The Righteous Spy

4 | The Office, Tel Aviv – Thirty Minutes Later

4

The Office, Tel Aviv – Thirty Minutes Later

By the time that Eli stepped into the meeting room he’d worked out both tactics and strategy for dealing with Red Cap.

It was no big deal. Just a manifestation of the perennial problem with agents: you might even say it was ‘the nature of the beast’. Pondering the provenance of the English idiom, Eli settled himself in his usual chair with his back against the wall. In keeping with the organisation’s current culture, there was no magisterial boardroom table down the middle of the meeting room and no refreshments either. Just a few Ikea side tables stacked for convenience and you brought in your own coffee.

While Eli waited for Yuval to arrive he massaged his eyebrows with thumb and middle finger. In spite of Rafi’s gleeful anticipation that the Red Cap fallout would spatter in his direction, Eli was sanguine. He was not about to get wound up by this new guy’s attempt at dramatisation and disruption.

Eli checked his watch and on cue, 0800, Yuval marched into the room. About the same height as Eli, or perhaps a little shorter, Yuval was dark. In the field he passed himself off, with some success, as Spanish. Thick black hair flopped over his forehead and he repeatedly and impatiently pushed back the fringe with one of his small nail-bitten hands.

In the style of a platoon leader briefing his squad, Yuval picked up the remote control and activated the screens. The logo and motto of Mossad came up and the representatives of the fourteen operational desks sat up to attention. There were no preliminaries, no chit-chat, no social niceties. Yuval was direct and interrogatory. Each day at 0800 and ten seconds for the last three months, he’d circumnavigated the room in the same order, starting with aleph – for Africa.

‘The situation is like this,’ Yuval started. ‘We have a special operation underway in Nairobi,’ Yuval punched out the words while his eyes pecked at his audience. ‘The target has now been located and identified. There’s been subsequent verification by two independent witnesses. We’re only waiting for the prime minister’s authorisation before we go. Rafi, this is your desk, do you have anything to add?’

Rafi stood up and took charge of the remote control and an image of a thick-set, suntanned man with unnaturally white teeth appeared on the screen. He was crinkling his eyes against bright sun and in the background there was blurred blue sea.

‘This is Klondyke,’ Rafi said. ‘An ex-pat, ex-army British major with homes in Barbados and Switzerland. Founder member of an organisation called 91, dedicated anti-Semite, racist, colonialist, funder of any racist group, political or otherwise, who happen to have their feedbags out, and all-round good guy. For a day job he is the main supplier of military spares to Al Shabab and Hamas’s long-time go-to man for quality detonators. Recently he’s been looking to trade up and invest in laser technology which, on top of everything else, makes him a target.’

Then Rafi reeled off the resources that had been made available for the operation, the estimated time of completion, the training hours the squad had completed and the three fall-back plans.

Eli was uncomfortably impressed. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on knees. All the facts and figures tripped off Rafi’s tongue and as he held the floor Yuval’s head bobbed in tiny movements of comprehension and approval.

Rafi went on, ‘As discussed on Friday and signed off, the tactical decision is for the squad to use a location five K from the contact point.’

‘Are they going to rehearse access in situ?’ Yuval said.

The subtext in the simple question was clear. No mistakes would be tolerated.

Rafi said, ‘No. They’ve done timed rehearsals at the country club but nothing in situ.’

The country club was the facility to the north of Tel Aviv where the special operations section was based. There were hangars of equipment, fake sets that looked like streets in different cities, flight and car simulators, not to mention the gyms, swimming pools and a prime stretch of beach for the squad to lounge about on between ops.

Yuval frowned, ‘Why not?’

‘I thought about it, Yuval,’ Rafi said. ‘But if the squad rehearses in situ the risk increases exponentially. The op area has a population density of 450 per kilometre. The Nairobi police may be corrupt but they’re not totally inept.’

Eli had another moment of chagrin. Rafi not only knew his stuff but he was ready to stand his ground with the new boss.

Rafi went on, ‘It will take twelve minutes maximum to get from contact point to swamp. It’s a decent road, unlike some in the area. The team will be in and out in two hours.’

On cue a satellite image of the road appeared on one of the screens. On another there was a ground view image. On the third, the route from the contact point and on the fourth screen some joker had projected a still of a crocodile. Jaw open; conical white teeth; teeth primed to rip apart human flesh. Eli saw Yuval’s black brows twitch into a frown.

‘Okay.’ Yuval recovered and did one of his bird-like nods. ‘Klondyke disappears into the crocodile swamp. No questions and no comeback – just the way we like it. Good work, Rafi. Next, Canada, home of the Mounties.’

Yuval moved swiftly around the room getting updates throughout the world, Far East and Australia, the US and finally, Eli’s desk, Western Europe.

Yuval checked the diving watch that dwarfed his hands and sped up his delivery, ‘So, the situation is like this. Red Cap, an asset in GCHQ for the last fifteen years, has refused to work with his third new case officer, Gidon. Eli, what’s your plan?’

Eli stood up. He didn’t bother to take possession of the remote control because he hadn’t had time to upload any images. And after all, everybody knew what GCHQ looked like. He brushed his hand across his head. ‘We have two choices. One, we bring Red Cap over here, give him a nice dinner, say thank you very much and retire him; or two, we find someone he will work with. Yes, his product is consistently good and no, we don’t have anyone else in GCHQ at his level but...’

Eli paused for effect. ‘Red Cap has never become the agent of influence we always hoped he would be. What’s more, the older he gets the less likely it is that he’ll ever get a job that involves policy-making. And that’s because he’s unpredictable. Fifteen years ago he walked into the London embassy because he was passed over for promotion. He has no Jewish connections, no friends, no family, no nothing but he wanted to do the thing that would make being passed over more tolerable for him. But, bottom line, there is a reason why Red Cap didn’t get promoted then or now. It’s the exact same reason he came to us and didn’t go to the SVR. He’s unpredictable.’

‘All agents are unpredictable. That’s part of their charm.’ Yuval said.

‘Yuval, I’m the first person to agree with you. That’s exactly what I say to the kids in training. Agents are liars, losers, f**k-ups, we all know that, but there’s a fine line between being unpredictable and being unmanageable.’

‘No agent is unmanageable, Eli. It’s just a question of finding the right handler. It’s like dating, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. You know that as well as anyone. In truth, better than anyone. You concentrate on Red Cap. Start thinking about how to manage him because we’ve got no one else in GCHQ and no one else to help us keep tabs on 91.’

‘But we can’t control him,’ Eli said. ‘He’s an accident waiting to happen.’

‘Who says?’

Eli waved a sheet of paper in Yuval’s direction. ‘This is the experts’ report after Red Cap’s last debrief. That’s when he got drunk and smashed a glass coffee table in the safe house. The experts say he has an undiagnosed personality disorder and paranoid narcissism.’

‘The experts’ was the catch-all expression used for the psychologists, psychiatrists and assorted brain-suckers that were an integral part of the organisation. The CIA and FBI loved their polygraphs, the Brits relied on regular vetting panels, and Mossad had their shrinks; platoons, brigades, whole armies of them.

‘Experts,’ Yuval waved the piece of paper away, not deigning to read it. ‘They’ve got a name for everything. Red Cap has a drink or two and an accident. So what?’ He checked his watch, ‘Eli, we’re out of time. We’re gonna park this for the minute and you and Rafi will meet back here in thirty minutes. After I’ve spoken to the prime minister and got the Nairobi green light.’

Papers were moved and chairs shuffled back as everybody who was seated stood up to go. But Yuval wasn’t quite done. With one of his stubby fingers he stabbed at the wall screens where the crocodile had been displayed in colour-saturated glory. ‘Rafi, that was unacceptable. It is not a moment for humour and you know why: a killing must be pure.’

On the way out of the meeting Eli found himself walking beside Rafi who seemed quite undiminished by Yuval’s growl about the crocodile.

‘Can I buy you a coffee?’ Rafi said. ‘We’ve got some time before we go see Yuval.’

‘Sorry, I’ve got a few things to do,’ Eli said.

Rafi put his hand on Eli’s shoulder. The weight was uncomfortable.

‘Eli, come on,’ Rafi said. ‘Just a coffee, we’ve got some stuff to talk about before we have the meeting.’ The big man shifted from foot to foot, he was smiling. ‘I’ve got some information you might find interesting.’

‘What’s that then?’ Eli said.

‘Come and grab a coffee and I’ll tell you.’

‘Stop behaving like a kid with a secret. If you want to tell me something then do it,’ Eli said.

‘Okay.’ Rafi took his hand away. Eli looked up at him. At that moment, Eli thought just how easy it would be to hit Rafi somewhere between his hazel eyes or, as an alternative, aim for Rafi’s Adam’s apple at the precise point where a sharp punch might, if Eli were accurate, kill him.

‘Get on with it,’ Eli said.

‘We’re going to London,’ Rafi grinned. ‘That’s why Yuval wants to see the both of us. And it’s going to be big.’

‘London?’ Eli said. ‘It’s not your account, you’ve only ever worked there as a bag boy; you don’t know anything about the place, the politics, the culture. Why on earth would they want you in London?’

‘I imagine it’s because I have special skills.’

‘You?’ Eli snorted.

‘I also have a connection there who might be useful.’