by Jacob Ganani
Meanwhile, he heard Dori saying, “My wife’ll flip out,” and several voices chanted their agreement.
“Enough!” Azar warned again and a silence, now tense, settled over the room. His penetrating gaze swept over each of them, wiping any remnants of smiles from their faces. Haddad, maintaining an impassive expression, reached for the cabinet behind him and pulled out a cardboard box. He placed his phone inside the box and passed it around the table for everyone to do the same.
Cantor, unlike the others, was not bothered by radio silence. This was practically a daily occurrence where he had come from. A successful covert operation could easily be torpedoed by audio tracks digitally translated into an exact place and time. Besides that, radio silence did not really affect his private life. His relationship, which had begun with great hope, was already waning in a muddle of poor communication. It seemed that a few extra hours of separation, or even a few days, would make no great difference either way. But Albert Haddad was another story. He spoke with Dolly several times a day. Albert’s wife was also his true love and confidant. Cantor couldn’t think of a more ideal relationship. Haddad, who was tough and cynical, turned amiable and empathetic in his conversations with Dolly. A quick glance at him made Cantor realize that this directive would not be an easy task for Haddad.
“Go ahead, Ami.” Azar looked up at the plasma screen.
Chief Superintendent Amiel Zweig, the District Intelligence Officer, was a six-foot tall man whose thinness was further emphasized by his narrow shoulders. His skin was pale white, almost transparent. The district once started a betting pool on how many minutes of sun exposure would be needed for him to acquire his first melanoma. His bald, clean-shaven head shone like a bowling ball and flashed every time he moved under the white fluorescent office lights. His silver-framed multifocal glasses contributed to his habit of moving his head up and down as he looked ahead, constantly searching for focus. Cantor, whose previous endeavors were still deeply ingrained in his system, thought Zweig was not exactly the type who could blend in without someone later identifying him; an attribute which immediately eliminated him from ever serving in the Mossad. And if all this wasn’t enough, his voice had a strong nasal intonation with sharply pronounced diction. The sounds he emitted had the potential to irritate the nerves of even the calmest listener. To his credit, Cantor admired the fact that Zweig was courteous and polite, far from the rough image of a policeman. He belonged to that rare species that had been educated from an early age that one does not postpone till tomorrow what can be done today. This was appreciated by those who valued diligence, but distanced those who considered time to be a flexible matter that could be stretched without any pangs of conscience.
“Good morning, everyone.” Zweig’s shrill voice pierced the air and created a disturbance in the energy of the room. Some of the men instinctively moved uneasily in their seats.
He pressed a key and the Intelligence Unit’s logo was replaced with a presentation entitled White Night.
“A bit of a cliché isn’t it?” Haddad remarked with a grin at the choice of the word “white” to describe a drug operation.
“They use a computerized name generator!” exclaimed Uri. “Just like the IDF.”
“Obviously! Do you think the Intelligence Unit is as old-fashioned as we are?” Gantz added sarcastically.
Zweig ignored them and continued. “We have information about a consignment on board a ship that anchored last night outside the port of Ashdod.”
Cantor immediately understood what everyone was thinking. If such information existed, a raid should have already taken place. Only Zweig had not mentioned it, which meant there was a problem.
“But there’s a problem,” Zweig continued, as if reading his mind. “Our surveillance squad at the source lost the trace. A glitch. But on a positive note, it was lost right at the entrance to the port. That means there’s still a chance to apprehend it.” The “source” was the country from which the drugs originated.
“The cartel’s ‘robot’ on the lookout was lucky enough to meet our lousy surveillance team...” Gantz mocked scornfully. He didn’t care to hide his opinion about this shoddy operation, “so, basically, no one knows what fucking ship to search -”
“Enough with that kind of talk, Gantz!” Azar roared and signaled the Intelligence Officer to continue.
“For our purposes, all ships that left the source are under suspicion. We marked ten that were headed to our ports.” Zweig dejectedly caressed his bald head and for a moment the light reflecting from it dissipated.
“How many of those marked are currently anchored outside the port?” asked Haddad.
“Three.”
“Get on with it, Ami,” Azar pressed.
“Today, at first light, we intercepted every vessel that sailed from these ships to the shore. Nothing. Meanwhile, the ships from the source are in line to enter the port. The first will sail in tomorrow morning, and the other two later the same afternoon.”
Azar intervened. “All three are currently receiving instructions regarding their entrance to the port tomorrow. If the target decides to get rid of the shipment before the ship enters the port, they must do it tonight. That’s our working assumption.”
“Cases and responses,” continued Zweig. “Number one: if the shipment’s still on board a ship outside the port, there’s a high probability that they’ll try to move the package to shore while the ship remains at sea. Our response – stakeouts tonight with surveillance across the port and the adjacent marina. This is Stage A. If stage A turns out negative, we move on to stage B, which is a full-out search tomorrow after the ships are allowed into port. We have authorization to reinforce our search teams.”
“Questions so far?” asked Zweig, but no hands were raised. He waited a few seconds. “Okay, let’s get to work.” He clicked the mouse and uploaded an audio recording to the screen.
“You’re about to hear a recording dated about six weeks ago, provided by our Investigative Division, a routine follow-up on the Sexta brothers’ The Palace. It’s a conversation between Ezra Sexta and his deputy, Johnny Rice. I suppose everyone present here is familiar with these characters.”
“Rice is the Greek from Thessaloniki, isn’t he?” asked Uri.
“Thessaloniki, and later, Jaffa. Also a former officer in an elite army unit and an ex-con who did nine years for the largest bank fraud ever committed in this country... real salt of the earth type of guy. A homegrown, state cultivated, senior operations officer for organized crime,” Gantz put in, and the men around the table nodded in agreement.
Zweig continued, “We’re linked to the network of security cameras inside the building and have additional monitoring in Ezra Sexta’s office. I want you to take a few minutes to get an impression and tell me what you think about it. Please ignore the comments in red.” Zweig sat down and sipped from a glass of water in front of him.
Cantor, like the rest, concentrated on the screen.
Transcript from Surveillance Team 12 / Target: The Palace / Recording 139, 3rd Floor Ezra Sexta’s office / Present: 2 individuals - Ezra Sexta, Johnny Rice (verified by hallway security camera near office entrance and face recognition software) / Date: Sep 28 Time: 20:15/ Recording Duration 00:05:17.
Note: Some of the recording is disrupted due to local thunderstorms.
Ezra Sexta: “Nice work, Johnny. Yassou! That’s how your people say it, right?”
Johnny Rice: “My people in Thessaloniki or in Jaffa? Yes, Yassou, which goes well with a shot of Ouzo... But thank you, Ezra, honestly, thank you!”
Sexta: “Johnny, what’s their yearly scope? Did you check, maybe?” (Analyst notes – Who is he referring to here?)
Johnny Rice: “I did happen to check --------- of the Americans. If what they say is true, then they are responsible for thirty percent --------- USA. Let’s say, roughly, something like 150 tons. For the rest of the world, I couldn’t find any data. --------- estimated. Can’t really be sure.”
Rice: “And just in time. We got lucky with the messy situation in Lebanon. It no longer pays for them to do the transfer from there.” (Analyst notes – Who is he speaking about? What does he mean by “from there”? Which transfer?)
Sexta: “It’s a license to print money, huh Johnny!?”
---------
Rice: “Yes, even the weather’s in our favor... well, I’m off, there’s a lot of work to do.”
Sexta: “Go ahead Johnny, well done.”
End of recording 00:05:17
Azar broke the silence. “Alright. Anyone?” Haddad signaled that he was ready to start. “Yes, Albert?” Azar said.
“Well, it sounds like something big. So if the Greek managed to close an international deal, it wasn’t done on the phone or by email. Have you checked his movements abroad for the past six months? And another thing, they’re talking about ‘America’ and ‘the rest of the world.’ Sounds like they’re planning on smuggling commercial quantities.”
“Thank you, Haddad.” Zweig replied. “Gantz?”
“I just want to add,” said Yeremi Gantz. “If they mean a transfer from Lebanon, it fits the routes from South America, the Middle East and Europe. That’s all.”
“Anyone else?” asked Azar. “No?” And he turned his head toward Zweig, indicating for him to continue.
“This is the direction we considered in Intelligence: the assessment is that this is some kind of deal with one of the Colombian cartels. Johnny Rice flew to Colombia twice this year. The numbers also tell us something. The thirty percent belongs to the Cartel de Volla. A transit through Lebanon fits the routes of our neighboring countries.”
“Wait a second, Ami,” Azar said. “I don’t want anybody getting confused here - we’re not talking about just another deal, that’s not the issue. We’re talking about the Sexta family! Calling them a crime syndicate is no exaggeration. Several hits, gambling, prostitution, human trafficking, loans, racketeering, all with no significant convictions to this day. A tough organization. No one there ever opens their mouth.” Everyone in the room remained silent. This wasn’t new information.
“So - how can we lock them up for a good many years? Remember Al Capone? For years, they tried to convict him for murder and couldn’t nail him. How did they get him in the end? They found him guilty of tax evasion… that was what finally got him locked up in Alcatraz! What I’m saying is that the idea is to look for anything on Sexta. If we get him on drug charges, maybe this will serve as a domino effect. That’s why this is such a top priority and why maximum resources are being allocated. Ami, please go on.”
“They think that de Volla cut off their Lebanese contact and sought an alternative distributor, which brings us to the Sexta brothers.”
“Why them?” Haddad asked in a tone that made Cantor tense up. A legitimate and professional question, he thought, only for some reason it sounded loaded with a personal interest.
“A matter of probability. Their scope and reputation have received international attention. There’s no one else in their league around here.”
“Comments, anyone?” Azar asked, and when no one responded, he said, “Okay, let’s move on to the operational plan. Kalish, you’re up.”
Zweig took his seat and Superintendent Kalish, the commander of the operation, took his place in front of the screen and began to assign the team positions across the marina.
Haddad’s team was assigned to the first line of fire near the wharf. This was the spearhead team, the first force to meet the smugglers. For Cantor, this was the best possible news. This was the natural place for the elite warrior he considered himself to be. His intense fitness training over recent months had given him the confidence that he had now regained full operational competence. More than three months had passed since the doctor recommended that he be returned to the field, a recommendation sanctioned by the medical committee. And now, finally, a real opportunity to prove his ability... just the thought made his adrenaline rush in anticipation of action.
Yet, a moment later, he was disappointed when Kalish read out the names of the men and their positions. He had been placed on the sidelines as a backup, dozens of yards from the first line of fire. This assigned position left no chance for him to participate in the arrest and seizure. It was an assignment for a decorative plant, and obviously an expression of their lack of confidence in his operational abilities.
He looked over at Haddad, trying his best not to betray his frustration and disappointment. Haddad gave him a steady look that he couldn’t interpret. But what did it even matter? He had no doubt that Haddad himself chose Uri over him, and this was a clear testament. The choice was his way of saying, “Sorry, Cantor, but I still don’t trust your abilities enough to put my life in your hands...”
His first thought was to challenge the assignment. Separating partners was not acceptable under any circumstances. Yet he knew that no appeal would ever change an operational decision that was already cast. An appeal would only damage his relationship with Haddad and perhaps earn him the dubious reputation of a troublemaker. He decided to remain silent. He was determined to prove that he knew how to be a team player and, if needed, the one who steps in off the bench.
He looked away from Haddad and focused on Kalish. Haddad, he thought, would not be the first to apologize for underestimating him.
H-hour for field deployment was set for sundown at 6:00pm.
Operation White Night got the green light.
CHAPTER 6
Monday – Night
The wind howled and whistled as it passed through the ropes and masts and plucked plumes of spray off the jagged sea waves as they crashed against the jetty. The docks were wet and slippery, and the boats tied along them swung restlessly in the rough waters. Lights mounted on towering posts along the docks painted the incessant rain in a yellowish tint.
At H-minus three, Cantor’s team took up their positions. Just before they left HQ, Azar had stressed that all the teams would be fully monitored at the convergence stage - a legitimate statement, but expressed in a threatening tone. Cantor expected someone to protest or at least take offense. In his view, mistakes due to lack of professionalism or negligence were unforgivable. It simply could not happen. The other men thought nothing of this matter, which reinforced his opinion that the police force was, in essence, a civilian organization.
Intelligence estimated that there was a high probability that the delivery would take place between 11:00pm and midnight. Haddad, on his part, was skeptical about this ‘precise’ window. Based on his experience, ordered and logical reasoning was too predictable, and, therefore, often proved wrong. Cantor thought their targets could only benefit from the stormy weather, but knew that perfect conditions couldn’t be guaranteed.
Haddad and Uri established their key positions on dock number three. Their backup team was situated on the rooftop located behind them. The backup team consisted of two snipers for a quick interception if the targets chose to resort to violence.
In order to lure their prey into the trap, boats had been moved from their positions and crammed together so that all but docks three and eight were completely occupied. Like a game of chess, the idea was to allow the opponent a minimum number of choices. Anyone wishing to dock would have limited choice.
Cantor was positioned in a warehouse located about thirty yards from the wharf. He scanned it from behind half-closed shutters. Thirty minutes of unnatural crouching was sending distress signals from his back to his brain. Cantor had already forgotten the last time his body had betrayed him after such a short period o
f exertion. It turned out that neither the doctors nor the gym had been able to completely repair the damage inflicted on his body by the accident. The chilling cold in the warehouse easily penetrated the stiff cloth of his cargo pants. Yet Cantor, familiar with long stakeouts, had come fully prepared. He took out a small plastic container from his pocket and swallowed two maximum strength capsules of Celebrex. The strong pain relief would dull the lower back pain that was already casting jolts of agony through his body. If he had to run, a stiff back was the last thing he wanted.
He returned to focus on the docks, hoping to see a boat emerge from the darkness. Any boat. A speedboat, a small motorboat or perhaps even a rowboat that would make its way silently to shore. They expected a shipment of approximately 50 kilos of refined heroin. At $60,000 a kilo, it was worth $3 million, and perhaps more than three times that when sold on the street.
Cantor considered the odds again. It was impossible to ignore the half-full glass. This time, senior command had gone full force. No one had any doubt. A patrol boat was docked in the marina and a first strike team of twenty detectives circled the port and the marina in a wide operational stand. Six more teams, serving as an additional strike force, were positioned around the port in order to block any approach from the outside and to intercept any attempt to rescue or intervene from beyond the gates. In addition, a Bell 206 helicopter equipped for a night mission stood ready to reinforce the teams. The helicopter’s objective was to continuously monitor the sector and prevent the smugglers concealing their boat among the other vessels or escaping to open sea.
Cantor again reviewed all stages of the tactical mission in his mind. He had a sense of cautious optimism. A successful operation might be the lead they needed for catching the big fish. Cantor, tired of waiting, willed himself to enter a serene frame of mind.
***