by Niv Kaplan
Her apprehension was caused by the hesitancy of just how much to reveal. She took out the three photos and handed them over. Gadot studied them and looked up at her.
"A special forces unit ambushed the cruel-looking skinny guy in Southern Lebanon about two months ago and found a roll of negatives containing these photos," she explained. "We ambushed the other guy last week and extracted some additional information.”
"Who are we?" Yossi asked in amazement.
Sarah hesitated. "I'll try to be as straight as I can with you," she said, careful not to offend him, "but some things may better be left unsaid.”
It seemed as if he was going to say something, but then reconsidered.
"Why don't we just work through me," she suggested, "I'll be the interface between my team and yourself. It's not a problem of trust. I just think it's wise to protect all concerned in case anything goes wrong.”
She was citing the first lesson learned in the Shabac. He had to respect that.
"Your partners know about me?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Do they know about this meeting?"
"No.”
"Could you keep our contacts confidential?"
"I can't promise that.”
"How'd you get to the big fellow?"
"We set a trap outside Kiryat Shmona."
"What'd you do with him?"
She suddenly felt wobbly. She tried to maintain her composure but Gadot noticed the sudden loss of confidence.
"What'd you do with him?" he repeated the question. She could not bring herself to say it.
"Did you kill him?"
She nodded. He smiled sympathetically.
"You did the right thing."
She looked up surprised.
"He could have become a serious obstacle,” he reasoned, reassuring her.
"We killed him in cold blood," she protested.
"My brother was killed in cold blood and so were many other good people who got themselves involved in this dirty business.”
She kept silent.
"What about the girl?" he asked.
"We don't know much. She was held in Israel for a few weeks then smuggled to Beirut. From there she may have been sent to Mexico. The team eliminated in Lebanon was on its way to settle matters with their contact in Europe, who apparently kept their money to himself. Mustafa, the guy we caught, said that same contact had hired them and instructed them to use the Volvo.”
Gadot was suddenly thoughtful. "It makes some sense I guess.”
"What makes sense?" Sarah blurted out anxiously.
"The Volvo used in the kidnapping belonged to an ex-Mossad agent. Your information verifies that using that car was not by chance but part of the scheme.”
"So why didn't you pursue it then?" Sarah questioned, trying to hide her excitement.
"Gabi may have taken the answer to that to his grave." Yossi remarked. "When we found out the car belonged to an ex-Mossad, the reluctance to cooperate was revealed but not explained. Gabi confronted them on the issue, demanding to pursue that lead but they apparently felt otherwise.”
"So the kidnappers got what they wanted," Sarah commented, "even though it was obvious the use of that car was designed to obstruct the investigation.”
"Precisely," Yossi concurred. "My guess would be that the people who planned to use the car were confident enough to know that using it would obstruct the investigation regardless of whether the Shabac realized the sting or not.”
"I can't even begin to imagine what could be so threatening to them that they would resort to such drastic measures," Sarah remarked.
"An extremely powerful reason," Gadot said, lighting another cigarette, "one for which my brother paid for with his life.”
-------
The first order of the day was assimilating the firearm.
After settling into their hotel room, they ordered room service and plunged into the task at hand. All components, except for the bullets, were made from distinctive composite materials, designed to pass ordinary security measures such as x-rays and metal detectors. The barrel was retrieved from Mikki's shower case where it was concealed inside a tube of toothpaste. The drum was plucked out of Eitan's shower case where it was stashed inside a shaving cream bottle. The handle and 22 caliber bullets were retrieved from within a custom-made, double-decked metal plank connected to Eitan's suitcase between its wheels.
It was a toss-up between smuggling a gun on board an airplane or purchasing one on site. Both alternatives were extremely hazardous, yet a choice had to be made, for they all agreed it absolutely essential to have a gun when confronting the German. Smuggling was dangerous for all the obvious reasons but foreign nationals purchasing a gun, especially one that could be used and link them to it seemed riskier, and since the gun was only making a one way trip, they chose the smuggling option.
In preparation, Eitan had contacted a weapon specialist and a close associate who had equipped his father's and his boar hunting crews. Eitan requested the smallest, most effective, undetectable handgun available, disassembled to its most basic components. The dealer assured him the gun he supplied him was the closest thing to what he needed. Except for the bullets, which were of the smallest operational caliber, all other parts, including the typically heat susceptible barrel, were theoretically undetectable to conventional airport security procedures.
The security inspections at Ben Gurion were passed without a hitch, sending the disassembled pistol on its way. Upon arrival, they had lost a heartbeat or two under scrutinizing stares from Danish Customs officers but that too proved surmountable. In the cab, on their way to the city, they silently saluted one another as the first critical maneuver in their ambitious plot had succeeded.
The gun took but a few minutes to reassemble after a thorough cleaning. Eitan, the team's acclaimed weapon expert, wrapped a custom holster around his right leg and tucked the weapon safely in. It was early evening with still plenty of daylight when they went for a preliminary survey stroll. They purchased a city map at the front desk, accepting a few helpful tips on commendable neighborhood restaurants, and stumbled out of the hotel.
The brick-face streets were picturesque. They walked slowly, taking in the strange new sights and scents, enjoying a sense of discovery. A myriad of flashing billboards and storefronts contrasted the history charged building formations. The immense gothic structures with an ensemble of warrior statues, circular squares, antique water fountains, cathedrals, churches and castles merged with the wide, moderately flowing streets and fashionable populace.
They followed the map passing numerous smaller streets, turned north along Inderhavnen Canal to Bersgade Knipples where they crossed over to Holmes Kanal. They walked along the canal and turned into Skramsgade which windingly led them into a mesh of narrow, mall type, festive pedestrian alleyways, filled with storybook shops, attractively decorated gift boutiques, elegant galleries, and a host of small cafes with tables arranged outdoors.
Seventy-nine Studiestraede was indeed an existing address. It was marked on a small glass door that led to a narrow stairway between a shiny new art gallery and a miniature toy store. Across the narrow, brick-face alley was a busy Kokken & Havfruen Coffee Shop where the two seated themselves to contrive a plan of action over coffee and cake.
Their most obvious obstacle was the absence of a description of Kollsmeyer. Nadav had tried the intelligence computers but came up empty. Debating their next move, they finally decided the residence needed immediate investigating. Mikki crossed over to Seventy-nine Studiestraede and tried the glass door. It was unlocked. He stepped inside and quickly climbed the semi-darkened stairway. The old wooden steps creaked under his weight. He reached the top of the stairway and stood for a brief moment catching his breath and letting his eyes adjust. The place was squeaky clean and possessed no evidence that could point to its inhabitants. There were two wooden framed apartment entrances on both sides of a tiny foyer. One of them had an unfamiliar name plastere
d on its door. He quickly looked around for loose mail but found none and hurried back down the stairs to join Eitan just as their waitress, appeared with their order.
"There are only two apartments up there," he reported, watching the provocative waitress coast away among the crowded tables. “Only one of them has a name on its door.”
"This makes it a lot simpler," Eitan said, sipping his coffee and following Mikki's gaze.
"Assuming the German actually lives here," Mikki said.
"All we can do is wait and hope he appears," Eitan said. "Now, how do we go about keeping this place under surveillance?"
Mikki looked around. "I guess we can hang around this coffee shop part of the day and maybe in these shops some more, but we will eventually become suspect to anyone even remotely cautious.”
"If we split up we may buy ourselves a few more hours," Eitan suggested.
Mikki nodded and plunged into his mousse smearing his lips and nose with the brownish cream. He looked up with a savoring expression and guided his tongue around his lips, licking the cream clean.
They sat at the coffee shop long after the gray twilight turned into darkness and the street lights came on. A lonely sax player stood across the alley with his back to the gallery, playing over and over an emotional version of Blue Moon in front of a carton full of coins and a group of Japanese tourists who kept boosting his small fortune. Soon most of the shops closed for business and the crowds began dissipating. Britta, the waitress, served them another mousse and two more coffees before ending her shift.
No one came or went at Seventy-nine Studiestraede and no activity could be observed through any of its windows. At one in the morning they paid up and went back to their hotel.
CHAPTER 19
Nadav, dressed in civilian clothes, met Sarah at the Pam-Pam, a popular lunchtime hangout at the London mini-mall in Tel Aviv's business district. They ordered a salad, humus, french fries and pita bread to share, and chatted while wiping away the humus.
"Any word from the boys?" Nadav asked.
Sarah shook her head, swallowing her food. “It's been 48 hours," she was finally able to say. "They may be rotting in a Danish jail for trafficking that weapon for all we know.”
Nadav smiled. "We probably would have heard of such an incident on the news by now.”
"You never know," Sarah said, "they promised to call my apartment first thing after they arrived. I'd hate to lose all that money on a worthless endeavor.”
They had each contributed a share to finance the Copenhagen trip but most of the burden fell on Sarah. Six thousand New Israeli Shekels were converted to approximately ten thousand Danish Krone for airfare, a week’s stay in a reasonable hotel, and the gun.
"I saw Gadot yesterday morning," Sarah said, ripping up another warm pita.
Nadav raised his eyebrows, expressing interest.
"He'll help us if we level with him," she remarked.
"Does he know about the rest of us?"
"He knows I'm not alone in this."
"Did you give him names?"
"No, but I told him about the ox!"
Nadav nearly choked on a cucumber he had just dug out of the salad. "You did what? Are you out of your mind?" he exclaimed.
"Listen to me Nadav," she said, trying to soften the blow, "we have nothing to fear from this guy. They killed his brother. He'll be the last person to turn us in.”
Nadav's face turned furious red. He took a few quick sips from his water and shot forward in his stool. "Why tell him the worst of it?" he protested. "There's plenty of information you could have fed him that would have sufficed? Why jeopardize our pact? We're vulnerable enough as it is.”
"Nadav," she began, defending her position, "this guy can help us. He wants to help us. He's a pro. I couldn't hide it from him. He guessed it right away and agreed we did the right thing.”
Nadav took in what she said, looking undecided. It took him a long moment to accept that someone else was aware of their terrible secret. "Sarah," he finally said in a subdued tone, extending his hand to her, "don't do it again.”
She put her hand on his. "We're in this together," she pointed out, "and Yossi Gadot is one guy we can trust.”
He was still silent, looking intently at her.
On their way out of the cafeteria, as the humid, smog-filled air caught their breath, Nadav spoke, somewhat cautiously. "I've got to get back to the base. Do you need me to check on anything?"
"Call me later and I'll let you know if they've called. I may have some news then.”
"I apologize for my outburst," he said.
She stopped and faced him amidst a rush of pedestrian traffic. "I suppose I'd have reacted in the same manner," she acknowledged, grinning acquiescently. "We're all stressed right now, but we seem to be on the right track.”
He looked hesitant again. For a second she thought he meant to embrace her, but instead, he performed a clumsy about face and began marching away. "Wait, I almost forgot," she called after him making him stop. He turned and waited for her to approach.
When she reached him she spoke softly into his ear. "Gadot confirmed the Volvo belonged to an ex-Mossad agent.”
A devious smile formed on his lips, replacing the hurt expression. "Did he mention a name?" he asked.
"Dan Hasson," she said proudly.
Nadav lifted a clenched fist in a triumphant gesture and walked away, much lighter on his feet.
-------
They thought they had spotted the German on day three of their stay. Mikki was out exploring, cruising historic sites and crowded malls on an old bicycle rented for twenty krone from Cykelcenter at the central railway station. He rode about the enticing city, touring Tivoli Gardens, climbing Town Hall's bell tower overlooking Radhuspladsen Square and sunbathing with the lunch crowds in front of the Vor Fruekirke Cathedral. He circled Christiansborg Castle twice and roamed aimlessly, stimulated by the vibrating city.
Music stores, book stores, jewelry shops, high tech arcades, flashing movie theaters, pubs and mouthwatering food outlets, were all pulsating with human activity. He found himself a little envious of the tall, proud Danes, who seemed to enjoy the most out of their glorious city that even managed to make him forget his own reasons for being there.
Standing amidst the commotion-filled Stroget Mall absorbing the festive atmosphere, he suddenly realized he had left Eitan for more than half a day. Hopping on his bicycle, he quickly found his bearing, and sped away.
Eitan stopped him before he could reach their post. He appeared out of nowhere, a block from the coffee shop, pulling Mikki into a small alcove.
"We may have our man," he blurted excitedly.
"Where?" Mikki asked, out of breath from the ride.
"A tall, skinny, blond fellow, with a mustache, wearing an expensive suit walked in there about an hour ago.”
"Go on," Mikki said.
"That's all," Eitan shrugged.
"Why do you suppose it's him?" Mikki asked, somewhat irritated at the shallow presentation of the findings.
Eitan grinned. "He seemed to fit the bill. His looks, his behavior, being more leery than average. Looking around, practically sneaking into the doorway. Besides, the only other person to enter the place was a fat lady with a heavy load of groceries, and they certainly don't seem the pair.”
"Was he carrying anything?"
"Yeah, a black briefcase.”
"No sign of his woman or baby?"
"None whatsoever.”
Mikki swore. "It's too damn risky. What if Mustafa misled us?"
"It's possible," Eitan muttered, "but we should've considered that before coming over here.”
-------
It was past midnight when the tall, blonde, skinny man discreetly peeked in both directions, before hurrying out the glass door of Seventy- nine Studiestraede, mingling with the dwindling pedestrian traffic. He made an abrupt turn at the first alley and swiftly moved among the narrow, dimly lit streets of Fiolstraede promenade in
the old Latin section of town.
As he crossed Norreport Station, turning north on Vendersgade, he was forcefully run into and thrown to the ground by a biker who rode in from Norrevoldgade street.
"Greetings from Raul," the biker hissed, standing over the astonished German who blinked only for a second before throwing a knee to the biker's groin area. The biker cringed and fell to the side. The German sprang to his feet and sprinted away, seeking the solace of a darkened alley. His heavy breathing and hurried steps echoed across the deserted brick-face facade before he was abruptly hit again, square in the face with something solid, lost his footing and fell flat on his back. A heavy knee was pressed to his chest and a gun was pointed threateningly to his forehead.
"Kollsmeyer," Eitan hissed.
Blood trickled down from the German's nose as he blinked several times trying to gather his bearings after the menacing blow.
Mikki appeared on his bike.
"How'd you know he'd end up here?" he asked in Hebrew.
"Lucky guess," Eitan said, not taking his eyes off his prisoner. "You OK?"
"Yeah, he just missed my sensitive parts.”
The street remained deserted. Mikki ordered the man up and gestured for him to follow. Eitan took a step back, threateningly pointing the gun at the man. The German staggered to his feet and followed Mikki who slowly rode the bike a few feet ahead. Eitan stuck the gun in his belt, hiding it with his shirt, and followed close behind. They walked across Norrevoldgade to Orsteds Park. Traffic was light and most restaurants and shops were shut down for the night. Partygoers wearily returned to their homes and police patrols were yet to be seen.
The curious party of three managed to reach the confines of the murky park unnoticed. The park was predominately dark with the sparse illumination along its walkways sending long shadows across the grassy surroundings. They reached the embankment of Orsted's elliptical lake and walked around its perimeter, the city lights reflecting across the darkened waters crackling against its banks.