Triple Identity (26 page)

“Oh yes,” he added, as if he had just remembered something. “Here's something we couldn't give the police because we didn't want to be connected to the crime scene.” Benny took a spent shell out of his pocket. “These guys who killed DeLouise may have looked like professionals but they weren't; just a couple of sloppy thugs who left this behind.”

I took the shell and inspected it. It was a .38 caliber and had no manufacturer's name on it. Benny was right; a professional would never have left this behind. It's the same as leaving your fingerprints. If the gun were found, the shell could be connected to the gun and its owner to the crime.

I put the telltale shell in my pocket and turned to Benny, “Thanks, did you pick up on all his European and Soviet escapades?”

Benny didn't answer.

“Go on,” I said, “It's important for our joint operation, and I know you have more information. I need the whole picture before I go to Moscow.”

“Why do you ask? You mean Eric didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“We told him what we knew. I was sure he gave you that information.”

“No, he didn't,” I said bitterly. “I don't like that jerk. He sits on important information like a dog on a heap. He only likes to get information, not to give any. It seems that the only thing he'll share with me is a communicable disease,” I said sarcastically. “Tell me what you gave him.”

“It's not a big secret that we've been chasing the Iranians in Europe trying to figure out what they are planning next. We know that ever since our jets leveled the Iraqi nuclear reactor in 1981 they've been suspecting that their nuclear capacity would be our next target.”

I had no argument with Benny.

“It's obvious that the Iranian ayatollahs are fanatics and will not hesitate to wipe out Israel,” Benny went on. “Our research department believes that the Iranians are deliberately leaking the news about their nuclear capacity. They are signaling the U.S., which is now planning an attack on Iraq, to stay away.”

It was time to shift the conversation back to what I needed. “What about DeLouise and the Iranians?”

“We still don't know if he tried to con them and make a quick bundle, as he told us, or if he, in fact, intended to deliver on his promise and broker a sale of nuclear materials from one of the republics of the Soviet Union. We don't know for sure yet; we are working on that now.”

“So I guess the Mossad would recommend that the joint operation with the CIA be authorized? It would be a good opportunity to share information and move a step forward in finding out what the Iranians still need.”

“I don't know,” said Benny. “There are so many factors in the decision-making process. The prime minister would be the one to decide, although the head of the Mossad has the same authority.”

“Well, at least he has some understanding of how these operations work,” I said. “After all, didn't he head up European operations working out of the Paris station?”

Benny took out one schnitzel from the bag and ate it while we walked.

“Now you see why I insisted that the break-in be silent,” he said. “That's why I interrupted you. I knew what you were about to say. But I wanted Eric to hear it first from me.”

Benny had learned how to be a politician too.

“We can't let the Iranians know we have their shopping list or that we are able to identify their suppliers.”

“Why?” I asked, although I knew the answer.

“Because they will take protective measures. We don't want that to happen. You saw what happened to the people who didn't listen to our friendly advice to stop shipping deadly materials to Iraq. Remember what happened to Gerald Bull. But I can offer you the flip side of it,” he added in a serious tone. “If the break-in becomes public, as well as the list, the suppliers will panic and might halt further shipments before we have exhausted all the benefits from the intelligence. They know that having their names on the front page of every newspaper in the world could be detrimental to their health, not only from Israel or the U.S. but also from unexpected directions. Think of the green environmentalist organizations;
they are an emerging power in Europe,” he concluded with an ironic smile.

Of course I remembered. Israel had suspected that a TZ
I
nuclear reactor built by the French for the Iraqis in the late 1970s, allegedly for “research for peaceful purposes,” was in fact a crucial leap forward in Saddam's dream of an Iraqi A-bomb. Israel knew better than to attribute any peaceful intentions to Saddam. Israel had complained publicly, but the French had refused to listen. The transaction was too financially lucrative. So on the night of April 6,1979, at a factory in La-Seyne-sur-Mer, a small French village on the Mediterranean forty miles east of Marseille, a group of men penetrated the warehouse where the core of the nuclear reactor designed to hold the fuel had already been crated for delivery to Iraq and blew it up. Someone had then left messages at the news agencies attributing the detonation to the “French Ecologist Group.” Nobody had ever heard of the group before, nor has anyone heard of it since.

As a result Saddam had had to wait almost two years for the next shipment. Again, Israel wouldn't allow it, and Israeli jets flew one thousand kilometers and destroyed the reactor site in Iraq just shortly before it became “hot.” As usual, political hypocrisy went into operation, with public rebuke of Israel but a silent satisfaction that the Israelis had done the dirty work of others. “It was a world-class ‘bang and burn,’” I said.

“Yes, but anyway it's not for me to decide if Israel should participate in the planned break-in into Guttmacher's office,” Benny continued, taking the last bites of his sandwich and bending forward, trying to keep the oozing sauce from staining his pants and then throwing the paper napkin into a garbage can on the street corner. “My recommendations would come only from the operational perspective. We should let the politicians make their own decisions, or mistakes. Do you remember the
MOG
rule?” No, I hadn't forgotten the rule governing break-ins, commonly referred to by its Hebrew acronym. But Benny answered the question anyway. “Operations and incursions must be approved by the prime minister. Although I believe that the planned break-in is not included in the list of activities requiring preapproval, in the ‘cover your ass’ atmosphere I
wouldn't be surprised if the head of the Mossad would nevertheless seek an approval.”

“You still haven't told me what you know about Raymond DeLouise and the Soviets,” I persisted.

“Let's talk inside. Eric must clear it first. I don't want to be caught in a turf war here.”

We took separate entrances and went to the seventh floor.

“Food is here. And it's about time!” said Tom, when he opened the door. I noticed that although we were expected, Tom had a .38 in his hand as he opened the door.

We went to the table and distributed the food.

“Eat,” said Benny to Eric, Tom, and Jeff. “Probably your first shot at kosher food. Enjoy it!” It was only the second time I saw Eric smile.

Eric's mouth was full now, so it was a good time to ask him about the information that the Mossad had given him on DeLouise's contacts with the Soviets. After he heard what I was about to say, he'd choke — an outcome that was not undesirable in my book. “Eric, I was under the impression that while I'm here to help you, you would also provide me with some information on my own case. I am aware that Benny shared information with you on DeLouise and I've been the last to find out about it. Last time I checked, you and I work for the same government.”

“There was never any such understanding,” said Eric coolly. “The Justice Department had agreed to attach you to our operation because of your familiarity with DeLouise's affairs and your initial contact with Guttmacher. I don't know of any agreement in which I give you what I have. You're the one who's giving, not me.”

I couldn't believe my ears. The guy had more nerve than I thought. My mother used to call it
chutzpah
, and I was about to call it quits. I got up and said, “In that case, I'm leaving, and you can call the Justice Department if you don't like it.” Although I had started this tirade as partly genuine and partly staged, I now felt real anger surging in me. Benny, who sensed the storm coming, quickly said, “I'm sorry, it's my fault. I told Dan that I gave you what we have on DeLouise's European activities and his Soviet and other connections. I didn't intend to create a rift. We all need Dan in this matter.”

Eric swallowed his food. “We do work for the same government, but I can't allow you to use the same information we are working on and potentially risk CIA operations.”

“Look,” I said, “you have no monopoly on information. The fact that the Mossad has given you whatever they gave you means only that they have that information. I could have developed it independently, and I'm sure others have it as well. I'll run my business, and you'll run yours, but you can't stop me from doing my job. In my asset-recovery work, when I come across information that could be useful to another U.S. government law-enforcement agency, I relay it on. Nobody has ever tried to control me the way you do. You want to work together? Fine. You don't? That's also fine, but I've had enough of your little games.”

Eric looked almost guilty, conceding that he'd overdone it. He didn't need me walking out on him, reporting to Washington about his tactics and making him look like someone who couldn't coordinate a multi-agency operation. That wouldn't look good on his efficiency report. After all, I wasn't asking him for confidential national-security information. I didn't even ask him to reveal his sources; the source was sitting in the same room with us. So why the bullheadedness?

“Look,” said Eric, in his best conciliatory voice, which wasn't much to begin with, “I wouldn't mind giving you more information on DeLouise, but you'll have to agree to coordinate with me so that you won't accidentally expose our other sources or interfere with our operation.”

“I have no problem with that. But
coordinate
should mean what it really means. Don't expect me to take orders from you when it concerns my work.”

Eric didn't answer.

“I'm waiting,” I said. It was now or never.

“Fine,” said Eric. “Benny, you can tell Dan what you've told me.”

Benny opened his briefcase, pulled out a yellow pad, leafed through the pages, and began.

“First I want you to know that substantially all of the information you're about to hear is single-source information. And you know what that means. The single source is DeLouise himself. We interviewed him after he had asked for our help. So if you intend to rely on this information, you
should corroborate it from other sources as well. Use it as intelligence, not facts or evidence.”

“I understand that,” I said. “Go on.”

“When DeLouise left the United States, he thought he wouldn't be gone for long. It seems that his attorneys knew federal banking law but not enough about federal criminal law, and they assured him that the storm would soon be over.”

“I've heard this before,” I said. “I've seen how even experienced civil lawyers might simply not understand that their clients had committed federal white-collar crimes. One of them once even said to me, ‘That's just the way we do business.’”

Benny went on. “So in mid-1990 he settled at the Noga Hilton in Geneva, using his DeLouise name. He was busy having a good time. But as the weeks passed he began to understand that his problems were far from over. First he heard from his attorneys that, once it filed, the U.S. government was likely to win a ninety-million-dollar civil suit against him unless he was present to testify and fight it. Next he heard that the indictment had come down, and he knew that within hours
INTERPOL
might have every police force in every country in Europe looking for him.”

“How did he hear that?” asked Ron. “Grand jury deliberations are confidential. He was a fugitive, so the indictment would undoubtedly have been sealed. There'd be no public announcement of it and no public record. Did he tell you that someone was leaking that information to him?”

“I don't know,” said Benny. “We didn't ask and he never told us. Anyway, he then realized that a Colombian drug cartel was also on his back, and finally he realized that your office was looking not just for his money but for him as well.”

That was a surprise. I was sure my office maintained tight field security to prevent our targets from knowing we might be after them. I'd have to report this to David and our security officer. Benny paused for a moment, as if he'd read my mind.

“The last straw was a call from the hotel porter at the Hilton telling him that two men were asking questions about him. DeLouise withdrew $250,000 in cash from his account at the small Credit Suisse branch in
the hotel; that was all the cash they had on hand at that time. But he couldn't wait for the bank to replenish its cash, and, therefore, he took only cash. I guess he didn't want to take a bank check that could be traced back to where he cashed it; that would have revealed his new location. He took a cab to a used-car lot in Geneva and bought a Mercedes. He drove directly from the car lot north toward Germany. He didn't even check out of the Hilton, since he didn't want to be seen leaving the hotel with luggage; departing without checking out had its advantages. Anyone looking for him would assume he was still in the area because his hotel room was still under his name. By the time the hotel, or any of his pursuers, had figured out that he'd gone, DeLouise would already be hundreds of miles away. As you know, there are very few border checks within Europe. DeLouise had a U.S. passport and a respectable appearance, so I guess the German border police didn't bother stopping him. He drove through Germany looking for the right spot. Through a recommendation of an acquaintance that had previously used Guttmacher's bank for untraceable money transfers, DeLouise made contact with the bank.

“The match was perfect. He needed a seasoned banker who wouldn't ask too many questions and who could help him move his money from Switzerland to other locations without making any waves or attracting attention. The complexity lay not only in moving the money out of Switzerland to another country without leaving a traceable paper trail but also in moving it into accounts held under different names.