The Peace Killers Page 6

  ‘Which means they weren’t far … maybe in neighboring countries?’ Zeb probed.

  ‘I will be asking them to come to the office immediately. I’ll conduct a lie-detector test on each one of them. Those can be beaten, but I have to do it. You’ll find their mission details in that drive,’ Levin continued, stony-faced. Just because he and the American were friends didn’t mean he was liking the prospect of an outside investigation.

  ‘You have other departments, other teams.’

  ‘I might get Shabak to investigate them.’

  Zeb’s jaw dropped. ‘You’ll allow another agency access?’

  ‘I am giving you access, aren’t I?’ Levin exploded and then put up a palm in a peace gesture. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. ‘The prime minister is putting together a special investigative unit from Shabak, the police, other departments. He suggested I should let Shoshon’s people look into my people. I rejected it outright … however, now that I think of it, there might be merit in it. So long as you focus on the kidon.’

  ‘The killers could be anyone. They could be Shabak operatives. They could be foreign agents.’

  ‘I know. You’ll carry out your investigation, they’ll conduct theirs … the goal is the same. We have to find them. Failure isn’t an option.’

  Zeb hadn’t heard fear in Levin’s voice before. He could feel it emanating from his friend and understood its reason.

  The Middle East can burst into war if the killers are not found.

  It was almost inconceivable that the killing of a couple could trigger military conflict. However, this was the Middle East, a perennial powder keg. Something about the assassinations had grabbed headlines and had stoked rage and fear in the region. Accusations and counter-accusations had slipped out of every political leader in the geography.

  And if conflict erupts here, there’s no way in hell it will stay contained.

  Zeb inspected the grey, inconspicuous storage device. ‘Have you have got any security camera footage of where it happened—’

  ‘Everything’s in that,’ Levin pointed to the thumb drive. ‘Not many cameras in the area, but a few passersby used their phones. Not much help there. The shooter was an old woman, a male in disguise. We gait-analyzed the footage to confirm. The killer went down the street and disappeared from view. No trace of him. No sign of a getaway car.’

  Zeb knew German Colony well. He was aware of the hotel’s location and the busy street that was Emek Refaim. ‘A getaway wouldn’t be that difficult that time of the day,’ he mused. ‘The killer knew what he was doing. He capitalized on shock and traffic conditions.’

  ‘How would you do it?’

  ‘Two-person team,’ Zeb answered immediately. ‘Three at the most, but I would prefer two. Easier to coordinate and less conspicuous. A getaway vehicle out of sight but within walking distance. Another vehicle a block away. Remove the disguise in the first vehicle. Put on another. Dump vehicle. Take the second one and drive away. Any reports of stolen cars?’

  ‘Several. The police are checking.’ Levin rose and pointed to a glass-walled cabin down the hallway. ‘You can use that office. No one will disturb you. Jarrett Epstein is a field agent who has come in for some administrative work. That’s your cover.’

  ‘I don’t need it. The less anyone sees of me, the better.’

  ‘There’s one more thing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll be letting every kidon know about you. Inform them that you are the investigator.’

  Zeb shook his head and grinned ruefully. ‘You aren’t making it easy for me.’

  ‘At Mossad, we don’t know what that word means.’

  Zeb rose, stretched and pocketed the thumb drive.

  ‘You know I can’t offer you any protection.’ Levin came around his desk and gripped Zeb’s arm.

  ‘I know.’

  He returned his friend’s clasp and left the Mossad HQ. He wouldn’t return to it again.

  He knew why the ramsad had mentioned his name to every kidon and what he had meant about protection.

  The kill team, if they were kidon, could come after Jarrett Epstein.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ein Kerem, Jerusalem,

  One day after Assassinations

  Magal and Shiri were up at their usual time the day after the killing.

  They had dumped the VW and had taken a Toyota, which had been parked in a public lot in the city center. From there, they had driven to Ein Kerem, a neighborhood in the southwest of Jerusalem. It was away from the main city but received tourist traffic on account of its Christian heritage.

  Shiri had rented a stone house a month ago, at the end of a cobbled street. They were university researchers, writing a book on Jerusalem. That was their cover.

  The house was utilitarian but had everything they needed. They watched the news on TV as they ate their spartan breakfast. The Skoda had been found by the police. No prints on it, no leads.

  The host read out Cantor and Baruti’s statements and then cut to scenes in Gaza and the West Bank, where angry mobs were rioting and burning effigies of Avichai Levin.

  Mossad was trending on social media, as were the names of the dead negotiators.

  ‘You checked your email?’ Magal asked Shiri.

  ‘Yes. The ramsad acted fast.’

  ‘He had to. There’s tremendous pressure on him.’

  ‘Jarrett Epstein. I’ve never heard of him. No description. We don’t know what he looks like.’

  ‘We could ask the ramsad.’

  ‘And put ourselves on the radar? No. He may not be kidon. The ramsad said he was an experienced investigator with field experience. That could mean anything. He could be from Shabak or the police.’

  ‘We are prepared for this,’ Magal replied, unconcerned.

  ‘Yes, but we were expecting a police investigation … Shabak. We didn’t expect Levin to appoint someone. An inside man will know how we work. We need to find where he is and take him out.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘We need time for the second phase. He cannot interfere with our plans.’

  Magal went to the kitchen sink, rinsed his glass and placed it on a plastic tray. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and went to his room. He returned with the MAR and disassembled it with practiced ease. He set about cleaning it. ‘Why don’t we meet him? He will want to interview all of us, won’t he?’

  ‘Let him contact us.’

  ‘No, let us take the initiative. Offer to meet him. Then we’ll decide how and when to take him out.’

  ‘It could be a trap—their telling us he’s the investigator.’

  ‘Yes, which is why I’m suggesting we meet him first.’

  * * *

  Downtown Jerusalem, That Day

  * * *

  Zeb woke up to the noise of Mahane Yehuda Market as vendors put up their stalls, vans drove up, and produce and products were unloaded.

  He had rented a room in a small hotel almost next to the market—which sold everything from vegetables to textiles—the previous night. He had collapsed on the bed as soon as he arrived and woke up when the market came to life.

  He yawned and padded to the window, which looked out into the city. Smoke rose lazily in the air from rooftops. Sounds of traffic, honking and the squeal of tires. He was on the fourth floor and could see masses of people in the winding streets below. Office-goers and tourists ambling by.

  To the southeast was the Old City, home to the Dome of the Rock, whose gold cupola featured in many travelers’ photographs. The Western Wall and the Church of the Holy Sepulcher were also located in that vicinity.

  Three of the oldest religions came together in Jerusalem. It was a holy land for billions of people the world over.

  Now, two killers are threatening its very existence.

  Zeb worked out for forty-five minutes in his room, showered, and then hit his screen. He hit a block when he plugged in the thumb drive. It needed a password. He checked his email.
No password sent to him by Levin. No text message either. He got the hint.

  He called the ramsad, who sounded as though he had been awake all night. Levin recited the password to him, and the drive responded by revealing a set of files. He clicked on one. It was encrypted. He checked the others; they were the same.

  ‘Check your phone,’ the director told him. ‘You should know, all kidon are here. All passed their polygraph tests.’

  Zeb nodded unconsciously as he checked for the link. Passing such a test wasn’t that difficult for a highly trained operative. He and everyone else at the Agency could sail through them.

  He hung up, copied the link that held the keys to the encryption, and got access to the files.

  There were twenty-eight kidon listed, detailed profiles for each one of them. Addresses—all of them in Jerusalem, a condition Levin insisted on—relationship data, physical and psych evals. Everything that he would expect from one of the best intelligence agencies in the world.

  One particular detail surprised him.

  All of them go by their first names, even though the files have their full nomenclature. He thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

  Makes sense. Makes them more anonymous when they are on missions.

  Many of the kidon had expressed preferences for working with other members. Zeb glanced through the teams in operation. It looked like Levin had accommodated such requests. Most of those khuliyot have been unchanged for a long time.

  Not every team was of the same size, and not every kidon was currently in one.

  Some khuliyot were four-person operations, some two, and there were several lone-ranger missions in play.

  Zeb raised his eyebrows when he found where they had been deployed. Two teams were in the U.S. and would have landed late the previous night. Both on separate missions, one tagging a Russian arms dealer, another gathering intel on a Qatari businessman. No wetwork involved.

  As he scrolled down the list he found that no khuliyot was tasked with assassination in their current missions. That wasn’t surprising. Popular culture overstated the number of kills any counter-intelligence agency carried out.

  He looked up Riva and Adir’s profiles, both of them from Sayeret Matkal. Both unmarried, though Adir had a girlfriend. The percentage of married kidon was low. The job took a heavy toll on relationships and family life.

  He ruled the two out. They hadn’t left Istanbul … which reminded him. He opened another app and looked up their location. The three green dots were still in Turkey’s capital.

  Probably in a safe house, sweating Hussain and Shahi. Looks like Levin didn’t recall them. He knew I was with them.

  He had pushed the nuclear scientists to the back of his mind. Clare would pursue the intel-sharing with Levin. She knew he was currently helping the Israeli and would let him get on with it.

  The kidon were evenly split gender-wise, an equal number of men and women, with the majority of them coming from the IDF. All the operatives were staying in Jerusalem, and the drive had their addresses.

  A ping on his screen. Incoming email from Levin. He opened it. Some kidon had responded to the ramsad’s terse announcement of Jarret Epstein’s appointment. The ramsad had forwarded all those replies to Zeb.

  Okay, some operatives had answered, with just that one word. Who is he, a few had asked, to which Levin hadn’t replied. A couple had offered to meet at the earliest. Best to get this out of the way quickly, the team lead of that khuliyot had said.

  Standard responses. Nothing surprising there.

  Zeb looked up the locations of the kidon on a map of the city, their relative proximity to his hotel. Two female operatives were the closest, sharing an apartment in a nearby neighborhood.

  Zeb decided to check them out first. The ramsad had said the killer was male, but gait analysis wasn’t definitive. In any case, the gender of the accomplice was unknown.

  He made a secure copy of the thumb drive, made a hole in the wooden window jamb and stuffed it inside. He covered the opening with putty that looked like wood.

  He filled his backpack with what he thought he would need. Spare mags for his Glock, listening devices, rappelling gear, balaclava masks, wigs, prosthetic noses, and, almost as an afterthought, a building maintenance worker’s uniform.

  The rucksack bulged when he had finished, but the weight wasn’t significant.

  He donned a pair of clear glasses, ruffled his hair, pulled on his baseball cap and set out.

  He had armor beneath his tee, trainers on his feet and comfortable jeans. He wasn’t looking for confrontation with the kidon.

  But if there was one, he was ready.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jerusalem

  One day after Assassinations

  * * *

  Carmel and Dalia. Early thirties. Returned from Tunisia, where they were stalking a military commander suspected of ties with Hezbollah. Zeb recalled the contents of their files as he walked down the stairs and stepped out into bright sunlight.

  He squinted his eyes in the light, brought out a map and studied it in the shade of an awning. Checked out the surroundings of the market covertly.

  No one looked away quickly or stopped abruptly. His inner radar stayed quiet. He stuffed the map into his pocket and walked purposefully away from the market toward Rehavia, where the two kidon were.

  Not in a romantic relationship with each other. No boyfriends. Renting the apartment jointly to share costs. Good friends. Both from the IDF, both had several kills to their names.

  ‘Which way to Rehavia?’ he asked two suited men who were chatting at the end of the market.

  One of them pointed toward the south and gave him directions.

  ‘Follow Mahane Yehuda Street, turn right into Agripas Street …’ Zeb tuned him out after a while and thanked him when he had finished.

  He hurried toward the apartment building, dodging and weaving through travelers and locals. He knew where he was. To his right was the Knesset, the Israeli Parliament. To his left, a mix of government offices, residential and religious buildings, and offices.

  His earpiece buzzed. An incoming call. He glanced at his phone.

  Meghan. He took the call.

  ‘You’re up late.’

  ‘Yeah, couldn’t sleep.’ Her voice was warm, cheerful. That was characteristic of the sisters. The world could be coming to an end, but they always managed to see the bright side of it. ‘Beth was grumbling that things were too quiet. She was wondering if you’d started a war, yet.’

  ‘Nope. Where’s she?’

  ‘I sent her away. She was distracting me.’ She turned serious. ‘Werner’s looking into the profiles you sent.’

  Zeb had emailed details of the kidon to the twins before he left the hotel room. Had asked them to see if there was anything off that they could find.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said in disgust. ‘We checked their phones. Nothing unusual there. They were in the countries they were supposed to be. But then, you expected that, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. They are kidon. Those phones are their official ones, issued by Mossad. If any of the operatives are the killers, they’ll be smart. They would know their devices would be tracked. They would work around that. I’ll have to find another way.’

  ‘You’re going up against them?’ she sucked her breath sharply. ‘We thought you were just analyzing data for Levin.’

  He blinked and realized he hadn’t briefed any of them on the details of his assignment. Broke it down for her swiftly, cut her off when she protested.

  ‘I don’t intend to take them on at all. Heck, the killers might not even be kidon. My job is to check them out, go back to Levin with my findings. That’s all.’

  He stifled a grin when she snapped, ‘You should write fiction. You make it sound easy. You know it never is. You have a plan?’

  ‘Yeah. Get hold of their phones, their personal ones, that Levin doesn’t know of. See where those devices have travel
ed. Get their laptops and any screens they have. Analyze the data. I might meet them as well. See what they say. I’ll play it by ear.’

  ‘You’re sure they’ll have such cell phones?’

  ‘Yeah. Every operative has one.’

  ‘We don’t.’

  ‘That’s because we’re a very different agency. I don’t think there is any other that’s structured like us—each of us with only one number that Werner tracks.’

  ‘They’ll give you their phones just like that? How would you know it isn’t a burner or a fake? These are Mossad kidon, for Chrissakes.’

  ‘I might have to break into their apartments. If necessary, plant a bug.’

  ‘And their screens?’

  ‘Same MO.’

  She fell silent. He heard a door opening, a voice calling, ‘Who is it?’

  Beth.

  Meghan quickly briefed her twin, who latched on to two words that Zeb had let slip.

  ‘You might have to meet them?’ Beth shrieked.

  ‘Yes,’ he bit his tongue, cursing himself for revealing too much. ‘I’ll have to try all means. Meeting them, breaking into their apartments … Levin has let them know there’s an investigator.’

  ‘That’ll bring the killers after you,’ she yelled.

  ‘No, he hasn’t given out my description. And the killers wouldn’t be that stupid.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Besides, phone and laptop data can be tampered with.’

  ‘I thought you two had upgraded Werner. That it can detect if a phone’s data has been altered. If you haven’t—’

  ‘Of course, we have,’ she said indignantly.

  ‘He’s deflecting,’ Meghan told her sister.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Beth grumped. ‘We’re coming—’

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You and Meghan will blend in here, but the rest … can you imagine Bear or Bwana trying to look like a local?’