P. Deutermann - The Last Man

“After two years, it became apparent that Skuratov had been imprisoned too long to be of much use in the swiftly evolving world of nuclear physics. His training as a nuclear physicist, however, made him a technically qualified counterintelligence officer, and he was picked up by Shin Bet. As the PM has indicated, he is now head of the Dimona Shin Bet office.”

“How old is he now?” Ellerstein asked.

Gulder consulted the file. “He is sixty-eight years old this month but apparently looks closer to eighty. He’s never really recovered from the years of hard labor, malnutrition, and illness in the Soviet slave-labor system. His Shin Bet personnel file states that he has what the Americans call black-lung disease from the coal mines. He is also suffering from arthritis, severe loss of hearing, rising glaucoma in both eyes, a malformed knee joint from a rock fall during his escape into Turkey, ice-maimed hands, and the loss of all but ten of his original teeth. Recently he has been flying to a cancer clinic over in Cyprus once a week.”

“And this is one of the conspirators?” Ellerstein asked, wondering why they were worried. The man sounded like walking death.

“What he lacks in physical capacity he apparently more than makes up for in nationalistic ardor. Let me quote you what he told one of our people: ‘This country has gone soft since the Americans smashed Saddam Hussein’s armies. Israel used to be serious about internal security. Now we act like little lambs. We make peace with the likes of that rat-faced, syphilitic Palestinian cur. We release known terrorists from our prisons by the hundreds while scabrous Arab teenagers bomb our school buses in broad daylight. While Shiite Iranian dogs in Lebanon send Katyusha rockets into the kibbutzim by night. And the goddamned preaching Americans, always coming over here, sending women to speak to us, bleating peace, peace, negotiate, negotiate. Soon we will fall like the Soviet Union fell, because we’ve stopped paying attention, while fat-choked Americans overwhelm us with hamburgers, cell phones, television, Coca-Cola, filthy Hollywood movies, their hideous rock and roll, and computer game arcades. The Soviet Union collapsed like a rotten cabbage under this assault, and so shall we.’ And more to that effect. Much more.” Gulder closed the file.

“An old security fanatic, Professor,” the PM said softly. “Living on borrowed time. A man with perhaps little to lose. A man who misses his homeland more than he recognizes. The Russian in him coming out of its cave one last time, yes?”

“This is something we know ?” Ellerstein asked. “That he’s involved in some scheme to what, steal bombs?”

The PM looked at Gulder, who cleared his throat. “What we know and what we suspect are intertwined, Yossi. But since it is our intention to put you onto Skuratov, the less you know about what we might know, the better, hah?”

Ellerstein thought about that one. How on earth could he watch a man like Skuratov? The other way around made more sense. Gulder was one step ahead of him.

“There’s no way you can achieve surveillance on the head of security at Dimona. We know that. We want you to stay close to Judith Ressner, because we think there’s something going on, some connection. Skuratov has put surveillance on Ressner and the American, who is now back in Tel Aviv. All we’re asking you to do is to keep tabs on Ressner, especially if she and that American get together.”

“That’s not very likely,” Ellerstein said. “She’s mad at him. He deceived her.”

“Well and good. This is a precautionary step, then. Still, the army guards at Metsadá said they took long walks together. So: If they do get together while he’s still here, and Skuratov is watching them, there must be a reason for that, and that’s what we’re interested in, okay?”

“No active measures, then?”

“Absolutely not. We have Shabak regulars available when the time comes. If the time comes. Skuratov has been interested in the visiting American since he arrived. An American nuclear engineer. Coincidence? Do you know what the American did back in Washington?”

“He said he’d been a whistle-blower.”

“Yes, he was. He exposed a quiet little business deal that a certain country close to all our hearts had going with the American conglomerate that operates half the power plants in the United States.”

“What kind of business deal?”

“It had to do with heavy water,” Gulder said. He looked at Ellerstein to see if he understood.

“Heavy water?” Ellerstein said. “Why would that be a big deal?”

“Think back to your own days at the laboratories,” Gulder said. “What do you do with heavy water at a place like Dimona?”

“Well, it’s a moderator, for one thing. Keeps neutrons in the can when you’re trying to maintain criticality. And then, oh—”

“Oh, indeed,” Gulder said. “The other use. The reason why all those Western nonproliferation agencies watch it like a hawk. Why some of the American agencies think that Iran is closer to a bomb than anyone guessed.”

Ellerstein nodded slowly. You could make tritium out of heavy water. Tritium was a substance that helped turn an A-bomb into an H-bomb, among other things. The Iranians might be using heavy water in just their reactor process, but if they already had a bomb, then their active quest for heavy water on the black arms market had an altogether more sinister significance.

“Is that why Skuratov is watching the American?” Ellerstein asked. “Because of his involvement in a proliferation exposé?”

They both looked at him expectantly until he figured it out. “Ah,” he said. “It was Israel who was buying. And now he’s here.”

The PM smiled at him like an approving schoolmaster.

“How does Ressner fit into all this?” Ellerstein asked.

“We have no fucking idea, Yossi,” Gulder said. “Skuratov is watching them both; we’re watching Skuratov. By happenstance, you are close to Ressner. That’s all there is to it.”

I doubt that very much, Ellerstein thought, but to hear this from the PM himself… Well. The matter must be serious indeed, even if there probably was a lot they weren’t telling him. The PM rose to shake his hand again. Dismissal time.

“We never do this, you know,” the PM said. “Bring a consultant in at this level. Right now, though, you’re suddenly a possible way into these modern-day Kanna’im. Think about it, Professor: a small cell of military men and weapons scientists diverting — something. What outrage might they be planning? Especially if they feel they’re patriots? Zealots even?”

Never again, Ellerstein thought. “I will do my best,” he said, not wanting to think about the possibilities.

“They tell me you always do, Professor,” the PM said with a strange, sad smile, as if having people around him who were doing their best was a mixed blessing.

Back in Gulder’s office, Ellerstein wiped his forehead. He hadn’t realized he had been perspiring in there. Gulder threw the Skuratov file down on his desk.

“You didn’t have to say that, you know,” he said.

“Well, he should hear it anyway,” Ellerstein said. “The king has no clothes and all that. Obviously you guys are sheltering him too much.”

“It’s been hard, Yossi,” Gulder said. “Harder than you know. He’s buying time, okay? We know, or at least we think we know, what the other side will accept, but Iran and this other business…”

“You think it’s true?”

Gulder sat down and cleaned his glasses with a tissue. “There are strict controls,” he said. “Strict accountability of all materials. Of course, if it’s the people who execute those controls doing the diversion…” He shook his head. “If they get the army or the air force on their side, then they could do something.”