The Peace Killers Page 7
She chuckled reluctantly at the images of the huge men trying to look like Israelis.
‘We’ll keep digging,’ she sighed. ‘We checked cameras at various airports. The countries they were in, Israeli ones … nada. Zilch.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ Zeb said, swerving around a couple. ‘They wouldn’t be that careless. I gotta go,’ he told her when he saw Carmel and Dalia’s building came in sight.
He hung up and stopped at a street-side vendor. Bought an ice-cream and licked it slowly as he removed his map and made a show of looking at it.
The apartment building was made of pale stone and concrete, like many in the city. It had six floors, with the kidon’s apartment on the fifth. Each apartment had a balcony, and the one the operatives occupied overlooked a street crossing.
Good location. They have a good view of anything happening on the street. I’m sure they’ll have escape routes mapped out.
The building’s lobby had a revolving glass door, mirrored, and while he was watching, it rotated.
Carmel and Dalia came through.
Chapter Eighteen
Jerusalem
One day after Assassinations
* * *
Zeb acted instantly, without haste. He turned to the vendor and presented the map to him.
‘How can I get to the Temple Mount?’ he asked in broken Hebrew.
From the corners of his eyes he saw the two operatives check out the street. He felt their gazes linger on him. Apparently, he wasn’t a threat, because they headed toward Mahane Yehuda Market.
The two women had replied to Levin’s email, said they were open to meeting Epstein. The quicker it happened, the faster they could get back to their missions.
Twelve of the kidon replied to Levin similarly. Nothing can be read into those replies.
He thanked the vendor, stuffed the map in his backpack and decided to follow the women. He had to detour first, however, to keep the vendor from becoming suspicious, since his directions had pointed in a different direction.
He followed the length of the operatives’ building and, once he was out of sight of the kidon and the vendor, sprinted around it.
He used the cover of a car to bend down swiftly, don tinted shades, turn his jacket inside out to reveal a different color, and remove his baseball hat.
A slight change to the way he walked, with his left shoulder drooping, and his new disguise was complete.
He hurried until he caught sight of the women, who were walking leisurely.
They aren’t on a mission. These times must be rare for them. They’re making the most of it.
He got as close to them as he could risk. Heard snatches of their conversation.
Neither Carmel nor Dalia talked about killing the Palestinians. They were conversing about the weather, their families, a movie they had seen.
Zeb hung back when they went inside the market and checked out vegetables.
An hour to complete their shopping?
Zeb figured it would take that long, from his limited experience of women.
He returned to the apartment building in ten minutes and entered its deserted lobby. No security. A camera in the ceiling. He lowered his head and went up the stairs at a jog. Entered the fourth-floor hallway through a service door.
Two apartments on each floor. Two elevators in the middle of the hallway. Carmel and Dalia’s apartment was to Zeb’s right. Dark windows, thick glass, overlooking the street, on the sides of the corridor.
He inspected the door from a distance. Didn’t see any cameras. The apartment could be alarmed. Don’t want to risk an entry that way.
He went back to the staircase and looked around for a maintenance door.
There it was, painted white, the same shade as the wall. He opened it and went inside a narrow corridor filled with cables and air-conditioning ducts … and reached a dead-end.
He went down the stairs as another idea emerged. Twenty minutes since he had left the kidon at the market. Forty to go.
He left the building and checked out the balconies. He could leap to the bottom of the first one. Get onto it. The vertical wall was uneven, with stones jutting out, an architectural motif.
Zeb looked around casually. Not much traffic. The vendor was out of sight. The balconies on all the floors were unoccupied, their doors shut.
He put on gloves and leapt without further thought. Caught the bottom railing of the lowermost balcony and pulled himself up.
Leaped sideways and grabbed a jutting stone. He had done a fair share of bare-hand mountain climbing, and those skills were useful. He used his shoulders to take his weight and climbed fast, his feet instinctively and easily finding footholds.
In fifteen minutes, he was on the fifth-floor balcony, breathing easily.
No one had shouted at him. No one had taken shots. He looked down. No upturned faces, either. No sign of Carmel or Dalia.
He tested the doors and sent up a silent prayer of thanks when they slid easily.
That’s the second mistake those operatives made. The first one was to rent in this building, with that kind of outside wall.
He entered the living room silently, the carpet beneath his feet killing all sound. The apartment was air-conditioned and cool. A dining table in one corner, around which were four chairs. A TV against a wall. A couch set against another wall. An ornate showcase in another corner. Two doors that led to bedrooms, each of which had a bathroom, and a hallway that went to the kitchen.
He couldn’t see any security cameras; nevertheless, he removed a rectangular device from his backpack and turned it on: an RF detector that could sniff out electronic devices across a broad spectrum of radio frequencies.
Broker and the twins had customized the device further to detect a wide array of surveillance and counter-surveillance equipment.
No cameras. There weren’t any in the apartment. No bugs, either. A standard security alarm that he could easily turn off and on, next to the entrance door.
Zeb wondered for a moment at the lack of surveillance equipment. Maybe these two aren’t the killers.
The device in his hands had a screen that indicated two pieces of equipment that interested him.
Laptops.
One was beneath a pillow in one bedroom. A quick look around indicated it was Carmel’s. A set of passports, a Beretta and a wicked-looking knife in a drawer.
He picked up the device and turned it on. Grimaced when the screen asked for a password.
He removed more gear from his rucksack and inserted a thumb drive into the machine. A light on it blinked as it got to work, copying the hard drive. He removed the flash drive when the light disappeared and returned the laptop to beneath the pillow.
His eyes lingered on the bed. Sturdy bedposts. Wooden. He fingered one. Yeah, it would do. He used his knife to make a hole in it, inserted a listening device and filled the hole with putty. Same color as the wood. The material wouldn’t keep the bug from working.
He went to Dalia’s room and found her laptop in a bag in a closet, along with a bunch of passports and fake IDs. He didn’t search the room anymore. He copied her laptop, too, and left another bug in her room.
He planted the last listening device in the living room, by gouging out the bottom of the dining table.
He went to the balcony and peered out cautiously. No traffic, still.
He extracted the last piece of equipment from his backpack. A cellphone tower shaped like a miniature TV antenna. He coated it with adhesive and went outside. Climbed to the sixth-floor balcony, next to which was a dish TV antenna. He attached his tower to the wall behind it, smoothed down the excess adhesive and dropped to the kidon’s balcony.
Ten minutes more.
He didn’t want to risk an exit through the exterior and decided to leave through the front door.
That was his mistake.
Chapter Nineteen
Jerusalem
One day after Assassinations
* * *
He turned his jacket inside-out again and stepped out of the door. He used a master key to lock the apartment and went down the stairs.
The steps went down in a square, and from the banister, one could peer all the way down to the ground floor.
He took a peek. No residents climbing up or going down. The building was quiet on the inside.
He bounded to the third-floor landing and went down, taking two steps at a time.
Turned a corner of the square and was proceeding at a rapid pace when he came face to face with Carmel and Dalia.
The two kidon were running up, holding the bag together, sharing the handles. No squeaks from their shoes. They were breathing easily.
Zeb kept his face composed even as he tightened on the inside. He nodded to them politely and moved to the railing to let them pass. Felt their eyes run over him swiftly, as they nodded in return.
Dalia closer to him. Her hair bouncing on her neck, the faintest sheen of sweat on her forehead.
Carmel looking away from him and upwards. It didn’t feel as if either viewed him as a threat.
And then his foot slipped. He stumbled, and Dalia’s shoulder slammed into his chest.
His breath escaped him.
His backpack clinked.
His jacket pressed hard against his chest, showing the outline of his Glock.
And his mustache fell off.
The women’s reflexes and speed of reaction amazed him. Both of them let go of the bag. It fell, its mouth gaping open, groceries rolling down the steps.
Carmel said something that didn’t register on him. Not then.
Dalia’s elbow came up swiftly, going for his throat, her eyes narrowed. Carmel was leaping back, making room for herself, her hand darting behind her back.
Zeb slapped away the incoming blow.
Don’t shoot, he wanted to yell at them. But he understood their reactions. They didn’t know who he was. They had come to a conclusion based on his disguise and his weapon.
They were kidon. A stranger was either an enemy or a noncombatant. A stranger in their building, carrying a gun, was hostile and had to be treated as such.
Zeb was still off-balance from slipping, one foot on a higher step, one on a lower. He twisted his body to take Dalia’s second blow high on his chest. The knuckles of her hand bit hard, sending lancing pain through him.
Carmel’s hand was rising. A Beretta, black and lethal, snug in her palm. He didn’t know if she would shoot to kill.
He risked a quick glance to the stairs. Still empty. Made a quick calculation even as he countered Dalia’s punches automatically, which were coming thick and fast.
Mossad was his friend. Yes, he was investigating the kidon, but he didn’t know if these two were the killers. He wasn’t going to shoot them or hurt them.
He deliberately leaned in, giving her less room, reducing the weight of her punches. He used her body as a shield from her gun-toting partner.
Rocked back on his heels when an open palm slapped him, stinging his eyes with involuntary tears.
He grabbed Dalia’s retreating hand. Got a hold on it, twisted it, wrenched it behind her back and, using momentum, shoved her against Carmel.
He got a few seconds of respite as the two kidon slammed into each other, their harsh breathing punctuated by swearing. He grabbed the fallen mustache and pocketed it. His left hand caught the railing. He checked the two operatives one last time. Carmel was pushing Dalia away, her face angry, her gun hand rising again.
And then he was vaulting over the stairs.
He fell.
His arms outstretched, his body loose.
Counting rapidly in his mind. Looking down.
One second.
Two.
NOW!
He caught hold of the railing on the first floor, gritting his teeth as his fall came to an abrupt stop, his arms feeling as though they were being yanked out of their roots.
He let go and dropped lightly to the ground floor.
Looked up and saw both women peering down at him.
He strode out of the lobby and, once outside, ran around the building, away from the cross road.
Away from the balcony’s view.
Started checking out cars on the street.
There was a van that had seen better days. Parked close to a Toyota. He looked up and down the street. No alarms had been raised. No one pointed at him.
He slipped between the two vehicles. Dropped his backpack to the ground and opened it.
Removed a long dress. Slid it over his head. Kicked away his trainers and slipped into sandals.
Removed his cheek pads and nose. Donned a greying wig and put on dark shades. Applied lipstick and checked himself out in the reflection from the van’s metallic surface.
He stepped out and held his phone to his ear, speaking softly, laughing occasionally. He now looked like an office-going woman, speaking to a co-worker.
He crossed the street and walked on the pavement on the other side. Swaying his hips a little more.
Carmel came out of the building. She stood casually, looking up and down.
Dalia emerged, flanked her, and the two women stood, bodies relaxed, eyes checking out every movement on the street.
They saw the old woman. Considered her carefully. Zeb didn’t look at them. He spoke of meetings and deals. Willed his chi to go lower.
He passed them. His back prickled as he sensed their eyes on him.
The shades on his face were custom. They projected the rear-view on the lenses. He saw the two kidon talking to each other.
They came forward to the cross street and looked to the left and right.
‘Hold on,’ he told his nonexistent caller.
He went to the ice-cream vendor and ordered a lolly. Sucked on it as he returned to his call and headed toward Mahane Yehuda Market.
The kidon disappeared from sight, and when they did, he heaved a sigh of relief.
However, he wasn’t done.
He searched for a bar, found one, entered it and headed toward the restrooms.
Went to the door labeled Ladies and occupied a stall. Removed his disguise and put on his previous one, the fleshy-faced man that the female kidon had seen.
Zeb cracked the door open and checked for traffic.
The restroom was empty.
He went out of the bar quickly and, once on the street, turned in the direction of Rehavia.
He was going back to Carmel and Dalia’s building.
Chapter Twenty
Jerusalem
One day after Assassinations
* * *
‘Tunisian hitter!’
That had been Carmel’s warning to her partner on the staircase. The words had come to Zeb as he was falling to the ground floor.
Why would they think I am Tunisian? he wondered as he headed back to their apartment.
He was sure of one thing. They weren’t involved in the Palestinians’ killing. Otherwise, Carmel would have warned her partner differently.
Well, I’m almost sure. Only one way to find out. I’ll ask them.
He donned a pair of headphones and plugged them into his cell as he hurried. His phone would pick up the conversation from the bugs he had planted.
If I was them, I would sweep the apartment … so those devices will be spotted soon.
Sounds from the apartment came to him. Bodies moving. Objects being shifted.
They’re checking out their place.
‘You’re sure about him?’ Dalia’s voice.
‘I think so. Who else would it be?’ her partner replied. ‘His reactions. The way he counter-punched. He wasn’t someone from the street.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not sure if he was the commander’s man. It’s not as if we got an opportunity to question him.’
Commander? That must be the Tunisian they were gathering intel on.
Looks like they’ve discovered it. They’ll find the other one too. Will they think of checking the dish on the upper floor?
He thought not. The device he had planted there wasn’t just a tower. It also had a powerful bug in it, and that kicked in as the one in Dalia’s room turned off, too.
Looks like the fifth-floor apartment is empty. Lucky, otherwise it would have been a pain to separate conversations from the two places.
Zeb was within sighting distance of their building, now. The sliding doors to their balcony were open.
To let in air? Or to keep a watch on the outside.
‘That’s the last of it,’ Dalia spoke.
‘Let’s check once again.’
He thought he saw shadows move inside the apartment, but he couldn’t be sure. He reached the cross street and waited for the light to change. Heard bodies move in their flat.
‘We’re clean,’ Dalia announced.
‘Yes, but we need to move,’ Carmel announced. ‘Our place is compromised.’
‘We’ll go in fifteen minutes.’
No acknowledgement.
Zeb joined a bunch of tourists as they crossed the street. Kept his head down and reached the building. He was directly underneath the first-floor balcony.
They can’t see me.
He waited for the group of people to make their way through the neighborhood. Looked in all directions. A car passed. A couple, holding hands, approached, their attention on each other.
He waited until their backs were to him and then jumped up and caught hold of a railing on the balcony.
He climbed swiftly, knowing he was under time pressure. Also, either of them could come out. And they wouldn’t greet me warmly if they saw me.
He reached the bottom of the kidons’ balcony. Raised himself cautiously until he could see inside.
Curtains swishing at the side. Living room seemed to be empty. He listened hard. Muffled sounds in his headphones.