by Niv Kaplan
It only added to the confusion.
Passenger lists were double checked, ground crews, pilots and flight attendants were questioned. Passport control, customs and immigration documents were inspected. Security surveillance tapes were examined. She never left the country.
The ordeal grew more bizarre by the hour and the Israeli internal security arm, the Shin Bet, the Mossad, Army intelligence, and the Police Central Investigation Division, were all getting involved.
Captain Gadot was running out of time. Pressure was mounting and he needed to provide some quick answers.
CHAPTER 6
Naftali Mizrahi was nervous. He kept rubbing the sweat off his forehead as he anxiously paced the tunnel inside the gate. His shirt was soaked and large wet circles had formed under his armpits. He angrily loosened his tie, took off his jacket, and lit another cigarette.
He hated his boss for giving him the dirty jobs.
He was in his early forties, average height, dark skin, very bulky with enormous arms and an unpleasant stare under black, bushy eyebrows that met at the bridge of a very large crooked nose. He was in top physical shape that was getting harder to maintain. His sideburns were turning gray, his ears began to grow hairs, and he was losing his eyesight. They'd fire him on the spot if they knew. He knew his days at the Shin Bet were numbered and he dreaded the thought of leaving the job. He could live on the pension, but he would be crushed without the activity. He was part of the team. He belonged. He needed a reason to wake up in the morning.
His orders were clear. Say nothing, reveal nothing. Keep them in the dark, avoid the major issues until reaching headquarters, and most important, keep the press away.
The girl's parents were due to arrive on El Al flight 002 from New York at 3:15 PM. He was to meet them in the tunnel, before they reached the gate, escort them through the restricted area, bypass customs and immigration, and lead them out through a side exit into the waiting unmarked police car.
He had 15 minutes.
He reached down and jerked the short wave radio from his belt and checked with his driver and two agents. The car was in place ignited and ready to go. Agent Alef was at the side exit accompanying a special airport envoy who was to open the gate. Agent Gimel was at the main terminal. He reported that the press had gotten wind of this most anticipated arrival and were piling in.
“Too bad...” Mizrahi thought with satisfaction. They'll never get to see them. He had no compassion for the press. They were the real enemy in his eyes. Having influenced too many delicate operations, they had no regard for keeping their traps shut about classified operations.
The cumbersome El Al Boeing 747 was slowly approaching its parking site. Mizrahi alerted his agents, put on his jacket, straightened his suit, demolished his cigarette, and stood erect. The plane halted and shut off the piercing engine noise and soon the passengers began filing out. They climbed down a flight of stairs onto the tarmac and boarded the buses which transported them to the Arrivals terminal.
Mizrahi stood back and surveyed the passengers. His heart missed a beat as he saw the girl. There was no mistaking. He had seen her pictures in the files, with the search crews, on the evening news, and in all the papers. It was either her or her twin sister with the parents by her side. They were stumbling along trying to keep up with the mob, a bewildered expression on their faces. He swallowed hard and stepped forward.
"Mr. Glass? Mr. Paul Glass?" he inquired, blocking their path, speaking English with a heavy accent.
The three stopped and looked at each other, confused. Glass stepped in front of the women and nodded.
"Naftali Mizrahi, Israeli Foreign Ministry." Mizrahi formally introduced himself, producing ID showing his picture and an official looking golden badge. He then held out his hand.
It was a long, awkward moment before Glass responded, studying the agent carefully before extending his hand. "This is my wife Martha and my daughter Lisa," he said in a hoarse voice.
Mizrahi shook their hands. He wasn't aware the sister was coming. He noticed the dark rings under the women's reddened eyes. The makeup couldn't hide the anxiety and distress. They put up a respectable front, but seemed ready to burst into tears at any moment.
"We've taken special measures to expedite your arrival," he said putting his identification back in his jacket's inner pocket. "Please follow me."
He pointed to the direction from where they had just arrived. The family was too exhausted to question his authority and obediently swung around and followed him back out onto the tarmac where a security car pulled up. They filed in and drove away passing parked airplanes and cargo hangars. The agent met them at an isolated exit. Mizrahi got out and approached the airport representative who disconnected the alarm system at an adjacent electrical power box, produced a large key bundle, fumbled with it and opened the gate. They all filed into the unmarked, gray police car, which took off the instant the doors slammed shut.
"Where are we going?" Mizrahi heard Mrs. Glass ask in what sounded like a whisper.
Sitting next to the driver, he turned his head and addressed them.
"First, I'd like to say on behalf of the Israeli government and everyone involved that we share your grief and that we are doing our very best to resolve the situation.
“You'll have anything you wish at your disposal for as long as it takes and that includes a car and a driver 24 hours a day. We are also paying for your accommodation at the Tel Aviv Hilton."
The three in the back stared at him blankly as he continued. "We are currently on our way to meet the heads of the investigation. They will brief you on what transpired from the moment your daughter disappeared." He abruptly stopped and faced the road, turning away from them.
"Mr. Mizrahi," he heard Glass begin to speak, "what do you mean disappeared? Are you considering a possibility she was not forced against her will?"
Mizrahi turned around. Glass was trying to control his rage but his eyes gave it away. He was ready to burst.
"Mr. Glass," he began calmly, "I was never in your position so I won't claim to know how you feel at this moment. I understand you need answers right away but I ask you to be patient until we reach headquarters. I have no knowledge of what has been established and even if I did, I have no authority to discuss it here. You've been flying for over 20 hours - you must be exhausted. I suggest you try to relax, we should be there in a few minutes."
He noticed Mrs. Glass putting her arm on her husband's shoulder. Fighting to control his emotions he finally looked away and said nothing.
"What about our luggage?" he heard the daughter ask.
He turned and gave her an obnoxious smile noting that up close, she looked different from her sister. She was sitting between her parents, barely able to fit in her long slender legs. Wearing a white blouse and a tight pair of jeans her hair which curled down her shoulders was a shade more brunette than blond and the color of her eyes transformed from gray to green coinciding with the location of the sun. The skin on her plumb nose and traceable cheekbones was partially pealing from a tan but her expression was one of worry.
"Your luggage will be waiting for you at the Hilton," Mizrahi said then turned around and did not look back until they reached their destination.
-------
Mikki lay on his back, oblivious to the surroundings, studying the different shapes created by the shadows on his ceiling. Sleepless for days he had countless fantasies and endless visions, picturing her in a myriad of circumstances, one more terrifying than the other. It was all he could do to try and reason such chaos.
Did she run away? He mused, shutting his eyes in dismay wondering what was making him consider such a possibility. It felt terrifying but made no sense. Too drastic a measure for the kind of relationship they had had. She could have just as easily walked away.
“Nothing is ever what it seems…” he recalled her saying. “Nothing is ever what it looks like on the surface…”
"What an odd thing to say, Karen," he wh
ispered to himself thinking that her disappearance almost seemed predetermined; a prophecy that had fulfilled itself. It now seemed as if she had considered herself condemned all along, anticipating such fate; then it happened, quick and merciless.
With his mind in such turmoil, it was becoming difficult to form a clear vision of her in his head. Her beauty and charm became distant and vague. She had offered a glimpse of her forsaken world the day she disappeared, now seeming ages ago, and she had wanted to talk then, but something curtailed her. He remembered her reaction when he had asked about the scar. The question had terrified her, and not for the first time.
“It's a dark world, Mikki, sick and frightening…”
He wondered what caused such pain. What could be so frightening and so terrible that she wouldn't be able to tell him?
Nothing made sense but his mind would not stop racing. The shadows on the ceiling were forming a train. He could see passengers; he could see her again; she is smiling, she is happy…
A dark shadow erased the image. The ceiling turned black. Was he a butt of a joke, or a prank, or just another incidental element in some plot he wasn't aware of? Anything seemed possible. He recalled the agonizing first weeks of uncertainty, watching from afar as she got accustomed to kibbutz life. He had almost given up, thinking it was pointless to chase such trouble, when they suddenly clicked. He tried to envisage the relationship that would have evolved but could not get very far. It had started out so beautifully.
The images came back, haunting, threatening…
“Where are you, Karen? Give us a sign,” he thought as his eyes closed and he fell into fitful sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Captain Gabi Gadot was perplexed.
Having just left the Shin Bet headquarters in Tel Aviv, he was driving north on the coastal highway to Haifa, wallowing in morbid thoughts. To the west was the Mediterranean Sea, the sun a red ball of fire disappearing beyond the darkening horizon. He loved these sunsets and would often get off the highway, find a quiet patch of beach, take off his shoes and sit for a while, feet buried in the sand, enjoying the tranquil moment with the cool feel of the sand around his feet and the twilight sea breeze caressing his face. But he was not enjoying any of it today. Replaying the encounter over and over in his head, his mind filled with tormented faces and puzzling questions.
The briefing at headquarters turned out to be a disaster. They had nothing to offer. Unable, or unwilling, to give the distressed family any relief, they had made a joke of themselves. He could see their faces, shocked and confused. The father in a rage, the mother in tears, and the beautiful sister stunned. Glass had ripped them apart and they sat there and took the abuse. The heads of the most powerful and sophisticated intelligence agencies in the world, the Shin Bet and the Mossad, were totally baffled by a mere kidnapping case.
Gadot was not convinced. He had seen these agencies operate. He had seen them perform miracles. Something was up. There had to be a reason for this sudden show of incompetency and he needed to understand it. It was his investigation and his game to lose. His prestige was on the line not to mention his career, his status, maybe even his job. He was not about to give it up on account of some obscure politics he did not understand, and he thought he knew what he needed to do.
Storming into his dark, empty office an hour later, he switched on the light and reached for the phone. He quickly dialed and anxiously awaited, noticing the neat piles of phone messages, unopened mail and unattended files laying on his desk. It will all have to wait for this unfortunate affair to be resolved, he thought.
"Dori here," he heard the phone being answered. Captain Amir Dori was a personal friend. He was also the airport police station chief.
"Dori, it’s Gadot," he said, skipping the customary pleasantries. "Sorry to bother you at home but where is that goddamned Volvo?"
"Gadot... are you OK?" Dori asked, genuinely surprised.
"Dori, this is urgent. I'm calling you from my office. I need to know where that damn car is. Do you have it?"
"I got it back from the lab yesterday but Resnik sent a couple of his goons to pick it up. I released it this morning."
Gadot slammed his fist on the table in anguish. "These goddamn crooks will cost me my job!" he blurted falling back in his chair.
He continued before Dori had a chance to respond. "Listen Dori, I'll fill you in later. Meanwhile, this call never took place. Promise me."
"If it involves Resnik, you better be careful, but if there is anything I can do, let me know. I hate those assholes as much as you do."
"Thanks Dori, I'll be in touch." Gadot slammed the phone down and cupped his face in his hands, enraged at his own stupidity. I should have seen it coming, he thought, tormenting himself, then he sat there for a while assessing his options.
He only had one. He picked up the phone again and dialed.
"Hello," answered a female voice.
"Hi Gila, it's me," he said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Hi Gabi, where are you?"
"At the office. Is Yossi around?" he asked, cutting the chit chat short.
"Yeah, sure, hold on," Gila said, taken aback. They were good friends and would normally chat.
Yossi Gadot was his only brother. Three years his junior, he and his wife Gila lived in Ramat Aviv with their three-year-old daughter, Ronit. He worked for the Shabac.
Yossi picked up the phone. "Hey big brother, what's up?"
"Yossi, the Karen Glass case. It's turning sour! I need to see you right away!"
"Where are you?" Yossi asked, surprised by his brother's bluntness.
"Haifa, at the office. Meet me at Disengoff square in two hours!"
He didn't wait for a reply. He hung up the phone and stood up. It would take him an hour and a half to get there. He had a half hour to change into civilian clothes and get a bite to eat.
-------
Coffee houses, restaurants and shops were humming with activity. People sat around smoking and drinking. Tourists from the surrounding hotels swarmed the square enjoying the warm weather and spicy food, adding color to the festive atmosphere. Captain Gadot ordered a Falafel to go with tehina and humus, picked up a Kinley orange soda, and sat on a wooden bench at the edge of the square.
Yossi arrived on time. The captain watched him as he approached the bench. He was two inches taller than himself, thinner and more agile. They both had blue eyes and red hair cut very short. The captain admired his form. He had a catlike walk, swift and effortless. They train them well, he admitted to himself watching his brother approach. My men should look this good, he thought.
Yossi sat on the bench and quietly waited for his brother to finish his dinner. His expression gave nothing away. He seemed perfectly calm with an aura of self-assurance that helped the captain relax.
Gadot stuffed the rest of the Falafel in his mouth, gulped down the soda, and threw the bottle in an adjacent trash can.
"Have you eaten?" he asked politely, anticipating the answer.
His brother nodded.
He went on. "Are you familiar with the Glass case?"
"Only from the media coverage. I'm not assigned to the case. We have other duties you know…"
Gadot ignored the cynical remark.
"It stinks Yossi, all the way up to your cherished boss!"
It was Yossi's turn to ignore the scornful remark. "Are you in trouble big brother?"
"Big trouble, little brother, and you're my only hope."
Yossi didn't flinch. He patiently waited for the captain to go on.
"Her family flew in today. We had a briefing at headquarters. I think Resnik and Tavori are setting me up."
"You're paranoid big brother?"
"We have nothing Yossi. Four days of investigation and we got zilch, zero, nada. They won't cooperate. I can't use the informants. I can't use the satellites or intelligence photos. I can't use any electronic intelligence and they won't let me talk to any of you.
“The father blasted us and
rightly so. I looked like a fool. Resnik and Abramov just sat there and took the abuse. I've never seen them so latent. Those bastards know something Yossi, and if I don't find out what it is, I'll be history."
"What do you think they're hiding?" Yossi asked, not convinced but willing to listen.
"In the last four days we've reached nothing but dead ends. We found no clues at the abduction site or the immediate area. We were going around in circles 'till the Volvo was found at the airport. The girl was in it. We found an earring and a hairpin that belongs to her. We are certain of that.
“That's when I thought I got my break. We checked every passenger list, security tape, ground crews, and flight crews of every airline. We went as far as checking every airport and sea port in the country and guess what? She never left the country.
“We next sent the car to the lab and let me tell you: whoever pulled this off did a thorough job; false license plates, no finger prints. It left me one last recourse - tracing the car owner by the manufacturing identification number through Motor Vehicles, but guess what? No one bothered to get me this information and Dori just told me that Resnik seized the car."
He paused for effect then went on.
"Whatever they know has got to be connected with the car, Yossi. It's my last and only avenue and I need to find out where the Volvo is so I can get that damned ID number!"
They were quiet for a while. Gabi's plea was out in the open. Yossi took his time. It was risky but he could do it. The faster, the better. Who knew what Resnik was up to? His brother made a crucial mistake that could prove costly to them both. They could both lose their jobs and possibly more…
The captain read his mind.
"Yossi, I thought we were working together so I let them handle it. They obviously traced the car and found something that could get them in trouble. I fucked up. I should have done it myself! So, shoot me, what can I say?"