bottom. And when your business objectives included hostage extractions, terror-cell infiltration, sabotage operations, and assassinations, it worked much better that way, Amit thought.
Like Enoch, many in the Mossad’s ranks had served in the Israel Defense Forces. Enoch had served his three-year conscription under Amit— back then, Enoch was a kid who had yet to shave and who was practically outweighed by his Galil (assault rifle).
“You all right?” Enoch asked with sincere concern.
“Eh. Been better. Have a few minutes for me?”
“Got a briefing in ten, but let’s hear it.”
Amit made sure to squeeze everything he could into a two-minute recap of last night’s assassination attempt. He mentioned the guy’s tactics: his silencer-equipped Israeli pistol, his knowledge of explosives. Deciding to play it safe, he left Jules out of the story. “Same kind of stuff we used to see in Gaza, if you know what I’m saying,” Amit told Enoch.
After a brief silence with more wind whistling through the receiver, Enoch finally came back with, “Hell, I don’t know what to say. Sounds to me like it has something to do with your excavations.”
“Definitely. The entire site was wiped out.”
An uneasy pause.
Enoch’s reluctance was not subtle. Amit couldn’t blame the guy— Enoch was a family man, and much better at it than himself. This was dangerous stuff that could have serious repercussions for him too. Then came the question Amit was hoping for.
“So how can I help?”
“I know it’s a huge ask—puts you in a very difficult position. But if someone on the inside wants me dead, I need to know.”
“If they want you dead, it won’t matter what you know.”
He had a point. Once you were caught in the agency’s crosshairs, the Mossad wouldn’t let up until a file could be rubber-stamped in red.
More wind whistling through the receiver.
Enoch groaned. “I’m in Collections now,” he finally replied. “Nowadays, they’ve got me monitoring wire transfers and chatter. So I don’t have clearance for that type of information anymore,” he said in a low, uneasy tone. “But I still know some people in Metsada. You’ve got to give me some time.”
Amit grinned and gave Jules a thumbs-up. “That’s great, Enoch. Really great.”
Of the institute’s eight branches, Metsada was the Mossad’s special operations unit—the coordinators of assassinations and paramilitary and covert operations. Its huge database contained the agency’s most guarded information.
“By the way,” Amit added, “I have something that might help. I took a picture of the guy. I’m no photographer, and I used my phone to take it. Anyway, it should be enough that someone might recognize him. Do you mind if I send it to your phone?”
“Do that. It can’t hurt. I need to get going. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”
Ending the call, Amit powered on his mobile only long enough to push the pix image over the airwaves to Enoch’s phone. Then he powered it off just in case his hunter tried using it to triangulate his location. “Think he’ll help?” Jules asked as he got back into the Land Rover. “Yeah, I do. Enoch’s a good man.”
“What do we do in the meantime?”
He stroked his goatee. “I think we should take a ride to the Rockefeller Museum. Have a talk with my friend Jozsef Dayan.”
25
******
Rome
“You’re sure this is going to work?” Charlotte asked as the taxi pulled to the curb along Borgo Pio.
“I don’t see why not,” Donovan said. “We’ve come this far . . .” He held up his hands and smiled. After paying the driver 40, he and Charlotte got out of the taxi toting their small travel bags. “It will be fine.”
For some reason, she believed him. Just like she had when she let him talk her into driving to Phoenix Sky Harbor International immediately after they’d stopped at her home to get her passport and some essentials. Donovan had been wary of going to her house because he’d thought the men might have gone directly there after seeing the address on Charlotte’s driver’s license. But she’d informed him that after all that had happened at the Vatican, upon her return to the States she’d immediately switched her physical address to a local Mail Boxes Etc. store. That was the address that appeared on not only her license but all mail and correspondence as well. Conte couldn’t get all the credit for that, though; there were plenty of fanatics out there who put genetics on equal footing with abortion and murder. Some level of anonymity was prudent. However, since she’d left her purse at BMS, Donovan had put the pricey Continental airline tickets on his credit card.
Though the flight hadn’t departed till six a.m., neither of them had slept during the four-and-a-half-hour trip to Newark or the hour-and-ahalf layover there. Plenty of time for Charlotte to shed some more tears while Donovan tried his best to console her. It’d been the smooth eight hours crossing the Atlantic and Western Europe that had done the trick. They’d both woken up when the plane was in its final descent into Fiumicino around eleven a.m. Roman time.
She followed Donovan across the street.
“I’ll need your passport,” he said, and waited for her to retrieve it from her bag. Taking it, he cast his eyes heavenward and said, “Here’s to the luck o’ the Irish. Just give me a few minutes and wait here.”
She stood aside on the busy sidewalk. At the huge, ornate iron gateway crowned with a papal crest and
