The Protocols of Spying, page 8
‘I’m not sure he did.’
‘That’s what Eli told me,’ Petra said.
‘No… no, I was there,’ Rafi narrowed his eyes as if he were replaying the memory. ‘He said you’d been badly injured, he might have said you weren’t expected to live, but that’s not dead, is it?’
Petra raised herself on one elbow. ‘No… that’s definitely not dead. What do you think, Rafi? Would Eli go for it?’
‘He has big respect for your skills, I know that. He’s also desperate to recruit Silver Dove.’ Rafi kissed Petra’s shoulder and got up and started to get dressed.
‘Let’s have that coffee now and talk about how it could work? I’m seeing Eli tonight. He’s coming for shabbat dinner. I can check it out with him.’
‘Sure.’
Petra slipped on a tracksuit and padded down the open-tread stairs to the kitchen, where she turned on the coffee machine, got the coffee cups out and put a notepad and pen on the table. The idea of recruiting and running Wasim was more than intriguing, it was case officer work, above her grade and never done by anyone other than Israeli nationals. But if anybody could do it…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. She wasn’t expecting anyone on a wintry Friday afternoon, as day slid into dusk. There were no expected deliveries. Rafi was halfway down the stairs and he raised an eyebrow. The doorbell rang again and Petra shrugged and went over to the camera. Before she could reach the door camera, there was a sharp ratatatat on the black knocker, accompanied by a voice, a plaintive voice that was talking to the doorbell.
‘Oh Petra, I do hope you’re there. I so desperately need your help.’
‘Sandie,’ Petra said to Rafi. ‘You met her before. Probably a problem with the rabbits. Do you want to go upstairs while I get rid of her?’
‘No, if it was Matt, I’d be climbing out the window, but Sandie. I know her. She likes me.’
‘Don’t give me a headache, Rafi.’ Petra checked the camera, as was her ingrained habit, and confirmed it was Sandie before she opened the door. Petra’s neighbour almost fell through the door.
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Sandie said. Over her neat beige trousers and neat print blouse she was wearing a neat apron. No doubt she was cooking something and needed some vital ingredient, although Sandie must be pretty desperate to think that Petra might have it, unless it was something like eggs. Or milk.
‘Come in, come in,’ Petra said. ‘You remember…’ Petra couldn’t remember what Rafi had called himself the last time they’d met, when once again Sandie had invited herself around for a moment and then stayed for the evening.
‘Dan,’ Rafi chimed in and held out his hand to shake Sandie’s. She preened with delight. The woman was lonely and sad and Petra considered being kind to her one of the few charitable acts she did that had any worth.
Petra gestured at the notepad and pen on the table. ‘We’re brainstorming some ideas for a new initiative and there’s no better time to do that than a Friday afternoon.’
Too much explanation, but it was supposed to imply that Petra was busy. She softened it by saying, ‘What are you doing later?’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Sandie relinquished Rafi’s hand. ‘Do you remember Cameron?’
‘No.’
‘Bob’s grandson. The one who choked on a bit of carrot when he was feeding the rabbits. You saved his life, Petra.’
‘I just happened to be there. Is there something wrong with him? Do you have time for coffee?’ Petra looked at Rafi over the top of Sandie’s head. He shrugged.
‘No, I don’t have time. You see, they’re coming for high tea. Bob and Cameron. It’s Cameron’s birthday and he wanted to set-off some fireworks, but Bob hurt his back on the allotment and he doesn’t want to disappoint Cameron. He’s staying with him for the weekend. You know the parents have split up.’
‘Oh dear,’ Petra said. ‘Isn’t it a little late for fireworks? That was weeks ago.’
‘I know, but it’s his birthday and things are difficult at home. And what with Bob’s back. I don’t want Bob to make it any worse, bending down and whatnot, so I just wondered, dear, dear, Petra… I just wondered, would you help me set up the fireworks and then tell me what to do? I’m so sorry to interrupt you and I can see that you’re busy but…’
If she let Sandie do it on her own, the chances of Petra’s own house burning down certainly increased, and she did owe Bob a favour. After all, he’d let her use his off grid fisherman’s cottage in Wales, no questions asked.
‘Sure, Sandie. Give me half an hour to wrap up the afternoon with… Dan. And I’ll be over.’
‘Thank you, thank you so much.’
After ushering Sandie out of the door, Petra turned to Rafi who was gulping down the coffee and already had his leather jacket on.
‘Ainbayot,’ Rafi said. ‘I’m seeing Eli in a few hours. I’ll see how the idea of you recruiting and running Silver Dove sits with him.’
‘Okay, he’ll either go for it or he won’t.’ Petra was in the kitchen, going through the drawers. She took out a lighter and pocketed it, then rooted through her work bag on the kitchen worktop. She took out her purse and a plastic gizmo the size of a credit card.
‘This has got a torch, a magnifying glass and scissors, among other tools. Because I bet you any money you like, Sandie won’t have any of those things to hand.’
‘You just need a hat and scarf,’ Rafi said. ‘It’s cold out there.’
‘Got one of those.’ Petra pulled on the quilted coat that was hanging up in her utility room and wrapped a grey and navy scarf that Sandie had knitted for her. It would make Sandie happy if she wore it.
‘Nice.’ Rafi felt the fabric. ‘But wear something else. It’s acrylic yarn and possibly untreated.’
‘Oh, don’t make a fuss.’
‘I’m not joking,’ Rafi said. ‘Wool is the least flammable material. Here.’
He unwound the blue cashmere scarf that was round his neck and wrapped it around hers. It was soft and it smelt of him. ‘Take mine, you can give it back to me when I see you.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’ It would be foolish to argue for the sake of it when, if there was one thing that Rafi knew about, it was explosives. ‘You’d better leave first,’ Petra said.
‘Sure. But tell me…’ Rafi hovered by the front door. ‘What’s high tea and why is it any different from normal tea?’
Petra stood on her toes and kissed Rafi on the cheek. ‘It would take too long to explain and I have to blow up some fireworks.’
‘Sounds like my kind of evening.’
Chapter 13
Eli hacked away at the dry chicken and chewed at it with a mouthful of overcooked carrots that hadn’t been thoroughly drained from the water that had boiled away all flavour.
‘This is lovely, Hannah. You’ve no idea how good it is to have a home-cooked meal.’ He smiled at Rafi’s wife, who had the youngest girl on her lap and was feeding her with minced gloop. Across the table, Rafi winked at him. He knew Eli was just being polite. Rafi was next to the oldest girl, Netta, a tow-haired charmer, who had just regaled them all with her day at school, the preparations for Hanukkah, the other children in her class and the security drills they were doing. She liked to talk.
It was Friday night at Rafi’s apartment in Child’s Hill. The room was homely, untidy, with a basket of children’s toys that overflowed onto the wooden floor. On the dining table the candles were lit, the tablecloth was white and, before they’d eaten, Hannah had blessed the candles and Rafi had said kiddush over the wine and bread – that was the best part of the meal, as the challah bread was soft and sweet. No doubt Hannah had bought it in.
While Hannah busied herself in the galley kitchen of the mansion flat getting the fruit salad, Eli nodded at the shabbat candles and raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t realise this was your thing,’ he said in English.
‘It isn’t. October 7,’ Rafi responded. ‘Ever since then. It seems to be a trend going on with the wives, becoming more devout.’
‘No doubt led by Nathan’s boring wife – Malka, isn’t it?’
‘How did you guess? I’m not crazy about it, but I’ve got to let Hannah do whatever works for her. Malka, is one of the ones saying that October 7 happened because people aren’t observant.’
‘I suppose that beats the explanation that the government fucked up,’ Eli gulped back a large mouthful of wine.
‘It’s all coming from the blacks, they’ve really got themselves organised,’ Rafi said, using the slang term for the ultra-religious groups who dressed in black and were propping up the government.
Rafi went on, ‘As I hear it, they’re recruiting like crazy. And they’re having a field day explaining to people like Hannah that the kids who were snatched from the Nova festival wouldn’t have been raped and murdered if they’d been back home praying. They wouldn’t be starving to death in the tunnels while we bomb the hell out of the strip.’ Rafi shook his head. ‘At least your wife isn’t buying into any of that shit. How’s she getting on back home?’
‘Busy as hell but she’s certainly not wearing a sheitel.’
Rafi chuckled. ‘Not your wife.’
Hannah came in with a bowl of fruit salad, followed by Netta, who was proudly carrying the dishes. Hannah was an attractive woman, lean and long, with blonde hair and manicured nails. A gym bunny that Eli had previously discounted as being on the light side of the IQ spectrum. Before she’d met Rafi, she’d been a model and had a few small parts in TV series. No question, they made a handsome couple, and those two girls were beauties. It wasn’t hard to understand how threatened Hannah might feel at the notion that the blondinis would have had their skulls smashed against the walls if they’d been visiting Rafi’s kibbutz when the attack happened.
‘What have we got here?’ Rafi switched back to Hebrew as he took the plates from Netta and helped Hannah dole out the fruit salad. ‘Who wants the blueberries?’
Thirty minutes later, Rafi and Eli were outside the apartment block, walking in the direction of Eli’s flat which was half a mile away.
‘You don’t have to walk me home.’ Eli unfurled a small umbrella. ‘I haven’t drunk that much.’
In answer, Rafi took out his sound buffer and switched it on.
‘This couldn’t wait, achi,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an idea for Silver Dove. Actually, Petra and I came up with it this afternoon.’
Eli raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. ‘Go on, what’s the idea?’
‘Silver Dove knows Petra and he trusts her. If he is gay, he’ll have fewer macho hang-ups about being worked by a woman katsa; if anyone can recruit him… well, then it just might be her.’
‘But she hasn’t been trained and she’s a British national. It’s against protocol.’
‘I know that,’ Rafi said. ‘And Harel and Nathan will try to block it on those grounds, but you have to agree, she’s the best person for the job. And she could do it.’
They’d both stopped stock-still and stood in the street as cars splashed through the Friday night rain. Eli thought about Petra, how quick she was, how resourceful. How she’d got the better of them when they were working the girl. Even how she’d handled the interrogators when the operation went wrong. Petra was powerful, there was no denying it.
‘You’re right, she could do it,’ Eli nodded. ‘Yes, not only could she do it but it could work on lots of different levels. I like it, Rafi. I like it a lot.’
On Saturday Rafi and Eli spent most of the day prepping and on Sunday afternoon, by a secure video link, they pitched the plan to Harel. As predicted, he was both obstructive and negative, but Eli held a trump card, a lure that would seem so sweet that he knew Harel would find it irresistible. It was Harel’s expectation that the operation to recruit Silver Dove would end in disaster, preferably of the diplomatic type that would end Eli’s term as head of London Station, and with it, his career. There was no way that Harel would be able to resist the opportunity of allowing Eli to screw up. What’s more, Harel had, as expected, played right into Eli’s hands by insisting that Nathan would be a part of the operation.
After the call, Eli sank back into his chair with a satisfied air. This was the best he’d felt since October 7, before the world had crumbled around his ears. Rafi was on the other side of the office, examining a brown stain on the wall.
‘What’s this?’ he said.
‘I spilt my coffee,’ Eli said. ‘Wishing I was smashing Harel’s skull. But that’s now all resolved.’
‘Okay, you don’t have to tell me about your irrational outbursts where you trash your office, but I don’t understand why you’re okay with Nathan being on Silver Dove. You know he’ll be a pain to work with and he’ll report right back to Harel.’
‘What sort of spy are you, Rafi?’ Eli twirled around in his chair. ‘Of course Nathan will report back to Harel. Meanwhile having Nathan on Silver Dove gives us our best chance to find out what Harel’s special need-to-know operation is all about.’
‘And fuck it up?’ Rafi said.
‘No, not if it’s actually going to make a difference but, knowing Harel, it will be expensive and unproductive. Remember the private jet he hired to impress that agent who was inventing the product? Harel should have been fired and would have been if he hadn’t gone to school with the Minister of National Security.’
‘So now what?’
‘We cram a three-year training course into three weeks and set up the slickest contact between Petra and Silver Dove in the whole history of the Office.’
Chapter 14
It was a week later, and it seemed as if it hadn’t stopped raining. Outside Petra’s cottage it hammered at the windows as if trying to shatter them. Inside Petra had the wood burner alight in the open-plan sitting room and the orange flames leapt up behind the door and echoed the vermilion sofa. From where she sat at the dining-room table it looked alluring. But Petra was barricaded by books and papers. Far better to have been on the sofa in front of the fire, while the stormy night raged.
‘How much of this stuff do I really need to know?’ Petra said. With her hand she indicated the books and papers that covered the table to the point that the oak was no longer visible. ‘I’m supposed to be a Brit, Eli. I am a Brit, for goodness’ sake. How much do most people know about the history of the Middle East, not to mention clans and militias? Shouldn’t we be looking at the target’s backstory and working up a contact initiative?’
‘Not yet,’ Eli said. ‘You’re not ready and I’m surprised at you, Petra. You know the importance of preparation.’
He was right. She knew it, but she was also tired and not used to absorbing so much information so quickly. This part of the preparation had begun to feel like being back at school and cramming for exams, an activity in which she’d never excelled.
‘Do you want another coffee?’ She stood up from the table. ‘I’ll make you another coffee while I run through what I’ve managed to retain. Or would you like to set me some essay questions?’
Eli grunted in response. He didn’t seem to find the comment amusing. The hell with him.
While she filled up the coffee machine from the packet in the fridge, she said, ‘There’s something else. I get the political facts, the dates, the treaties, the wars, but what’s the truth behind the facts?’
‘Truth? I’d say, geography and economics,’ Eli reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and tapped a note into his phone. ‘I’ll bring you a book next time. Now give me the key shifts in regional power.’
Petra still wasn’t convinced that this deep dive was going to help with a recruitment. She’d always tried to present a disinterest in international affairs to targets, not to arouse suspicion, but it was clear that Eli believed Wasim was no ordinary agent. ‘The entire region was under the control of the Ottoman Empire from early in the sixteenth century – about the time that our Henry VIII was trying to produce an heir. That went on to World War I, when they sided with Germany. Okay?’
‘So far,’ Eli said.
‘Thank you,’ Petra said with some sarcasm. She flicked the lever at the sink and filled up the water reservoir. ‘What happened then? Oh yeah. Massive regional shake-up after World War I ends. Britain supports Arab revolts against the Ottomans and promises self-rule. And around the same time, they also promise the Jews a homeland in Palestine.’
‘It could be argued that this is the historical root of all our problems.’ Eli had followed Petra into the kitchen area with his cup and rinsed it out in the sink. He put it on the granite surface and leaned back, arms folded, ankles crossed over each other. It occurred to Petra that he looked comfortable there.
‘Why were those promises made?’ Petra said.
‘Geography, economics, as I said. Natural resources, lobbying and, like a lot of political decisions, the long-term implications weren’t thought through. The law of unintended consequences, if you like.’
‘You mean a cock-up.’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that. You need to remember that Europe was collectively shattered by World War I. France was screaming for revenge on Germany. The Russian Revolution had just happened, the Tsar’s family had been murdered and Britain was terrified of a home-grown revolution. With all that going on, the Middle East was a secondary concern.’
The coffee machine groaned out its first cup and Eli reached for it. ‘Thank you, you make the best coffee.’ His voice was warm. With his free hand he reached out and stroked her cheek, then he jolted his hand away and seemed to recall himself. He said, ‘So now the region is controlled by the British and French via mandates, as agreed by the League of Nations, which was the forerunner to the UN and just as ineffective as the current iteration. East of the River Jordan is Transjordan, west is Palestine. Immigration of Jews into Palestine picks up and there are riots with the existing Arab population.’
Petra was still processing the sensation of Eli’s hand on her cheek. Something had just happened, but she let it go. Petra filled her own cup and sipped it as she leaned against the kitchen cabinets.
