The Falstaff Enigma (14 page)

"What was me?"
Austin replied.

''I read your reports whenever I can.
I have thought about whether or not that was you, but I never really thought it was."

"It was me indeed.
You know, I've come to realize over the past couple of weeks that my reports seem to be public information," said Austin in a voice that was half disgusted and half proud.

"I think that American intelligence likes to rattle Moscow's cage by le
tting them know how much your side knows. I always figured that your reports are selectively edited to keep important facts and lines of intelligence secret. If we have time later, I'll get one and you can see for yourself whether or not it's edited."

"If we have time," replied Austin with the accent strongly
on the word “if.” "I doubt if that time will come. I thought you were with ITT. What happened?"

"I was.
I went with ITT after I got my MBA, just as you remember. I found myself, after six months of corporate indoctrination in New York, traveling to Russia and Eastern Europe almost full time with a negotiating team. We were trying to forge new links, maintain old ones, and generally drum up more business. I did well, especially inside Russia where my skill in the language paid off. In January 1978, I was picked to head a team of three business developers working Russia exclusively. I even had a decent flat in Moscow complete with … oh, about sixteen bugging devices at last count. The fact that I was Jewish made the KGB especially nervous. They had two guys tailing me twenty-four hours a day. They were convinced I worked for the CIA.” Margolis smiled at his old friend and then turned away. He paused for a long moment.

“What’s wrong?” Austin asked finally. His question brought Margolis back into the moment.

“I got m
arried to a Russian woman.”

“Congratulations,” Austin replied reflexively. But the look on Margolis’ face made him regret the word as soon as it left his mouth.

After a pause, Margolis continued. “I was young. She was pregnant and I thought we were in love. The reality is that she was really interested in leaving the USSR.” David shook his head, the realization still a painful memory.

“You said she was pregnant?”

Margolis’ mood brightened. “I have a son named Amit.” The sentence made him smile.

“That is wonderful. How old is he?”

“He turns eight this year. He lives with his mother.”

“I’m sorry,” responded Austin. “Do you get back to the States often?”

“It’s okay. They both live here in Tel Aviv. She’s Jewish. She only spent a couple of years in the States. My son was born there. But after we divorced, she emigrated to Israel with my blessing.”

“Is that why you are here?”

David Margolis thought about how to answer Austin’s question. “No.” A brief moment passed. “But I guess the thought of me becoming an Israeli was on my mind when I agreed to let her emigrate with my son. I think I was torn on whether to do it and subconsciously it helped force me into the decision.” Margolis shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, really.”

Margolis’ face became more stern.
"The real story is that in March of ‘78, while I was in New York, I got a call from an old high school friend. We met for dinner that night. He said he was now an Israeli citizen, a captain in the Army and a veteran of the October War. He went on to remind me of my old Zionist feelings, as I'm sure you remember from our many – shall we say – heated debates at UC. He said that Mossad was interested in providing me with a career and gave me a way to get in touch whenever I wanted.

“L
et me tell you, Robert, between that and my son being in Tel Aviv, the fuse was lit. I went from being the corporate rising star who lived ITT seven days a week to being another burnt-out employee wondering why success didn't equate with contentment. In June that year, I began talking with Mossad. The director at the time, Yitzhak Hofi, even flew to London to take me to dinner. We hashed out a deal and he became my mentor. I resigned in July, took a month off to move here, became an Israeli citizen, and started working for my new employer.”

“
Have you found your contentment?"

“Y
es, Robert. Believe it or not, this does give me purpose and satisfaction."

"You kn
ow, I always debated with myself whether I thought you would wind up in Israel or stay in the U.S. I was certain it would be the latter, despite your feelings about Israel. I think I’m relieved to find out I was wrong. I think you offer the most in a situation like this."

“
Thank you." David meant it. He had always had a tremendous respect for the man sitting across from him. Robert Austin was one of the most effective and analytical arguers he had ever known.

David continued, "Now tell me how you got here and what you mean by the phrase 'Govenin, KGB team.'"

"You know the meaning of the phrase as well as I do, which is amply demonstrated by my presence here. Nevertheless, the answer to the first part is quite long and directly related to that phrase. How much time do we have?"

"My slate has been cleared for the afternoon.
You can keep me here as long as my curiosity is piqued."

"Then relax because it will be piqued, I guarantee that." Austin spent the next three hours telling his story to David
Margolis. It proved to be no monologue. David interrupted continually, probing, clarifying, amplifying. He took notes constantly, making connections, drawing conclusions. By the end of the dialogue Austin felt an ease he had not enjoyed since the first day of May.

David Margolis had a brain and used it to its maximum effect. He was an intellectual, a man wh
ose mind was in peak condition. He was the more cerebral version of John Kemp, who relied on gut and a gun and whose mind was developed, but often secondary. Austin was comfortable with his new ally, an ally who was an old friend.

When Austin was finished with his story, David
excused himself. He was out of the office for a few minutes. When he returned he invited his old friend to lunch. The small cafeteria at Mossad headquarters was utilitarian – in keeping with the institution itself.

After lunch, the pair returned to David’
s office and the Mossad agent immediately excused himself. He was gone from the office for about ten minutes. Margolis returned and sat down behind his desk. “You must forgive me, Robert. I am now in the spy business and the first rule of this industry is that you don’t trust anyone, even old friends from graduate school. I had the team here check out some of the key facts. We did it very discretely.

“I will sum it up by saying that I believe you one hundred percent. And
, given that you just told me the single most fantastic story I have ever heard, that says a lot.” David stood and walked a few feet over to a small refrigerator that occupied a spot in the bookshelves where the shelves had been removed. He opened the door and pulled out a can of Coke. “Would you like one?”

“Please,” replied the analyst.

Margolis retrieved another soda can and handed it to Austin. He returned to his seat. “Did you know that two days ago the Washington Post ran a story in the local news section that described a shootout that killed six in a motel, including a night manager who was in the wrong place at the wrong time? According to the Post, this was a Russian Mafia drug deal gone bad. I would insert a joke here if I didn’t know that you just lived through this.” He pulled open the tab on top of the Coke can and took a long sip. David then stated the obvious. "So I guess we are now partners, eh, Robert?"

"Yes, David, we are now partners and I hope this is one successful partnership because we both know what failure means," Austin
replied with ice-cold resignation.

David coughed lightly and involuntarily.
Austin's words hit him hard. They exactly summed up the situation, and for one of the few times in his career David thought of death as a possibility.

"Going back to Alexandr Govenin," said David after a short pause that was
far too uncomfortable, "he gave me information that I am now going to give you. Just before he left Russia, he received a visit from a physicist he had not seen in five or six years. This physicist's name is Vladimir Ustinov. Ustinov said he had recently lectured Vazhnevsky and his top officers on some topic that Govenin didn't know. Then Ustinov told Govenin something about the marshal and General Pyotr Timenko that has to do with why the marshal disappeared. Ustinov told this to Govenin because he knew Govenin was being allowed to emigrate and he wanted Govenin to tell this to the West." David paused, searching for words.

"What the hell was it?" Austin
asked impatiently.

"Govenin was allowed to emigrate but without his family.
He used this information to coerce me into getting his family out. I arranged the trade of two KGB agents arrested by the FBI in return for his family. I gave them twenty-four hours together at a safe house here and then sent a team to bring Govenin in for his debriefing."

David Margolis placed his palms against his face and rubbed his eyes slowly.

"And that's when he was killed," said Austin, filling in the silence.

"Damn it." David slammed his right fist down on the desk. "I should have brought him in as soon as he told me what he knew."

"How did the KGB know you were bringing him in?"

"I know what you are leading to, and I agree that it's a definite possibility. As to who the mole might be, I don't know. I have racked my brain on this. Of course, it could be that they were simply staking out the safe house. It was obvious within an hour after the attack that it was definitely a KGB team."

"Why?"

"Hell, the target alone is proof enough. But there are other factors. The team used M-16s that I assume they brought in with them. They apparently were using shell collector bags, but one shell was left on the ground. The shell was manufactured in 1970. My guess is that their weaponry was captured in Viet Nam. They also tossed in a grenade after they shot up the car, a very professional move in and of itself. The grenade was a U.S. M-26 made in 1969. I'm sure you couldn't find one in Israel today. The final, and probably most conclusive evidence, is that we have sources in every single terrorist group that operates inside Israel and we had nothing on this. These guys disappeared. Vanished. Nothing. We had the country quietly locked down within a few hours. They still got away."

“How?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Margolis’ question was rhetorical. “Best guess is that they headed south into Gaza City and the Strip. We think they had a safe house established. From there, they got into Sinai, probably through a tunnel under the border.” The Mossad officer looked at his old friend and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I believe you."

"The decision to proclaim this as a terrorist strike was made at the highest level.” Margolis looked away in the direction of Jerusalem. Austin understood what that meant. “I was asked to follow this thing up independently. Officially, I wrote a report pointing the finger at the PLO. So now I have men wasting their time trying to find out which of the many PLO factions is responsible. I've done my best to try to convince any potential mole that I honestly don't suspect the KGB.

"Now you have changed
the whole picture for me,” Margolis continued. “In fact, in the past few hours I finally have developed a real picture for the first time. Before today, I never had enough pieces to put this together."

"Did you get any info on
Vladimir Ustinov?" Austin asked.

"I did, but let me be clear from the start that I
was very discreet. I did the computer work myself and erased my tracks. I am positive I was not compromised within Mossad. Okay?" asked David out of genuine respect for Austin's opinion.

Austin nodded.
"That's right, you were a computer addict before the computer revolution really began."

David Margolis smiled and looked at the ceiling, shaking his head.
"I forgot how much you know about me. You never did let me forget the time I talked you into going with me to that computer show." He waved his hand through the air, waving off the past.

"Back to Ustinov," David
continued, not wanting to be sidetracked by any reminiscing of the past. "He is a physicist of some note, a nuclear physicist to be specific. He worked with Dr. Govenin for several years in the early sixties when the Soviets were developing ICBMs. He specializes in fitting nuclear warheads into the given size and shape constraints of the delivery system. That was Govenin's specialty too.

"Ustinov went on to work on the SS-
18 while our late friend voiced his desire to leave and, as per standard operating procedure, quickly found himself lecturing freshman physics seminars as a result. Now we think Ustinov is working on an improved version of the SS-18, tentatively dubbed the SSX-24. The important fact regarding what this man does is that he has become an unofficial lecturer to the military. Soviet officers apparently like him because he is articulate, succinct and willing to openly discuss the .shortcomings of the system in question.

"As to his background and lifestyle, he is fifty-seven years old, married, lives in Moscow, and has one child, a son who
is a dentist in Leningrad."