Ivory Nation, Andy Maslen [e manga reader .txt] 📗

at the men, her mouth working. She nodded in response to another question and stood aside to let the men in. The door closed.

Unbidden by his superior, the analyst fast-forwarded the images for approximately five minutes then slowed the playback once more.

The front door opened and Sarah Lieberman emerged, holding her three-year-old son, Shmuel, by the hand. Her face was a mask of panic, eyes tight, mouth a stiff line. The boy was crying. The two visitors came next, one holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket in his arms.

The group turned left and hurried along the balcony before disappearing from the camera’s view.

The analyst clicked a couple of keys and a new rectangular playback window opened on the screen. It showed a white SUV with blacked-out windows driving away from a parking spot outside the Liebermans’ apartment block, heading west towards the coast.

The analyst stopped the film and turned to look at Uri over his shoulder.

‘We picked up the SUV sporadically after that. Last contact on 91, heading towards Damascus.’

Uri patted the young man on the shoulder.

‘Thanks, Yacob. Good work.’

The senior officers and the prime minister retired to a glass-walled conference room.

‘What happened, Uri?’ Saul asked.

‘I think it’s fairly obvious. Two Syrian agents tricked Sarah Lieberman into coming with them by posing as security agency employees. Us or Shin Bet. Spun her some story about Dov being in trouble. “No time to explain, you’re in mortal danger. Come with us.”’

‘And this happened when, exactly?’ Saul asked.

‘Three weeks ago.’

‘So, two before the princess was shot.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Lieberman report that his family were missing?’

‘No. We checked with the school. He turned up for work every day just like normal. The headteacher said he even ran the after-school Physics club on the Wednesday afternoons. She said he looked a bit off-colour, but he told her he had a cold.’

‘You think the Syrians blackmailed Dov into committing the assassination?’

‘I do. We have him leaving Israel on an El Al flight for London the day before the hit.’

‘Avigael, do you believe that bullshit Tammerlane put out about just happening to be passing by and seeing the shooter’s rifle barrel?’

She put her fingertips to her pursed lips.

‘You know the training, Saul. “There’s no such thing as coincidence. If something smells fishy, start looking for fish”,’ she said.

‘Then what? Tammerlane was involved in a plot to murder a member of the British royal family? Why?’

‘You saw the news! It was a pretext to break off diplomatic relations with us. He’s expelled our citizens. He’s a lifelong enemy of Israel!’

Saul patted the air.

‘Calm down, Avi, I get it.’

‘Plus, I heard a whisper from our friends in London that Tammerlane’s making noises about a referendum on the existence of the monarchy.’

Saul smiled.

‘It’s fine. That’s my view as well. I just wanted to hear it from your lips.’

‘Fine. So hear this, too. After Dov took the shot, Tammerlane killed him. Otherwise he could have spoken out.’

‘Would he, though?’ Uri asked. ‘Even if the Syrians gave him back his family, they could have threatened to kill them at any time if Dov opened his mouth. He was a teacher, remember. He had no training for this sort of thing.’

‘It made Tammerlane look like a hero,’ Saul said, emphasising the final word. ‘He won the election with a landslide after that. One of the most royalist countries on Earth elected a republican. I should have his luck. Sorry,’ he added, as his two most senior foreign intelligence officers looked at him wide-eyed.

‘The wife and kids are dead, too,’ Uri said.

Saul and Avigael nodded. No loose ends. The training.

Uri’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

‘Can I take this? It could be important.’

Saul nodded. Uri accepted the call.

‘Eliyah. I’m with the prime minister and Director Peretz. What is it?’

‘I’m in Botswana with Gabriel Wolfe and a Metropolitan Police detective chief inspector. She’s investigating the assassination.’

Uri felt his pulse accelerate.

‘Go on.’

‘They found dirt in the sniper nest. It came from Botswana. She’s trying to find out whether Lieberman was here in the days before the killing. Have you guys found anything that could be helpful?’

Uri heard the distinctive click of a puzzle piece slotting home.

‘As a matter of fact, Eliyah, we have. No way was Dov Lieberman in Botswana. Or anywhere else outside Israel for that matter.’

‘You’re sure? Sorry, Uri,’ she said, immediately. ‘But, you’re confident? There’s no way he could have got away for even a couple of days?’

‘It’s fine, and yes, I am one hundred per cent confident. Dov Lieberman was never in Botswana.’

He looked back at Saul and Avigael who were both regarding him with raised eyebrows. He gave them a thumbs-up as he ended the call.

‘Well?’ Saul asked.

‘Lieberman wasn’t the shooter,’ Uri said with a broad smile.

‘How do you know?’

‘The British police found soil in the sniper nest. From Botswana.’

‘Tammerlane?’

‘No. As far as we can tell, he was in the UK the whole time.’

‘Then, the soil—’

‘Must have come from a third person. They took the shot then disappeared, killing Lieberman to leave a false trail.’

‘Could have been a spotter,’ Saul said.

‘For a professional, that was a short-range shot. No need for a spotter. Anyway, these guys work alone, as you know. Ours do.’ He huffed out a breath before continuing. ‘Saul, I say this with the greatest respect to you, as a friend and the prime minister: think about it logically. Did we order this hit? No! Was Dov Lieberman, high school physics teacher and family man, a professional hitman? No! Did he have any personal reason, any reason in the world, to fly to England and murder a princess? No! Plus, we saw his family being kidnapped! I am telling you, he was set up. A patsy.’

Saul was nodding with each emphatic point Uri made.

‘This is excellent news, Uri,’ he said. ‘We can work with this. We need to get our diplomats onto the radio, the TV, whatever. This blows Tammerlane’s narrative into pieces.’

‘Yes, it does. But if it wasn’t Lieberman,