by Ethan Jones
The Iranian operative continued, “But the threat of working toward the bomb works better than actually possessing the weapon. It’s like the threat of torture, which, as you know, sometimes gives the intended result without actually resorting to violence.”
Yael shook her head. “You’re quite convincing, but where’s the evidence?”
Salimi sighed and nodded. “I’m getting to it. You know it’s very difficult, perhaps impossible, to prove a negative, that we’re not working toward a nuclear weapon. But we’ll do everything we can to prove it to you. So, Dr. Niyazov… We’ll give you his location. You can pick him up and interrogate him. He’ll tell you the truth.”
“What you’ve instructed him to present as the truth,” Yael said.
“He’ll support his claims with documents, reports. He has visited our facilities in Fordow and Natanz, the one near Isfahan. He can tell you what really took place there.”
Yael shrugged. “Again, what you told him to say…”
Salimi shrugged and turned his palms up. He let out a long sigh and said, “What would it take for you and Israel to believe us?”
“Proof, real proof.”
“Okay, how about Israel sends its own inspectors to these sites and the ones Israel claims are being used to enrich uranium?”
Javin gave Salimi a thoughtful look. “Are you authorized to offer that?”
“I am, if Israel makes a serious, concrete effort toward peace. Look, Pierce, we don’t want a confrontation with the US or Israel. And I’m sure Israel doesn’t want a new war.”
“We’ll do everything to protect our country.”
“Of course, so consider peace before war. Take this into consideration, and go back to your services with this information. Shouldn’t we do all it takes to avoid killing one another?”
Yael cracked a sarcastic smile. “How nice that would be!”
Salimi returned the smile. “You know Israel and Iran aren’t very different from one another?”
“Really? How so?” Yael pursed her lips.
“We’re both fighting for survival. Israel is surrounded by countries that have vowed its destruction. Is it not true for us, Iran? America has bases in almost all countries bordering Iran: from Turkmenistan in the north to Oman in the south. Isn’t it reasonable for us to feel threatened?”
Javin nodded as he pondered Salimi’s words. He was telling the truth. How would we feel if the shoe was on the other foot, and Canada was surrounded on all sides by Iranian bases, armed to the teeth, waiting for their order to blow us to smithereens?
Before he could say anything, the waiter appeared with a large tray. The delicious aroma of the food and the meat sizzling in the clay pots containing the tibs ordered by Salimi and Naderi filled their nostrils and quieted their heated conversation. For the next few minutes, there was only the clanking of cutlery on plates and the quiet chewing of their delicious food.
Since Yael hadn’t ordered anything, she glanced at the phone and typed occasionally what Javin assumed were a series of text messages or a string of emails. She made eye contact with him a few times and looked both bored and annoyed with their company.
At one point, Salimi put his half-finished food to the side and said, “How about I answer one of the questions you haven’t asked me yet…”
“Oh, you can read minds now?” Yael gave him an accusatory look.
Salimi grinned. “When they’re predictable, why not? You’re probably wondering why this backchannel effort is taking place in such a casual, unusual way? Why not have our masters, our chiefs, both in our spy agencies and politicians, perhaps through mediators, try to find a peaceful solution?”
Javin nodded and stopped chewing. The thought had crossed his mind, and he had begun to wonder if such backchannel discussions were already taking place, albeit unknown to the CIS.
Salimi said, “The reason is that our leaders, the Iranians, tried to approach the Israelis, Mossad, and people in power, but—”
“Wait, wait,” Yael cut him off. “Are you saying it’s our fault that Iran is an existential threat to peace in the region?”
“I’m not saying that, but your assertion is inaccurate. Without Iran, there can’t be peace in the region, and the same is true about Israel. Look, it might sound strange, but I want my family to see peace. Let me show you something.” He slowly pulled out a wallet from his jacket’s inside pocket. He removed a photo and showed it to Yael. “This is my family, my wife and two daughters. They’re eight and eleven. I want them to grow up in a country without hate, unafraid for tomorrow, about sanctions or bombs dropped on their heads.”
Yael shrugged, and no emotions registered on her face. “That’s totally up to Iran. We’ve always said we’re open to sincere talks.”
“Right, but behind closed doors, some Israeli politicians are talking to Saudi Arabia and America about starting an all-out war with Iran.”
Yael’s face twisted into a dark frown. “Where’s the evidence for that? And I’m not expecting news reports or WikiLeaks cables…”
Salimi wore a triumphant face. “Yes, of course.” He returned the photo to his wallet and reached into his other pocket, searching for another item. He found it and placed a white USB flash drive on the table. “It’s all here. Conversations between the Israeli foreign minister and his Saudi counterpart. Audio and transcripts. Photographs. Your prime minister is also recorded in a couple of the calls.”
Yael’s eyes turned into small slits. “How do I know this is authentic?”
“You can ask Mossad, but I’d suggest you keep this under the radar. If the chief hears about it, he might want to shut this whole thing down.”
Javin gave Salimi a look of disbelief. “Is he being bugged as well?”
“He is.” Salimi didn’t hide the satisfaction in his voice and his glowing face. “We’re prepared to make this all public, in a matter of days. This is our last-ditch effort to avoid a public scandal of such proportions…”
Yael shook her head, but didn’t say anything.
Javin picked up the flash drive. “This is very serious,” he said in an almost solemn tone. “We’ll analyze it and let you know.”
“You have twenty-four hours,” Salimi said and scooped a forkful of beef from his pot.
“We’ll need more time,” Yael said.
Salimi shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps forty-eight hours, at the most…”
Yael didn’t look any happier but said nothing.
Javin said, “You told us you’ll give us the location of the nuclear scientist…”
“Yes, yes, I almost forgot.” Salimi grinned. “This is the third gesture of goodwill to show that, contrary to what you’ve believed so far, at least some of the Iranians can be trusted.” He raised his right hand and began to count on his fingers. “First, we saved your life, Pierce. Second, the files on the memory stick. And third, the location of Dr. Niyazov.” He cocked his head toward Naderi and gestured toward Yael.
Naderi reached for his inside jacket pocket. When he pulled out his hand, he had a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the table, toward Yael, making sure it didn’t touch a couple of crumbs that had fallen off his plate. “The doctor is at this location in London.”
In a place where it rains a lot, Javin thought, remembering the words of Al-Attiya, the aide to the Qatari prince. We don’t need him or his intel any longer…
Naderi said, “He will be there over the next forty-eight hours. Don’t try to take him by force, as he’s well-guarded by men ordered to kill him and anyone who approaches violently.”
Salimi said, “That wouldn’t be necessary, since we’re offering him up as part of our deal—”
“If we have a deal,” Yael said in a dry voice.
She took the piece of paper but didn’t look at it.
“And I hope we do.” Salimi took another bite of his food, then he wiped his lips with the black napkin. “That’s all we have. You have my phone number.” He cocked his
head toward Javin.
“Yes, we’ll be in touch.”
“Good.” Salimi pushed his chair back and stood up.
Javin and Naderi followed suit at almost the same time.
“One last thing,” Javin said. “I have your favorite gun, the AK…”
“Oh, yes, I forgot all about it.”
“Send someone to our hotel to pick it up this evening.”
“I’ll do that.”
The Iranians nodded at Yael and Claudia and shook hands with Javin. “Allow us to pay for the meal,” Salimi said.
“No. We invited you, so—”
“I insist,” Salimi said in a firmer voice.
“So do I,” Javin said.
“All right, we’ll do as you said.”
“Take care, now,” Naderi said in a genuine voice.
“Yes, you too. Be safe and khodāhāfez.” It meant, May God protect you, but Iranians used it as “goodbye.”
“Same for you, Pierce. Khodāhāfez.”
He looked at the Iranian operatives until they left the restaurant, then he returned to his seat. He showed the flash drive to Yael and Claudia and said, “Well, this changes everything…”
Chapter Nineteen
Grand Gulf Hotel, Adliya District
Manama, Bahrain
Yael relayed the information downloaded from the USB flash drive to her direct supervisor. She briefed him on what the Iranian operatives had said, about the potential implication of the Mossad chief, and about the need to keep that information away from most of the top directors of the agency until they were absolutely certain it was unmanipulated and authentic. Her supervisor promised the intelligence would be distributed only on a need-to-know basis.
Next, she updated her boss on the potential location of the nuclear scientist that Mossad had been looking for all over Europe. He was stowed away in the neighborhood of Finsbury Park, which used to be a hotbed of Islamic activity until a couple of years ago. Violence had flared up again after the police had beaten up two fourteen-year-old Algerian-born boys who had refused to stop and undergo a police pat-down. The situation had escalated into fierce clashes with the police, and the area still remained quite volatile.
Javin and Claudia called their chief, Bateaux, informing him of the spectacular turn of events. Bateaux vowed to pull in all the favors he could to find out the reasons why Tom Murphy had targeted his operatives. The string of text messages and emails discovered on Murphy’s phone tied him to several people, who were all unknown to Javin. However, at least one of the phone numbers was local, and the man who went by the nickname of AK78 had communicated with Murphy minutes before he had “coincidentally” run into Javin and Claudia outside their hotel the previous night.
Javin had decided he wanted a word with that man.
The CIS operative called Al-Attiya and relayed to him the intelligence obtained from Issa, the former jihadist killed by Murphy’s bullet intended for Javin. The prince’s aide listened carefully, but seemed unimpressed with Javin’s findings. At some point, Al-Attiya snapped and said, “How does it help me to know that Shinwari is in Barcelona? That city has millions of people, hundreds of neighborhoods… The same about Shinwari’s contacts. Who are they?”
“We don’t know.” Javin shrugged calmly. “That’s all we have so far.”
“That’s not much, definitely not enough for me to give you the location of the doctor.”
Javin was tempted to tell the prince’s aide that they already knew the nuclear physicist was in London, but the CIS operative didn’t want to tip his hand. If Al-Attiya learned that information, he might decide to intervene and try to grab the doctor.
“All right, we’ll keep looking, but I need a small favor.”
Al-Attiya hesitated for a long moment, then sighed and said, “What is it?”
Javin told him about the man with whom Murphy had had the text message exchange, without giving him any specifics, except the name and the phone number.
Al-Attiya asked, “Why is he important to you?”
“He’s important to this mission. He might have some crucial intel…”
“Where is he?”
That’s why we need you, Javin wanted to say. He bit his lip and instead said, “It’s a Bahraini number, and he was in Manama last night. That’s a start.”
“Okay, let me make a couple of phone calls. I’ll call you when I have something.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”
“I’m expecting that.” The aide ended the call without another word.
Javin sighed. He’d have to tolerate Al-Attiya’s self-righteous behavior a little longer.
Then the team spent the rest of the day and most of the evening analyzing the intelligence received from the two very calm Iranians. Without extensive forensic cybersecurity analysis, it was impossible to decide with a high level of certainty if the voice in the recordings belonged to Israeli and Saudi Arabian officials. But still Yael, Javin, and Claudia could do a lot of the background assessment.
By accessing their secure servers and combing through a series of databases, a picture began to emerge about meetings between senior Israeli and Saudi Arabian government officials. The dates and locations of their meetings matched the Iranian files. The Israeli prime minister had traveled to New York for the United Nations General Assembly and, according to the recordings, had met with the Saudi Arabian Minister of Foreign Affairs at the Palace Hotel. Their encounter wasn’t reported by the Israeli media, and there was nothing in Mossad’s databases about that meeting. Moreover, the prime minister’s schedule contained no notes about the hour between ten and eleven on that morning.
Javin stood up and paced around the spacious and quaintly decorated hotel suite to stretch his legs and gather his thoughts. “Coffee?” he asked Claudia and Yael, who were sitting around a small desk set in the middle of the room.
“Sure,” Claudia said.
“I’ll have a cup too.”
Javin began to prepare the coffee. “So, if these recordings are genuine, how did the Iranians obtain them?”
Yael shrugged. “I have no clue, no clue at all.” She threw up her hands. “Es vet gornisht helfn.” She shook her head. It meant, This is useless. “How did they get the recording devices inside the UN building?”
Claudia shook her head. “That place is a fortress. It would be nearly impossible for Iranians, or anyone for that matter, to gain access.”
Javin said, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but could it be that one of the prime minister’s aides leaked this?”
Yael frowned and shook her head. “No, no, and no. No way. We don’t have a traitor in the prime minister’s office. That’s impossible.”
Javin wanted to say that anything was possible if enough money changed hands or if the aide was blackmailed or otherwise coerced to work for the Iranians. He decided it wasn’t worth antagonizing Yael more than she already was. He nodded at her and said, “Okay, since the traitor isn’t Israeli, that leaves the Saudis…”
Claudia said, “Here’s an idea: Let’s see what all these meetings have in common, meaning who was present in all of them or somehow was connected to all these meetings…”
Javin smiled. “Excellent idea. That will narrow down the field, so we can all focus better.”
Yael nodded. “B’ezrat HaShem.” With God’s help. Then, she added. “Yes, let’s do that.”
Easier said than done.
The recordings, of course, didn’t help to determine who actually was in the room during the meeting. However, a pattern was emerging, which placed the Saudi Arabian Minister of Foreign Affairs and one of his aides and close confidants in three out of the four meetings. The minister was absent in the meeting with the Israeli prime minister.
Around eleven in the evening, Al-Attiya called with the intelligence Javin had been waiting for. The man who had been in communication with Murphy was a Bahraini member of the NSA, the country’s internal intelligence service
. His name was Ahmed Kheder, and Al-Attiya gave Javin the address, which was in Al Qadam, a village east of Manama, a fifteen-minute drive along Budaiya Highway. The cellphone’s location showed Kheder as being at home.
Javin decided that a visit was warranted with this man but without Yael. She objected at first but realized there was already a lot on her plate. Besides, it was Javin’s personal fight. A fight with one of his “friends,” so she agreed to remain at the hotel.
Javin and Claudia got into their rental vehicle, a dinged-up and cramped white Kia sedan, and sped toward the village. Their plan was simple: Gain access to Kheder’s house and confront him in front of his wife and seven-year-old son, if they were present. That scenario would put the man in a vulnerable position, and Javin hoped he would be able to get the truth without too much trouble. Most people, including covert operatives, would make the right decision when it came to choosing between protecting their family or their intelligence.
Claudia had downloaded a few images from Google Earth, so they knew exactly the location of Kheder’s house. It was an impressive two-story gray brick building in a gated community, near the end of a crescent, two houses away from the three-meter-high wall topped with concertina wire.
The CIS operatives’ reconnaissance hadn’t revealed any security cameras, at least on this side of the property. There was a guard shack near the main entrance by the metal gate, and an SUV, possibly patrolling, was driving slowly along the wall. Javin and Claudia waited for the right moment, when the SUV disappeared around the closest corner, and bolted toward the wall.
They’d brought the floor mats from the Kia and laid them over the concertina wire. It took them a minute to scale the wall, but they descended on the other side without cutting themselves and without triggering any alarms.
At least as far as they could tell.
They walked at a normal pace through the backyard of one of the houses, hoping no dogs would bark or lunge at them. American ex-pats lived in the area, and they might have guard dogs, Cane Corsos or Rottweilers.
They didn’t.