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Authors: Patrick Robinson
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attacked, London, New York, Madrid, and countless targets in Israel.
The Mossad were the world experts on the links: those in Afghanistan between al-Qaeda and the Taliban; between Hamas and al-Qaeda; between Iran and al-Qaeda in Iraq; between Hezbollah and Tehran. The men from King Saul Boulevard knew beyond any doubt that there were certain law firms, in the United States, the UK, and Riyadh, that specialized in fighting for the liberties of such men. The Mossad had deep files on all of those law firms. Especially Josh Epstein’s.
They had been parked in various locations on 12th Street for weeks, ever since Justice Kennedy’s ruling. And with CIA backing, they could find out anything —particularly if Epstein’s men were representing terrorists who had killed and murdered in Israel.
For a start they could trace every incoming e-mail or instant message to its source, because electronic passage through the Internet leaves a trail, which traces Internet activity from the recipient to the user. And the information can be gathered covertly. These techniques of Internet tracking and tracing enable authorities to pursue and identify anyone and anything. The CIA and the Mossad were masters.
As a point of interest, the FBI was not far behind them with a tracking program called “Carnivore,” capable of scanning thousands of e-mails with the speed of light. Which was why Josh Epstein could hardly make a move without a red-alert sounding in faraway King Saul Boulevard. It was easy to understand why bin Laden’s high command infinitely preferred camels for transmitting sensitive communications.
Within moments, the men in the blue van were able to record that Epstein had just been appointed to represent, legally, inmates of Guantanamo Bay. And a split-second more to learn that he considered that appointment to be “perfect.” This caused four wry smiles of amusement, because everyone in the mobile ops-room knew there was a similar blue van parked in a side street off London Wall, conducting an identical operation on the heavily bugged offices of Howard, Marks, and Cuthbert.
There was one big difference: The Mossad guys in London knew the original fax had come from Saudi Arabia, though not the precise location.
There was however one aspect of the operation that bound both mobile ops teams together, and that was the sudden identification of the two men Josh Epstein was charged with freeing—the hitherto nameless Yousaf Mohammed and Ibrahim Sharif.
The Mossad had their names and sketchy biographies because they had wrung the information out of three other terrorist “suspects” before coldly executing them in Syria shortly after their release. They also knew that these two villains, Ibrahim and Yousaf, had befriended two other inmates inside Guantanamo.
They had descriptions and smuggled satellite photographs of the Guantanamo goalkeeper, Ben al-Turabi, and of his fellow Palestinian killer, Abu Hassan Akbar. Only the Mossad knew for certain that these four men were bound together, and that they were all on the CIA list of fourteen lethally dangerous jihadist hardmen.
Now the men in the blue van fed their new information back to the Mossad cell beneath the Israeli embassy as fingers flashed over the computer keyboards, matching the information, fitting names to the images.
Their expressions were grim. Six people in that embassy basement had friends, acquaintances, or relatives who had been killed as a result of Ben and Abu’s crimes—at the Park Hotel in Natanya, and the bar mitzvah in Be’er Shiva. As far as they were concerned, Yousaf, Ibrahim, Ben, and Abu, were all the same, and ought to be executed, not standing before a U.S. Court of Appeals.
Tomorrow morning Josh Epstein’s legal jackals would begin circling the Guantanamo compound, making their plans, dreaming up well-rounded reasons explaining why the four prisoners had never done anything wrong in their lives, and how American justice had dealt them
The Mossad were the world experts on the links: those in Afghanistan between al-Qaeda and the Taliban; between Hamas and al-Qaeda; between Iran and al-Qaeda in Iraq; between Hezbollah and Tehran. The men from King Saul Boulevard knew beyond any doubt that there were certain law firms, in the United States, the UK, and Riyadh, that specialized in fighting for the liberties of such men. The Mossad had deep files on all of those law firms. Especially Josh Epstein’s.
They had been parked in various locations on 12th Street for weeks, ever since Justice Kennedy’s ruling. And with CIA backing, they could find out anything —particularly if Epstein’s men were representing terrorists who had killed and murdered in Israel.
For a start they could trace every incoming e-mail or instant message to its source, because electronic passage through the Internet leaves a trail, which traces Internet activity from the recipient to the user. And the information can be gathered covertly. These techniques of Internet tracking and tracing enable authorities to pursue and identify anyone and anything. The CIA and the Mossad were masters.
As a point of interest, the FBI was not far behind them with a tracking program called “Carnivore,” capable of scanning thousands of e-mails with the speed of light. Which was why Josh Epstein could hardly make a move without a red-alert sounding in faraway King Saul Boulevard. It was easy to understand why bin Laden’s high command infinitely preferred camels for transmitting sensitive communications.
Within moments, the men in the blue van were able to record that Epstein had just been appointed to represent, legally, inmates of Guantanamo Bay. And a split-second more to learn that he considered that appointment to be “perfect.” This caused four wry smiles of amusement, because everyone in the mobile ops-room knew there was a similar blue van parked in a side street off London Wall, conducting an identical operation on the heavily bugged offices of Howard, Marks, and Cuthbert.
There was one big difference: The Mossad guys in London knew the original fax had come from Saudi Arabia, though not the precise location.
There was however one aspect of the operation that bound both mobile ops teams together, and that was the sudden identification of the two men Josh Epstein was charged with freeing—the hitherto nameless Yousaf Mohammed and Ibrahim Sharif.
The Mossad had their names and sketchy biographies because they had wrung the information out of three other terrorist “suspects” before coldly executing them in Syria shortly after their release. They also knew that these two villains, Ibrahim and Yousaf, had befriended two other inmates inside Guantanamo.
They had descriptions and smuggled satellite photographs of the Guantanamo goalkeeper, Ben al-Turabi, and of his fellow Palestinian killer, Abu Hassan Akbar. Only the Mossad knew for certain that these four men were bound together, and that they were all on the CIA list of fourteen lethally dangerous jihadist hardmen.
Now the men in the blue van fed their new information back to the Mossad cell beneath the Israeli embassy as fingers flashed over the computer keyboards, matching the information, fitting names to the images.
Their expressions were grim. Six people in that embassy basement had friends, acquaintances, or relatives who had been killed as a result of Ben and Abu’s crimes—at the Park Hotel in Natanya, and the bar mitzvah in Be’er Shiva. As far as they were concerned, Yousaf, Ibrahim, Ben, and Abu, were all the same, and ought to be executed, not standing before a U.S. Court of Appeals.
Tomorrow morning Josh Epstein’s legal jackals would begin circling the Guantanamo compound, making their plans, dreaming up well-rounded reasons explaining why the four prisoners had never done anything wrong in their lives, and how American justice had dealt them
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