by Nir Hezroni
The guard looked over the scanned images of Avner’s body and the contents of his bag and pockets and opened a door for him in the glass wall.
“Welcome. If you need help with any of the equipment, just let me know.”
“All I need is access to a computer.”
“Something to drink?”
“Thanks, maybe later.”
The basement looked like a regular office. Wall-to-wall carpeting covered the floors and a cold white neon light glowed from the ceiling. The space was divided into several small offices, a kitchenette, and a conference room with video-conferencing equipment.
Avner went into one of the offices and locked the door behind him. He sat at the desk and passed his finger over the fingerprint reader to gain access to The Organization’s information system. He loved the outdated user interface.
* * *
- USERNAME
- PASSWORD
- KEYPHRASE
WELCOME TO THE ORION SYSTEM, WAITING FOR INSTRUCTIONS
“SEARCH”
→ SEARCH FOR WHAT?
“SURVEILLANCE REQUEST AMSTERDAM 2005”
WAIT …
→ SEARCH RESULTS “SURVEILLANCE REQUEST AMSTERDAM 2005”
DISPLAYING FIRST 5 RESULTS:
1. 2005 – SURVEILLANCE REQUEST
MINISTER OF COOPERATION AND DEVELOPMENT AGNES SCHMITZ
2. 2005 – SURVEILLANCE REQUEST
STATE SECRETARY OF JUSTICE ALEXANDER VAN DER STAAIJ
3. 2005 – SURVEILLANCE REQUEST – SEGEV G.
4. 2005 – SURVEILLANCE REQUEST – 10483
5. 2005 – SURVEILLANCE REQUEST
STATE SECRETARY OF ECONOMY FOR EXPORT WILLEM VAN BUITENEN
“OPEN DOCUMENT 4”
→ ACCESS TO THIS DOCUMENT REQUIRES REIDENTIFICATION
* * *
Avner swiped his finger over the reader again, entered his password, and the document opened in a new window:
* * *
DATE 4/21/2005
CLASSIFICATION: BLACK
TO: NETHERLANDS DIVISION – HEAD
FROM: RECRUITMENT TRAINING WING
DISTRIBUTION: DEPARTMENT HEAD RECRUITMENT EUROPE
DEPARTMENT HEAD OPERATORS EUROPE
DIVISION NETHERLANDS – OPERATIONS WING
SYSTEM: ORION / BASE: MTR / EXPIRY: __ / __ / ____
RE: SURVEILLANCE REQUEST, AGENT 10483
/
IN KEEPING WITH YOUR REQUEST DATED MAY 11, 2005, AN AGENT WILL BE DISPATCHED TO REPAIR LISTENING SYSTEM #17
THE ABOVEMENTIONED AGENT WILL BE OPERATING FOR THE FIRST TIME AND WE REQUEST THEREFORE THAT YOU MONITOR HIS STAY IN AMSTERDAM IN ORDER TO:
1. IDENTIFY WORK PATTERNS
2. CONDUCT A RELIABILITY / CREDIBILITY CHECK
SURVEILLANCE STARTS – 5/9/2005 (MONDAY), 06:30, FROM RENAISSANCE HOTEL SURVEILLANCE ENDS – 5/30/2005 (THIS IS AN ESTIMATION, ACTUAL DATE PER AGENT 10483 RETURN FLIGHT), AIRCRAFT BOARDING TIME, SCHIPHOL
ON COMPLETION OF SURVEILLANCE, PLEASE SEND REPORT TO THE RECRUITMENT TRAINING WING
SINCERELY
/
* * *
Avner returned to the findings document and typed:
5. Agent 6844 was assassinated in Amsterdam by 10483 and not by the Iranian secret service, as was believed until now. The file can be closed.
NOON. MAY 2005
The cab drops me off at the printing shop.
I pay the driver and give him a tip.
I hand over the files I designed and order 10 receipt books, a package of business cards, and two 2-meter long and 1-meter wide transparent stickers bearing the words Gerry the Plumber—Service from the Heart in dark blue, with the number of the cell phone I purchased printed in sewage-green below that. The shop assistant smiles at me and tells me everything will be ready in 4 hours.
“Thanks,” I say, in an Irish accent.
I walk to the closest Metro station and take the train to Ben’s house. There’s no way my picture is out there already. This is the Netherlands.
Ben’s a plumber. He’s selling his van and old equipment because he’s sick and tired of working in the sewers. He’ll be focusing solely on home installations from now on. He calls it “clean work.”
I pay him in cash and we transfer the van into my name at the nearby post office. My ID card works perfectly.
The van is a Volkswagen Transporter. It’s covered in scratches and dents. I tell Ben it’s fine.
“You don’t look like a plumber,” Ben says to me.
I tell him I’m just getting started, and he offers to teach me a little about the pieces of equipment. He has a water pressure pump and rods that fit into one another, with the end of one fitted with a coil to release blockages when the assembled pole spins.
I go for a drive in my sewage car.
A slight stench wafts up from the back.
I quickly get used to the smell and head off to do some shopping.
I use the Internet to locate the stores that stock what I need.
At a department store I purchase an inflatable double mattress, 2 blue overalls that are a little big for me, high black boots, a role of large garbage bags, twenty packs of baby wipes, black spray paint, a basic toolbox, a short length of garden hose, a package of matchboxes, a flashlight and batteries.
From a car accessories dealer I pick up a small battery, jumper cables, an air pump, and a GPS device. I enter the address of the printing shop and drive off. The device gives me directions in Dutch, which I don’t understand, but the map it offers is clear enough.
My order is ready by the time I get to the printing shop. I collect it and add all the items to the pile of equipment in the van and head out of the city.
The houses become fewer and farther between. I turn onto less crowded roads.
I get onto a dirt road and pull over to rest. I eat a sandwich I bought on the way and drink a bottle of water. The sun is about to set. There’s no one else around.
I put on the overalls and boots and get to work.
I spray-paint the rear windows of the van black from the inside.
I cut off one end of each jumper cable and connect them to the air pump. I then connect the jumper cables to the battery I bought.
The blower works.
The battery is charged.
I disconnect the cables from the battery and put them aside.
Remove the inflatable double mattress from its packaging.
Insert the batteries into the flashlight and check that it works.
I stick my logo to both sides of the van.
I rub some gravel over the stickers so they don’t appear new.
I take the 8th receipt book and tear out the first 11 receipts and burn them along with all the remaining books. I now have only one used book. I add all the tool packaging and the mattress box to the small bonfire.
I put my ID card and driver’s license on the ground and tread on them a little so they won’t appear too new. The boots and overalls no longer look very new either. I remove them and put my clothes back on. The wig goes back into the bag, and I use a wet wipe to remove the freckles.
I enter the address of the hotel into the GPS device and it guides me back. I park the van 2 streets away from the hotel and walk the rest of the way.
I shower and go to bed.
NIGHT. MAY 2005
I’m back at the Metro station.
The platform is completely deserted.
I stand close to the edge and wait for the train to arrive.
I hear a noise from beneath me.
I bend over and look down.
A dirty hand lunges out at me from below and tries to pull me onto the tracks.
The lights of a train are approaching from the Metro tunnel.
I look at the hand that’s pulling me down.
It’s attached to a headless body.
I wake at 1:30 and check that the door to the hotel room is locked.
Click
Click
> Click
It doesn’t open.
I check the door of the safe in the room. I enter the 4-digit code and it opens. I close it.
Open and close it again.
And again.
One last time.
I relock it and go back to sleep.
MORNING. MAY 2005
Today is Saturday.
I get into the van and drive to The Hague.
It’s 6 in the morning, the roads are empty and the drive doesn’t take long.
The GPS device directs me to Duinweg street. I park at the top of the street and move to the back of the van. I put on the wig and apply Gerry’s freckles, change into the blue overalls, and pull on the high boots I bought. I get out.
I walk down the street carrying a crowbar designed to open manhole covers and a black backpack. The nearest manhole cover is outside Duinweg 16—about 40 meters from the embassy.
I open the manhole cover and climb down a few metal rungs. I then close the cover above me.
I’m in total darkness.
There’s a powerful stench of feces.
I turn on my flashlight and descend further until my feet touch down in wastewater.
I crawl through the sewer on all fours for about 40 meters. I pass by the sewer opening of Duinweg 18 and continue on to Duinweg 20.
A sewer shaft measuring about half a meter in diameter leads to the building. I remove the inflatable double mattress from my bag and lay it out lengthwise in the shaft. I connect its valve to the air pump and the air pump to the battery.
The pump comes to life and fills the air mattress.
It takes 3 minutes for the sewer shaft to be completely blocked.
I disconnect the air pump from the mattress and make sure the valve is tightly closed. Then I crawl back to the manhole opening, lift the cover and climb out.
I return to the van, get in through the back door and remove the filthy overalls. I place them in a trash bag and put on the clean ones. I move the van and park outside the embassy on the other side of the street. Then I get out of the van and go for a walk.
I return some 30 minutes later, open the back doors of the van, ready the equipment, and whistle out loud.
An embassy guard from the building across the street comes over.
“Are you a plumber?” he asks.
I respond in an Irish accent: “No, I’m a pilot. This is just a hobby.”
The guard laughs. “Our entire first floor is flooded with sewage and the plumber we work with is sick,” he says. “Lucky you’re here.”
I know their regular plumber is sick. Britt de Jong took care of that. She told me that she will make sure to put enough laxative in everything he has in his kitchen to make him stay at home the whole day, attached to his toilet seat.
“I don’t have time right now,” I say to him. “I’ve just finished opening a blockage across the road and I have a big piping-installation job to get to an hour and a half’s drive away from here. Who’s going to pay me for being late?”
The guard asks me how much I want, and I tell him it will cost them €200 and that he should know I am doing them a favor because I like Italians and that I saw they have an Italian flag on the roof.
The guard asks for identification.
I give him my ID card and a business card.
The guard disappears into the building, probably to check my website and credentials, and returns 2 minutes later.
“I’ll escort you,” he says.
I take 2 poles and the coil out the van and go inside with the guard. He doesn’t let me out of his sight. While I am walking with him I get a phone call from an unidentified number.
“Gerry the plumber. How can I help?”
A girl’s voice is on the line “Hi, I need help here, the whole apartment is a mess!” Her voice sounds stressful. “Can you come quickly to Katerstraat 14?”
“Sorry hon.” I reply with an Irish accent. “I am doing a very urgent job at the Italian embassy and it will take some time. At least an hour. I can call you when I finish if you give me your number.”
“I can’t wait that long. I’ll find someone else. Thanks.” She hangs up the phone.
I put the phone back in my pocket. They probably made this call from their lobby in order to verify that the phone on the business card is indeed mine, the guard next to me is here to verify that.
The first floor stinks. My mattress is doing a good job and sewage from the entire building is rising up from the toilets.
I ask the guard to take me to the bathroom.
I attach the coil to one of the poles and insert it into the toilet, make an attempt to swivel it and stop.
I inform the guard that I don’t have a good angle from there and that I need to go up to the bathroom on the second floor and try to get to the blockage from above.
On the second floor I point toward the conference room and ask if there’s a bathroom in there. I already know there is one. I saw it on the building’s floor plan.
The guard opens the door to the conference room and I go inside. Hanging over a large and dark wooden table is a decorative light fixture adorned with mirrors.
I join the 2 flexible metal rods to one other and attach the coil to the one end of the pole.
I turn to face the bathroom door. The coil knocks against the light fitting and gets entangled. I climb onto the table to release the coil. The guard looks at me.
“No damage done,” I say.
The coil comes away easily. I move the small mirror facing the window so that it points directly at the window in the building across the street. The guard’s in the room with me, so I can’t use the laser flashlight Britt de Jong gave me.
I jump off the table, open the bathroom door and insert the coil into the toilet as far as it will go and turn it. Nothing happens.
I curse in an Irish accent and tell the guard that the blockage appears to be in the building’s main sewage pipes and that I’ll have to get into the central sewer to release it. “It’ll cost you another two hundred euros,” I say.
I’m back in the sewage pipe from the street. I crawl on all fours toward building number 20. I cut the mattress that was serving as a plug and a torrent of sewage washes over me. I put the deflated air mattress into a trash bag and take it with me.
I emerge drenched in putrid wastewater and walk over to the guard. He looks like he’s about to throw up. He gives me a check for €400 and quickly escapes back into the embassy building.
I disassemble the rods and coil, put them into the back of the van, and climb inside. The overalls and boots also go into the trash bag. I go through several packages of baby wipes to scrub the stench of sewage off my body.
Again.
And again.
I drive toward the exit from The Hague and park the van about 500 meters from the train station.
I remove the wig and toss it into the trunk and wipe away the freckles with the baby wipes.
I put on a pair of rubber gloves.
Using the piece of garden hose I bought I syphon some gas from the tank into an empty jerrycan and pour the fuel over the seats of the van, the roof, and inside the trunk.
I move back a little, set fire to one of the matchboxes, throw it into the van through the open driver’s window and then head on foot to the train station.
There’s a small post office at the train station. I purchase a small box, pack the laser flashlight inside and send the parcel to the De Jong family at Duinweg 33.
The train to Amsterdam arrives 3 minutes late. When I’m seated I turn on my laptop. I delete Gerry the plumber’s website from the Internet.
Back in my hotel room I put the bag with the laptop and the remaining money in the safe and go down to the bar. I order a beer. The beer comes with a small bowl of salted peanuts. I eat them. The news is on. The TV hangs from the ceiling behind the bartender. The police are seeking the public’s help in locating the subway murder suspect.
The TV displays a blurred video o
f a man pushing someone onto the tracks just as the train is pulling into the station.
Someone sitting on the chair next to me turns toward me and says in English with a British accent, “People are crazy.”
“True, people are crazy,” I respond.
Amiram calls me that evening on my cell phone. He calls from a telephone with caller ID and my phone displays an odd six-digit number. This number is divisible by 3. “Well done,” he says, “I received a message that everything’s in order.”
“It wasn’t very difficult,” I say to him.
“Did you notice anyone following you?” Amiram asks.
I tell him I did, but that I managed to shake him at some point.
“Great,” he says.
He asks me if I think I can carry out more serious tasks in the future.
“Yes,” I reply.
Amiram hangs up.
I continue to work with the Dutch client for a further 5 days. Then I return to Israel.
November 27th 2005
Carmit wasn’t bothered by the cold weather and the icy rain. Wearing a long gray tracksuit and running shoes, she was completely focused on her run. As she circled Hyde Park’s large lake, she overtook the other joggers, not bothering to skip over the small puddles of rain on the ground. Her iPod rested in an inside pocket she’d purposefully sewn into the top of her gray tracksuit. She wore a pair of white waterproof headphones that poked out from her hood via a small hole she’d made. The Prodigy’s music set the pace of her run and rhythm of her breathing.
Her body ran on autopilot, but her eyes weren’t focused solely on the path. She constantly scanned the trees along the route, a squirrel moving on the grass, every individual in the vicinity. She knew every corner of the park, it was her favorite place to run.
The cell phone buzzing at her hip caused her to slow down. Carmit reached into the pocket of her sweatshirt and paused the rhythmic music. She eased off into a walk, retrieved the cell phone, and looked at the display. An unlisted number.