Just People

by Paul Usiskin

  ‘Sure ya do. They was the trade boycott breakers back in the day when the Ayrabs pushed a boycott of Isra-el, Honda couldn’t afford not to comply, their Ayrab market was too big. So Subaru had this little Israeli market all to itself. Usual thang. Cheap to make. Lots of extras. Light. Tinny. Competitively priced. Popular.’

  ‘Rick, the RTA?’ he implored, wondering at the word thang. Americans mauled language, Texans did a whole other...thang?

  ‘Pay-shuns Dov, pay-shuns. Now they’re all here, the Ko-Reans, sniffing at the Jap Vee-hickle exhausts, you might say, an’ I don’ mean them starvin’ crazies in the North, I mean the good ol’ democracy lovin’ South Ko-rea. Ever been to Santa Fe?’

  ‘No, but…’ The shift in geography was too much.

  ‘Quaint little city, fourth largest in the state of New Mexico. Lot’s of art ‘n culture and adobe.’

  Dov didn’t know what adobe was.

  ‘Anyhow, it must have found a warm place in the heart of a Hyundai executive, cos they been buildin’ a model called Santa Fe fer twelve years, an’ a damn fine little Vee-hickle it is too.’ Entering Dov’s room he lowered himself into a chair that seemed to shudder under his weight. He rapidly listed vehicle data, reminding Dov of the car lot sales ads he’d seen on TV in Washington: ‘It’s got a sixteen-valve double overhead cam engine base, 2359ccs, torque like a Porsche 911. This baby’s loaded with ‘lektroniks, includin’ Stability Control, auto-matikly providin’ jess the right amount of brake force to each wheel...’

  Dov tuned out until what sounded like the deal closer.

  ‘Now how’s that for yer new po-lees Vee-hickle? Only thang it don’ do is ketch yer criminal and solve yer crime. Last but by no means least of all, it’s got yer little ol’ black box.’

  Out of the fog of automotive data came something familiar and Dov asked brightly ‘Like an onboard flight recorder?’ This ticked his query about the Mazal RTA report and he waited to ask Rick what to do about that.

  ‘You goddit. Only this ain’t no Ko-rean device. This is a genu-wine Isra-eli product, an advanced road Vee-hickle version of what’s in our airforce fighter planes, redeveloped for all our military vehicles and now it’s bein’ tested by our po-lice. And one was in the Vee-hickle in the RTA you’re interested in. Here it is.’

  Dov oddly warmed to the patriotic fervor of the recently converted - ‘our airforce,’ ‘our military’, ‘our po-lice.’ Rick proudly produced a shiny black rectangle from another patch pocket, like a smart phone only thicker.

  ‘This one’s a proto-type. Its one shortcomin’ is it don’t have no real-time visual data but they’re workin’ on it fer sure. What’s here is ‘nough fer me to say that this is murder, not an accident. Comparin’ the voice and sound data, and the box’s analytical data with damage the Santa Fe sustained, I’m sure our boy was deliberately targeted, and that probably the container truck in the tunnel…’

  ‘You’ve seen the tunnel traffic videos?’

  ‘Sure. And what this little cutie tells us is that the truck drove the Santa Fe off the road.’ He stroked the device’s glossy surface like a kitten. ‘Our boy, may his dear soul rest in peace, must’ve known about this clever box of tricks, ‘cos he gave a moment by moment verbal report as it was happenin’.’

  ‘Couldn’t have made for easy listening.’ Dov said impressed by Mazal’s composure in extremis.

  ‘Ya gotta switch off your emotions hearin’ it,’ said Rick. ‘Anyhow, the Santa Fe’s the best bet for the Isra-el po-lice an’ that’s my re-commen-dayshun to my superiors.’ Rick paused. ‘All the airbags in the world couldn’t have protected our boy, not against the combined weight of a flat bed truck loaded with a container, even if the container was empty.’ His voice had become solemn and the loud drawl had diminished.

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘It’s all to do with relative weight, speed, impact. And statistical comparisons. His Santa Fe was hit and it bounced against the crash barrier and all its systems came into play to help him survive, so the side impact airbag deployed and at the same time the Santa Fe came back on the blacktop and carried on and then the container truck hit him again and this time it was with acceleration, the truck driver was angry our boy wouldn’t just lay down and die, and this second time the Santa Fe’s systems couldn’t cope, the physics of the context you understand? A heavy Vee-hickle at speed slams against a much lighter Vee-hickle which hits a static energy absorbing barrier and the forces working on the Santa Fe were not within manufacturer’s tolerances, and caused it to leave the road, somersault, and come down roof first.’

  The two men looked at each other, evaluating, imagining. Dov’s eyes stayed on Rick’s, and with lips pursed he nodded once and so did Rick, two professionals, in silent mutual respect for a dead colleague. Then Dov told him about the RTA report, and why he’d wanted to talk to Avi Mazal. Rick grunted. ‘You let me deal with that report issue, ‘Kay? Promise to get right back to you.’ Fetlock’s sharp chin rose for a second, then down then up again, then he left.

  Amos re-materialized. Dov hardly blinked.

  Amos said, ‘ZAKA.’

  Dov waited. He knew the acronym for Disaster Victim Identification. He’d seen ZAKA personnel at work, in their Hi-Viz tops and surgical gloves combing post-disaster scenes, usually but not exclusively terror attacks. ZAKA volunteers were mostly orthodox Jews dedicated to collecting bodies and body parts and ensuring their proper Jewish religious burial. They did the same for non-Jews.

  ‘The Unknown Caller number has been traced to a ZAKA volunteer in a settlement, Har Shmuel.’ He added, ‘I’ve requested enhancement of the CCTV truck cabin.’

  ‘OK. Come with me,’ Dov said, ‘I’d like the company.’

  ‘I know what you think about the settlements and the settlers.’

  ‘Have I ever said anything against our new Zionists?’

  ‘You never had to...but you did once...Hebron?’ That was during the Defense Ministry scandal, when Amos had been a wet-behind-the-ears rookie. Now his ears were perfectly dry, as befitted a seasoned senior aide.

  ‘Whatever. This isn’t a hug-a-settler day.’

  ‘Why do you think I don’t feel the same?’

  ‘Because you’re not me and you’re still young and naive enough to enjoy the absence of fixed ideas.’

  ‘No. I handle them better...those fixed ideas.’

  ‘That’s uncharacteristic patience.’

  ‘You mean for one so young?’

  ‘You drive.’

  They drove through a sudden storm. Amos said no more as he took the 436 through Ramot, north of Jerusalem, and then turned off to Route 45, Golda Meir Boulevard, out to Givat Ze’ev, literally Ze’ev’s Hill, named for Ze’ev Jabotisnsky the ideological founder of Israel’s right wing Revisionist Zionist movement. Passing serried terraces full of houses, Amos asked, ‘do you think The Jewish Land party will represent all the settlers?’

  ‘Their message is a settler message, and it’s clear from the party’s slogan, ‘the Jewish Land is the Land of Israel and the whole of that Land is ours.’ No two state solution. No Palestinian state. In their eyes the Oslo process was a disaster. Far too many agree with them. The 2005 Gaza disengagement ordered by Ariel Sharon was another disaster and the second Gaza war should have ended with a ground invasion, short hand for re-occupation, and damn the enormous collateral damage. They want the Palestinians out of here, annexation with mass evacuation of them to Jordan and all points east. It’s Kahane without the lunatic frills.’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ said Amos, ‘about the absence of those frills. And they’re in favor of drafting Haredim, the ultra-orthodox, into the IDF.’

  ‘Yes but you’re conflating settlers with Haredim. They aren’t synonymous.’

  ‘I know that too,’ said Amos.

  ‘The IDF shouldn’t continue to be used as a machine f
or social change,’ Dov said.

  ‘You’re sounding like a purist.’

  ‘No, a pragmatist, part of my Chizzik genes.’

  ‘We’re only human after all,’ Amos muttered.

  Dov concurred. ‘Right, and we should stop pretending otherwise, light unto the nations etc.’ Five minutes later Amos turned left at signposts for Har Shmuel opposite Nebi Samwil, the hill where Jews and Muslims believed the Prophet Samuel is buried. Har Shmuel was more a new hillside neighborhood than a fully-fledged settlement, built by tearing away part of a Judean hill.

  They arrived at the house and Dov recognized the architecture immediately, a Bauhaus imitation perfected by a settlement architect he’d killed.

  18

  Yul Brynner opened the front door. Instead of the cowboy hat he wore in The Magnificent Seven, he’d lost years and wore a kippa somehow fixed to his bald pate, there must be a kippa glue Dov mused, and a smile noticeable for two beaver-like buck teeth, not at all like Aviel’s badger incisors. His name was Nahum Brenner, and yes he was a ZAKA volunteer.

  Dov explained that his cell number had been traced in an investigation. Brenner’s smile didn’t falter and he asked them in and offered them coffee. They both said yes. Dov saw a swimming pool through the lounge windows and a view beyond, obscured by low cloud.

  ‘You can see the Med on a clear day,’ said Brenner. Dov looked around the room, expensively furnished, not IKEA, and paintings on the walls. He recognized two, both by influential Israeli artists. Another wall was dominated by a huge Seurat, Sunday Afternoon At The Island of La Grande Jatte. ‘You collect?’ Dov asked.

  ‘Yes, those two are originals, Gutman and Rimmer. The Seurat’s a print,’ and in the same easy tone he added, ‘I didn’t make the calls you describe.’

  Dov detected an American accent beneath perfect Israeli enunciation.

  ‘There were a series of them, threats to a police officer.’ Dov stated.

  ‘I certainly didn’t make them.’

  ‘Has someone else had access to your cell?’

  ‘I don’t see how. It’s kept separate from the other cells in the house, in my ZAKA vest, and it’s only used when I’m out on ZAKA duty.’

  ‘May we see it?’

  ‘Sure. It’s in the cupboard by the front door,’ Brenner stood up.

  Dov carried on sipping coffee. It wasn’t bad. Amos followed Brenner.

  ‘It’s not a locked cupboard,’ Amos said when they returned. ‘There’s also a couple of weapons there too, a Tavor with a magazine in and a Jericho in a holster. The Jericho’s the .45 with a Picatinny accessory rail and there’s a handgun laser sight in a separate handy pack that doesn’t look like it was in a gas station promo. The Jericho’s loaded.’ Amos looked queryingly at Brenner.

  ‘They both are,’ Brenner confirmed. ‘We make the best weapons. The Tavor’s a world beater infantry assault weapon and the Jericho’s a man stopper of a handgun.’

  ‘Who else lives here?’ Dov asked, though he really wanted to know how Brenner had the latest IDF infantry rifle in his home; it wasn’t due for standard issue for another year.

  ‘My wife Galila and my two sons Yiftakh and Assaf.’

  ‘They know how to use those weapons?

  ‘Sure but they don’t need them, they have their own.’

  ‘Security’s a matter for the IDF surely?’

  ‘Let’s not fool each other. We both know the IDF can’t be expected to defend every Jew living in the Land of Israel. Not even the private security company we employ can protect us one hundred per cent, so we take the necessary precautions.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a little dangerous?’

  ‘We have the right to defend ourselves. It’s a right the Talmud affirms: ‘If someone comes to kill you, arise and kill him first.’ Those who wish us harm don’t think twice about spilling our blood, so it’s smart to be armed and ready to stop them.’ Dov was used to religious Israelis quoting from the ancient texts to justify anything.

  He said, ‘We’re straying. Who could have issued phone threats to an individual in the Judea and Samaria police HQ from that phone of yours?’

  ‘Neither of my boys would have called him.’

  ‘Who said it was a male recipient of those calls?’

  ‘I just assumed.’

  ‘Can you show me where in your vest you keep the phone?’

  Brenner got up and went to the cupboard again.

  Amos mouthed, I think he’s telling the truth. Dov mouthy back, he’s lying.

  Brenner came back with a Hi-Viz vest and showed Dov a cell-phone pocket with a Velcro flap on the front. The phone was still inside. Dov removed it and put it in an evidence ziplock from his pocket. ‘We’ll get it checked out. Do you ever take the vest off when you’re out on a ZAKA call?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And the phone’s in that pocket, never in another pocket, or left on a desk? Do you put it into a car cradle?

  ‘No need. Our Chevys all have integral Bluetooth hands free. I have two other phones but I wanted one dedicated to ZAKA and nothing else.’

  ‘How do you get to those emergencies?’

  ‘In my Chevy.’

  ‘Where’s the vest with the phone when you’re not here?’

  ‘Locked in the trunk of the Chevy.’

  ‘Never hung up in that cupboard?’

  ‘No. I’ve got an alarm set to all my phones if there’s a ZAKA emergency and then I get out the vest from the trunk with the phone and proceed from there.’

  ‘Why was the vest in the house instead of in the trunk of your car?’

  ‘It’s been hanging in the cupboard while the phone’s been charging. I like to keep them together.’

  So you do have it hanging up in the cupboard; that’s being economical with the truth, Dov thought. ‘And your guns?’

  ‘I always carry the Jericho. The Tavor stays where your colleague saw it.’

  ‘And where do you work?’

  ‘I own a software design company. We have a studio in the office park the other side of the hill.’

  Dov looked around. ‘You’re doing well.’

  ‘Yes thank the Almighty, we’re doing quite well.’

  ‘Do you have partners?’

  ‘In this business? No, not now. This is my third company. I had partners in the first one, an Israeli start-up, which we sold successfully to an American concern. The second and third are sole ownerships, until my sons are ready to join.’

  ‘Are there any other ZAKA volunteers in your companies?’

  ‘Yes, two.’

  ‘Are both companies in the office park?’

  ‘Yes. I own the premises.’

  ‘The other two ZAKA volunteers, what do they do?’

  ‘They’re involved in different spheres of software design and installation.’

  ‘What spheres?’

  ‘Why is this relevant?’

  ‘We’ll need to see both of them. Would you come with us? It shouldn’t take long.’ Brenner was expected to agree. Dov signaled to Amos not to let Brenner use any of his phones. Brenner put on the holster with the Jericho and carried his ZAKA vest over his arm. He walked out to his car, a black Chevrolet SUV, and pointed his key at it. Its lights blinked, its alarm squawked its electronic strangle, the sun briefly broke through the rain clouds, glinting off the hood.

  ‘We’ll go in ours,’ Dov told him. Brenner pointed the key again and the lights and the strangle were repeated. Then he pocketed the key and produced a Blackberry and began texting.

  Amos reached across and took it quickly from him.

  ‘I was just going to let them know…’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Dov.

  They got into the Ministry Audi, Dov sitting next to Brenner at the back.

  ‘So, how do you think
the election campaign’s going?’ Brenner asked.

  ‘Poorly,’ Dov said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘There’re no party debates on policy or vision, because there’re no policies and no vision.’

  ‘You don’t think The Jewish Land has either?’

  ‘I’m a servant of the state. Whatever political opinions I hold are not for public consumption.’

  ‘Is that so? Your comment on lack of debates, that’s not political?’

  ‘Like I said.’

  ‘So you believe in negotiating with terrorists.’

  ‘When did I say that?’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘You know little about me and less about my politics.’

  ‘Don’t say that Dov. We know everything about you, about your investigations of police officers who live here, and about your…’

  Amos broke in, ‘We’re just approaching the office park. Where do we go?’

  Brenner directed him, then turned back to Dov. ‘Can I get my Blackberry?’

  ‘We’ll need to examine it first. You’ll get it back in a day or so.’ And it went into another ziplock.

  Everyone has enemies. Why Dov had forgotten that, he couldn’t explain. When he thought about it, he told himself not to be so naïve, for going through each day blithely thinking that everyone loved or respected him. How stupid was that?

  The office park consisted of single story glass and aluminum structures, stylish matt gray cladding. Brenner guided them to one of the largest with the name Brenner-Tech in blue and white forward slanting letters in Hebrew and English across the entrance doors.

  As Amos parked in the slot marked Reserved for N. Brenner, a figure exited from the building, walked briskly to another black Chevrolet SUV, gunned the engine and drove off.

  Dov caught Amos’ look in the rear-view and gave the briefest nod.

  ‘Who was that?’ he asked Brenner.

  ‘One of our designers.’

  ‘Is he one of the ZAKA volunteers?’ Dov asked.

  ‘What’s his name?’ added Amos quickly.

  ‘Ruby Levin. He’s multi-talented.’