A Spy in Exile

BRUSSELS, FEBRUARY 2, 2015

The pilot run was a success—its first stage at least. They managed to divert the convoy of prisoners to a different route from the one that had been set for them. Nufar was in front of her battery of computers at seven in the morning already. They were basing their alternative route on one that had served the convoy in the past. They wanted the escort teams to feel secure, to recognize the route they were taking. They decided therefore to insert a small deviation only at one specific point along a familiar path. Instead of driving through a traffic tunnel, the vehicles would be diverted to the upper stretch of the road. A move that would require them to stop or at least slow down at an intersection or two. Nufar fed the particulars of the new route into the computer of the operations officer. Two questions remained. One: Would it work? The other: Would the escort teams ask questions later about the route selected for them?

• • •

Nufar remained behind to keep an eye on the convoy’s progress in real time, via the computers of the Prison Service, which she had already made her own. Assaf stayed with her, to deal with any possible disturbance. Ya’ara and Batsheva went out into the field, to observe the convoy with their own eyes. They took up a position at a café that offered a view of the intersection the vehicles were due to reach. They wanted to see if it would actually transpire. Would five vehicles really take the upper stretch of road rather than continue uninterrupted through the tunnel? They wanted to see if there’d be any sign of bewilderment or confusion stemming from the deviation in the familiar route, or if the drivers would simply follow the directions provided by the GPS device. It was nine twenty. Dawn had broken not too long ago. February’s days in Brussels are dark and gloomy. But on the right side of the café’s large window, it was warm and cozy. Two cups of coffee with that strong morning aroma, fresh and crispy croissants. A WhatsApp message from Nufar: “Convoy entering the tunnel. ETA two minutes.” And arrive it did. A white patrol car with flashing blue lights emerged at high speed from the opening of the tunnel, crossed through the first intersection, and then stopped at the next one. A red light, pedestrians wrapped in their coats traversing the crosswalk with heads bowed against the icy wind. A prisoner-transport vehicle, with flashing blue lights, too, and bars to secure its windows, pulled up behind the first vehicle. And behind it, a second patrol car, another prisoner-transport vehicle, and then a third patrol car. The rearguard. They had a clear view of the entire convoy. What a wonderful sight, Ya’ara thought. The convoy waiting patiently for the light to change. Pulling off with the roar of engines as the red turned to green. Insofar at least as Ya’ara and Batsheva could tell, the slight change in the route prompted no reaction from the prison guards and security personnel. None of them exited the vehicles with their weapons drawn. The drivers didn’t decide to keep going despite the red light. Nothing at all about the manner in which the vehicles in the convoy were traveling changed. A WhatsApp message to Nufar: “You did it, honey! Just like in the movies!”

If their manipulation of the route went unnoticed, without subsequent questions or queries, they would set the real operation in motion on Monday of the following week. The change they’d make to the convoy’s route would be more extreme. In a week’s time, they would separate the prisoner-transport vehicles from the escort vehicles. They would reroute the vehicle carrying Hamdan to a location that offered them a tactical advantage over the security guards, even if it was a temporary advantage only. And they would exploit their advantage quickly and aggressively. At that stage, whether the change in the route raised questions would be irrelevant. Because there would be far more difficult questions begging for answers.