by Israel Levy
That took Naomi completely by surprise. He had ignored her question the night before and now he was up for it. “Great,” she said.
They went down to the car. “Where to?”
“Drive towards Tel Baruch. I live in a private rented house in Kiryat Sha’ul.” The road was clear. They passed the Elephant Junction and he gave her directions until they reached a lone wooden house, not too far from the cemetery. It was an old building with a shingled roof surrounded by strawberry plants and avocado trees and a small lawn.
“Great place.”
“Yeah, and cheap too. The landlady told me it’s been here since there was nothing but sands all around.” He pulled open the screen door and the front door and they walked into a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the fifties.
Another door led through to a spacious living room. Naomi stood in the doorway and her jaw dropped.
“Close your mouth, you’ll catch a fly,” said Moshe, and Naomi smiled at him in embarrassment.
The living room was huge – the walls had been knocked down and what were once three separate rooms was now one huge, open space. There was a cluttered double bed in one corner, with clothes scattered on top of it, and a desk in another corner with a computer, telephone and fax machine (“Quite the home office”). The floors were hardwood.
“It was like this when I rented it.”
The entire living space was full of oil paintings and sketches. There was an easel with a white canvas in the middle of the room. Naomi began to walk around slowly, examining the artwork.
“Wow, you’re talented! Ever thought of holding an exhibition?”
“No, I’m not really a painter, I just enjoy doing it.”
“What are you talking about? Your work is amazing.”
“Thank you, that’s why I chose design as a profession.”
All the paintings were landscapes featuring the house they were standing in, or details from the old kitchen, the strawberry tree, a Bedouin tent camp, a girl sitting next to a donkey, the view of the Negev desert… there was something pleasant and harmonic about his drawings and she noticed there were hardly any people in them.
“How come you don’t do nudes?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I haven’t sat in front of a nude model since architecture school.”
“Would you like me to pose for you?” she was taken by surprise by her own question. Moshe looked her, clearly just as surprised.
“You? In the nude?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Before he had a chance to come to his senses she’d already removed her clothes. “Where shall I sit?”
“Oh, wait, I didn’t mean… are you sure?”
“Yeah, I kind of feel like it actually.”
“Why don’t you sit here,” he dragged a chair to the middle of the room and she took a seat. Moshe placed some paper on the canvas, tossed the pile of clothes from the bed to the floor, pulled off the sheet and wrapped it around her body, allowing the folds of fabric to caress her and cover her private parts (“That’s nice of him”). He picked up a piece of charcoal and started to draw her and she felt as if he was stroking her, his eyes hovering over every inch of her body. At first his gaze made her feel self-conscious but a few minutes into it, she started to feel more at ease. Her body relaxed and she had no sense of the passing time (“How strange that I feel so comfortable, being naked in front of him like this”). She felt she was giving in to him totally and completely (“I can actually feel his eyes caressing me. Be careful, you’re getting too emotionally invested”), she smiled to herself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
By now she found the running fun and was doing well at Krav Maga thanks to her natural flexibility and newly acquired strength. She often succeeded in taking down both Ziv and Yaniv with the high, swerving kicks they had practiced, ‘mawashi geri’ was how Effy called them. She even got used to the bo stick and was pretty handy with it.
Moshe’s work on her painting progressed. After the charcoal sketches, he transferred the drawing in light, general strokes to a white canvas and started painting. She loved watching him at work, examining her, arranging the fabric, reaching for the assortment of brushes in the large beer glass and picking just the right one, mixing the paint and finally caressing the canvas, and her.
They spent a few nights at his house. Whenever she slept at his place she’d stop by her apartment first, shower, and arrive freshened up. They made it a point not to meet every day.
“We’ll get sick of each other,” said Naomi.
“You’re right. You work so much. I had no idea being a lawyer was so consuming.”
She made excuses for the bruises and tense muscles that resulted from her Krav Maga training by saying she worked hard at the gym.
“I thought you’d stopped going after the bombing attack.”
“No, I still go on my own.”
She really felt she was falling in love. But, she didn’t want to introduce Moshe to her mother and sister just yet (“Just a little bit longer”).
Their shooting practice progressed from static to dynamic and they trained on quick draw in sitting, standing and even lying positions, all while making a sharp transition from a state of total relaxation to one of immediate fire.
They carried their weapons as they ran and ended at the outdoor shooting range practicing firing while in motion. Sometimes Shahaf and Effy would tackle them from the right and left during a run and come at them with their bare hands or using sticks forcing them to react on the spot to neutralize the attack.
There was a second shooting range in the basement where aid props were installed. It was a large, open hall, with a protective glass wall for spectators, and this was where they practiced using computerized guns and targets shown on a large screen. It portrayed real life situations, in which the aim was to hit the terrorists and hold their weapons when civilians and hostages were in the way. At first she missed her targets, taking out innocent bystanders, but slowly Naomi’s instincts and senses sharpened and she succeeded in telling them apart while in motion.
“OK, everyone,” Shahaf greeted them one day. “I’d like you to meet Yoav. He’s going to be your surveillance and wiretapping instructor.”
They now began electronic wiring and monitoring lessons. Following a two hour lecture on the subject, they were driven in the minibus to the center of the country. Each team member was dropped off in a different city. Naomi was taken to Holon and the instructor handed her a photo of a young woman.
“On Kadish Luz street, near the mall, you’ll find an advertising office. This is a photo of a woman named Orit who works there as an account executive. You have three days to bring me a full report about what she does between six p.m. till midnight. Your goal is to tail without her sensing it.”
Naomi set herself up at a café across the street from the advertising firm. By five p.m. people were beginning to emerge from the office building and she tried to spot Orit.
All of a sudden she spotted her, but by the time she paid her bill, she lost track of her. She got in her car which was parked outside and tried to find her again, but after an hour or so realized she’d failed the task.
On day two she wouldn’t let Orit out of her sight. She stayed in her car and got a citation. She saw Orit walk up to her car, start it and make her way onto the road. Naomi almost caused an accident, she was following her so closely. Orit stopped at a hair salon, then continued to Kibbutz Galuyot Street. Naomi parked her car right behind Orit’s, and waited.
She saw Orit emerge from the house she’d entered, together with an elderly woman. They drove to the mall and she followed them in, at a reasonable distance. They sat down for coffee at ‘Aroma’ and she watched them from a nearby shop. Orit was speaking on her cellphone.
“Excuse me, Maam.”
/> Naomi turned around and saw a police officer (“I didn’t notice him come into the store”)
“Yes? What can I do for you?”
“Can I see some ID please?”
“ID? Why?”
“This lady in the café right there says you’ve been following her for a few hours now.”
Naomi apologized and made some excuse, saying she’d thought the woman was a friend from elementary school she hadn’t seen in years but couldn’t be sure (“I messed up bad, Yoav’s going to kill me”).
The next day, the team undertook a detailed analysis of each member’s surveillance case. As it turned out, Yaniv was the only one who managed to perform his task successfully and deliver a detailed report. With Yoav’s help, the team analyzed their actions and were instructed as to how to follow their subjects’ while avoiding exposure. Practice after that was devoted entirely to shooting while in motion, combined with Krav Maga combat.
“Hey, Moshe. I won’t be able to meet up for a few days. We’re in over our heads with the on this case.”
The next day she was assigned a new surveillance target. This time she was much more careful and indeed, the accountant from Rishon LeZion she was following didn’t realize he was part of the game. Her report was so specific it even included what the subject ate for lunch (“Such a dull man”).
They would gather every day and discuss their surveillance subjects, and listen to lectures about electronic tracking devices and satellite monitoring. They received new targets every couple of days and Naomi became increasingly proficient in the techniques that were being taught. At nights, before training was over, they ran, which by now was something the whole team enjoyed.
At the office, they were making progress on the big case and a first hearing was set to file their suit. The case was getting quite a lot of exposure and public attention was growing. They were being inundated with calls from journalists trying to get exclusive coverage of the story and from families of many other victims wanting to bring similar lawsuits. At this point they held everyone off until they could see where this case would lead.
Naomi had no choice but to work after training, long into the night, so it suited her when Moshe let her know he too was swamped with his large project and was spending some nights in a trailer on the building site.
“Naomi,” she heard Yael’s voice. “There’s someone on the line insisting she needs to speak to you. She says her name is Keren.”
“Okay, put her through.”
Keren said she’d received a call from Abraham saying they needed to report immediately to Yirmiyahu.
Naomi hurried out of the office. “Cover for me, I have to go out for an hour,” she told Yael on her way out.
When she got there, everyone was already seated, except for Ziv. She took her place in the circle. The other team members were talking amongst themselves in hushed voices, trying to figure out what was going on. This meeting hadn’t been scheduled. The door opened and Abraham walked in with a tall, mustached man.
“I’ll get right to the point. This is Gideon, head of security at El Al,” said Abraham and took a seat.
“We have some very hot intel,” began Gideon, “about a group from the organization Hatchet is targeting, preparing for an attack on El Al passengers to Rome. They plan to strike within two days. What they’re planning is not a suicide attack. They mean to kill as many passengers as possible and escape, either back to Rome or find sanctuary on a Libyan airplane that will be waiting nearby. Turn off the lights, please.”
On the screen were the images of three men and three women.
“This is the group. They left on a flight from their training base in Libya to Kenya (“Kenya again?”) and from there to Rome. You will all go straight from here to the airport and on to Rome. You’ll be provided with equipment and will join up with a team of ElAl undercover security personnel, all highly trained former officers in elite IDF units.”
Two blueprints of the airport appeared on the screen.
“You can see here the various entrances to the departures hall. This is El Al’s counter and these are the other airlines . Our security officers are deployed here and here. The uniformed security officers are standing here. One possibility is that they will carry out the attack in this hall, but we believe that they will strike here, where ELAL passengers are gathered in the secure zone,” he pointed to the airport exits.
“Each of you may now call one person to let them know you are ill and won’t be coming to work.”
Everyone present stood up and a girl on the other side of the room handed each one of them photocopies of the terrorists’ faces, a carry-on bag containing clothing, and a foreign passport. Naomi was given a French passport and some of the others were given American or German ones, which were already marked with border control stamps for departing Israel.
“In your bags you’ll find your tickets and boarding passes with reserved seats. The security personnel on the plane know there are Mossad agents on board. This is extremely important: should any security breach or event occur on the plane, under no circumstances are you to interfere with the security personnel’s work, understand?”
“Got it.”
Naomi grabbed her phone (“Who should I call? Moshe’s supposed to call me and maybe come by tonight after almost two weeks of not seeing each other. Shuli is expecting me to visit and they’re going to kill me at the office if I miss the meeting with Albert tomorrow, coming all the way from Belgium”). She wanted to call Moshe but called her sister instead.
“Shuli, hi. Listen, I can’t talk long. I can’t come today, but can’t explain why. Can you do me a favor, please? Can you call my office tomorrow morning and tell Yael I’m ill and won’t be coming in until I feel better?”
“Noomik, what’s wrong? You sound weird.”
“Everything’s fine, I promise, just make the call, okay?”
“OK” (“Moshe will be fine without me, it’s not the end of the world”).
A minibus was waiting for them and they were taken to Ben Gurion airport. They mounted a flight of stairs that took them straight to the duty free shopping area, bypassing passport control and security. They blended into the crowd of passengers waiting at the boarding gate for El Al flight 383 to Rome, avoiding any contact amongst themselves.
Boarding was on time. Naomi walked down the jet bridge and onto the plane.
“Straight ahead, on your left,” a flight attendant directed her to her seat. She made her way through the passengers who were getting ready for takeoff, stuffing their luggage in the overhead compartments.
It was an uneventful flight. A little blond girl on the seat next to her spent the flight playing with a calculator. The child’s mother never looked up from her book (“I see she’s reading in Italian”). As usual, Naomi didn’t touch the food. She could feel the tension building inside her (“Relax, it’s time, you’ve trained and you’re fine”).
It was a smooth landing. The plane stopped far away from the terminal and she noticed Israeli security cars and police cars circling it, including an armored car equipped with an armed car. She climbed down the stairs, passing by the undercover security agent who had been with them on the flight and was now standing at the doorway with a briefcase at his feet, his eyes scouring the area. An airport bus took them to the arrivals hall. She spotted Keren and Gila and did her best not to make eye contact with them.
After passport control, now formally in Italy, she left the terminal, scanning the area around her, not exactly sure what to look for. She noticed three white taxis and spotted Ziv standing next to them, and realized he must have arrived before them to prep on the ground. She moved toward the second taxi, where Keren and Yaniv were already seated.
The taxi took off. Once they were on the highway which circles Rome the driver handed them a bag.
“Split these between you,” he said in
Hebrew.
In the bag were Smith and Wesson pistols, holsters and four magazines for each gun, as well as hotel key cards. They each took a key, a gun and magazines, loading one into their weapons, attached the holsters to their belts with their weapons nestled inside. Twenty minutes later, the taxi exited the autostrada and moved onto a side road, stopping outside a large hotel with a neon sign that read “Holiday Inn” and “Parco Dei Medici” in smaller letters.
They entered the lobby and went straight to their rooms, which were located on different floors. Naomi arrived at room 332. She checked the bathroom, slid open the balcony door and peeked inside the wardrobe and under the bed. Then the phone rang.
“Pronto,” she answered in Italian.
Ziv was on the other end. “Fifteen minutes, the Violet conference hall on the seventh floor,” he said and hung up.
She left nothing in the room, took the elevator up to the seventh floor, and entered the hall, which was not much more than a large room with chairs set up in rows, a podium and a screen. Gideon was waiting for them. One by one the team members arrived and took their seats facing the screen.
“Before we start, I can assure you this room has been thoroughly swept and we can talk freely. Okay then. You each have a task. We know the terrorists are already in Rome and staying here at the Holiday Inn. Each of you will be responsible for following one of them. Be aware, it is our understanding that they are carrying weapons, so please, keep your eyes open at all times. Their “go” time is the day after tomorrow, El Al flight 386 from Rome to Tel Aviv.
They intend to attack passengers after security checks, in the sterile zone, using handguns and grenades. We do not know how they plan to obtain the guns and grenades but most likely they will be smuggled into the sterile zone somehow and stashed there. We cannot make a move until the very second they take out their weapons. The risk is extremely high, but at this point we’re not bringing the Italian authorities in on this. The aim is to thwart their mission and make sure not a single El Al passenger is harmed. However, we also wish to capture as many of them as possible for intelligence purposes. It is my understanding that you are a well-trained, professional team (“I sure hope he’s right about that”) and we also have the highly skilled security staff at the airport to assist should the need arise.