“Yeah.” Amit could only guess that what the transcription revealed had profoundly unnerved Yosi. Now, with great trepidation, he stared at the tiny paper clip icon next to the subject line. Could Yosi have felt that he was in danger?
“Come on. Open it,” Jules urged.
He quickly moved the mouse pointer over the paper clip icon to open the document Yosi had attached. The moment it came up, he knew it was the transcription. But there was no time to read it. Amit clicked the print button. “We’ve got to get out of here right now,” he told Jules, jumping up from the chair.
“What are you—”
But he was already at the printer snatching up the pages. Verifying that he’d gotten the whole document, he paid the cashier for the printout. Then he raced back, logged off his e-mail account, and grabbed his sandwich. Jules was already standing, emptying her mug.
Amit threw back his coffee too.
“Ready,” she said, and followed him out. “What’s with the sudden rush?”
“This guy is most likely monitoring everything. My credit cards, my passport ...I’m sure he’s already traced all of Yosi’s e-mail. Which means he already knows that Yosi sent this e-mail to me. So I have no doubt that my Yahoo account is being monitored too.” He explained how stationary computers were open books and that techs with even basic knowledge of Internet protocol addressing could easily pinpoint where activity was originating.
As they moved through the throngs of commuters, Amit’s radar was working overtime—his eyes scanning faces, storefronts, escalators . . .
“So now what?”
“We get ourselves safely away from here and read this transcription. But first, I need to use a pay phone.” His eyes motioned to a cluster of phones next to the entrance doors.
Once again, Enoch picked up in two rings.
“Hey, it’s me,” Amit said loudly over the bustling commuters moving
about the terminal. “Find out anything yet?”
“Plenty. Got some very interesting info for you,” the Mossad agent said
without formality. “Good news and bad news.”
Amit’s fingers tightened around the receiver. “I could use some good
news.”
“Good news is, the tank hasn’t marked you.”
That definitely came as a relief. “Bad news?”
“That picture you sent me? Outside contractor. And I don’t think I
need to tell you his specialty.”
His fingers clamped tighter. “Assassinations?” Jules was standing close
beside him, and her eyes went wide.
“Among other things.”
His worried eyes swept over the sea of faces moving all around him,
looking for anyone suspicious—particularly a man with a fresh head
wound. “Were you able to get a name?”
“Come on, Amit. You know how those guys work.”
“Right. Aliases and anonymous bank account numbers.”
credit bureaus, immigration, the works. Not in-house. Someone on the
outside, trying to track you down.”
“Can you trace it?”
“Tried. No good. The connections bounce through phantom routers,
stay live for less than a minute at a time. But he’s got all your information.”
“So this guy has help?”
“Very good help.”
“Great,” Amit grumbled. “You know Rabbi Aaron Cohen, right?” “Who doesn’t?”
“I have a feeling he might be involved in all this. Call it a hunch. I
found out today that he took a last-minute trip to Egypt. Can you find out
where he went, what he’s up to?”
A tired sigh on the other end of the line preceded Enoch’s reply. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You’re the best. I’ll be in touch shortly.” Amit hung up the phone and
turned to Jules. “Come on.”
