intelligence. Get to know
your source before any approach.
I called Mahoney and introduced myself. "I'm calling in regard to
Bernard Lipinsky."
"Yes," he said. "We've just gotten the matter. Your name was mentioned
as a contact. Is this connected to a federal case?"
"We don't know yet," I said evasively, adding, "but you should know
that just before he vanished, Lipinsky had an argument with a co-worker,
a person named Malik Fazal. Apparently some garbled messages had
come into the bank; Lipinsky stumbled on them, and Fazal snatched
them away. There could be something in the messages that points to the
origin of their dispute, or maybe even to the subsequent disappearance of
Lipinsky. The way it was described to me, something didn't sound right.
We'd be most interested in these messages; they could be connected to
our case and also to yours."
"So what's the government's role in this?" he asked again.
"All I can say is that Lipinsky could be a material witness in a federal
matter. I'm sure you understand there are limits to how much I can discuss. At this point we can't stick our nose into the missing-person case,
so I hope you can interview Malik in a benign manner. If you don't mind
the suggestion, as part of the routine investigation into Lipinsky's disappearance, you could interview everyone in Malik's department, including
him, so that he won't suspect that he is being singled out. I don't want
him to take off."
"I hear you," said Mahoney. Any competent detective, of course, could
think of this tactic on his own, and wouldn't need me to suggest it. I'd
been prepared for him to bristle, but he seemed cool.
"If anything develops," I continued when no objection was heard,
"please call me at my temporary office in the FBI in 26 Federal Plaza." I
gave him the number.
"All right," he said, and hung up.
t was time to call Benny Friedman, my Mossad buddy. He has always
been a good sounding board for my ideas. Although many years had
passed since we'd trained together at the Mossad Academy, we were
still friends, helping each other when we could without compromising
our respective allegiances. Benny was one of the few people I've really
respected. His shrewd mind, low-key demeanor, and noncondescending
attitude made him many friends and only a handful of enemies. His burly
appearance didn't reflect the easygoing and no-nonsense top Mossad
executive that he was.
I remembered well how Benny and his wife, Batya, gave me moral support and true friendship during my divorce from Dahlia. Although a
Mossad career was usually for life, I'd left after only a three-year stint.
Things had changed. I'd been burned in an operation in Europe: An Arab
informer joining a Libyan diplomat in a rendezvous in Europe turned out
to be a former landscaper at my parents' home in Tel Aviv who knew me
well. My cover was instantly blown. My future as a Mossad operative was
fatally compromised, and the best assignment I could expect after that
disaster was a desk job. No thanks. In the dynamic, continually fluctuating profession of intelligence, even if you were sitting pretty, someone
would run you over if you didn't keep moving. So I moved. Besides, I
needed the change. My divorce, my resolve to turn around my life, all led
me to the United States.
But Benny had stayed on and climbed through the ranks. Now he was
the head of Tevel, the organization's foreign relations department.
Although Israel and the United States exchange intelligence regularly,
the direct contact I had with Benny was simple and personal. Each of us
knew his own limitations and the other's. I called the Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv at ro:oo A.M. - 5:00 P.M. in Israel.
"Been awhile, Benny," I said, when I reached him.
A good friendship never goes stale," he answered. "In fact, I was thinking
of coming to the U.S. soon and wanted to call you."
"Something that needs to be done? Or just a decent kosher meal?"
"Both," he
your source before any approach.
I called Mahoney and introduced myself. "I'm calling in regard to
Bernard Lipinsky."
"Yes," he said. "We've just gotten the matter. Your name was mentioned
as a contact. Is this connected to a federal case?"
"We don't know yet," I said evasively, adding, "but you should know
that just before he vanished, Lipinsky had an argument with a co-worker,
a person named Malik Fazal. Apparently some garbled messages had
come into the bank; Lipinsky stumbled on them, and Fazal snatched
them away. There could be something in the messages that points to the
origin of their dispute, or maybe even to the subsequent disappearance of
Lipinsky. The way it was described to me, something didn't sound right.
We'd be most interested in these messages; they could be connected to
our case and also to yours."
"So what's the government's role in this?" he asked again.
"All I can say is that Lipinsky could be a material witness in a federal
matter. I'm sure you understand there are limits to how much I can discuss. At this point we can't stick our nose into the missing-person case,
so I hope you can interview Malik in a benign manner. If you don't mind
the suggestion, as part of the routine investigation into Lipinsky's disappearance, you could interview everyone in Malik's department, including
him, so that he won't suspect that he is being singled out. I don't want
him to take off."
"I hear you," said Mahoney. Any competent detective, of course, could
think of this tactic on his own, and wouldn't need me to suggest it. I'd
been prepared for him to bristle, but he seemed cool.
"If anything develops," I continued when no objection was heard,
"please call me at my temporary office in the FBI in 26 Federal Plaza." I
gave him the number.
"All right," he said, and hung up.
t was time to call Benny Friedman, my Mossad buddy. He has always
been a good sounding board for my ideas. Although many years had
passed since we'd trained together at the Mossad Academy, we were
still friends, helping each other when we could without compromising
our respective allegiances. Benny was one of the few people I've really
respected. His shrewd mind, low-key demeanor, and noncondescending
attitude made him many friends and only a handful of enemies. His burly
appearance didn't reflect the easygoing and no-nonsense top Mossad
executive that he was.
I remembered well how Benny and his wife, Batya, gave me moral support and true friendship during my divorce from Dahlia. Although a
Mossad career was usually for life, I'd left after only a three-year stint.
Things had changed. I'd been burned in an operation in Europe: An Arab
informer joining a Libyan diplomat in a rendezvous in Europe turned out
to be a former landscaper at my parents' home in Tel Aviv who knew me
well. My cover was instantly blown. My future as a Mossad operative was
fatally compromised, and the best assignment I could expect after that
disaster was a desk job. No thanks. In the dynamic, continually fluctuating profession of intelligence, even if you were sitting pretty, someone
would run you over if you didn't keep moving. So I moved. Besides, I
needed the change. My divorce, my resolve to turn around my life, all led
me to the United States.
But Benny had stayed on and climbed through the ranks. Now he was
the head of Tevel, the organization's foreign relations department.
Although Israel and the United States exchange intelligence regularly,
the direct contact I had with Benny was simple and personal. Each of us
knew his own limitations and the other's. I called the Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv at ro:oo A.M. - 5:00 P.M. in Israel.
"Been awhile, Benny," I said, when I reached him.
A good friendship never goes stale," he answered. "In fact, I was thinking
of coming to the U.S. soon and wanted to call you."
"Something that needs to be done? Or just a decent kosher meal?"
"Both," he
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