I gulped more water. Nerves again.
“Team two has recovered documents, expects to leave premises within ten minutes.”
“Great,” said Benny in a low voice standing next to me. “That's what I want, and that was fast.”
I noticed that the back of my shirt was wet. I looked at Benny; I could detect sweat even on cool Benny's forehead. The temperature outside was near freezing, but the heat in the room was almost palpable from our excitement and the warmth generated by the computers and other equipment.
“Team one reporting that the volume of documents in the vault is enormous; there's no time to photocopy it all.”
Eric looked at Benny. “What do you think?”
“Ask him if there's any cash in the vault.”
Eric nodded to the operator who relayed the question.
The coded answer came in quickly. “Yes, 200,000 to 300,000 German marks.”
Benny thought for a moment, and said, “How many documents have they already photocopied and how many more are left?”
“They say that they copied just one file, but there are more than sixty.”
“Tell them to focus on anything that looks to be connected to the Iranians; we don't need anything about other sleazy money-laundering operations. Can they do that?”
“Yes, they think that for sure there are fifteen files connected to the Iranians.”
“How long would it take to copy those?”
“They still couldn't make it by morning.”
Nothing was said about DeLouise's files. I had initiated the operation and my objectives were being overlooked.
Benny turned to Eric. “Here's what I suggest. Let them continue with the copying until 5 A.M. That's almost two hours before sunrise, so they could still leave in the dark. Then tell them to remove all the cash in the vault and the files that haven't been copied.”
“Fine with me,” said Eric. “I suggest we send Dan to join them; he could help them sort out what files to take. After all, these are the bank's files and he is familiar with that kind of paperwork.” Encoded orders were relayed.
“Go ahead, send Dan, there's plenty of work for anyone coming to help.”
“Dan?” said Eric.
“I'm ready, who'll be driving me?” I was already having reise fieber, the German word for hectic excitement in anticipation of travel.
Andy, a young man in jeans, drove me to the bank in a white Ford Taurus. An observer standing on the outside signaled Yuval, who was inside the bank, and the side door was opened for me. Nobody seemed to notice. There was barely any traffic in the street during the blackout and the entire process of my entry took less than two minutes. A bigger problem waited for me inside. It was completely dark; I had no flashlight and nearly fell off the stairs. “Dan?” I heard a whisper in Hebrew. “Come here.”
“Nice idea,” I said, “but I can't see a damn thing.”
“Wait, I'm coming to get you.” Yuval came closer to me holding a flashlight. His face looked odd when the only source of light that illuminated him came from below. He gave me a pair of plastic gloves. “Put them on,” he ordered. He also gave me cloth-covered rubbers to put over my shoes, giving me the look of a surgeon going into the operating room. Finally he gave me a wool cap to put on my head to prevent any hair from falling out and leading to me – if they happened to have my DNA.
“We don't want to leave any prints or marks around,” he said. We climbed the stairs into the executive floor and passed the secretarial workstation into Guttmacher's office. The closet was wide open. A flashlight was mounted on a tripod and Shimon was busy taking photos of files. “Hi,” he raised his head. “Welcome to our studio. Here, look at these files and see which are the best for us. There is so much we could photocopy. To me they all look the same. So pick up what's important.”
I quickly sifted through the pile. There was so much there that I felt lost at first. Then I developed a method. I picked a file and searched for key words inside, such as Iran, or nuclear, or chemicals. I immediately identified six such files and I gave them to Shimon. “Make photocopies of these,” I said. “But use discretion; we don't need every piece of paper, such as postal receipts or copies of documents when you have the original. The German secretary seems to keep many documents in triplicate, God knows why; don't repeat her mistakes.”
I progressed very slowly, reading each file under the ineffective light of the flashlight. I separated the files into two piles: the first for files containing significant information, the second for files that were unimportant. I was thirsty but didn't want to waste time by looking for water. The pile with interesting stuff grew taller. The amounts involved were significant. It seemed that the Iranians were willing to pay big bucks for the best machinery, parts, compounds, and chemicals. Most of the vendors were German, Austrian, and French, but I also identified Belgian and Swiss companies. The use of offshore companies was substantial. There were addresses of companies in Liechtenstein, Cyprus, Jersey Islands, and the Cayman Islands. Obviously the goods purchased from these companies hadn't been manufactured in these tax havens, which were most likely used to mask the true origin of the goods.
Many of the files had no connection to Iran. A quick look revealed that they documented substantial money movements during a period of two years, clean words for dirty work: money laundering for private individuals who had difficulties sharing their fortunes with others, be it their government's tax authority or their creditors.
Two hours went by, and Shimon with Yuval's help worked relentlessly in photocopying with their two state-of-the-art document cameras. “Did you see the DeLouise files yet?” I finally let my curiosity get the better of me.
“Yes,” said Shimon, “I think I did two already.”
A call came in from the outside. “Report progress.”
“We have more files than we could photocopy by the deadline,” reported Yuval.
The official word came from Benny in a coded message. “Continue with the copying until 5 A.M., which is almost two hours before sunrise, so you can still leave in the dark. Then remove all the cash in the vault and the files that haven't been copied.” I thought it was a smart move. When the break-in was discovered the bank would realize that, apart from the money, the burglars also took a few files to sell, to capitalize on them later.
I knew what Benny was plotting. We'd done it before. After the removed files had been copied Benny would anonymously engage underworld figures, who'd have no knowledge of what had gone on, to contact Guttmacher and offer to sell him these files. That move could help convince the Iranians that the break-in was perpetrated by thieves and not by a foreign-intelligence service. If Benny wanted to expose the Iranian clandestine nuclear-purchasing mission, his men would then tip off the police about the forthcoming transaction. All involved would be arrested and publicly exposed.
We barely exchanged any words. I finished going over the pile. “I'm done,” I reported. “What do I do? Wait for Yuval and Shimon until they finish, or return?”
“Sending a car for you,” came the response. It was a good move, reducing the number of people leaving the bank, thereby reducing the chance of being spotted. I was no longer needed at the bank, because only Yuval and Shimon had cameras.
“See you later,” I said, and started on my way down, escorted by Yuval carrying his flashlight. I got to the side door and tried to open it. It was locked. I put my ear to the door to hear if any noise was coming from the outside before I made another attempt. It was quiet. I tried the door again; there was no question it was locked, not jammed. I looked at Yuval, “You try.”
He did, but still we could not open the door. We quickly went upstairs to alert Shimon. “Where are the keys?” I asked. “The damn door is locked.”
Shimon raised his head in surprise. “The keys work only from the outside, and on the inside there is a latch that you have to turn.”
“I did just that but the door wouldn't open.”
Shimon went do
wnstairs with us and tried the door. “You're right, it's locked, not jammed. I can break it, but I need to know if there is anyone on the outside who might hear me.”
Yuval radioed the sentinel, who was positioned in a rented office across the street.
“The coast is clear,” came the answer.
Shimon ran upstairs and brought a small toolbox.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I need to pick this lock, the mechanism seems to be stuck,” he said. “In a normal deadbolt lock, a movable bolt or latch is embedded in the door so it can be extended out the side. This bolt is lined up with a notch in the frame. When you turn the lock, the bolt extends into the notch in the frame so the door can't move. There are pins inside that are pushed correctly if you have the right key.” He took a long pick that curved up at the end out of the toolbox. After several attempts, the door was still locked. Precious photocopying time was being lost.
“Yuval,” said Shimon, “why don't you go back upstairs and continue copying while I try to unlock this door.” Yuval took his flashlight and climbed the stairs. I was standing next to Shimon. We took from his toolbox a tension wrench and a thin flathead screwdriver. We tried several more tries, to no avail.
“OK,” said Shimon, “I can break the door, but we risk being discovered and we'd need to leave as soon as I break it because we can't leave the bank broken open and continue to work upstairs. It'd be only a question of time before the police get our asses. We need to go to plan B.”
“Which is?”
“The one I thought of before we stole the keys: through the roof. We go out through a window on the third floor, or directly climb the roof if there is a way, and lower ourselves to a tree in the backyard of the bank.”
I wasn't thrilled with the idea. I never saw myself performing as a trapeze artist in a circus.
“Do the three of us need to do that?”
“No,” said Shimon with a smile, sensing my reluctance. “I'll do it and then try to open the door from the outside. Once in the street I can see if danger is looming.”
“Let's try it then,” I said.
We went upstairs, alerted Yuval on the change of plans, radioed central about the problem, and climbed the stairs to the third floor. The entire floor was used for file storage and was rather cramped.
Shimon lighted the ceiling with his flashlight. “Here, there are wooden stairs to the roof,” he said, “I can go through there. That will save me from climbing from the third-floor window. Wait here, I'll be right back.” He went downstairs and returned with a rope and tied it around his waist. “When I give you the word, tie the end of the rope to this column,” he pointed to a concrete pillar in the middle of the floor. “Once I'm on the ground, I'll pull the rope three times to signal you to pull back the rope. Then go downstairs to the door and wait for me there. Here, keep that for me,” he said, and handed me the rubbers from his shoes, his gloves, and his cap. “I wouldn't like to explain if I'm stopped wearing these,” he said with a smile.
Shimon climbed the wooden stairs to the roof, opened the latch holding a small wooden door on the ceiling, and pushed himself in. After five minutes, which seemed like eternity, I felt the rope tugged three times. I quickly pulled back the rope and hurried downstairs, waiting for him at the door. I was tense and restless. I waited for a few minutes but nothing happened. I didn't hear any activity next to the locked door. I heard cars passing and conversations in German, but no sign of Shimon. I went back to Guttmacher's office and asked Yuval to radio the sentinel outside whether he could see Shimon.
“He can,” came the answer, “but he can't approach the door. There's too much activity in the street. He's hiding behind a parked van waiting for the commotion to let up.”
I rushed back down to the door and waited. I heard the door lock being worked on, and a moment later it opened. “Quick,” said Shimon, “go out. Andy is waiting for you in a black Mercedes taxi one hundred yards up the street.”
I removed my shoe rubbers, gloves, and cap, and gave them to Shimon. “Your stuff is here as well,” I said, pointing to the floor, and slipped out the door while Shimon entered the bank, closing the door behind him. I started walking slowly up the street. The street was dark with few cars passing, many of them taxicabs and police. I saw Andy waiting for me in the Mercedes. He drove me back to the safe house.
As I entered the room I could hear the report: “Team two is outside the target and is on its way to the safe house.”
I could hear a slight sigh of relief in the room.
“Team three reports increased police activity in the area. They think it's connected to the blackout. The utility company workers broke the control-box lock, but the power is still not on. They're still checking the box.”
Benny looked at Eric. “Let's wait,” said Eric.
“Team three reports power restored in the block. Utility company workers leaving but the police cars are still in the area.”
“Call team number one. Report if any of the bank's alarm systems were triggered after power was restored.”
“Negative,” came the answer. “They took care of it before the power went on again; they have the keys, remember?”
“Ask team three if their car has been detected.”
“No, their scanner just picked up the police radio; they believe that the police patrol is routine. Anyway, they're still in the rented office.”
“Good,” said Eric.
“Team two reports arrival at safe house and radio reporting is off.”
Eric wiped perspiration from his forehead. I was surprised, considering he was such a cold-blooded eel; I figured he probably sent his wife a written memo if he wanted to have sex with her.
Hours went by. I stretched out on the couch. Only the intermittent sounds of incoming reports broke the silence. Just before 5:00 A.M. Eric asked, “How are they doing there?”
“Twelve files copied; there are at least four more.”
“OK, tell them to wrap it up. Remove the cash and the relevant files together with four additional files that are clearly, I repeat clearly, unconnected to the Iranians, and leave.”
So Eric was extending Benny's idea. They would look even more like random burglars by taking unrelated files. “Wait,” I said to Eric. “Tell them to search Guttmacher's desk drawers.”
“Why?” asked a surprised Eric. “There couldn't be anything important to us in the desk.”
“True,” I said, “but we want to create the impression that burglars broke into the bank, and that's what a burglar would do.” My training kicked in again.
“OK,” said Eric, and gave the order.
The man with the headset said to Eric, “They found a personal diary and a checkbook and ask what to do with it.”
“I suggest you tell them to photocopy all entries in the diary during the past month, but take the checkbook,” I said. Eric agreed. “Tell team three to scour the area before they're picked up,” he added.
Fifteen minutes later the word came. “Team one outside the target.”
“All clear,” came the response a few minutes later. “Teams one and three are on their way to their safe houses.”
I shook Eric's hand; it was wet with perspiration. “Congratulations,” I said.
“Thanks for your help,” said the visibly drained Eric. “Now we need to see what we got.” Eric's technical staff started dismantling the equipment. Minutes later Tom and Jeff of team three walked in. They were unshaven and looked tired. “Mission accomplished,” said Tom.
“Good work,” said Eric. “Did you clean the rented office?”
“Yes, I made sure nothing was left behind aside from the documents intended to be left there, those collected from the garbage cans of a big Hollywood studio.” He chuckled. “The landlord will be surprised that his tenants disappeared, although the rent was paid until the end of the month.”
“That has been taken care of,” said Eric. “A letter will be delivered to him on Monday gi
ving him notice, a check for another month's rent, and an apology that the film-making project was delayed for several months.”
Benny smiled.
“Now,” continued Eric, “go home and get some sleep. I mean all of you, excluding the technical staff here. Our men will wrap up all the equipment and make sure nothing is left behind. As of now, this place is abandoned. Benny and Dan, I'll see you at the other safe house today at four in the afternoon. My men will pick you up from your hotels at 3:35 P.M. Each of you should leave here in opposite directions, even if you need to go to the same area. U-turn later. Leave at five-minute intervals. Remember, although it's early Sunday morning, there could be people outside. Don't arouse any suspicion; none of us look as if we belong here. Female members of our team, please leave together with a man to make it look like you are returning from a party.”
I got back to my hotel but couldn't sleep. The whole day had been intense; the adrenaline rush still hadn't subsided. Then I thought of Ariel. More calming than a pill. I fell asleep.
Tom picked me up on time, as usual, and took me to another safe house. The apartment was located in a high-rise building that looked out of place in this suburban neighborhood. But multistory buildings are a good location for a safe apartment because they give you a certain degree of anonymity. In a building with only six units every one may know everyone else, and a strange face can breed curiosity.
Benny and Eric were already there with the two men I'd seen earlier in the operation center. “These are my supervisors from Langley,” said Eric. “Phil Richards,” he pointed at a tall, slim man in his early fifties. I shook his hand. “And this is Arthur Brown, my direct supervisor.” Brown was a stocky African American with a firm handshake.
“Dan, nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you.”
“Please, I can explain,” I said grinning.
He smiled. “Not right now, we've got work to do.”
“We've had only an initial review of the material from the bank,” said Eric. “Most of it relates to the transactions Guttmacher was making with Broncotrade and the Iranians. It looks promising but we'll have to analyze it thoroughly.”
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