Pinnacle Event (14 page)

CLOCK HOTEL

JAFFA/TEL AVIV, ISRAEL

Danny Avidar walked into the little gym carrying a bouquet of flowers. Mbali Hlanganani stopped running on the treadmill in astonishment. “For me?” she asked.

“I didn't feel that we welcomed you appropriately on your first trip to the Holy Land,” he said. “The girl at the front desk said you were down here, working out.”

“That's so nice of you. I must say your hospitality has been superb,” she said, stepping off the machine and grabbing a towel and water bottle. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Well, that's the thing. We haven't worked closely with your service before,” he shrugged. “I guess because we had been close to the anciene regime, but that was when I was a young man, when I was just a recruit in the paratroopers.”

“And when I was still in school,” she added. “I don't blame you, I don't blame Israel, for all of this. It was, after all, South Africans who made these bombs and, I am pretty sure, South Africans who just sold them.”

“True, but Israel helped the Apartheid government with its defense and intelligence needs. In some ways they helped Israel. It is not something we are proud of,” he said and opened a water bottle for himself. “Of all peoples, we should not have supported Apartheid and we didn't, but we did support the government, against the Communists, but nonetheless.”

“Danny, may I call you Danny?” she asked. “Let us put it behind us. We face a common challenge. These people, whoever they are, who have the warheads now, they could use them against either of our countries, we don't know which one is the target. We have to work together.”

“The Americans think it's al Qaeda and they are going to bomb New York and Washington again,” Danny Avidar observed.

“The Americans always think it's about them,” Mbali said.

“And they always think they can solve the problem with money and technology,” Avidar added.

“This time it's going to take more than that, and less,” she agreed. “It's about people, getting to the right people, and getting them to reveal what they know.”

“I promise you, Miss Mbali, I will tell you everything I learn about this case as we develop it, if you will do the same with me,” Avidar said, offering his hand to shake.

“Then, Danny, we have an intelligence partnership of our own.”

 

15

MONDAY, OCTOBER 24

LIVNIM, GALILEE

ISRAEL

“Call it Lake Kinneret. That's its name,” Avraham Reuven scolded.

“I told you Mr. Avidar, my father is sometimes not good with guests. His mind, well, it wanders.” Benjamin Reuven looked to be in his fifties. He had explained that he lived on the nearby kibbutz Hokuk, where he ran a specialty plastics factory. He came into town almost every day to see that his father was all right.

The kibbutz had not been “comfortable” enough for Avraham. To be near his son and his grandchildren on the kibbutz, Avraham had moved to a villa in nearby Livnim, complete with a pool and a great view of the Sea of Galilee. Now, the grandchildren were at university in America, but he didn't mind, Avraham said. “This view from this restaurant is like the view from my house down the street. I love it. Lake Kinneret.”

They sat outdoors at the Roburg, the gourmet restaurant in Livnim, the Sea of Galilee glistening in the near distance. “Lake Tiberias, the Romans called it, after their perverted emperor, but it's Kinneret in the Torah, not Galilee. The Galilee is the region,” Avraham insisted.

“We came to talk about South Africa,” Danny Avidar began.

“Operation Peace for Galilee, that's what they called it when they invaded Lebanon the last time,” the elder Avraham went on. “A piece of the Galilee for the Army, but
peace
for Galilee didn't happen, of course. No peace. Peace in Galilee, that would be a real miracle.”

“Dad, Mr. Avidar wants you to remember about your time in South Africa,” the son tried. “He's from the Mossad, high up.”

“The Christians think miracles occurred in the Galilee, of course. Over there in Capernaum. Down the road in Cana. That was a good one, the one in Cana. They claim a Jew made water into wine there, in Cana, not just wine but high-quality wine. No high-quality wine in Cana now,” Reuven Avraham said looking at Bowman. “Not bad here though, at Roburg's.” He sipped his glass of dark red wine.

“Do you recall a man named Potgeiter? Or one named Roosmeer?” Avidar asked.

“Yes, Potgeiter, yes. He liked tunnels, built tunnels,” Reuven Avraham recalled.

Danny Avidar perked up and leaned forward. “Tunnels for what?”

“Simeon bar Yochai, he built tunnels, too, up here in the Galilee region. Did you know that?” Avraham asked.

“No, I didn't,” Danny answered. “I don't know him. Was that when you came back from South Africa that he built the tunnels up here? Why did he build tunnels?”

“No, before that,” the old man scoffed. “He built them to escape from the Romans. He was a Tannaim. You're obviously not.”

Ray Bowman couldn't help it anymore, he broke out laughing. Avidar gave him an evil look.

“It is good wine,” Bowman began, “for a blend.” He rolled the red around in his glass. “I saw Johann Roosmeer two days ago. He said if I saw you to pass on his best. He said without you, he could never have redesigned the warhead to fit on to his missile. He makes wine now, Johann does, with his two sons in Stellenbosch.”

Avraham Reuven turned and stared at Bowman like a falcon contemplating its prey. He pushed his glasses up from the tip of his nose. “His missile? It was a Jehrico II, just like ours. You use a little warhead, but you boost it with tritium. Simple. That's what we did. What they did, too, with the few they made in the tunnel.”

“Potgeiter's tunnel. That where they made the tritium gas, in the tunnel?” Ray asked.

“Of course,” the old man said, disdainfully.

“And then Potgeiter built another tunnel to store the missile warheads in when he left South Africa?” Ray guessed.

“Yes. The man loved his tunnels, like the Nazis,” Reuven answered.

“What did you think of his second tunnel, the one where he moved the warheads? Was it well designed?” Ray asked.

“Never saw it,” Reuven admitted. “Think I'd go to Madagascar? Even Potgeiter got sick there. Lucky he didn't get bitten by the bats. Huge things. Built nests in his tunnel. Had to chase them out. Bloody mess. Guano everywhere,” Reuven said laughing, as he took another sip of the wine.

“Potgeiter told people he sent the missile warheads here, you know,” Ray continued.

“Pfft…”
Reuven chortled. “He never even offered. We didn't need them. We had two hundred and forty-eight nuclear warheads. Why would we want theirs? No, they never came here. Went straight to the bat cave. Think they moved them lately? That why you came, find out where they moved them? I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to any of them in years, the South Africans. Not in years. Wouldn't know, not me, no.”

“They still send you the good South African wine though, I hope?” Ray took a shot in the dark.

“Roosmeer does. A case every year at New Year, their new year, not ours,” Avraham Reuven admitted. “Much better than the piss we make in this country. Haven't made high-quality wine here since that boy did his magic trick over in Cana.”

As they left the Reuvens and walked to Danny's car in the parking lot, the Mossad man stopped and looked Bowman in the eye. “Forget two hundred forty-eight. He never said two hundred forty-eight, all right? Besides, he's demented, obviously.”

“I don't think he's demented at all. He just didn't like you. Or Mossad. Or both.” Ray said, and began walking again. “He knew what I needed and he gave it to me. He confirmed that there were secret bombs that the South African whites did not reveal to the UN. He said they never came here. And he told us that they went to Madagascar for safe storage in a tunnel. The coup de gr
â
ce? He confirmed the weapons were boosted with tritium.”

“That's important, the tritium part?” Danny asked.

“Damn right. It's a limited life component. It decays. By now, it's dead,” Ray thought aloud. “If the bombs were detonated now, they would not be fifty kilotons, more like five kilotons.”

“Raymond, even a handful of five-kiloton nuclear explosions in Israel and the Exodus happens again, but in the other direction.”

“Wouldn't do good things for Manhattan and DC, either,” Bowman replied.

 

16

MONDAY, OCTOBER 24

HERZLIYA, ISRAEL

“Oh, you're black,” Rachel Steyn said as she opened the door. “Oh, forgive me, I didn't … I just assumed a South African policeman would be, well, a white man. Please come in, I am awfully sorry for that greeting.”

“My name is Mbali Hlaganani,” the guest said, stretching out her arm on the doorstep.

“Well, if they had told me that, I would have known, please, do come in.”

Mbali stepped into the luxurious villa on the beachfront.

“Most police and security services in South Africa are black. Some are colored, some Indian, a few are whites.”

“Yes, of course, I haven't been there since I was a child,” Rachel admitted. “I thought we would sit out by the pool. I have lemonade and biscuits.”

“First, Mrs. Steyn, I want to express my sympathy on the death of your husband. I want you to know that my organization is working hard with the Israeli government to determine who killed him and why.”

“Killed him? So you think it wasn't an accident?” Rachel asked.

“Most definitely. Haven't the police told you that?”

“No, they just said they were investigating, but I suspected it as soon as I got the call.”

“May I ask you why you were suspicious?” Mbali asked.

Rachel exhaled and paused, briefly. “Dawid thought he had been followed a few times in the week before, before he died.” She paused again and looked at the ground. “I told him he was being silly, paranoid. Who would want to follow him?”

Mbali took a cookie from the platter. “Well, that is the question, Mrs. Steyn. Your husband was involved in international finance and controlled very large sums of money.”

“Yes, but so do many men.”

“Maybe the Trustees have made enemies, Mrs. Steyn. Now that you are a Trustee, it may be important that you know who your enemies are.”

“So, you know about the Trustees. Of course you would, wouldn't you.” Rachel Steyn said, more to herself than to Mbali. “The others have suggested bodyguards for me and the children, but I have said no. It would scare the kids and I don't even know who they would be protecting me from. Do you think I should have bodyguards? Do you know who or why?”

“It's such a lovely view from here,” Mbali replied. “Maybe we should walk along the beach,” she said pointing to her ear and then raising a finger to her mouth.

Rachel understood immediately. “Yes, I was going to suggest that. You may want to leave your shoes here.” Mbali did and also left her mobile. Seeing that, so did Rachel.

As they strolled down the sand on the empty beach, Mbali wrapped her silk scarf around her chin, covering her mouth in case they were being filmed and a lip reader might be used later. “I am going to tell you a story that is true, but hard to believe. It is why your husband was murdered and why many more people may be soon.

“Your husband's father was one of the original Trustees, men who had worked on the South African nuclear bomb project. When they left the country, they took some bombs with them. Earlier this year, after two decades, they sold them to somebody. That somebody killed them to wipe his traces, so no one would know who had bought the bombs.”

Rachel put her hand to her mouth. “So that's where the half billion dollar deposit came from?”

“Yes, from Dawid's killers. And they are likely to use the bombs to kill thousands more, here in Israel, or in South Africa, or in the U.S. We don't know where yet. But maybe you can help us figure out who they are.”

They turned and began slowly walking back to the house.

“I gave the police all of Dawid's records, all of his computers. I only have copies, but I have been over them a thousand times. There is nothing that even suggests where the money came from or why. Do you think Dawid knew about the bombs? I do not believe that.”

“We assume all the Trustees did, but maybe not. I doubt he would have willingly been part of a plot against Israel or a plot to kill thousands of people.” As she said that, Mbali thought that she really knew very little about Dawid Steyn and whether he would have agreed to sell nuclear bombs.

“How can I help you find his killers?” Rachel asked as they approached the villa.

“Maybe you ask for an emergency meeting of all of the new Trustees. You have talked on the phone, but you have not all met each other before? If you got together maybe we could get someone to say something, or do something. Let me do some planning and bring a proposal back to you.” As they walked onto the pool deck, Rachel's mother appeared, having picked the two children up at their school. The two girls ran to their mother and then looked up in amazement at the tall, black woman.”You are so pretty,” the younger girl said to Mbali. “What's your name?”

“My name is Mbali and I have a little boy about your age. His name is Nelson. What's yours?”

When, a half hour later, after a tour of the kids' rooms and artwork, Mbali prepared to leave, she whispered to Rachel, “Don't tell the others about me, but I will stay in touch.” Mbali handed her a mobile phone. “If you need me, hit speed dial #1. Anytime. Don't use it for any other calls. Check the voice mails every day. The PIN is the month and day Dawid was killed.” Rachel grasped the phone and Mbali's hand and squeezed them.