by Dov Nardimon
“It’s highly likely you’re not the only one who has fallen for this pretense. Don’t feel guilty; the fact that you participated in the project will help us get Reuben and Eddie out, and perhaps even put a stop to other dangerous things that are happening there under the radar. Tell us everything you know of the project.”
“Are you absolutely sure about all this? If this is true, it means someone there conned the South African government and other governments around the world—the UN really. If you’re right, this is infuriating.”
“I can assure you we’ve thoroughly checked it, and the CIA has provided some more information to corroborate our findings. In any case, Amit’s friend is the most powerful proof. As for the UN, it’s not so sure it is on the misguided end of things.”
“What do you mean?”
“As you know, there isn’t a shortage of countries that despise Israel and the United States in the UN. All it takes is for a few high ranking clerks at UNESCO from one of these countries to cooperate with the project in order to get UN sponsorship and cover up its true purposes.”
There was a long silence on the other side of the line. It seemed Jacob was trying to digest everything he had just heard. When he spoke again, he sounded furious and decisive. “I’ll help you with everything you’ll need. I’ll settle the score with my government on a later occasion.”
“Thank you, Jacob. Can you explain what your involvement in the project was?”
“We took part in surveying the ground and later stabilizing it, digging the foundations, and casting the skeleton. I visited the site myself once when we began surveying. The place is huge. Then we built the energy center—the ventilation and air-conditioning systems. There’s also a communications center there that was built by a company I’m part of. Every company that participated in the project had to make some sort of contribution apart from the payment we received from the South African government. We donated the power units for the ventilation system and the project’s central phone switchboard.”
“I take it you have blueprints for all those buildings and communications lines.”
“Yes, of course. Well, actually there’s a certain black hole we haven’t thought much of until now.” Jacob hesitated. “Like I said, the digging and the foundations covered an extremely large area that included a whole lot of underground facilities. The idea was that some of the labs and development rooms would be underground to save on energy in the hot Saudi summer. UNESCO wanted to make it a model of eco-friendly construction, and we accumulated a certain expertise in the field. The entire campus is divided into two parts, joined together by a sixteen-hundred-foot tunnel. We installed the infrastructure for air-conditioning, electricity, and communications for both parts, but eventually only one was opened while work on the second part was stopped. We were told the fundraising was taking longer than expected due to the bursting of the hi-tech bubble and that the second part would stay empty at this stage. That was two years ago. We still have some people there who do maintenance—an engineer and two techs. In case of malfunctions, we use a local contractor with my staff giving the instructions and supervising the repairs. Up until last year, we operated the ventilation and air-compression machine alternately, one half at a time, and every month we shut down one half since only half of the air-conditioning volume was required for the manned part of the campus. In the past year, we’ve been asked to operate all the machines. I’m assuming they’re either working them at half strength or that the second half has been manned. I can check tomorrow morning.”
“Mr. Goldman, could we have the blueprints of the buildings and the ventilation and communications systems? I’m guessing this isn’t an orthodox request, but you understand what’s at stake here—the lives of two men and potentially a serious threat to Israel, or more.”
“Say no more, I understand perfectly. I’ll help you in whatever way I can. I would only like to make sure we communicate in secured channels both from the media and from hostile factors.”
“You’re based in Johannesburg, correct? I’ll give you the number of someone who can come to you and collect all the material. We won’t e-mail about it. We’ll send it all through the diplomatic mail to Israel so that there are no digital footprints of the transfer. Would it be rude to ask you to have everything ready tonight?”
“Our company operates 24/7, but it’ll seem very strange for me to come to the offices so late at night. It would be best if I get there very early in the morning; I’m usually there before most of the employees. I’ll have the package ready by ten a.m.”
“Excellent. I think it would be best if our man doesn’t come by your office. Think of some place public—a coffee house at a nearby mall or something like that.”
“You’re right. Have him call me in the morning, and I’ll tell him where to wait for me.”
Chapter 53
During the night an intruder—”the messenger”—was apprehended while trying to break into Eddie’s apartment. He was promised his release in exchange for his admission that he had been hired by Tzipi under Mickey’s orders. He knew Mickey back from his days in Shmulik’s collection business.
In the lobby of the luxurious Hyatt in Brussels, Mickey was waiting for a call from Israel confirming the server was collected from Eddie’s apartment ’til late into the night. By two o’clock in the morning, he had finished several whiskeys and nervously chewed on the little bowls of almonds that were placed in front of him by the gracious bartender. Finally he gave up and returned to his room. Just in case he decided to check with the hotel operator to see if there had been any messages for him. There hadn’t.
Restless, he stood at the window and stared at the lights of Brussels. Then he lay on the bed with his clothes on. He hesitated whether or not to call the hired burglar, but he knew he didn’t like being bothered in the middle of a job, as the “messenger” put it. Lacking of a better option, he called Tzipi who was staying in an apartment owned by one of Mickey’s inactive companies.
“Mickey?” Her voice sounded drowsy. “What time is it?”
“Sorry to wake you, Tzipi, but it is three o’clock in the morning, and I still haven’t heard anything from our messenger.”
“You know he doesn’t like anyone nagging him while he’s working. Trust him; he’ll let you know everything’s in order in the morning.”
“He promised he’d call the minute he had it.”
“You know what these guys are like. He’s probably somewhere getting high on the advance money I gave him and just forgot to call.”
“When are you meeting him?”
“I told him to be at the office at nine o’clock, and I ordered a FedEx messenger for the same time. He’ll take the package to the flight leaving for Brussels straight from here. It leaves at noon, so you’ll have the package in the early evening at the latest, just like we planned.”
“I really hope you’re right and that nothing went wrong.”
“Get to bed, Mickey. Too bad I can’t get in there with you; I’d help you relax the way I know you like.”
“You know I’m in the same room you and I stayed in three months ago?”
“I hope you’re there alone . . .”
“Who else would I be here with but you?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Tzipi, I miss you here now. The bed is too big, and I’m lonely without you. If you were here with me everything would look different, except I’m not so sure I could sleep with you next to me.”
“You’d calm down eventually. You know you can trust my expertise in that department,” Tzipi whispered in a voice that made Mickey’s body take over his mind and his worries fade away.
“Good night, Tzipi; and save your relaxation expertise for me for two more days.”
“Good night, Mickey. I’ll call you in the morning right after I’ve spoken with our delivery guy . . .”
It was already 10:00 a.m., and Tzipi still wasn’t able to reach the messenger. She tried calling his cel
l and his home number. His wife couldn’t say where he was. She knew he went out late at night, but hadn’t come home. She was used to his irregular hours and wasn’t worried. It was 9:00 a.m. in Brussels, and Tzipi decided to hold on and not call Mickey just yet; but then he called her. They started to realize there was cause for concern.
“I’m going to the management in Lichtenstein. Call my cell if you have any news.”
“Are you sure you should go there? I’d be worried. Besides, what about the package? By the time you get back, it’ll be too late to handle the rest of the shipping.”
“It’s best if I’m there so I can know in real time what’s happening between them and Alfonso. The way things are looking right now the package won’t make it out of Israel before tonight’s flight to Brussels anyway.”
“Take care, Mickey.”
“Everything’s going to be fine, Tzipi; it’ll all work out.” Mickey tried to cheer her up and quickly put down the phone before the tremor in his voice gave away his concern.
Minutes later a man and a woman in civilian clothing entered MRI’s offices. They showed their police badges and a search warrant. After a superficial scan of the place and confiscation of Tzipi’s cell phone, they asked her to come with them to the nearest police station. Uniformed policemen who arrived quickly after confiscated the company computers and started interrogating the two receptionists in separate rooms. There was no one left to answer the phones, so a call that came in from Lichtenstein moments later remained unanswered, but was traced back to its source by the Shabak’s bugging unit.
Mickey was getting ready to leave quickly. He had no intentions of heading into the lion’s den in Lichtenstein. He had different plans. He took a small briefcase and his car keys. On the hotel business floor where a special, rich breakfast buffet was laid out for guests staying on that floor only, he planned to have just a quick double espresso. As he walked toward the exit of the dining room, someone waved at him from one of the tables. It was Gerard, the manager of the investment company in Lichtenstein, who was a Sorbonne graduate, as well as a graduate of the prestigious INSEAD business school. The Frenchman, already in a three-piece suit at this time of the morning, had the appearance of a distinguished banker and served as the ideal cover for the illegal activities that went on in his company’s back rooms. He himself did entirely legitimate investment banking, but the man who really ran the company was his deputy, Maruan Ibn Said—a middle-aged Saudi who had blood ties to the Saudi royal family and was also a graduate of INSEAD. That was where the two met. Maruan’s flexible curriculum at INSEAD was made possible due to a donation of several million dollars from his family to the INSEAD extension in Abu Dhabi.
“Bonjour, Mickey. Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Gerard got up to shake Mickey’s hand.
“Actually I was thinking of heading out to your place and monitoring the developments from there.”
“As far as I know, you were meant to stay at the hotel and wait for a package. Come join me for breakfast. Here in Belgium, we have a leisurely way of running things, and breakfast is an essential stage for every successful work day.”
“Thank you, Gerard, but I thought Maruan would want to see me as soon as possible today.”
“Did something unexpected happen?”
“No, but it’s a very critical day.”
“Come, join me. As a matter of fact, I’m here because Maruan sent me. I have some meetings in Brussels. I left Lichtenstein early in the morning, and Maruan asked me to check in with you and see that everything was ok. No point of you leaving the hotel until the package gets here.”
“I thought I’d go out for a bit, you see, to get some air, and be back before noon to get the package and pass it forward.”
“Come help me spend the two hours I have before my first meeting. I’ll call Maruan and tell him you’re staying here with me to wait for the package.”
Gerard didn’t leave Mickey much choice, and Mickey realized he was probably there to keep track on him. He followed Gerard back to his table, matching his pace with Gerard’s slow, relaxed movements so as not to seem nervous. The nerve-racking wait for a message about the package took its toll on Mickey, and Gerard noticed that. Every call made Mickey jump in his seat, but it was always Maruan calling every half an hour to see if there was any news. From one call to the next, his voice became graver, and Mickey got tenser and tenser. Two hours passed and Gerard bid Mickey good-bye. Mickey, who had been ordered by Maruan to stay at the hotel ’til further notice, walked Gerard to the lobby and paced restlessly around the shopping floor. He received no message from Tzipi, and when he tried to call her cell or the office, no one picked up. Stressed and nervous, Mickey decided to take a short drive outside the city in his leased sports car—a silver Mercedes E-Class.
He drove the car outside the hotel underground parking lot and headed to the road surrounding the city, north toward the international highway connecting Brussels to Amsterdam. The glorious isolation of the driver’s compartment, the pride and joy of the Mercedes-Benz, muffled the sound of the roaring engine. The soft leather chairs and the green scenery he passed by made him feel a little bit more at ease, but all the while his mind was spinning, full of potential risks. Mickey was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the dark BMW that had been following him since he left the hotel. In it were two men. In his pocket, the driver had an Austrian Glock pistol with seventeen bullets in its long magazine. And at the feet of the man in the passenger’s seat was a short barrel Uzi equipped with a silencer. The German mercenaries hired by Maruan had clear orders—to stop Mickey if he left the hotel before the transfer of the computer to Saudi Arabia was complete and to dispose of him as soon as he had completed his mission. They called Maruan and reported that Mickey was now heading toward the Dutch border.
“You must stop him. He cannot leave the Brussels area,” said Maruan.
About nine miles north of Brussels on the A1, near the town of Machelen, the BMW sped up once traffic was a little lighter, getting closer and closer to the Mercedes and pushing it to the side of the road. Mickey had no idea what was going on and hit the brakes at once. The BMW also stopped, blocking the Mercedes from moving forward. The man in the passenger seat jumped out of the BMW and aimed his Uzi at the Mercedes. Mickey was petrified and stayed behind the wheel. The man gestured at him to get out and when he did, arms raised in the air, the assassin told him to get in the back seat of the BMW. Mickey leaned forward to open the door when the sound of screeching brakes caused him and the man holding the Uzi to turn around and look behind them. A Peugeot 406 stopped with its front lightly pushing Mickey’s car and that of the men who followed him. Someone leaped from the passenger seat, a thump was heard, and the man holding the Uzi fell backward against the BMW and down to floor. Blood splatters from his forehead sprayed on Mickey.
Mickey looked around, stunned.
“Run to us,” two men shouted at him in Hebrew. One of the men reached Mickey, pushed him inside the Peugeot, and got in as well. The driver hit the driver of the BMW in the head with his Jericho pistol when he tried to get out of his vehicle, ran back to the Peugeot that still had the engine running, sat behind the wheel, and sped away leaving behind one man dead, one injured and passed out, and two dented cars.
Chapter 54
Nir and Ronit met at the hospital cafeteria in the late hours of the morning, and he filled her in on the developments of the previous twelve hours—seizing MRI’s offices, tracking Mickey in Brussels, and the important conversation with Jacob Goldman in South Africa.
The day before, a representative of the Israeli police in Europe who was stationed in Berlin was instructed to engage the Interpol headquarters, per the request of the state of Israel. Simultaneously, the Israeli police representative in Washington contacted the secretary of homeland security at the federal government to ask that an arrest warrant be issued for the American citizen Mickey Rush and that an order be given to the American embassy in Brussels to have
him captured immediately.
“Unfortunately we weren’t able to make the wheels of global bureaucracy turn quickly enough to get to Mickey’s arrest. What was important was to make sure he was in custody and couldn’t get away while the raid of his offices was taking place.”
“So could he have gotten away?”
“You underestimate us, Ronit.” Nir smiled. “A team of Mossad agents had been stationed early this morning outside his hotel. They got hold of him after he apparently tried to escape toward the Netherlands and was nearly killed by two men who were following him—probably guys working for the people in Lichtenstein connected with PSSIC. He was taken to a safe house, and they have already questioned him. However, we prefer the Americans handle him.”
“Why is that?”
“First, because the project in Saudi Arabia is under UNESCO sponsorship, and it’s best if the United States takes the lead on this action. They aren’t in danger of being condemned by the Security Council or sanctioned, which is what Israel would face if we spearheaded an operation where the UN is supposedly being attacked. So we’re going to wait until a warrant for his arrest is issued in Washington, and when that arrives, we’ll turn him over to the American embassy in Bern.”
“Can we fully rely on the Americans?”
“We believe so. Some people in very powerful positions in the CIA promised us their full cooperation, and in the past few hours, they have been making every possible effort to help us. It’ll be a lot easier to get Eddie and Reuben out with the Americans’ help.”
“Yes, but the question is whether the mission of capturing the terrorists will take precedent over Reuben’s and Eddie’s lives. How much of a sacred mission will rescuing them alive be to the Americans?”
“Ronit, our special forces have also had some failures where the bad guys were killed or captured, but the hostages died during the extraction. There’s no insurance policy for rescue operations.”