The Shield: a novel

by Nachman Kataczinsky PhD

  At two the next morning he got another call from battalion: “Your customer is on his way. Take care to get him alive. We need to see what he’s carrying and we need to talk to him.”

  “Is he alone or is somebody leading him?” Noam asked.

  “Funny you should ask, lieutenant,” the intelligence officer chuckled. “He has an escort. We want the escort to go through unharmed and get back in. We need him to think that his mission was successful.”

  “You are telling me that now?” Noam was somewhat indignant.

  “Well, I told you as soon as I heard about it. You know how the Security Services are – never share with anybody.” The officer on the other end of the line sounded only slightly apologetic: “In any case, you have about two hours before they try to come through on the northern edge of your sector, so I’m told. Good Luck.”

  Noam’s next move was to notify the platoon guarding the northern sector, where the Egyptian, Gaza and Israeli borders met. Next he notified the other platoons.

  When the new platoon commander awoke Uri Dayan, the sergeant was slightly annoyed. He’d only had three hours of sleep after checking the guard positions for the umpteenth time, making sure that everybody was well hidden, quiet and awake – not an easy feat on night duty. The new commander wanted him to visit all the guard positions again, this time instructing them to keep their eyes open but not interfere with the expected infiltrators. The commander would organize a pursuit party to nab the courier.

  An hour and a half later, close to sunrise, with gray light full of shadows, the two figures would have slipped through undetected if it wasn’t for the combination of night-vision equipment, an electronic fence and the troops expecting something to happen. As planned, the two dark figures passed through the line oblivious to the alarms that went off in headquarters. The platoon commander, followed at a distance by Sergeant Dayan, trailed after them. The other five members of their squad took a parallel route, reducing their chance of being detected by the returning escort.

  About a mile from the border the infiltrators shook hands and parted. Uri waited behind rocks as the escort passed by heading back into Israel. The sergeant fingered his radio: “He’s on his way back - Be quiet and let him through.”

  Now they concentrated on the lone figure walking into Egypt. The commander ran through an adjacent wadi, emerging in front of the courier. The man was walking slowly, consulting his compass from time to time, relaxed now that he was in Egyptian territory. Uri got up and walked behind the dark figure. When he was less than twenty yards away, Uri shot him with a dart gun, one of about twenty issued to the platoon earlier in the day.

  The courier collapsed noiselessly and was carried back to the platoon’s base and into a waiting jeep.

  ***

  Mohammad al Husseini was unhappy, not an unusual state of mind for him. Of the four people his group sent to contact German agents, two were apprehended at the Lebanese and Jordanian borders. That message had been brought by the Bedouin who was supposed to smuggle them across the border. Suspecting that this same Bedouin had sold out the couriers, Mohammad had ordered him killed as soon as the man left the house of his cell commander. The third courier may have been martyred or imprisoned by the Israelis - there was no way of knowing. Thanks to Allah the fourth courier passed safely into Egypt. The man who led him through the border, a long-trusted member of both Hamas and Islamic Jihad, was rewarded for bringing good news.

  Suicide bombers were ready to strike. One had already been successful – that was another piece of good news. Mohammad did not know how many more were waiting or what their targets would be, but he was confident something would happen soon. He instructed his operatives to make sure that the strikes were effective: They must kill as many infidels as possible.

  ***

  David Rothstein was surprised on Friday morning when his cousin called him at the hotel: “David, I have a proposition for you. Since our conversation last week I’ve been looking for something for you to do. I have good news: you have a selection of jobs. To be interviewed and to see what exactly is being offered, you need to go to the nearest branch of the Interior Ministry. That would be at the Azrieli mall. I will meet you there in about an hour, if this is convenient.”

  “You mean the Ministry has a job for me?” David was surprised.

  “No, no. They will issue you an ID card and a work permit. I have to be there to vouch for you, so that the whole process will be completed on the spot. Otherwise it may take a week. After you have your papers, we will go meet with people at a number of companies that are interested in your skills. If you will want still more options, we will go to Haifa.”

  After a short pause David said: “I really appreciate this. Can’t I see what is available first and decide about the ID later?”

  “Most of the jobs are somewhat sensitive and they will not talk to you unless you are committed, at least to the extent of getting an ID. The process of issuing an ID includes a basic security check, without which nobody will talk to you, which is why I need to vouch for you.”

  “We could meet in about an hour and a half, but Shabbat starts around six, so I’m not sure how much we can accomplish today.”

  “Okay. See you at the Ministry at 9:30.”

  “Wait a minute,” David hesitated. “Let me call you in thirty minutes. This is somewhat unexpected, and I want to talk it over with Rachel.”

  “OK.” His cousin sounded cheerful. “I don’t mind if we get your papers at the Ministry today and do all the interviews on Sunday. So take all the time you need.”

  “Thanks, Ze’ev.”

  Rachel was out for a short walk and some window shopping; she was tired of being cooped up in their suite. The boys were out on the beach. David decided to call his wife’s cell phone. He hadn’t tried using it in Israel before and hoped that it would work. When they bought it, it was advertised as a world phone. It did ring, and she picked up after a long delay: “Hello, who is this?”

  “Rachel? This is David. Something came up and I need to speak with you. Are you far?”

  “I am in front of the hotel looking at a nice store that sells Dead Sea cosmetics. I’ll be upstairs in a moment.”

  “No, wait for me there. We can walk around the hotel and take a look at the boys while we talk.”

  When he saw his wife, David repeated to her his cousin’s proposition.

  “Well, I see no problem with that,” she said “Why didn’t you agree immediately?”

  “Because I have a high security clearance in the U.S., which will be withdrawn if I get Israeli citizenship and getting an ID and a work permit are the first steps towards citizenship. Ze’ev also said that some of the jobs will be offered only if I am committed to staying here, and I am not sure I am.”

  “You are speaking as if we can return to the U.S. of our time. I don’t think it's going to happen. Even if the Israelis knew how to go back, which according to what everybody says, they don’t, they’re not stupid enough to actually do it. I heard a discussion on TV: The longer we stay in this time, the more technology leaks, especially with the efforts to rescue the European Jews that were announced yesterday. If the country travels forward to our time, the rest of the world will have had all those years to develop this leaked technology, which means that Israel will probably have lost the edge over its enemies it enjoyed in our time-line. That would be a disaster. I think that we are here to stay and should act accordingly. Take the ID and work permit and look at what jobs are available.” Rachel was slightly out of breath from the combination of a long speech and fast walk.

  “You think that I should take one of the jobs they offer me?” David asked.

  “No, I think you should listen to the offers and decide later. You were never happy working for someone else. The only thing that you were content with was being your own boss. Maybe you can set up your own business here.”

  “I can certainly try.” David smiled.

  ***

  The Chief of
the General Security Service (the Shin Bet) and the head of the Institute for Intelligence, otherwise known as the Mossad (which means Institute in Hebrew), met for one of their regular meetings over a cup of coffee.

  “We have the guy you told me about last week. I'm sorry the other one was killed while trying to cross the border into Jordan. Really stupid of him to cross through all the minefields. The first two that tried ahead of this bunch were arrested. We had no choice since the idiots tried to attack the border guard instead of just sneaking through. I don’t think any more are coming.” The Chief of the Shin Bet smiled. “Now it's your job to figure out what to do with the guy.”

  “I have a plan,” responded the Mossad Chief, “but I will need your continued cooperation. The first thing we need to do is keep the courier unconscious until we are ready for him in a day or so.”

  “Agreed. We'll be ready as will our courier, Ibrahim.”

  ***

  When Ibrahim woke up he was slightly confused. He clearly remembered walking in the desert just south of the Israeli border into the Sinai, and then he woke up here, wherever here was. He was in a clean bed in an even cleaner room. There was a big flag with a swastika on the wall as well as a poster with verses from the Koran and a picture of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Hajj Amin Al Hussein, in a sleek black uniform, next to a larger photograph of Hitler. Ibrahim had a splitting headache and a painfully sore spot on his calf, which was red and slightly swollen.

  “What happened to me?” he asked as soon as a doctor entered the room – it had to be a doctor, with a white coat and a stethoscope.

  “You were bitten by a snake in the desert three days ago,” the doctor explained. You were found by Bedouin, who brought you to an Egyptian army post where they notified one of our agents. You were carrying some very interesting documents, which justified the expense and effort of bringing you to here. I hope that you will be able to explain all this to us.”

  Ibrahim noticed that the doctor was speaking Arabic with a German accent, which reassured him. “I want to see the Grand Mufti. Only to him can I disclose the message I am carrying.”

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” the doctor said. “You need to recover from the snake poison. You are among friends here. This is the base hospital of the Muslim SS Handschar division the Grand Mufti organized a while ago. He is now in Croatia and it will take him a while to arrive. You really need to rest.” The doctor left and shortly thereafter Ibrahim fell asleep again.

  ***

  The German ambassador, Von Weizsacker, was somewhat discomforted by the Duce’s skepticism “But Il Duce," he said, "I am only repeating the main points of the Fuehrer’s letter to you. The arrangements we want to make in Brindisi are in no way a concentration camp. We have an arrangement to transport all the Jews from Europe to Palestine, and Brindisi is the best port for it. I assure you this is a completely peaceful endeavor and will not involve Italy in any hostilities. We also do not require any active participation from you.”

  Mussolini was not entirely convinced: “You want to take over the port of Brindisi, including all the warehouses and the area around it. How can I allow Germany to establish a concentration camp on my territory? This is a breach of Italian sovereignty.”

  “But this is not going to be a concentration camp,” Von Weizsacker argued patiently. “I propose that we prove it to you. Your co-operation will be a great expression of your good will for Herr Hitler and will insure growing friendship between our countries.” The last phrase could be interpreted as a threat since the ambassador had instructions to settle this issue as quickly as he could. Ribbentrop’s instructions were confirmed by Goering, so the ambassador did what he could.

  “How do you propose to prove that it is not going to be a concentration camp?” Mussolini smiled his skeptical smile again.

  “We will bring several thousand Jews into the compound, and they will be picked up by a British passenger ship within a day or two of arrival. Will this convince you?”

  Mussolini was surprised and it showed on his face: “What do you mean by a ‘British’ ship? Is this some kind of code?”

  “Sir,” Von Weizsacker smiled, “this is another proof of our good intentions. The British are acting on the request of a neutral party to help evacuate these Jews. Apparently they too don’t want them in Europe and have agreed to help us. It is up to Italy to enable this great project.”

  “I agree in principle,” Mussolini paused, “but Italy will not spend one lira on this project. It will be your responsibility to house, feed and guard the Jews while they are on Italian territory. We will do nothing to help you, and I expect this not to disrupt our war effort at all. I am somewhat suspicious of the British ships. How can they cooperate with this while at the same time fighting us in Northern Africa?”

  “The neutral party that’s taking the Jews off our hands is in fact a powerful Muslim country.” Von Weizsacker smiled triumphantly. “They will be the ones feeding the Jews, providing housing and guarding them. We’re only building a perimeter fence. The Muslims will not venture beyond it. This arrangement will free our troops to help you out more decisively in North Africa.”

  “That's a powerful argument,” Mussolini said firmly. “My preference would be to negotiate with these Muslims directly,” Von Weizsacker started to raise his hand, “but I respect Herr Hitler’s judgment and will not interfere in his plans.”

  Ambassador Von Weizsacker relaxed. He had done his part and the project could go ahead.

  ***

  Jacob Hirshson did not say “I told you so” but he definitely thought it. His family and that of his friend Zalman Gurevich shared one room, also housing an old woman, her cat and a young couple with their baby. It was noisy and crowded with no privacy. It took two weeks after the Germans occupied Vilnius for the Lithuanian Jews to find out what their Polish brethren had already discovered: the Nazis really hated the Jews and did what they could to make life hell for them. The oppression started a couple of days after the occupation when they decreed that all Jews had to wear a white armband with a yellow star; several people who were caught without them got beaten up. Then came an edict making it mandatory for Jews to work in jobs assigned by the German occupation administration. Zalman lost his grocery store, which was now in the hands on one of his Lithuanian neighbors. The next order forced all the Jews of the Vilnius area into a ghetto that was much too small for the population. Actually it was two ghettos, one small, one large. Jacob was especially aggravated because neither of the ghettos included the Jewish neighborhood where he and his family had lived. They had to abandon their spacious apartment and move a couple of blocks into the larger of the two ghettos. Jacob and Zalman were lucky to have a room. People were living on landings and staircases. Food was also getting scarce. Jacob smuggled some in but only when older German soldiers were on guard. He was especially careful with the Lithuanian police and even more so with the Ukrainian guards.

  “I heard a rumor today at work,” Jacob confided in Zalman one evening. “One of the German Jews that came here through the Warsaw ghetto said that it is being evacuated. People are allowed to take one suitcase with them and are given some food for the trip. They are warned that the food has to last a week. He heard from a Polish railway worker that they are being transported to Italy.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Zalman responded. “I don’t believe these rumors. Germans giving food for a week! To Jews!”

  Jacob did not respond. He also was not confident in the truth of this story – Why would the Germans move Jews to Italy? It made no sense.

  ***

  Sergeant Bohdan Kovalenko stood at attention in front of his platoon commander and an SS officer. The SS man had arrived this morning to their quarters in Vilnius. Bohdan’s unit was assigned guard duty at the Jewish ghetto. Bohdan liked it. It was easy work and he got to beat up Jews. It was true that in Podolsk, where he was born and grew up, he had worked for a Jewish food store manager. The Jew treated him well, and in the years
of the great Ukrainian famine saved his life and the life of his mother by sharing the meager food he managed to find. Bohdan spent his childhood with the neighborhood kids, who were Jewish. He spoke their language and knew how they behaved. Still he hated them. The parish priest said that he needed to hate them and he didn’t think about it much.

  “Bohdan, we have a special assignment for you,” the SS officer announced. “How is your Yiddish?”

  The question scared Bohdan Kovalenko. Were they considering the possibility of him being Jewish? The fact that he was fluent in the language did not make him a Jew. The SS officer seemed to understand his concern: “Sergeant Kovalenko, we are looking for a good Ukrainian, faithful to our cause, who is fluent in Yiddish. According to your records, you are such a person. You’ll be performing a very valuable service for the Reich.”

  Bohdan saluted and clicked his heels as enthusiastically as he knew how.

  The SS man spoke with him for close to half an hour, most of the time in Yiddish. After he was certain that the Ukrainian sergeant was fluent in the language, the officer told him to get into the waiting staff car. Several weeks of grueling training followed, including radio communications and a variety of spy tricks. Bohdan was given false papers in the name of Boruch Katzenelson and memorized his new history as a native of Lutsk – one of the few survivors of the pogrom there almost a month ago. He was then brought into the Vilnius ghetto as a transferee from another ghetto in the Ukraine. His instructions were simple: spy on the Jews and report to his SS control. He was to go with the Jews when they were transported to Palestine and continue reporting as frequently as he could, using local contacts among the Arabs or, as a last resort, the radio transmitter hidden in his suitcase. Bohdan was promised an officer’s rank and a rich reward when he returned from his assignment. He knew that if he failed, his family would pay the ultimate price.

  Bohdan was not alone. The SS were taking precautions and planted a number of spies among the Jews. Some of the spies were Jewish. The number of Jews they were able to recruit was small. The Jews were not leaving families behind and the only leverage the Nazis could use was a promise of future payments. Several German Jews, who considered themselves Germans first, agreed to help out of a sense of patriotism.