The Red Syndrome (19 page)

"And it worked?"

"Yes," Benny replied. A man posing as a biologist working in the United
Kingdom approached Regev at a scientific conference in the Netherlands.
After a few friendly meetings, the biologist suggested they cooperate on
areas of mutual scientific interest. Regev, of course, had been in the loop
from day one. He knew that the British biologist had an ulterior motive;
Regev had been expecting and hoping for some kind of contact.

"Did the British scientist know Dr. Regev was an Israeli?" I asked.

"No. In the article he used his birth name, Istvan Kovach. He is in his
early fifties. He was born in Hungary and migrated to Israel with his parents as a young child. He can speak and write fluently in Hungarian."

"A quick check could have revealed his Israeli background. Maybe he
was exposed," I pointed out.

"Maybe. We planted him in Hungary for two years in a university
research center. He published scientific articles under his Hungarian name;
I don't think anyone in Hungary knew about his additional citizenship."

"What happened next?"

"Regev told the British scientist, who was of course neither British nor a
scientist, that he'd be happy to consider a serious offer and asked how he
wanted to cooperate. We ran a check on the scientist, who turned out to be
a Dr. Abdel Zoheiri, who'd left his rural medical practice in Afghanistan
ten years ago to join radical Islamic groups. Zoheiri suggested to Regev
that they breed a large amount of engineered virus in a lab and run largescale tests to enable the development of countermeasure drugs. As incentive, Zoheiri said he was already in contact with a big Asian drug maker
willing to invest three to four million dollars in building a fully equipped
lab in Italy. He even went as far as suggesting that Dr. Regev become the
head researcher.

"Then came the hook: Zoheiri proposed to Regev that they meet in Rome to negotiate the final details and sign the cooperation agreement
together with the sponsoring drug company. In return, Regev was expected
to bring a sample of his genetically engineered virus. Once he started
breeding it, he'd receive a first payment of nine hundred thousand dollars
to purchase a suitable building and the latest equipment. Two additional
payments of nine hundred thousand each were promised as the lab was
being built. And of course Regev himself will be generously compensated."

"Do you think the drug company was also in the loop?" I asked.

"No," Benny replied. "They'd never heard about their purported intention to invest money; the terrorists brought a person posing as a representative of the company. But the money part was real enough: They gave
Dr. Regev the code of a numbered account in an Austrian bank to enable
him to withdraw nine hundred thousand dollars once the agreement was
signed."

"How do you know? I thought your operatives were kidnapped before
they returned to base."

"Dan, we have the entire meeting on video," said Benny.

"So you have the access code," I said.

"Of course."

"Did you withdraw the money?"

"No. Because that would indicate that someone was eavesdropping on
the meeting, thereby implicating Dr. Regev and Arnon Tal as more than
just two innocent scientists."

It was, I had to admit, a well-thought-out plan. If they could pull it off,
the terrorists would kill a number of birds with one stone: They could
develop a dangerous biological carrier of a lethal disease, but if the plot
happened to be exposed, they could pin the blame on Hungary for
allowing its senior scientist to head such a project. And if they knew all
along that Dr. Regev was Israeli, they could blame Israel, a much better
target from their perspective.

But where did I fit into all this?

"So what do you want me to do?" I asked.

Benny bent over toward me. "We need our men back. Whoever is
holding them must not be allowed to uncover their true identity or discover how much Regev actually knows about bioweapons and antidotes. If he
talks, since everyone talks in the end, the damage to world security would
be significant. We must pull him out together with Tal, who knows so
much about the Mossad affairs that I get palpitations thinking what is
going to happen when they talk."

"If that was a consideration, and the prospect of these two guys falling
into the wrong hands is so dangerous, why you use them in the first place?
Did you ask if the risk of them being caught outweighed the benefit of
using them?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. There is always an
inherent danger to intelligence agents and their country if they are caught.
Benny knew it, too, of course. He just gave me that Oh, come on look.

I thought Benny was about to conclude that we had to find them now,
dead or alive, but he didn't, although I'm sure the thought crossed his
mind. Dr. Regev was a scientist, not a combatant trained to sustain investigative pressure if captured. He was likely to talk to his captors in no
time. But the distinction between trained professionals and civilians, as
far as the ability to resist pressure is concerned, is insignificant: An
untrained person would break in a few days; a professional, in a week. The
difference is that the professional has been trained to filter the information disclosed, alter important details, and invent legends that his captors
are unlikely to discern as false.

"What is Arnon Tal's cover story?"

"Lab assistant to Dr. Regev. He also speaks Hungarian very well. I
don't know how long their cover will hold. Although we made arrangements in Hungary to support their cover story, I fear the moment when
their captors scratch beneath the surface."

"Had Regev," I asked in disbelief, "actually delivered the engineered
virus?"

"Yes and no," Benny answered. "Regev and Tal delivered a virus at the
Rome meeting, but not the engineered one; rather, Regev had told
Zoheiri that he'd brought unaltered virus samples, in a tightly sealed
plastic container with a cement bottom and a wet paper filter, as well as
the instructions on how to genetically modify it so that it became a serial
killer. It was too dangerous to travel with the altered virus; they would have to wait for the lab to be built first, with all the precautionary measures in place."

"Can the terrorists alter the virus without Dr. Regev's help?"

"Definitely not. He's the one holding the key, and even his knowledge
is theoretical. To our knowledge, nobody has done that yet. Our scientists
say that even if it were altered, the virus would not have the traits the
article purported it would."

"So why the bother? Why did he do the research?"

"To understand the process so that if unscrupulous scientists did do it,
new drugs and treatments could be developed ahead of time to effectively
contain and limit the damage."

"So the whole story of how the virus can become a guided missile carrying the deadly disease is one big fat lie?"

Benny smiled. "In a way. Obviously, hemorrhagic fever and E. coli are
dangerous. However, what we gave them was just a sample of the virus,
which any lab in the world could get. The idea was to penetrate these terror
organizations. The next time they try to obtain bioweapons, they might be
more successful; the bioterror might be real, not manufactured. We wanted
to begin a dialogue with them, maybe get them to reveal their plans, which
would give us the head start we need to try to stall their operation."

"One thing is sure, though," I said. "If Dr. Regev is the only person who
could conduct the genetic engineering research, that guarantees his existence for the foreseeable future."

"Only until they realize they've been duped. I wouldn't be surprised if
they're testing these viruses right now, even without Regev's help, to see
if they can breed the virus without him. And they might be able to do just
that, but they definitely can't conduct the genetic engineering to match it
with the E. coli. What they have now is basically nothing in terms of
bioweapons."

"By the way, why the cement bottom of the container? Were the scientists afraid that the viruses might dig a tunnel and escape to freedom?"

Benny gave that half smile again. "No need to worry, for two reasons.
First, we buried a surprise inside: a mini transmitter and a direction
finder."

"Those things are short-lived without a source of power, and have a
short range," I said.

"Dan, it's been awhile since you were exposed to these devices. The
miniature transmitter could be picked up by a satellite and the direction
finder by a car."

"Have you received any signals?"

"Yes, in Rome, but only for three hours. We lost it due to traffic jams."

"Maybe they discovered the direction finder?"

"Unlikely," said Benny.

"And the satellite signal?"

"Same sad story. The satellite must have a direct, unobstructed view.
The virus container could be in the basement of a building with or
without Dr. Regev."

"And the second reason?"

"The container was laced with a minute quantity of detergent that will
kill the viruses in twenty-four hours."

"What can I do to help?"

"This is an urgent matter," concluded Benny. "We're making our own
efforts to find them, but if we wait until our request for assistance from the
United States trickles down into the system, it could be too late. I know
how big bureaucracy works. Everything takes time, and we don't have
much of that. So I thought I'd talk to you also, you know, just in case."

"What can I do?" I repeated. I knew Benny too well. There was something else behind Benny's friendly request.

"Get your task force to listen to vibrations. Following money trails like
you do has already proven to be an effective tool in uncovering criminal
activity, and terrorists are criminals with a political agenda."

"I usually get the case after the felony is committed, not before it," I
said defensively. "To what organization does Dr. Zoheiri belong?"

"The Slaves of Allah, an Iranian-backed terrorist organization that is
particularly vile. They want to abolish all symbols of Western civilization,
alleging we are transgressors of Allah and deserve to go to hell."

I had frozen in my seat. "The Slaves of Allah?" I repeated.

Benny continued, oblivious to the increase in my blood pressure. "We know that through their terrorist subsidiaries, the Iranians are trying to
establish cells for their sponsored terrorist groups in the U.S. They need
logistics, money, and means of communication. This isn't easily done in
the U.S. without attracting law enforcement attention."

Was Benny just happening to bring up the Slaves of Allah? This was
too much of a coincidence.

"What do you mean? What's the connection?" I said, not revealing my
suspicion.

"You know that they can't transfer money from Iran to the United
States to pay operatives or purchase equipment. Even a transfer of ten
thousand gets reported, and carrying cash is risky. They know all that,
too. So they `make arrangements."'

"Anything you know about?"

Benny didn't respond.

Now I understood. Benny was negotiating a trade-in: information on
money transfers made by the Slaves of Allah and Iran - their sponsor -
in return for help in finding his missing operatives. Knowing full well
that U.S. interests would deem direct involvement in the hunt for the
Mossad operatives well beyond the normal quid pro quo of even such a
close alliance, Benny had cleverly devised an imaginary or realistic scenario in which the United States did, in fact, have an immediate and
pressing interest in assisting Israel with its search for Regev and Tal.
Benny had a subterfuge soul, odd as that might sound. He was a highly
skilled agent adept at getting what he wanted by making the other guys
think they want it, too. He was just plain good at his job. His demeanor
misled people into thinking he was soft and yielding. Those who made
that mistake paid dearly. In fact, Benny was conniving, tenacious, and
results-oriented. Anything alien to his professional goal was tossed aside.

"How do you know about the task force?" I asked. I'd never told Benny
about it. Under normal circumstances neither the general public nor
other governments would find out the U.S. had convened a task force,
even one this large. So how had Benny found out? He wasn't about to tell
me. Methods and sources are always out of bounds for anyone outside the
inner circle. And I was no longer there.

Benny gave me that maddening smile one more time. "I just know," he
said, signaling me to move on.

"I need to talk to my boss and to a few other people," I said.

"Is David Stone still your boss?"

"Yes," I said guessing what Benny would say next.

"Please send him my best regards."

The United States obviously owed Benny big-time for his help years
earlier in finding and collecting more than ninety million dollars from an
absconding American banker who'd concealed his theft behind a triple
identity. On the same case, the Mossad had also benefited from the joint
Mossad/CIA break-in into a German bank that yielded substantial sensitive information on Iran's efforts to purchase nuclear material in
Europe.

I got the message. Benny had a strong case. "I'll make a few phone calls
and get back to you," I said.

"Thanks," he said, escorting me to the door. "Call me when you make
progress." He said nothing about having a meal together, as we usually
do. I thanked him in my heart for that. I still couldn't think about food.
The words your blood vessels melt were still ringing in my head.

But the lone wolf in me, very much alive, woke up again. I returned to
my task force office and called David Stone in Washington on a secure line.

"David, remember Benny Friedman?"

"Sure. How is he doing?"

"He needs my help urgently."

"Professionally?"

"Yes, it has to do with the task force."