Precisely at noon, all five permanent members of Pattern Crimes hit 55 Lover of Zion Street hard. Shoshana and Micha, on instructions from David, went straight for the garage. There they found a dark blue Chevrolet van. It was empty but the key was in the ignition. Shoshana started it, backed it up fast, but before she could get it out to the street, two men ran toward her, waving Shin Bet IDs. They blocked the driveway and, when Micha Benyamani ordered them to move, shoved him aside, then shut and padlocked the driveway gate.
It was a stand-off in the ground floor apartment too. When David burst in with Uri and Dov, they found two men and an attractive young woman in a minimally furnished office. One of the men, stocky and bearded, was speaking on the phone; the other, young and muscle-bound, was flirting with the woman who sat typing at one of the desks.
When the bearded man saw them he snapped some kind of alert to his caller, hung up, and faced David with a sneer.
"Out of bounds here, policeman. This is a Security Services squad."
"Over against the wall. All three of you-hands behind your heads. You're under arrest."
Nobody moved. The two men exchanged a look. The girl peered around nervously.
"We're Shin Bet, asshole," the bearded man said. "Get your people out of here."
"Who the fuck you calling asshole?" Uri asked.
"He tries anything, Uri, kick him in the balls."
"Your oaf kicks anyone I'm shooting off his foot." The younger man had drawn a pistol. The beard stepped forward and planted his feet apart.
"Your illustrious career has just ended, Bar-Lev. Nobody messes with us. Especially no stinking cops."
Uri continued toward him. The beard held his ground. "We stink, huh?"
"Take pictures," David ordered. Then he picked up the phone.
While he spoke to Rafi, and Dov brought out his camera, Uri turned suddenly on the younger man, flipped him onto his back, disarmed him, and cuffed his wrists. The girl screamed. The beard attacked Dov, trying to rip the camera from his hands. Uri jumped on him from behind. When the beard, too, was subdued and cuffed and the girl had obeyed their order, placing her hands behind her head, Dov took careful mug shots of the three of them, then went outside and took more portraits of the goons blockading the gate.
Ephraim Cohen arrived first. Rafi, who'd used a squad car with a siren, was only seconds behind. Their confrontation took place in the driveway. David, who now had the two Shin Bet men sitting back-to-back, listened from the door.
"She's not taking that van," Ephraim warned.
"She's taking it," Rafi said. "And my forensic guys are going over it."
Shoshana sat smiling in the driver's seat; she'd locked herself inside.
"Listen, Shahar," Cohen said, trying to strike a reasonable tone, "you don't bust in on us. If you think you've got good cause, go to a judge and get a warrant. Until then pull your people out."
"I don't need a warrant, not when my top unit chief is ambushed."
Cohen stared at Rafi with withering scorn. "My guys get ambushed all the time."
"We think it was a couple of your goons."
"You think!"
"What are you afraid of, Cohen?"
"You're on my turf, Shahar. Get off of it."
"You've got no 'turf.' "
"Oh no? We'll see."
They came inside together to use the phone after agreeing that their respective bosses would have to talk.
"Why the handcuffs?" Cohen asked.
Rafi nodded to David, who nodded to Uri, who unlocked the cuffs and set the two men loose. As soon as Uri stepped back the beard lunged for him. Uri kicked him in the shins. He howled. The girl screamed again.
"Control your creeps!" Rafi yelled. Ephraim Cohen herded the three of them out the door. Then, while Rafi phoned District Superintendent Latsky, Ephraim approached David with a smile.
"Last time we met I did you a favor."
"Yeah, you set up Peretz."
"That was a good tip, David."
"So why did you kill him? Is that what you do when one of your crummy operations falls apart?"
Rafi motioned David aside.
"Don't insult him. You shouldn't have done it like this. You should have checked with me."
"I would have, Rafi, but if we'd gone for a warrant they'd have heard about it and buried the van."
"Cohen's calling Levin, a big-shot colonel. We may be in more trouble than you think."
"This is Jerusalem."
"So what? Can we bust IDF Intelligence? Can Shin Bet bust the Russian Compound? This is their territory, David. Busting in here puts us in the wrong."
"We've got pictures now."
"You're still going to need that van."
"If one of these guys was 'Hurwitz' and Amit Nissim identifies him…"
"They'll tear her apart."
"There's the clerk at the photo store."
"Not enough, David." Rafi shook his head. "With people like this, nowhere near enough."
Superintendent Nathan Latsky huddled with Rafi, while the four Shin Bet men glowered and Ephraim Cohen looked impatiently at his watch. Latsky was an old chain-smoking Pelmach type who'd turned frosty in middle age. Now, near to retirement, he disliked conflict. David knew he barely tolerated Rafi, whose open-door policy and undisciplined unit chiefs offended his sense of order.
When Colonel Levin arrived, he and Latsky sauntered into the garden. David couldn't hear what they were saying but it looked very cozy-an elaborate pas de deux with lots of friendly smiles, deferential noddings, and polite discussion of inter-service protocols, neither man trying to intimidate the other, each positioning himself for the inevitable Israeli compromise.
Latsky came back to talk with Rafi, while Levin conferred with Ephraim Cohen. After a few minutes the superintendent motioned David over.
"Levin says you've blown this headquarters." Latsky lit a cigarette. "He says he's moving his unit out."
"What about the van?"
"What about it? You're sure as hell not going to get it now."
"I need it. There's evidence in there," David said.
"David's been shot at twice," Rafi explained.
Latsky nodded. "You tried to snatch it from them and you failed. Now they're not giving it up. Levin's talking principle."
"So it's an impasse. Now what do we do?"
"In a situation like this I go to the Police Minister and he goes to the Director of Shin Bet."
"Then what?"
Latsky exhaled nervously. "They take it to the Cabinet."
"By that time the van's cleaned up."
The superintendent shrugged. "So what do you want to do? Fight it out with them with guns? You took on these people, Bar-Lev. You should have known better. Now we're in a mess."
"It's a vicious circle," David said. "I couldn't get evidence without moving on them first."
"Sounds to me like you didn't have a legitimate case." The superintendent squinted at him. "Oh yeah. Another thing. No pictures. They want your film back too."
The Police Ministry was in a government building in Sheikh Jarrah, a floor above the larger Ministry of Housing. A decent enough office but nothing grand. The minister, presently attentive to police affairs, hoped shortly to move on to better things.
David only knew him by reputation. He was Algerian-born, a slick, smooth-talking fifty-year-old former trial lawyer with perfectly parted silver-gray hair and beautifully manicured nails. He'd gotten the police as part of a package deal called "Opening to the East," whereby certain presentable younger Sephardic politicians received a limited number of minor ministries in return for joining the coalition of religious and right-wing parties that formed the present government.