Interview of a young thug

Inspector Abraham Maier sat like a man chastened: the wind knocked out of him. His manner with us - and Josh especially - transformed. Not a broken man, but a humbler man: no longer commanding the investigation.

Rising from his office chair I observed that he had shrunk in the past twenty minutes - if that was possible for such a little man. Poking his head through the doorway he called to his sergeant in a loud enough voice for all to hear, which Josh interpreted:

"These men are to be escorted to the detainee. The officer from Intelligence and his friends are to be shown every courtesy. We are no longer in charge of the investigations - it is now a matter of national security."

He slunk back into his office. The faces in the open plan area seemed smug. Their eyes had a new sparkle, their body-language more positive. 'Nobody likes a bully' I thought.

On board the escalator to the Ground Floor I asked Josh whether if that was really Israel's Prime Minister.

"No I'm afraid not," Josh said, "one of my team does a really great impression of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. I made a serious mistake, though, when I commented on his busy afternoon. He's in Osaka on an international meeting about Syria and its nuclear intent. He would more than likely be in bed because it's 22.30 in Japan. I hope it doesn't come back and 'bite us in the arse', as you say."

Sean and I roared with laughter, hoping too that Detective Inspector Maier didn't watch the news on TV that night, and smell a rat.

Arriving at The Ground Floor we were pleasantly treated by the front desk officers. Those who had frisked Sean earlier lowered their eyes in embarrassment. One of the female Detective sergeants appeared at the top of the stairs to the Lower Ground Floor and beckoned us to follow.

Our footsteps echoed like we were in a chamber as we followed the blue-uniformed police woman down neon lit concrete stairs. A musty smell circulated. She unlocked the security gate with her identification card, and ushered us through, before the heavy wrought-iron gate shut with a loud 'CLANG'

Entering a bleak corridor with white-washed walls, we turned right, with a door and a plate-glass screen ahead of us. "Mirror," the police-woman said, "Please...my English." We understood.

Josh said, "Take a seat and I'll interpret. The interview's about to start, but don't worry they can't hear or see us, but please don't knock the glass."

Voices came through two Bosch speakers attached to the wall by metal brackets.

"Yes my name is Eitan Dreyfuss," the teenager in blue nylon overalls said; at his side a slightly older female who bore his resemblance. "Yes I worked as a cleaner at Cairo University. Yes I took some stuff from the old guy's study." Looking at the young woman next to him he whispered to her and said, "Yes we staked out the hotel and followed the European. Yes I met the Weitz guy. Look, he sprang for my airfare, so I thought 'why not'. No, I know nothing about drugs. No, I didn't know he would snatch the old man." He slouched in the chair.

Josh took notes.

The male officer stopped the tape and video recorder and opened the door, inviting Josh to talk with the detainee. Josh entered the interview room, and said for his audience: "I shall be translating the conversation into English for the benefit of others. "The perpetrator has just said 'and who the hell are you?' "

Josh recapped on Eitan's statement. The young lady, whom we now understood was Eitan's sister, wiped her eyes.

"You'll face charges of criminal damage, breaking and entering into the Professor's study." Josh said. "You'll also be charged with theft of personal property which is a felony. This could mean a five year prison term and there are implications in a kidnap ; and possibly accomplice in murder. We're leaving you for a break. Think about it."

Eitan's sister was shaking and sobbing. Eitan said something for which she slapped him across the head with "SMUTZ!"

The interviewing police officers invited us to join them in the staff canteen.

"We'll break for twenty minutes, until 16.15," Josh said, "give them time to chew it over."

The staff canteen reminded me of many that I had seen in factories, on building sites, and shops around the globe. Paint on the walls was flaked and peeling. The hot drinks machine was also like many I had seen around the world.

Sean summed it up with, "Christ! That's piss awful!"

Josh conversed with the two officers in his native Hebrew dialect. I felt relieved to leave the stifling staff canteen. The air conditioning broken or switched off; a stale sweat smell had assaulted my nostrils.

Joshua and the female sergeant gained admittance again to Interview Room Number Two in Tel Aviv Police Headquarters. The prisoner looked smug. Eitan's sister pale with dark circles around her eyes.

Josh came on heavy and strong. "I am MOSSAD!" Joshua banged the table. "Do you know what that means?" He stared into the young man's eyes. "It means you are in holy shit!" Josh shouted. "I can make you disappear... You and your sister... You're going to stay here until you tell us the rest of what you know."

Eitan appeared nonchalant and yawned, cradling his head in his hands. He appeared to have found new strength and courage. It looked like he believed that he could walk free: that he was winning.
Sean asked the police woman something, making gestures with his hands until she understood. She left and returned five minutes later with a brown manila folder. Taking the mike connected directly to the interview room, he asked Josh to step out. I knew that whatever training Joshua had encountered with Mossad he would not win an argument against Sean Casey. But what was in his mind?