“Because I saw the police report that came with the body to the morgue. There was no mention of any such documents in his room or on or near the scene. But I do have some ideas about the Iranian files Guttmacher keeps in his office.”
“I'm listening,” said Eric.
“Why not copy the files? Or simply remove them altogether.”
Eric looked at me. “Tell me more,” he said. “We didn't realize the Iranians let Guttmacher keep their files in his office.”
I wondered why Eric hadn't thought of this. Why did I have to be two steps ahead of everyone else here?
“It's worth the effort. The files could be very helpful to you with the amount of detail they have.”
“Is Guttmacher's office part of the bank's security setup?”
“That's my guess. I didn't see any metal doors between his floor and the main business floor. Looks to me like his office is less secure than the rest of the bank.”
“Do you know where he keeps the Iranian files?”
“No, and I didn't see any file cabinet or vault in his office. When I left the conference room the file was still on the table.”
“OK,” said Eric. “I need a report from you on anything you saw in his office. And we'll need a floor plan. Once I see your report, we'll take it from there.”
It was clearly time for me to leave. Tom drove me back to my hotel.
I went to the restaurant to get a bite of good German schnitzel. When I returned to my room, the phone was ringing. It was David Stone.
“Dan,” he said, “Call me from the outside.”
I went out to the street and called him from a pay phone.
“Dan,” he said, “I just finished a phone conversation with friends at the Company. They were satisfied with your performance. What have you done this time?”
“That's nice, but I haven't made any progress on my real assignment. I still haven't clearly identified our guy's asset-protection scheme. The stolen money is my top priority, not playing spy games with mean-looking Iranians.”
“Really?” said David, with a grain of sarcasm. “I get the impression that this is exactly the kind of operation you enjoy.”
“I do,” I conceded. David was familiar with my Mossad past and knew me well enough to pick up on my zeal to close the case.
“They want you to continue in this game,” he said.
“You know me,” I said. “I won't be the problem.”
“I'm sure of that. It seems that you could be part of the solution.”
I went back to my hotel. There was a message from Eric waiting at the front desk. I couldn't call him from my room, so downstairs I went out to the street once more.
Eric got right to the point. “We need to talk,” he said in a tone that, as always, sounded like an order. “Wait outside; Tom will pick you up in fifteen minutes.” I knew what he was going to say; David had just told me the CIA wanted me to continue. My hunch was that the topic would be the break-in.
“I'll be back outside in fifteen minutes,” I said and went upstairs to change. I wondered at my sudden burst of energy. Maybe it was the spirit of the chase kicking in.
Ten minutes later, as I prepared to leave, my old in-field training came into focus. The Iranians were in the picture now, and knowing their aggressiveness I had to assume that they'd be watching me, as they promised. I had to raise my level of caution and alertness. I went to my suitcase, looking for anything that might have a connection to Israel. I checked all my clothes for Israeli laundry labels. I emptied all my pockets, removing coins, business cards, and receipts. I put all my receipts from Israel into an envelope. I opened my briefcase and removed anything that had to do with Israel or with my work for the U.S. government. The bulk of it was already in the hotel vault but I checked again anyway. Then I went to my laptop. I deleted all the files with an Israel connection. I transferred anything to do with my work to a new directory and protected it with double-entry passwords. Finally, I installed a new ten-character password to enter the entire system. Although I was sure that neither Guttmacher nor the Iranians knew where I was staying in Munich, I left the room carrying the laptop and the envelope with me. I turned the TV on and put the “do not disturb” sign on my door. I had also marked the door with a hair. I'll run out of hairs soon, I thought. I should develop some new tricks.
I went outside to my car. A day earlier I'd removed it from the hotel parking garage and parked it in the street. If I was under surveillance then the car was also being watched. By parking it publicly, it was easier to spot watchers without letting them know that I was aware that I was under surveillance. The car was where I'd left it. I gave it a quick look and walked on by. I went into a bakery, bought a pastry, and watched the street while the clerk made change. I spotted a dark fellow who seemed to have his eye on my car and decided to take no chances.
I left the bakery and continued walking to a bus stop. When the bus came, I got on and stood next to the door. I got off at the next stop, crossed the street in front of the bus, and went up a one-way street, against traffic. No one seemed to be on my trail, so I went through a convenient shopping arcade and then back onto the main street. Everything looked normal. I caught a cab and went back to the hotel. Tom was waiting patiently.
Eric was already nervous when I walked in.
“Where were you?” he demanded, as if I were his teenage daughter coming home at dawn with smeared lipstick and a wide smile.
“There was a watcher on my car,” I said quietly. “I don't know whether he was just a lookout or if he was going to follow me.”
“So what did you do?”
“I went on a short trip, made sure I wasn't followed, then went back to the hotel for the pickup.”
Lovejoy walked in, and I handed him the envelope containing my ID and odds and ends, including a spare key to my hotel room. I asked him to send the stuff to my New York office with the diplomatic pouch and to keep my laptop and the spare key in his office.
“Dan,” said Eric, “I checked with the Company. They want the Iranian files in Guttmacher's office.” He looked at me for a reaction, but I simply sat waiting for him to continue. “We reviewed the audiotape of your meeting at the bank. It's obvious that the Iranians won't let you walk with even one file. The only way to get the files would be through a break-in.” He paused again. I continued to play the calm, attentive listener.
“There isn't much time. And under ordinary circumstances it would take a while to organize it properly.”
Was he telling me that the job couldn't be done? Why bother?
“So what are you going to do?”
“There is another country closely monitoring the Iranians,” said Eric, as if he were revealing a secret. “Israel.”
I saw what he was getting at.
Eric continued, “We know that right now there are some Mossad people in Munich making preparations to approach the Iranians.”
“Approach?” I asked.
“Well, you know what I mean, either lightly or deeply.”
“Do you mean steal their information?” I called a spade a spade.
“That's light,” he said, leaving me with a clear understanding that “deep” meant elimination.
I was too familiar with Mossad procedure to believe that Eric had received such information from them. It was unlikely that the Mossad would ever alert another foreign-intelligence organization of its intention to eliminate a rival. It would stand in violation of basic operational rules and could cause serious legal and political problems. Any cooperation between intelligence organizations, even of friendly nations, is always based on an “honor him but suspect him” basis. Operational or intelligence cooperation, yes, but information on assassination plans – never. I wondered how Eric had found out. Did he have a mole inside the Mossad? It was a question that would remain unanswered.
“So you want the Israelis to do the job?” I asked, doing my best to seem surprised.
