Von Klitzing had first met Cerf in 2003 as a member of a German trade delegation that had been invited to Tel Aviv to discuss closer economic ties between the two countries. Cerf was a large man, and although not overweight, he was prone to sweating, constantly dabbing his brow with a white handkerchief. When he had been introduced, Von Klitzing was surprised by the dry, warm nature of the handshake and the strong and authoritative grip. Cerf was introduced as the representative of Israel Railways. Von Klitzing as a manager of Siemens. A description that, at the time, was not totally untrue. Siemens was a company in which Meyer-Hofmann held considerable stock and influence. Cerf, however, had no connection whatsoever to Israel Railways, and his fictitious position was a simple cover story. Von Klitzing was well aware of this, even before they met, and he had singled out Cerf as a potential target. He had needed a contact in Israel for a considerable time, believing you should keep your friends close but your enemies closer. He decided he needed to keep tabs on what the Israelis knew or didn’t know about Meyer-Hofmann. Grooming Cerf had taken time, but over the years, had almost become as enjoyable as it was beneficial. Cerf liked the good things in life, and their meetings were always in the best restaurants and hotels. It was not uncommon for the men to talk for hours over a fine cognac and a good cigar without once mentioning business, and the relationship had prospered as a result. It was just such a night in a Munich hotel bar when the men had outed themselves.
“My friend, I must make a confession,” Cerf had started.
“I have been approached by the Israeli secret service to provide names of associates who may be sympathetic to our cause. I wondered if you would mind my mentioning your name? We have so much in common, Johann, and I believe you understand the issues we are facing.” Von Klitzing had smiled at Cerf, patting him on the shoulder.
“Dear Benjamin, it would be an honour, but I too must make a confession. I have connections to the BND.” That had shocked Cerf, or at least, he had appeared shocked.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t told them anything about you, not that there was ever much to tell.” He laughed.
“No, I just meet so many people on my business travels that they often liaise with me. Ask for advice.”
Cerf had mulled the implications over for a while.
“This could be good for us, for both our countries. I will have to talk to my superiors, but this could be a perfect synergy.”
Von Klitzing had not slept well for a week after that meeting, but making the Israelis believe he had connections to the German security agency had been a masterstroke. As an industrialist, Von Klitzing’s use to the Israelis was limited, but as a German spy, it was immeasurable. Cerf had seized the opportunity with both hands, doing his best to convince Von Klitzing of the Jewish cause, and Von Klitzing had not disappointed. He fed Cerf regular and top-rate intelligence. Meyer-Hofmann’s intimate relationship with the Arab states and their different paramilitary groups meant Von Klitzing could give Cerf the names and whereabouts of key figures whenever it suited his purposes. The Israeli, in turn, would give Von Klitzing access to intelligence about almost any country or company that interested him. Cerf craved every scrap of information he could get from Von Klitzing, who was possibly his best informant, and his rise through the ranks of the Mossad was due, in part, to the intelligence he received from the German. Only last month, Von Klitzing had used Cerf to kill a Hezbollah commander who had become suspicious about Meyer-Hofmann’s motives in setting up training camps in Iran. Von Klitzing had passed the commander’s name and whereabouts to Cerf, knowing that the Israelis would take the appropriate action. The very next day, a drone attack in Lebanon had killed the commander and his two brothers whilst driving the family car back to their home in Gaza. But the culmination of Von Klitzing’s work would be his appointment today. Cerf had seemed pleased to hear from him, and even more interested when he heard that Von Klitzing was planning a personal visit.
“What could be so important that you can’t tell me over the phone? You know our lines are secure, my friend.”
“It is a personal matter, Benjamin, a personal decision not sanctioned by my Government.”
“How intriguing. I shall look forward to finding out what controversial information it is that you have for me, Johann.”
Von Klitzing’s plan had been taking shape for a considerable amount of time. He had manipulated German government connections to get invited to Iran. The Iranian Government believed him to have contacts to KWU, Siemens’s old Nuclear power division. Siemens had worked extensively with successive Iranian governments until sanctions and the sale of their nuclear business interests in 2011 had ended the cooperation. KWU was now in French hands, and the French were somewhat resistant to any plans concerning nuclear power and Iran. So the Iranians were hoping Meyer-Hofmann’s connections and the recent thawing of diplomatic relations between the new Iranian government and the western world would help them bridge that gap. As a result, Von Klitzing had two Iranian stamps in his passport to show Cerf, and he hoped that those, combined with some doctored photographs of the Iranian nuclear plant in Bushehr, would light the touch paper.
He had had a less pleasant journey than his alter ego. It was not the economy seat on El Al that had bothered him as much as the worry. Von Klitzing was not used to the emotion and was finding it hard to control. Since the events of the night before, he had begun to worry about a lot of things. The reports from the club were not good, Jarvis or Hofmann had wreaked havoc in the place and, together with Jarvis’s wife, they had escaped. Both were presently guests of the German Police. The loss of the club would have repercussions, but for the time being, there was no way that the police could retrieve any classified information from the building. He had personally overseen the servicing of the demolition systems. If everything had functioned in the way it had been designed to, there would be nothing left but ashes, buried under half a million cubic metres of reinforced concrete. It was Jarvis who worried him most. Or more to the point, the hybrid Jarvis had become. Hofmann had always been a would-be soldier and a very accomplished businessman, but nothing like the man who had just single-handedly destroyed the second-best-defended facility Meyer-Hofmann owned. Von Klitzing remembered Franz Meyer as the brutal part of the partnership. It seemed he had been wrong.
Standing in the Bianco suite of the Carlton Hotel, looking out at the sea gently lapping at the shoreline, he should have been feeling elated. Instead, he was seriously worried.
“What is taking so long? He should be dead by now!” Von Klitzing cut off the cellular call, shaking his head. Waiting in a Tel Aviv hotel room made him feel impotent and angry.
40
It was 6:00 a.m., and Ett Street Police Station was a hive of activity. Dawn had broken over the Bavarian capital with a typical mix of tranquil white clouds and blue skies, in stark contrast to the destruction the city had witnessed during the night. Günther had returned to the headquarters just minutes after the Jarvises were taken into custody and had bumped into a member of the SWAT team on his way back out of the building.
“Sorry, Günther, I wasn’t looking.”
Peter Katz had gone through training with Günther, and they still met for a beer when the opportunity presented itself.