Traitor

by Jonathan de Shalit

  Either way, Aharon and Thomas had disappeared and she was sitting with her laptop open on the desk, and next to it three flash drives containing all the security footage from Bernhard & Sons from the past week. The screen was split into four sections, but one was black and displayed no data. A review of the initial images indicated to Adi that the store had two levels, each covered by a different camera. A third camera scanned the street, outside the entrance to the business. The images from the upper level also showed a door that led, she assumed, to Mr. Bernhard & Sons’ private office. Her guess was that the fourth camera covered the office itself, and she figured that with all due respect, Herr Bernhard wasn’t going to provide his good friends at the Zurich Police with the footage from the office without a court order. That probably explained the fourth, black, screen. She was going to have to work and come out on top with what she’d been left with, three screens in shades of gray and white. And that’s exactly what Adi was bent on doing.

  • • •

  The hours dragged by. Adi had seen a photograph of Julian Hart on the university website, and had committed it to memory. She was hoping to find him in the footage she’d been given, although in theory he could have purchased the statue through a catalog or online. She was no expert in the field, but assumed that one doesn’t purchase an antique wooden statue from the Middle Ages without first seeing it in person. She didn’t know what she was going to find, but she, too, was a believer in what Aharon and Michael termed “legwork,” and in her line of work, as an intelligence officer, that meant wading through more and more material, without getting tired, without losing faith, to press on with more, and then a little more after that. And that’s what she did. She studied the images from Bernhard & Sons until she could barely focus any longer. And then she went to the shower and ducked her head under the running water. The shock of the cold took her breath away. She dried her hair and returned doggedly to the small desk and her laptop. Everyone must be fast asleep at home. She brushed the images of her two young daughters from her thoughts. The earphones from her music player were in her ears, an old Oasis song, and her eyes were again fixed and focused on the screen in front of her.

  It was two-thirty in the morning when she finally caught sight of Julian Hart’s face in the footage from the camera that covered the store’s upper level. She was surprised she hadn’t seen him in the footage from the camera at the entrance, and she backtracked a little. Yes, that was him. She hadn’t recognized him due to the heavy coat and scarf he was wearing. Entering the store with him was another man, wearing sunglasses and a casquette. He appeared familiar, but she couldn’t identify him, both due to the hat and sunglasses and because most of his person remained hidden by Hart. She continued now, very slowly, her pulse pounding in her temples. She returned to the images of Hart inside the store, appearing relaxed and at ease. He took a close look at one of the pieces, it was hard to see if it was a chalice or statue, and then gestured to someone outside the frame, motioning for him to come over. And that someone did so. Alon Regev, the advisor to the prime minister of Israel. If Julian Hart was Brian, then Alon Regev was Cobra. And there they were, forever immortalized in the security footage from Bernhard & Sons, together, speaking to one another as friends. Without even a momentary glance at the time Adi called through to Aharon Levin’s room. She woke him and asked him to come to her room right away. Aharon groaned a little and said, “I’m just going to wash my face and I’ll be right there. You’ve done it, Adi, right? You’ve identified Cobra! Is it bad news or very bad news?”

  “Come and see, Aharon. You’re not going to like it.”

  58

  TOKYO, MARCH 2012

  Michael’s thoughts drifted to the past. He was back in Tokyo, high above the endless maze of streets. The city was dotted with billions of lights. Tiny glittering specks in a plethora of colors filled the expanse. From street level and reaching up to a height of hundreds of meters, on the uppermost floors of the skyscrapers. Lights of aircraft coming in to land, losing altitude on the approach to Haneda Airport, lights of huge ships in the bay, endless strings of lights snaking their way along the multilevel freeways, bridge lights hanging over the river.

  From afar, it was simply one of the billions of dots of light that gave the city its shimmering and flickering dimensions. But if, as in a movie, you were to zoom in on that particular dot superfast, you’d find yourself on the thirty-fourth floor of the hotel, your face pressed against the huge glass wall, while on the other side of it, exposed to the entire city, stood Michael Turgeman, muscular and slim and naked, water washing over his body in the extremely spacious shower cubicle with its black slate floor and black marble wall tiles. The water flowed freely, and the city lay spread out before Michael to the west in all its immensity and glory. Tears ran from his wide-open eyes, their saltiness swallowed up by the stream of water that washed over his face and body, mixing with the lemony fragrance of the shower gel. AnaÏs, AnaÏs. His body ached with longing.

  59

  JERUSALEM, PRESIDENT’S RESIDENCE, APRIL 2013

  Their meeting on this occasion took place in the president’s official chambers. Outside, the Jerusalem spring preened in all its glory, with the intoxicating scent of flowers in full bloom and pleasant light gusts of wind. The sky was blue and mostly clear, the occasional white clouds sailing by, sketched by an artist’s hand. The window of the president’s office that overlooked the beautiful garden in the backyard was open, the drapes were flapping in the breeze, and the Jerusalem air flowed in. Aharon Levin had already met with the president twice since being entrusted with the task of finding Cobra, but his report this time was more dramatic and significant than ever.

  “We’ve got him, Mr. President. And just as we feared, we’re dealing with the highest-level, the most terrible spy ever to operate in the state of Israel.”

  • • •

  “Simply unbelievable,” the president commented after listening to Aharon’s detailed briefing. “All our secrets, all of them, at least since Daniel Shalev first joined the cabinet, have been passed on to Moscow. And God only knows where else from there. And now that vermin’s in the Prime Minister’s Office. I just can’t get my head around it!”

  “You know, of course, that damage assessment in this instance is meaningless,” Aharon said. “Let me remind you that we have no definite information on what was passed on to the KGB and what wasn’t. But we have to work on the assumption that everything Alon Regev got his hands on ended up in their hands, too. And if this assumption is correct, the catastrophe is so immense that there’s actually nothing we can do. We have no way of limiting the damage, containing it. The only thing left for us to do is to prevent any further damage and to allow the damage that has already been caused to become outdated. And that will be a lengthy process. Certain fundamental intelligence can remain relevant for years.”

  “What about the option of beating the Russians at their own game?” the president asked. “We could arrest Regev and offer him a deal, under which he’ll feed his handlers with misinformation, with the aim of gradually undermining the genuine intelligence he’s been passing over to them all these years, of leading them to believe that the old information is no longer relevant, and that the new intelligence is valid and current?”

  “That would require allowing him to remain free,” Aharon replied. “And we’d have to come up with a very convincing charade that appears to indicate that he’s still tied very closely and firmly to the centers of power. If we simply play along—allow him to report daily to the Prime Minister’s Office, but put him in an empty and secluded room until the end of each day—the Russians will figure it out. We won’t be able to keep it under wraps. And for a ploy with a seemingly good chance of remaining unexposed, we’d have to recruit several confidants in the Prime Minister’s Office. But then, because so many individuals will be party to the secret, it’ll leak. And how will the prime minister and the people around him be able to function at all knowing that a
Russian spy, or former Russian spy, is working there alongside them in the very next room? Mr. President, the notion is a tempting one, and it’s sophisticated and has potential in theory, but I’m afraid it isn’t practical.”

  The president wasn’t convinced. “I think you’re talking from your heart and not your head,” he said. “You loathe this Cobra. I do, too. I can barely mention him by name. Dirty traitor. Piece of filth. That’s who he is. But all you can think about is exacting revenge. And I’m trying to figure out how we can limit the terrible damage he’s caused.” He fixed Aharon Levin with a weary look, the look of someone who has seen too much already. “But there is something to what you’re saying. Unfortunately, in practice, in the real world, we probably won’t be able to sustain a counterintelligence ploy of the kind I thought of for any length of time. It would be too complicated, someone will make a mistake, and the SVR will pick up on it. Those Russians aren’t amateurs. Not at all.”

  “Under such circumstances,” Aharon said, “revenge isn’t such a bad thing at all. But we still have a way to go before making a decision. What we have thus far is a collection of circumstantial evidence only. We’re one hundred percent sure, but we have nothing that actually incriminates Regev. My advice, Mr. President, is that we allow the Shin Bet to assume responsibility for handling the entire affair. Because we now know Cobra’s identity, and since we know he’s not a Shin Bet official, I can meet discreetly with the Shin Bet chief. The Shin Bet can handle things with caution, as they know how to do, without alerting Cobra before they decide to move against him. The Shin Bet has all the tools needed to deal with an incident of this kind. They have an excellent investigations division. If anyone can get a confession out of that man, they are the ones who will do so.”

  “Aharon. You convinced me earlier that the idea of turning Cobra into a double agent isn’t a good one. Now I’m convinced that your idea to allow the Shin Bet to handle the investigation from here onward is problematic. We’re dealing here with an unprecedented situation. Handling the affair through the official channels would exact a heavy price. Our hands would be tied in terms of the courses of action at our disposal, and the public exposure would be terribly costly for us, for the country as a whole. It would be impossible to keep the affair quiet for very long. Shame and a slap in the face aren’t legal grounds for secrecy and a gag order. And in today’s world, if the story is a good enough one, it’ll come out anyway. If not here, then abroad. Gag orders or not. Nothing can be kept a secret in the world of the Internet and cyberspace. If there will be official documentation, it would simply be a matter of time.”

  “We could argue that publication of the affair would undermine Israel’s foreign relations, and lead to a crisis of faith between ourselves and our allies, and the United States first and foremost. There you have cause to justify casting a cloak of secrecy over everything.”

  “We could argue anything and everything, and even rightly so in that regard. After all, the Americans would lose all faith in us if espionage of such proportions were to come to light. Who knows how many American secrets have found their way to the Russians via Cobra? That’s all we need. And the Americans won’t forgo an orderly process of damage control. They will want to know about every classified U.S. document that has ever passed through Regev’s hands. There’ll be no end to it. It’ll be a nightmare, a nightmare for generations to come.”

  “Well, there you have your reason for imposing the gag order.”

  “Aharon, Aharon, there’s one thing no one’s ever accused you of. Naïveté. Do you really think the story can be kept quiet?”

  Aharon conceded. “If we bring more people into the know and if we initiate official proceedings, then you’re right. There’s zero chance of keeping the affair under wraps. None whatsoever. Not in today’s world.”

  “And so,” the president responded, “I want you to listen to me carefully now. I want you to have a talk with Alon Regev, with Cobra. To hear what that snake has to say. True, we won’t be able to do damage control with respect to all the intelligence he’s passed on over the years. But it’s vital that we ascertain what he knows about the main project that we’re currently working on; and if he does know something, we have to find out if he’s passed on anything, even suggestively, to his handlers. It’s critical, Aharon. It’s our biggest problem right now, and you have to clarify this matter. You can bring another two or three former Shin Bet investigators into your team. That I’ll sanction. I don’t want any formal process. No official documentation. Get to the truth on this. We have to know. And you’ll brief me again word for word. And then I want you to take care of him as you see fit. Do whatever needs to be done.”

  “Mr. President.” Aharon stood, a stern, grave look on his face. The president appeared to be reading through some document on his desk and didn’t look up. Without shaking the president’s hand and without bidding him farewell, Aharon exited the office and headed toward the staircase leading to the dimly lit entrance hall. The courtyard outside the residence was bathed in the afternoon sunlight, and Aharon squinted his eyes against the glare.

  60

  HERZLIYA, DAN ACCADIA HOTEL, APRIL 2013

  Aharon stood up when he saw Alon Regev enter the hotel and start walking through the lobby. Aslan and Amir were keeping an eye on him from behind, from the street outside. Aharon approached Alon and shook his hand.

  “You wanted to meet with me,” Alon said, a smile on his face, his eyes icy. The last time they had met, Alon was serving as aide to Daniel Shalev.

  “I have a few things to tell you, and I have several questions, too. I think you’ll find our talk interesting, and certainly important. Let’s go upstairs. I have a room where we can talk undisturbed.”

  • • •

  Two hours earlier, Amir and Aslan were getting into position outside Alon Regev’s home in Tzahala. They used their vehicle to block the driveway to the home’s parking garage and made sure they also had a view of the gate to the residence. There was one car in the garage, a silver Audi TT, with two mountain bikes standing by its side. The Regev family’s second car, a dark blue BMW 730, was parked on the street. Someone had been too lazy to drive into the garage, Aslan remarked to himself. He and Amir had a wager on which car Alon intended to use. Amir emerged victorious following a stakeout that lasted an hour and a half. Alon opened the gate and walked toward the BMW. Aslan and Amir got out of their vehicle and approached him. They moved up very close to him, and Alon felt trapped between them and the door of his car.

  “Alon Regev?” Aslan asked in a pleasant tone of voice.

  “And who are you?” Alon asked with a degree of belligerence he didn’t feel he truly had in him.

  “Good morning. I’m Eitan, and this is Eli,” Aslan responded, glancing briefly at Amir. Aharon Levin you surely know. He’d like to talk to you.”

  “So why doesn’t Aharon Levin take it upon himself to call and make an appointment?”

  “Mr. Levin would like you to accompany us and to join him for a meeting right now. It’s important and urgent, and he wanted us to inform you in person that he expects you to come, and will be very sorry if you refuse to do so.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Yes, you have a choice. We aren’t here in an official capacity, and Aharon Levin isn’t on official duty either. We thought that would be better for all parties involved.”

  “Good on you for thinking,” Alon retorted cynically.

  “It’s best if you come with us. We’ll give you a ride back later. It’s not far. Aharon Levin is waiting for you at the Dan Accadia.”

  Aslan opened the door of the rented car with exaggerated courteousness. Alon slipped quietly into the backseat.

  • • •

  Aharon and Alon were sitting opposite each other in the living room of the hotel suite. Between them stood a low table boasting an ostentatious fruit bowl. The large window offered a view of a shimmering blue sea. Michael, Ya’ara, and Adi were in one of the
nearby rooms. Ya’ara had come straight from Ben Gurion International Airport. Adi had managed to stop off at home on the way, to kiss her girls and convey instructions to the nanny. They were sitting in front of a large monitor and could hear and see what was happening in the suite, thanks to the admirable handiwork of Aslan, who had rigged the rooms ahead of time. A laptop was recording everything.

  “Alon Regev,” Aharon Levin said with a grave expression on his face, “let me begin in fact with the bottom line: For thirty years now you’ve been a spy in the service of the KGB, which following the fall of the Soviet Union became an organization known as the SVR. Your current handler, who’s been running you for quite some time already, goes by the name of Julian Hart, and you know him as Brian. He may look and talk and behave like a bona fide American, but he’s a born-and-bred Russian. He was probably christened with a different name at birth. You and Brian met less than a week ago in Zurich. There hasn’t been a single state secret to which you’ve been privy that you haven’t passed on to your handlers. We’re talking about an alarmingly large number of secrets that people have guarded with their lives. And you have placed them in foreign hands without giving it a second thought. This betrayal,” Aharon sternly said, “ends here and now.”

  Alon remained silent. Michael thought he saw the color drain from his face, but it could have been the monitor playing tricks on him. Alon was sitting stiff and upright in his armchair, fixing Aharon with a cold, sharp stare.