“About the same.”
“Do we retain the element of surprise?”
“Our task required us to provide the information to hundreds of Brotherhood scholars who then engaged in lengthy debate before deciding to assist. Those scholars became our agents, who then went out and brought the news to thousands of imams across the globe. Not all who heard the truth were convinced. It was only a matter of time before the Saudi Intelligence Service and the Western governments who depend on Saudi oil learned of the plan.”
“Has there been a counter effort?”
“Yes, of course.”
“The Saudis and Emirates are trying to buy loyalty. But it’s too little too late; the faithful have lost confidence in the house of Saud as the protector of the faith. They believe the liberalization movement sponsored by the Saudi Crown Prince is a betrayal of the teachings of the Prophet. MBS has become a symbol of decadence and corruption, especially with his five hundred-million-euro French Palace, five hundred-million-euro yacht, and five hundred million-euro Da Vinci painting of a nude woman that hangs in the Museum in Abu Dhabi.”
“Is that all?”
“No, there’s also a faction within the Islamic community who reject the book and consider it heresy. They believe, as they were always taught, that there was never but one version of the Holy Book and they view this revelation as a hoax fabricated by enemies of Islam.”
“What enemies?”
“It varies. Some say the Zionists: others claim the Persians, and still others blame Rome. What’s important is that all throughout Islam the few thousands who have been made aware of the book have taken sides. When over one billion of the faithful hear the news, they will do the same. All will choose a side.”
“And what will happen next?”
“Holy War; the different sides will fight!”
“And this is what we want?”
“We don’t want this war. We accept that it must happen; it is Allah’s will. We must remove the weeds from the garden. What MBS has begun cannot be tolerated.”
“What of Israel?”
“When the news is revealed, it will elevate Jerusalem to the most important place in the Muslim world. The Qibla cannot remain under Zionist control. The news will usher in change.”
“Do you see any threats to the plan?”
“No. It’s too late to stop it. Many thousands will speak— too many to block them all. On Friday, June fifteenth, the truth will be unveiled, and the world will change.”
“What of the book and the stone?”
“Both will be displayed in Al-Masjid Mosque, and woe unto the man who attempts to remove them.”
Chapter 12
Jerusalem, Israel
As I walked out from baggage claim and entered the lobby, I saw a man holding a sign with my name on it. He took my bag and I followed him onto the street. He opened the rear passenger door of a Maybach S600 limousine and I stepped in.
A man was already seated in the back seat, on the driver’s side.
“Avashi, you’re looking well,” I said.
“Like hell, I do. I look like I’m dying.”
“You’ve been saying that for twenty years; your wife told me that herself.”
“She would know; she’s the reason.”
“You act like she’s poisoning you.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Somehow, having met your wife, I don’t believe that.”
“It’s a front. Don’t let her fool you; she’s the devil.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the Hilton, to check you in, and then to my house for dinner.”
“I thought your wife was trying to off you.”
“She’s a marvelous cook, and I’m sure she lays off the arsenic when we have company.”
“Wow. That sounds so appealing.”
“Sheila won’t disappoint; she’s been cooking all afternoon. For some odd reason, she likes you.”
“It’s a thing. Women feel sorry for me.”
“And men envy you?”
“It’s a conundrum.”
“No, It’s a paradox.”
“A paradox; you’re such a philosopher. Where do you find the time to be a spymaster?”
“I’m mostly retired these days. My replacement is firmly in the seat, and all I have left is the title.”
“Do people in your business ever retire?”
“It’s not allowed. Many of the old guard have already passed, and the rest like me continue to putter along until it’s our time.”
Avashi accompanied me while I checked into my hotel room. Traveling in an armored limousine with Avashi’s four-man personal security detail was not exactly the low visibility profile I was looking for, but I had no choice, so I just rolled with it. My room was a suite on the club floor overlooking the Mediterranean. The beach in front of the hotel is a public one and because it’s adjacent to a popular park, it’s one of the most crowded in Tel-Aviv. From my ninth-floor vantage point on the balcony, looking down, the music and rowdy crowd confirmed it to be a real party spot.
Thirty minutes later we arrived at Avashi’s villa. He owns a beautiful historic home in the older Lev Hair district in the center of the city. We entered through a private garden and found Sheila working in the kitchen. In complete contrast to the fair-skinned, blue-eyed Avashi, who could easily pass for a Gentile, Sheila is a Misrahi Jew, with the dark ebony skin, brown eyes and black hair of her Arab ancestors. Sheila gave me a hug. At seventy-five, she was full of life. I hadn’t known Avashi long. We became acquainted when I was tasked with hunting down a group of Hezbollah operatives involved in the drug trade. At one point, we were looking for some leads and Mike referred me to Avashi who proved to be an invaluable source of information on the group’s activities.
“Welcome, Pat. I’m so happy to see you!” Sheila said as she gave me a big hug.
“Thanks for having me,” I said, as Sheila brushed flour off my dark blue polo shirt.
“I’m sorry, let me get a cloth.”
“It’s OK,” I said.
“Come, let’s talk. Dear, we’ll be down when dinner is ready.”
I followed Avashi upstairs to his office. The home was built in 1929 and is one of the oldest in the city. It was a classic home, very tastefully decorated in modern contemporary décor. On the stairwell were pictures of Avashi’s only son, looking sharp, dressed in his Air Force uniform. Mike told me Avashi’s son was killed in the Dizengoff bombing in 1994. I had to look up the attack as there have been so many in Israel over the years, I learned Hamas killed Avashi’s son and nineteen others only three city blocks from this home.
The office was cluttered with books and still had an old electric typewriter sitting on the desk. The room was dark because, in true spymaster fashion, it didn’t have any exterior windows. I sat in a heavy leather recliner. Avashi handed me a wine glass and then went to a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of red wine. He opened the wine expertly on his desk with a waiter’s corkscrew.
“This a 2012 Psagot Cabernet Sauvignon from Judean Hills. Tell me what you think,” he said, while filling my glass. I swirled it around in my glass and gave it a sniff before tasting it.
“It’s very good. I didn’t know Israel made quality wine.”
“Until just a few years ago, we didn’t. But now all that is changing. We have several excellent vineyards, especially in the Psagot region.”
“Maybe you should join the movement, put an end to city life, move out into the country and work the fields picking grapes.”
“When I first came to Israel, I worked on a farm. I was a member of a Kibbutz. We grew many things, mostly vegetables. I did my share of vegetable picking. That’s where I met Sheila.”
“How long ago was that?”
“That was in 1957.”
“When did you get into the spy business?”
“Back then, I did both. The Mossad was in its early days. The settlements were the wild west, lots
of threats, much to do.”
I was comfortable and looking forward to hearing Avashi reminisce. His stories are fascinating. Compared to Avashi, my life has been boring, which for some reason is something I’ve always found comforting. Kind of like the Chinese curse, “May you live in interesting times.”
“Before I travel back to memory lane, we need to discuss the purpose of your visit.”
“Do you have the location of the book?”
“I do, but we’ve had a change of heart. I discussed this with my counterpart in the US and we both agreed, it would be best not to try to take back the artifacts.”
“Why didn’t Mike notify me? He could’ve saved me a trip.”
“He’s expecting your call. I told him it would be best if I explained our reasoning in person.”
“OK, I’m listening.”
“Knowledge of the book is widespread; thousands of imams have already been made aware of its existence. Regardless of how it happens, if the book goes missing, Israel will be blamed.”
“Probably.”
“If the people believe we took it, then we think it would add credibility to claims of its authenticity.”
“From what I heard from the person who found it and studied it, the book is authentic.”
“That may be so, but the millions, the hundreds of millions of people it will affect, will never see the book. Most couldn’t read it even if they did. The best way to minimize the damage to Israel and to the Muslim world is to discredit the book, not to validate it by taking it seriously enough to capture.”
“How do you do that?”
“With a propaganda campaign. This is something we know how to do. It has already begun.”
“So, I came all the way out here for nothing?”
“Not for nothing. We have this wonderful wine, and Sheila is cooking us a lamb dinner. You’re in Tel Aviv on a beautiful summer evening, with wonderful nightlife. Enjoy the moment, Pat.”
After dinner, I called Mike, and he confirmed the change in mission. I returned to the dining room table for coffee. Sheila was in the kitchen. Despite her age, the woman never sat still. She was constantly doting on Avashi.
“Did you talk to Mike?”
“Yes, he confirmed what you already told me.”
“You didn’t come out here for nothing. I needed for you to have already spoken to Mike before sharing with you this next bit of information.”
“Why?”
“You can figure that out for yourself.”
“OK, I’m officially waiting for the shoe to drop.”
“The second part of your mission is Omer Aslan, yes?”
“Yeah, job one was the artifacts and taking out Omer is job two.”
“Omer is hired help. He’s working for someone else, the big fish.”
“Let me guess; you’re asking for a change of mission on job two.”
“Exactly. Omer is an empty target; there’s no payoff. He’s a bad guy, but he’s already finished his role by putting everything in motion. He’s not the man calling the shots; taking him out isn’t going to change a thing.”
“What about his boss?”
“We need to find out who he’s working for, which means we need to keep Omer in play until we can figure that out.”
“It will be easier if we just ask Omer. I can be very persuasive.”
“If you were to capture Omer, his network would shut down. It’s the wrong answer.”
“What’s the right answer?”
“Surveillance.”
“Why are you telling me this? It’s a conversation you should be having with the top guys in the Agency; I’m just a contractor, hired help.”
“When I broached the subject, your friend Mike and the Deputy Director of Operations both refused to even acknowledge Omer was on the target list.”
“So, you decided to take advantage of my inability to keep a secret,” I said as Avashi grinned.
“No, I decided to take advantage of our relationship and ask you to talk to Mike on the subject.”
“How big a problem will this reorientation of the Qibla be to Israel anyway? Jerusalem has always been a holy place for the Muslims and is already a source of violence and conflict as a result. What’s going to change?”
“The Dome of the Rock was built where Muslims believe Mohammed ascended into heaven. They also believe it’s the same spot Mohammed received the second pillar of Islam.”
“On the night ride.”
“The Quran doesn’t even mention Jerusalem when it references the night ride. It says only that Mohammed rode a steed in a single night to the farthest Mosque. It was a Hadith written by Majid, who was a young boy at the time, that references Jerusalem as the place of the farthest Mosque, despite the fact that no such building existed at the time.”
“The importance of Jerusalem to Islam is based on a young boy’s story, a flying horse, and a non-existing building?”
“That, my friend, is why it’s called faith.”
“That information is already universally known. Jerusalem was the first Qibla, which at the time was a Christian stronghold. What difference will it make if Jerusalem is the Qibla again while it’s a Jewish stronghold?”
“You don’t have to be a scholar to understand that it didn’t work out all that well for the Christians. We don’t expect it will be any different this time for the Jews.”
“That’s been tried a few times since Israel was created. I don’t see the outcome changing if any if those guys get too worked up about an old book.”
“Except for Iran, none of the other nations are calling for the destruction of Israel these days. It’s mostly non-state actors using ‘death to Israel’ as a rally call. Most of the countries in the region are too focused on other threats. They have enough on their plate worrying about each other and can’t be bothered with Israel.”
“Do you think the announcement about the new Qibla will change that?”
“It could. Many of the dictators and monarchs in the region are hanging on to control by a thread; they’ll adjust policy to conform to the wishes of the people.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Not really. In 1979, Saudi Arabia was a far more moderate and tolerant society than it is today. But after Mecca was seized by religious extremists who were protesting against Saudi liberalism, King Khalid implemented a much stricter Sharia Law and gave over a lot of control to the religious authorities.”
“You think the same thing could happen now.”
“If the situation is improperly handled, yes. It’s possible that many of the Arab nations who’ve improved relations with Israel in recent years will find themselves having to dial it back and take a much stronger stance against us.”
“No matter what, the announcement is going to be a destabilizing influence in the region.”
“It will, and taking out Omer is not going to change that. We need to find out who’s behind this and deal with him or them.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Talk to Mike about the Omer op, see if you can’t change the Agency’s mind on a course of action that will only make our work harder.”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“He listens to you more than you know.”
“What I hate about working with spooks is that you’re always listening to me, mostly without my knowledge or consent.” Avashi laughed and finished his coffee, which I took as my cue to leave.
I said farewell to Sheila and Avashi and went for a stroll. My hotel was located only half a mile away and I felt like a walk. When I passed I small café on Levontin Street at the halfway point, I heard live music coming from within. I decided to check it out. Above the door was a sign, Levontin 7. I opened the glass door and walked in. The room was dark. Inside I found a band sporting 1990-era heavy metal haircuts, pounding out Nirvana. A shirtless, heavily-tatted drummer was the lead singer. I sat at a small table against the wall and ordered a Tuborg Red draft beer from the wa
itress.
It was as good a place as any to think. I was unsure of what my next move should be. After two sets of heavy metal and five beers, an idea was beginning to form. I decided that Turkey was going to be my next destination. Omer was in Turkey and that was where Mike would expect me to go. I would request he meet me there to discuss the plan and then I’d share with him Avashi’s point of view. If Mike agreed, then he would use surveillance assets from within the Agency. He wouldn’t use Trident, because that’s not our strong suit. We are much better suited for kinetic actions.
Chapter 13
Istanbul, Turkey
I met Mike at Spago Restaurant at the St. Regis Hotel in Istanbul. It was a hot summer night, made comfortable by a steady breeze blowing through the rooftop eatery. We were seated at a table with a beautiful view overlooking the Bosporus.
The waiter handed us menus written in Turkish and Italian. Mike looked at his in disbelief.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked while holding his menu out in front of him.
“Look for the key Italian words; pollo, parmigiana, Chianti, stuff like that.” Mike went back to staring at the menu.
“That’s not going to work.”
“It’s Italian food; just tell the waiter what you like and let him figure it out. Four pastas, four meats, and two sauces make up ninety percent of what’s on an Italian menu. Pick a combo that you like and let the waiter do the rest.”
“I remember when the Turks used to be a lot friendlier about simple things like giving American guests English menus.”
“Next time we pick sides in a coup d’état, maybe we should make sure we pick the winning side. But then again, I guess that explains why all those intel geniuses at CIA headquarters are still working because if they knew how to pick winners they’d have all made millions at the track.”
“I’ve heard that argument before; it makes no sense.”
“You’re right. But still, the Turkish coup was a big mistake.”
“It was a serious mess, that’s for sure.”
“It wasn’t on your watch, was it?”
“No, Turkey isn’t part of my area; it falls under a different section.”
“Is that guy still employed?”
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