world that Arab hostility understood no boundaries, that the Israeli
plight was now the plight of all people. Israel wished to impart to its allies
a better understanding of what it’s like to live under the constant tyranny of
a fanatical enemy.
From a bank of elevators that led
to departments Yosef couldn’t access emerged David Gonick. Stepping from the
elevator quickly, Gonick headed toward the restroom, his face thoroughly pale
and ashen. He wrung his hands nervously and appeared visibly shaken, as if he
had witnessed something horrible. Gonick had been another CIA installation who had infiltrated the Lohamah Psichlogit Department. Lohamah Psichlogit, also
known as Literature and Publications or LAP, was responsible for psychological
warfare, propaganda and deception operations. To be a member of the LAP, one
had to have Q Clearance, which was limited to those few at the top of the food
chain. The CIA’s infiltration of that particular level and installation of one
of its own took years of maneuvering. But to see Gonick in this manner addled
Yosef since Gonick was always a man of refinement under extreme pressure.
Had he been made?
Moments later Gonick returned from
the rest room. Not once did he turn Yosef’s way or acknowledge him as he
hastily made his way to the elevator. Upon his return, however, the knot of his
tie was lowered and the top button of his shirt undone. It was a signal.
Yosef rubbed his hand vaguely
over his face, sensing a long-awaited fruition. Standing, Yosef tried to look
as relaxed as possible before heading for the restroom. The people around him
did not take notice of his leaving. They were intimately involved in their own
duties, and Yosef was just one nondescript face among many. In fact Yosef
excelled at being unremarkable; he was a ghost among the living.
The restroom was empty and clean.
The urinals were to the left, the toilet stalls to the right. Entering the
third stall, Yosef closed the louvered door behind him and waited. While he
stood there, a sense of paranoia swept over him. He breathed deeply and waited
for it to pass. Quietly, he lifted the lid to the tank. Lying on the bottom of
the tank, almost invisible to the naked eye, was a data stick encased in a
clear jewel case. It was state-of-the-art small, but it carried a huge memory
load.
Using toilet paper to wipe the
case dry, he placed the stick in a special pocket within the cuff of his pants.
After replacing the lid, he took a deep breath to collect himself and left the
stall.
As per protocol he would decipher
the data on the stick and forward it to his American associates. His value as
an agent, after years of training, had simply come down to his computer skills,
something he didn’t see as particularly glamorous for a spy. Yosef more or less
continued to romanticize the theatrical side of espionage, envisioning himself
walking along fog-laden streets late at night, meeting connections hiding in
deep shadows. In truth, however, he held something more important, something
far more tangible than romantic ideas. The data stick in his possession, no
bigger than a human thumb, contained enough information to bring the planet to
the brink of global war.
Returning to his desk acting as if
the day was normal, Yosef couldn’t wait to get home to decipher the data.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vatican City
September 23, Mid-Afternoon
They were
known as the Society of Seven, a private sect within the Vatican made up of the
pope, the Vatican’s Secretary of State, and five of the pope’s most trusted
cardinals from the Curia.
In a restricted chamber in the
lower level of the Basilica, seven chairs were situated on a marble platform
rising four feet from the floor. The pope’s chair, a king‘s throne layered in
gold leaf, stood vacant. The second chair, nearly as impressive as the pope’s,
but smaller and less imaginative, was occupied by the Vatican’s Secretary of
State. Surrounding him dressed in full
plight was now the plight of all people. Israel wished to impart to its allies
a better understanding of what it’s like to live under the constant tyranny of
a fanatical enemy.
From a bank of elevators that led
to departments Yosef couldn’t access emerged David Gonick. Stepping from the
elevator quickly, Gonick headed toward the restroom, his face thoroughly pale
and ashen. He wrung his hands nervously and appeared visibly shaken, as if he
had witnessed something horrible. Gonick had been another CIA installation who had infiltrated the Lohamah Psichlogit Department. Lohamah Psichlogit, also
known as Literature and Publications or LAP, was responsible for psychological
warfare, propaganda and deception operations. To be a member of the LAP, one
had to have Q Clearance, which was limited to those few at the top of the food
chain. The CIA’s infiltration of that particular level and installation of one
of its own took years of maneuvering. But to see Gonick in this manner addled
Yosef since Gonick was always a man of refinement under extreme pressure.
Had he been made?
Moments later Gonick returned from
the rest room. Not once did he turn Yosef’s way or acknowledge him as he
hastily made his way to the elevator. Upon his return, however, the knot of his
tie was lowered and the top button of his shirt undone. It was a signal.
Yosef rubbed his hand vaguely
over his face, sensing a long-awaited fruition. Standing, Yosef tried to look
as relaxed as possible before heading for the restroom. The people around him
did not take notice of his leaving. They were intimately involved in their own
duties, and Yosef was just one nondescript face among many. In fact Yosef
excelled at being unremarkable; he was a ghost among the living.
The restroom was empty and clean.
The urinals were to the left, the toilet stalls to the right. Entering the
third stall, Yosef closed the louvered door behind him and waited. While he
stood there, a sense of paranoia swept over him. He breathed deeply and waited
for it to pass. Quietly, he lifted the lid to the tank. Lying on the bottom of
the tank, almost invisible to the naked eye, was a data stick encased in a
clear jewel case. It was state-of-the-art small, but it carried a huge memory
load.
Using toilet paper to wipe the
case dry, he placed the stick in a special pocket within the cuff of his pants.
After replacing the lid, he took a deep breath to collect himself and left the
stall.
As per protocol he would decipher
the data on the stick and forward it to his American associates. His value as
an agent, after years of training, had simply come down to his computer skills,
something he didn’t see as particularly glamorous for a spy. Yosef more or less
continued to romanticize the theatrical side of espionage, envisioning himself
walking along fog-laden streets late at night, meeting connections hiding in
deep shadows. In truth, however, he held something more important, something
far more tangible than romantic ideas. The data stick in his possession, no
bigger than a human thumb, contained enough information to bring the planet to
the brink of global war.
Returning to his desk acting as if
the day was normal, Yosef couldn’t wait to get home to decipher the data.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vatican City
September 23, Mid-Afternoon
They were
known as the Society of Seven, a private sect within the Vatican made up of the
pope, the Vatican’s Secretary of State, and five of the pope’s most trusted
cardinals from the Curia.
In a restricted chamber in the
lower level of the Basilica, seven chairs were situated on a marble platform
rising four feet from the floor. The pope’s chair, a king‘s throne layered in
gold leaf, stood vacant. The second chair, nearly as impressive as the pope’s,
but smaller and less imaginative, was occupied by the Vatican’s Secretary of
State. Surrounding him dressed in full
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