“How’s your hip?”
Aksel was a stocky man, about five foot eight, but exuded the body type and constitution of a tank — a battle hardened outer shell and something of a mystery inside.
“Just a flesh wound. I was fine.”
Uzi didn’t know if Aksel was playing off the famed Monty Python line — when the Black Knight had both arms chopped off and claimed it was “just a flesh wound”—or if he merely meant to play down the severity of the injury. Knowing Aksel’s toughness and pigheaded steadfastness, Uzi surmised it was likely the latter. At the same time, he knew the injury — a bullet wound to the hip — required surgery and substantial rehabilitation. But the Mossad chief was walking along the White House wrought iron fence and showing no signs of a limp.
“You said you need a favor.”
Uzi squinted. “I said I needed some help on a case.”
“Same thing.”
Uzi did not agree, but he did not want to get into another argument with Aksel. He stopped and faced the man. Behind them stood the front entrance to the White House, the small flower-rimmed fountain in the center of the expansive tree-dotted lawn.
“We captured a recording of two individuals, one here in DC and one in Gaza.”
“And you’re trying to ID the Gaza caller. You need a voiceprint match.”
“Actually, I need a biometric automatic voice analysis. And acoustic and phonetic analyses while you’re at it. I have to be sure about this.” Uzi handed Aksel a USB thumb drive. “If you know who the other voice is, the DC suspect, that’d be helpful too.”
“You could’ve handled this through the normal CIA-Mossad channels.”
“This is very important, Gideon. I didn’t want to trust it to lower-level analysts.”
Aksel studied Uzi’s face a moment, focusing on his eyes. “The explosion near 14th Street. That’s what this is about.”
Uzi’s face sagged — and he immediately realized he had already answered Aksel’s question. Then again, he didn’t know why he was surprised. Aksel had an uncanny ability to know things very few others knew, to put unrelated events together and to find significant commonalities that led to key intel — or an arrest. Uzi shifted the leather jacket on his shoulders. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, but you did, Uzi. You’ve always had that weakness.”
“Don’t start with me, Gideon.” He clenched his jaw, let the anger subside, and refocused. “Will you help us ID the voice?”
“Of course.”
Uzi glanced at the four men standing nearby. “Can you guys give us a little more space?”
They all seemed to glance at Aksel, who nodded. They backed up a few steps but maintained their formation.
“Have you heard any chatter about a collaboration between Hezbollah and the Mexican drug cartels?”
Aksel’s eyes narrowed. “That’s one of the reasons why I’m here in Washington. One of our men inside Hezbollah warned us a month ago that he heard a major cartel was making large sum payments into Hezbollah accounts. We’ve been trying to verify it.”
“All that money. In exchange for what?”
“We can speculate, but speculation isn’t actionable intelligence. One thing he said is that it sounded like this arrangement had been going on for some time. Years.”
Years? Uzi stepped closer and dropped his chin. “Have you heard anything about suicide bombers setting up shop in the US?”
Aksel’s face remained impassive, but he looked off into Lafayette Park, beyond Uzi’s left shoulder. “That’s the second reason for my trip to Washington. Be careful, Uzi, you’re coming close to impressing me.”
Uzi forced a grin. He was not going to let Aksel goad him into an argument. “When do you think you can get back to me on that recording?”
“I’ll have the lab get right on it.”
“Oh — whatever you find, the only people authorized are Knox, Tassett, and me. Don’t put it through normal channels. Is Roni still there? Can you give it to him?”
Aksel unfurled a handkerchief from his wool overcoat, removed his glasses and huffed on them, then wiped away the smudges. A long moment passed before he set them back on his nose and peered at Uzi with a tilted head. “I thought you gave up covert ops when you left Mossad.”
Uzi had no answer to that other than the truth. “So did I, Gideon.”
10
Uzi was standing in the Washington field office elevator with Vail and DeSantos when his phone rang.
“Whoa, hang on a sec, Hoshi. I’m in the building on my way up. Can it wait?” He glanced at the floor number. “Thirty seconds.”
“What’s the deal?” Vail asked as he dropped the phone back in his pocket.
“One of my task force agents. Something urgent.”
“How is Hoshi?” DeSantos asked with a wink.
“Why are you looking at me like that? She’s fine.”
“Yes, she is. Very fine.” He held his hands up. “Hey, you know she likes you, Boychick.”
The doors slid apart and they followed Uzi through the glass security doors and into the large open room where Hoshi’s cubicle was located.
“I remember you,” Hoshi said. “DeSantos. Hector.”
“Well, I prefer Hector DeSantos. No pauses between the names. But yeah, that’s me.”
“And I’m Karen Vail, BAU. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Hoshi Koh. I’m Uzi’s right-hand man.” She glanced at Uzi, then added, “So to speak.” Hoshi grabbed a set of headphones and handed them to Uzi. “This call just came through. I took it and started recording as soon as I realized what the guy was talking about. I missed the first ten seconds.” She struck a few keys on her computer and Uzi listened, then said, “Okay, stop. Send this to my desktop.” He motioned Vail and DeSantos to follow him into his office.
They stepped inside and Vail closed the door. Uzi sat down at his desk and turned on the two speakers. He pressed play and the recording started: “… long you think you can pull off this charade about calling it a gas main explosion.”
“Sir, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
Hoshi’s voice.
“You the fucking FBI? The Joint Terrorism Task Force?”
“Yes sir. You said you had information for us on—”
“I want to talk to someone who’s in charge.”
“You can talk with me. I’m in a position of authority. I’m a supervisory special agent.”
“Not good enough. I’m going to call back in twenty minutes. If you don’t put me through to someone in charge, you and your FBI are going to be sorry.”
The recording stopped.
A knock at the door, and Hoshi appeared. “Assuming he’s punctual, he’ll be calling in about seven minutes.”
“What tipped you off?” Vail asked. “Why’d you start recording?”
“The first thing he said to me was, ‘I have information about the bombing last night.’”
“Let’s be ready to record when he calls again.”
“That sounds like the same voice,” Vail said.
“Same voice?” Hoshi asked.
Uzi glanced at DeSantos. “Uh, can you give us a moment, Hoshi?”
She stepped back. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
DeSantos turned to Vail. “No one is—”
“Yeah, yeah. Got it. Sorry.”
“Yes,” Uzi said. “Same voice. So how do you want to play this?”
“See if we can find out why he’s doing this, what his plans are, and who he is.”
DeSantos stifled a laugh. “We should just ask him? And you think he’s going to tell us?”
“He’ll tell us,” Vail said. “Maybe not everything, but he’ll want us to know who’s behind it and why they’re doing it. They know we’re going to find out sooner or later, so why play games? Remember, they’re not afraid of us.”