Daniel Silva - The Fallen Angel

“We’re honored to have so many distinguished officers from your service here today,” Kessler said without conviction, tapping a silver spoon against the rim of his china coffee cup like a gavel. “Especially you, Herr Allon. It’s been a long time since your last visit to Vienna.”

“Not as long as you think,” Gabriel remarked.

Kessler managed a tight smile. “I was working the night the PLO set off that bomb beneath your car,” he said after a moment. “I remember it all as though it were yesterday.”

“So do I,” Gabriel replied evenly.

“I imagine,” said Kessler. “I was also working the night you kidnapped Erich Radek from his home in the First District and smuggled him back to Israel.”

“Radek agreed to go to Israel voluntarily.”

“Only after you took him to the scene of the crime at Treblinka. But that, as they say, is ancient history.” Another forced smile. “Herr Navot tells me that Hezbollah has set its sights on Vienna.”

Gabriel nodded.

“When will this attack occur?”

“Shortly after sundown.”

“The target?”

“The Stadttempel synagogue and community center. If the terrorists are successful, more than a hundred people could die tonight. If, on the other hand, we work together . . .” Gabriel’s voice trailed off, the thought unfinished.

“Yes?”

“Only the four terrorists will die.”

“We haven’t agreed to work with you, Herr Allon. And we’re certainly not going to engage in some sort of targeted killing operation.”

“When I finish telling you what you’re up against, you’ll realize you have no other option.”

“Perhaps you would be good enough to tell us the source of your information.”

“Rule number one about working with the Office,” said Gabriel. “Don’t ask too many questions.”

If Gabriel’s unorthodox opening remarks had one effect, it was to render his audience speechless. Indeed, as he relayed the information that had been given to him by Massoud, the Austrians emitted no sound except for the occasional gasp of disbelief. Gabriel could scarcely blame them, for at that moment a four-member team of Hezbollah operatives was holed up in an apartment at Koppstrasse 34, preparing to carry out the worst terrorist attack in Austria’s history. Each member of the cell would be armed with a semiautomatic pistol and a suicide vest filled with dozens of pounds of explosives and lethal shrapnel. They would use their pistols to overpower the security guards who stood watch over the historic complex during services. Once the guards were neutralized, the team would split in half—two for the synagogue, two for the community center located directly across the narrow street. They intended to detonate their explosives simultaneously. Allahu Akbar .

“Why shouldn’t we simply move in and arrest them now?” asked Kessler.

“Because they’re not amateurs from the Muslim slums of Western Europe. These are hardened Hezbollah terrorists who cut their teeth fighting the Israeli military in southern Lebanon.”

“Meaning?”

“They went fully operational several hours ago. If you try to enter that apartment, they’ll detonate their explosives. The same thing will happen if you try to quietly evacuate the building or try to take them into custody at any stage along their journey to Paradise.”

“Why not simply cancel services this evening?”

“Nothing would make us happier. But if the terrorists arrive to find the synagogue closed, they’ll go in search of another target. At that hour, I’m sure they won’t have any trouble finding one. In fact, if I had to guess, they’ll go to the Kärntnerstrasse and kill as many innocent Austrians as they can.”

The Kärntnerstrasse was a busy pedestrian boulevard that ran from the State Opera House to the Stephansdom cathedral. The economic and social heart of Vienna, the street was lined with cafés, exclusive shops, and department stores. On a Friday evening, an attack there would be devastating. Jonas Kessler understood that, of course, which explained why he looked as though he had just swallowed his cuff links. When he finally spoke again, his voice contained none of its previous sarcasm. In fact, Gabriel thought he could detect the slightest trace of gratitude.

“What are you suggesting, Herr Allon?”

“I’m afraid there’s only one possible course of action.”

“And that is?”

“We wait for the terrorists to approach the synagogue and declare their intentions. And then we put them down before they can hit their detonation switches.”

“Kill them?”

Gabriel made no response. Neither did Shamron or Navot.

“We have a highly capable tactical police unit that is more than up to a job like this.”

“Einsatzkommando Cobra,” Shamron interjected. “Better known as EKO Cobra.”

Kessler nodded. “They’ve trained for just this kind of scenario.”

“With all due respect, Herr Kessler, when was the last time a member of EKO Cobra shot a living, breathing terrorist through the brain stem so he couldn’t detonate his bomb with a dying twitch of his fingers?”

Kessler was silent.

“I thought so,” Shamron said. “Do you happen to recall when EKO Cobra was formed, Herr Kessler?”

“It was shortly after the Munich Olympics massacre.”

“That’s correct,” Shamron said. “And I was there that night, Herr Kessler. We begged the Germans to let us handle the rescue operation at Fürstenfeldbruck Air Base, but they refused. I had to listen to the screams of my people as they were being butchered. It was . . .” Shamron’s voice trailed off, as though he were searching for the appropriate word. Finally, he said, “It was unbelievable.”

“The people who will enter that synagogue tonight are Austrian citizens.”

“That’s true,” Shamron said. “But they’re also Jews, which means that we are their guardians. And we’re going to make sure they come out of that synagogue alive.”

AFTER THAT, THE DEBATE ENDED, and the two sides settled down to the business of hammering out an operational accord. Within a few minutes, they had the broad outlines of an agreement. Gabriel and Mikhail would see to the takedown; EKO Cobra, the surveillance. At Kessler’s insistence, the Austrians reserved the right to move against the terrorists at any point prior to their arrival in the Jewish Quarter if the opportunity presented itself. Otherwise, they were to give the Hezbollah team a wide berth—or, as Shamron put it, they were to quietly escort them to death’s door. Gabriel made the Austrians’ job easier by telling Kessler the exact route the terrorists would take to the synagogue, including the streetcars they would use. Kessler was clearly impressed. He suggested a café on the Rotenturmstrasse that Gabriel could use as a staging post. Gabriel smiled and said he would use the one next door instead.

“Why?”

“Better view.”

“When exactly was the last time you were in Vienna?”

“It slips my mind.”

Which left only the rules of engagement. On this point, there was no room for debate. Gabriel and Mikhail were to take no lethal action until the terrorists drew their guns—and if they killed unarmed men, they would be prosecuted to the full extent of Austrian law, and any other law Kessler could think of. Gabriel agreed to the provision and even signed his name to a hastily drafted document. After adding his own signature to the agreement, Kessler handed over several miniature radios preset to the frequency the EKO Cobra teams would be using that night.

“Weapons?” asked Kessler.

“It’s a little too early in the day for me,” said Gabriel.

Kessler frowned. “Your intelligence is very precise,” he said. “Let us hope it is also accurate.”