To Kill a Shadow

by Ronen, Nathan

  “Wait for me outside. Our real appointment hasn’t started yet.”

  Cornfield followed him with his eyes as he crossed the large room, and Arik felt like a hunted animal escaping the clutches of a gliding hawk.

  Chapter 41

  Mossad H.Q

  The Mossad director’s car stopped at the entrance of a modern, pentagon-shaped office building located high on a hill facing the Tel Aviv-Haifa highway. Cornfield came out of it and headed straight to his office, crossing the secretariat and entering his private sitting room. He opened the wood globe and took out his favorite whiskey, Glenfiddich 21 Year Old Special Reserve, poured a glass, and gulped half of it. Shlomo Zimmer, his bureau chief, followed him into the room and asked with concern, “Cornfield, are you all right?”

  Cornfield raised the glass toward him and said with a sad smile, “Not enough blood in my alcohol lately.” Zimmer didn’t reply. Like many others, he had been witnessing his commander falling into alcoholism and losing his concentration. There were those who excused Cornfield’s behavior with the physical difficulties his new prosthetic leg made him suffer or with the dizzy spells caused by the diabetes medication he had to take. But Zimmer knew the real reason: the prime minister had been pestering his boss. Why? he asked himself. What reason could the person who had uplifted and promoted Cornfield now have to harass him?

  With the whiskey glass in his hand, Cornfield went to his desk, took out a small phone book from the drawer, and dialed Admiral Jack Derby’s classified phone number. A few moments later, the director of the CIA’s voice sounded on the other line, full of cheer. “Yes, Cornfield, my friend.”

  “Jack, there’s something urgent we need to discuss,” said Cornfield with a heavy Israeli accent. “Are you in your headquarters?”

  “Actually, I happen to be in your neighborhood.”

  “Then why don’t you drop by for a brief meeting?” Cornfield asked hopefully. Since the two had met at the Washington National War College, they had developed a deep friendship. Both were disabled war veterans and decorated soldiers. “I’ll finally be able to give you that tour of Tel Aviv I’ve been promising you for years.”

  Darby laughed. “I’ve seen enough of it.”

  “You were here?” asked Cornfield, surprised.

  “You can say so. I was close enough to watch it through a submarine’s periscope. Beautiful city. Especially at night with all the lights on.”

  “Oh, good, I thought you were closer.”

  “Is this something we could discuss on the phone? Or would you rather go to the American embassy in Tel Aviv and talk to me on the secure line?”

  “No, no. It has to be a face-to-face meeting. I’ll be bringing two of my men with me.”

  “Sorry, Cornfield, I’m busy these days. The president is about to finish his term, and I’m about to end mine with him. At the moment, we’re conducting a series of meetings in Iraq. In two days, we’ll be taking off to Afghanistan. Actually, why don’t I send a plane to pick you up? We could meet midway in American territory.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Hold on a minute,” said the admiral. Two minutes later, he got back on the line. “Cornfield, I’m sending you a light aircraft. It could land in four and a half hours in the military airport near Eilat and bring you to the USS Nimitz, currently in the Gulf of Aden. What time is it in Israel?”

  “Eighteen thirty,” said Cornfield, still feeling reserved about the offer.

  “Which means it’s nineteen thirty in the Gulf of Aden. Five hours from now, it’ll be after midnight over there. What do you think about meeting me tomorrow for breakfast at oh eight hundred hours?”

  Cornfield thought about the difficulties involved with air travel, his new prosthetic leg, and insufferable headaches. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “Should I bring you anything from the Holy Land?”

  “Yes, you could, actually,” Derby said happily. “My wife really liked that Gamla Chardonnay you brought me last time. If you could bring another bottle, that would be nice.”

  “No problem. See you tomorrow at breakfast,” said Cornfield and hung up. He pressed the intercom and asked Shlomo Zimmer to come inside. “We’re heading out tonight from Tel Aviv. We are leaving from Sde Dov Airport to meet the plane at the Ovda Military Airport and from there to another destination for a meeting with Derby. Have Alex and Arik be there on time and arrange a plane to take us from Sde Dov to Ovda. Arrange a trolley suitcase for me with a suit, tie, and a change of clothes. I also need a gift package containing six Chardonnay bottles from the Golan Heights winery in an olive wood box.”

  “Where am I supposed to get Chardonnay at this hour? Or an olive wood box?” Zimmer protested.

  “I don’t care. Call the winery and tell them it’s a national emergency. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’m going to a concert. The Israeli SOS Mental First Aid Association has arranged one of those irritating fundraising concerts with Zubin Mehta, and Amira is on the board of directors and one of the organizers. Woe to me if I miss this concert or be late. There’s a good chance I’d be spending the next couple of nights outside in the doghouse.”

  “I can still get you your whiskey there.” Zimmer chuckled.

  “Which reminds me, don’t forget to pack that medicine in my trolley as well,” he pointed at the Glenfiddich bottle.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll have everything you asked for in Sde Dov at twenty-three hundred. The men, the Chardonnay, the suitcase, and the whiskey,” Zimmer promised.

  Cornfield teetered out of the room, thinking that of all the people around him, Shlomo Zimmer was the only one he could trust. In the elevator, he remembered to add General Hassin to that short list.

  Chapter 42

  USS Nimitz Supercarrier—Somewhere in the Gulf of Aden

  A small American E-2 Hawkeye plane noisily landed at the Ovda Air Force Base in the Negev Desert near Eilat. A pilot, a copilot, a navigator, and an airborne mechanic immediately got off the plane. A car picked up the American team members and took them to the squadron club to meet their passengers.

  About half an hour later, the team returned to the plane accompanied by three men. The air traffic controller who watched them chuckled to himself. They looked like a trio of clowns to him. One was short, the other was taller, and the third was a giant of a man. After they had disappeared inside the transport plane and the door closed behind them, the engines roared and it slowly took off, heading south to the Gulf of Aqaba.

  Darkness lay inside the plane. The radios were silent. The airborne mechanic, a large-bodied African-American with the flat nose of a boxer, handed military blankets to the passengers. The plane’s internal communication earphones were also meant to serve as earplugs but proved to be useless; the noise of the turboprop engines infiltrated all barriers. Numerous air pockets turned the passengers’ stomachs upside-down. The coffee and wine Cornfield had drunk during the reception of the concert and later at the squadron club began to burden his bladder. “Excuse me, where can I take a leak around here?” he asked the mechanic.

  “Follow me please, sir,” the mechanic said. In a niche at the back of the plane, a long tube with a funnel at its end was installed. The mechanic presented it to Cornfield.

  “What do I do with this?” Cornfield laughed, drunk from whiskey and swaying with the movements of the plane.

  “Pull the fasteners on the funnel from both sides, sir, then place your penis inside, and let the laws of physics do the rest,” said the mechanic with utter seriousness, as if giving flight instructions.

  He retreated out of the niche and pulled a curtain after him. Cornfield remained by himself, trapped between three metal walls and a curtain. How fitting to my situation in life, he thought. Walls closing on all sides, leaving me with my pants down. He opened his zipper, and obeyed the airborne mechanic’s instructions. The moment he pressed the fasteners, the thin air outside the plane sucked the urine out of his body within less than a second. The relief was complete a
nd instantaneous, but lacked the sense of release that accompanied regular urination.

  Dawn began to rise as the plane began to descend. The sea was the only thing seen through the windows. “May I have your attention, please,” the pilot said on the internal communication system. “We’ll be landing on the USS Nimitz shortly. I assume none of you have experienced a landing on a moving vessel before, so I’d like to brief you to avoid unpleasant incidents.”

  The three passengers straightened up with expectation.

  “We are about to land on the USS Nimitz supercarrier, a nuclear warship sailing at its full speed of thirty-seven miles per hour. In order to land, we’ll be using an arresting cable. It is connected to a hook installed in the rear and lower parts of the plane and slows it down to a complete halt. We’ll be landing on board the USS Nimitz at maximum speed, so we can immediately take off and try to land again in case of a malfunction. During the landing and sudden arrest, an immense gravitational force is involved. Therefore, you might experience increased perspiration and find it difficult to maintain balance while standing on your feet. Please keep your seatbelts fastened during landing. Should we drop to sea, your life vests will be automatically inflated. I wish us all good luck.”

  Through the windows of the descending airplane, against the background of a spectacular sunset, the giant image of the aircraft carrier was revealed. It was accompanied by escort and supply ships and three destroyers. The plane touched the deck and was immediately arrested as if by an invisible hand. Two officers, dressed in gray overalls, stood at the end of the runway and waited for the Israeli delegation.

  Cornfield came out first, sweating and swaying. He couldn’t even reach out his hand to meet that of the admiral who stood in front of him, the Commander of the Fifth Fleet.

  The admiral smiled. “General, I guess you’re a landlubber. First time on an aircraft carrier?”

  Cornfield nodded with embarrassment.

  The delegation members were taken to the giant ship’s guest cabins so they could shower and change clothes. Blue fleece jackets bearing the ship’s insignia were placed on the guest beds along with baseball hats embroidered with the ship’s name and gold laurel wreaths.

  Cornfield, still dizzy, lost his footing, and Arik grabbed his arm a moment before he sprawled on the wet deck. Cornfield snatched his arm free. “You’re the last person on earth I’d like to get help from,” Cornfield hissed angrily.

  Chapter 43

  An Argument on the Nimitz

  At seven in the morning, an American two-seater F-18 jet fighter landed on the aircraft carrier carrying Admiral Jack Derby, Director of the CIA. An American breakfast was served to the guests in the ship’s club. The kitchen staff labored over the preparation of mountains of fresh pancakes with maple syrup and blueberry jam, omelets, bacon, toast, pitchers with preserved orange juice, and coffee. Two giant Marines stood at the club entrance, wearing a full combat uniform.

  After breakfast, welcome addresses, and handshakes, the guests and the host moved to a square table and sat down, facing each other. A young female officer sat beside Admiral Jack Derby , recording the conversation and transcribing it in a small laptop. Cornfield began. “Thank you, Jack, for the great effort you’ve taken to come here and meet us.”

  Derby smiled politely.

  “First, I’d like to introduce my team members. To my right is Arik Bar-Nathan, head of our operations division. To my left, Dr. Alex Abramovich, head of the Research and Intelligence Division. Now I’ll show you two documents, which I hope will help you understand the urgency of the matter I’d like to discuss.”

  Alex took out the photos of the plutogenic reactor in Deir ez-Zor and placed them on the table next to close-up photos brought by the IDF taskforce that had been sent there.

  Darby looked at them with interest. “Where did you get those?” he asked.

  Cornfield looked at Arik. “You can tell him everything,” he said. “We’re among friends.”

  “The initial information was received by the leader of the Mujahideen al-Islamiyya.”

  Derby gave him a skeptical look. “Are you related to her?”

  Arik didn’t answer and simply added, “We’ve discovered the rest ourselves.”

  Darby shrugged. “I don’t know if the people of the Revolutionary Guards and the Iranian leadership would be dumb enough to try such a stunt. They know the American position that opposes the transformation of Iran or one of its allies to a nuclear threshold country. We’ve imposed sanctions on them, and in my opinion, they’re not looking for more trouble.”

  “In principle, you’re right,” said Alex, “but the Iranians are hiding behind the North Koreans and are merely funding the project. Besides, they know you’re in the middle of a Presidential clearance sale. You’re up to your necks in crumbling Iraq, not to mention what’s happening to you guys in Afghanistan. Additionally, you need to take into account they are not directly provoking you. You are the Great Satan, and they’re trying to harm us, the Little Satan.”

  “So what do you expect us to do?” asked Derby. “You know we won’t get tangled up with a new military adventure. Not even for you.”

  “We know that,” said Alex. “Our intention is to secretly update you that we are not going to sit idle about this. Actually, you’ll be able to claim you didn’t know anything about it.”

  “That’s fine as far as I’m concerned, and I assume the president would feel the same. But he’s the one deciding, and I suggest you don’t act before I give you an informal green light. I don’t want to be in a situation in which we need to pull you out of a new Middle Eastern war, now of all times, with the elections up and coming. I hope I’m making myself clear.”

  The Israeli team, exhausted from the long night and the hardships of the flight, nodded as one.

  “Gentlemen, I suggest we retire for a short rest and meet here again in two hours,” Derby said and gallantly motioned toward the door.

  On the way to the restroom, Cornfield and Derby disappeared into the Fifth Fleet Commander’s empty cabin. Derby opened the bar. The bottle of Glenfiddich 21 Year Old Gran Reserva he took out of it made them both feel much more comfortable.

  Cornfield took out a box of large Cuban cigars and a cigar cutter, cut the head of a cigar, and handed it to the admiral.

  “Cohiba.” Derby whistled in appreciation. “We don’t have them because of the embargo.”

  Cornfield gallantly lit the cigar with his gold lighter. The two sat under the sign saying, “No Smoking in Public Places,” placed their feet on the table, and exchanged memories and gossip. Arik’s voice was heard from outside, speaking with the Marine who was guarding the cabin. “I need to speak to General Cornfield,” Arik explained.

  “You can’t, sir. He’s with Admiral Derby, and they’re not to be disturbed.”

  “I have something important to say to him.”

  The same answer was repeated, polite, yet firm. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, sir. He’s with Admiral Derby and they’re not to be disturbed.”

  Two hours later, Cornfield and Derby returned to the briefing room, all smiles and cheer.

  “Cornfield!” Arik stretched up and said in Hebrew. “Now’s the opportunity to update him about Ruth the Moabitess. I want him to recommend the Secretary of State to take her organization off the terrorist organizations list and allow the unfreezing of the organization’s bank accounts in American and European banks.”

  “Forget it. What does your Iranian whore has to do with the reactor we came here to discuss?” Cornfield raised his voice.

  Arik continued in Hebrew. “Cornfield, you’re drunk. She’s not a whore, and you’re sabotaging my work. We may never have a better opportunity. This is a propitious time, and we need more things from him. For instance, an official approval for using American uniforms and identities to conceal those of Mossad instructors guiding the Mujahideen al-Islamiyya soldiers in Iraq.”

  Cornfield couldn’t even hear him anymore. Th
e blood rushed up to his alcohol drenched brain. He was furious. “I’m drunk? How dare you talk to me like that! Shut up and get the fuck out of here!” he screamed at Arik.

  Darby turned his face away from them, embarrassed.

  “Cornfield, let’s go outside. You’re embarrassing our host,” Arik tried to appease Cornfield and held his arm.

  Cornfield lost control. He violently pushed Arik away from him and roared angrily. “I told you not to touch me, didn’t I? You’re through with me, you hear? You ungrateful son of a bitch. You think I don’t know about you and Amira? You arrogant prick. Who do you think you are? You and your dramas. You’re nothing but a pathetic gigolo! I should have kicked you out of Mossad on my first day on the job.”

  Arik looked at their host, who rose and gazed outside through the porthole window. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

  Darby nodded, and Arik stepped outside.

  Alex, who wanted to leave with him, was ordered to remain in the room for the continuation of the briefing. But Derby rose from his seat and said, “Cornfield, I apologize, I must join my boss on Air Force One. Perhaps we could meet at your place or mine with the wives sometime in the near future?” He shook Cornfield’s hand, then Alex’s, and hurriedly left.

  Cornfield wasn’t able to rise from his chair. He was weak and dizzy, as if in the middle of a hypoglycemic attack. In the dimness of his mind, he recalled he had forgotten to take his pills. Neither Shlomo Zimmer, his bureau chief, nor his wife were there to remind him.

  Alex called for help. “He’s diabetic,” he worriedly said to the naval doctor, who injected the unconscious Cornfield with a glucose solution.

  The flight back to Israel passed in an uncomfortable silence. As the plane began to descend for landing, Cornfield spoke for the first time and said, “Bar-Nathan, get your stuff. You have thirty days to transfer all your files to Mot’ke Hassin. I don’t want to see your face during that time in any of my meetings. You’re through. You’re fired. Get out of my face. Understood? And you, Dr. Abramovich, breathe one word about my medical incident and you’ll be next. Am I making myself clear?”