by Nir Hezroni
Carmit slipped on a pair of white disposable gloves, went over to one of the shelves, removed several syringes, and attached a sterile needle to each one. She then took a number of bottles off the Neural Exciters shelf and drew out a measured quantity from each bottle, using a separate syringe for each liquid. After mixing the contents of the syringes in a test tube and drawing up a portion of the solution into another syringe, she went over to one of the cages, took it off the shelf and placed it on the table in front of her.
The cage contained four white mice. She removed them from the cage one at a time, injected each one with a small amount of the solution, and then put them back in their cage. The mice appeared indifferent to the treatment and started to nibble away at the food Carmit scattered on the floor of the cage for them.
Then she reached for a switch on the wall. The instant the color of the LED lights changed from blue to red, the mice flew at one another in a mad rage, creating a white mass of fur and gnashing jaws. Carmit quickly switched the lights to green and the mice relented and scurried away in fear, each one pressing itself into a corner of the cage, trembling uncontrollably. When she changed the color to yellow, the four mice immediately fell asleep.
Carmit restored the blue light and the mice returned to the center of the cage, sniffing at one another for a moment and then going back to nibbling their food as if nothing had happened. Carmit stroked them with her fingers. “Sorry, sweeties. Bon appétit,” she said softly, before putting on a pair of orange goggles, picking up her iPhone and opening an app that started to display a countdown. She aimed the phone’s screen at the cage and turned her head to the side. The iPhone flashed a rapid series of colors in the direction of the mice and then turned black after a few seconds. Carmit turned her head back to the cage. The four mice remained fixed to the spot for a few seconds and then walked together in a single line toward one of the walls of the cage, tapped on the wall at the same time with their right front foot, froze again for a second or two, and resumed eating.
“Excellent,” Carmit said to herself and emptied the contents of the test tube into a sterile vial. She placed the vial in one of the pockets of her backpack along with two sealed sterile syringes. She then removed the goggles, put them back, and scattered food in the remaining cages in the room.
The room’s extractor fan is on a timer that operates automatically, in sync with the business hours of Mr. Chong’s noodle bar. The smell of the noodles overshadows all the odors that come from her laboratory. That’s why Carmit opened the bookstore in this location.
She picked up her backpack and left the room, locking it behind her. She placed her bag on the floor behind the counter, went over to the door to the store, and took down the sign. Two girls were waiting outside. They came in and asked her if she had a copy of Looking for Alaska. She found the book. One of the girls bought and paid for it and they both left the store, each with her eyes fixed on the screen of her phone. Carmit remembered the kettle, boiled it again, and made herself a cup of Earl Grey tea.
Hardly anyone came into the store in the early morning hours. Carmit worked through the remaining parcels of books and arranged another box of vials labeled Fear Conditioning on the shelf. She went through her emails and sent off some orders for books.
Waiting in her in-box was a message from a Chinese client with a name and address in Japan and an encrypted conversion file. She’d have to make her way to Osaka in two weeks to look for Takashi Hoshimaru. She smiled to herself.
Carmit left the store for a few moments and approached Mr. Chong, who was stir-frying vegetables in a wok.
“The book your son wanted is in. I’ll put a copy aside for you.”
MORNING. MAY 2005
Today is Thursday. The phone rings. It’s Amiram from The Organization. “I see your work is sending you to the Netherlands,” he says.
I realize The Organization must be tapped into El Al’s network.
“Yes, I have an installation job at a German pharmaceutical company with branches in the Netherlands,” I tell him.
“I have an installation job for you, too,” Amiram says. “I need you to rotate a lightbulb for me.”
“No problem,” I reply.
Amiram says he’ll call me when I’m in Amsterdam.
For work trips I fly with a small carry-on bag. That way no one can plant anything in my suitcase.
I always go to baggage collection and randomly select a suitcase from the conveyor belt. I only open it and check what’s inside once I’m in my hotel room. Sometimes I find an interesting book or a perfume with a pleasant aroma. Sometimes it’s just clothes.
The suitcase this time contains a few dresses, shirts, pants, panties, bras, and a white stuffed rabbit. I place the rabbit on the television set in the hotel room. I don’t watch TV. I’ve already downloaded all the seasons of CSI from the Internet. I use them to learn and memorize all the techniques I need to conceal evidence at a crime scene. I know they’ll be of use to me further down the line in my work for The Organization.
I spend the week installing the system for the client and on Thursday I receive an encrypted email from Amiram with the instructions for my first mission.
There’s a conference room on the second floor of the Iranian Embassy in the Netherlands. The Hague—Duinweg 20.
Hanging from the ceiling of the conference room is a decorative light fixture.
The light fixture is actually a listening device.
It’s audio-surveillance equipment that can’t be detected by conventional means because it has no electronic components.
It’s made up of a few small ordinary mirrors.
One of them faces the building across the street.
There’s a rental apartment on the second floor of that building.
The sign on the door there reads THE DE JONG FAMILY, but 2 technicians from The Organization are the real residents.
Positioned in the De Jong apartment, in the room facing the conference room, is a small laser device that’s aimed at the light fixture in the embassy.
You can’t see the laser as it emits an infrared beam that lies outside the color spectrum visible to the naked human eye.
The beam strikes the light fixture in the conference room and is reflected back to the apartment, where it strikes a painting hanging on the wall.
The painting is of several colored circles, with a larger black circle at its center, all on a white background.
When anyone in the conference room speaks, the sound waves cause the mirror to vibrate and this causes the laser beam to dance lightly over the black circle in the middle of the picture.
The circle is made up of sensitive light sensors and codec software that converts the beam’s movement back into sound. A laptop connected to the Internet encrypts the audio files and transfers them to The Organization’s computers in real time.
Soon I’m in the apartment with Britt de Jong.
Britt has long golden hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her eyes are cold.
Sleeping in a cradle under the picture on the wall is her baby.
She’s 5 months old.
She’s wearing a white jumpsuit with pink stripes.
Britt points out the conference room in the building across the street.
“Three weeks ago, someone replaced a lightbulb and touched the mirror,” she says. “The angle of the beam is off now and it’s striking the building outside the window. We tried to adjust the angle of our flashlight, but the deviation is too large and the mirror in the room itself needs to be repositioned.”
She hands me a small laser flashlight fitted with a clip so that I can attach it to the mirror on the light fixture in the conference room and use it to make sure I get it into the correct position.
I call Nurit. “There’s a problem with the database server,” I tell her. “I’ll deal with it over the weekend and return on Sunday.”
“It’s best you stay on for another week to make sure that everything is functioning properly a
nd no other problems arise,” she says.
“I already do too much traveling; there’s no need for another full week,” I say.
“I’d really like you to, it’s very important,” she says. “We need this customer to be satisfied.”
“Okay,” I reply.
The trip from The Hague to Amsterdam takes 45 minutes by train. Sufficient time to do some planning. I go to the train’s bathroom with my bag, close the door and make sure it’s locked.
And again.
And again.
I make sure there are no security cameras in the train’s bathroom.
I remove my laptop from my bag.
Turn it on.
Place a curly red wig on my head and use make-up to cover my face in freckles.
Take a photograph of myself with the laptop’s camera.
Clean the freckles off my face.
Remove the wig from my head and return it to the bag.
Pick up the bag and laptop and return to my seat.
Clean up the image using Photoshop and give it a white background.
I then use a cellular modem to connect to the Internet and do a search on Google for “300 tips for selling on eBay.”
It takes me to The Organization’s European website. There I click on “Click here for more info” and enter an encrypted order:
Order 10483-1:
Expenses
1. Commercial vehicle
2. Paint and logo for the vehicle
3. Domain name for Internet website
4. Inflatable double mattress
5. 12V car battery + jumper cables
6. Basic toolbox (cutter, screwdriver set, insulation tape, etc.)
7. 12V blower
8. Pack of matchboxes
9. 1 meter-long piece of garden hose
10. Plumbing tools for opening blockages and sewer pits
11. Prepaid cellular telephone
12. 2 overalls
13. 2 sets of clothes
14. 2 pairs of shoes
15. 1 roll of large garbage bags
16. 20 packs of baby wipes.
17. Black spray paint
18. GPS
19. Flashlight
20. Business cards
21. Receipt books
22. My Salary
23. €40,000
Required
1. A Dutch identity card in the name of Gerald O’Connor (photo attached), country of birth—Ireland
2. Visa credit card in the name of Gerald O’Connor with a withdrawal facility of at least $400
3. A Dutch driver’s license in the name of Gerald O’Connor
I go into the Municipality of The Hague website and look over the floor plans of Duinweg 20.
I buy myself a pizza on the way back to the hotel. I don’t order deliveries to my room to prevent anyone from poisoning my food.
I go into a Vodafone store and buy a prepaid cell phone with credit of €100.
MORNING. MAY 2005
It’s Friday and I have a lot to get done.
I open The Organization’s 300-tips site and waiting for me is an encrypted message. It tells me that an envelope has been left for me in the hotel lobby.
I collect the envelope. It contains a ticket for a storage locker at Amsterdam Centraal Station.
I go into the bathroom adjacent to the hotel lobby where I reapply Gerald O’Connor’s freckles and put on his wig, then I flush the toilet and wash my hands.
I ride the Metro to the Centraal Station.
Someone in a black coat and blue woolen hat is on my tail. I saw him talking to the bellboy in the hotel. This is one of the things they taught us in core training. If you see the same person 2 times at different places—assume he is following you.
The luggage storage locker at the Centraal Station contains an envelope. I remove it and shut the locker door.
I go into a public toilet, lock the door, and open the envelope. Inside I find a driver’s license and ID card in the name of Gerald O’Connor, a Dutch citizen of Irish descent. The envelope also contains €40,000 in hundreds. I put the ID card and driver’s license in my wallet.
I then rip the envelope to shreds and flush the pieces down the toilet. I put the money in my bag with the laptop.
I wash my hands, leave the restroom, and go to a café. I order a large cup of coffee and a croissant at the bar and then sit at a corner table with my back to the wall. That way no one can see what I’m doing on the laptop and I have a better view of the black-coat-blue-hat who’s been following me. He’s sitting at a table on the other side of the café and pretending to read the newspaper.
Using Gerald O’Connor’s credit card, I buy an Internet domain name, gerrytheplumber.co.nl, and set up a simple website for Gerry the plumber. I advertise the number of the mobile phone I purchased yesterday and post the picture with the red wig.
I fill the site with words of praise and warm recommendations about Gerry the plumber’s excellent service and post pictures of equipment used to unblock drains and sewers in both English and Dutch.
I then go to a second-hand site and find a plumber selling his car and equipment. His name is Ben. I call him and we agree on a price of €14,000 in cash. We arrange to meet in 2 hours.
Black-coat-blue-hat blinks impatiently and orders another coffee.
I use the laptop to design a business card for Gerry the plumber with the number of the cell phone I purchased and the address of the website I created. I also prepare receipts in the name of Gerald O’Connor—Plumber.
I search on Google for a printing shop nearby. I find one. They print everything, their site says. Signs, too.
The printing shop is just 2 Metro stops away. I go to the Metro platform and stand as close as possible to the opening of the tunnel from which the underground train will soon emerge.
A gust of charred moist air hits my face. The train is about to come out of the tunnel and pull up alongside the platform.
Black-coat-blue-hat is standing next to me. He doesn’t want to miss the train and lose me. I turn to him and smile. “Pleased to meet you,” I say and offer my hand.
A look of surprise in his eyes.
He shakes my hand.
I tug forcefully on his hand and quickly turn my body to the left.
He loses his balance and falls backward onto the Metro track.
Freeze frame.
I’m looking at black-coat-blue-hat. He’s at an angle of 45 degrees, his hands outstretched toward me, trying to clutch the air. His eyes are wide. His mouth is closed.
I can see the first Metro car from the opening of the tunnel to his left.
I remember the taste of the blood of the girl who crashed into the fence. Her tooth is still around my neck.
Release frame.
A dull thud.
The discordant shriek of metal on metal.
The screaming.
I use the ensuing commotion to leave the Metro station and hail a cab instead. Black-coat-blue-hat is not following me anymore.
The police will see Gerald O’Connor on the footage from the Metro’s security cameras, but he’ll be gone by then.
December 4th 2016
“Son of a fucking bitch!”
Avner wasn’t in the habit of swearing, but he jumped to his feet from the kitchen chair, placed the notebook on the table, and paced back and forth like a caged lion.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” he hissed again. “He killed him.”
Avner closed his laptop and returned it to the computer bag. He slipped the notebook into the bag, too, and put his coffee cup in the sink. “Good morning, honey, I’m at the office and can’t be reached on my mobile,” he scribbled quickly on the magnetic board on the refrigerator and then left the house. Tossing the bag onto the passenger seat beside him, he sped off.
Had he been driving more slowly and been more focused on the road, he would certainly have seen the dark and empty upside-down Land Rover lying in the ditch a short way from the entrance to th
e town.
The Organization’s computer network is inaccessible from outside its offices. Some of the data it contains is restricted to the main branch or to one of the authorized satellite branches. To access the information he wanted, Avner had to go to one of the branches.
The satellite branch closest to Avner’s home was in Ganei Yehuda. It was one of forty-two branches scattered throughout the country. This particular branch is designated a “Hotel” and serves The Organization’s employees as a secure location from which to access information or conduct secure video calls without having to go to the main office. Avner rarely visited this place. His office was at the main base, which was a more robust facility. This place was bare-bones.
Avner parked his car near the villa. Decorative lighting in shades of green illuminated the trees and flowers around the fenced-off house. The night air was cool and damp, and drops of dew rested on the shrubs and extensive lawn that surrounded the building.
He got out his car and walked to the gate. He would have turned around and gone elsewhere had the lighting around the house been red—a sign that there were people there who couldn’t be seen, or if there was a security problem. But that night, all was well at the villa, and hence, green.
The sign on the doorbell reads THE GREENBAUM FAMILY, and next to it is a fingerprint reader. Avner passed his finger over the scanner, heard a soft buzz, and with a light push, he opened the gate and made his way up the stone path toward the front door.
The interior of the residence appeared quite ordinary. A living room and kitchen on the ground floor and stairs going up to bedrooms on the top floor and down to the basement. The lights in the house were on and rhythmic background music was coming from the living room, but there was no one there. The residence was empty.
Avner followed the stairs down to the basement to find another locked door and above it a camera. He looked up and the door buzzed open, taking him into a small passageway that ended in a glass wall. Behind the glass sat a guard.
“You know the drill.”
Avner placed his bag in the drawer that extended through the glass partition, adding the contents of his pockets and his firearm. He removed the battery from his cell phone and placed both items separately in the drawer. He then took a step back, raised his arms in the air and slowly turned a full circle.