentioned in the news reports of this attack. Baland knows who I am. Does it make sense that I show up for lunch, threaten him, and when all hell breaks loose he doesn’t even try to bring me in for questioning?”
“A valid point,” said Bloch. “What purpose could he have for keeping you in the shadows?”
“I don’t know. It’s not a stretch to say that Baland might have saved not only his own life, but mine as well. He spotted the attacker before I did, then wounded her before I could get off an accurate shot.”
Silence ran until Bloch said, “I will try to convince Nurin to look into this. If Samir did have a twin, as Baland says, then perhaps we can verify it.”
“How? You won’t find hospital records for that era in Gaza. Chances are, he was delivered by a midwife in his mother’s bedroom.”
“True. But there might be other ways.”
“All right, do what you can.”
“What will you do now?” Talia asked.
“I think Baland and I should pick up our conversation where it left off.”
“How could you get near him? He’ll have an armada of security.”
“I’m guessing he’d be willing to meet me again—it’s just a matter of arranging it with discretion.”
“Any ideas?”
“I’ll think of something on the fly.”
“All right,” said Bloch, “but remember—”
“I know,” Slaton cut in, “keep Mossad out of it.”
Talia filled the ensuing silence. “There’s one other thing we should consider.”
“What’s that?” Slaton asked.
“Director Michelis has been killed, and Baland is being credited with beating back the attack and wounding the assailant. Very soon, France will have to name a new leader of its counterterrorism force. I think we can safely say who it’s going to be.”