Just People

by Paul Usiskin

  Unless the United Nations rescinds its decision seven days from today

  To rescind the Palestinians new status

  Those we have taken will face a similar fate as this cockroach.

  There was something brazen about how Qassim chose not to hide, so certain was he of not being found. The others had been smarter. Tima went to Jordan and then on into the Arab hinterland, leaving no trace. Faisal flew out of Israel via Ben Gurion airport to Germany, braving the embarrassing Israeli security quizzing without blowing it and from Frankfurt he went on to somewhere else he decided spontaneously. Ismail went home to Jenin and ten days later crossed into Jordan and was never heard from again. TNT2 were good, but they had operational priorities and limitations, and anyway they knew the Mossad Biderman file would remain live pending more data on the perpetrators.

  *

  Dov was no stranger to funerals and the Israeli Jewish traditions of mourning. They included seven days of mourning after the interment, called shiva, that linked the verb to sit with the number seven. During that week prayers were held every evening at the home of the deceased. Dov couldn’t face holding the shiva at their marital home in which Liora had continued to reside. The traditions called for the surviving spouse to be looked after at their home throughout the seven days, to sit on a low chair throughout the prayers, and to recite the Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, at the appropriate places in the prayers.

  His numbness persisted. To him it was as irrational as Liora’s death, but he couldn’t stop it. The funeral took place at the Trumpeldor Cemetery, Tel Aviv’s equivalent to the Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. Liora’s family were influential people as were the Chizziks. He imagined he’d be buried there too. He managed to spend time with Yaniv and Yael. He hadn’t seen either of them for a while, but the earlier frostiness between him and his daughter was far in the past. They found comfort in each other’s company, short-lived though it was; both of them were flying back to the States at the end of the shiva period, Yair on an extended year out around the world, Yael studying for her PhD. They both asked about Yakub and Lana. After they were gone, he felt empty. He called Lana, who expressed her deepest sympathies, appreciated that her presence at the shiva might have complicated things, but that Yakub had really missed him. He chatted with his son. It thawed him a little and that increased when Yakub said, ‘I am sorry about Liora, Aba. You must miss her. I miss you very much. Leila Tov, good night. See you soon.’

  Next day Dov went back to the Justice Ministry.

  Amos came into his office, carefully, instead of his usual sudden materialization, to tell Dov to check out Facebook to see the TNT2 post of the body on the Minaret; it had gone viral. Dov showed it to Irit, his numbness of the past seven days still with him.

  ‘My sympathies again, Dov.’ He thanked her then recalled that she along with everyone he worked with in PID had come to one evening or another of the shiva.

  ‘It took days to get anywhere with the investigation into the Biderman abduction team,’ she sighed. ‘Every lead we followed hit a brick wall. The so-called Maariv clipping took us into a dead end. What we found was that it was an amalgam of dozens of similar episodes. We traced all the possible individual links to families whose land had been cut off by the separation barrier. The same with Anwar the suicide bomber at the checkpoint. Every possible connection was checked, and you know what? All the bits that made up the whole picture were true, but completely unrelated to Anwar. An Anwar had been abused whilst in one of our jails, but he wasn’t the same person shot at the check point. Seeing that, I concluded there was a sophisticated mind that had devised the entire operation. He, and I’m convinced it was a he, had made this integral to the whole message he wanted to send. If the essence was to give an Israeli family a taste of being Palestinian, then both documents rounded off essential elements in the current Palestinian experience. Uri Biderman told me he was suspicious of the documents; they were too perfect. Proof of their impact was that his daughters were convinced they were genuine no matter what Uri said. Qassim had fucked with their heads, Uri said, and I agree. Even as a detached professional, Qassim earned my respect for his ingenuity. I wanted to meet him.’

  As Dov listened to her, he asked himself what it was about her he still didn’t wholly trust? Shades of the past? Gone was his hope for something more than a one night stand and her very touching love poem in the morning. It wasn’t the loss of Liora. He stopped at that thought. Liora wasn’t lost. He knew where her physical remains were and he shared with his children that she, her spirit, were in the stars, not in a grave. Back to Irit. No more nights of love or whatever it had been, he decided. ‘If you’ve amassed invaluable laptop data, someone might try to hack into it. We need to run urgent checks of your laptop.’

  ‘Oh no! Unbelievable,’ Irit looked and sounded incensed. She’d kept back the grunt work from him, mostly hers and a Shin Bet agent assigned to her, who’d unearthed details of the death of a psychology student in a rail incident; it shifted the focus to Tel Aviv University, then to the School of Psychological Science and eventually to Qassim.

  Hisham called and Dov updated him as much as he could, not hiding his fury at the news of the release of Ron Calev. ‘Predictable,’ Hisham sighed.

  Dov detailed an idea he’d been mulling, to do with ZAKA. ‘How quickly can you get to Jerusalem?’

  The Palestinian laughed. ‘That’s like asking a prisoner when he thinks the jailer might lend him the keys to his cell.’ He genuinely liked Dov, and his idea had merit, but he didn’t want to be beholden to him, Dov Chizzik’s tame Palestinian detective.

  Dov said he’d keep in touch by phone and e-mail.

  ‘Don’t forget Dov, I still have those tire casts of the SUV suspected of being used in the Shehadeh kidnaps.’

  ‘Thanks for that Hisham, I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Before I go, I send you my sincere sympathies.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The Chief of Staff called. They hadn’t met since the scandal investigation and Dov gave him a full update. He too offered his sympathies. Before he and Irit left for the Ministry, Dov called Aviel’s cell and left him a voice message telling him he wanted him to run the meeting the Minister insisted on to review with the relevant security agencies the Dudik broadcast and the Minaret body. At the Ministry entrance, Dov’s cell went. It was Hassid. ‘Have Aviel assist you, but you chair the meeting.’ Was Hassid monitoring his cell calls now? Or had Amos given him a quick course on reading Dov’s mind?

  The meeting began with Hassid saying, ‘I’m sure you’ll all join with me in offering Dov our deepest sympathies on the tragic loss of his wife Liora.’ The room made the appropriate noises. Dov thanked them and then turned to the Brigadier General commanding IDF Field Intelligence. He was a thin man, balding but wouldn’t admit it, strands of hair across his head which he smoothed down as he spoke.

  ‘Settlers who support TNT2? We’ve identified IDF sympathizers! We’ll grab them! Give us a day!’

  He stood, almost at attention, awaiting further orders.

  Dov said, ‘OK!’

  The Brigadier General exited.

  The rest of the room watched him go, silently impressed. Dov scrutinized their faces, tried to estimate what they’d contribute, whether they would be as biddable as the Brigadier General. Aviel sat next to him, looking pissed off.

  ‘You said I’d run this meeting,’ muttered Aviel.

  ‘Yeah, I did, but that changed on the way here. It’s a hierarchical thing. The apex of the hierarchy insisted,’ he nodded towards Yosef Hassid’s Buddha-like shape at the other end of the table, ‘I capitulated, and chairing a meeting wasn’t the only reason they wanted you back.’

  Levitch of Police Intelligence nodded at Dov as he asked, ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘We’re cross-referencing data your office shared with us last night and we’re preparing to
bring in a major suspect.’

  ‘Bring in where?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Okay,’ Dov said slowly, hoping for more. None came so Dov said, ‘that’ll be Eli Eliyahu?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Time scale?’

  ‘This a.m.’

  ‘Aviel, you run Eliyahu ‘s interrogation.’ Aviel nodded. Dov added, ‘You’ll be assisted by the Shin Bet’s Jewish Division,’ Dov smiled coldly at the Jewish Division’s deputy director, a dark complexioned youth, who looked no older than his son Yaniv.

  The young man said, ‘We’ve been looking into last night’s voice message.’

  ‘I’m interested in the technology that brought my grandfather back from the grave.’

  ‘So are we, but it’s the contents that we’re concentrating on.’

  ‘The whole message or something specific?’ Dov wanted and didn’t want the answer.

  ‘Did you know anything about your grandfather’s politics, past activities or associations etc.’

  ‘No not much. He was a right wing Zionist. Did you turn up anything?’

  ‘We’re still looking, nothing’s come up in archives, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone alive from that period to ask.’

  ‘We’re blessed with a large population of healthy elderly, there must be someone still around who knew him or something about him. Keep looking.’

  ‘The arithmetic means we’d be looking for someone one hundred plus and I don’t think we have that many.’

  ‘Dudik was a larger than life character. He had a number of women friends, all younger than him, some of them’d still be alive.’

  ‘Where would we get their names?’

  ‘You’re the Shin Bet, you’ve got files on everyone.’

  The young man shrugged.

  ‘This is all nice and cozy,’ Yoav Goral, the Prime Minister’s security advisor interrupted, ‘but why aren’t you sharing what you know about this Eliyahu? If we’re going to work as a team you need to empower us to help you.’

  Dov glanced at Irit, and told the room what he knew about Eli Eliyahu.

  Goral’s cell phone went. He said, ‘Sure. I’ll tell him. The Prime Minister requests an update from you. At the Knesset, in half an hour.’

  ‘OK, we’re done here anyway unless anyone’s got something more?’

  No one had. And no one asked when the next meeting would be. Hassid said nothing as he left.

  25

  It was surreal flying to the Knesset. Looking down over the city, Dov had a clash of reactions, from superiority to dislocation. He couldn’t see himself anywhere down there. He could have shared that with Irit, sitting with him, wedged between Dubi and one of the two YAMAM men assigned to secure Dov. What would she have made of it? Perhaps another fuck on the rug? The flight was over before it began. The Man exited the Government Room in the Knesset, and Dov followed.

  What was it about government buildings and wood paneling, Dov wondered, comparing these teak panels with those in Washington. The decor was plain and his host sat at the table in his office beneath a glossy photo-portrait of himself.

  ‘Nu?’ he said, ‘where are the hostages?’

  ‘We don’t know yet, but we’ll find them.’

  ‘I don’t expect anything from the UN, bunch of anti-Semites. The kidnappers’ deadline is impossible. Parading the bodies of the abductees will kill us in the polls.’ There was genuine anger in those last words as if opinion polls mattered most.

  The Man was smart. It wasn’t grudging respect on Dov’s part, it was a fact. He started reading a file marked For Your Eyes Only, printed in red letters on each page under the words Operation Trigon, a code-name the result of random computer generation.

  ‘Is that the official name of this investigation?’ Dov asked.

  ‘Correct.’ The Man spoke at Dov’s face as if it were a teleprompter. ‘This is a direct challenge to the very heart of our country’s democracy,’ he declared, in his familiar stentorian tone.

  Dov’s translation: I could lose this election if we don’t get these bastards.

  ‘These people are lawbreakers and they damage our reputation as a nation of law and order.’

  I don’t give a fuck about our reputation. Just get them.

  Dov noted that he’d called them law breakers and not criminals.

  ‘The young lives they threaten are precious to us as if they were our own. We must do everything to save them.’

  I just don’t want them dead on my watch and I do not want any debate about Palestinians, least of all now.

  ‘I trust the Justice Minister’s opinion of you so I expect you to finish this fast. Anything this office can do, just ask.’

  I don’t trust anyone. You’re expendable, and so is the Minister. Don’t call us. We won’t call you.

  ‘Keep Yoav Goral in the picture, he’s one of my best men.’

  And I don’t trust him either.

  The Man stood. There was neither eye contact throughout or a handshake at the end. But as Dov was about to exit, the Man’s voice said, ‘So sorry for your loss. My sympathies.’ It surprised Dov, it sounded like the Man meant it.

  Dov was in the helicopter with Irit and Dubi, five minutes later. He gave her a paired down description of the meeting. She said it was a pity she’d not been present, profiling was one of her skills. He said it wasn’t relevant for that meeting and when he started to figure why she was there, only Hassid’s name came up.

  It was mid-morning when they landed on the other side of Har Nitei close to Daoud al Akras’ village north-west of Tiberias. En route Amos called. ‘8200 has had a partial stega breakthrough,’ and he was sure, given more time, that the correspondent in Nahum Brenner’s exchanges would be identified. ‘There’s no more time,’ said Dov.

  ‘Remember I said 8200 had found a painting in an attachment in their DPI of Brenner’s emails?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Do you know Seurat?’ Amos asked.

  ‘Is that Haim who used to be in my platoon?’

  ‘No it’s Georges, who your grandfather may have met if he’d been in Paris in 1886.’

  ‘Enough with the quick wit, what’s the pointillist genius got to do with Brenner?’ Dov asked. ‘Would it be Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte?’

  ‘Wooo! Art expert too.’

  ‘It was the print on his wall at his home,’ said Dov

  ‘Yes, it was and that’s the breakthrough. Now 8200 needs time to decrypt Brenner’s steganographic exchanges. They have to isolate the dot Brenner used in that painting to hide his messages; he kept using a file of it. It’s so infantile. It’s like he wants to be found out. His real messages are in one of the dots in Seurat’s painting. So 8200 have to blow up every single dot in it, the three dogs, one monkey, the eight boats and the thirty eight people, to say nothing of the scenery, sky, trees, grass, the river. Do you know how many dots there are? ‘

  ‘No, but computers are very fast these days,’ Dov said sweetly. Amos was gone from the airwaves.

  By then Dov was in a convoy driving through Daoud’s village.

  Dov e-mailed Amos to use Operation Trigon as the banner on all further communications.

  Amos called. ‘Trigon? You’re kidding! You know what it is?’

  ‘No. It must have a name. I kind of like it...

  ‘It’s a comic character, a demon.’

  ‘You’re such a killjoy. It’s an ancient triangle symbol...’

  ‘There’s nothing faintly us about it.’ Amos argued.

  ‘Us? You mean the Jewish state and the use of a Greek title for this operation is inappropriate? Take it up with the Man. Meantime check company backgrounds, here and in the USA, Europe and anywhere else for links between Brenner Tech or any other enterprises and conglomerates.’

&n
bsp; ‘Any specific names?’

  ‘Lodestone or Stonemount.’

  ‘Hareven’s interests. Chizzik instinct?’ Amos asked.

  ‘Guess!’

  The Shehadeh family were no longer ready to maintain their silence over the fate of their loved ones; the Egyptian DNA test results confirmed the remains were of their missing family members, and the Ramallah pathologist added his own grisly post script on how the victims had been murdered. Each one had been shot in the back of the head with a single bullet, decapitated using some sort of power saw which was used on other body parts. Though the skulls of the victims had been recovered not all the remains had been. The Shehadehs pointed at Israel for the murders and at the PCP for incompetence. Official Israel did not respond; Hassid consented to Dov working with Hisham, ‘Only as long as it produces results.’ Dov suppressed the will to yawn.

  Hisham obtained the Shehadeh’s OK for another bribe for Daoud, in return for information on the whereabouts of the rest of the remains. There couldn’t be funerals until all the body parts were available for interment.

  Dov suspected the Bedouin knew much more than he’d so far admitted. Hisham had a personal interest, the fate of his cousin Ziad, convinced he’d been murdered by those who’d taken and killed the Shehadehs and his body similarly hidden. Dov had arranged for him to be helicoptered from Ramallah to the Har Nitei rendezvous. ‘If this was your TNT2 suspects, they’ve adopted your extra-judicial killing tactics,’ the Palestinian told Dov at the end of their call. There was nothing Dov could or wanted to say to that.

  Daoud greeted Hisham politely and they sat and talked. Hisham put his cell on the table and outlined what was wanted.

  Dov and Dubi monitored the conversation via the cell phone. As Daoud elaborated on his excuses, YAMAM vehicles parked outside his house. Two young local men in a beat up Toyota turned onto the street, Palestinian liberation rap booming from rear shelf speakers. They saw the YAMAM vehicles, killed the music and U turned. Other sounds on the street died away as the YAMAM unit deployed around Daoud’s house.