Crossing the Lines Read online

  His thoughts skipped to the day he submitted his resignation. Sammy, the Deputy Director of Operations, had responded with surprise when Cantor informed him that he had decided to retire. Sammy had asked if he was certain.

  “Absolutely certain,” he replied.

  Sammy said it was a mistake. “People like you,” he said firmly, “are unable to find themselves anywhere else. You’ll regret it, but it’ll be too late.”

  He thought he understood what Sammy was implying. The Mossad thought highly of their ideology. “True,” he replied, “but there are other organizations with which a person can serve their country.”

  At that moment, he felt that Sammy, unlike the impression he was trying to convey, was not dissatisfied with his decision. It was true that the fiasco was behind them - “gone and forgotten,” as they said - but words were cheap, especially in an organization where pretense and deception are common practice.

  Sammy had asked about his plans for the future. “You know, we can give you a warm recommendation, and our references carry a heavy weight.”

  This was undoubtedly true, except for the small problem that this weight had pull in both directions... But Cantor was no less a poker player than Sammy, so he gave him a grateful smile and said he would be glad to receive their recommendation - but first of all, a vacation. “Just reminding you, Cantor - you need to inform us if you’re planning to go abroad.’

  Yes, he was well aware of the guidelines that decreed an eighteen-month period during which a retired agent was still subject to the organization’s security procedures.

  Of course, he already knew then where he was heading. He believed in planning ahead. Only he didn’t think it was any of Sammy’s business, or anyone else’s. Cantor’s clandestine nature maintained that success could easily turn into failure through a few unnecessary words in the wrong place. And Sammy, according to his gut feeling, was the wrong place. The years had taught him to trust his gut.

  He closed his eyes and let sleep engulf him.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tel Aviv Central Police Unit, Narcotics Division, Israel

  Everyone was relieved to hear the news of Cantor’s escape from death - except for him. The careful planning, not to mention the substantial sums he had paid for the attempted hit under the guise of an accident on the other side of the world, seemed to have all been in vain.

  In the first few hours, he had still hoped the situation would change. Cantor, according to information provided by Haddad, arrived at the hospital in critical condition. This carried the possibility that the end he had planned for him would occur shortly. Only, as the hours passed, Haddad’s frequent updates became more and more optimistic. The latest update affirmed that Cantor’s condition had stabilized and that the doctors believed his injuries were no longer life threatening.

  His imagination had conjured up images of sweet revenge countless of times, images that eased his tormented heart. But again, luck had failed him. Once again, it seemed that while everyone else was scrambling for crumbs of luck, this piece of shit Cantor took the entire cake.

  From his desk in the main offices of the Narcotics Division, he couldn’t help overhearing the detectives cheering every time Matilda received a call from Haddad and hurriedly gave a thumbs-up signaling the good news. The sounds of joy erupting around him sparked waves of hatred through his body. If only they knew who Cantor really was.

  If only they knew what he already knew.

  Pini Levi, the hitman, hadn’t even realized he had failed. When he himself called Bangkok and informed Pini that his victim had survived, the tone of the assassin’s voice conveyed his surprise. At first, he found it difficult to believe that Cantor was alive. Then he promised that, next time, he would not fail, pledging that, as a professional who guarantees the success of his work, the job only ends when the customer is completely satisfied.

  This failure cost him an important advantage. He wanted the elimination to be done thousands of miles away, as far away from him as possible. The Hanoi police would ultimately close the case as a hit-and-run accident with nothing to tie him to it. And another thing - the timing of his revenge! He bit his lip and consoled himself with the thought that this was only a delay.

  CHAPTER 4

  Tel Aviv Central Police Unit, Narcotics Division, Israel, eight weeks later

  Cantor pushed the department door open and stepped inside. Matilda, the department secretary, raised her head from the document she was typing and a wide, genuine smile spread across her face.

  “Look who’s here!” she cried out. “Oded Cantor, welcome back! How do you feel?”

  “Hey, Mattie, it’s good to be back. I’m okay, Mattie.”

  “Coming back to us? Because we’ve kept your desk for you, you know that.”

  “You’d better have! I’m hoping to soon, after the medical committee. Is Haddad around?”

  “On his way, he’ll be here in just a few minutes. Can I get you coffee in the meantime?”

  “Seriously? You’ll get it for me with your own two hands?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s a one-time gesture for a person who spit in the face of death and came back to tell the tale.”

  “I’d love a coffee, Mattie. Where’s everyone?”

  “Pretending they’re busy out in the field… there’s a new directive from Azar to conduct at least 90% of activity in the field and only file paperwork at the end of the day. Sometimes I feel lonely here.”

  “Yes, poor you...”

  The door swung open and Albert Haddad appeared with a thick folder under one arm and a cup of coffee in his other hand. When he noticed Cantor, a smile lit his face.

  “How you doing, Oded? Welcome back! Somebody let you get out of bed?” he laughed. Have you come to see me?”

  “Yes, I’m with you. A few updates.”

  “Come to the conference room.”

  They sat in the conference room and closed the door behind them. Haddad’s face returned to its usual solemn state.

  “What’s going on, Oded?” he asked.

  Cantor choked with a sudden burst of deep coughing. Haddad said nothing, but his face betrayed his thoughts. Cantor still carried the aftereffects of the accident.

  “The situation’s pretty bad. I didn’t get authorized to return to duty, Albert. The doctor recommended a desk job.”

  “Okay, for how long?”

  “That’s the problem. He’s not willing to commit to an actual time period. He says it may only be a month or two, or maybe much longer. Anything’s possible.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I know I’m getting better Albert, but it’s not up to me. Obviously, if the doctor isn’t convinced I’m fit for the field, he won’t recommend that the medical committee sanction my return. He said that impaired operational competence endangers not only myself, but puts my whole team at risk.”

  Haddad looked uncertain for a moment and then leaned toward Cantor. “Tell me something Oded… why not retire at your peak? I mean, with your three percent a year from the Mossad, you’re already on your maximum pension, right? You must be entitled to some disability payments, so that leaves you with around 20k... without lifting a finger. Relax for a few months… find a nice civilian activity you can enjoy. You’ve already contributed above and beyond, don’t you think?”

  Cantor shook his head firmly from side to side, refusing to even consider such a possibility. “Really, Albert? That’s just not me. Can you really picture me as a civilian?! Truth is, I’m really worried. What if they don’t let me come back? Then what?”

  “Okay, I get you... but, for now, we’ll let the doctors decide. So be optimistic, get some rest, get stronger. There’s no hurry, you know. On another matter, more not so pleasant news. The Hanoi police are putting your case on ice. They informed us yesterday.”

  “Couldn’t find any leads?”

  “No.”

  Cantor paused for a moment and said, “Don’t kill me, Albert, okay, but I feel like
it wasn’t just an accident! Leaving no trace behind just stinks of a professional hit -”

  “Again with the paranoia? So let me tell you, Detective Cantor, that there’s no shortage of hit-and-runs waiting to be solved. Anyhow, the case was just put on hold, and maybe something will eventually turn up.”

  “Why do I have the feeling nothing will turn up?”

  “Yes, I know, even people with paranoia, on occasion, have people chasing them. Get over it, Cantor. Accidents happen every day and half the perpetrators flee the scene! Let it go. It’s not getting you anywhere.”

  “I’m letting it go… for now. But, Albert, is there any way you can help me with the doctor? Convince him to let me back as soon as possible?”

  Haddad spread his hands helplessly. “Show me someone who’s managed to change a doctor’s opinion on a medical issue! Let it go, okay? You’re practically living at the gym now... right? So keep that up and let’s have faith that everything will work itself out.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Seven months later, November, Monday morning

  In the small briefing room on the fourth floor of the Narcotics Division, eight detectives were busy taking their seats around the conference table. Outside, a storm was raging. Torrents of rain lashed against the windows, painting a distorted picture of skyscrapers and cranes towering over the construction sites that stretched to the sea, where gray waves crashed angrily onto the shore.

  Oded Cantor lingered by the door. He concentrated on his phone screen, using it as an excuse to wait until the others had taken their places around the table. Although it had been more than a year since he had completed his detective training course at the National Police Academy, he was still considered by his colleagues as a man who had not earned his role in the force, but was rather placed there. His three-month leave of absence as a result of his injury did not help the outsider image that clung to him.

  As early as his first day in the department, he had observed that the veteran detectives were arrogant, rigid and cynical - the type who had seen everything and believed that no one and nothing could ever surprise them, certainly not a Mossad agent who “grew up” in an organization which, they believed, often operated according to its own private rulebook. Back then, he decided to avoid being the bull in the veteran officers’ china shop. They had a tradition of unique mannerisms and habits that had developed over many years together. Yet, he was pleased to discover that even the most cynical among them were, first and foremost, professionals who stuck to the rules. It was true that many of them had reservations about their counterparts in the Mossad and the ISA, seeing them as organizations operating on the fringes of the law, and sometimes even crossing it. But Cantor’s former Mossad colleagues had similar reservations about police officers, believing most were inflexible and set in their ways, adhering to bureaucratic and lengthy procedures rather than seeking more effective and swift solutions.

  At the end of his course, he was assigned to the Narcotics Division headed by Superintendent Albert Haddad. Cantor remembered every word of their first meeting:

  Haddad gazed at Cantor’s course evaluation report, looked up from the page and asked, “Tell me, Cantor, why are you here?”

  For a moment he was surprised by the direct question, but only for a moment, since the answer was already etched in his mind. “Why am I here? You mean in the force? Or as a detective? Easy question. Because it’s what I want to do. I’m dedicated to this career and will remain so until they tell me they don’t need me anymore. I always felt that public service was - what’s a good way to put it? - my calling.”

  “Interesting. That’s the most original answer I’ve heard to this day.” Haddad rubbed his forehead with his hand, “A powerful word – ‘calling.’” He glanced at the sheet in front of him and said, “This file says you started your career with an elite army unit and retired as a first lieutenant, even though you were in line for promotion. Why did you retire?

  “Because the promotion entailed working at headquarters and I preferred to stay in the field.”

  “Ah, and then you served with the Mossad as a field agent and were promoted to a rank equivalent to major.”

  “Correct.”

  “And you retired from the Mossad because... let me guess, they wanted to promote you to lieutenant colonel and that didn’t suit you.”

  “Negative. A certain situation came to pass that made me realize I’d reached my potential and was ready to move on.”

  “Okay. So you decided to be a police detective. Remind me why?”

  “Like I said. Domestic security is as important as international security. What’s more important than preserving the law, fighting against crime, protecting civilians?”

  Haddad looked at him for a long silent moment and said, “Sounds like a bunch of slogans to me, but I’m not saying you’re insincere. Maybe you’re a good actor. What are you actually telling me? That you’re here because of your ideology? That’s what you’re trying to say? This is your motivation?” He didn’t try to conceal the cynical tone of his voice.

  Cantor didn’t hesitate. “It’s the truth. This is who I am. My personal ambitions have always been my lowest priority.”

  Haddad placed the file on his desk and said, “Listen carefully. You managed to get in the door, but if you really want to be accepted here, you have to prove yourself. There are no shortcuts and nothing you’ve accomplished so far, whatever it is you’ve done, is worth anything here. And another thing. A detective post in this division is worth its weight in gold. Not a week goes by when I’m not asked to downsize… and take this seriously, because it’s a major issue around here. I know for a fact that, by the end of the year, I’ll be cutting at least two posts.” He stared intently into Cantor’s eyes, “And yes, I was impressed by your course results. Ranking first in sniper training is no easy task. Whoever wrote this evaluation is certain you possess special skills. So if he’s right, let’s hope we benefit from these skills here. Any questions?”

  Cantor shook his head. “No, everything’s clear.” He would simply have to prove to Haddad and to everyone else what he was worth. As he always did.

  Now he stood and watched the veteran officers settle at the head of the table nearest the plasma screen, leaving him a seat at the rear by the door. As he took his seat, he heard Sergeant Major Yeremi Gantz ask Haddad why they had all been summoned at such short notice and with no explanation.

  Haddad spread his arms wide and said, “Well, it’s definitely not an office party,” which prompted a roar of laughter and Chief Inspector Uri Tzahor added, “Clearly. It’s not Friday and there aren’t even pretzels on the table…” Another burst of laughter erupted.

  Cantor glanced at the group of senior officers who were divided into two groups. The four senior detectives were officers ranking from chief inspector to superintendent, a cohesive group, the alpha males of the department, high ranking members of the force who were esteemed both by their superiors and by their colleagues in other divisions. The fifth detective, Gantz, had the same seniority as the others, yet, unlike the rest, he was an NCO, a non-commissioned officer. Delayed promotion? A dark incident in his past? Cantor didn’t know.

  Behind Gantz, and further from the power axis, sat the other two, the ones who had moved up in this division through a long line of auxiliary roles. They had both recently been promoted to junior officers and detectives. They stared admiringly at the other group, laughing cautiously in all the right places, keeping mostly silent so as not to attract the cynical attention of their veteran colleagues. And finally, there was him, Cantor, the outsider, higher in rank than most of them due to his impressive career legacy, yet still a rather social outcast. His military past boosted his rank and his salary, which definitely didn’t add to his popularity with the others. As a rule, people who jumped the queue by virtue of their record in other security organizations were not well regarded. They stepped onto the force with no preliminary examinations, psychological assessments, security
clearance processes, or acceptance committees. Fortunately for him, there was one high ranking exception among them in the form of Superintendent Albert Haddad, who took him under his wing from his first steps in the department. What first began as the support of a commander for his new recruit turned quickly into a steadfast friendship.

  The lively conversation in the room came to an abrupt halt when the door opened and the department captain, Chief Superintendent David Azar, accompanied by the District Intelligence Officer, Chief Superintendent Amiel Zweig, walked in.

  Azar, a sturdy, broad-shouldered man of average height, a dark complexion and green eyes that gave him an exotic look, sat at the head of the table. Zweig hurried to switch on the computer and the screen came to life with the Intelligence Unit’s logo. Cantor, like all the others in the room, straightened in his chair and focused on Azar.

  “People,” Azar began, without bidding them good morning or any of the usual small talk, “All ongoing cases are put on hold. From this moment on, we have a new priority.”

  In response, there was a faint murmur of protest as schedules were disrupted.

  “Quiet! Focus, people!” Azar scolded and added, “There’s more. Radio silence effective immediately.” Cantor, with his photographic memory, saw in his mind’s eye paragraph 24A of the Departmental Procedures Manual: In the event of radio silence, all communication devices will be collected from everyone involved...