“Shalom, Mister Leizman,” answered the general.
“General?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“Couldn’t recognize your voice, sorry.”
“It’s the encryption. Do you have an update for me?”
“Yes sir. I have made a deal to buy the simulator.” Leizman had been given the task to find and acquire a level D simulator for the Ilyushin to provide to the growing team of Israel Aerospace Industries engineers and software developers working at Nevatim. The search had been challenging.
“Where did you find it?”
“Azerbaijan Airlines commissioned one for their training center. It includes pilot, co-pilot and flight engineer stations, the main cockpit. But there is no navigator section.”
“What does Meir say about that?”
“He wishes we had it, but he is still very happy that we were able to find what we did. He will work around it.”
“When do we get it?”
“I am arranging for FedEx Cargo to deliver it to Ben Gurion. Just about any cargo plane can fly it down from there. But first we need to sign a contract and wire two million dollars. It should be ready to pick-up in two weeks after they get the money.”
“Two weeks?”
“The simulator is in operation. This is a full flight simulator. It is mounted on hydraulic pistons and fully articulated.”
“How long to get the papers signed?”
“Minister Stein is already working on it. I don’t know the timing.”
“I will talk to him.” The cost of acquiring the simulator finally hit Schechter. “Two million dollars for a simulator? That’s expensive.”
“No sir. That would be reasonable. We will have to wire another two million dollars before they will let FedEx take it. It will take them six to twelve months to get this replaced. We had to pay up to compensate for the lost revenue.”
“Are you saying four million U.S. dollars?”
“Yes sir.”
There was silence for a few moments. The general silently smiled, grateful that none of this was coming out of his pocket. “Just get the simulator here as soon as you can.”
“Yes sir. Will do.”
“How is the rest of the project?”
“The internal mechanical work is on schedule. I’m not in the loop regarding everything IAI is working on with the avionics and electronics. You will need to talk to Hillel on that.”
“Okay. Shalom.”
“Shalom.”
24 — Levy Comes Calling
On Saturday morning, February 12, 2011, a black SUV pulled up in front of the apartment building of Amit Margolis in Tel Baruch. Ami Levy, the director of Mossad, stepped out of the back seat after telling his bodyguards to wait in the vehicle. The 63-year-old master spy headed into the building and quickly found the elevator to the third floor. After an elevator ride that seemed painfully slow, he exited and walked down the outdoor hallway to find apartment 34. His steps were labored. Levy’s body reflected a life of service to his country, including combat in two wars and a decade of infiltrating Arab held lands to terminate enemies of the state. It had now been more than two decades since he last fired a weapon in anger and arthritis was exacting a revenge on his body that his enemies had failed to achieve.
Levy knocked on the door. The time was 8:12 a.m. After a moment, the door opened and a beautiful young woman confronted the aging director, her breasts perfectly outlined by a tight fitting t-shirt. “May I help you?”
Director Levy knew all about Enya Govenin, who occupied a growing percentage of Margolis’ Mossad file. Still, he was caught off guard by the beauty of the woman, who was completely unconcerned that her perfect body was on full display for this stranger at her door. The 5-foot 7-inch director was facing her eye to eye, trying unsuccessfully to maintain eye contact. “Shabbat shalom. I am looking for Amit Margolis. Is he in?”
“And who are you?”
“Forgive me. Tell him that Shlomo Fiegelbaum is here. I will wait.” Levy used the name of the director of collections because it was not widely known in the Israeli press, but would cause the correct response from Margolis.
Enya was not sure if she should leave the man in the hall. But something about him seemed familiar to her. He reminded her of the photos of her grandfather, whom she had never met. She pulled the door into a fully open position. “Come in,” she said.
Levy entered the modest apartment and closed the door behind him as Enya walked down the hall. He could not help but notice that she was effectively nude underneath her tight t-shirt, which stretched down to her thighs. He could make out the faint lines of a g-string as his eyes focused on her rear end. He scolded himself for his lack of self-control.
Levy was standing just inside the door when Amit Margolis turned the corner wearing a polo shirt and a pair of shorts. He was moving quickly to meet the senior Mossad officer he expected. It took his mind a second or two to realize that it was Director Levy standing in his apartment.
“Shabbat shalom, Amit,” said Levy as he extended his hand.
Margolis did everything possible to control his surprise. He shook hands. “Good morning, Director. Is there something wrong?”
“Not at all. I was hoping you could walk with me a while.”
“Of course, sir.” Margolis looked down at his bare feet. “I need, um, I need sandals.” He lifted his right hand and raised his forefinger. “One second.”
“Take your time.” Levy looked past Margolis and smiled at Enya as she stood about ten feet behind her man. The director tipped his head slightly as Amit slipped past Enya and went back into his bedroom in search of a pair of sandals. He re-emerged within seconds and paused next to Enya, kissing her forehead softly. “I will be only a few minutes, honey.”
“Amit, what is going on? Who is this man?”
Amit fumbled with his words. “Ah… just part of this project I am doing for the IDF. Sometimes they need to discuss important matters.” He looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. Amit turned to walk to Levy, who had already stepped back out into the hall.
Levy looked at Enya. “Pleasure meeting you. Shalom.” He turned and started walking back toward the elevator, confident that Margolis would quickly catch up. As Margolis reached his side, he spoke. “You have a basement shelter here, no?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“And we can get in?”
“Yes, my apartment key works.”
“Have your key?”
“No.” Margolis turned and ran the short distance back to his apartment, his speed limited by the flopping action of his sandals. He ran in, grabbed his keys, and was back with his director by the time the elevator door opened.
A couple of minutes later Amit unlocked the shelter door and turned on the lights. Inside was a barren room with a wash basin in the far corner and a stack of folding chairs leaning against the wall. Margolis unfolded two chairs and put them on the concrete floor.
“I don’t think this is up to code,” Levy joked as he sat down.
“Sorry, sir. Are you sure you want to talk here?”
“This is perfect, Amit.” Levy looked around the poured concrete walls. “No one is listening.” He smiled.
“Is something wrong, sir? It makes me nervous that you came here.”
“Nothing’s wrong. You know, next to the prime minister, I think you are the only person I have travelled to see in Israel.”
“What brings you here?”
“Sometimes Mohammed must go to the mountain.” Levy reached down and rubbed his left knee. “I’m afraid that age is taking a toll on me.” He looked at Amit. “Arthritis.”