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Authors: Charles Brokaw
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one in the Western world believed Iran would stop there. Davari knew they wouldn’t. He’d already seen many of the plans.
The server returned and placed a green salad in front of the colonel. He made no move to touch it.
‘Please. Eat.’ Von Volker pointed at the salad with his fork.
‘I ate before my arrival.’ Davari suspected the man might have had something placed on the salad that would go against the Islamic faith. It was childish, but according to his files, the man was not above that. ‘Thank you.’
With a shrug, Von Volker returned to his meal. ‘As you wish. We are not enemies, you know.’ He waved his fork to indicate both of them. ‘We – you and I – hate the Jews. Our people, though some of mine are misguided and forgetful these days, hate the Jews. We share this, and this common enemy makes us friends.’
Davari didn’t share that point of view, but he knew the Ayatollah trusted the anti-Semitic feeling in Austria. There were many problems in the Middle East, and not everyone favored Israel or held the Jews blameless in the conflict. The Ayatollah pumped money into the People’s Party, and to Von Volker in particular. In return, the Austrian and his partners acquired fissionable nuclear materials and technology to give to Iran.
The server returned, carrying a large plate filled with steak, shrimp, and sautéed vegetables. He placed it before Von Volker with a flourish, then refilled his wine glass. Taking a piece of silverware in each hand, the Austrian surveyed his gastronomical battlefield with the practiced eye of an invading general.
‘Your master told me there was something you required my help with, Colonel. I suppose this has something to do with the fiasco in the Gaza.’
Davari throttled his anger and kept his voice calm. ‘Yes.’
‘As I understand it, your friend on the ground there was looking for someone.’
‘A university professor named Lev Strauss.’ Davari took a snapshot of Strauss from his pocket and slid it facedown across the tabletop.
Von Volker lifted the picture and took a quick glance. Then he left the picture lying facedown. ‘He isn’t known to me.’
‘There is no reason he should be. The professor has had an interesting history.’ Davari recited Strauss’s background from memory. ‘He was recruited by the Mossad while he was at Harvard in the United States. He continued working missions for them while he was at Oxford, then a plane he was on was booby-trapped over thirteen years ago. It blew up and went down in the Dead Sea region. Strauss lost his left leg below the knee in the crash.’
‘No more missions.’
‘He remains on active duty, but these days he spends his time in dusty libraries as a true scholar.’
Von Volker lifted his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Except – something changed.’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘At this point, that information is restricted. On a need-to-know basis.’ Davari knew that the Westerners liked their little spy games. The truth was that the Ayatollah did not want anyone told the nature of the prize they sought.
The Austrian sliced off a chunk of bloody meat. ‘I would be better able to help if I knew what was going on.’ He popped the piece into his mouth.
‘Right now, we need Strauss found. That is all you need to concern yourself with at the moment.’
‘He’s not in the Gaza anymore?’
‘No.’
‘Where did he run?’
‘According to the two guards my friend spoke with, the professor has returned to Jerusalem.’
‘You have people there.’
‘We had people.’ Davari had read the reports on the executions of those Quds agents only hours ago. ‘They tried to capture the professor.’
‘And got themselves killed?’
‘Yes.’
Von Volker smiled. ‘So the prey has already been spooked in the Gaza and in his homeland.’
‘He is still there.’
‘Sitting quietly in some sequestered hideaway while the Mossad watch over him, waiting for the rats to come to the cheese?’ Von Volker
The server returned and placed a green salad in front of the colonel. He made no move to touch it.
‘Please. Eat.’ Von Volker pointed at the salad with his fork.
‘I ate before my arrival.’ Davari suspected the man might have had something placed on the salad that would go against the Islamic faith. It was childish, but according to his files, the man was not above that. ‘Thank you.’
With a shrug, Von Volker returned to his meal. ‘As you wish. We are not enemies, you know.’ He waved his fork to indicate both of them. ‘We – you and I – hate the Jews. Our people, though some of mine are misguided and forgetful these days, hate the Jews. We share this, and this common enemy makes us friends.’
Davari didn’t share that point of view, but he knew the Ayatollah trusted the anti-Semitic feeling in Austria. There were many problems in the Middle East, and not everyone favored Israel or held the Jews blameless in the conflict. The Ayatollah pumped money into the People’s Party, and to Von Volker in particular. In return, the Austrian and his partners acquired fissionable nuclear materials and technology to give to Iran.
The server returned, carrying a large plate filled with steak, shrimp, and sautéed vegetables. He placed it before Von Volker with a flourish, then refilled his wine glass. Taking a piece of silverware in each hand, the Austrian surveyed his gastronomical battlefield with the practiced eye of an invading general.
‘Your master told me there was something you required my help with, Colonel. I suppose this has something to do with the fiasco in the Gaza.’
Davari throttled his anger and kept his voice calm. ‘Yes.’
‘As I understand it, your friend on the ground there was looking for someone.’
‘A university professor named Lev Strauss.’ Davari took a snapshot of Strauss from his pocket and slid it facedown across the tabletop.
Von Volker lifted the picture and took a quick glance. Then he left the picture lying facedown. ‘He isn’t known to me.’
‘There is no reason he should be. The professor has had an interesting history.’ Davari recited Strauss’s background from memory. ‘He was recruited by the Mossad while he was at Harvard in the United States. He continued working missions for them while he was at Oxford, then a plane he was on was booby-trapped over thirteen years ago. It blew up and went down in the Dead Sea region. Strauss lost his left leg below the knee in the crash.’
‘No more missions.’
‘He remains on active duty, but these days he spends his time in dusty libraries as a true scholar.’
Von Volker lifted his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Except – something changed.’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘At this point, that information is restricted. On a need-to-know basis.’ Davari knew that the Westerners liked their little spy games. The truth was that the Ayatollah did not want anyone told the nature of the prize they sought.
The Austrian sliced off a chunk of bloody meat. ‘I would be better able to help if I knew what was going on.’ He popped the piece into his mouth.
‘Right now, we need Strauss found. That is all you need to concern yourself with at the moment.’
‘He’s not in the Gaza anymore?’
‘No.’
‘Where did he run?’
‘According to the two guards my friend spoke with, the professor has returned to Jerusalem.’
‘You have people there.’
‘We had people.’ Davari had read the reports on the executions of those Quds agents only hours ago. ‘They tried to capture the professor.’
‘And got themselves killed?’
‘Yes.’
Von Volker smiled. ‘So the prey has already been spooked in the Gaza and in his homeland.’
‘He is still there.’
‘Sitting quietly in some sequestered hideaway while the Mossad watch over him, waiting for the rats to come to the cheese?’ Von Volker
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