Haggai Carmon - Triple Identity

“Thanks,” he said. “Don't worry, we'll pull it off.”

Ten minutes later team two was on its way.

I stood behind Benny at the monitor showing a street map of Munich. A yellow arrow and a red arrow, one for each car, showed their progress. Each car had a small transmitter allowing our direction finder to know its position and direction at any time.

Prudent planning, I thought, not to mix the teams. Each organization would hit a different target. That would reduce the risks of confusion due to language and cultural barriers.

I looked at my watch; they should be on target in about fifteen minutes. The curtains were down so I couldn't see outside, but at this time of the year Munich would already be dark and there would be almost no people outside in this part of town, which was why we could begin operations relatively early in the day.

The radio hummed.

“Team one five minutes to target,” said a young man next to the computer.

We waited silently for the next report.

“Team three, five minutes to target.”

Eric seemed calm. Only his frequent glimpses at his watch revealed any tension. I was holding a bottle of water, sipping every couple of minutes to keep my own nerves under control.

“Team one, on target,” said the computer operator.

“Team three, on target,” said another computer operator.

“Power is off in the entire block.”

“Give team one the go-ahead,” said Eric.

The computer operator spoke into the mike.

There was silence for a few minutes and then the operator reported, “Team one inside target. All is well.”

“Team two inside target, all is well.”

That's it; the floodgates were open. The operation was on and there was nothing we could do but wait.

“Team one reporting that the safe is opened, documents have been removed, and photocopying started.”

I gulped more water. Nerves again.

“Team two has recovered documents, expects to leave premises within ten minutes.”

“Great,” said Benny in a low voice standing next to me. “That's what I want, and that was fast.”

I noticed that the back of my shirt was wet. I looked at Benny; I could detect sweat even on cool Benny's forehead. The temperature outside was near freezing, but the heat in the room was almost palpable from our excitement and the warmth generated by the computers and other equipment.

“Team one reporting that the volume of documents in the vault is enormous; there's no time to photocopy it all.”

Eric looked at Benny. “What do you think?”

“Ask him if there's any cash in the vault.”

Eric nodded to the operator who relayed the question.

The coded answer came in quickly. “Yes, 200,000 to 300,000 German marks.”

Benny thought for a moment, and said, “How many documents have they already photocopied and how many more are left?”

“They say that they copied just one file, but there are more than sixty.”

“Tell them to focus on anything that looks to be connected to the Iranians; we don't need anything about other sleazy money-laundering operations. Can they do that?”

“Yes, they think that for sure there are fifteen files connected to the Iranians.”

“How long would it take to copy those?”

“They still couldn't make it by morning.”

Nothing was said about DeLouise's files. I had initiated the operation and my objectives were being overlooked.

Benny turned to Eric. “Here's what I suggest. Let them continue with the copying until 5 A.M. That's almost two hours before sunrise, so they could still leave in the dark. Then tell them to remove all the cash in the vault and the files that haven't been copied.”

“Fine with me,” said Eric. “I suggest we send Dan to join them; he could help them sort out what files to take. After all, these are the bank's files and he is familiar with that kind of paperwork.” Encoded orders were relayed.

“Go ahead, send Dan, there's plenty of work for anyone coming to help.”

“Dan?” said Eric.

“I'm ready, who'll be driving me?” I was already having reise fieber, the German word for hectic excitement in anticipation of travel.

Andy, a young man in jeans, drove me to the bank in a white Ford Taurus. An observer standing on the outside signaled Yuval, who was inside the bank, and the side door was opened for me. Nobody seemed to notice. There was barely any traffic in the street during the blackout and the entire process of my entry took less than two minutes. A bigger problem waited for me inside. It was completely dark; I had no flashlight and nearly fell off the stairs. “Dan?” I heard a whisper in Hebrew. “Come here.”

“Nice idea,” I said, “but I can't see a damn thing.”

“Wait, I'm coming to get you.” Yuval came closer to me holding a flashlight. His face looked odd when the only source of light that illuminated him came from below. He gave me a pair of plastic gloves. “Put them on,” he ordered. He also gave me cloth-covered rubbers to put over my shoes, giving me the look of a surgeon going into the operating room. Finally he gave me a wool cap to put on my head to prevent any hair from falling out and leading to me – if they happened to have my DNA.

“We don't want to leave any prints or marks around,” he said. We climbed the stairs into the executive floor and passed the secretarial workstation into Guttmacher's office. The closet was wide open. A flashlight was mounted on a tripod and Shimon was busy taking photos of files. “Hi,” he raised his head. “Welcome to our studio. Here, look at these files and see which are the best for us. There is so much we could photocopy. To me they all look the same. So pick up what's important.”

I quickly sifted through the pile. There was so much there that I felt lost at first. Then I developed a method. I picked a file and searched for key words inside, such as Iran, or nuclear, or chemicals. I immediately identified six such files and I gave them to Shimon. “Make photocopies of these,” I said. “But use discretion; we don't need every piece of paper, such as postal receipts or copies of documents when you have the original. The German secretary seems to keep many documents in triplicate, God knows why; don't repeat her mistakes.”

I progressed very slowly, reading each file under the ineffective light of the flashlight. I separated the files into two piles: the first for files containing significant information, the second for files that were unimportant. I was thirsty but didn't want to waste time by looking for water. The pile with interesting stuff grew taller. The amounts involved were significant. It seemed that the Iranians were willing to pay big bucks for the best machinery, parts, compounds, and chemicals. Most of the vendors were German, Austrian, and French, but I also identified Belgian and Swiss companies. The use of offshore companies was substantial. There were addresses of companies in Liechtenstein, Cyprus, Jersey Islands, and the Cayman Islands. Obviously the goods purchased from these companies hadn't been manufactured in these tax havens, which were most likely used to mask the true origin of the goods.

Many of the files had no connection to Iran. A quick look revealed that they documented substantial money movements during a period of two years, clean words for dirty work: money laundering for private individuals who had difficulties sharing their fortunes with others, be it their government's tax authority or their creditors.

Two hours went by, and Shimon with Yuval's help worked relentlessly in photocopying with their two state-of-the-art document cameras. “Did you see the DeLouise files yet?” I finally let my curiosity get the better of me.

“Yes,” said Shimon, “I think I did two already.”