A Trap in Paris Read online

  “We haven’t sufficiently addressed the need to deal with the Quds Force branch in France. This is critical,” O’Connor re-emphasized. “None of us should have any doubts that the Iranians are building the capacity to carry out assassinations and engage in personal terrorism. Contending with them will require the expertise of trained combat personnel. I’m not very familiar with the capabilities of the special units operating under the auspices of your gendarmerie. Their priority is undoubtedly operations within France itself. However, if you see fit do so,” he said, treading carefully now, “we can combine the accrued knowledge of our Navy SEALs with your force’s orientation on the ground.”

  “I’d like to clarify a few important points pertaining to our work vis-à-vis French companies,” Professor Bernard said, reassuming control of the meeting. “Responsibility for all issues relating to French companies lies with the French delegation. However, with regard to all activity outside our borders,” he continued, looking directly at Deutsch and O’Connor, “it would make the most sense for our American partners to lead the way.”

  The two Americans nodded their heads in agreement, and Gideon and Haim began to whisper quietly to one another about the Israeli delegation’s contribution to the project as a whole.

  Chapter 11

  It was Friday morning, and Peet’s Coffee was crowded as usual. Dan Avni stood at the door and soaked up the atmosphere he had first heard about from his mother, Nurit. This was where he had first met Noam, the daughter of Gideon and Suzy Ben-Ari. When they were able to find time away from their respective pursuits, the coffee shop had become their regular meeting place.

  A dark-skinned barista looked up from the counter as Dan entered. “Good morning, sir! Your regular table is free this morning!” she said cheerily, with a distinct Latin American accent and a playful familiarity that betrayed the frequency with which Dan visited the establishment.

  “I’m glad,” he said, chuckling, as he leaned on the counter. “Where else would I sit?”

  A few minutes later, with two steaming cups in hand, Dan took a seat at his and Noam’s favorite table. It was next to the window and afforded a view of the Stanford campus. He pulled out his iPhone, which had become an inseparable part of his life, and noticed he had received a new WhatsApp message. It was from Noam, and her profile picture brought a smile to his face. A reflection of sunlight flashed momentarily across his face as the door of the coffee shop opened and slowly swung shut, and Dan looked up to see Noam standing against the wall beside the door. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt and a flattering tight-fitting olive-green skirt. She hesitated for a moment, searching the somewhat dim interior, until she spotted Dan and a smile lit up her face. She walked quickly over to the table.

  Dan stood up, pulling her to him in a warm embrace as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. “It’s so good to see you,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes. “Let me take a look at you.” She took a step back. “How are you? How are things at work?” She had many questions, some of which would obviously have to wait.

  “We’re working really hard,” Dan said, as they slid into chairs across from one another. “But I’ve come to realize that’s par for the course in all Silicon Valley companies. The area is crawling with talented young people with high-flying ambitions and an enthusiasm for working long hours—which, I must admit, is contagious. It’s a real technological cuckoo’s nest.”

  “And what about you, Dan? How are you doing?” Noam asked softly, reaching across the table and placing her hand on his. “How are you handling the marathon?”

  “Me? I’m doing fine,” he answered, stroking her hand affectionately. “Fortunately, the company has balances and support capacity between its research and production centers. It’s made us competitive. But what I really think has helped me the most so far is my service in Unit 8200. That’s where I learned how to contend with reality even when it surpasses anything imaginable, which it often does. There, the threats were real, but there was also ample time and tools to handle them. Here, I often find myself proposing shortcuts for solving problems that never even occur to others, and it’s all thanks to that practical experience.”

  “My genius,” Noam said proudly, with a smile in her eyes.

  “The only problem, as I see it,” Dan said, “is the fact that we haven’t had the time to see more of each other. What are you doing this weekend?”

  “Well,” Noam said excitedly, “there’s Friday night dinner at my grandparents’ house. They’d love to have you. So would my mother. My grandmother’s a great cook, and I’m sure there’s nothing she’d like better than to feed you. Will you come?”

  “I’ll need to make some arrangements to make sure I definitely don’t get dragged back into the office for some emergency just as dinner is being served,” Dan said. He was pleased with the plan, and it showed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes!” she said, starting to get up, “but I’ve got to get to class now.” Dan stood up as Noam reached to the floor and slung her book bag over her shoulder, and he drew her into a long, warm embrace.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you some coffee,” Dan said, handing her a take-away cup and smiling. “You can take it with you.”

  “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” She kissed him softly on the cheek, squeezed his hand, and then started for the door. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling and looking forward to an evening with Noam and her family. “See you tonight…”

  ***

  Friday night dinner was an age-old tradition that Barbara Goldman preserved vigilantly. The three-story house in Menlo Park, not far from the Stanford University campus, was surrounded by a large flower garden and a collection of ornamental trees that had obviously been cultivated and nurtured by a devoted gardener. The appetizing aromas that greeted Dan when Michael Goldman opened the door indicated that Grandma Barbara had been cooking. And based on the clinking of dishes and the broken bits of conversation that could be heard from the kitchen, Dan correctly concluded that all three generations of women were involved in the undertaking.

  “Sit down, you two, and make yourselves comfortable!” Barbara called out from the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes!”

  “Will you join me for a drink, Dan?” asked Michael, holding up a glass filled with ice and an amber-colored liquid. “It’s bourbon.”

  “With pleasure,” answered Dan with a smile. “But go easy on me, Michael. Remember, I’m a lightweight.”

  “So, what’s new at New Horizons? How are you fitting in there?” Noam’s grandfather asked, beginning his characteristic interrogation.

  “We’re overloaded with orders, which has forced us to increase recruitment. That’s a good sign, considering the intense competition in Silicon Valley. But, as I’m sure you know, success here never lasts long.”

  “So you’re running the technological side of the company?” Michael said. “Your father must be proud of you.”

  “I keep in touch with him, but I sometimes wish he were here,” he admitted. “There are times when it feels like we need a miracle or a work of magic to win a tender—”

  “Á propos magic,” Michael interjected, “Noam tells me that you’re also quite a magician!”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. I learned some sleight of hand when I was a kid. You know, a few tricks based on quick fingers. Nothing too impressive.”

  “Perhaps this evening you’ll give us all a demonstration,” Michael suggested.

  “Grandpa, let him relax!” Noam’s cheerful voice called out from the kitchen. “He came over for Shabbat dinner, not to work…”

  “So,” asked Michael, letting him off the hook at his granddaughter’s behest, “do you talk to your father on a regular basis?”

  “I do. I also take advantage of his advice from time to time. Even when he’s far away, h
e’s typically able to identify the problem and figure out how to solve it.”

  “Yehuda’s a good man,” Michael said. “I still remember when he founded New Horizons and ran all its activity here. It’s truly a shame that your parents were involved in that affair.” Michael shook his head and looked somber for a few seconds before moving on. “What’s new with your mother? How is she managing here in the States? Is she still in Berkeley?”

  “Michael!” Barbara yelled, clearly understanding, even from the kitchen, where her husband was leading the conversation. “Why don’t you stop badgering our guest and come join us for dinner—both of you!”

  The table held a bounty of dishes, all of which had been carefully prepared by Barbara with the help of her daughter and granddaughter, and the two Sabbath candles had already been lit. Suzy gave Dan a hug, and everyone took their seats. Michael raised his wine glass and recited a shortened version of the Kiddush. He then removed the multicolor cloth that had been covering two freshly baked loaves of challah, recited the traditional Hebrew blessing for bread, and cut pieces of the warm, sweet bread for everyone.

  “Thanks so much for having me over,” Dan said, savoring the homemade flavor of the bread and admiring the table. “Everything looks and smells wonderful. I’m sure it will be delicious.”

  “By the way, Suzy,” Michael said to his daughter, “have you heard from Gideon lately? How’s he doing? And what’s he working on in Israel now?”

  “I…I’m not exactly sure,” Suzy stammered. “Noam’s in touch with him. She probably knows more than I do.”

  “Dad’s fine,” said Noam, “but he’s extremely busy. There’s the private consulting firm he started, and every once in while they also ask him to serve on defense advisory committees.” She glanced at her mother, who returned an appreciative smile.

  “What’s new at the university, Noam?” Barbara asked, steering the conversation toward safer shores. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m really busy, Grandma, but it’s fascinating!” answered Noam enthusiastically. “Political science is turning out to be a good choice. Not only is the program interesting, but when I finish my studies, I may even be able to find a subfield that I can work in as a career.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do great!” her grandmother said. “And Dan will also undoubtedly keep on leading his company to greatness with projects that I don’t understand in the slightest.”

  The meal continued, and Barbara cleared the table between courses with Suzy’s help. Dan thought about how lucky his girlfriend was to have such a warm, supportive family. His life could not have been more different from hers in that respect, he thought, as he once again became conscious of the deep longing and painful emptiness left by the absence of a family experience.

  Chapter 12

  General Jamshidi had been summoned urgently by the president, who was troubled by reports on the development of the maneuverable warhead for the advanced Shahab missile. He was accompanied by Dr. Muhammad Fakari who, up until the assassination, had served as General Musawi’s deputy.

  “Your Excellency,” Jamshidi began. “I present you Dr. Mohammed Fakari who, with your approval, was just appointed to head our long-range missile development department. Dr. Fakari was General Musawi’s deputy and knows the project as well as he did. He belongs to a new generation of young scientists who acquired their scientific education not only here in Iran but also in the world’s finest universities. Dr. Fakari received his master’s degree from MIT and his Ph.D. from Stanford University in California.” Jamshidi paused apprehensively to gauge the president’s reaction.

  “You have some big shoes to fill, Fakari. We sincerely hope you will succeed,” said the president, subjecting both men to a stern glare that left no room for anything but the complete success of the innovative missile project.

  “Overall, the advanced Shahab missile development project is progressing according to schedule,” Dr. Fakari began tentatively. “However, we still have not solved the problem with the maneuverable warhead. Also, in our lab model, we found bugs in the software we developed, and we have not yet been able to identify the reason. General Musawi regarded this as a major priority, and we will do everything in our power to continue along the path he demarcated for us. In terms of the software for the maneuverable warhead, we’ll need the assistance of the Cyber Warfare Department of the Guardians’ Research and Development Branch. General Musawi agreed to this arrangement with General Jamshidi, and I am certain we will be able to reconstitute all the files that suddenly vanished—”

  “What exactly is going on with this software?” the president interrupted, annoyed now. “Do you have any idea—a lead of any kind—how they got into the protected computer system you promised us? After the Stuxnet worm in the uranium enrichment system, Jamshidi, you led me to believe that the problem had been solved.”

  Jamshidi had known the president for years. He was well aware of his background in engineering and the resulting need for precise answers that included technical details. “Sir,” he began, “the Cyber Warfare Department concluded that a new worm had been planted in the computer system via a switch that was supposed to be incorporated into the driving system of the maneuverable warhead. We purchased a few of these switches in Germany and integrated them into the prototype. Men from the unit are still checking the software and are working to neutralize the impact of the new worm.”

  “And what’s happening with the warhead itself?” the president asked, looking back at Fakari, who appeared to sink lower into his seat.

  “Your Excellency, the switches were purchased from an electronics company in Germany. According to the plans for the maneuverable warhead, each warhead contains at least ten switches. It’s a sophisticated miniature system that’s linked to the warhead’s central airborne computer. The warhead’s prototype worked flawlessly for two days with these switches, and we were all certain that we finally had a solution for most of the warhead’s components. Then—all of a sudden, after two straight days of work—the system crashed on the same day that General Musawi was murdered, may Allah avenge his blood. We’ll handle damage assessment, in conjunction with the Cyber Warfare Department. The enemy may have exploited the two seemingly quiet days to extract data pertaining to the maneuverable warhead system as a whole. This possibility also needs to be thoroughly checked out. Based on our findings, we may be forced to revise the plans somewhat.”

  “I’d like to add some important new information regarding an alternative source of switches,” General Jamshidi interjected. “We purchased a few samples of switches in France that meet our needs. They were routed through an Iranian-owned Swedish company without being discovered and are scheduled to arrive here later today on a regular SAS commercial flight.”

  “Well done, Jamshidi,” said the president. “Does this mean that we now have a source for switches that we can rely on?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied. “The shipment was flagged by the customs and supervisory authorities. The switches are classified as multipurpose due to their use by the automobile industry, on the one hand, and the aeronautics defense industry, on the other. They have been under relatively lax supervision until now, but we have reason to believe it will intensify. We’ll perform all the tests to prevent a mishap like what happened with the switches from Germany. We’ll only know we’ve found a solution when we receive a green light from the cyberwarfare experts—at least for an initial series of maneuverable warheads.”

  “Your Excellency,” Dr. Fakari said, with a look of concern. “I’m sorry to trouble you with this, but I thought I should bring to your attention the fact that, since Musawi’s assassination, many people in our department are in fear for their lives. It is having a negative impact on morale. It has also taken a toll on the efficiency of their work.”

  “General Soleimani has initiated identification and cleansing operations and will have results soo
n. You can promise your people that we will not allow our enemies, from inside Iran or abroad, to disrupt their work.”

  Silence settled on the room as the president motioned to his personal assistant, who quickly left the room and returned with a tray holding sweets and steaming glasses of tea. Jamshidi nodded to Dr. Fakari, indicating that he was dismissed, and Musawi’s replacement stood up and bowed deeply before the president before leaving the room.

  “I hope we made the right choice,” said the president, when he and Jamshidi were alone. “Fakari doesn’t look strong enough to me. I know he’s the best there is professionally, but that’s not enough.”

  “We need to give him some time to get the feel of the job. We’ll know soon enough if our decision was the right one,” Jamshidi said. “I have no doubt that this meeting helped him. Your words of encouragement will put wind in his sails.”

  “Let’s talk about organization,” said the president. “I’m particularly concerned about the developments in France. Who is stationed there? And what else needs to be done to ensure we succeed in our sacred mission of procuring the necessary materials and components for our strategic projects?”

  For a moment, Jamshidi marveled at the president’s ability to transition so quickly from a severe, admonishing tone into friendly conversation. It was a quality he remembered well from his days as a university student and the grueling process of setting up the Guardians of the Revolution.