by Nathan Ronen
At the reception office, Arik signed the required paperwork, paying in cash for the frequent use Eva’s mother had made of the minibar. The driver of the car placed at their disposal by the president’s bureau was scheduled to pick them up and drive them to the train station at four thirty. We’ll have plenty of time to get there, even in Paris traffic, he thought optimistically.
Chapter 3
The Mossad Bureau in the Israeli Embassy in France
Since the previous director of the Mossad, Major General Avigdor Galili, had been fired six weeks earlier, there had been plenty of unease at ‘the Office,’ as the bureau of the head of the Mossad Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations was generally called.
The true circumstances of Galili’s dismissal and its background had been concealed from the public, under the instructions of the prime minister. The media reported that the director of the Mossad had resigned for health reasons.
The general sense of dissatisfaction was a result of threats of early retirement made by heads of the Mossad’s divisions. All of them were disgusted by the cynical manner in which political elements had used confidential intelligence information obtained by Mossad agents. The agents had put their lives at risk, investing significant efforts in order to advance the interests of some American tycoon with an agenda who had supported the prime minister.
Most of the rage was directed at the Prime Minister’s Office. Due to the prime minister’s desire for an invitation to visit China, his office had vetoed the plans to allow Dr. Yigal Bar-Tzuri, head of the Back Door unit,2 to appear as an expert witness in a suit filed in the United States by several American relatives whose loved ones had been killed or injured in terrorist activity in Israel. They were suing several Chinese banks accused of ignoring financial sanctions placed against various Islamic organizations and supplying them, in return for generous fees, with moneys ultimately used to fund terrorist activity.
***
Arik’s cab arrived at the Israeli Embassy in Paris in less than fifteen minutes.
“Hi there, my dear. What’s going on and what kind of gossip are you hearing between the bureaus?” he asked Haya Calmy as he entered her office at the Mossad’s embassy bureau.
“You know how much I hate gossip,” she replied. “But I can’t ignore information passed on to me by a well-informed source at the Prime Minister’s Office. The source hinted that the prime minister would prefer to reappoint his nemesis, Cornfield, as head of the Mossad in order to put out the fires in the organization. Forgive me for saying this to you, but I blame you for this entire mess. You should have accepted the role of Mossad director when it was offered to you. That would have instantly calmed the ill winds blowing through the Office.”
Arik smiled enigmatically. He did not deny that he had rejected Prime Minister Ehud Tzur’s offer to take on this prominent role. He despised the excessive closeness with politicians and the sycophants surrounding them, preferring to stick to the professional and operational sides of the job. He also had not informed Haya that due to conflict with the previous head of the Mossad, he had taken an unpaid leave of absence until things calmed down.
“But why Cornfield of all people?” Arik wondered. “He’s already old and tired, an invalid, and barely functional.”
Haya laughed. “Don’t underestimate that old fellow. He’s just like a phoenix, rising from the ashes. It also serves Ehud Tzur well. A kind of win-win. Tzur prefers someone who’s under his thumb, someone who pisses out from inside the tent, rather than pissing into the tent from outside.”
Arik laughed. He was well aware that Haya’s source was her friend Geula Mordoch, Ehud Tzur’s office manager. The two women hailed from Jerusalem and had grown up together in the Nachlaot neighborhood. In any case, reappointing Cornfield, who had previously been head of the Mossad and was fired by Ehud Tzur, to acting Mossad director was definitely a surprising step.
“That prime minister sure has a sarcastic sense of humor,” he snickered.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Haya wondered.
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor and the highest form of wit, so it’s bad on one hand, but good on the other,” Arik chuckled.
Haya shook her head in incomprehension. She could never understand the way politicians’ minds worked. She also could not understand what was clever about the maneuver her friend had described, aimed at returning Cornfield to the head of one of the most powerful institutions within the Israeli intelligence apparatus. Especially after Cornfield, along with the gatekeepers—senior members and retirees from Israel’s security agencies—had done everything possible to incriminate and topple Ehud Tzur, in the hope of bringing about his resignation from the role of prime minister, due to corruption.
Arik, who had deciphered this ‘reverse psychology’ tactic, savored the evil inherent in it.
“It’s a kind of complex logic only politicians can understand. Prime Minister Ehud Tzur would always quote the saying ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ Now do you understand the maneuver?”
“Not exactly, and it doesn’t matter. But that’s not all,” Haya said, as if disclosing a secret. “I heard Ehud Tzur added a nasty twist to the deal as a cherry on top.”
This time it was Arik’s turn to look puzzled, and Haya was happy to provide the juicy final twist, which she had heard from her friend in confidence. “I heard he was also returning Gideon Perry to the Mossad as deputy director and head of the Logistics and Finance Administration, in order to neutralize Cornfield. He’s well aware of how much those two hate each other.”
Arik was stunned. “Ben-Ami Cornfield’s hatred for Gideon Perry resembles fine wine. It’s only grown more potent over the years. It reminds me of a quote from French philosopher Voltaire: ‘Politics is the means by which people with no principles control people with no memory.’ Nice, isn’t it?”
Haya protested, “I’m not sure that Gideon Perry is already passé, or that he’s a person with no memory. I think this is Tzur setting a trap for Cornfield, who can’t refuse to return to a place where he’s needed. And therefore, Ehud Tzur will be able to trust Gideon Perry to be his eyes inside Israel’s most important intelligence agency, and, for all intents and purposes, supervise Cornfield.”
“And you think that will actually work with those two giant egos?” he asked her.
“What other option does Cornfield have?” she replied with a question. “He’s been summoned back to duty to save the Mossad from falling apart. He can’t just stand by and watch everything he’s built with his own two hands shatter into a million pieces in front of his eyes. In fact, Cornfield has no other options, and he’ll swallow that stinking fish that will stick in his craw because ultimately, they both want the same thing.”
Arik nodded in agreement. “I find it funny that I’m the one saying this, of all people, but I admire Ehud Tzur. Years of sitting on the back benches of the party, years of humiliation and adaptation, have taught him, as a politician, how to use his enemies’ weaknesses in order to defeat them through trickery or flattery. But I don’t think he knows Cornfield well enough and doesn’t sufficiently appreciate the immense change he’s gone through. He still sees him as the plainspoken, uncouth general he once was. I think he’s making a big mistake. Current-day Cornfield is an experienced, wily veteran. He’s a chess master who sometimes takes a step back, misleading his rival into thinking he’s retreating, only to gather momentum and leap two surprising steps forward.”
Haya stepped over to her small kitchenette. She made both of them tea with mint leaves that she grew on her windowsill. In chilly Paris, this was quite a challenge.
“What else is going on here?” Arik asked, distracted.
“I almost forgot the most important thing,” Haya apologized. “Admiral Lacoste called and wanted to talk to you about something urgent and confidential.”
“He called y
ou? Why didn’t he call me directly?” Arik wondered.
“Maybe because you powered down your device while you were receiving a medal from the president?” Haya replied.
The situation seemed odd to Arik. After all, just an hour ago, he and the admiral had been standing side by side in the president’s bureau while Arik was receiving the Legion of Honor medal. What had happened since then? Why couldn’t the admiral have given him his urgent, confidential message at the time?
“Get me Admiral Lacoste, please,” Arik asked the officer on duty, quickly turning on the Chameleon, an encrypted device resembling a regular smartphone, which had indeed been turned off.
“General Director’s Office,” Arik heard Admiral Lacoste’s administrative assistant say.
“Hi, Lola, it’s Arik Bar-Nathan. The admiral was looking for me. Is he back from the Élysée yet?” he said into the device.
“He’s on his way. I’m connecting you,” Lola said.
“Arik,” Lacoste appeared on the line, his baritone ringing out. “Sorry to bother you, but I have to let you know that Brigadier Eddy Constantine wants to talk to you.”
“What?” Arik was amazed. “That scumbag is still alive? I thought the guy had already been executed.”
“Immediately after the ceremony, while you were on your way to the hotel with Eva, I suddenly got an urgent phone call from the investigating judge,” the admiral explained. “The traitor’s final request is to meet you. Sounds pretty strange, considering that you were the one who brought in the material condemning him.”
“Hold on a minute, just so I understand—this is okay as far as you’re concerned?” Arik asked.
“I discussed it with the president, and he doesn’t object, so long as I’m also present at the meeting, along with the judge who conducted the investigation into this shameful affair.”
“What do I have to talk about with that traitor?”
“He says he wants to talk to you about the ‘yellowcakes’3 and that you’ll know what he means.”
“I’m really sorry, but that doesn’t work for me,” Arik said. “I’m supposed to return to Heidelberg this evening with Eva, her mother, and our son. Maybe we can coordinate a meeting with him before I return home to Israel?”
“I’m sorry, Arik. His time is up. It has to be this evening or tonight,” Lacoste said, indicating to his interlocutor that the following day, Eddy Constantine, the former head of the DGSE’s Special Operations Division, would be dressed in his foreign legion uniform reflecting his rank of brigadier, led to his former office, where, after writing a personal goodbye letter to his family, his service pistol would be loaded with one bullet and placed on his desk. The expectation was that he would carry out the verdict in accordance with the requirements of ‘French justice.’ France could thus maintain discretion regarding the circumstances of his treason, which would otherwise prove to be a major headache for the political echelon. This scenario would prevent the media from investigating how the republic’s gatekeepers had allowed this act of treason to take place.
The powers that be had decided that the media would publish a message put out by the president’s office, hinting that Constantine had cancer and wanted to spare himself the pain of the late stages of the disease. They would thus honor him one last time for his dedicated service to his homeland.
“Bernard August, let me get back to you later,” Arik requested. “First I have to ask Eva if she’s okay with taking the train back to Germany without me. If worst comes to worst, I’ll join her in Heidelberg tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll wait for your answer. But remember, it has to be this evening. I cleared my calendar especially for you.”
Eva will kill me, Arik thought to himself. Countless excuses and lies whirled through his mind, but he knew she would not accept them in her delicate condition. He only debated the question of whether to tell her he had to stay another night in Paris before or after the formal meal with the French president and all the dignitaries. He did not want to undermine the special atmosphere at the restaurant.
The possibility that, when the time came, this would prove to be the least of his concerns never occurred to him.
* * *
2Back Door is the Mossad’s financial intelligence unit, combating elements assisting terrorist organizations in transferring funds.
3‘Yellowcake’ is a type of uranium concentrate powder obtained from leach solutions, as one step in the processing of uranium ores, and is used, among other purposes, to manufacture nuclear fuel and nuclear weapons.
Chapter 4
The Prime Minister’s Office in Jerusalem
Retired IDF Major General Ben-Ami Cornfield rose with effort from his chair in the waiting room, limping heavily toward the entrance to the prime minister’s office as he leaned on his cane, carved in the form of an eagle’s head. He found the urgent summons to arrive on his own for a private conversation with the prime minister who had removed him from office very intriguing indeed.
Just several weeks ago, he had been sitting in this office late at night along with his friends, the retired ‘gatekeepers’ of the State of Israel. They had firmly demanded that the prime minister resign due to his personal corruption. Unfortunately, the attorney general concluded that fundraising for organizations supporting Ehud Tzur had in fact been flawed, but beyond the procedural aspects, no proof of corruption or breach of trust had been found. Apparently, the attorney general realized he would be deemed responsible for toppling the government and did all he could to avoid doing so. Ultimately, the only person forced to pay the price was the head of the Mossad, who was forced to resign after little more than a year in office.
Cornfield was seventy years old, tall and heavyset, with a head full of silver curls. He sighed as he walked, supporting himself on his cane. His new prosthetic was tight against the stump of his leg, and his joints hurt. His glass eye was tearing. He hated others’ pity and did not like to reveal his weakness in public. In order to conceal his embarrassment, he constantly wiped his eye and forehead with a large handkerchief, pretending he was perspiring due to the heat.
Geula Mordoch, the longtime office manager, smiled at him pleasantly. She was obviously pregnant and looked radiant. Earlier in the year, she had turned state’s evidence against the prime minister and Arthur Schein, his American political advisor. According to government employment laws, she could not be fired due to her pregnancy. The prime minister also did not dare fire her, hoping she would change her mind and refuse to cooperate with the authorities. He even let Schein go. And so she retained her official position as office manager, despite the barrier of distrust separating them, until negotiations with the state attorney were completed. In the meantime, Tzur had appointed a personal assistant who was his confidante, relegating his office manager solely to non-sensitive topics.
To say that Maj Gen Ben-Ami Cornfield disliked Ehud Tzur was an understatement: he was truly contemptuous of him. He himself was an army man, personally appointed by Lolik Kenan, the previous prime minister, who had died in a plane crash. Like Cornfield, Kenan had been a tough, uncompromising army man. Cornfield was a great believer in the Prussian approach to management, which was arrogant and rigid. When he assumed the position of Mossad Director, this approach had put him in immediate conflict with Mossad division heads. The Israeli intelligence agency was an institution that prized the values of sophistication and subtlety much more than it valued the rank of an illustrious IDF (Israel Defense Force) major general, even if that major general had paid the price of war with his own body and was also known to have been appointed as Mossad Director as a reward for his blind loyalty to the boss.
In the five years in which he had headed the Mossad, Cornfield had undergone a personal transformation. He had changed, matured, and come to view the country’s security from a completely different perspective. For the first time in his life, he realized
that the most important war was the one prevented. He had always loathed politicians, calling them puppets driven by an agenda of personal survival. He listened with contempt to their aggressive speechifying in media interviews as they tossed out meaningless slogans, primarily intended to portray themselves as defense hardliners.
“Cornfield, my friend, how’s your health and how’s your wife Amira?” Ehud Tzur asked with false friendliness, as both of them moved to the small conference room adjacent to the prime minister’s office.
“What can I tell you? At my age, you don’t buy green bananas or hard avocados anymore,” Cornfield said with sarcasm that blew right over Tzur’s head.
Cornfield was well aware of the Mossad’s motto: “Where there is no guidance, a nation falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety.”4 Accordingly, he should have kept his mouth shut and played the game. But a man like him could not hide the loathing he felt for the cunning politician Ehud Tzur. Like a gecko, Tzur had managed to evade him, merely sacrificing his ‘tail,’ the director of the Mossad Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. Cornfield felt actual physical nausea when confronted with Ehud Tzur’s lack of loyalty to his best friend, Major General Izzo Galili, the pilot and Mossad director who had been forced to resign and take the blame upon himself, following the gatekeepers’ demand for the prime minister’s resignation.
Cornfield’s concept of accountability differed significantly from Ehud Tzur’s. He had become a people person. He believed in giving his people absolute support and held them to the same standards to which he held himself: a stringent work ethic and attention to detail. However, if circumstances required changing the battle plan, he also had the required mental flexibility. He called it “decision making under uncertain conditions.” Cornfield believed that ultimately, the head of the Mossad could delegate authority to his people, but he could not pass on the responsibility. The simple implication, as far as the organizational culture he brought to the agency, was that you could let your subordinates make mistakes. However, the head of the system was the only person who should pay the price for his subordinates’ mistakes.