by Paul Usiskin
‘Wait. What body bag from the Chevrolet? I know about the two RTA fatalities, names are Stein and Levin, either one of them would have had Gun Shot Residue, they shot and killed a Bedouin, and fired at me!’
‘Dov, you are shouting.’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ He was surprised he was still angry about it. ‘I count a total of six body bags, one of them with body parts. What’s this other bag?’
‘You know about sarin gas?’
Dov said automatically, ‘One atropine self-injection kit.’ It was from his reserve duty gear check-list.
‘I asked what you know about sarin?’
‘It’s a potentially devastating chemical warfare nerve agent produced from an organo-phosphorus compound, a colorless, odorless liquid. Unless atropine’s injected, death can take only a minute. Exposure even in a vaporized form is absorbed through the skin or orally or nasally, and produces nasal and oral effluent, increased breathing problems, extreme nausea, and progressive loss of control of all bodily functions, violent muscle spasms, ending in coma and suffocation.’
‘You recited that without blinking.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, aware he’d already said that three times, unaware that now his voice was flat, devoid of all timbre. ‘I had to learn about sarin in the army, we’d been trained to detect first signs and treat them. We’re worried about Syria manufacturing it for Assad to use on anyone who’s against him. And Hezbollah having it.’
‘Sarin is all that you described,’ Ephraim said, trying to disguise his concern for Dov’s state of well being. ‘It was Soviet sarin that the late and unlamented Saddam Hussein approved for use against the Kurds in 1988 in Halabja with estimated fatalities of around five thousand. Then there was that lunatic Japanese sect that released sarin into the Tokyo metro in 1995, killing fifteen. And yes, now I am hearing rumors that the Assad regime has used it against the rebels, which means anyone who opposes him especially his own people. What I can say is thank God for the Japanese who published results of their forensic investigation after the metro attack, and thank God for the Virtopsy unit. Because I believe the cause of death of the body in that bag from the vehicle in the Jordan was exposure to sarin.’
‘In the river? I need to alert …’
‘I already requested emergency river water sampling and nothing has been found. The body was hermetically sealed, so to say, which made me suspicious. I determined that its examination should be carried out by Virtopsy.’
Dov patted the old man’s shoulder. ‘You must be exhausted Ephraim.’
‘Not a bit. My work rejuvenates me. You are the one with the black rings under his eyes. And cuts on your face, and signs of concussion in your demeanor. Why did they let you out of hospital? No. I can already guess. You walked out. Let me show you the Virtopsy suite.’
Along the corridor was an airtight door with an electronic lock. Ephraim performed the entry code. They entered a control room. On the other side of the glass partition was a CT scanner and a large white robotic arm, like those on industrial production lines.
‘It is a robot system performing surface scanning, integrated with a specially developed CT scanner, enabling automated hi-resolution 3D animated and still-imagery documentation, so to say.’ Ephraim sounded a little awestruck. ‘Anyway, as you can see, this body was ideal for this autopsy, though no system is a replacement for traditional autopsy, nor is it intended to be.’
‘If that’s the case, why quit?’
‘In one word? Love. But I have told you this. So the first thing I did was the only invasive procedure done on this cadaver, a blood test, and that was also performed remotely.’
It was a nightmarish sci-fi vision Dov had of that white robotic monster probing the body.
‘Following my intuition that this was a sarin victim, our tests showed a dramatic decrease in one of the two substances that enable the nervous system to transmit its signals, and this buttressed my sarin intuition. The Virtopsy findings confirmed all the symptoms you described.’
‘It’s a terrible way to die. But with all this new technology this place looks like a CSI crime lab. What can you tell me about this guy?’
Ephraim looked puzzled. ‘CSI?’
‘Crime Scene Investigation. It’s a TV drama series from the States. Every episode features forensic analysis.’
‘Really? I do not watch television much. In answer to your question, the victim was a healthy male, fairly well to do, going by his clothing and jewelry, a little corpulent, so to say, for his height, full head of hair, and Syrian.’
‘Syrian? How the hell did he get into an Israeli Health Ministry body bag in that Chevy?’
‘You are under a lot of pressure. You did not ask how I know he is Syrian? It is a DNA matter, a scientific hunch, so to say. Our specialists in fields ranging from bio-cultural anthropology through genealogy and molecular microbiology found a Y chromosome link that could define and identify Arabic speaking populations.’
‘Did they do that for Jews too?’
‘Oh yes it is fascinating, especially the Cohen lineage.’ He gave a quick smile. ‘Stop diverting me. We found a DNA match between the body and the genetic code for Syria. And what I can tell you is that he was being preserved for future use. He had been refrigerated before being transported, and had thawed a little, but I think we can assume that he was being delivered somewhere, on his way from Syria.’
Dov thought aloud. ‘They could have gone to any number of locations along the Golan after they’d killed Daoud al Akras, he’s the Bedouin head fatality you got. Instead they were coming down to the bridge and who knows where in Israel after that.’
Again Dov didn’t notice Ephraim evaluating him.
‘Very well. Our ballistics analysis show that the shot to the head of Mr. Daoud was from an anti-material weapon, a .50 caliber Barrett M82. IDF snipers use them. Anti-material is a sales ploy, Americans like that sort of language, it suggests this weapon could penetrate any surface, and in this case it passed through two panes of bullet-proof glass designed to withstand light weapons ammunition, and on that trajectory, destroyed the head of the victim, positioned in profile; our preliminary reconstruction of shot direction suggests that.’
‘And the Barrett itself? Was it recovered from the Chevy?’ Dov asked optimistically.
‘Fortune favors the brave, yes? Yes it was. Nothing brave about hitting a skull with a caliber of weapon this large, but I grant you the shooter had skill, in the context. There are new developments with this weapon. A laser sight and electronically controlled munitions mean that you can ‘fire and forget’, American sales talk again.’ He paused for a beat. ‘Is Dov Chizzik one of the brave?’ he asked.
Dov said nothing, sorting the mass of new information, seeing what it meant and if it brought him closer to Hareven. The Syrian angle was unexpected. The whole world wanted confirmation of Assad’s sarin use. It was a red line for the Obama administration and the Syrian government had taken great pains to deny any use of it and issued assurances that it would not. No one was convinced, but suspicions weren’t evidence. Dov needed a contextual update and called Amos and told him to get it from military intelligence.
‘Be blunt. Use the Man as authority again, if you must.’
Ephraim was talking to an assistant, looking at one of the screens. He turned to Dov. ‘He was not only a Syrian, he was an Alawite.’
‘DNA is that precise? Impressive. So he was exposed to sarin by rebels.’
‘Now, now Dov, that is an extremely big, so to say, leap from the variable certainties and imprecise nature of science to such a startling conclusion.’
‘Isn’t it?’ he said. ‘My cynicism’s working overtime, so who would gain from an Alawite turning up dead as a victim of sarin gas? In the crude convolutions of Bashar al-Assad, the head Alawite, he’d claim the rebels did it, and not him.’ His cell phone sounded. ‘Yes Amos.�
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‘Syrian update. I just sent it. It’s quite detailed.’
‘Summary?’
‘We’ve allowed cross-border Druze trade contacts between Israeli and Syrian Druze for some time; there‘s a Golan Alawite village whose residents opted for Israeli citizenship. Since the civil war began we’ve been treating rebel injured at an IDF field hospital we set up near the village. Our unmarked vehicles have gone in to retrieve injured, and the seriously wounded are filtered to our local hospitals. We’re very concerned about possible transfers of long-range missiles and other game-changing weapons to Hezbollah, as payment in kind for helping protect Assad.’
‘Game-changing?’
‘Chemical warfare weapons.’
‘Anything more?’
‘Yes, Hezbollah have begun re-deploying in depth on the Golan Heights.’
‘That’d be a real game-changer. I’m still with Ephraim Cordova. Any news on Brenner? How’s Aviel doing with Eliyahu?’
‘We’re checking on all points of entry on Brenner and we’ve asked our friends in Washington to see if he’s there and if he is to tell us so we can monitor him. On Eliyahu, Aviel hasn’t broken him yet.’
‘OK. What’s Irit up to?’
‘She’s just come back in. Took time out to recover after the shooting.’
‘Are Lana and Yakub OK?’
‘Yes. The bike’ll be delivered tomorrow.’
‘Good. Thanks.’
Through a sudden urge to sleep Dov wondered if he had the chutzpah to ask Amos to arrange to have his flat cleaned up, and began looking for the exit, trying to picture where the helicopter was.
‘Dov, where are you going?’ Ephraim came after him. ‘I had not told you the real reason I wanted to see you. It is about the message from your grandfather, so to say.’
Dov still couldn’t remember where the helicopter was, and his mind was filled with other questions and bits of answers, Daoud and body trading, so ZAKA, so Brenner, where the fuck was Brenner, why had Irit been called from a Brenner phone, why was the Brenner SUV carrying a dead Alawite killed by sarin gas, and have I any idea what the fuck is going on? FUBAR,’ he told Ephraim wearily. The old man glanced at him quizzically.
‘No, it is not Beyond All Reason, merely beyond yours at this moment, so to say. You must rest. How long ago since you were in an explosion?’
‘FUBAR - Fucked Up Beyond All Reason. There’s an IDF equivalent, Completely Fucked, and that’s what I am. We’re being turned into savages. And I don’t even know what day it is.’
‘I am not prepared to discuss the state of our nation until you have rested. Take a few hours. Go home.’
‘Can’t go home,’ Dov yawned, ’Murder scene, still...’
‘What are you saying? That crime scene has not been tidied up yet? I know people who do that. Can they bill your Ministry? Meanwhile you need to sleep. Give me your key.’
Dov handed it over saying, ‘Ephraim, I can’t sleep now, I’ve…’
‘Let me see. How long ago were you released after the Yardena Rotem murder? The shiva for your late wife? Finished a week ago? When was the shooting and the bridge traffic accident? And now a bombing? Right now you are not in a fit state to guide a herd of sheep, never mind an investigation as big as this. In the meantime we have fingerprint matches to the Barrett, and to one of the cadavers in the Chevrolet retrieved from the Jordan. I will need you to confirm the identity when our tests are complete.’
Dov wasn’t listening and wandered off, vaguely aware of Ephraim telling Amos Dov would be out of contact for the next few hours, and he’d pass on any urgent messages. On a corridor Dov saw a gurney, with a sheet folded on it and he climbed up and lay down, and guess what, he slept the sleep of the dead? No. Ephraim Cordova found him and wheeled him outside, had him transferred to a stretcher, and into the YAMAM vehicle with instructions to deliver Dov to his home where he was put into Ephraim’s spare room, and there he slept like a baby.
28
The smell of cooking woke him. He came out of the spare room groggy, and followed his nose to a kitchen that came straight out of a design magazine.
‘Beef and eggplant kiftehs, rice with almonds, roast vegetables, fresh fruit, accompanied by a Segal Special Reserve Merlot,’ the old man announced clattering about with plates and cutlery on the table in the middle of the room. ‘I would have woken you in another twenty minutes. You have slept for five hours. How are you?’
‘Fine.’
First lie of the new day, except it wasn’t day, it was pre-dawn. In the last hour he’d floated between exhaustion and dream-mares full of incomplete images, Liora in the mix, and a gnawing anxiety about Lana and Yakub.
Ephraim was saying, ‘You will eat, and sleep again. I had night and day clothes collected from your place, which will be as if nothing occurred there when you go back...well yes of course you will remember, I cannot have your memory trace erased...’
Stop being such a good soul, he wanted to tell Ephraim. I won’t easily forget what happened in my bed, in my home, all over my wall and…
He said instead, ‘Yeah, OK, I’ll go and …’ He found the bathroom, turned on the shower, managed to set the mixer tap to a bearable temperature, went back to the spare bedroom, rescued his cell, then closed the shower cubicle door so the noise wouldn’t disturb the call to Amos. Which he then cut, before he’d finished dialing. Time out Dov.
He emerged from the shower almost human again, and ate some of the meal.
Ephraim talked about Spain and filled Dov’s wine glass. He spoke with zest, his eyes glittering, and Dov felt pangs of envy. Proof that I’m not totally devoid of emotion.
‘We have two places, one in the old Jewish quarter of Cordoba, which I helped Isabela buy, the other her summer retreat in the Andalusian mountains. Come, be our guest. Besides, there is some family background I want to share with you.’
‘Full of surprises as ever, Ephraim. Must be your youth trying for a comeback.’
‘It is certainly to do with the past, more about yours than mine. But one thing I will tell you, your late grandfather made several speeches and it would not be hard to sample them and reproduce his voice with the right computer progam and a voice recording specialist. It would be a little time-consuming and expensive, but if that is what you want to do...’
‘Speeches? I never knew he made speeches. I know he had many opinions but I never knew he spoke in public about them. What else was there?’
‘You have showered and eaten. Now sleep more.’ The food and the wine were having the soporific effect Ephraim had planned, crafty old Ephraim, and this time the exhaustion was pleasant and not a weight he had to fight, but he wanted to know what Ephraim was being so elliptical about, clearly he had more to say about Dudik.
‘During the last year of the Mandate, the Irgun acted to force the British out, and in one operation they kidnapped and hanged two British Intelligence Corps sergeants. It was in retaliation for the death sentence the British had passed on three Irgun men. Your grandfather was part of the operation, instrumental in it, so to say.’
Dov felt a momentary chill. The hanging of the British sergeants wasn’t news to him. Dudik’s role in it was. The story had turned up in an English language history book in the school library. His command of English was already good, but the essence of the episode made him sick at heart that people who claimed to have helped create his country did this. The sergeants were kidnapped by the Irgun, the revisionist Zionists - the author called them terrorists - hid the sergeants in a metal cell, buried under the sand at a disused factory building, with oxygen tanks for air, changed every few hours by a doctor, and when the time came they were sentenced to death and hanged.
‘How do you know about it?’
‘I knew your grandfather a little in those days. I was a pathology student working with the Mandate police pathologist.’
He was quiet for a moment then waved his hand as if dismissing the past. In so doing he left unanswered the myriad of questions Chizzik instinct would prompt, but much to his surprise, he slept long and well.
He woke, his mind and body revitalized, smells of coffee and baking beckoning him to the kitchen again, where Ephraim had put out a cafetiere and took hot rolls from the oven. ‘They go so well with good coffee. I taught myself to bake. It is simple really.’
Bach played in the background through speakers somewhere as Dov drank his second cup and devoured a third delicious roll, when one of his YAMAM security detail came to the door and tapped his watch, and Dov apologized to Ephraim, thanked him and left, knowing the mental note to follow up on Dudik would stick.
The drive to the safe house where Lana and Yakub were only took a few minutes. It was in an anonymous block with views of the Sde Dov airport. The street was quiet, except for the sound of a plane landing and another, its engines reaching take off pitch. A white delivery minivan drove past the SUV and Dov wondered if it had brought Yakub’s new bicycle. The SUV reached the electronic gate to the basement garage. A YAMAM officer called the team leader securing the apartment, as they waited for the gate to open. There was no answer. ‘Could be there’s a poor signal because we’re down here.’ The gate stayed shut. They found the janitor who refused to let them in saying, ‘I could lose my job,’ until the YAMAM officer asked if he was ready to lose his freedom.
No one answered the door to the apartment. Dov gingerly inserted the key the janitor had handed over, and turned it and opened the door. Just inside was Yakub’s new bicycle, still in its store wrapping. There was no sign of Lana or Yakub or their security team.