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As she spoke, different pictures appeared on the large screen. Some were of cars and vans parked on neighboring streets. Others showed individuals dressed either as workmen or ordinary pedestrians loitering in front of different nearby buildings. Three were views of rooftops. Enhanced versions of these images showed what appeared to be the same tiny, rotor-driven drone perched inconspicuously near chimneys and dormers. A few of the photographs were grainy, obviously taken in poorly lit conditions at night, but most were exceptionally clear.

Tamir frowned at the monitor. Lately, he’d strongly suspected they were being watched closely by someone. But he hadn’t realized the full scope of the operation until now. He swung back toward the Mossad officer. “What’s your assessment of this effort?”

“It involves a significant commitment of resources,” Amar told him. “We’ve identified at least six separate individuals among the watchers. And counted close to ten separate vehicles being used at different times. The use of remote-controlled drones is another significant indicator.”

“Of what?” the ambassador asked quietly.

“That this is a highly professional operation, one organized either by a state actor or by a sophisticated terrorist group with significant capabilities,” Amar answered somberly.

Miriam Weiss, the chief of the embassy’s consular section, frowned. “Could this be something organized by our friends over at Jaurègasse?” she asked, referring to the location of the Iranian embassy in Vienna. “Maybe as a response to the recent murder of their government official? The one who was found dead at Kitzbühel?”

Amar nodded. “That is a strong possibility. What little evidence we possess suggests this man Khavari was eliminated because he was trying to contact a foreign intelligence service… and it would be logical for Tehran to assume he was reaching out to us, their most determined enemy.”

“And are they right?” the ambassador prompted gently. “Were we trying to recruit him?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.” Then she turned toward Tamir. “Unless your people in military intelligence had their eyes on Khavari?”

“Sadly not,” he said. “I checked with colleagues in Jerusalem. This was not our baby.”

The ambassador sighed. “So this net thrown around our doors could be blowback for some other country’s espionage efforts?”

“It’s likely,” Tamir agreed. Besides checking with the IDF’s military intelligence command, he’d also privately reached out to contacts in the CIA — to see if the mess at Kitzbühel was one of their ops gone wrong. So far, though, he wasn’t getting any answers from the Americans. The current administration in Washington wasn’t especially friendly to Israel, and it was increasingly obvious that the CIA and other American intelligence agencies were playing it safe.

“Wonderful,” Weiss said dryly. “Here we sit in the crosshairs of those fanatics in Tehran, and this time it’s not even our fault.”

“Maybe,” Tamir said slowly. “And maybe not.”

Amar looked at him questioningly. “Meaning what, Dov?”

He nodded at the monitor, which was still showing the pictures taken by the Mossad officer’s concealed cameras. “Those guys don’t look at all Middle Eastern to me. More northern European or Slavic, I think. Sure, they could be disguised, but there’s a limit to what you can do with wigs or hair dye, cheek pads and the rest.” His fingers drummed lightly on the table as he studied the images closely. “If anything, I’d bet on them being Russian, or at least in Russian pay. They could be black ops specials brought in off the books by the GRU or the SVR.”

“Perhaps carrion birds of a kind are flocking together,” the ambassador suggested wryly.

“Perhaps so,” Tamir agreed. Moscow was known to be extremely interested in strengthening its already close ties to the radical regime in Tehran. Ironically, Russia’s embassy in Vienna was located just around the block from that of Iran, an accident of diplomatic geography that made potential cooperation between the two countries here in Austria even easier to organize and harder to detect. “It would not be the first time we’ve had enemies unite against us.”

The ambassador nodded unhappily. “Well, then, as I see it, our immediate problem is to decide what we should do about these men who are spying on our every move.”

“The situation is dangerous, sir,” Rivka Amar pointed out. “And the danger will only grow with every passing day.”

“How so?”

The Mossad officer gestured toward the monitor. “This hostile surveillance team is gathering an enormous amount of data about our operations here — not just our faces and those of the other embassy staff and employees, but also our vehicle registration plates, and even our regular patterns of movement.” She frowned. “This could be the precursor to something even worse — like a terrorist attack either aimed directly at the embassy or at some of our people whenever they travel out into the city at large.”

The ambassador nodded gravely. Terrorism was an ever-present concern for any Israeli, whether an ordinary civilian or a member of the government or military. “What is your recommendation, Rivka?”

“We should act against these watchers,” she replied fiercely. “I can have a team snatch one of them off the street. A short, sharp interrogation ought to tell us who they are… and who they’re working for.”

The professional diplomats in the room — the ambassador, his chief of staff, and the two section chiefs — looked alarmed by her bold proposal. None of them were cowards, but the idea of initiating a physical confrontation on the streets of a neutral foreign capital was far outside their comfort zone. Tough action in the diplomatic world meant issuing a strongly worded protest note, not forcing a hostile agent into the back of a car and hauling him off for questioning. If anything went wrong, the embassy could easily find itself entangled in an embarrassing no-win confrontation with its host country, Austria.

Dov Tamir tamped down a grin. Amar reminded him of himself as a young soldier — fearless, aggressive, and focused on achieving victory, whatever the cost. Unfortunately, he had enough experience now to see the likely outcome here. The odds were very much against the embassy’s senior paper pushers approving Amar’s plan. Caution was the virtue drummed into members of the foreign service, not daring.

Warily, the ambassador turned to Tamir. “Dov?”

“Rivka’s idea involves a significant amount of risk,” Tamir conceded. He shrugged his shoulders. “But it’s equally true that doing nothing carries its own set of hazards. So I think we should do what she suggests. Personally, I would rather be damned by the Austrians for acting on our own, than get caught with our pants down later by a terror attack we could have preempted.”

There was silence in the room for a few moments. But then, slowly, almost regretfully, the ambassador shook his head. “Aggressive action seems… premature,” he said at last. “I’m not yet persuaded the situation warrants extreme measures.” Miriam Weiss and the others looked relieved.

Seeing Amar open her mouth to object, Tamir caught his Mossad colleague’s eye and shook his own head slightly, almost imperceptibly. There were times when it was necessary to fight against overwhelming odds. This was not one of them. The ambassador and his senior counselors had plainly made up their minds, and it would do no good now to alienate them. She sat back in her chair, looking frustrated.