Two Steps Forward

by Luana Ehrlich

  After hearing we’d been given permission to visit the Tzora kibbutz, Nikki and I said goodbye to Felix and Clare.

  Or rather, I immediately got off the sofa, thanked them for their help, and told them goodbye.

  Nikki, on the other hand, stayed seated and told them how grateful she was for their help, how pleased she was to meet them, and how delighted she was with their hospitality.

  She started saying goodbye after that.

  Once we were finally in the car and headed back to our hotel, Nikki brought up something I’d been mulling over myself.

  “Do you remember the notation Douglas made about the phone call Shin Bet intercepted,” she asked, “the one originating from the Tzora kibbutz? He said your Agency analysts told him there wasn’t anyone named Lisa Redding registered at the kibbutz, only a Lisa Redstone.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I was just thinking about that.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that Clare or Felix didn’t say anything about Lisa living at the kibbutz under a different name?”

  “It’s only odd if they have that information. My guess is they don’t know she’s living at the kibbutz under an assumed name.”

  “What about Rose?”

  “Well, that’s a different story. She has to know Lisa’s not living at the kibbutz under her real name.”

  “Which means Rose hasn’t shared that deception with her friends.”

  “That would be my conclusion as well.”

  We rode along in silence for a few minutes.

  “I’ve changed my mind about contacting Moshe Geller,” I said. “I know I told you earlier that Douglas said he would prefer to keep him out of it, but the circumstances have changed now.”

  “You mean because Lisa is living at the kibbutz under an assumed name?”

  “That’s part of it, but I suspect the name change is only indicative of something else going on at the kibbutz. I’m not sure what that is yet, but I don’t want us to show up there without having all the facts.”

  “How do you plan to contact Mr. Geller? I doubt if you can just ring up Shin Bet headquarters and ask to speak to him personally.”

  “One of the Shin Bet officers I spoke to at the airport last night was nice enough to give me a phone number for Mr. Geller.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, nodding her head, “and why would he be so accommodating?”

  “Well,” I said, giving her a big smile, “as it turned out, I had some information on a passenger who was on the same plane with us. I suspected this individual of carrying a false passport, and I passed that information along to Passport Control.”

  Nikki leaned forward and looked at me. “Are you telling me Baran Asan was on our flight, and I failed to spot him?”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Detective. He changed his appearance at the Lisbon airport, so it would have been difficult for you to identify him.”

  “It’s just as well. If I’d known he was onboard, I would have been uneasy the whole trip. I’m glad you didn’t tell me.”

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. “That’s good to know. I wasn’t sure I made the right decision by not telling you.”

  “You made the right decision, but you’d be wrong to assume I don’t want to hear what happened when you gave Shin Bet the flash drive and ended up telling them about Baran Asan.”

  I felt a little weird telling Nikki about that encounter—ordinarily, only Carlton and I talked about such things—but when I finished, I realized sharing those details with my wife was a good thing.

  I couldn’t say exactly why I felt that way.

  All I knew was that it was the right thing to do.

  * * * *

  As I finished giving Nikki a summary of my encounter with Saul Kagan, we arrived back at the Orient Jerusalem Hotel.

  Since we were both hungry, I waited until we were having lunch on the patio at the Kinor Bakikar café—one of the hotel’s restaurants—before I told her about Shin Bet allowing Baran Asan to enter Israel on his false passport.

  “Of course, they have him under twenty-four-hour surveillance,” I said, “but unless they’re able to listen in on every one of his phone conversations, he may still be able to carry out his mission.”

  “In one of the counterterrorism training courses we had at Quantico last year, we studied the methods the Israelis use to keep tabs on potential terrorists. Evidently, they’re the best in the world at running surveillance on their enemies.”

  “That’s certainly true, but you have to keep in mind the U.S. operates under a different set of rules than the Israelis do.”

  “What did Douglas have to say about Shin Bet allowing Asan into Israel?”

  “He wasn’t too concerned about it, but that’s probably because he has a lot of confidence in Moshe Geller.”

  “Speaking of Mr. Geller,” Nikki said, “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to make an appointment to see him yet.”

  “I wanted to discuss it with you before I called him.”

  Nikki gestured toward the hotel’s outdoor recreation area. “Shall we discuss it while we check out the waterpark?”

  The waterpark didn’t interest me that much, but since it might distract Nikki when I told her about my problem, I agreed.

  * * * *

  The hotel’s waterpark was a scaled-down version of a tropical island, complete with a cascading waterfall, tropical plants, and various water activities, including a gigantic slide.

  A landscaped path meandered through the park, and I took Nikki’s hand as we strolled around the different water attractions.

  The other hotel guests had on various forms of swimwear, and even though Nikki was wearing a sleeveless dress, and I had on a short-sleeved sports shirt and a pair of lightweight trousers, we were way overdressed for the venue.

  “I bet Eleanor would love this,” Nikki said, as we came upon a gigantic waterslide. “She told me she loves to swim.”

  “She said the same thing to me. As long as it’s just a swimming pool, I wouldn’t mind taking her swimming this summer.”

  Nikki looked up at me. “Titus, what if Lisa—”

  “No,” I said, cutting her off, “let’s don’t go there right now. I know we have to talk about Eleanor’s future, but if you don’t mind, let’s wait until we’ve had a chance to see Lisa before we discuss it. Once we know what’s going on with her, we can start making decisions about Eleanor.”

  She nodded. “Okay, we’ll talk about it later. Do you want to talk about your appointment with Moshe Geller now?”

  I motioned toward a concrete bench near the artificial waterfall.

  After we sat down, I said, “Here’s the thing, Nikki. I doubt if Geller will invite me over to Shin Bet headquarters for us to have a little chat. More than likely, he’ll want to meet me somewhere; maybe at one of their safe houses or a government building. Wherever it is, I’ll have to meet with him alone. I can’t bring you with me.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I completely understand.”

  “The Israelis are super cautious about protecting their security heads, so if he agrees to see me, it’ll only be because of his relationship with Douglas, not because I’m with the Agency.”

  “I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me Moshe Geller wouldn’t view me as a properly vetted person, especially for the subjects you’ll be discussing.”

  “Yeah, pretty much. No offense intended.”

  “Listen, Titus. I really do understand. Go ahead. Set up your meeting with him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She gestured at the waterfall behind us. “I’ll be perfectly content staying here at the hotel this afternoon.”

  I tilted her chin toward me and gave her a lingering kiss.

  “I promise I’ll be back here in time to take you to dinner.”

  She gave me a mischievous smile. “Or suffer the consequences.”

  * * * *

  I waited until I was inside my rented Subaru in the hotel�
�s parking lot before I made the call to Moshe Geller.

  I phoned him on the Agency’s sat phone, even though I knew the official phone logs at Langley would reflect the fact I’d made a call to a number associated with Shin Bet.

  I decided it didn’t matter.

  Although Carlton was a control freak when it came to managing the Middle East desk at the CIA, I’d never heard of him monitoring the Agency’s phone logs.

  Of course, with Carlton, there was a first for everything.

  However, if Geller agreed to meet me, I had every intention of telling Carlton—not necessarily before the meeting, but certainly after it was all said and done.

  I was motivated to do so by the distinct possibility Geller would tell Carlton about our meeting.

  When that happened, if I hadn’t told Carlton, he might send me to the backside of nowhere for my next assignment.

  Or, there might not be any more assignments.

  Period.

  With that in mind, I called the number printed on the business card Saul Kagan had given me.

  I didn’t have to wait long before I heard a man’s voice say, “General Security Service. How may I direct your call?”

  He was speaking Hebrew, and I answered him in Hebrew.

  “My name is Titus Ray, and I’d like to speak to Moshe Geller. He’s expecting my call.”

  There was complete silence on the line for a full five seconds before I heard him say, “One moment, please.”

  While I waited, I pictured the scene at Shin Bet headquarters.

  There were basically two possibilities. The first possibility was that the Shin Bet officer who’d taken my call was just sitting at his desk killing time before he came back on the line and told me there was no one there by that name.

  The second possibility was that the Shin Bet officer had found my name on his computer, had checked to make sure I was calling from an encrypted phone, and had informed Director Geller I wanted to speak with him.

  There were several unknowns in the second scenario.

  Was the director available to speak to me? Did the name Titus Ray ring a bell with him? Had Saul Kagan specifically informed the director that I—”

  “Moshe Geller here.”

  I was startled out of my reverie by a low gravelly voice.

  “Director Geller, this is Titus Ray. Thank you for taking my call.”

  “After you gave Saul the heads up at the airport yesterday, I was more than happy to take your call. Do you have more information to give us about Baran Asan?”

  For one brief moment, I thought about telling him what Asan had been doing in Marrakesh before he arrived in Israel, but that was only a fleeting thought—I wasn’t about to share valuable intel with him without getting something in return.

  “No, I’m calling about a different matter, but to be perfectly honest, I am curious about what happened to Asan at the airport.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Oh, we treated him very well. You can be sure of that.”

  Maybe it was only my imagination, but I had the feeling he knew I wasn’t giving him the full story on Baran Asan, so he wasn’t about to share what had transpired with him at the airport.

  “You said you were calling about a different matter,” Geller said. “Is this about your search for your missing friend? I’m sorry. I can’t remember her name.”

  “It’s Lisa Redding, and I appreciate all the information you’ve already given me, Director Geller. The dossier you sent Douglas has been extremely helpful.”

  “Well, as long as we’re being honest with each other, I gave that assignment to someone in one of our other departments, but I’m glad you found the data useful. Does that mean you found her?”

  “No, not yet, but this morning, when my wife and I paid a visit to Lisa’s apartment on Cremieux Street, we were told by her neighbors that she had recently suffered a nervous breakdown and was being treated at the Tzora kibbutz. We plan to—”

  “The Tzora kibbutz?”

  “That’s right. We plan to pay her a visit tomorrow, but before we go, I’d like a little more information about the place. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “I know where you’re going with this, Titus.”

  “Where I’m going with this? No, I’m just asking if—”

  “Tell Douglas he didn’t really have to go to such lengths to dig up information on Tzora. I would have been more than happy to answer any of his questions. All he had to do was ask.”

  “Are you saying the Tzora kibbutz is—”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather have this discussion with you in person. If you can be at my office before five o’clock, I’ll be able to meet with you today. Otherwise, you’ll have to make an appointment for tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You want me to come to your office at Shin Bet headquarters?”

  “That’s right. We’re located off the Ayalon Freeway.”

  “I know where you’re located. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Chapter 18

  Since I’d been wrong about where Geller would probably want to meet me, I wondered what else I’d gotten wrong about him, or for that matter, what I’d gotten wrong about the Tzora kibbutz.

  As I was driving to Tel Aviv, my Agency sat phone vibrated and when I glanced at the screen, it said, “RTM-A-VP.”

  I knew what the RTM-A meant. It meant the call was coming from one of the Real Time Management (RTM) Centers at Langley, where the Agency’s ongoing operations were monitored, coordinated, and analyzed. Collectively, the RTM Centers made up the Ops Center.

  Each of the five RTM Centers was identified alphabetically, and RTM Centers B and C were large enough to be subdivided. Thus, they were sometimes designated as B1 or B2; C1 or C2.

  This call was coming from RTM Center A.

  However, I was mystified by the VP.

  I wasn’t completely mystified, though. I knew the initials belonged to the person who was calling me. I just didn’t know anyone with the initials VP.

  When I answered the call, I let the person on the other end of the line know I was at a location where I could talk without being overheard. “Clear,” I said.

  “Titus, this is Veronica Paisley in RTM Center A. I’m calling to let you know one of our operators here in Center A received a ping request on your phone a few minutes ago. It originated from Shin Bet headquarters in Tel Aviv. Were you aware you were being identified?”

  “Yes, or rather I assumed I was. I’m meeting with one of their directors this afternoon. I’m headed there now.”

  “I’ll make a note of that. When your phone was pinged, I put you up on the Grid, so I thought that was probably where you were headed.”

  The Schematic Tracking Grid was the tracking system the Agency used to observe the movements of its operatives in the field during an ongoing operation. The Grid was displayed on one of several high-definition monitors mounted on the wall in an RTM Center, and a pulsating blue dot on the Grid indicated an operative’s location.

  Although it was standard operating procedure during a mission, I was surprised to learn my Agency phone was being monitored while I was on inactive status, especially since I wasn’t engaged in a mission.

  “I’m a little confused, Ms. Paisley. I wasn’t aware this sat phone was being monitored. It was only given to me so I could—”

  “You can call me Veronica.”

  “Okay, sure, Veronica. The only reason I had the phone was—”

  “I guess you don’t remember me, Titus.”

  “Uh . . . no, I can’t say that I do.”

  “We met at The Farm several years ago. We were both there for one of our mandatory refresher courses. I believe this one was on technology tradecraft. Back then, I went by the name of Vee.”

  The Farm was the CIA’s covert training facility at Camp Peary near Williamsburg, Virginia. Graduates were required to return every five years for a two-week refresher course that focused on one topic.

  The topics were usual
ly pretty boring.

  There was, however, one aspect of being stuck at The Farm for two weeks that was interesting. It was observing, analyzing, and fraternizing with the Agency personnel who were also stuck there.

  Each class had around forty people in it—from covert operatives to analysts to support staff—and when a class wasn’t in session, most of the attendees were scrambling around trying to make connections or arranging group activities.

  Since I didn’t particularly like to party with a bunch of people, I usually hung around Camp Peary all by my lonesome, keeping myself occupied by perfecting my skills at the gun range, jogging around the two-mile track, or reading in the well-stocked library.

  Naturally, I wasn’t the only loner in the group. There were several of us, both men and women, and during one of those refresher courses, I’d gotten involved in a relationship with a female operative.

  Once the two-week course was over, so was the relationship.

  Veronica had been the female operative, although I knew her as Vee back then, and if she ever told me her last name was Paisley, I don’t remember it.

  I hadn’t seen Veronica in the last ten years, but with several thousand people employed at Langley, that wasn’t too surprising.

  I remembered her as an attractive woman, not exceptionally beautiful, but very smart. Her analytical skills were outstanding, plus she had an ability to recite long lists of facts.

  When I’d met her, she’d just broken off a long-term relationship with some guy at the State Department, and she’d seemed a little nervous and unsure of herself, but she was also a little flirty.

  Even though I couldn’t recall any hard feelings between us at the end of the two weeks when I’d informed her I didn’t see the relationship going anywhere, that didn’t mean anything.

  Back then, it was all about me.

  I was an insensitive guy, thoroughly wrapped up in myself, with absolutely no regard for the feelings of others or the morality of my actions.

  Now, I felt ashamed and embarrassed.

  “Veronica,” I said, sounding a bit more enthusiastic than I intended, “of course I remember you. How long ago was that?”