This was
strictly politics, and he recognized his own role, in spite of his subjective
feelings. There was absolutely no concern about the fate of the pope. The
meeting was about saving face in the eyes of the international community. The
life of Pope Pius was a secondary issue.
Feeling dirty, the president
closed his eyes and sighed.
CHAPTER TEN
Mossad Headquarters, Tel Aviv,
Israel
September 23, Mid-Afternoon
The Hebrew
word for “Institute” is Mossad, Israel’s legendary agency for collecting
intelligence data and conducting covert operations. Presently, Mossad had
20,000 active agents and 15,000 sleeper agents worldwide, including operatives
in the former communist countries, the Arab nations, and the west, including
the United States.
Mossad’s PALD, the Political
Action and Liaison Department, was responsible for maintaining liaisons with
friendly foreign services by transmitting data and updating the terrorist
database. On this day, the department was like an ant colony, well-constructed
and orderly, the work-pace quick and efficient. Requests for information
regarding the Soldiers of Islam poured in, with the Washington, D.C. branch of
the FBI and the CIA at the top of the list.
Going over reports from the
Research Department, Yosef Rokach sat at his desk with a cigarette burning
between his fingers, the smoke undulating lazily through the air. In the world
of espionage, he was born to Hebrew parents that were killed by Hezbollah
raiders and graduated from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem within the top
ten percent of his class. But in reality, he was John McEachern, an
American-born citizen who grew up in an Indiana suburb without a drop of Hebrew
blood coursing through his veins.
Upon his commencement from Notre
Dame University, where he earned a Doctorate in Systems and Networking in the
same time it took most people to earn a Bachelor’s degree, McEachern obtained
an internship with the CIA. He worked at the lowest levels, not realizing that
he was actually being monitored for strengths and weaknesses. When it was
reported that he had an affinity for Middle-Eastern languages and digested them
easily and with amazing rapidity, he was recruited as a sleeper. After four
years of learning to improvise through tense situations and training his body
to beat the polygraph and resist the constraints of sodium pentothal, John
McEachern, born of Irish parents, was ready for the field.
So when a counterfeit profile was
created and imbued into every known system within Israel’s computerized
infrastructure, Yosef Rokach was born. According to all background checks, he
was devout to his religion, committed to his people, and an outstanding citizen
in every respect by Hebrew standards. But after seven years within Mossad, he
still had not made it beyond a low-level ranking within the PALD.
Taking a final drag of his
cigarette, he stubbed it out and fell back in his chair, interlacing his
fingers behind his head. The room was huge and open, with desks and monitors
everywhere and not a cubicle in sight. The office boasted bomb blast glass
walls and high-tech security equipment. Eye scans restricted secured areas to
specific personnel. Software with facial recognition capabilities was used to
identify employees on file. Everything was based on the assumption that no one
could be trusted. The data handled by the office was so vital it was considered
more important than a human life. And employees caught betraying the Mossad
trust would find themselves before the agency’s interrogation specialists.
Yosef looked directly into a
homing camera.
From all points excited chatter
could be heard, the urgency behind the exchanges normally reserved for attacks
against Israeli interests. But this was not the case. The pope was missing.
Catholics throughout the world were calling for the intervention of anyone who
could bring back the Holy Father unharmed. Mossad saw this as an opportunity to
show the
strictly politics, and he recognized his own role, in spite of his subjective
feelings. There was absolutely no concern about the fate of the pope. The
meeting was about saving face in the eyes of the international community. The
life of Pope Pius was a secondary issue.
Feeling dirty, the president
closed his eyes and sighed.
CHAPTER TEN
Mossad Headquarters, Tel Aviv,
Israel
September 23, Mid-Afternoon
The Hebrew
word for “Institute” is Mossad, Israel’s legendary agency for collecting
intelligence data and conducting covert operations. Presently, Mossad had
20,000 active agents and 15,000 sleeper agents worldwide, including operatives
in the former communist countries, the Arab nations, and the west, including
the United States.
Mossad’s PALD, the Political
Action and Liaison Department, was responsible for maintaining liaisons with
friendly foreign services by transmitting data and updating the terrorist
database. On this day, the department was like an ant colony, well-constructed
and orderly, the work-pace quick and efficient. Requests for information
regarding the Soldiers of Islam poured in, with the Washington, D.C. branch of
the FBI and the CIA at the top of the list.
Going over reports from the
Research Department, Yosef Rokach sat at his desk with a cigarette burning
between his fingers, the smoke undulating lazily through the air. In the world
of espionage, he was born to Hebrew parents that were killed by Hezbollah
raiders and graduated from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem within the top
ten percent of his class. But in reality, he was John McEachern, an
American-born citizen who grew up in an Indiana suburb without a drop of Hebrew
blood coursing through his veins.
Upon his commencement from Notre
Dame University, where he earned a Doctorate in Systems and Networking in the
same time it took most people to earn a Bachelor’s degree, McEachern obtained
an internship with the CIA. He worked at the lowest levels, not realizing that
he was actually being monitored for strengths and weaknesses. When it was
reported that he had an affinity for Middle-Eastern languages and digested them
easily and with amazing rapidity, he was recruited as a sleeper. After four
years of learning to improvise through tense situations and training his body
to beat the polygraph and resist the constraints of sodium pentothal, John
McEachern, born of Irish parents, was ready for the field.
So when a counterfeit profile was
created and imbued into every known system within Israel’s computerized
infrastructure, Yosef Rokach was born. According to all background checks, he
was devout to his religion, committed to his people, and an outstanding citizen
in every respect by Hebrew standards. But after seven years within Mossad, he
still had not made it beyond a low-level ranking within the PALD.
Taking a final drag of his
cigarette, he stubbed it out and fell back in his chair, interlacing his
fingers behind his head. The room was huge and open, with desks and monitors
everywhere and not a cubicle in sight. The office boasted bomb blast glass
walls and high-tech security equipment. Eye scans restricted secured areas to
specific personnel. Software with facial recognition capabilities was used to
identify employees on file. Everything was based on the assumption that no one
could be trusted. The data handled by the office was so vital it was considered
more important than a human life. And employees caught betraying the Mossad
trust would find themselves before the agency’s interrogation specialists.
Yosef looked directly into a
homing camera.
From all points excited chatter
could be heard, the urgency behind the exchanges normally reserved for attacks
against Israeli interests. But this was not the case. The pope was missing.
Catholics throughout the world were calling for the intervention of anyone who
could bring back the Holy Father unharmed. Mossad saw this as an opportunity to
show the
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