To Kill a Shadow

by Ronen, Nathan

  Chapter 44

  Up the Descending Stairs

  About two hours after he had landed, Arik sat upset in his house. He felt trapped in one of M. C. Escher’s Trompe L’oeil paintings.

  He tried to call Eva, but was directed to a voicemail again and again.

  After some hesitations, he called Michael. In his heart, he thanked his son for choosing to study in Jerusalem and not abroad. Surprisingly, he was answered after the first ring. “Hey, Pops. What’s up?”

  “I’m fine, how are you?” Arik mumbled the necessary words of politeness.

  “I’m all right. Crazy busy in school. Anything special going on?”

  Arik was silent. He couldn’t possibly expose his distress, and suddenly felt sorry for calling his son.

  “I can hear you’re in trouble, Dad.”

  “I had a fight with my boss,” he said slowly. “As far as he’s concerned, I’m out. I wanted to ask your opinion. Should I go to our big boss and ask him to get me back to work? What do you say?” he couldn’t believe he was having such a conversation with his young son.

  “In India, I studied the way of the Tao. My guru explained that when we are angry at other people because of their behavior, we are usually angry at them for reflecting our own flaws in an unflattering way.”

  “Your advice may be great for India with its slow shanty mentality. Unfortunately, I’m living in adrenaline-drenched Israel, where things never slow down. Your guru may be right in theory, but right now, I need some practical advice.”

  “Dad, you live in the western world in which the general belief is that action is always the best cure for anxiety, right?”

  Arik grunted in hesitated consent.

  “So if we go along with this concept, you have two options: go home quietly, like your boss wants, or turn to the big boss and ask him to decide. Now tell me, what course of action leaves you with the narrowest margin of error?”

  Arik was amazed. That was exactly the train of thought he needed. “My boychik. Now I’m very happy I called you. Thanks.”

  “Hold on.” Michael kept him on the line. “Do you have direct contact with the prime minister? Have you ever spoken with him?”

  Arik was astonished to discover how little his son knew of his life. Actually, he thought, how could he know? Everything was top secret—his actions, anxieties, accomplishments, even his actual job title. “I have a good and direct contact with him,” he said. “I visited his office just a few days ago regarding another matter. He’s on my side.”

  “Great. Good luck, Dad!” said Michael with genuine joy in his voice.

  Arik called Major General Amishav, the prime minister’s military secretary. “I need to schedule an urgent private meeting with the boss.”

  “Oh really? You’ve got some nerve, Arik! I still remember how you just happened to ‘forget’ your meeting with the prime minister during Fischer’s time. What happened? Cornfield kicked your ass so now you suddenly need a private meeting?”

  “All right, at least let me explain—” Arik tried.

  “I don’t think so. You’re done here in the prime minister’s office! Just retire quietly and be thankful for not having to stand trial before Mossad’s ethics committee for screwing one of your agents and humiliating your boss in front of the CIA director. You’re lucky you weren’t dismissed for misconduct and still get to keep your pension rights. Just sit quietly, and don’t make people angrier than they already are.”

  Arik hung up the phone, sat on the porch and gazed into the sea, defeated.

  The phone rang. “Hi, Arik!” Eve called cheerfully.

  “Where are you?”

  “Jerusalem, of course. The school year has started, remember?”

  “All right,” he said, disappointed.

  “Is anything the matter?”

  Arik tried to hold on with all his might to the image he had spent a lifetime preserving but finally gave up and said, “Problems with my boss.”

  “Tell me.”

  Arik hesitated.

  “Tell me only what you’re allowed to.”

  “I wanted to promote something, and he was drunk and drugged from medication and stopped me by screaming and shouting at me in front of guests from abroad. I tried to explain, and he just fired me.”

  “Go to the big boss. He appreciates you very much, doesn’t he?” Once more, the mysterious Eva emerged from the one he was familiar with.

  “How do you know?”

  “You told me so, remember?”

  Arik didn’t. But at that moment, was desperate enough to agree. Perhaps he had simply forgotten; perhaps she had imagined it. “They won’t let me through to him.”

  She remained quiet for a long time. “Is there anything I can do?” she finally asked.

  “Yes. If you could get here early.”

  “I’ll leave right after class. Meanwhile, be strong and remember that I love you. Kisses.”

  An hour later, the phone rang again. Major General Amishav was on the line. “The prime minister instructed me to summon you and Cornfield to a meeting tomorrow at nine AM.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know,” Amishav muttered. “Perhaps you have a guardian angel.”

  Chapter 45

  Good Evening, Despair—Good Night, Hope

  At exactly nine AM, Prime Minister Lolik Kenan moved from the conference room to his personal office and found Arik in the waiting room. “Come,” he told him. Then to his secretary, he said, “Where’s Cornfield?”

  “He’s not feeling well and sent Major General Hassin to replace him.”

  “And where’s Hassin?”

  “The elevator’s out of service. He’s coming up the stairs, slowly.”

  The prime minister’s face lit with a vicious smile. He pictured Hassin in his mind, holding the rail with his hook, intimidating the receptionists with his burned steak face on each and every floor. He stepped into his office, and Arik followed.

  “I’ve known Cornfield for thirty years.” He chuckled. “If he doesn’t even want to see me just because I agreed to meet with you, then you must have managed to piss the hell out of him.”

  The intercom buzzed. “Hassin is here,” said the secretary, and the prime minister instructed her to let him in.

  “So, I have a new job now? Mossad babysitter?” the prime minister said as soon as Hassin entered and refused the curved hook extended for a handshake.

  Hassin gave Arik a menacing look. “You thought you could go behind our backs to the prime minister and get your job back?”

  Arik ignored him. “Sir,” he said to the prime minister, “my motives are related only with state security. I never had any intention of undermining my superior or indulging in self-promotion.”

  “Don’t you want to be promoted?” asked Kenan with a smile.

  “No, I don’t. Not in the current organizational climate, which revolves around insults and personal antagonism. I’m not the only one suffering from this attitude. The poisonous head is infecting all the lower levels of the organization, affecting each division head and department manager—”

  “That’s an inexcusable insult! You’re a liar!” Hassin called.

  “Shh. Let him talk.” The prime minister silenced him with a wave of his hand. “Why do you think Cornfield and Hassin are acting this way?” He turned to Arik.

  “They come from a different organizational culture; one that leaves subordinates no personal freedom. Mossad has always been a creative organization that promotes alternative thinking. People are supposed to think and present their ideas to their superiors without fear, not simply obey orders.”

  The prime minister’s face turned serious. He took out a pencil and a notebook with the title “BA Cornfield” from one of the drawers and started scribbling remarks.

  “Do you have anything to say?” he asked Hassin.

  “Bar-Nathan’s behavior is outrageous.”

  “What has he done? I’ve read the report. Cornfield
claims he teased and insulted him during their meeting with Admiral Derby Derby. Tell me, what exactly happened there?” He turned to Arik again.

  “I can’t, sir. That wouldn’t be right. I don’t want to shame anyone.”

  Lolik Kenan gave Hassin a slight smile, awaiting his reaction.

  “Can I speak openly, as a soldier?” the deputy director of Mossad asked.

  “We’re all soldiers here, speak freely.”

  “Sir,” Hassin said excitedly and pointed at Arik, “that man has violated all the ethical codes expected from a Mossad division head to follow. He has some Persian whore in Paris. She gives him reasonable intelligence information, and her men are not doing a bad job, I’ll admit that, but we’re the ones who need to pay the bill for everything this gigolo is doing with her.”

  “Gigolo?” The prime minister released a mock whistle of admiration and smiled at Arik. “And what bills did he ask you to pay, soldier?”

  “He bought her a white Mercedes-Maybach, even though the Mossad director has specifically instructed—”

  Kenan’s cheeks tightened in anger. “Enough with your bullshit. Do you know any good agents who don’t ask for money? An agent not getting money will end up costing us in gold. There are no volunteers in espionage. It’s in our best interest that she and her men depend on favors we provide them. You yourself just said they were doing a good job.”

  “But—” Hassin protested.

  “No buts. This is all bullshit!” the prime minister shouted, and his little eyes spat fire. “This man has brought us our bases in Azerbaijan; this man took out Imad Husniyah; this man has given us information that will aid us to perform an important preventative operation in Syria. Did you forget why Cornfield flew to meet Derby in the first place? So he has a woman in Paris, and he authorized buying her a Mercedes something…”

  “Mercedes-Maybach,” Hassin offered his help.

  “Maybach, shmaybach,” the prime minister muttered contemptuously. “You think I give a shit? And let’s assume that he fucked her. So what? Why do I even need to hear about it?”

  “If you bring him back into the system, it will be over my dead body.” Hassin stood on his feet, leaning his hooks on the shiny mahogany table and scratching it.

  The prime minister laughed. “Don’t fret. As far as I’m concerned, if you don’t like it, you can leave your keys on your way out. From what I hear, you’re doing more harm than good.”

  Hassin left the room, slamming the door and muttering, “You son of a bitch!” at the laughing Kenan.

  “He’s allowed to curse me,” Kenan explained to the astonished Arik. “We shared the same foxhole. Now, about you.”

  Arik prepared himself for the worst.

  “I’m going to merge the National Security Council and the Counterterrorism Office into a single body, and I want you to manage it and serve as my right hand and help with the coordination of all security agencies. We’ll give you the title of Prime Minister Intelligence Advisor. As far as I’m concerned, you can also serve as Chairman of Intelligence and Security Services.”

  “And how do you think Cornfield would react when he hears I’m now above him in the chain of command?” asked Arik.

  “Don’t worry about Cornfield. He’s a practical old dog who just wants to finish his term.” The prime minister’s eyes wandered to the large clock hanging on the wall, indicating to Arik that his time was up.

  Arik rose, shook the prime minister’s hand, and discovered his grip was as firm as a farmer’s.

  “By the way,” said Kenan, “I really appreciated the fact you chose to remain professional and didn’t speak about Cornfield’s drinking problem and diabetes attacks.”

  Arik kept a straight face.

  “You thought I didn’t know?” the prime minister asked and emitted another one of his sour little laughs.

  Chapter 46

  Meiersdorf Dormitories. Mount Scopus—Jerusalem

  It was early morning and Michael Bar-Nathan walked from the student village in Mount Scopus to the bus station to wait for the shuttle bus transporting students between the two Hebrew University campuses in the capital. The chill of the Jerusalem morning made him shiver. He missed his warm bed and his beloved girlfriend, Michal, who still slept there, snuggled in his shirt.

  The station was empty. According the timetable, the bus was supposed to arrive any minute. Michael stood on the curb, waiting.

  A cry of, “Allahu Akbar” suddenly rose from a small car that climbed on the sidewalk with dizzying speed. Michael jumped back, but his leg got hit by the vehicle’s bumper. He collapsed to the sidewalk, watching with horror as the vehicle turned back and sped toward him again. He crawled beneath the bench. The car smashed into the station, and its glass, decorated with the emblem of Jerusalem municipality, smashed into a thousand pieces. The car stopped.

  From the window, Michael could see a head completely covered by a black ski mask and the barrel of a gun. A pair of slanted eyes gave him a blank stare. The bullet was fired almost without a sound, a second before Michael rolled himself under the bench and down the steep slope behind the station. Two bystanders came running.

  Michael shouted, “Look out, he’s got a gun!” but they didn’t hear him. The man got out of the car and shot at them. One fell, and the other jumped into the bushes. The man got back to his car and tried to reverse. The smell of charred tires rose in the air. After several such attempts, the car came down from the sidewalk, and the terrorist escaped with the front bumper of his vehicle dragging on the road.

  It was only then that Michael took a moment to inspect his body. His clothes were torn and a deep, bleeding cut opened across his arm. His right foot was stretched aside at an unnatural angle, like the broken leg of a doll. He fumbled in his pockets and was relieved to discover his cell phone intact. He heard the sirens of emergency vehicles approaching, so he assumed someone had already called the police. He dialed his dad’s number and Arik answered right away.

  “I got run over,” Michael cried with pain.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the slope behind the station next to the student village. Someone else got killed or injured… Wait, the police are here. Maybe they won’t see me…I am behind the big bush……”

  “I’m on it,” Arik told him in a reassuring voice. He attached the red and blue police strobe to the roof of the BMW he still possessed and sped down the fast lane to Jerusalem, zigzagging on the wayside and activating the siren to make his way through the endless traffic jam.

  While maneuvering on the road, Arik called the Jerusalem district’s chief of general security agency. He updated the officer who answered about the exact location of the incident, then called Claire at the office, and finally Naomi.

  “Michael’s been in an accident. He’s all right, just injured his leg,” he said. “Please let Rachel know. They’ll probably take him to the Hadassah Medical Center in Mt. Scopus.”

  When he reached Sho’eva Junction, the phone rang. He recognized the Jerusalem Precinct chief’s private number. “Your son, Michael, has been injured in a hit and run terrorist attack in Mount Scopus about half an hour ago,” the officer immediately said.

  “I know—I was the one who reported the attack. Where is he?”

  “In an ambulance on the way to the Emergency Room at Hadassah Medical Center. The paramedics diagnosed a compound fracture in his leg.”

  “What else?”

  “Abrasions on his hand. Nothing serious.”

  “Is there any information regarding the terrorist?” asked Arik.

  “The university’s security cameras show a masked attacker exiting the car and firing. The attacking vehicle was leased in the old city under a false identity and was found deserted in the Ramat Eshkol neighborhood. Are you coming here?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  The moment he finished the call, Claire, his longtime secretary who had been transferred with him to the new office, called him. “Alex wants to talk to
you,” she said and he immediately heard Alex’s unique accent.

  “Arik?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Arik responded nervously.

  “All right, we’ve identified the attacker. It must be your Temple Mount assassin. I’m hanging up because Shlomo Zimmer is about to call you any minute.”

  “What does he want?” asked Arik, but Alex had already hung up. And indeed the phone immediately rang for the third time. “Arik, it’s Shlomo Zimmer. I understand you’re on your way to Jerusalem. Stop at the Castel Shopping Center, and a General Security agency bodyguard will join you. He’s already on his way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we think this is a trap like the one we prepared for Imad Husniyah at his brother’s funeral in Lebanon. We have reason to suspect the assassin is preparing an ambush for you at the hospital.”

  “What happened? Cornfield’s finally convinced this is not about a jealous husband?”

  “Cornfield isn’t here. He’s on vacation in the US, and Gideon Perry has been called back to serve as his temporary replacement. Now you’re part of the prime minister’s office personnel and should be protected accordingly.”

  “So why are you handling it?” asked Arik with suspicion. “Why can’t the prime minister’s office security officer take care of this?”

  “Because, officially, you’re still on a leave of absence from Mossad and just temporarily employed by the prime minister’s office.”

  “In that case, place security guards next to my son’s hospital bed. That is where the assassin will go if he goes there at all.”

  “I ask that you wait for the bodyguard at Castel,” Zimmer repeated.

  “Forget about it. Send him to my son, I haven’t got time to wait or lose. I can take care of myself,” Arik said and hung up.

  Half an hour later, Arik arrived at the hospital compound. As usual, the parking lot was full and he parked on the sidewalk, hurried inside to the Emergency Room, and rushed through the cubicles separated by curtains until he found his son.