Lockout

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

One week later

Tel Aviv, Israel (11:15 a.m. local)

Two men walking slowly through Tel Aviv’s Yarkon Park in deep conversation in late morning had attracted no one’s attention, save for the security detail protecting the prime minister of Israel and trying to keep a discreet distance.

Gershorn Zamir gestured to a park bench and they settled onto it, the prime minister sitting slightly sideways as his slender, six-foot-two companion leaned back and sighed, his words spoken with an Oxfordian British accent.

“Thank you, old chap. My back has been giving me a bloody run for it these past few months. I could blame it on rugby, but in truth it’s too much mucking around at home lifting heavy things the wrong way.”

“I completely sympathize. I’m too heavy for much exercising, but just walking takes its toll these days after too many hours at a desk.”

“Or at the head of a crisis center table, I expect.”

“Yes. So, tell me, please, what you trundled here all the way from London to impart.”

The man looked over and smiled slightly, then straightened up and looked around carefully, before continuing.

“The letter, or more properly stated, the email that Moishe asked me to destroy after he sent it in flight didn’t mention how, just why.”

“I would expect that.”

“And, you understand, there’s nothing new in the ‘why’: the same old fact that the mullahs would happily die and go collect their virgins if the loss of their country was accompanied by the vaporization of Israel; their first strike on Israel was anywhere from hours to days away; how he had a duty to make sure their ability to attack was destroyed, et cetera, et cetera. But the key was the statement I mentioned. The statement that he had commandeered a commercial airliner full of innocent people only because he had no other method of showing the world Iran’s murderous intent. He said he regretted the impending loss of civilian lives, but that they, too, were dying for a great cause.”

“Commandeered was the word?”

“Yes.”

“Are you planning to publish the letter?”

“To what end, Gershorn? Even if I hadn’t been on Israel’s side my entire life, what would such a revelation do? I don’t particularly care about Lavi’s legacy, but it would stir up anger and distrust of anything Israel says or does regarding Iran, and put them in the role of victim of Zionist aggression.”

“I appreciate your decision, especially since I know you’re giving up a coup.”

“Not really. I might be giving up an opportunity to sabotage the very interests I want to help. More than anything, I’d be driving a stake through your political heart if I revealed that letter.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There were a few people thanked in a veiled way in Lavi’s verbiage, Gershorn, and based on who they might be and the positions potentially involved, it would not take a Sherlock Holmes to discern the presence of a host of confederates in Mossad, IDF, your government, and a couple of very key people in the US.”

“He named them?”

“No, no. Only implied. He was a master at espionage and subtlety even if he was also the proverbial bull in the china shop. But from those implied confederates come inescapable conclusions.”

The PM looked away for a few moments, letting his mind run through the thicket of possible reactions from the world.

“You realize I have to search for these turncoats,” Gershorn replied quietly.

“Are they turncoats? If they even exist, in their minds, they’re patriots. Far be it for an obscure little journalist to advise the prime minister of Israel, but if you launch a witch hunt—as the Yanks call it—you will split your government down the middle. And, keep in mind that Moishe may have been setting up completely innocent people, whether to settle old scores or otherwise we’ll never know.

“Who in the States?”

“He implied he had someone buried deep, but… he was only tossed out of office last month. There simply wasn’t enough time to send over a mole and get things set up for an electronic hijacking.”

“Then why did he try to take credit?”

“Because our old friend was first and foremost a master opportunist. I have no trouble believing that he found himself on an electronically locked out airliner maybe heading toward Tehran and decided to take full advantage of it.”

“But, could he have done it?”

“We can never know.”

“I must let it lie, in other words? Here and there?”

“Precisely what I would say if I were advising you, yes. Fortunately, I am a mere and meager journalist and not in that position, so it is well within my discretion to speak freely and as unaccountably as possible.”

“And… you will destroy all copies of that communique from Moishe?”

The journalist looked over at Gershorn again and raised a bushy eyebrow.

“What communique?”