The Mahdi, page 19
“Yeah, it’s me,” Caitlin said. “Alex spilled the beans, huh?”
“Alex?”
“Yeah. You know him as Kufdani.”
An image flashed in Elsa’s head: his huge neck, with thick veins wrapping up to his graying hair. He was sexy, she had realized in the past twenty-four hours, sort of the way a jaguar is sexy: awesome to observe from a distance. “He’s not Bedouin?”
“It’s a long story,” Caitlin replied, “but he is as Bedouin as the pope is Catholic. I see that your printer is on. I’ll send his background.”
Elsa’s printer started, and two pages printed out. “Read it later,” Caitlin said. “We’ve got more important things to talk about first.”
“Okay, tell me something I need to know. Give me a big story,” Elsa said. “The last one was, well, acceptable.”
“Is that right? Well, the prime minister had a big meeting today. He sicced Shin Bet on Kufdani and the Bedouins. He told IDF to help, but Shin Bet is in charge, and they’re a bunch of ruthless bastards. He told them to kill them all.”
“Bullshit, Caitlin,” Elsa said. “I heard about the meeting, but it just wrapped up. Top secret. No way can you jump to such conclusions.”
“Ha! Well, maybe I know a guy in government who recorded it. Check it out. I’ll send you a summary.” The printer started again.
Elsa scanned the page. “This stuff is a journalist’s dream. If it’s for real, it will make an incredible story.”
“Elsa, Elsa. You know you can trust me.”
“Do I? What exactly do I know about you?”
“Well, my name is Dr. Caitlin O’Conner, but you can just call me Caitlin. I leave the doctor stuff to my employer and my students—”
“Kufdani said you were his true love. Is he your employer too?”
“God, no! Kufdani is my lover and my soulmate. I live in Tangier with him. The NSA is my employer, or at least the source of much of my revenue.”
I keep waiting for this story to get less weird, Elsa thought. “Tell me, Caitlin,” she said, “what really rings your bell?” She heard a deep sigh.
“Education,” Caitlin said. “If I can help fix elementary education around the world, I will have accomplished a vast public good beyond quantum mechanics or building a new bomb. That is what dominates my free time and thought. I want every child to have an even shot at a life of the mind—reading books, thinking about stars and galaxies, about history and economics, about quarks and photons. I would rather have the Nobel Peace Prize for teaching the world’s children to read, write, reason, and calculate at the sixth-grade level than the prize for physics. Education is harder anyway. I like hard.”
“And how is that going for you?” Elsa asked.
“I’ve been at it for ten years or so, and we’re getting a foothold. We’ll get another million or two with this Bedouin effort Alex is behind. But that’s a story for another day,” Caitlin insisted.
“Anything on your hot list for right now?”
“Yeah. I’m horny.”
“Oh?” Elsa said. That answer was … unexpected.
“I just think better when I get off. And all the good vibrations that life or a wall circuit can offer—that doesn’t do it for me. Alex is gone, and no one appropriate is available.”
“So you’re not into monogamy?”
“God, no,” Caitlin said. “Different men as I can find them, or a woman but only if she’s scary smart. And no one twice. There’s a lot to be said for selective sport fucking.”
“Sport fucking?” Elsa blurted out.
“Sure. Physicists, the occasional chemist—mostly a bunch of quantum mechanics guys who’ve just completed their PhD. I love spending a weekend picking a guy’s fresh-minted brain, arguing logic, expanding my thinking base, and teaching him all the messy, juicy rest of it. Mossad sent me a pretty young man one time. Great fuck, but he didn’t know anything. Mostly I just fucked with his head. He was—”
“Uh, Caitlin?” Elsa interrupted. “You might be oversharing. I’m guessing you don’t want the word out, especially if Mr. Kufdani is your lover.”
“It’s true he’s not crazy about the arrangement. He is the best of them, and I love him desperately. But that’s who I am, and I’m worth it. He knew about it when he took the deal.”
This is getting weirder by the minute. “And Kufdani?” Elsa couldn’t resist asking. “Does he … play around too?”
“Of course,” Caitlin replied. “But he doesn’t have the same needs. He’s not driven by sex like I am—just takes it where it presents itself. A friend of mine in New York hit on him recently at my request, and now she raves on about Kufdani, the pony-peckered Arab.” She laughed heartily. “The guy is a great fuck, and he gives the best head on the planet. If you ever see him again, you should try him on.”
The best head on the planet, Elsa thought.
“So is that enough about me for now?”
Elsa snapped out of her reverie. “Not exactly. I’ve got the meeting summary and the Kufdani bio. While you’re at it, send me something on you.”
“I’m the famous Caitlin O’Connor,” came the response. “Would’ve thought you already knew everything there is to know about me.” The phone went dead, but the printer started up right away.
Elsa read through the Kufdani piece: Alejandro Mohammad Cuchulain, former US Marine, master’s in Islamic studies from Oxford, author of several papers and presentations on early Islam and the schism between Sunni and Shi‘a. Elsa entered the URLs for the presentation videos and studied them for a few moments.
On one presentation, hanging out of Kufdani’s thrice-rolled sleeves were massive, corded forearms attached to hands wrapped with veins and scars. A long, thick scar ran alongside the prominent veins on his right arm. Apparently someone had stitched him up pretty poorly. He might look like a thug, and he was big enough to fit the bill. But he certainly seemed to have a brain and be trained in its use.
Interesting, thought Elsa.
The bio on Caitlin O’Connor ran to eight pages. Elsa read the opening sentence: Dr. O’Connor is perhaps the world’s premier quantum physicist …
PhD from Caltech, professorships everywhere, MacArthur award at age twenty-five, Fields Medal not long after. This woman had done everything before she was thirty.
“No wonder she can blink the lights,” Sachs muttered to herself. “From the looks of it, she can do anything.”
SHIN BET HEADQUARTERS, NORTHWEST TEL AVIV
TUESDAY
“WE ARE LOOKING FOR KUFDANI, BUT HE APPEARS TO HAVE DISAPPEARED,” one of the staffers reported. “Perhaps even left the country.” Nabov Dayan sat at a rectangular table with six of his direct reports in a windowless room north of Yarkon Park, at Shin Bet HQ.
“No matter,” Dayan replied, with more confidence than he felt. He knew of this “Cooch” from long ago, of his ruthlessness as an accomplished CIA operator. “We’ll find him and deal with him when the time comes.”
“We can always push the Bedouins around some more,” suggested another agent. “We’ve received early intelligence that the tribes may have placed the weapons that caused the damage in Jerusalem. Maybe we could throw their leaders in prison?”
Not exactly the wisest option at the moment, Dayan thought. Plus, it was too soon to strike at the Bedouins again. “Let’s just keep an eye on them for now. A drone or two should give us adequate warning if they look to become troublesome.”
To get to the heart of the problem, he would have to see things through a wider lens.
“Shin Bet is under stress,” he continued. “The full nature of the threat is unclear, but it is effective. Our nation is out of pocket billions of dollars for repairs and reconstruction. Incredibly, we don’t know how this was accomplished or how far out the attackers have laid plans. But the prime minister has given us enormous power to avenge some of the recent travesties.”
The faces around the table were grim.
“It seems to me,” Dayan said, “those communications disruptions and electronic explosions are the source of many of our issues. Our efficacy relies on our ability to communicate, both among us and with our informant network. Step one is figuring that out. Any thoughts?”
Deputy Director Ehud Klinger spoke up. “These electronic bursts seem to be coming from miniature electromagnetic pulse devices—EMP, designed to destroy electrical equipment or circuits. We don’t know how many of those devices they have or where they’re located. Surveillance cameras show nothing unusual in the twenty-four hours before the blasts. But we do know the device was likely designed and produced by an American particle physicist, one of four people in the world with those skills.”
Dayan looked expectantly at Klinger, who also served as leader of the IDF special forces and had a great deal of experience in the clandestine world.
“Dr. Caitlin O’Connor,” his deputy said.
“Why her?”
“One, proximity, and two, opportunity. She is the Bedouin terrorist’s lover, resides with him in Tangier. She is said to be the pointy end of the NSA’s intellectual spear.”
“Why not just grab O’Connor and kill her quietly?” Dayan asked. “Tangier is fairly open.”
“A bunch of our Russian Haredi patriots tried that recently,” Klinger explained. “Without our permission. We don’t know precisely who was involved, but I’m betting on Yakov Bernstein. He’s an impetuous prick.”
“Fuck,” Dayan said. “Save us from amateurs.”
“Tangier may be open, but Kufdani’s place is buttoned up tight according to Mossad,” the deputy director continued. “We would need the IDF to breach it, and that would be enormously bloody. Thanks to Jerome Masterson, security there is both well-armed and well-trained—and over two thousand miles away. They have robust air defense.”
Dayan shook his head. He knew of Masterson from long ago and had heard about his success in providing security training for the Moroccans. “What else?”
The man to his right pushed a few papers in front of him. “We could do an aggressive, armed push into Gaza. Take back some of the escaped prisoners from Ktzi’ot.” Yitzak Galat, the head of Shin Bet’s Arab department, was responsible for counterterrorism in Israel, including the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. “We know some have returned and are stirring up trouble among the populace. Could give us some extra time to figure out how to deal with this Kufdani.”
Dayan liked the idea. After the recent losses in Jerusalem, the prison breakout had really rubbed their noses in things. “We’ll recapture all that real estate in Gaza before long anyway. Might as well get the Palestinians used to that reality.”
Galat nodded. “Give me a few days, and you’ll have a plan. Shall we include some support from the IDF?”
Dayan thought for a second. “Why not? Let’s give them a full show of power: body armor, armored personnel carriers, tanks, helicopters, the whole bit. IDF in support of Shin Bet. Search some houses, arrest some Palestinians. Maybe even shoot a few if they act up.”
Galat’s eyes widened in surprise.
“I don’t think we need to be too careful about this operation and its optics for the press,” Dayan confirmed. “Let us end this minor revolt. We need to display a ruthlessness that will get the Palestinians in Gaza out of our way.”
Galat agreed. “They need to see us coming from a long way off and be scared.”
“Tell me what you have in mind,” Dayan said, adding, “If there is resistance at Mossad or the IDF, I’ll ask the prime minister to deal with it.”
Galat clicked his laptop and swung the monitor to face the Shin Bet director. “Before massing for the attack, we’ll assemble in different areas in the Negev,” Galat said, pointing to the map, “just south and east of Beersheba.”
The roads north of there were still blocked, so the IDF forces would be less visible as they massed. Troops would have full-body armor with helmets and face masks and would be transported to the battlefield in armored carriers. Two companies of battle tanks would be available to the Israeli forces, to deal with any pockets of resistance away from the populace.
“But not too far away.” Galat smirked. “It’s time to teach them a lesson.”
He suggested asking IDF to fly three jet bombers over Gaza as the battle was engaged, flying at very low altitudes and high speed. Then they would flood the area with drones—some armed with Hellfire missiles, the rest for surveillance—all by sector and controlled by commanders on the ground.
Dayan found the plan acceptable. “Shin Bet will observe and advise,” he said. “This is an IDF show.” The Israeli Navy would also send two armed corvettes to shell anyone or anything not visible to the drones, and to control any Palestinians or mercenaries who tried to flee by boat.
Galat traced his fingers along the map on his laptop screen. “We will enter the Gaza Strip just west of the Wadi al-Sarar, turn south in a line, and accelerate. They may launch stones with their slingshots and throw debris at our troops, but any armed resistance will be dealt with harshly. Tear gas is likely to be required, perhaps with a little nausea agent mixed in.”
Dayan saw it all as clear as day: Gaza City would be isolated. When they had cleared the portion of the strip south of Gaza to the Egyptian border, they would reverse and move toward Gaza City, rolling back over those they had just crushed.
“Let’s make it so,” he said, standing up. “Put your plan together, and I’ll run it by the prime minister.” It would take a few days to get the logistics right, but in the end, these cretins would feel the force.
MOSSAD HEADQUARTERS, TEL AVIV
WEDNESDAY
GUNS SAT IN FRONT OF HIS DESKTOP SCREEN WITH SHEILA PELZER AT his side, sipping tea and waiting for the 9:00 a.m. news release from Haaretz Online. It had been almost two weeks since the Sachs woman had written those pieces about the power outages and the kidnapping of Kufdani. The good news was that her articles were too small-time to garner the attention of the foreign press, particularly in the EU and the US. The bad news was that her readership was growing.
As both Guns and Pelzer well knew, Sachs had her pick of sensational stories: the second Jerusalem attack, the Ktzi’ot prison break, the plight of the Israeli Bedouins. Or she might go with all three. The first headline showed up, and the story was indeed shocking.
PRIME MINISTER ON PALESTINIANS AND BEDOUINS: KILL THEM ALL!
“Kill them all!” That was the closing directive from our prime minister in a senior staff meeting earlier this week. Kill who? Well, he’s not quite sure. But there has to be someone to kill, doesn’t there?
In what Bedouin leadership describes as a response to the removal—by Shin Bet and the IDF—of thousands of Israeli Bedouins to appalling facilities, seemingly half of Jerusalem was destroyed last weekend, from a sewage treatment plant to the public transportation system to the vaunted construction project slated for the relocation of the “faithful” in the West Bank. And instead of working on a response to the massive, demonstrated incompetence from his administration that allowed this to happen, the prime minister issued a kill order on thousands of human beings.
Why?
Perhaps this order was an attempt to cover up involvement in the kidnapping of the Bedouin sheik who was drugged and tossed into Ktzi’ot Prison after a meeting with Haredi leadership. Or perhaps it was a cry of vengeance after the humiliating prison break on Saturday, led by the legendary Palestinian and Hamas leader Yousef Salama—the sudden release of more than six thousand prisoners who fled to Egypt, reportedly including Kufdani, the Bedouin in question.
Stealing Bedouin citizens’ land is getting to be an expensive proposition, and the price is going up quickly, at least in Jerusalem. In Tel Aviv, how would we deal with that? And why should we? Is this approach to governing what we elected this political monster to do? Have we rolled over while the Haredim plan to steer our society backwards at his hand?
Do we want a personal theocracy led by an ineffective, backward-looking scoundrel?
Our exclusive video interview with Kufdani, which reveals his claims about human rights, who really controls Israel, and what he calls the “theocratic tragedy,” may soon be aired on a top US network and is scheduled to air on Israeli TV unless our fearless leader generates a lie to stop it. He’s good at lying to the Israeli people, but he has less influence on freedom of speech in the United States.
Theocracies, by nature, have limited international power, yet we allow ours to control us. “Kill them all” may refer to someone else this time. But can you be sure that next time it won’t be an order to terminate anyone who doesn’t agree with our scheming prime minister—perhaps even you?
Guns could see the distress on Pelzer’s face as she finished reading the article. “The prime minister’s actions undermine what we have fought so long for,” she said at last. “The rule of law is fundamental to managing a democracy, and he is trampling it with land confiscations and assassination orders. If he continues on this path, he might soon actually have that power he’s reaching for. It’s really quite discouraging. Shin Bet is an unforgiving bunch, and a competent one. Now that Dayan is involved, the score will change quickly.”
“Well, he was never our favorite guy,” Guns agreed. He and Pelzer had known all along that the prime minister was not the least bit troubled by truth or ethics. “It’s our job to minimize any long-term damage from his actions while protecting Israel from harm. And so far, the score looks like Bedouins 3, Israel 0.”
“But you heard him direct Shin Bet to kill them all,” she protested. “That simply is not consistent with the rule of law as we practice it.”
“Neither was the seizing of the Bedouin land, but we did it,” Guns pointed out. “We’ll see how that works out. For now, we need to go about our own business and see how things play out on the ground.”
“That makes sense. We need to continue our intelligence mission, not that the PM or Shin Bet has asked. Do we have any idea what your Kufdani will do next?”
